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luci-in-trenchcoats · 3 years

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By My Side (Part 2)

Summary: Jensen and the reader grow more tense with each other at the cabin but a revelation leads to a change in more than just location...

Masterlist

Pairing: Bodyguard!Jensen x reader

Word Count: 4,300ish

Warnings: language, mention of underage drinking/accidental death, angst

A/N: Enjoy!

_________

Twenty Hours Later

“Welcome home,” said Jensen, climbing out of his SUV the same time as you. You raised an eyebrow as you looked at the cabin in front of you. “You gonna carry your shit or what? Bodyguard, not your butler.”

“When you said cabin, I thought-”

“I told you. We’re off the grid. Most off the grid people don’t have quartz countertops and crown molding in their homes,” he said. “This is as good as I could get last second.”

“As long as it’s clean,” you said. He laughed and you stared back at him. “What?”

“Okay princess. There ain’t no cleaning service out here. You want something cleaned in there, you do it yourself,” he said. He slung a duffel bag over his shoulder and tossed one at you, nearly knocking you to the ground. “I’ll even let you pick which room you want.”

“Might take the kidnapping at this point,” you said, sighing as you followed him across the dirt yard. “We drove back in here for like an hour.”

“Hour and a half actually. Nobody’s finding us,” he said. He grabbed a key from under the rock by the door and undid the lock, swinging the door open wide. “Home sweet home.”

You followed him inside and cocked your head.

“Okay, this place is a lot nicer than I was expecting.”

“I guess I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, tossing a bag back towards a hall. You set your bag down on the kitchen table, narrowing your eyes at a picture on the wall. There was a little boy with a fishing pole and a pair of familiar green eyes staring back.

“Is this your cabin?” you asked, nodding to the photo.

“It’s in the family. Dad let me have it when I got out of the service,” he said. “I needed some alone time to decompress a bit. It’s safe. Trust me.”

“You were a cute kid. Too bad you’re sort of an asshole now,” you said.

“You were an asshole first,” he said with a shrug.

“I’m not a fan of some stranger coming into my life and telling me how to live it,” you said.

“I’m not telling you how to live your life, Y/N. That’s not my job. Keeping you safe is,” he said. “There’s two bedrooms. We have to share a bathroom.”

“Alright,” you said, Jensen pushing open a few solid wood doors. One was furnished a bit plainly and had a queen size bed, the other a set of bunkbeds and a full bed shoved against the wall.

“Take it,” he said, nodding towards the larger room.

“You’re bigger than me,” you said.

“Yeah, well that’s true but you’re also paying me. Take the bigger bed. The couch is a pullout anyways. Go on,” he said. You sighed and set your bag down on the bench, Jensen tossing his bag in the other room. “I need to go into town and finish getting supplies. Before I do that, we need to go over a few ground rules.”

“Of course we do,” you said, plopping back on the bed and watching a cloud of dust appear in the air.

“There’s a first aid kit in the cabinet over the fridge. There’s an emergency satellite phone there also that is to only be used in a real emergency. Washer and dryer we use once a week. There’s a solar panel on the back of the cabin that’ll help save us gas. We’re going to try and limit needing to use the generator more than we need to. There’s not much in the way of hot water. There’s a lake nearby and a few trails you can walk around but they’re probably overgrown at this point. Unless you’re in danger, never leave the premises. If you need something that’s not here or on the list, tell me now. I want to limit trips to town to once a month if possible.”

“Cleaning supplies,” you said as you sat up. “This place is dusty.”

“Alright. I’ll be back in about four hours,” he said, turning to leave. “There’s a shotgun in the gun safe. Key is in the nightstand drawer. Try to keep out of trouble.”

He didn’t look back as he left, the door opening and shutting, the sound of an engine turning on and slowly back away.

“Well. Might as well try to make this place more livable in the meantime.”

Four Hours Later

“Hey. I’m back,” said Jensen. You lifted your head up from the couch, Jensen flipping on the light switch. “You don’t have to sit in the dark.”

“You said to save the generator.”

“During the day. It’s after eight,” he said. He made a few trips in and out before he finally locked the door after himself. His nose twitched and he glanced over at you. “It doesn’t smell as musty in here.”

“A wet towel works when you don’t have a swiffer,” you said.

“I grabbed fast food,” he said, setting a bag down on the table. “Eat up. Last take out for a while.”

“I was thinking while you were gone,” you said, Jensen putting things away while you took out a burger and a box of fries.

“I bet that was difficult,” he mumbled.

“You know I’m not gonna stay here if you’re gonna be an ass.”

“I frankly don’t give two fucks. I’m here for money. You want to go do this job back home, that’s fine with me,” he said.

“Well fuck you,” you said. You got up and went outside, not getting too far from the cabin before it was pitch black. You stopped by the end of the truck, staring at the darkness you knew was the dirt trail that would eventually get you to the main road.

“Don’t be an idiot,” said Jensen as he stepped outside.

“Why do you care? I already paid you,” you said. “You know what? Why don’t you just go and leave me here by myself. That way you don’t have to hang out with the dumbass actress.”

“I never said you were a dumbass.”

“You literally said that thinking was difficult for me not two minutes ago. Maybe I don’t know every little thing about whatever the fuck badass shit you learned in murder school but I am not the helpless bimbo you think I am.”

“Do not trivialize taking a life. You have no idea what it does to you.”

“I know a thing or two. Don’t assume you know a thing about me.”

“I had a full background worked up on you. You never-”

“The summer I was a camp counselor? You remember reading about that in your little background check? Another counselor drowned at camp that year. I know a thing or two.”

“Drowning is not the same as-”

“You have no clue what I’m capable of.”

“What? You saying you did it?” he asked, crossing his arms at you.

“It was an accident. It could have happened to any single one of us,” you said. “Don’t use that whiny little bitch excuse for being a hardass. People die and sometimes it’s your fault. It doesn’t give you a free for all to be an ass.”

“An accident isn’t the same thing,” he said. He walked over and narrowed his eyes. “Inside. Now.”

“No. I should have followed my first instinct and fired you,” you said. You spun back around, barely getting a step in as strong arms wrapped around you and lifted you off the ground. “Hey! Put me down!”

“You’re a freaking idiot,” he said as he carried your squirming self back inside. He set you down at the table, shoving your shoulder when you tried to get up. “Eat and go to bed.”

“I’m not-”

“Do you have any idea why I’m a hardass? Why that might be? If I give a shit about you, I can’t do my job because then I’m going to worry. I’m going to worry about how you’re feeling and I don’t have time for that. You had a scare, fine. I calmed you down. Out here, you have to suck it up and deal on your own. I will keep you safe but we’re not friends. We’re a boss and employee and that’s it. Eat your damn dinner and go to sleep.”

He grabbed the bag with the remainder of the food and went into the other bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

“Dick,” you said quietly. Ten minutes later you were changed into your pajamas and crawled under the blankets, staring out the dark window. “I just wanna go home.”

You didn’t speak when you made your way into the kitchen the next morning. Jensen was sat at the table with some rugged looking laptop and a cup of coffee. It probably worked off a satellite if you had to guess. You poured a cup from the pot for yourself before heading outside with it. You walked over to the dock on the small pond nearby, staring out at the calm water as you sipped on the warm liquid.

“You didn’t kill anyone you know,” you heard behind you. You didn’t turn but did hear one of the boards creak. “Being unable to save a guy who shouldn’t have been out there in the first place doesn’t make you a murderer.”

“I was on lifeguard duty that day,” you said.

“Yeah. That day. You weren’t at work when it happened. No body made that guy go underage drinking and swimming in the middle of the night. In a thunderstorm.”

“We were all drinking. No one was paying attention to the storm. It was the first and last time I’ve ever been drunk.”

“It wasn’t your fault. It was no one’s,” he said.

“I know. You think I should get over it,” you said, wrapping your arms around yourself in the cool air.

“I was going to say, it wasn’t your fault but I get feeling responsible for things that aren’t your responsibility.”

“I guess,” you said. “You find out who this person is yet?”

“No. I’m going to be spending most of my time working at that. Don’t go too far from the cabin, alright?” he said. He began to walk away and you turned your head, looking him up and down.

“I thought you didn’t want me going outside,” you said.

“Not alone at night, no. You can’t see your surroundings. During the day, stay within eye sight of the cabin and I think it’s acceptable for you to be on your own a bit.”

“Jensen,” you said. He turned and looked at you, waiting for you. “If I pay you more will you at least try to be a little nicer like you were just now?”

“Listen to what I say and I’ll be the nicest guy in the world,” he said, heading back to the cabin. “You want breakfast, make your own.”

“Good chat, Jensen,” you said, shaking your head at him.

When you’d finished with your coffee you popped inside to put on some clothes better suited for outside. He gave you a quick glance before you slipped on some sneakers and had a hand on the door.

“Ah ah,” he said. The chair scratched against the floor and next thing you knew, he was right there, reaching into his back pocket. He held up a small little thing and pushed a button, flipping a blade out. “Switch blade. From now on, this doesn’t leave your side ever. I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night and you’re taking a piss. It goes with you.”

“Keep it with me. Understood,” you said. He put it in your palm and nodded.

“Open it.” You flipped it open and stared at him. “Where would you use it?”

“Maybe I’ll stab the guy in the dick. How’s that sound?” you asked. He smiled a little and looked away.

“Not a bad choice. Vulnerable points if you have time to think. Aim low. Up here, rib cage will try to do its job. It may hurt but not incapacitate. Down low, you got better odds. All else fails, just try to stab something.”

“I got it,” you said, slipping it into your pocket. He took hold of your arm as you started to leave and you groaned. “What now?”

“The keys to the truck are under the rock by the corner of the house. The flat one. If you have to get out of here for some reason and I can’t take you, you take yourself and don’t think twice,” he said.

“I understand,” you said.

“Well...enjoy your day,” he said. He dropped your arm and went back to his computer. You headed outside and started to explore before he could come up with even more rules for you to follow.

Four Hours Later

You were stood on the edge of the shore, trying to teach yourself to skip rocks on the water when you heard a rustling behind you. Your head shot back over your shoulder, Jensen wearing a strange smirk on his face.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“You’re not very good at that,” he said, picking up a flatter rock. “You need to flick your wrist more.”

“You know how to do everything, don’t you.”

“I spent more than a few summers here. Not a whole lot to do,” he said. “Got it all the way out to the catskills over there once.”

“You’re not worried about my lack of rock skipping skills,” you said. He shook his head and shot a rock out, getting a few skips off before he stood by your side. “I can take it. What’d you find out?”

“How often do you read in detail the contracts your manager gives you?” he asked.

“For my shows, word for word. Appearances, I skim sometimes. Why?”

“You sign anything with Boom stunt services lately?” he asked.

“I signed some insurance thing I think, so I could do a few stunts on the show,” you said. Jensen nodded and crossed his arms. “What?”

“Your manager lied to you. He thought you were getting stuck in a rut with your show, your wildly successful show, so he hired a stunt man, one you signed off on and agreed to fake kidnap you. Even the drugging part of it. To help your image. Make you appear strong but vulnerable. You actually got a lot of offers recently for good movies after what’s happened.”

“My manager…” you trailed off, balling your hands up. You stormed back towards the cabin, Jensen on your heels. “I’m gonna fucking kill him! What the fuck is wrong with him!”

“Technically, you did sign a document saying you understood the arrangement,” said Jensen. “But obviously not. Based on what I’ve found and saw happening before, there’s no credible threat against you. My suggestion would be a lawyer at this point.”

“Can you take me home now please, Jensen,” you said, squeezing your eyes shut.

“I’ll load up the truck. We’ll be back tonight.”

Later That Night

“Y/N,” said Jensen as you wandered straight over to your liquor cabinet when you got home. “He’s quitting and paying a substantial amount for you to not press charges as well as covering all of your moving costs and my pay. You don’t have anyone after you. I know it doesn’t feel like it but consider it a win.”

“I moved out of a house I loved that I can’t go back to, I’m far away from my friends, the one person in this industry I’m supposed to trust hurt me and this has been nothing but a complete waste of your time. I’m sorry, Jensen,” you said as you poured yourself a double.

“You didn’t waste my time,” he said as you sat on the counter, knocking back the liquor. He walked into the kitchen and took the bottle by your side, pouring himself a glass. He sipped his slowly, your head ducking down. “I would like to stay on as your bodyguard if you’ll allow it.”

“For what?” you asked.

“Protection for you, same as before. This time though, I’ll make sure to keep you safe from the people you trust,” he said. You raised your head, Jensen licking his lips. “Managers, agents, anyone. The only person I will trust is you. You let me be the asshole bodyguard, scrutinize the people you work with. This never has to happen again.”

“Why would you do that? You don’t like me,” you said. He finished off his glass and set it aside, stepping right in front of you and staring you in the eye.

“I don’t recall saying that.”

“We aren’t friends. We’re a boss and employee. Your words,” you said.

“I still don’t hear the words I don’t like you in there,” he said.

“I can’t trust you to take care of me, protect me, if I think you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

“I told you. It’s very difficult to do my job if I care about you,” he said. “But the situation has changed. The threat is smaller. Safer. I can be friendlier...if you don’t question when I ask you to do something. My job is to protect you. You have to trust that all I am ever trying to do is keep you out of harm’s way. If we can agree to that, we can find a good rhythm, one where you don’t even notice I’m there and one where I know you’re okay. The threat before might not have been real but it exposed a problem. As long as you are living alone, you need someone here, just in case.”

“We will negotiate a new contract, one I can end anytime I so choose, and will detail when and when not you are on the clock.”

“Negotiating with you will be fun,” he said with a smirk. “We have a deal?”

“Do you really think I need a full time bodyguard?”

“We can negotiate that,” he said.

“I’m serious.”

“I think powerful, pretty, single women should use the advantages available to them to protect themselves.”

“We’ll talk about it,” you said. He smiled and headed for his bedroom, your gaze following him as he walked out of view. “Jensen.”

“Yeah?” he said, popping back into view.

“We’ll figure out your new contract in the morning,” you said.

“Yes mam,” he said. “If you need anything else, you know where to find me.”

“Goodnight,” you said. He left and you lightly swung your feet, staring down at the hardwood floor. You hopped down and put the bottle back in the cabinet, taking a deep breath.

Nothing was wrong. Nothing at all.

But something still felt strange. You couldn’t put your finger on it. Maybe Jensen sensed it and that’s why he wanted to stay. But he wasn’t shy about coming out and telling you how it was.

You sighed and went to the freezer, taking out a pint of mint ice cream and heading upstairs to bed, hoping a night of sleep at home would put it out of your mind.

“No way,” you said as you sat back in your chair in your home office the following morning. Jensen was smirking from the other side of the desk and was leaned back in his own, your lawyer sat at the small sofa with his laptop and typing up what the two of you were going back and forth on. “When I am filming and appearances we agree on.”

“We already agreed on those. Now we’re negotiating the parts we don’t agree on.”

“I do not need a bodyguard on the weekends. I already compromised on the you being on at night thing,” you said.

“Well, I’m going to be living in that bedroom so-”

“Actually, you’re not,” you said. He raised an eyebrow and you sat up straighter. “I decided last night that seeing as how I don’t particularly like this house and Jared and Gen just moved, I’ll be moving closer to my friends. I saw a home last night with a small guest house in the back that would be perfect for you.”

“I might as well be living in a different home at that point. It-”

“It is connected to the main home. I thought you might appreciate your own space and to be frank-”

“You don’t look like a frank,” he said. You smiled a bit, Jensen’s grin growing.

“If we’re going to have a long term relationship, which considering the possible trajectory of my career this might very well be, I’m going to have to insist on you having a separate space for yourself. You will of course have full access to the main house at all times but if I have friends over or a date, I would like my privacy. I’m sure you would like your own,” you said.

“If we’re going to have a long term relationship, any of your friends or a potential boyfriend are going to have to learn to live with me being around. No exceptions. I will give you privacy but I will be staying in the main house. As for you moving closer to friends, I welcome it. They’re my friends too after all.”

“Let me pose a hypothetical question to you. Say I meet a guy, we date, he moves in with me. Are you going to continue to live in the main house?” you asked.

“That will depend on the circumstances of your life at that point but if he’s living with you, I would move into a guest house or suite,” he said. “I may possibly move to my own place entirely. As I said, it’s going to be highly dependent on your life at that time.”

“I can agree to that. But your bedroom in the main house will have some space from mine,” you said.

“Understood. I will keep my own personal excursions out of the home,” he said.

“Good,” you said. “Now back to the weekend thing.”

“I’ll compromise with you. I am off duty on the weekend but I reserve the right to protect you if I feel you’re in danger,” he said. “I will keep to a small area of the house on my off days for your privacy.”

“I appreciate that but I won’t enforce it if you choose to watch some TV in the family room. You being off duty on the weekends does mean that if I go out, you are following though,” you said.

“Compromise. If you go out and I want to go, I can but I don’t have to,” he said. “I can use my discretion.”

“What if I want to go out with my friends?”

“Go out with your friends. I may or may not come. I’ll stay away, let you enjoy your fun without me interrupting unless I see a threat. Deal?”

“Alright,” you said. “But I reserve the right to fire you on the spot for anything and I mean anything. Two weeks pay if I do.”

“Okay,” he said. You were surprised at how quickly he accepted that but he seemed indifferent. “It sounds like we have most everything settled.”

“Rob, can you send us both a copy of the contract for review then and-”

“Oh, I have something else,” said Jensen. “A little...requirement of mine.”

“We already discussed pay and benefits.”

“Those are fine. I’ve found in the past we don’t get along when you don’t listen to me. As part of our working relationship, you will take a self-defense course chosen by myself and you will learn the different things that if you do, will make your life safer and minimize the need for me. They are for both our benefits. One’s a short book and the other a two hour class. Is that acceptable?”

“Yes. Rob, write up our contract for us please,” you said. He said he’d have it by the end of the day and you slumped back in your seat, Jensen staring at you. “What?”

“Want to go pick out a house?” he asked.

“What?”

“You want to move. It’s Sunday. Open houses.”

“Rob’s already put in an offer on the place I mentioned,” you said.

“Oh. You don’t even want to see it?” he asked.

“The pictures seemed nice. I’ll renovate what I don’t like. I’m not moving again after this,” you said.

“Oh. Cool. I will pack up most of my things in the meantime,” he said as he stood up.

“It’s Sunday. You’re not at work right now. Do whatever you want, Jensen,” you said.

“New contract isn’t effective yet,” he said. “Besides, knowing you we’ll be in the new place in a week. Might as well be prepared.”

_______

A/N: Read Part 3 here!

#spn #supernatural #jensen ackles #jensen ackles au #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #au #bodyguard!AU #bodyguard!jensen #bodyguard!jensen x reader #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction

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tellthemeerkatsitsfine · 2 years

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I know I said I wasn’t going to add any more TV shows to my list, but then I saw something online about Comedians Giving Lectures coming back for a third season next week, and then I read about that show, and then I decided to go back on my plan to not start new TV shows for a while. It’s only 14 episodes, so not that big an addition to my list. And it just looked too good to pass up. Cool format, great list of guests across the episode, and Sara Pascoe.

I’ve watched the first four episodes of the first season. It’s a little different than I’d expected going in, because I’d pictures the guests spending some time on stage with each other, so you get a bit of the back-and-forth that make panel shows good. But once I realized that this wasn’t like that, I recalibrated my expectations and started enjoying it a lot. It’s much closer to a stand-up showcase than to a panel show - the three guests come out one at a time and each do an 8-ish-minute set on the topic they’ve been given. Sara Pascoe introduces them and does about 90 seconds of banter between sets. Then everyone goes home.

It’s great. I like a show that leaves a lot of room for creativity, where the format doesn’t constantly get in the way. And this one very much does that - they give the comedians a topic and then set them free for 8-ish minutes. This also means they have to stick almost exclusively to actual comedians in terms of guests. You can bring on a breakfast television presenter or reality TV star to do a carefully structured panel show, where they can play the panel game or answer the panel questions or whatever. But you need actual comedians if you want people to be funny for a sustained period of time while saying original things they’ve written. In the four episodes I’ve seen so far, they’ve had eleven stand-up comedians and Stephen Mangan, who’s quite a good comic actor. I know Joe Thomas appears in season 2 (I’ll be honest - the draw of Joe Thomas was part of what got me to add this show to my list, because Joe Thomas doesn’t do a lot of “as self” appearances and I don’t want to skip a rare opportunity to see one), so they’re open to having actors coming in sometimes, but they’re actors who do comedic roles and can be funny in their own right. I don’t mind the occasional non-comedian on a panel show, sometimes they can even be fantastic and better than some comedians (Claudia Winkleman), but in general, it’s nice to have a show where everyone on it is really funny and it’s not padded with other celebrities.

If I were the God of Television, I’d make a couple of changes to this format. For some reason they have “experts” who jump in after each lecture and comment on it, as though they’re actual lectures, and those don’t add much to the show. It seems like they’re just there to try to make it clearly that this is a show with its own structured format - a format of people being judged on how well they can give lectures - rather than just being stand-up. Because every show needs its “thing” that makes it stand out, I guess. But the experts are pointless and I think they should get rid of them. Replace it with the comedians having a minute or so to discuss each lecture among themselves. That would be cool.

But mostly it’s a good show. And the episode I’m about to watch has Chris Ramsey in it, which is good because Taskmaster season 13 starts in a few days (which is exciting!) and I have not seen many appearances by Chris Ramsey from the last five years. I remember him being a young floppy-haired guy on older episodes of 8 Out of Cats, but I don’t know much about what he’s done since, aside from cut his hair. Ed Gamble has said on the Taskmaster podcast that Chris Ramsey has a very competitive personality and will probably bring that to season 13, and I’m excited to see that, because the very competitive contestants are generally my favourites. Especially if you get more than one of them on a season together so they can clash with each other, and I think Sophie Duker’s pretty competitive too, so that could be fun.

Anyway, I’m glad I can see a little of Chris Ramsey on this show so I have an idea of what’s like before the new Taskmaster season starts. And I’m glad I downloaded this show generally. It’s been quite fun so far.

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fluffykitty1999-blog · 3 years

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Dog of the Military- Chapter 7

Chapter 7- Just this Once

"Get up, Fullmetal. Train leaves in an hour."

Roy came back into the room a little after seven, setting their train tickets down on the desk.

"Mmph." Ed mumbled something into his pillow.

"No, wake up time." Roy ruffled Ed's hair, and the boy sat up, eyes blinking open. He looked around hopefully. "Breakfast?"

Roy couldn't help the small smile on his face. "We'll get something on our way to the train. Someone left this at the front desk of the inn for you." Lieutenant Shaw, most likely.

Ed blinked sleepily, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

He instantly dug into his briefcase, thumbing through all the documents before realizing, with a small smile, that everything was as he left it. He grabbed a pair of clothes from the bottom and headed towards the bathroom.

Roy realized something, then. "Hey- Fullmetal- where is that information, anyways?"

"Somewhere safe. I'll give it to you soon." was all he said, before he was ducking into the bathroom.

Ed ducked out of the bathroom a quarter of an hour later, hair neatly braided and in a fresh set of clothes, he looked much better. Though Roy could imagine all the bandages hidden beneath his shirt.

Ed deposited several small bottles into his briefcase before shutting it carefully.

Roy blinked, surprised. "Did you just steal the hotel shampoo?"

"It's not stealing. It's included in the price of the room."

Roy smirked. "Let's get going." he headed towards the door.

"You said we can get breakfast?"

The train station was quite small, like most of the town. There was only really one small stall- an elderly woman selling sandwiches, lunches and dinners packed and ready to go.

The elderly woman seemed to think Ed was the most adorable thing, despite his blackened eye and scratches. Ed came back over with four bento boxes and a large sweetbun that was still warm, eating the entirety of the sweet roll as he sat beside Mustang on the bench and Mustang read his newspaper.

The train came pulling up later- it seemed they were the only ones on the first one. They settled into a closed compartment, before Ed went to work demolishing two of his four bento boxes in under half an hour.

Roy smiled slightly, about to make a crack about how much Ed ate for such a shorty- when he remembered Ed hadn't been fed anything for the past two days because of him. He kept his mouth shut.

Ed let out a relaxed sigh after he was done eating, before he was peering around, making sure there weren't many people up and about on the train.

He opened his briefcase, pulling out a pencil and a few blank pages, and digging around before he grabbed a screwdriver.

Ed took one last glance at the door of their train compartment before setting to work, unscrewing the first panel of his automail and then the second, the one right before the intricate innerworkings were revealed.

Mustang watched with vague interest- he'd never seen the inside of Ed's arm. Ed reached into the innermost compartment and withdrawing the small envelope, handing it over to Mustang.

"There it is. Your precious intel."

Mustang carefully slid the envelope open, examining the intel and watching from the corner of his eye as Ed re-installed the panels of his automail.

The intel was more than they needed- not only the details of troop movements, but the pictures of official documents and new weapons being issued...

Mustang swallowed. He was holding the key to his next promotion in his hand.

"It's all there?" Ed asked, looking over at him.

Mustang wordlessly nodded, sliding the envelope into his coat pocket.

Ed grabbed his pencil and papers, starting to write. The kid was starting to write his report, Roy realized.

After the first page in his report, Ed paused, setting down his pencil and resting his head in his hands for a moment. The kid looked tired.

The train jostled- it was by no means a gentle ride, bumpy and swaying a little.

"Feeling alright, Ed?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Roy reached into his other pocket, pulling out the small brown bottle of pills.

"The doctor said you might be in pain. He said to take some of these- you want some?"

Ed blinked. The train hit a rather painful bump, and Ed winced, before nodding, not bothering to open his eyes.

Roy shook two pills out of the bottle, handing them to Ed. Ed swallowed them dry, as the train swayed slightly, and Ed bumped against the wall and hissed...

"Why don't you come sit over here? It's a little less bumpy on this side." Roy was lying. But he figured if Ed sat next to him he might be able to make so the jostling wasn't so hard. And he wanted Ed to be close by for the conversation he was going to have.

Ed was sitting carefully so as to mind his injuries. He was silent for one minute, two...

"Edward. What did Colonel Banks do to you?"

Ed frowned. "Doesn't matter." he wasn't meeting Mustang's eyes.

"That's where you're wrong, Edward." Mustang gently put his fingers underneath Ed's chin, making the boy meet his eyes. "You are my subordinate, and I am your commanding officer. Which makes your health and well being my business. I care about you, Ed. And so I need to know."

His charcoal gaze met Ed's golden eyes, holding it for a minute to ensure his seriousness.

He sighed. "It started simple. He backhanded me, dragged me downstairs, slammed my face into a wall- barfight stuff. Threw me in a cage, kicked me around a little, said he wasn't letting me go until I gave him the information. I think I fell asleep for awhile."

"He hung me from the metal loops in the wall by my wrists. That sucked ass. Cigarettes. He burnt me. Shittiest part was trying to sleep. And when I finally did- still hanging from the wall- He threw a bucket of icewater over me. Threatened to... he said he was gonna take my clothes off and give me a full body search. Everywhere."

Ed couldn't hide the shudder he let out. "I lied- managed to keep him from hurting me... like that anyways. He cut me up with knives. Said he was gonna cut my fingers off if I didn't start telling the truth when he came back. But he... he never did. You showed up and got me." A smile of relief crossed his features.

"It sure took you long enough."

Roy frowned. "I wish I'd gotten there sooner, Fullmetal. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it. It all worked out." Ed said simply.

"You said all that he wanted was the information. Information that was of no consequence to you- he's your superior officer. Why didn't you just give it to him?" Roy asked.

"It was my information. I worked hard for it. You said it was gonna make a promotion for the next person who got it. I wasn't gonna give it to that bastard."

Roy frowned. "I never said that... to you." His eyes widened slightly. "You heard me, didn't you? On the phone with Hughes."

"So what if I did? It was my mission, and I chose who to trust the intel with. I'd rather you benefit from my results than that cocksucker Banks. At least I know you wouldn't do anything too awful with that kind of power."

Roy felt the emotions wash over him all at once. Guilt, mostly. Guilt that Ed had made sure the information came back to him and him alone, endured all of this, for Roy's sake. So the man could get his promotion. And a bit of shock- Ed swore regularly, of course, but he rarely used such vulgar terms- there was true hatred in his eyes when he spoke of Banks, though Roy understood why when he saw the treatment Ed had undergone at the man's hands.

"You might be a Bastard, Colonel. But Colonel Banks is a total shitstain." Ed hissed it with such venom, Roy was yet again surprised.

Ed blinked twice, looking a bit surprised. "Colonel- what was in those pills you gave me?"

"I'm not sure exactly. Are you in pain? Do you feel sick?" Roy fumbled to take the bottle from his coat pocket.

Ed shook his head slowly. "No- not hurting as bad, but... tired. My head feels heavy."

Roy looked at the label on the bottle and nodded. "Yes, it says here they can cause drowsiness. Small price to pay for the pain relief."

Ed looked irritated. "Yeah, but... try writing a report with a head this fuzzy." Ed squeezed both his eyes shut and blinked, as though trying to clear the fog from his mind. He looked across the train compartment at his bench, where his briefcase, pencil and paper sat waiting, along with his half-written report.

"Why don't you close your eyes for a little while, Ed?" Roy suggested. "That report can wait a little while. Besides, we don't have to switch trains- it's a straight shot back to Central."

"Alright. For a couple of minutes, I guess..." within fifteen minutes, Ed was asleep. The train ride had smoothed out some as well, and Roy felt a weight on him- Ed, fast asleep, leaning against him.

Roy sighed, scooting over and gently shifting the sleeping blond so the boy's head was in his lap. It was the best he could do at the moment in keeping the boy comfortable.

He pulled off one of his gloves, carding his fingers through Ed's straw-colored locks with affection he'd never show if the boy was awake, being careful not to brush against Ed's black eye.

"Rest up, Pipsqueak.". He couldn't keep that fond smile from his face as he looked down at the tired boy. He'd never had a son- never had a wife, even- but he vaguely wondered if this was what it felt like.

He looked over at Ed's half finished report. He'd give the boy an extension to turn it in- just this once.

Ah- I love writing Roy gently fathering Edward while trying not to stunt the boy’s fierce independence.

Obligatory ko-fi button https://ko-fi.com/fluffykitty12 .

#fma #fma fanfiction #Fullmetal Alchemist #fullmetal alchimist brotherhood #Roy Mustang #edward elric #Parental Roy #parentalroy #whumph #whump #hurt/comfort #hurt #comfort #dogofthemilitary #injury

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frustratedpoetwrites · 3 years

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter Characters: James Potter, Lily Evans Potter Additional Tags: Morning After, Goodbyes, Sharing a Shower, reluctant goodbyes Series: Part 2 of The Marauders Pub Soho Summary:

The morning after a night of passion Lily has to leave a soundly sleeping James, but she doesn't want to.

Lily lay staring at the skylight, and watched the patch of sky turn from black to indigo. She just gazed without moving, hardly even blinking as it gradually grew lighter and lighter. She had not been able to find any rest for more than a few brief snatches, as tired as she was. Her whole body zinged with electricity, her brain abuzz with everything that had happened last night and had continued to happen throughout the night. She glanced over towards the body sleeping soundly beside her, the sheets pooled around his waist showing his toned back. He had acquired some new tattoos in the six years since she had last seen him. When she’d remarked on the delicately detailed Lily that was now inked on his right side sweeping across his ribs, he had quipped back that it marked the spot where she had stuck her knife in him when she’d left him to pursue her career. That remark had stung more than she wanted to admit, even though she did deserve it.

She had told him last night she never wanted to leave his side again, and she had meant it. Especially at that moment, standing in the bar he basically built, surrounded by the memories of their childhood. Engulfed by the overwhelming scent of James himself. At that moment it had been so easy to say yes to all of his questions, say yes to coming here to his place instead of going back to her hotel as she had planned. She wished she could stay in this moment, with the old day finished and the new not yet begun. In this bed with this man forever. But all too soon she would have to leave. She needed to get on a plane in a few hours. If she didn’t, then any dream she had to live in London permanently would be gone.

She glanced around James's attic room trying to see if he even had a clock. She was amazed that he still lived like this. There was a rail for his clothes and a bed so low it was almost like the mattress was on the floor. That was it. She hoped he didn’t live like this all the time, but she suspected his life and energy was spent at the bar.

It had looked so beautiful, the large dark polished oak panels and the brass rail, the small stage with the piano sitting proudly. And all the pictures on the walls of their schooldays. It had always been his dream to run a bar, and the four Marauders had made it a successful reality, but she knew who had been driving it from day one, and she was incredibly proud of him for that.

She reached for her clutch bag and fumbled in it for her phone. It did not light up when she tapped the screen. Her battery must have died.

Fuck.

She glanced over at James, still sleeping soundly, and contemplated waking him, but she knew he was exhausted. She had wiped him out, she thought to herself, suppressing a giggle, it had been a wonderful night. He had not forgotten any of the things he used to do to make her whole body hum, and he had learned a few new things too she had discovered. His strength and stamina had greatly increased. Not that she had expected him to hold himself chaste for her, but she still had a pang of jealousy at the thought that other women had touched him, had been with her James. Had they asked about his tattoo? She always thought of him as hers, even though she hadn’t exactly expected to ever come back to him that day she had left. Any time before now when she had considered it she talked herself out of it because she was convinced he would be with someone else.

She rolled over onto her back again, and looked up at the skylight.

What time was it?

She’d hoped she wouldn't have to do this but she slid off the edge of the bed and took James’s phone out of the pocket of his jeans and opened it, shaking her head at the stubborn distrust for technology that meant he still used an old flip phone. Although at the moment Lily was grateful because she didn’t have to worry about unlocking it.

She tapped in the digits for her assistant's number as she crept into his ensuite, slipping on the dressing gown that was on a hook behind the door.

The phone rang just once before she heard an unsure “Hello?”

“Hey, Jess it’s me…”

“Lily!” came the scream, causing her to jump and nearly drop the phone. “Where the fucking hell have you been? I’ve been calling you all night. Your meeting has been moved up, you need to get to the airport right now!”

“What? Oh, fuck!” Lily took a breath and closed her eyes as her assistant kept rambling over the phone, talking so fast Lily could hardly understand them. “Jess, Jess, Jessie!” She tried to speak urgently and sharply without making too much noise. “I need you to bring me my bag and my suit, the green one. Put an extra pair of underwear in my bag.”

“I’m sorry, Lily, but your overnight bag won’t be enough, I've had to pack your suitcase, you’ll be staying for a week. They’ve sent a whole itinerary, but when we left Hong Kong I didn’t think to pack any of your formal wear. I’ve arranged for the concierge to book a fitting for after your first meeting, once you’ve checked in. Where are you anyway? I need to let Terrence know where we need to come and get you.”

Lily went to answer then realised she had no actual idea of the address. It wasn’t far from the bar, she didn’t think. But she had been interested in other things besides looking out the car window to notice what neighbourhood they were in. Lily looked up as the door to the bathroom swung open gently, revealing a conscious James leaning against the frame wearing only his battered looking jeans, his tousled hair framing his tired-looking face and his glasses perching on the end of his nose, as if they were mere moments from falling off.

She let the phone fall from her ear slightly as he continued to stare at her, a wry smile reaching only the edge of his lips.

“Something tells me you aren’t staying for breakfast.” His tone was light but she heard the resignation behind it. As she looked over at her childhood sweetheart, an idea struck her.

“Jess? You still there? Pick me up outside the Marauders’ Pub in Soho. Yeah? And Jess? I'm gonna need another plane ticket.”

“Well, okay boss but they are sending you a priv…..” Lily did not hear the last of her assistant’s words as she closed the flip phone and tossed it back to him.

“I can't believe you still use that antique.” He caught it deftly in his left hand and dropped it into his back pocket.

“I can’t believe I’m letting you dick around with my life again,” he replied, barely even trying to mask the disappointment.

“As much as I'd love to have this argument again, I really need you to pack yourself a bag. Do you have a good suit that fits you?”

He shook his head and blinked at her as she brushed past him to his rail of clothes and started looking through them. He still had some nice attire here, a lot of it she remembered from their life before.

“Lily, wait,” he called after her but she took no notice. She had no time. Already, in her head, she was mapping out what she needed to do. A whole week with these people. The one day originally planned would have been torture, but this... If she had back up maybe she could make it work. “Stop.” He placed a hand on hers as it rested on the next coathanger. She looked up into his gorgeous eyes as they shone with all the colours as his emotions played out across his face. He was always so expressive. “What are you doing?”

“I want you to come with me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not? You’re your own boss, you could take the time off. It’s not like you’re the only one in charge. What about Sirius? Or Remus? Or even Pete?” She paused, “Is Pete doing okay? I thought he wanted to go in a, erm, different direction but I saw his name up there with the rest of you?”

He sighed and rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “Pete is a silent partner, he helps out when he can but his wife made him join their family business, he helps by keeping them away.” His hand dropped to his side. “Lily I can’t afford to just drop everything, everybody else has other responsibilities, I’m the only one left to run it and I won't let it fail. My staff depends on me.”

“James, this is me telling you I don’t want to leave you again. I don’t want to go on this trip without you by my side, I could use someone in my corner. I could also use a devilishly handsome, charming, charismatic–” he raised an eyebrow at her seductive tone but didn’t stop her putting her hands on his chest, tracing the antlers that spread across them.

“My tattoos aren’t very corporate,” he murmured, his voice sounding deep and throaty. she shrugged in reply,

“You’d be surprised what people hide under their suits these days.” She told him with a twinkle, sobering when his lips thinned. “Please James. I need you.” She hadn’t realised how true those words were until she had spoken them to the universe.

“I’m sorry Lily, but my staff need me more. They rely on me.”

“So you’ve never taken a day off? Never had to call in sick?” Before he could answer her questions an idea struck her. “What if I pay your staff for the week? How much would that be?” He stood for a moment apparently stunned then started laughing and stepped away from her, sitting down on the edge of the bed. She tried not to look upset at his reaction to her suggestion. She stood watching him and waited for his mirth to subside.

“Oh, you are actually serious? You want to pay me so I will spend time with you?” He shook his head as his mirth still rippled through him. “This isn’t Pretty Woman and I’m not some, some...rentboy you picked up off the street.”

Now he sounded angry. James’ phone started buzzing in his back pocket. She had not thought that offering to pay his staff would equate to her hiring him as an escort service. Her brain hadn’t gone that way at all. She let him answer his call, as she rushed back to the bathroom for a much needed shower and tried to clear her head.

James may have skimped on bedroom furniture but he hadn’t skimped on his wet room. The shower was a walk-in style and big enough for four people, the naturally textured tiles on her feet were warm as she walked in, the large slabs of highly polished sand-coloured stone on the walls were so neatly fitted she couldn’t even see the joins.

Turning on the shower filled the room with hot steam and the reassuring splats of water droplets peppering the tiles. Stepping into it, she gasped at the pressure. It was like standing in a tropical rainstorm. She just stood there unmoving, letting the water rush over her enjoying the sensation as it beat down on her head.

“That was your PA on the phone. I gave them this address so you can leave from here.” James said as he stepped into the bathroom like they did this kind of thing all the time. “Thought you might want to have some fresh clothes to wear.”

“You really won’t come?” She asked, trying one last time. She forced herself to keep her eyes forward when she realised he was joining her by the sound of his jeans hitting the tiled floor.

Despite their recent intimacy, or perhaps because of it, being this close to his naked body turned her core white-hot. She tried very hard not to react as she felt his naked skin brush up against hers. His arm reached past and grabbed an unlabelled metal bottle from the small alcove. Then his fingers were in her hair and her nostrils were filled with the scent of an English summer garden.

“Is it okay that I join you in here? Thought it would save some time.”

“Yes, okay, it’s absolutely fine,” she tried to keep her voice as neutral as his but even she could hear the breathiness.

“I told your assistant I can’t, it’s not my scene at all,” he told her conversationally, as if he wasn’t standing butt naked behind her in the shower. He was trying to calm her down, trying to talk about what needed to be talked about. The fact they were taking a shower together didn’t seem to phase him at all. Determinedly, she tried to follow his lead.

“This is not me running away from you. I need you to understand that.” She hummed in pleasure as his fingers massaged deeper into her hair. “I’m sorry if I offended you, offering to pay.”

“I’m still not sure if I find it more funny or offensive,” he began. “I can’t say I’m not tempted to run away with you, but you know as well as I do how much of a distraction I would be. You need to be at your best. I will be fine, I’ll just have to trust you’ll come back. That you're not making me the poor jilted lover once more.” He told her. She wanted to tell him he didn’t need to worry, wanted to say all the things that she had agonised about saying as she lay awake beside him in his bed, but no words could adequately explain how she was feeling. So she turned and reached for him, pushing her fingers up across his stubble studded cheeks into his hair and kissing him soundly. Breaking the kiss he tilted her head back as his lips dragged kisses across her throat. She didn’t need to ask where his mind was right now, she could feel his arousal pressing against her stomach. All too soon her brain caught up with her and soundly put on the brakes. “Not that I don’t enjoy where this is going, but we need to stop.” She took a few quick breaths as his hands continued to soap her breasts. “I don’t have the time and I’m a little tender.”

“You were the one who started things, Evans. I was just helping you wash,” he said innocently, amusement dancing in his eyes. But he did take his hands off her body and even though she had asked him to, she mourned the loss of contact. “In all honesty, I don’t think I have it in me right now to perform at my best anyway.”

“Let’s just put this on pause for now then shall we?” She told him, giving him a gentle kiss, hoping he understood how much he continued to mean to her. Lily dipped her head to rinse the bubbles out of her hair. It felt like silk as she combed her fingers through it.

“What is that shampoo? It’s amazing!”

“It’s a prototype. Remus’ company makes it, the only thing that’s come close to making my hair behave. He’s made it his personal mission to tame it. He gives me a new formula just about every week.” He pointed to the small bathroom cabinet above the sink. “The conditioner’s in there, it's one you have to leave in. I put towels on the hook.” She stepped aside once she was rinsed, letting him have the full force of the shower.

“Does he always make it smell like flowers?”

“Yup.” She expected him to elaborate but when he didn’t she just let it go and stepped out of the shower. She found the small spray bottle in the cabinet simply labelled conditioner and scrunched some into her hair as she watched James wash his. The bubbles slid down his frame in ways that made her wish she could just step back in there with him.

Lily wished she could continue to stare at him but her logical brain was kicking in to tell her all that she still had to do. Moving back to the bedroom, she twisted her hair up out of the way while she looked for anywhere he would store things. There wasn’t even a cupboard in the bedroom so she padded her way through to the living space. She barely remembered it from the night before, and she was stunned at how minimally he lived.

It was a beautiful apartment, the exposed red brick looked amazing with the warm honey-coloured wooden floor. The living space was a good size for London, the kitchen looked brand new with a wooden worktop that matched the floor and clean white cupboards. She spotted the coffee machine, and hunted in the cupboards to see if he had any beans, suppressing her irritation when every one was empty.

The more she looked around his place, the less it felt like he lived here at all. There was a giant modular brown leather sofa taking up the majority of space in the living area, a coffee table that looked like it was made out of granite, and a giant tv on the wall.

“What is this place to you James Potter?” She mused as she looked around. She was tempted to start rummaging in drawers (if there were any) but it felt like possibly a step too far for now.

The intercom buzzed impatiently making her jump guiltily and nearly drop her towel. As she stared at the white box on the wall and wondered how to operate it James came striding out of the bedroom holding a hand towel around his waist, hair still dripping. He lifted the receiver then buzzed to let the person come up. “It’s your assistant.” He explained before vanishing back to the bedroom.

Lily stood looking through the peephole until she saw her assistant's blonde head appear from the stairs.

She opened the door and ushered them in quickly. Taking the bag from them awkwardly with one hand.

Jessie looked around and hummed appreciatively. “This is nice, you could do a lot with this place. When are they moving in?”

“I don’t know,” Lily replied quietly. “I’m going to go change. Can you play nice with James, please? It would be great if you two get on.”

“Well I’ll behave if he will,” Jessie swept an invisible strand of hair out their face before relenting to Lily’s reproachful look. “Alright, alright. When we spoke on the phone they were pleasant so I can be too.”

“Great, I’ll be super quick,” as she made her way back into the bedroom James stepped out wearing that same pair of jeans he seemed incredibly fond of and one of his many black Marauders Pub t-shirts. He put out a hand to stop her as she tried to slip past him.

“I’m going to get out of your hair,” he said quietly. She could tell by the tone he didn’t want to be here when she left, didn’t want to be the one left waving by the door. She understood that in an instant, saw it in his sad eyes, and the hesitant touch he placed on her arm.

“Okay.” With a glance at her assistant she walked him back into the bedroom. “This was not how I wanted this to go,” she said, keeping her voice down once she knew they were alone.

“Saying goodbye brings back bad memories,” he told her shuffling his feet and running a hand through his hair. “I want to believe you're coming back this time.”

“Of course I’m coming back. I’ll call you, every day. But could you do something for me?” She asked, reaching to snake her arms around his neck.

“Can you get yourself a new phone so we can video chat?”

“Yes, Evans I think I can manage that,” he told her, leaning down to kiss her goodbye for the last time.

#jily #james potter #lily evans #barman james #business boss lily #tj writes #jily fanfiction #jily fic #slightly mature #there is a shower scene #but no smut

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singledarkshade · 3 years

Text

Life Lessons

Summary: “There are times when it will be required for you to work with your fellow Time Masters to complete your mission.” Rip's first experience of working in a team does not go well. Author’s Note: Day 4: “One person acting alone can’t save the world.” – This is all about the team and Rip’s relationship to it, maybe it’s the one Rip built, but it could be an entirely different one, or just the people he’s met along the way. ********************************************* It had been a long day, and the two-hour lecture Time Master Keegan was giving on the history of fabrics used during the Victorian era seemed endless. Rip squirmed, it felt like his back had been fused to his chair and could see Andreas beside him looking just as uncomfortable.

“Any questions?” Keegan asked suddenly, turning the lights up making them all blink.

No one raised a hand, and they were all poised to leave the lecture theatre when Time Master Hadden walked in.

“Stay in your seats,” she ordered sharply.

The entire class grimaced but remained seated waiting as Hadden and Keegan spoke for a few moments.

“Time Masters work alone,” Hadden stated as she stood in front of them, “But there are times when it will be required for you to work with your fellow Time Masters to complete your mission. You will be placed in teams for a training mission tomorrow, your teams will be released later this evening and you must all be ready to leave first thing. Dismissed.”

Finally released Rip grabbed his tablet and started towards his room. He wanted to do some work on his project before the evening meal, as afterwards he had time booked in the flight simulator.

“So,” Coburn appeared at his side as he left the lecture theatre, “What do you think about tomorrow’s sudden training mission?”

Rip grimaced as she looked at him with big brown eyes filled with amusement and stated coolly, “I think it’s a chance for us to all show what we’ve learned.”

She chuckled, “Wouldn’t it be fun if we were on the same team?”

“Not really,” Rip replied without thinking.

“Hunter, I’m hurt,” Coburn laughed.

Rip sighed and turned to face her, “You never listen, you’re constantly ignoring the rules and I don’t trust you’d work with the rest of the group.”

She stared at him for a moment before she laughed, “You say the sweetest things.” With a smile she gave him a pat on the shoulder, “See you later.”

Confused and irritated, as was the norm when he had a conversation with Cadet Coburn, Rip headed to his room.

The room he had within the Time Master Academy was starkly different from the one he’d had at the Refuge and there were days he missed being there deeply. But, as Time Master Druce reminded him the day he’d arrived at the academy, not to mention every time Rip saw him before that day, Rip had been chosen for a higher purpose which meant he had to leave the safety of his childhood, and Mother, in order to fulfil that purpose.

Connecting his tablet to the main console to download all the work from the day, he changed out of his uniform before sitting at his desk and opened the message he kept easily accessible.

“Michael,” his mother said appearing on the screen before him, “I cannot tell you how proud I am of you. When you first came to me, that little boy who was wild and kept trying to run away, I always knew that one day I would have to say goodbye. I know that you are on your path to become a Time Master and I know that you will do wonderful things. I don’t get to see my children after they leave and I know that is for the best, but I want you to always remember that I am extremely proud of you, Michael.”

Freezing the picture to look at the woman who had taken him in and loved him, Rip wondered if any of the others missed their childhood homes and the mothers or fathers who had raised them.

Or if he was just broken because he did.

The door chime interrupted his musings and he quickly turned off the message before opening the door.

“Time Master Druce,” he snapped to attention.

Druce gave him a smile, “There is no need for that, Rip. This is not an official inspection.”

Stepping back Rip allowed his mentor into the room, “What can I do for you, sir?”

“Regarding tomorrow’s exercise.” Druce told him, “I want to remind you that I have high expectations. This exercise is very important for your future as a Time Master. Do you understand, Rip?”

Nodding Rip replied softly, “Yes sir.”

Standing Druce nodded, “Don’t let me down,” before he walked out leaving Rip alone again.

As his mentor left, Rip let out a sigh. He wanted to live up to Druce’s expectations, the man had saved his life and brought him to a place where he could be something so much more than the street trash he had once been. Druce had given him a mother who loved him and taught him that he was so much more than he’d ever thought he could be.

Rip couldn’t let him down.

Checking the time, Rip headed to the dining room to have his evening meal.

The dining room was full when Rip stepped inside, he chose his meal and drink before looking for a place to sit. To his annoyance Coburn was sitting at the closest table and looked up, waving him over. As there was little other choice for sitting, Marcus or Cannon appeared to be the only others with a space beside them, Rip went with the lesser of the evils.

“The team lists are out,” Coburn smirked at him the moment he sat at her side, “And guess what?”

Glancing at the courier on his wrist, he saw the message and sighed when he scanned the list.

“We’re on the same team,” Rip grimaced.

Coburn smiled, “We work well together, Hunter you know that.”

Rip grimaced, annoyed because she wasn’t wrong. The last time they’d had to work together they received the highest marks within the class, but Rip found she distracted him constantly. When she twirled her glossy raven hair around her fingers, the way her deep brown eyes sparkled when she hit on an answer and the way her soft pink lips quirked in amused smiles that she threw at him, Rip watched unable to tear his eyes from her.

The weight of Druce’s expectations made it worse, he knew he couldn’t be distracted by her during the mission and Rip couldn’t ask to change teams, or he would have to explain why.

He couldn’t tell them the reason because he wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

Doing his best to ignore her, Rip ate his meal looking forward to getting to spend some time in the flight simulator.

Rip loved to fly.

Even in the simulator he had the feeling of freedom he’d craved from childhood and looked forward to the day he had his own ship.

“You know at this angle you’ll probably get caught in the atmosphere,” Coburn’s amused voice made Rip grimace.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, “I have this time booked.”

She slid into the seat at his side and shrugged.

“Then go away,” he snapped at her trying to focus again.

Coburn chuckled, “Why are you like this?”

“Like what?” he demanded confused.

“Wound so tight,” Coburn clarified, “We’re learning to travel in time, Hunter. To save people and the timeline. It’s an amazing thing but you’re always so serious. Do you ever have fun?”

Rip shifted uncomfortably in his seat at her demand, “When I was a child, of course. But we’re adults now and being a Time Master is not something to be taken lightly. It’s a serious duty we’ve been given, it’s not fun.”

She moved closer to him, and Rip was caught by her eyes, deep brown pools that were filled with amusement and something else.

“We’re not robots,” Coburn whispered softly, making Rip’s eyes drop briefly to her soft pink lips, “We’re allowed to have some fun every so often.”

Before Rip could retort she touched her lips to his in a soft kiss. Stunned Rip froze for a moment before closing his eyes and leaning into it, his hand moving to cup her cheek. Realising what they were doing, Rip pulled back finding Coburn smiling at him with sparkling eyes.

“Definitely not a robot,” she whispered, “I’ll see you in the morning, Rip.”

*********************************************

By the time his alarm sounded, Rip had already been up for over an hour. He ran around the track several times before grabbing a quick breakfast and was one of the first standing ready at the muster point.

His team consisted of himself, Coburn, Radley, and Johns. Rip didn’t know Radley or Johns well and would have preferred people whose abilities he knew to work with, but he also knew he had no choice.

“Good morning,” Time Master Hadden appeared at the front of the room, “You have all been assigned your teams and your missions have been sent to your couriers. Each team will be timed on how long it takes for you to complete your mission in addition to how well you work together as a team.”

Rip scanned the mission parameters as they waited their turn, doing his best to ignore Coburn at his side. His night had been filled with dreams of her and what had happened in the simulator, it was one of the reasons he’d been up so early.

“Team six,” Hadden called to them, “Follow me.”

Rip walked with his team to a Jump Ship that was waiting for them.

“Cadet Hunter,” Hadden said, “You are the best pilot of the group, so you will fly the ship to the co-ordinates given. Once there the ship will power off, you must complete your mission by ensuring the package in the hold reaches the final co-ordinates where you will be met and returned to the Academy for your grade.”

With that said she left.

Rip slid into the pilot’s seat and activated the systems, “Everyone strap in.”

He frowned slightly when Coburn took the seat beside him but said nothing. Checking the coordinates, he activated the engines and took them into the time stream. A few seconds into their journey, an alarm began to sound.

“What’s wrong?” Johns demanded.

“The ship isn’t responding,” Rip frowned, as he tried to get the system back online.

Coburn unhooked herself and ran to the engine access, yanking open the panel, “We’re in trouble.”

“What’s wrong?” Rip yelled back.

“It’s shutting down early,” Coburn replied as she tried to fix then engines or at least keep them going until they reached their coordinates.

Rip grimaced, “Bollocks, can you do a bypass?”

“While we’re in flight,” Randel cried in horror, “A bypass is only done when the ship is stationary.”

“Well, we’ll be stationary when we crash,” Rip retorted before demanding, “Coburn, can you do it?”

“Give me two seconds,” she replied before calling, “Done.”

Hang on,” Rip yelled as he managed to activate the engines for a few seconds so he could get them out the time stream, the entire ship shuddered but exited and Rip let out a small sigh relieved that he brought them out at the right place. Unfortunately, the main engine began to fail as Rip started them down to land. Fighting with the controls, Rip did his best to keep them level as they headed towards the ground.

“We’re going to crash,” he yelled, “Hold on.”

A second later the ground rushed into the ship, they bounced three times before skidding to a halt.

Rip groaned as he undid the restraint, falling onto the console in front of him. His ribs felt bruised, but he was sure they weren’t broken and although he was a little shaken Rip knew he wasn’t injured.

“Is everyone alright?” Rip called.

“Fine,” Randel and Johns replied.

One voice was missing, and Rip yelled, “Coburn?”

“I have a slight problem,” she replied, pain filling her voice.

Rip turned and swore seeing her laying on the floor, a piece of metal stuck into her side and blood pouring from the wound. Reaching for the medical kit, Rip swore again to discover it was missing. Yanking off his jacket, Rip dropped onto the ground beside Coburn and pressing it against the wound to try to stem the flow of blood.

“Where are we?” Randal asked dazed.

“We’re on the right planet,” Johns reported checking the instruments, “But miles away from the rendezvous point.”

Rip grimaced knowing that meant they were a long way from help, but if they packed the wound and made a stretcher then they could carry her to safety.

“Our cargo is intact,” Randel noted from the back, “But it is big.”

Rip leaned back to glance at what Randel had found, keeping pressure on Coburn’s wounds at the same time and winced. They couldn’t carry both her and their cargo.

“Leave it,” Rip told them, “We put together a stretcher for Coburn and get her to safety, then we can come back for it.”

Randel and Johns stared at him before Randel said, “No.”

Rip frowned at him, “We can’t carry both. That thing would take two of us to carry it at the very least and we need two of us to carry Coburn.”

“Then we leave her,” Randel stated.

Anger filled Rip, “She could die without help.”

“We’ll send someone back for her,” Johns told him, “But we have to get this to the coordinates.”

Rip glared at them, “Then you’re doing it without me.”

“We’ll manage,” Randel told him, “Once we reach the coordinates then we’ll send someone back for you.”

“They’re right,” Coburn murmured, “You should complete the mission and send help back to me.”

Rip shook his head, “No, I’m staying with you.”

Randel and Johns shrugged before they lifted their cargo, leaving Rip alone with their injured teammate.

“You should have gone with them,” Coburn said softly while Rip checked the ship for emergency rations.

Rip frowned at her, “And leave you here to die?”

“I’d be fine until you sent someone for me,” she said, letting out a grunt of pain when she moved slightly.

“Stay still,” Rip snapped at her, “I’ve managed to stop the bleeding for now but if you move it could start again.”

She closed her eyes for a moment before smiling, “I knew you liked me.”

Sitting at her side, Rip gently placed the canteen he’d found to her lips, tipping it so she could drink.

“You’re delusional,” Rip shook his head.

Coburn chuckled again, “Was what happened last night a delusion?”

Rip dropped his eyes feeling warmth cover his neck.

“Hey,” she took his hand, “Rip, it’s okay to care what happens to me. And I’m grateful you stayed.”

Looking down at their adjoined hands, Rip smiled softly, “You can thank me by annoying me less.”

“Where would the fun be in that?” she chuckled.

“Coburn,” he sighed, frowning when she jerked his hand, “What?”

“You know my name, Rip,” she whispered.

Licking his lips, Rip said softly, “Miranda.”

“That wasn’t so hard,” Miranda smiled at him, “Was it?”

He shrugged and shook his head.

“I guess we’re working as a team,” Miranda noted amused.

Rip nodded, “We just have to hope the others make it to the coordinates fast.”

Miranda nodded, and he noticed that she was beginning to shiver. Since there was no emergency kit, there were no blankets he could use to keep her warm, and his jacket was being used to stop the bleeding, Rip wrapped his arm around her and hugged her close.

She cuddled into his shoulder murmuring, “You make a good pillow, Rip.”

Rip smiled, “I’ll add it to my list of skills.”

Miranda slipped into silence and Rip held her while they waited for help, relieved when the rescue team finally arrived.

*********************************************

Rip left the medical bay and as ordered, headed directly to Druce’s study. Taking a deep breath, he hit the chime and waited.

Time passed and finally after twenty minutes the door opened. Rip walked in seeing his mentor sitting looking distinctly unhappy.

“Cadet Hunter,” Druce stated, letting him know that this was an official meeting, “Your performance for today’s test has been evaluated and you have failed.”

“What?” Rip demanded surprised, slamming his mouth shut when Druce stood.

“You did not complete the mission you were given,” Druce reminded him, “And therefore did not pass the test.”

Rip stared at him, “But Cadet Coburn was badly injured? And the test was in regards to working as a team?”

Druce shook his head, “What is the one thing I have always told you? What have I impressed on you since day one?” When Rip hesitated, Druce finished, “Time Masters always complete their mission no matter what.”

“She could have died,” Rip whispered.

Druce shook his head, “It doesn’t matter. People die. Time Masters protect time above everything, and your mission must always be your priority.”

Rip stood in silence, not sure what to say.

“You’re dismissed, Rip,” Druce stated sharply before adding, “I am extremely disappointed in you, and I hope you have learned your lesson from this.”

Rip nodded, “I have.”

Druce motioned him to leave and as Rip walked out Druce stated, “I never want to be disappointed by you like this ever again, Rip. Ensure I’m not.”

The doors closed before Rip could reply and he headed back to his room feeling utterly demoralised.

The chime on his door jolted Rip from his musing.

He had been sitting on his bed thinking, Mother would call it sulking, for several hours now. Even missing the evening meal because he didn’t want to face the rest of the class.

“It’s me,” Miranda’s voice came through the door, “Can I come in?”

With a sigh he hit the button to open the door before taking his seat again, Miranda walked in, and the door closed behind her. He quickly checked her over to make sure that she was healed, relieved to see she seemed fine.

“Can I..” she motioned to the spot on the bed beside him.

Rip sighed, “If you want.”

Miranda slid onto the bed, “I heard that you failed. Sorry.”

Rip sighed before realising, “Sorry you did too.”

“Actually,” she winced, “Because I told you to leave me, I passed.”

Rip laughed bitterly, “Of course you did.”

They sat in silence for several minutes, Rip was wondering why she was still there, surprised when Miranda slipped her hand into his.

“Thank you for staying with me,” Miranda whispered, “I was terrified.”

Turning to her, Rip asked, “Really?”

“Oh, I would never let anyone else know that,” Miranda told him, “But…” she paused and squeezed his hand, “I trust you.”

Swallowing hard at how close she was to him, Rip breathed, “I trust you too.”

Miranda rested her forehead against his, Rip lost himself in her deep brown eyes and found himself moving closer. Without thought, Rip rested his hand on her cheek as their lips met. Rip felt Miranda smile against his lips and wrapped his arms around her pulling her close, not caring about anything else for now as they fell back onto his bed lost in one another.

#fic #ripfic #legends of tomorrow #Rip Week 2021 #Rip Week #Rip Hunter #Miranda Coburn #Zaman Druce #Time Masters

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astraeagreengrass · 4 years

Text

illicit affairs [the woods 2/4]

No one ever tells you that picking up the pieces takes longer than shattering them

Word Count: 3.657

Warnings: heavy angst, mentions of death and death-related themes, descriptions of a memorial service.

A/N: Thank you to every one that sent me some love on exile! I'm truly grateful for your comments and I hope you like what's coming up on this story. Special thanks to the always wonderful @xbuchananbarnes for helping me out with this. The banner picture was found here. Dividers are from @writeyourmindaway ♡

and you know damn well for you, i would ruin myself a million little times

Working for Nick Fury sometimes made you sick to your stomach.

"That's very old school of you," you said, taking a sip from your coffee. The styrofoam cup was hot to the point of almost burning your fingertips, but having something on your hands kept you from twisting them nervously.

Nick raised an eyebrow - the one you could see, at least - and drank from his own cup.

"Your father always said I had a flair for the dramatic."

"Humph," you muttered as Nick rolled down the steel door of the storage unit. "Do you think he would believe your conspiracy theory?"

He shrugged, black leather duster coat swooshing in the wind.

"Your father was a soldier and a spy," he stated. "One of the best, I must say. He believed in his orders as long as he could question them. So yes, I think he would engage my conspiracy theory, as you put it."

You refrained from comment. That was Nick's way: mention your father enough times to instigate your grief, just enough to loosen your morals. The shame was on you for allowing him - even if his suspicion of an undercover plot inside S.H.I.E.L.D. fascinated your curiosity.

“Can I ask what made you start questioning your own Agency?” you mumbled under your breath as you and Nick made your way to his SUV. The sun was slowly dragging it’s hues across the inky sky, the stars fading as the golden light came to be.

“When Stark hacked the Helicarier’s systems there were some… Inconsistencies,” Nick replied. “Which naturally spiked my curiosity.”

“Naturally,” you smirked.

“I suppose I don’t have to tell you that this is not an official assignment, Agent Y/L/N,” he said.

“No, sir,” you shook your head.

“Good,” he pressed a button and the car doors unlocked. “Besides, I’m sure Captain Rogers’ presence in Washington will… Stimulate the inconsistencies we’re looking for.”

“Shit,” you cursed. “That was today?”

Nick tapped the clock on the car’s navigation panel.

“He’ll be at headquarters at nine. I expect you to be there.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” you said. “I’ve just had a lot on my mind.”

Nick nodded.

“How is your grandmother?” he asked. “Is the treatment working?”

“She’s doing a round of chemo every forty days,” you clicked the seat belt tip in the buckle. “She’s stable, but, you know, it’s cancer. I visit her every weekend, though.”

“Are you sure you can’t convince her to move to the city?”

“Nope,” you shook your head. “She’s never gonna leave the woods, Nick. Can you even imagine my grandmother living in D.C.?”

A discreet smile played in the corner of your boss’ lips.

“I couldn’t imagine you living in D.C., yet here you are.”

You didn’t reply, choosing to sip your coffee instead. Nick turned the radio on as he drove off the storage lot and a playlist of Stevie Wonder’s greatest hits was your soundtrack on the journey back to the city. Daylight was high in the sky when the SUV reached the Triskelion, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s colossal headquarters sitting right in the middle of the Potomac.

It was just past seven, but already the premises were bustling with people. You supposed that’s what happens when a superhero starts his first day on the job - people show up early, wearing their best clothes and flawless makeup.

“What the hell,” Nick muttered. “This is an Intelligence Agency, not a fashion show.”

You stifled a laugh.

“You can’t complain about motivation in the workplace now, boss.”

Nick shot you a dirty look.

“My office. Nine A.M. Don’t be late.”

You mock saluted him then went on to find some breakfast.

Natasha Romanoff’s memorial service was held on a balmy December morning, at a Christian Orthodox church in Brooklyn.

All the time you’ve known her, Natasha had never mentioned religion and you were positive that she would’ve cracked two or three jokes about the priest’s monotonous speaking if she were there. Only she wasn’t, and all she left behind was a handful of grieving acquaintances.

There was no body to keep vigil over or bury. In between the thousand of unsaid words between you and Steve, the subject of Natasha’s death lingered. He tried to explain, as he did to so many other things, and maybe you would’ve understood if you just tried to be better at listening - tried harder to make sense of the incredible mess reality had become. Apparently it’s not easy to retrieve a corpse when the person actually died on an alien planet almost ten years ago.

Natasha’s beautiful face smiled at you from a portrait sitting at the altar. Her hair was longer, cascading down her shoulders in fiery red waves that curled into blonde ends. The shadow of a smile on the corner of her lips couldn’t elude the sadness lingering in her eyes. Even so, she hadn’t aged a day since the last time you saw her, in a time so distant it felt foreign, as if it belonged to someone else’s existence instead of your own.

Remembering 2016 felt like being dunked in ice water. Like the time you jumped into the frozen pond in the woods and opened your eyes underneath the stream, catching the twisted, milky sunlight. Looking back at that life - so peaceful despite all the trouble that surrounded it - was equally as numbing.

It was announced to the general public that the woman known as Black Widow bravely sacrificed her life during what was now being called the Battle of the Earth. Yet, when Steve called two days earlier saying that there would be a private service for Natasha's family members, you wept - not so much because a service meant that she was well and truly gone, but because she thought you were her family.

You met her at S.H.I.E.L.D., of course. Even before you crumbled to dust, you’d constantly wonder how different things would’ve been if you’d never let stupid Jimmy Rodriguéz’s words get to you. If you’d just ignored his taunts instead of hacking S.H.I.E.L.D’s database just to prove him you were smart enough to do it, maybe then an old friend your father never bothered to mention wouldn’t have come to your house in the middle of the night, saying that if you could bypass government-patented digital security, then you should move to D.C. and work for him. You would’ve never left the woods, never traded it for the tangled webs of secrets and deceptions a job as an intelligence programmer proved to be.

Perhaps then you wouldn’t be here, sharing a pew with Steve Rogers - the only man you’d ever loved and probably ever would. Perhaps you would’ve met someone else: a nice, normal, maybe even a tad boring guy, but you wouldn’t care because you wouldn’t be very interesting either - just a nice, normal, maybe even a tad boring girl. And the two of you would be ordinary, kissing goodbye in the morning and hello in the evenings, with the ever present assurance that this was how things were meant to be. Not the tragic tale of love and loss you shared with Steve.

You didn't wait for him to walk you out of the church when the service was over, yet your plan to flee without an awkward farewell misfired at the sight of Nick Fury by the door. He looked exactly like he always did - black leather eyepatch, black leather duster coat, seemingly plucked from your thoughts.

"Y/N," he greeted you, evidently surprised although only someone who's spent as much time around him as you had would catch it in the tone of his voice. "How are you?"

"Good," you replied, way too quickly. "Fine."

Nick nodded, then turned to the blonde woman next to him.

"Carol, this is Agent Y/N Y/L/N," he introduced you. "Y/N, this is Captain Carol Danvers."

"Former agent," you corrected, shaking the hand Carol extended. She had a gentle, but strong grip. Noticing her gaze looking up, you turned around to find Steve approaching.

"Carol, Nick," he acknowledged them, then said to you: "You ready to go?"

You nodded, whispering a quiet "goodbye" before allowing Steve to lead you outside.

"Thanks," you muttered when you reached the open air. Even New York's polluted breeze was more refined than the stifling atmosphere inside the church and you inhaled deeply.

"No problem," he smiled. "I was hoping we could talk. You know, if you had the time."

You had all the time in the world, or so it seemed these days. Almost two months had dragged by since you woke up on the floor of your apartment and every minute seemed to make up for the years you missed. You weren’t working or even living in the old building in Bushwick anymore - Cal and Daniel, the father and son duo that first aided you, were. You were just going through the motions.

No one tells you that picking up the pieces takes longer than shattering them. No one bothers saying that when they break, they scatter, and compiling whatever’s left is a perverted scavenger hunt.

“There’s a coffee shop over there,” Steve pointed to a row of storefront across the church parking lot when you hesitated to give him an answer.

You shook your head, trying to scare off the white noise that always seemed to pester you.

“Sure,” you said, wondering if in your alternate life you’d know how to say no to Steve Rogers.

“So, you've experienced this sort of thing before?” Nick said.

“You get used to it,” Steve replied, looking down at the gravestone. Carved on the marble were the words: Col. Nicholas J. Fury, The path of the righteous man. Ezekiel 25:17.

“We've been data-mining HYDRA's files,” Nick continued. “Looks like a lot of rats didn't go down with the ship. I'm headed to Europe tonight, wanted to ask if you'd come.”

Steve shook his head.

“There's something I gotta do first.”

“How about you, Wilson?” Nick turned to Sam. “Could use a man with your abilities.”

“I'm more of a soldier than a spy,” he replied, resolute.

“Alright then,” Nick sighed and you thought he was honestly disappointed. He shook Steve and Sam’s hand and said: “Anybody asks for me, tell them they can find me right here.”

He turned to walk away but halted when he saw you approach. It was the first - and only - time you saw him wearing anything other than the black duster coat and you were surprised to find him affable, rather than alien.

He pointed to the file in your hands.

“How many favors did you have to call in order to get that?”

“A few,” you smiled. “Turns out I still have some friends in Kiev.”

Nick snickered, a whisper of a laugh so discreet that it faded almost instantly in the breeze.

“And you’re sure you’ll pull on that thread? With Hydra out in the open and Congress breathing down your neck?”

His real question was implicit: was your relationship with Steve Rogers worth the trouble?

“I’m sure,” you said, clutching the thick manila folder that contained information on the Winter Soldier.

Beyond the dark disguise of his sunglasses, you caught Nick’s gaze - and you were sad that things ended this way.

“Be safe, Y/N,” he offered.

Nick Fury was out of the graveyard and your life before you could wish him the same.

"I'm sorry I didn't call for a while," Steve apologized as soon as the young waitress left your table with your orders scribbled on a notepad. "I had to leave town for a few days."

You nodded, picking a napkin from it's holder in the center of the tiny corner table where you and Steve sat.

"It's okay," you said. "I know you have stuff to do."

He was still, after all, Steve Rogers. You never tricked yourself into believing you were his priority, instead accepted in your heart that you would always be second to The Avengers, Peggy Carter, Bucky Barnes and whatever else Steve set his eye on and it was fine. You'd be the second place as long as you could be something.

"I went back to return the stones," he added. "Bruce managed to repair the quantum tunnel, so Sam and I volunteered to go back and put them in place."

Back. As in the past.

"Okay," you repeated, because your recent conversations with Steve constantly left you lost for words, with all the information about time travel and elemental crystals from outer space. "Did everything go alright?"

"Yeah," he clasped his hands in front of him, and his colossal frame made the wooden chair he sat in look even smaller. "I saw Peggy."

You looked up from your staring match with the napkin, astounded.

"Really?" your tone was clipped and Steve noticed. Throughout your relationship, Steve's former flame was the unmentionable, the firing pin in the granade. Even if you had accepted the silver medal, it didn't mean it wasn't agonizingly painful to know you'd never shine bright in Steve's eyes like Peggy's gold standards.

"In 1970, at Camp Lehigh," he rubbed his forehead. "She didn't see me, of course, but I saw her. There were a bunch of pictures on her desk - her kids, her husband, one of myself before the serum..."

"Why are you telling me this?" you interrupted him, napkin now balled up in your fist.

"I don't know," Steve shrugged. There was a light pink blush crawling up his neck. "Shit, I don't know why I thought this would be a good way to start what I need to say to you, but… I guess seeing Peggy live her life made me realize how much of mine has been wasted."

You scoffed.

"How could you possibly have wasted your life, Steve? You're Captain America! You've saved the world more than once."

"When it comes to you I've wasted it," he whispered. "And I'm no longer Captain America."

"What?" you gasped, purposely ignoring the initial part of his sentence.

"I passed the shield on to Sam," he announced. "He'll do a good job."

"Why?" you breathed out.

"It was time," Steve said, plainly as if you were discussing the weather and not the one thing that defined who he was for over a century. "The guy that wanted a fight so badly he became a military experiment isn't here anymore. He's changed, the world has changed. That shield is too heavy for me now."

You shook your head, stunned.

"I can't believe this."

Steve started speaking, but stopped when the waitress arrived with your drinks: cappuccino for you, espresso for him. She took an unnecessarily long time pointing out the sugar and sweetner were, placing a hand on Steve's shoulder, telling him with a giggle to call her if he needed anything. Your coffee suddenly looked unsavory.

"The world needs Captain America," he continued after she was out of your hearing range. "But Captain America doesn’t necessarily needs to be Steve Rogers.”

“I think Sam will do a marvelous job, Steve. I just don’t understand where this decision came from. Is this because of what happened with Thonos?”

“Thanos,” he corrected you. “And no. This has been looming on my mind since before him.”

“Since when?” you questioned. “Because before Thanos you were out in the world being a wanted man. Please don’t tell me this urge for normalcy came to you while you were hiding like a coward.”

Steve sighed.

“Look, I know you’re angry at me and you have every right to be...”

“I know I have every right to be,” you cut him off. “I gave you everything and you left me stranded. Do you have any idea how hard that was? My boyfriend of three years became a criminal and he didn’t even have the decency to say goodbye before he fled.”

You slammed your fist on the table, rattling the china. The foam of your drink sloshed, a tiny bubbly dot spilling from the cup to the platter.

Lately, every single one of your conversations with Steve seemed to end in a fight and you were to blame. As much as you tried to move on, either your biological clock wasn't adjusted yet or your heart couldn't let go of the night he appeared on your doorstep after being absent for so long. It might've been five years in history for him, but for you it was a mere sixty days ago. You couldn't match this caring, attentive Steve to the bearded man in the shadows, indifferent and unconcerned, so you lashed at him. You nitpicked his every word and quibbled over the smallest things and he always took it silently, enraging you even further.

"I'm sorry," you whispered. "I shouldn't have said that. It has nothing to do with the subject."

"It has everything to do with the subject, Y/N," Steve exclaimed, hands flat on the wood, like he was going to reach for yours but gave up at the last moment. "I was so busy trying to make the world a better place that I didn't realize I was ignoring mine until I lost it. Until I lost you."

You rubbed your eyes.

"You can't blame your job for your mistakes, Steve. Or mine, for that matter."

"What were your mistakes, Y/N?" he asked. "You could've fled after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., but you stayed because I asked you to. You could've started a different job, but you took the position with the Avengers because I asked you to..."

"I loved you," you interrupted. "I did all of it because I loved you. And even though sometimes I wonder what would've happened if I'd said no, I don't regret it."

There's something about the air when the truth is laid bare. It shifts just slightly, as though nature itself can feel the weight of the words spoken, so it moves the atoms around to make space for verity. And in the essence of the world, it is immortalized.

"Do you love me still?" Steve murmured.

"You know I do," you smiled softly. "But I am so broken."

Crushed. Turned to dust long before the Mad Titan snapped his fingers. In the mad race to start over, you were so distant from the finishing line.

You were wrong: your recent conversations with Steve didn't end in arguments, they ended with you crying and him consoling you. This time his chair nearly collapsed as he rose, reaching you in just one step. At first he towered over you, arms hanging without touching your body, but when your sobs intensified he kneeled by your side, taking the crumpled napkin from your hands to dry your tears.

"Shhh," he soothed.

"I'm so sorry, Steve," you said, but it came out jumbled and watery from your tears. “I’m sorry.”

Noticing that the few other patrons and the flirty waitress were starting to look, Steve threw a fifty dollar bill on the table and pulled you up, wrapping his arms around your body as he led you outside.

Night was beginning to fall over Brooklyn. Sunsets in the city were all about spotting a few twinkling stars amid the smog, before the lights from the skyscrapers scrammed them away. One would argue that the sky in the woods, a dark blue tapestry with hundreds of twinkling dots, was far prettier, but you always thought it was fascinating to see the cosmos shining in the orange firmament.

The city had its own magic. It used to buzz in your veins when you first moved here, staring out this same sky from a window at the top deck of the Avengers Towers. If only you could feel it again.

“Do you feel better?” Steve whispered into your hair when your breathing began to even out.

You nodded, cleaning your tears with the sleeves of your sweater.

“Do you want me to take you home?”

“Yeah,” you croaked. “I need to finish packing.”

“Packing?” he frowned.

“I got a call from my grandparents lawyer when you were gone,” you explained. “Turns out I still have ownership over the house in the woods, so I’m planning to move back home before Christmas break.”

Steve’s arms fell and he stepped away from you. The absence of his touch made you shiver.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yeah,” you sniffed. “Another family lives in my apartment now and I can’t stay with my cousin forever, so…”

“You could stay with me,” he intervened. “You don't have to leave."

"I need to start over, Steve."

"But what about me?" he pleaded.

Steve Rogers never pleaded. He was stubborn and tenacious, the worst person to get in a fight with. You'd learned to cave because he never did, and it was better to swallow your pride than staying days without speaking to your headstrong boyfriend when his job put him in danger constantly. For three years you told yourself that it didn't matter that Steve didn't love you fully - you loved him enough for the two of you. Only enough wasn't acceptable anymore.

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"I love you, Steve," you said. "But just like you're not the guy from the 1940s anymore, I'm no longer the hacker from S.H.I.E.L.D. either."

Steve cupped your face, touching your forehead with his.

"Don't leave me," he begged. "I can't live without you."

You kissed his palm.

"We've made a mess," you replied. "Just let me try and fix it."

You owe me that, you didn't say, but Steve knew. In the misty twilight, he only hoped you could forgive him.

#steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfic series #marvel fanfiction #corneliabarnes #my writing #the woods

51 notes · View notes

fleckcmscott · 4 years

Text

To Have and To Hold

Summary: Y/N makes an oversight at work. The resulting extra hours with Arthur delight them both.

Warnings: Swearing, Smut

Words: 4,272

A/N: This story had been kicking around in my head for about two months, but I hadn’t been sure if I was going to write it. Then I read @sweet-nothings04‘s amazing Hand-in-Hand (which you all need to check out, if you haven’t), and knew I had to put it on paper. Thanks to her for the inspiration to finally develop this, and for the title, too!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Perhaps it was the sunshine that stirred her. Or the horns of traffic on congested streets. The hammering of a distant construction site. The chatter and occasional yelling of passersby. The hum of Gotham awakening.

Y/N blinked in confusion - how could it be so bright this early? - and squinted at the clock at Arthur's side of the bed. No numbers greeted her, just its blank, plastic display. Stretching, she reached to her left for her watch, in its spot by the beige rotary phone on the nightstand.

"Shit!"

Nearly knocking over her glass of water, she clambered off the mattress. Arthur had warned her the lights could go off in his apartment. Not often and not for long. But enough to annoy. Naturally, his building's shoddy electricity had to mess with the alarm today. When she'd stayed up too late. When he'd had to leave ahead of her to commute to the other end of the city for a rare winter gig. When her body had chosen to oversleep in the coziness of his blankets.

Her nylons had never been yanked on with such haste. Arthur had made coffee but she skipped it in favor of brushing her teeth. Pausing on her way out, she took a calcium supplement and grabbed a note from the counter. She read it while riding the wood-paneled, graffiti covered elevator: "Your presentashin will be great. You snored a lot. Good thing your cute. - Arthur." He always signed his name. As though she wouldn't recognize his scrawl. As if anyone else wrote her sweet, sassy missives. She grinned until she hopped on the for-once punctual subway.

The presentation he'd referred to was set for that afternoon. She was expected to discuss the evidence and court file for this week's contested hearing. Last night, she'd sat at Arthur's breakfast bar to compile the case's final details and finish prep sheets. Gently, she'd rebuffed his subtle advances. His attempts to draw her attention from work to him.

Excitement had been palpable as he'd hovered near her. She was fairly certain she knew the cause because it enthused her as well. In three and a half short weeks, he'd be moving in with her. They'd officially begin traversing whatever the future held for them together. Hesitation had been clear in his posture, his drawn shoulders when (after plenty of convincing on her part that yes, she really, really, wanted him) he'd finally accepted the key to her place. But since he'd added it to his own keyring, he'd brightened. Strode a little taller. Walked a little prouder. Touched a little bolder. As though the weight he carried had lessened, at least by a couple cinder blocks' worth.

At his slight pout, she'd decided to find a way to involve him. He'd perched on the stool next to her, rested his cigarette in the pink ashtray to the left, and taken the proffered exhibit stickers with a quirked brow. Y/N had handed him papers, which he'd added labels to for her to write on. Then she'd stacked them in four different piles according to type. It had taken longer than usual - she was faster alone. But the intimacy of sharing the professional elements of her life with Arthur (besides the office wear he liked, claiming it showed how "smart" and "pretty" she was) had tightened her chest. And the curved-up corner of his thin lips had reflected how pleased he was, too.

They hadn't been able to collaborate on everything, however. It was past midnight by the time she'd joined Arthur, who had retreated to the bedroom an hour or so earlier. He'd been sitting against the headboard, half under the cover. The harsh blue light emanating from the old black and white TV at the foot of the bed had sharpened his features. Deepened the set of his eyes. He'd stubbed out his smoke as she closed the door. "I taped The Honeymoon Game. We can watch it when you're here again." A beat. "If you're not busy."

"This is supposed to be my last big project for a month or so." Sighing, she'd gotten her nightgown from her overnight bag. "I didn't mean for it to take all evening." She climbed in next to him and threw her arm across his lap. "I'm sorry."

He'd been stiff. Unyielding. The telltale signs he was miffed or upset. But he'd twined her hair around his finger, let his touch fall to her brow bone. "It's okay," he'd said lowly, adjusting to lie alongside her. "I don't want to be... I'm not being fair."

"You don't have to pretend with me, Arthur. It's all right to be annoyed." Tiredness had pulled at her as she'd fought to watch the rest of Gotham Tomorrow Tonight. The contact of his socked toes to her bare ones had made her smile, though, and she'd nuzzled his bicep. "I missed you," she'd mumbled, then promptly passed out.

The squeal of wheels on metal tracks prompted her to sling her canvas tote onto her shoulder. Shaw & Associates was a short sprint from the nearest station. She was certain she looked ridiculous, running down the street in her high heels. But she managed to slip into the office with two minutes to spare. Once she poured herself a cup of joe and straightened her blazer, she settled in her cushioned chair to get started.

It was only when Matt told her he wanted to meet before lunch that she'd rummaged in her bag. And realized she'd neglected to bring the file. Recalled it was sitting on Arthur's kitchen counter.

Fuck.

Her nails tapped the wood surface of her desk. Excusing herself to the bathroom so she could go retrieve it wouldn't fly. Matt would send a search party. She could try to discuss everything from memory, tell him documents were still being gathered. But he wasn't that oblivious. She settled on owning her error. "It's at home." Her delivery was nonchalant.

He waited until she'd loaded her typewriter with paper, then responded wryly. "You're not supposed to take files home anymore. Remember what happened last time?"

She leaned back as he stepped in front of her. "There was the slew of family cases that came in. With Patricia on leave, I'm handling all our calls and mail. Not to mention paperwork on her filings. It wouldn't have gotten finished if I hadn't taken it." Snorting, she shook her head at herself. Heat bloomed in her neck. "Not that it matters when I don't have it."

Expression softening, Matt stuck his hands in his pockets and jutted his chin at her. "How long did you work on it?"

It was hard to discern if he actually cared about the hours she put in. Or if he merely wanted to gauge the possibility of her doing investigations off the books again, something he'd explicitly prohibited. "I don't know." She waved dismissively. "Three or four hours?"

He let out a huff. "You put in enough time already. Go home at noon. We'll get to it first thing tomorrow."

"I have a lot to do." Her eyes widened at the myriad piles of folders laying around. "And I can't imagine you playing operator."

"I've managed when you've both been in court or at appointments. Besides," he continued as he headed back to his office. "You never take days off."

Straightening, she wheeled her chair to watch him plop down on his leather seat. "I'm taking three days next month," she countered.

His glare contained an unequal mix of mirth and consternation. "Y/N?"

The phone started ringing. She succeeded in making one ear ignore it. "Yes?"

"I know you haven't forgiven me for that whole Renew Corp. thing." She flinched at the casual mention of the company she loathed. Of her failure. But she forced herself to listen. Matt picked up a pen and started writing. “Rather than being stubborn, try saying, 'You're right.'"

~~~~~

Y/N stood in front of the narrow, white stove, stirring the soup she'd thrown together using bouillon, carrots, onions, and pasta. Ingredients she'd found in Arthur's kitchen. Music poured, at a respectable volume, from the radio on the windowsill. Swaying out-of-time, she added a sprinkling of black pepper, one of the only three spices he had (along with powdered garlic and salt). Wearing a content smirk, she sampled the steaming broth.

When she'd left the office, she'd been frustrated at herself. Yes, she was human. Everyone made mistakes. But she wasn't the forgetful type. Particularly if someone was depending on her. However, as she'd stopped in Burnley for another change of clothes, hopped on the train to Otisburg, and pictured Arthur's reaction to finding her in his home instead of having to call to wish her sweet dreams, her disposition had improved. Not only would he have her for an extra night. He'd get a late lunch, too.

The click of the deadbolt and clank of his keys on the entrance table came the second she turned off the stove. She listened to his heavy exhale as his bag dropped to the floor and shut the door. In her peripheral vision he froze, then approached tentatively. She reveled in his delicate hold on the dip of her waist, the peck he planted on her cheek. The smell of greasepaint wafted to her nose. "I hoped I hadn't made this up," he sighed with what sounded like relief. "But your meeting."

She angled herself towards him, gaze roving over his red and blue plaid blazer. The painted-on smile. His irresistible brown curls, mostly flattened by the wig he'd worn. Fidgeting with the petals of the squirting flower on his lapel, she scrunched up her face. "This morning went to shit." She explained the power outage, the clock, her own stupidity at leaving the file in his apartment. "I've packed it. Don't worry."

His posture grew pensive. "Sorry. Maybe- Maybe we should have stayed at your place. Your building's better."

Him thinking her error was somehow his fault had to be nipped in the bud. "No," she said. "You asked to make more memories here before we move in together. I'm happy to do that."

He paused, long enough she could have sworn she'd heard the gears in his head grinding. "Are you in trouble?"

Not unexpectedly, he had put together her mistake and her early dismissal from work and assumed the worst. "If I wasn't fired for trying to stop the Waynes, it's going to take more than an oversight to get me thrown out on my ass." Her brow furrowed. She sneaked a hand under his jacket and placed her palm on his chest. "I just hate that I wasted last night for nothing."

Soft lips, slightly sticky with red paint, grazed her temple. "It's okay," he said. "You're here now. And I got to help you."

The balm of his kindness loosened her rigid stance. His zeal to assist her, to ask questions, to learn about every aspect of her branded her heart completely. She leaned into him, kissed the squishy fold of skin under his chin, and nudged his ribs. "Food's ready. Go change. I want to hear all about your day."

Arthur emerged from the bathroom within minutes, clad in his worn, blue house pants and toweling his hair. Dimples were on constant display while they ate. The glint in his eyes was the one he usually had if his act or a job had gone particularly well, if he was pleased with himself. Was the one starting to be an almost weekly occurrence. Was the one that made his green eyes sparkle and caused her stomach to flip. He inched closer to her with every sentence.

The kids at the new children’s medical center had liked Carnival, he said. They hadn’t minded that he’d "filled in" for Gary. The magic tricks had all gone without a hitch, and the clinic had provided the balloons, which was a savings. The nurses and doctors had been nice; they’d even asked for his card. He’d had to provide a slip of paper with his address and telephone number instead. But he was sure he’d be invited to perform again. And he asked Y/N for help writing Gary a thank you note for the referral, claiming, “You’re better at that than me.”

“You’re the one who journals every day.” Her bowl and spoon clattered in the sink. “And your letter to me was beautiful. Just let me proofread it.”

Soon they were reclined on the sofa, sharing the flat pillow he’d used when he’d had no choice but to sleep there. The tape he’d recorded yesterday was playing. The Honeymoon Game had been a casual watch before, he’d explained. Not a nightly ritual like Murray. Given that he had a girlfriend and was a boyfriend himself, it had become fun to view.

She was only half-focused on the TV’s talking heads. Her mind was drifting to moving day, which filled her with gladness. She examined the plaid walls, the white cream color ceiling, the knick-knacks strewn about in the glow of the setting sun. The lantern with an owl hanging in the corner; the green, plastic drawers by the television; the curio cabinet... They were all a part of 8J, but assuredly not a part of him. How much would he be bringing with him, she wondered. And what would he be leaving behind?

“With one sugar and a shot of milk.” Arthur’s lively voice broke through her contemplation. Ah. He was reacting to the questions posed to the contestants, and making the answers about her, as he was wont to do.

She nestled back into the pleasant warmth of his firm frame. “Three sugars,” she replied, confirming she knew how he took his coffee. They continued to play along, with him showing off everything he’d memorized about her, and her replying with what she’d gathered about him.

Eventually, he shifted behind her. Raised himself on his elbow. “How did you know you loved me?”

Her hum was soft. Short. Possible responses were multitude. She’d suspected she could fall for him early on. When he’d wanted to repay her for doing what anyone should have done on the subway. And the first time he’d had the courage to call her after they’d split a slice of pie, his slight stammer revealing his nervousness. Maybe she’d say it was how slowly he’d drunken his wine during dinner, initially squinting as he sipped, his inexperience with alcohol obvious.

But she chose to go with what she believed was truest. What she assumed he’d hear most keenly. “Before we slept together, I hadn’t been with anyone for four years. And even then, it was different.” His hand splayed on her abdomen, thumb dragging along the waistband of her green leggings. A delightful ache flared in her center. “When I woke up, I felt perfect.”

“You felt like you were perfect?”

“No, silly,” she laughed, batting his forearm. “I knew I hadn't made a mistake. I reached out to your side, first thing - I’d thought of it that way, even then.” At the sensation of his hardening shaft against her rear, she giggled. “You’d made me so happy. You always do. I wanted to you to bed me again.”

The round tip of his nose skimmed her cheek, and she shivered at the dip of his fingers into her panties. “I want to again,” he rasped, paraphrasing her. The grind of his length was making her light-headed, and she twisted her torso to look at him. “I’ve been thinking about it.” Cheekbones glowing, he averted his eyes. “Ever since I woke up.”

“My monthly started,” she said regretfully. His descent halted, and a groan of frustration left him as he lowered his forehead to her shoulder. She mused. While he was becoming more apt to say what he desired, it happened rarely. But she loved it and didn’t want to discourage him from letting himself be assertive. Would he be offended by her suggestion? “I freshened up before we laid down. I have a tampon in. There are other things we can do.” She pressed her lips together, hoping she didn’t sound presumptuous. “If you’re comforta-“

“I’m comfortable.” His mouth quickly claimed hers, opening on a sigh. The tip of his tongue laved at the seam of her lips, and his messy enthusiasm made her whimper. Leaving a scorching trail in its wake, his hand traversed to her upper leg, gliding over the crease where her thigh and vulva met.

Shallow breaths caressed the nape of her neck, stoking the heat threatening to consume her. But the studio audience blaring from the television’s mono-speaker kept wresting her out of her haze. She snatched the VCR remote from the coffee table and hit the pause button.

The tease of his fingertips at her dark curls caused the peaks of her breasts to stiffen. She gasped as the rough fabric of her sweater dragged along them. His fore- and ring fingers spread her outer lips and she shuddered. The leisureliness of his fondling didn’t detract from its intoxicating effect.

Though it was a tad rough. “You’re kinda dry. Hold on.” Swiftly, he brought his hand to his mouth and wet his fingertips. Y/N blinked at him. It was clear he thought nothing of it, which shouldn’t have been a surprise, considering he’d confided he liked going down on her. Still. Seeing this normally reserved man improvise so he could pleasure her made her center throb with need.

Y/N was doing her damnedest to get her leggings and underwear down. Arthur snorted at her spirited, failed attempt at kicking them away. “It’s okay,” he chuckled, pushing them off her ankles with his foot. Then his touch fluttered at her swollen folds. She arched into him, already feeling as though she would burst. Bent at the knee, her leg lifted until her foot was flat on the couch cushion, allowing him easier access. He took advantage, sweeping forward and back along the rigid line of her engorged clitoral hood. She rolled towards him subtly, her moans getting louder with each tap to her sensitive nub.

Still holding himself up, he cradled her head. "Your sounds make me crazy," he said lowly. Once his hips started following hers, faintly rutting against the flesh of her backside, she closed her eyes. Hurriedly, she reached behind her to yank at his pajamas. "What?" he asked.

"I want to feel you," she whispered. There was a huff and some fumbling. And moments later his cock was settled at the cleft of her bottom. She bit her lip, savoring the weight of him. God, he felt wonderful.

His fingertips whispered over her clit, daring to follow the edge of her inner labia. She heard him gulp. "How does it feel when we're together? When- When I'm in you?"

"Warm. Full. Like you belong there," she replied with a smile. That last part of her response must have been unexpected, given that his grazes ceased and he trembled. "Don't stop," she whined, placing her hand on his. "Please, Arthur. You know just how to touch me."

Groaning, he started anew, deftly swiping quicker and quicker. The undulations of her pelvis hastened unevenly, begging both for release and for their coupling to last forever. She ran her palm up her torso, kneading her breast and plucking at her nipple. He nuzzled at her ear, grunting low in the back of his throat. Winding her fingers into his loose waves, she tugged lightly. Her belly twitched. Her whole frame tingled.

His skillful touch. The love they had for one another. The noises he was making in the crook of her shoulder. They all combined to throw her over the edge, and a wave of pleasure crashed through her. She cried his name brokenly, feeling empty without him inside her. But he kept holding her, guiding her through the crests of her climax. She was gasping, struggling to suck in air. Surely, she thought, he could detect the thundering of her heart against her ribs.

Gradually, the quivering grip she had on his locks eased. The kisses he planted on her neck were open-mouthed, desperate. And he hadn't halted the ardent movements of his hips. Y/N turned onto her other side. Gazing at him, she raked his curls out of his face, caressed his cheekbone with her knuckles. His look was hungry, darkened with need. The creases between his brows deepened as her hand trailed through the sparse dusting of hair on his chest.

There was a youthful charm to this situation, she considered. To them craving each other but not completely joining. It reminded her of being a teenager. When she'd been curious and horny, but nervous and not quite ready to go "all the way" with her ex. Being with Arthur allowed her to do all that again. To relive those experiences, to explore and make discoveries with him. To fall further in love with him daily.

She tenderly pecked the freckles at the top of his sternum, nestled against the notch above his clavicle. "I'm lucky to have you."

He didn't miss a beat, even as she trailed past the ticklish spots on his flank. "I'm luckier."

"I disagree." She outlined the slender muscles of his stomach, the v-lines leading to his cock. Played with the springy, brown curls at the base of him. "Without you, I'd only have my work. Which was enough before. But not now." After a moment, she concluded she was being sappy. She had to change it up. "And I wouldn't be having the best sex of my life."

Clearly flustered, he muffled his laugh. "Really?" His blush was prominent, his grin ecstatic.

"Really." Groans short and sudden, he rocked into her touch when she encircled his ample girth. Her fingers danced along his shaft, marveling at the contrast of his velvety skin with how hard he was. Pumping up and down, she tugged at him, trying to match the speed of his thrusts. He nudged his nose to hers, gazing at her before his hooded eyes flitted to watch what she was doing. Then she looked, too.

The sight of him fucking into her hand made her dizzy with want, even though he'd just gotten her off. The crimson, swollen head glistened, slick beading generously at the tip. Y/N licked her lips and spread it around him with the pad of her thumb. Moaning sharply, he bucked harder. Her motions quickened, flicking repeatedly at the notch on the underside.

Demand was implicit in the grasp he had on her upper arm. And it strengthened as his hips' stuttered, becoming unpredictable. Ragged pants hit her face. "I'm- I'm gonna make a mess.”

"It's all right," she soothed. Keeping ahold of him, she lay on her back. He followed and settled on top of her. Whimpering her name, he rubbed himself against her labia. But she gently pushed him onto his knees and continued palming him, her fingers teasing the ridge on his erection. It wouldn't take long to make him come. She could see it in the clench of his jaw, the tightening cords in his neck, his abrupt, needy cries...

Plunging forward, he held himself in place, grunting, clutching her urgently. His release hit her abdomen, warm and wet, and she gasped, her body curving up towards him. The feel of him spilling onto her couldn't completely distract her, though. Not from the beauty of his parted lips. Not from the relief that gradually spread across his features. Not from the slackening of his muscles as tension ebbed.

Sweat had gathered on his forehead. A droplet ran from the end of a dark brow to his jawline. Then he kissed her, his mouth groping at hers. "I love you," he said. He gave her one last peck and sat up on his knees. Holding onto the arm of the sofa, he retrieved her underwear from the floor and wiped her belly off. "That was fun." He tucked his chin bashfully.

"I concur." She entwined their hands and sat, then stretched as she pushed herself to stand and walk to the bathroom. The washcloth he'd designated as hers hung on the hook by the towels. She cleaned herself, listening as Arthur started the show again.

A new round of questions was just beginning. "When you and your spouse first met," the host started, "what was your first impression?"

Arthur's answer was instant. "Nice."

Y/N said the first thing that came to mind. "Handsome."

She popped her head out of the room to find him leaning on the entrance of the short corridor, beaming at her with hitched giggles. He was probably waiting for his turn to clean up. Like he normally did. But she couldn't stop herself from staring at him. Loving eyes met hers and his brows lifted expectantly. "Yes?"

Smiling, she wrung out the washcloth and put it back in its place. She stepped to him with a smile and smoothed his hair back. The rush of happiness in her soul, one she wasn't even sure she had, enamored her. Not only at what they'd shared on his old, scratchy sofa. But at Arthur being Arthur. At knowing soon she'd get to sleep next to him every night. Build a life with him, one she hadn't dreamed of even six months ago. Nothing she could say seemed adequate. So she went with a kind gesture, one she knew he'd appreciate. "I'll make us some decaf. And I love you, too."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @howdylilflower @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1 @octopus-plasma @tsukiakarinobara @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile @another-day-in-chuckletown @hhandley80 @jokerownsmysoul @mrscarnival

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x female reader #arthur fleck smut #arthur fleck x ofc #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

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etherealwaifgoddess · 4 years

Text

One In A Million - Chpt.1

Summary: Project Traveler is ready for its first test subject and you volunteer for the position, unwilling to risk any of the other brilliant minds who have been working on the project from the beginning.

Word Count: 1.6k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! Who’s ready to get this started!? I’ve been sitting on this fic a while now and I finally feel like it’s ready to be out in the world. I’m so excited to share it with you all. Hope you enjoy! XOXO - Ash

Chapter One

“Send me.” you offer, causing the room full of scientists and PhD’s to turn and stare at you. “I mean it.” you continue, “You guys need someone you can trust who knows the science behind this if it goes wrong. The only one who will miss me is my cactus.”

Chelton, the head of SHIELD’s Traveler project, looks at you thoughtfully. You’re young, still working towards your PhD after completing your masters a few years ago. It’s hard for him to believe you have nothing tying you to the world, but thinking back he can’t remember you ever talking about family or friends or anything personal. He assumed you were just taciturn by nature but he realizes now it was more than that. “You realize this is test number one?” he asks you, “We’re pretty sure it’s ready to go but if we’re wrong....”

You waive him off, “I know, I know. Death, dismemberment, permanent brain damage, yada, yada, yada. I’ve watched you guys work on this for two years now, it’s as ready as it’s ever gonna be. And someone needs to be the guinea pig, so it might as well be me. I’m still learning, if you lose me there’s still enough brains to keep things going and try again. If we lose one of you the project could end permanently.” You know it’s calloused but you made up your mind as soon as you had seen them putting the finishing touches on the transporter a week ago.

“Don’t discredit yourself, Y/N.” Chelton admonishes, “You're a valued member of this team. I want you to take the weekend and really think about this. Make preparations if you’re still serious after thinking it over. When you come in on Monday if you’ve changed your mind, no one will think any less of you.”

You give him a soft smile, knowing you need to assuage his concern, “Okay, thanks Chelton. I’ll think about it. Now, who’s ready to get out of here?” You pick up your files, ready to pack up for the day. It’s been a long week and you’re suddenly eager to get home, this will be your last weekend in the twenty-first century for a while.

Your apartment is a small studio over top a corner shop and it’s just big enough that you’re not constantly bumping into your furniture. Definitely an upgrade from the shoe box you lived in at college with two roommates. When you had moved to the city to work on the project recreating Tony Stark’s time machine it felt like a luxury just to have a place of your own. You water the little cactus who sits on the window sill in your living room, and settle in with your laptop to pay a few bills online. If things go as planned and you come back, it will be important to still have a roof over your head.

Your evenings are quiet with none of your friends living in the city. You email a few of them to let them know you’ll be away on a work trip and that you miss them. The picture of your parents sitting on the bookshelf makes your heart ache for a moment. You wonder if they would be proud of you if they were still alive. They’ve been gone for a decade now but it doesn’t do much to dull the pain of their loss.

Your stomach rumbles, reminding you that you haven’t eaten since breakfast. Normally you’d just scrounge up something from your cupboards, whatever you had leftover from earlier in the week. But a sense of fatalism hits and you realize that if you don’t make it back in one piece on Monday it doesn’t really matter if you blow a day’s worth of pay on a five star restaurant or not. And you have been dying to go to Peter Luger Steak House since you moved to Brooklyn. You put on your nicest looking dress, dark blue silk that accents your curves without making you look lumpy, and throw on a little make up for the hell of it. This might be your last weekend alive and you’re going to make the most of it.

xxXxx

Monday comes far too quickly and you’re a little ashamed to admit you’re not feeling your best. You’ve decided it’s easier to accept the idea that you’re not walking away from the test run so that you’re not devastated if and when something goes awry. You spent the entire weekend doing all the things you usually put off for more practical endeavors. The queue on your Hulu and Netflix accounts are clear and you’ve eaten a lifetime of fancy foods. You also learned what good, twenty year old scotch tastes like and it was worth every cent. You probably didn’t need to finish off the whole bottle over the course of three days though.

You drop your bag into your bottom desk drawer and hand Chelton an envelope when he comes over to greet you. “This is everything,” you tell him, “Passwords, account information, a list of people to contact. If things go sideways I know I can trust you to take care of things for me.”

The older man accepts the envelope but pulls you in for a brisk, uncharacteristic hug. “I’m so proud of you.” he says roughly.

“Oh come on, pull it together old man.” you tease, “I’ll be back in all of a minute if we’ve done our jobs right.”

“That’s right, and you’ll have some wild stories for us I’m sure.”

You join the rest of the research group, letting them know test number one for project Traveler is a go. The room erupts into happy chaos, everyone working at their stations getting the machine up and running. You run through the processes, double checking it for full functionality, and for the first time you start to feel genuine excitement that you might actually be about to go back in time.

Harris, one of the other original scientists on the project, gives you a run down for a second time, as if you didn’t assist with creating the protocols yourself. “You will have three jump points back to our time once you get there. One month, six months, one year. If for whatever reason you can’t get back on the first jump you still have two more shots to find your way back to us. You have to set up these three devices in the basement of the Strategic Scientific Reserve headquarters when you arrive to keep the link open for the jump points. You cannot lose this brooch or you’ll have nothing to pull you through. When you get there write down the exact time and date so you can ensure you’re at the jump points in time, it’ll be down to the second so be sure you do that first thing.”

“I know. I’ll be just fine.” you assure him while straightening out the neckline of your smart looking dove grey suit. The team had rustled up a vintage suit for you so that you didn’t stick out like a sore thumb when you got back to 1940. You fasten the antique looking brooch to the breast of it, knowing you’ll need to carry it on you always to ensure you have a way back. The team had decided against wristbands due to how obvious they would be in another time period and had settled on a tie tack or a brooch depending if it were a man or woman going back.

Harris nodded but carried on, “When you get there ask for Agent Wilson right away. Show him this card and he’ll get you access to one of the SSR aliases and bank accounts. You’ll be set up for as long as you need to be there. But remember, if you make any drastic changes to the past you’ll be forming a split in realities and creating a new timeline. We don’t know what kind of effects that could have. You need to stay under the radar and keep your head down.”

“Will do. It’ll be okay. I’ll be back in a minute, maybe six if I’m having a good time. You just worry about where you’re taking us all for dinner to celebrate tonight.”

Harris nods and lets you past him to take your place on the transporter. It’s been five years of tireless work for most of the people in the room trying to recreate and improve upon the machine Tony Stark and Bruce Banner used to send the Avengers back for the infinity stones. You learned so much in the past two years since you joined them. It was the opportunity of a lifetime and you are so grateful to have been given it.

“Okay guys, this is it. Nobody better eat my yogurt in the fridge before I get back.” you say with a wry smile, getting into position in the middle of the machine.

A few of the guys chuckle while they begin flipping switches on the control panel, readying the transporter.

Chelton returns your smile despite deep worry lines creasing at the side of his eyes, “We’ll see you in a minute.” he says and then he presses the final set of command keys.

You don’t close your eyes, not willing to miss a moment if they’re your last. Everyone’s faces are broadcasting varying mixes of fear, excitement, and hope as you look around your team. It starts out slow, a faint tingling of the hairs on your arms. Like you had rubbed a balloon along them and static electricity had built up. The tingling increases until your whole body is thrumming with a buzzing energy and then the world goes white.

#One In A Million #steve rogers #bucky barnes #reader insert #stucky #stucky x reader #steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader #time travel #SHIELD agent reader #1940s setting #stucky fanfic #marvel #marvel fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #fluff and smut and a pinch of angst

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bananapajama87 · 4 years

Text

Bend-The-Knee or be Broken

@aphrarepairweek2020 Day 2: Thunderstrom prompt! Super late, but having fun anyway! A friend/crush fic for RusEng! I just love to think about the mechanics of Nations’ free will and I think (other than Germany) Russia is one of the best subjects for a study on it. I hope my ideas came through clearly :) Ivan Braginsky had a well-known and violently documented dislike for “friendly political visits” but the guest room in England’s lavish country estate had always been one of his least favourite personal hells.

He paced slowly around his confines, inspecting the impersonal velvety decor that he had begrudgingly become familiar with over the centuries. Its careful design was facetiously inviting and desperate to be impressive. ‘Please, make yourself at home!’ the glowing fireplace seemed to say, echoed mockingly by the diamond chandelier who added ‘because I bet you don’t have things nearly so nice back at yours!’ Every country did this of course, but England always managed to be so wonderfully condescending.Ivan bristled. He never slept well in other Nation’s homes, but something in the night air was making him particularly restless. He hadn’t found the peace of mind to even sit down since he had arrived, despite his duties early the next day. Showpony duties, he thought, The dusty to be an amusing little beast, well-trained and pampered to show off how well his masters are doing. He gripped at the hem of the silky pyjamas he had been issued for trips like these. They were so unlike the cotton tank top and shorts that he wore at home. Ivan glanced around the room again and as usual, his eyes were tugged toward the monstrously large landscape painting looming above the mantle. It was a mirror image of the view outside the room's large window. Temperate, emerald moors bordered darkly by mysterious, hungry woods. He ran an ungloved hand over his scarred throat and thought about his own rugged taigas and unforgiving tundras. He shook his head. It was tacky of England to have a painting of himself in the guest bedroom, even if it wasn’t a portrait. He stalked out the door to see if he could find somewhere less here to be.

Ivan drifted through the hallways, careful not to step on any creaky floorboards. He was making a circuitous path toward the first-floor sitting room. If he remembered correctly, that fireplace was always burning and had comfortable chairs. It was disquieting to think about how intimately familiar Ivan was with England’s home although they had never really been on first name (or even last name) terms with each other. Not that he was with anyone else either… Maybe he could tire himself out reading old newspapers.

The heavy oak door didn’t creak when Ivan pushed it open. The dying glow of the fire was filling the room with the heavy smell of a quiet night and casting long shadows on the opposite wall. They wavered gently, distorting the shapes of things and making Ivan unsure of where the floor ended and the dark began. Running his hands lightly across the furniture for guidance, he crossed the room silently, coming to a stop in front of the picture window that looked out onto the veranda, and beyond that, those green hills now inky black silhouettes. The moonlight fought valiantly to shine through the thick clouds but was diffused into a mere suggestion of itself. He could smell the humid scent of an oncoming thunderstorm brewing on the other side of the glass.

“Good evening, Russia. Is there something I can do for you?” England’s voice was soft and scratchy with fatigue, and though Ivan would not allow himself to show his surprise outwardly, he felt his heart pick up speed as he turned to look. England was standing in the doorway, hair more dishevelled than usual and an untied housecoat draped over his pyjamas. He was carrying a mug in his hand that seemed to be empty.“No not at all, England. Just trying to admire the stars, but as you can see, it is not my lucky night.” Russia smiled his diplomatic smile and put a gentle pep in his voice that he used for others. He was naturally soft-spoken but he seemed suddenly too loud for the room. England crossed the room deftly, and joined Russia at the window, not needing to try to avoid the furniture in his own house. The top of his head only came up to Russia’s shoulders. “Quite unlucky indeed. A storm’s coming. A big one if I’m not mistaken.” England said, and Ivan knew he was right. His skin had begun tingling with static electricity. They stood in silence, England sipping at the empty mug every so often. Russia sensed that he didn’t know what to do with his hands (or make a graceful exit from the situation now that he had engaged with Ivan). That man had never been able to stop himself from standing on ceremony even if it made him squirm with discomfort as it did now. Ivan chuckled.“What are you giggling about?” England asked, frowning up at Ivan. Ivan looked down at him, his emerald green eyes were glowing with irritation.“Your mug is empty.” Ivan pointed into the empty cup. England’s face went red and he set the mug down quickly on a coffee table and he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

They were quiet for a while and watched the clouds gather.“Why are you awake, England? Surely you weren’t hoping to stargaze too?” Ivan asked, enjoying keeping England trapped here with him. He wouldn’t be only one miserably tired in the morning.

“Oh, you know. Insomnia. You being here and all, I have a lot on my mind. Lots of things being prepared for your stay and all that,” he said airily, gesturing vaguely with his hands. Ivan noticed the deep circles under England’s eyes and wondered how often he was struck with insomnia. He looked much more human now than Ivan had ever seen him in an official capacity. Stubbly, slouching, and underdressed. Somehow, he felt the need to reassure him.

“No need to go to all the trouble. If I am honest, which I seldom am, I hate the pomp. It is… insincere,” Ivan said, making sure to look away from England’s face before his subject could notice his staring. England ran his hands down his face in exasperation and groaned.

“Don’t I know it. It’s tax money and organization and time being put into a show for the measly audience of one,” suddenly England realized what he had said and quickly added: “no offence, Russia.” Ivan couldn’t help but laugh again. England seemed to take that as acceptance and continued. “I don’t know of anyone who really likes that pampering. Except maybe Francis. And Alfred. Those two are a pair of egotistical layabouts if I ever saw some.” Ivan nodded, the first names not lost on him. He was reminded that despite England’s prickly disposition, he was in very good standing with the other Nations. Friends, even. “I mean, I don’t even want them in my bloody house but, you know how it is, the boss says you’re a bed and breakfast, you’re a bed and breakfast.” Arthur was leaning his shoulder on the wall now, looking more casual that Ivan had ever seen him. There was an impish smile on his lips, complaining about bosses and other Nations was clearly a favourite pastime.

“Yes,” Ivan offered, “America has proven many times over the years to be a terrible houseguest, yet he is one of my most constant companions.” Ivan tried to match Arthur’s relaxed posture.

“Right? The boy carves his name into anything and everything he can lay his hands on, and thinks I won’t notice! Three hundred years I’ve had this little estate and he vandalizes the wall panelling! I don’t know how I could have raised him so poorly.” Arthur mimed strangling someone furiously and Ivan smiled.

“Is that what it says on the back wall of the closet in the guest room? I had always wondered. Terrible penmanship.” Arthur went a little red in the ears

“Alfred,” he growled bitterly. This time, when Ivan laughed, Arthur joined in. “Well, I guess, on the whole, being social isn't the worst thing our bosses have made us do, eh?” Arthur poked Ivan in the ribs with his elbow and winked. Ivan forced himself to keep smiling as his stomach dropped to the floor, he did not want to ruin the atmosphere.

“No, I suppose not,” he said, trying to approximate pleasantness in his voice. Arthur was not fooled.“Oh, sorry. The past is a better subject for a younger crowd.” He had his hands back in his pockets and pushed himself up off the wall. His eyes seemed to be trying very hard not to direct themselves towards Ivan's neck. “I’ve been talking to Alfred too much.”

Silence.

The clouds finally broke and rain finally began to hit the window arrhythmically. For some reason, Ivan didn’t like seeing England feeling guilty on his behalf. Usually, it would be funny but tonight it was not. Unusual. He should say something.“Well,” Ivan tried to sound reassuring, “I suppose that even the past is preferable to America’s company.” Arthur let out a little puff of air that condensed on the cloudy window and smirked.

“You’re a mean son of a bitch, you know that?”

“Coming from you, England, that is high praise.” Arthur let out a barking laugh that made Ivan smile from ear to ear. His own shoulders shook with suppressed snickers. The room felt suddenly larger as if something oppressive had been banished by Arthur’s earnest smile.

“Call me Arthur, Ivan. We’ve known each other for centuries. It’s ridiculous to pretend like we’re not at least well acquainted.” Arthur looked up at Ivan as he said this, his eyes shining a little from laughter. They were the same colour as the hills outside. Ivan felt warmth in his face that he couldn’t diagnose.

“Oh, I thought… Well, we have not always been on the best terms, or speaking terms, I’ve been quite hostile to many of your allies, I-”

“Oh please,” Arthur interrupted, rolling his eyes, “that’s Russia. I’m asking Ivan to call me Arthur. Here,” Arthur stepped closer to Ivan and Ivan once again felt his heart hammering, “since I suppose I’m formally meeting Ivan Braginsky for the first time,” he held his hand out. “My name is Arthur Kirkland, hobbyist and amateur murder mystery author.” Ivan had no idea what to do, he felt nervous for the first time in a long time. Other Nations never tried to be familiar with him. Ivan stared at the hand, frozen until Arthur shook his proffered hand insistently.

“I-Ivan Braginsky. Um, personification and official national ambassador of Russia,” he said. Before Ivan could take Arthur’s hand, it was snatched away.

“Everybody knows that. Tell me something about Ivan!” Ivan was speechless. He hadn’t thought about himself much outside of that in a long time.

“Uh, brother and,” He felt like he was trying to guess a correct answer, “sunflower enthusiast?” Arthur seemed satisfied because he took Ivan’s hand and shook it firmly. And he smiled. Ivan smiled back.

The two men stood in comfortable silence for a few moments, watching the rain run little snail trails down the window through which the two men could see the strengthening moonlight.

“Do you really think that?” Ivan almost whispered. The crackling of the fireplace was setting the volume of the room.

“Think what?” Arthur looked over at him, equally quietly.

“Do you think we are... real?” Arthur blinked and furrowed his considerable brows. “I mean,” Ivan paused to search for the words, “When your boss tells you to do something, do you decide whether or not to comply or do you just,” Ivan mimed a little salute and clicked his heels, “even if you would rather die than carry out the order?” Arthur nodded understandingly, his face seeming concerned, but what he said sounded like something he had rehearsed to himself. Maybe late on nights like this, where everything seemed small.

“I have had to accept that I am not human and that here are some choices I don’t get to make. Not like the people I represent. I don’t get to say no, or yes for that matter, unless one of them leads me there. Boss says ‘the peasants are revolting’? I sharpen my axe. The people say ‘parliament rules’ and it’s the king’s head on the chopping block? I sharpen my axe. It’s that or I’m next.” Arthur shrugged. Ivan gulped. He remembered the weight of the gun in his hand and what it was like to point it at starving citizens one day and the royal family the next. “Obviously, we can’t die but, well, you remember what happened to Francis. During the revolution.” Ivan nodded. Everyone had heard about what happened to Francis. He’d pleaded with Robespierre to stop the violence in Paris and been guillotined by his own people. When he woke up, he was out in the countryside where he had first appeared centuries earlier, naked and revolutionary. “We don’t really ever get to choose. Most have decided it’s not worth the effort anymore. Not that I have to tell you that.” Ivan scowled.

“So… you are saying that it’s bend-the-knee or be broken? That is our freedom? What makes Arthur Kirkland and Ivan Braginsky is - is - obedience with the addition of indignance?” Ivan clenched and unclenched his fists. The first fork of lightning flashed through the sky, for an incalculable instant illuminating the room in a cold white light. The thunder that came after was felt rather than heard. Arthur sighed.

“It’s certainly not the most inspirational thought, but essentially, yes.” Ivan growled and his arm tensed, itching to hit something. To shatter something, anything. Just to make a difference to something of his own accord. But Arthur was looking at him with a pitying acceptance and understanding that Ivan knew could only ever come from another Nation. Ivan felt the fire inside him go out and he slumped against the window, the glass cooling against his forehead and his breath hot on the glass.

“Are you alright?” Arthur asked, leaning next to him on the window, his hand dangerously, tantalizingly close to Ivan’s. Ivan closed his eyes and suddenly felt how late it was. He couldn’t summon the energy to open them again.

“This is not a revelation to me. It is just... disheartening to hear it from someone else.” Arthur huffed in agreement.

“Don’t I know it.” They were silent again.

Rumbling from the outside rattled Ivan’s tired brain as he stood half asleep, just feeling the window on his skin and Arthur’s presence. That is until Arthur once again pushed away from the wall and Ivan felt the loss. He looked up to see the other man walking determinedly to the other end of the window. “You know what?” Arthur wasn’t whispering anymore.

“Arthur?”

“I may not get much to myself in this world, but I do get this. I get to be Arthur Kirkland, a stuffy, grumpy, brother, soldier, knitter, terrible cook, and,” He looked back at Ivan and nodded as he pulled a set of keys out of his housecoat pocket, “friend.” he jammed one of the keys in the lock of the veranda door and began to jostle it violently.

“Arthur?”

“And I don’t know about you, but I don’t have to be England until tomorrow morning, so tonight,” he threw open the door and was immediately battered by the violent wind and rain. The sound of the door slamming against the wall was camouflaged by another clap of thunder. “I’m gonna do whatever the hell I want.”

“What are you doing? It’s pouring out there!” Ivan shielded his face from the wind with his arm. Arthur looked back at him with a half-crazed smile Ivan had heard about. It was a famous harbinger of-

“Who says we’re too old for a little teenage rebellion?” He cackled, once again holding out his hand for Ivan to take, inviting him to spend the night doing absolutely nothing but pretending they were going to die someday.

Ivan didn’t hesitate, he took Arthur’s hand in his own, pulled him close by the waist as if ready to lead him in a waltz and sent them both careening out the door and into the storm, their laughter drowned out by the elements.

#RusEng #APH Russia #Aph England #aphrarepairweek2020 #Hetalia

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whispersafterdusk · 3 years

Text

Lost in Time - ch 7

"Oh come on - you're going to eventually own more than two sets of clothing you know."

Eli had once said Gale seemed like 'an animated fellow' - if he was animated then Selene was animated to the power of ten; there were times she thought of the builder as a hyper little puppy and it wasn't a personality type she was entirely used to just yet so the woman's eagerness was a bit daunting sometimes.

"You've already spent a lot of money on me-" Eli started, only for Selene to make a hushing gesture.

"Yes, I have, and I've got gols to spare -- just to rub it in Higgin's face once I purposely made certain I stayed the number one top shop in Portia for three years in a row. That built up quite the savings and I'm not going to be spending it on myself anytime soon. Now come on - you need more than a bed and a tiny table. Go nuts!" the woman laughed, gesturing at the various furniture items that lined the walls of...was it Paulie? Paulie's store. ((Continued below cut))

She'd eventually decided on staying with Selene; Happy Apartments had reminded her too much of the barracks, and she...wasn't ready to deal with that constant reminder yet. So, the offered, spacious room at Selene's had been her choice, and Selene had awakened her bright and early to go furniture shopping. The bed was easy: a simple wooden frame and headboard that had an ivy pattern carved into it and a basic mattress; the frame and headboard were painted a nice cream color and the ivy was a deep green. Along with it she'd chosen a matching bedside table that had two small drawers built in, and she'd deemed that sufficient enough to start out with but Selene was...very insistent on furnishing the entire room.

There was another small table that matched the bed, and the builder woman kept "subtly" nudging her toward a bookcase with matching chair as well as a piece that was half dresser (with mirror) and half armoire; all of it was a pale wood that, while it wasn't the exact shade of cream as the headboard, was still a close enough color that it all could pass as a "matching" bedroom set.

"Even if I say no, this is going to magically turn up in my room isn't it?" she asked dryly.

Selene giggled. "Not 'magically,' no. If you like them, then let's get them -- Paulie'll even move them in for us."

"That's right! Because it's the manly thing to do for such a large order," the giant man laughed.

The man was...pretty obsessed with the word "manly" but his laugh was genuine; he and Selene had that same level of friendliness going on. Hopefully that friendliness would remain after he found out who she was and where (and when) she'd come from.

Anyway...back to the matter at hand. Apparently everything in the shop was something Paulie had made himself, and she had a feeling that everything she picked up now was as high quality as it looked and would probably last her several decades so at least Selene wasn't paying a premium for furniture that would fall apart in two years. "...fine, all right. But just these things and that's IT, got it?"

Selene snickered then held a hand out to Paulie; as Eli watched the man took a handful of gols (why the world had gone back to physical coin-based currency was beyond her) and dropped it into her palm.

"When exactly did you two have time to make a bet on her wearing me down?"

"As you were looking at the bed frames. When the smallish builder sets her mind to something very little will stop her," Paulie said. "And sometimes that means I lose a manly bet."

Selene pocketed the handful of coin, looking smug. "It was a righteous cause, I promise you. You deserve to actually have a comfortable living space."

"I'll have all this delivered by end of the afternoon," Paulie went on. "Did you have a floor plan in mind?"

"Nah, we can move it ourselves once you get it into the house," Selene replied. "Thank you Paulie." She gave the large man a hug and he returned it with enough force to lift the builder from her feet then waved at them as they headed out from the shop.

Outside the wind was blowing but the sky was clear; Eli zipped her jacket back up against the chill and looked to Selene. "Now what?"

"Well... Merlin is helping Petra check for any mention or pictures of the tool we need, so they're busy today. I wanted to wait to see if they found anything and I also have the factory building the last pieces of the lockable elevator car at the moment so even if I had all the measurements or assurances that I could go ahead and try casting that tool we need I'd still have to wait for that to finish. So...basically, we've got the day free aside from being home when Paulie delivers the furniture. Want to get a late breakfast?"

Eli opened her mouth to reply when a comically large set of scissors over a storefront across the way caught her attention. "-is that a salon?"

"Huh? - oh, yeah. Sanwa runs it - cuts, styles, and dyes hair. And beards, but that doesn't apply to you," Selene answered, grinning.

With a small smile she looked away from the scissors shining in the morning sun and back to the builder. "Don't suppose I could rely on your charity for one more thing, could I?"

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

The apricots Selene grew along the western fence line were juicy and tasted fantastic, and made a for a refreshing snack after an hour or so of moving furniture around.

Paulie had carried it all in and then she and Selene had pushed things into place; Selene was now off double checking on the final pieces of that locking car mechanism, and Eli was sitting on a stool in front of the fence with her back pressed to the wooden slats as she slowly munched on one of the last apricots the builder had gotten off the trees before winter had set in.

It seemed that along with new or hybrid fruits and vegetables a lot of plants she was familiar with had developed a rather long shelf-life on top of having shifted what seasons they typically grew in -- in this case, Selene's apricot trees kept producing right up to the first frost of late fall whereas the trees Eli had known in her time period had mostly stopped dropping fruit by late summer (and the apricots back then definitely hadn't lasted for a few months without showing signs of rot or withering). There was a single apple tree in the little "grove" along the fence and from what Selene had said the apple tree at least produced on a schedule that Eli remembered.

There were neat, orderly rows of planters next to the trees and while they were empty now there were little signs attached to them to identify what had been there: chili peppers, cotton (such a small amount though...surely that wasn't useful enough to grow so little of it?), green lettuce, pumpkins, wheat (again how was it useful to grow just a few tiny planters full, versus an entire field?)

It was a small comfort to actually see proof that not everything had changed so drastically but that was about all that was immediately familiar on the property.

In the planters among the normal plants Eli recognized were more of the weird ones: bamboo papaya, cornball (this one was at least...SORT of understandable? It seemed to be corn that just grew in an orb instead of a long cob), layered carrots (something that tasted like a carrot yet was shaped like a turnip and colored a stripey green and white that resembled neither vegetable), potato fruit (looked like an apple, tasted like a sweet potato), sisal... There were remnants of flowers that Selene had called rainbow flowers, and despite there being only withered stems and dried petals Eli could see the name was very fitting.

And over there, separate from the fruit trees, was a cluster of seven trees that were totally unrecognizable; Selene had called them nitra, zeolora, and crystella trees and Eli had never seen anything so bizarre as trees that grew...rock and crystal-looking "fruit" that hung heavy from the branches or leaked from the bark like a growth. Whatever or however the rocks and crystals grew the builder had said that the trees weren't ready to be harvested but had promised to let her help when it was time; what had gone wrong in nature to create trees that grew rocks?

No... What had gone wrong with the world that gave chemicals and biological weapons free reign to do all THIS?

'At least some of it's familiar...' she kept thinking to herself.

And she had to keep latching on to the familiar things, but there were precious few compared to everything that had changed... Plants were different, the trees were different (even the "normal" ones growing naturally around the shop - Eli didn't recognize those species at all), languages had disappeared, technology was gone...

And then there was all the people, and all the nations, that were gone too.

A twinge hit her in the gut and she leaned her head back against the fence behind her; the change in posture let the light breeze blow right down the front of her, through the little opening between the V-shape of the zipper on her jacket and the tiny gap at her collar bone where her sweater neck drooped slightly. The sudden stab of cold against her skin drew her attention away from the black hole of thought she was about to tumble down and she took a steadying breath.

After a few moments she did zip her jacket up to beneath her chin but she stayed leaning as she was; from the workshop and warehouse across the yard Eli could hear the noise of machines pounding and grinding away -- the locking elevator car was nearly done with only the front and back wall panels needing completion. The lock itself was fairly clever and Selene had seemed especially proud of herself as she showed it off to her earlier; it required both a physical key and a magnet of a certain strength to turn the tumbler and lift an inner locking bar that fit into the gap the door would ordinarily slide effortlessly into, and without the magnet to lift the bar you'd have to tear the entire door apart to get that bar up and out of the way (and by that point you wouldn't even need to as the door would be less a door and more a gaping hole).

Selene had selected a pile of magnets of various shapes and sizes but all roughly the same strength and the plan was only some of them would get a key and some would get a magnet (with a few exceptions - Gale would have both a key and magnet and so would at least one of the Civil Corps members). It essentially meant that it would take two people to get the car unlocked, which Eli considered a little overkill but was willing to let the mayor have the final call.

It did make her wonder what kind of war had just passed between the Alliance and this Duvos...Gale was dead set on absolutely nothing in those ruins falling into Duvos hands even though Eli knew there wasn't a chance in hell that anyone on the planet could replicate anything that could be found down there.

The thrumming and clanking of the workshop factory rather nicely covered up the sound of approaching hoofbeats coming from the direction of the city gates; Eli wasn't even aware Arlo had gotten that close until he'd said hello, and then she felt like an idiot at how she'd jumped out of her skin at the sudden greeting.

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

"Didn't mean to startle you, sorry."

Spacer nickered quietly - almost like the horse was also apologizing on his behalf.

Eli sat up from where she'd been leaning against the fence. "Not your fault, was just...thinking, I guess. I need to get back into the habit of listening for every little noise."

With a nod Arlo quietly gave her a once over; she was looking stronger every day, and now that she was out here with Selene she'd be right next to the Civil Corps usual jogging path. "-you're looking well. Does Dr. Xu have you exercising to build your muscles back up?"

"Not yet, but getting out to the facility and working inside it is doing a pretty good job of getting me back to what would be normal for anyone else. It's going to take a lot of work and protein to get back to what's 'normal' for me."

"When the Civil Corps does training exercises we usually start out with a run that begins at the gates and goes right by here - maybe you can start joining us, when we get back to it."

Eli smiled at him. "I'd like that. It'd be a good way to get the lay of the land too." She jerked a thumb over toward Selene's factory. "She's almost got the locking car done so whatever schedule you had before you ought to be getting back to soon."

Arlo gently nudged Spacer a little bit closer so he didn't feel like he was just a few levels shy of shouting at her to be heard over the noise of the factory going at full steam. "I'll be helping to haul it out and install it - how big is it?"

"Big enough to properly fit into the shaft, and with thick walls and door. The lock's actually pretty clever too."

"Good. We need clever to keep people out of there. Has Gale talked to you yet?"

He noted that she paused (it was barely perceptible - could've been mistaken for a flinch) before offering him another smile.

"Yeah, he has. This coming sunday the cat's out of the bag."

"I don't expect any trouble but Remington and I will be there regardless."

Eli nodded and an awkward silence fell; she took a halfhearted bite out of the mostly finished apricot in her hand but was chewing it slowly, like she didn't want to swallow it.

Sensing a change of subject was probably needed Arlo cleared his throat. "-your haircut is nice. Suits you."

"Thanks," came Eli's quick answer - the relief in her tone was palpable. She ran a hand through her hair; it was shaved almost to her skull on the sides and in the back, but the top had been left long enough to comb to the left. "It's how I wore it before. Fits better under helmets and there's less there for someone to grab a handful of if they manage to get close and I don't have said helmet on."

Ha...a haircut doubling as part of personal defense. That was something he hadn't given thought to before. "So you've met Sanwa then. What'd you think of him?"

"Chatty fellow. Selene mentioned I was new to the area and he started waxing poetic about Portia and how peaceful it is out here. I guess that's why you only need three Civil Corps members, eh?" she asked, chuckling quietly.

Arlo smiled faintly, shaking his head. "He does have a point. There's not a lot of interest in joining the Civil Corps because not a lot of people think we need a large group of us because Portia is so peaceful. Gale does have the budget set aside to hire on more people as needed or required, and Paulie helps out as he's able -- we did have a recent incident with a rogue knight that had people clamoring for more town security but that sentiment only lasted a couple of weeks."

"...a...rogue knight?" Eli repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Like, metal armor, sword, chivalry knight?"

"Sort of. He had some armor on and a sword but he was commanding an All Source AI and other AIs to attack Portia. We sustained some heavy damage but were able to fend him off with help from Django."

Eli let out a barked "ha!" before spinning on her stool to rest her arms on the fence and her chin on her arms. "I knew it. That man carries himself too confidently to just be a chef."

"He...what?"

"Django. I met him earlier when Selene and I got brunch. He walks and carries himself with a certain confidence and balance that I'd expect out of someone who's been trained in combat. Is the knight-theme of his diner just for show, or is he some sort of knight too?"

"He's retired. You could tell all that from watching how someone walks?"

Eli nodded. "You can. Might take a bit to notice with some more than others but with him it's a dead giveaway. If you ever want to learn what to look for I can teach you, no problem."

"I'll keep that in mind. Could be useful." Arlo glanced toward the door of the factory; he was tempted to get down and go check on progress but if Eli said Selene almost had it done he was willing to take her word for it. "I need to go on patrol. Would you like to ride along? Get the lay of the land, like you said earlier, and maybe we'll find somewhere you recognize."

Eli seemed to consider that a moment, then nodded; as she stood she whipped her arm and sent what was left of the apricot in hand whizzing toward the compost heap across the yard. Arlo tracked its arc and nodded approvingly as it landed on top and sent a small clump of rotting leaves and cornball husks sliding down the side of the heap.

"Nice throw."

"Thanks. I'll let Selene know where I'm headed and then we can head out."

She headed into the workshop and was back a few moments later; Arlo held a hand out and helped her mount up behind him before nudging Spacer into a trot.

Across from Selene's shop was Sophie's ranch; as they drew away from the workshop the hissing and pounding noises faded and the soft sounds of cattle and horses started to become apparent. The wheat fields had long since been harvested and as they ambled along Arlo could pick out tracks across the field were someone had been walking and another longer stretch that looked like someone had been sledding there. These spots and of course the areas where the cows and horses wandered had thawed out down to the ground underneath and stood out as dark, muddy spots against the remaining slushy snow that still clung to the ground (and was also a reminder of the mud they had to wade through daily to get to and from the facility as well).

"Were there any farms nears Dubei?"

"On the very outskirts, and also hundreds of community plots on the rooftops."

Arlo blinked. "On the rooftops? How?"

He heard a soft chuckle behind him. "Just a reinforced area able to handle extra weight of soil and water, good drainage, that sort of thing. Almost every roof had some sort of food garden or ornamental one - Dubei loved their greenery. Planters and trees on every street and corner, shelves to let vines come down the sides of buildings. Lots of potted plants inside buildings too. From far off it'd be easy to miss among all the lights, signs, and the glass reflecting everything but down in close, on the streets and in the buildings themselves, you'd see green everywhere."

"Sounds like a lot of work."

He felt movement against his back as she shifted, then "-not when you have AIs specifically handling the work."

"An AI for every task, sounds like."

From the corner of an eye he saw Eli nod. "They did the bulk of menial and hard labor, and of course were invaluable assistants in day to day goings on. Lots of data storage, for one."

"The historical records seemed to suggest AIs did everything for humans."

"NOT everything," Eli corrected, tone firm. "They couldn't do everything. And we couldn't trust them with everything anyway."

"Couldn't trust an AI? But I at least thought they were everywhere."

"They were. But would YOU want to trust every aspect of life to something that was one damaged power supply or corrupted file away from shutting down at the worst possible time?"

"I guess not."

They rode on in silence for a bit; the farm passed by and they were approaching the fields beyond Sophie's fences. He turned Spacer to the right and began to follow the fence line up toward where the air balloon platform was. In full view from here was the water wheel that fed an irrigation system for the tree farm, as well as two towering ruins that were little more than metal husks -- they hadn't held much of importance when they'd first officially been delved into about twenty five years ago and since then they'd been stripped of as much useful scrap as they could without causing them to collapse.

Very carefully he turned his head to catch a view of Eli behind him; she was studying the shape of the ruins in the distance and seemed to be comparing them to the water wheel. He stopped Spacer at the DeeDee stop and shifted to look back at her. "Anything seem familiar yet?"

"I'm...PRETTY sure that rounded building there was a planetarium -- a, uh, a place where you could learn about space and the solar system. That rounded top was usually a theater where you could sit and watch a presentation projected onto the ceiling that, because it was rounded and also huge, seemed to drop you right in the middle of the movie. It's easy to trick the brain into thinking you're moving if you're surrounded with the right sensory information so the whole point of the presentation was to make you feel like you were literally flying through space examining planets."

"Sounds like fun."

Eli laughed quietly behind him. "It was. And it's something I'm sure even your level of technology could replicate."

Arlo smiled a bit at that and guided Spacer off to the left, diverting toward the elevator that led up to the hot springs. As he scanned the area and the bluffs ahead he wasn't seeing anything out of the ordinary - there weren't even any footprints up this way. He checked that the elevator was still working as it should and then turned Spacer down the path back toward the road that would lead to the harbor.

Technically he was going well out of the way of his usual patrol route but with Eli with him he wanted to give her the best chance possible to recognize anything in the immediate area; that she'd sort of recognized a planetarium was, he assumed, a good thing, and maybe with a few more landmarks she'd be able to piece together a map of Dubei and know approximately where she was now, 300 years later.

The lighthouse was always in view from almost anywhere you cared to stand once you were south of Sophie's, along with the top of the cargo crane. There was a rumble in the distance suggesting the bus that wheeled around Portia was just past the trees up ahead (that was where the bus stop was, after all) and aside from the soft lapping of waves against the shore there wasn't much else going on out here. He could do a quick loop then circle back north toward Amber Island's bridge, then keep going...

"Was Dubei close to the shoreline?"

"It was built out over the shoreline," came Eli's answer. "Big pylons, gigantic harbor. Docks and walkways. I'm not sure where we are on Dubei's shoreline just yet though."

Arlo nodded and kept Spacer moving at a leisurely trot. Eli seemed a little interested in seeing the "haunted" cave on Amber Island so he made a mental note to make sure she got a chance (knowing Selene if she caught wind of it she'd drag the woman out there herself) and then kept northeast toward Bassanio Falls.

"Is that...desert, over the river?"

Arlo nodded. "It is. Eufala Desert. There's some ruins out that way and Dana's mining operation in Ingall's Mine. If we'd gone across that second bridge we just passed on the right we would've arrived in South Block - it's a tiny outpost right at the edge of the desert." As he glanced back to her he saw her frown, then shake her head. "I'm guessing there wasn't any desert near Dubei in your time."

"No, there wasn't."

She didn't elaborate further; the lift to the top of the falls was where, lately, Arlo had been stopping his patrol route -- now that they were having to keep an eye on the facility in the marsh whoever got the afternoon shift was usually the one who skirted the edge of the marsh and then circled around and down from WOW Industries...

But, the very top of the falls was fairly high up and you could see for miles around up there so that would be the optimal place to have a look from. When they were within walking distance of the lift he got down from Spacer's back and walked the horse the rest of the way; the DeeDee stop would double nicely as a hitching post and there he left Spacer tethered before offering Eli a hand down.

"Let's head up - you might spot something you know."

As soon as they were at the top of the lift Eli immediately spotted the towering ruins of WOW Industries. "Did you people give names to any of these ruins?"

"Not really. But the ones we were able to find mention of, or ones with surviving signs, we just call them by their names. That's WOW Industries."

Eli's eyes lit up. "THAT'S WOW? Well, that's half of WOW. All right...all right, so then..."

She jogged up the path ahead of him and he sped up to keep pace, and then almost collided with her when she abruptly stopped.

"What the heck are THOSE?" she asked then, pointing off to their left where there was a flurry of movement near the tops of the trees.

Arlo squinted off toward where she was pointing and caught the barest glimpse of fluttering wings. "Panbats."

"Pan...bats?" she repeated slowly, turning to look at him in confusion.

"Panbats. They're pests that feed on trees - we had an infestation of them at the tree farm a few years ago. Usually they're pretty harmless but if they're hungry or you scare one they might attack."

Eli continued to stare at him for a few breaths more, then turned on her heel to head up the path further before turning to the left to creep up to the base of a tree; at the base she knelt down, putting the tree partially between herself and the panbats that were flapping around. Arlo came up behind her, counting seven of the beasts; he was more interested in watching how Eli watched them -- he wouldn't say she was sizing them up but she was eying them with far more than a passing curiosity. As they hunched there, observing, Arlo could see one large panbat alight on a bough and pull a shriveled apple free from a dry branch before beginning to suck at it.

"...do you have pandas, and bats, in this world?" Eli asked quietly.

"Bats, yes. Not sure what a panda is."

"Pandas - panda bears. Think...THESE things, but no wings, and about half the size of your horse."

Arlo shook his head. "We don't have those around here, at least. Couldn't say for the rest of the world though."

Eli let out a sigh that trailed off into a faint raspberry noise before she stood and turned back to the WOW Industries building. "Well... The good news is I know WOW Industries, and I know where it was. We're in the southeastern corner of Dubei and now I can also confirm that the shoreline is NOT where it should be, and that none of these bluffs or waterfalls here are where they're supposed to be. It's like...it's like parts of the land got shifted, or sheared off."

He didn't know what to say to that and instead followed silently as she walked up to the building. She stared up at the building and at the door, then circled around the ruin's foundation to the left; there was a flat metal platform here they'd assumed was some kind of loading dock that served double duty as a canopy that covered three enormous pipes coming out of the building. Not far from the edge of the platform was an enormous, wide stone retaining wall that overlooked the eastern border of the Collapsed Wasteland. There was another wall and a line of trees that blocked the majority of the view of the Wasteland from the top of this particular wall - it was hardly more than a crater with a few intact buildings clinging to the land so there wasn't much to see regardless.

Despite the obstructed view Eli was still standing atop the wall and, while he couldn't be sure, it sort of looked like she was measuring distances with her hands - using her fingertips lined up with the landscape and tops of the ruins.

He was content to wait and let her do whatever she needed; down below them he could just make out slurpees wandering about -- he wondered what she'd think of THOSE.

"Oh Fate...why is THIS the way the story goes..."

He just barely heard her speak. "-huh?"

"Nothing. Just having a crisis of faith. Or, in my case, a crisis of Fate."

"Ah."

She ran her hand through her hair again, and paced back and forth a few steps in each direction. "--what religions even exist now?"

"We have the Church of the Light. There might be others but I'm not sure - I've never been very far from Portia." He waited a moment, watching her pace. "What religions existed back then?"

"Hundreds of thousands. Mine specifically was the Foundational Three."

Arlo shook his head. "I've never heard of that one. The Research Center might have, but not me."

"Great..." she sighed. "Well. The Foundational Three are..." She paused, kicking away snow and ice from the stone under her before dropping down to sit. "Fate. Balance. And Judgement. Fate is the Great Curator, and ensures that every soul born into the world has a story to tell and, when those lives are over, makes sure their stories are made a part of the cosmos. Balance is the Silent Observer - Balance makes sure your life isn't too hard or too easy because too hard means you give up and too easy means you don't grow. And Judgement is the Arbiter, the one who carries out decisions made by Balance. Judgement will remove or place obstacles as needed, and punish or reward those as needed -- those who make it their purpose to make other lives miserable will find themselves on the receiving end of Judgement's wrath, and that's not somewhere you want to be. And on the other end of the spectrum are those who are given a helping hand to overcome their troubles if it proves to be more than they can bear."

She trailed off, staring out at the treetops below them. Arlo likewise cleared off a spot to sit and dropped down next to her. "It sounds like a nice religion."

Eli nodded. "Compared to most I'd say it definitely is. Certainly more kind than a lot I'd heard of back then. A lot of religions threatened doom and hellfire and damnation, or the destruction of the soul, or losing the ability to be reborn into another life - always more threats of the bad things versus promises of the good things. The Foundational Three always made the most sense to me though."

"Why's that?" He asked almost without thinking, then quickly added "you don't need to answer that if it's too personal."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, it's fine. In fact, the Three actually encourage you to share information and stories. That's part of why it made sense to me...there's things that should be shared, and remembered. And there's proof all around you that the stories told keep echoing - there's a reason people believe in ghosts. Those are just stories that weren't ready to end."

"I'm not sure I follow."

At that Eli laughed quietly, pulling up a knee to rest her chin on it as she wrapped her hands around her leg. "So, you have ghost stories here, right? I'd assume so being as you have a 'haunted' cave attraction." When he nodded she continued. "A ghost is a soul. A story. And sometimes, when someone dies, instead of their story joining the infinite collection the story itself hangs around. Sometimes it's there because the soul feels their story was cut short and they're upset. Sometimes it remains because the soul feels too strong of a connection to someone else's story, and they can't leave yet because their story is still being written, just on someone else's pages. That's how you end up with guardian spirits or the angry, hateful ghosts that appear in scary stories -- it's just someone's life, someone's story, that wasn't ready to close the cover yet. Eventually though the cover closes, the story returns to the shelves, and the details of that story are written in the fabric of existence where anyone, at any time, may catch a whisper of it even if they never knew that person."

She went quiet after that and Arlo mulled over everything she'd just said; it was a neat and tidy way to think of the universe, for sure. There was even a small bit of comfort in it, thinking that both people he knew and also those he'd never known or would ever know would somehow know about him when he was gone...granted, that thought was terrifying too - a bunch of strangers hearing only bits and pieces of things he'd done or the type of person he'd been. Anyone could make any sort of story out of scraps and believe themselves right.

"What happens when you accomplish whatever Fate said your story was supposed to be about?" he asked into the silence.

Eli shrugged. "How would you know you'd done that?"

"...no idea."

"And no one else would know either. Only Fate would. And even stories that seem complete can keep going. The only thing you can know for sure is you have a starting point in your story, and somewhere there's an ending point, but there's an infinite number of ways to get there." She trailed off again, then inhaled deeply and looked over to him. "Though I definitely understand the NEED to know why your story is going where its going. What am I supposed to accomplish?" With a flick of her fingers she gestured to the Wasteland ahead of them. "How in the world does THIS fit into any reasonable story Fate would want to tell?"

He didn't have an answer for that so he just stayed quiet; the sun was setting and the breeze was getting a bit more chilly and out of habit he rubbed his hands together.

The movement attracted her attention. "We can head back. I've seen enough to have at least some idea of where I am. It's just...staggering that there's so little left."

He nodded and stood, and offered her a hand up; they walked back to Spacer in silence and began to make their way back to Portia.

About halfway there he heard her sigh again - it was more of a groan though. "What's wrong?"

"I just realized something. Something that I was doing."

"What's that?"

"I want to know what happened here, and what that facility actually is and why I was down inside it. And I keep catching myself thinking of those three things - what happened, what it is, why I was there - as all separate pieces of the puzzle, when I SHOULD be thinking of it as one big knot to unravel. Seeing WOW, and spotting the sewer network got me to thinking about what's gone, what should be where, and how the landscape changed and for a moment it was like THAT was the only problem. And I know I'm doing it because, to be blunt, I'm terrified to actually get the answer..."

"I'm sorry," was all he could think to say.

The ride back to Portia was quiet after that.

#Lost in Time #lit #Lost in Time - ch 7 #Arlo #Builder #Paulie #My Time at Portia

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justlightlysedated · 5 years

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sugar and spice and everything nice

Michael looks down at the address written on the paper in his hands and sees the name of the bakery written in Isobel's loopy handwriting, and then looks back out of his windshield at the shop he's parked in front of.

It's nestled between a bookshop and a coffee shop, arguably the best place to be if you're a bakery, especially with the name, Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice.

But the display in front of the window looks like it came out of a spread for the fictional magazine, Witches Brew Weekly, and Michael wonders exactly what kind of cake Isobel had made here.

He also wonders exactly why she's throwing a Happy Divorce Party, but sometimes it's better to not understand the workings of his sister's mind. He goes crazy trying to figure her out on a daily basis.

Michael inhales deeply, and tells himself that looks can be deceiving, prime example being himself and how people react when he tells them that he owns his own flower shop and studied horticulture in college.

He grabs his cowboy hat from where he'd set it on the passenger seat and puts it over his head as he gets out of his truck.

Michael walks towards the bakery, eyeing the display with some more interest as he gets closer.

The spiders crawling all over the cupcakes look too real and are creeping him out a little bit, but there is something oddly charming about the three tiered cake depicting the beheading of Anne Boleyn.

Michael walks in through the door, and jumps a little when there is a creepy haunted mansion style doorbell ringing through the room announcing his presence.

He bites down on the smile that wants to pull at his lips and looks around the place.

The color scheme is all dark, mostly black and white but with dark red and dark purple accents. There are three display cases practically caging in the six small tables with two chairs each, made up of glossy purple wood and black glass panelling one with normal looking breakfast pastries and muffins, the other with a different kinds of cupcakes each depicting a Summer yet halloween based theme, like two ghosts snorkeling or a skeleton tanning, and the last, right in front of double doors that Michael is sure lead to the kitchen with a register perched on top and a few baskets full of what looks like freshly baked bread, and underneath on display through the glass beneath a sign that says, Our Specialty One of a Kind Divorce Cakes, No Two Cakes Will Ever Be the Same, We Guarantee, are an array of cakes that could pass for wedding cakes if it weren't for the terrifying scenarios being depicted.

Before Michael can get any closer to see what he can make out beside the one where it looks like a tiny fondant bride is tossing her tiny fondant husband into a wood chipper, the double doors opens, and a young woman with long dark hair held away from her face by a black visor with the name of the bakery and the skull and crossbones design that is at the front of the store stitched with holographic silver thread on the rim. She's wearing a black apron with the name Rosa stitched in the front with the same holographic silver thread over an outfit that wouldn't be out of place in the middle of a mosh pit. She's carrying a tray of what looks like caramel apples with a little sign that says, If you spend more than 20$ you get me for free! and looks up, mouth open like she's about to say something and she stops, giving him a very obvious once over, before making a face at the cowboy hat.

She still smiles, bright and wide and a little flirty, red lips coming off more like a warning than a beacon, and sets the tray down in the space between the register and the first basket of bread.

"Well, hello there," she says, as she leans against the counter. "Welcome to Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice, where we make all of your not so sweet dreams come true. What can I do for you?"

Michael blinks at her, "Shouldn't it be sweet dreams?"

Rosa's grin turns all teeth and predatory, "If you're in them, then sure."

Michael just smiles shaking his head a little before he tugs out the paper that Isobel had given him.

"I'm here to pick up an order," he says and hands over the paper.

Rosa takes it and reads it quickly before making a face, kind of like the one she made when she saw his hat.

She walks to the double doors and pushes open one of them yelling, "Someone's here to pick up the Ice Queen's order!"

Michael would protest the use of the nickname but he knows it's probably something that Isobel would like.

There is a startled yelp, and then the sound of something metal clattering to the floor, before someone is cursing low and fervently.

Rosa just lets the door fall close and turns back to Michael, "The Chef will be right with you."

Michael nods his head and casts a look around the shop and his gaze is caught by the window display again.

"You design all of these?" He asks looking back at Rosa. She has that air about her that tells him that she's artistic, but she shakes her head.

"No," she says sounding amused. "Most of the designs are Alex's, except for the spider collection. Alex mostly keeps me around because I'm much better at customer service than he is."

"Which really isn't saying much," a dry voice says from the double doors.

Michael turns towards the newcomer and feels almost like he's been hit across the back of the head with a baseball bat.

While he blinks dazed and confused, it's almost like everything is moving in slow motion.

The vision stands for several still seconds right in front of the door, being illuminated by the light coming from the kitchen, making his messy hair that is sticking up all over the place, kind of glow golden like he has a halo. He's wearing the same visor and apron as Rosa, but his apron is covered in flour and butter and chocolate and what looks like food coloring. Alex is stitched in the upper right corner of his apron in a rainbow colored thread.

That combined with the dark, dark eyes that seemed like they could swallow Michael whole and he would enjoy every minute of it, and the luscious full mouth, that purses into an annoyed expression the longer that Michael stares at him, makes him consider the warmth jolt in his stomach with the utmost seriousness.

He turns to Rosa to say something, turning his back to Michael and Michael's gaze drops right to check out his ass, and it's almost too good to be true.

Michael feels the hot bolt of attraction and the gooey warmth in his stomach combine to conspire against him.

He has the brief and totally insane thought of what flowers they'll have at their wedding and if they would be in season, before he snaps himself out of it and looks into Alex's narrowed pissed eyes and realizes that maybe the whole slow motion thing had been in his head and smiles as apologetic and charming as he can.

"So sorry," he says. "I kind of spaced there for a second. What were you saying?"

His eyes dart over to Rosa who looks entirely too amused, so he probably hasn't fucked up beyond repair.

Not that there is anything to fuck up.

Alex clears his throat pointedly, and Michael looks over to him immediately.

Alex's brow is still furrowed, but he seems to be more confused than angry.

He inhales deeply like he's steeling himself and then moves to the side and Michael sees that while he'd been busy committing Alex to memory, they'd brought out a rolling stand with a huge open white cake box, the name and logo of the bakery stamped on the side, the cover is propped open so that the cake fits and there is what looks like a black veil covering the cake from view, and Michael's curiosity peaks, overwhelming the stupefying feeling of attraction, and he leans forward, on the only empty space on top of the counter.

Alex's brow furrows even more, but he just takes a deep breath and lifts the veil over the cake.

Michael has a moment where he thinks that he's been transported to a gallery, because what Alex unveils could very easily be mistaken for a painting.

"Isobel wants you to take a picture even though I already uploaded the time lapse video on the shop's Instagram-"

"Is that a replica of Judith beheading Holofernes but with my sister?" Michael interrupts him leaning even closer, trying to get as close a look as possible.

The cake is three tiered and covered in white icing, with a pillow and pearl buttons design, that Michael remembers from the wedding cake that Isobel had when she married Noah, five years ago, seemingly bursting out of the cake, is the bloody scene, depicted in some kind of frosting or fondant, tiny Isobel with her knee right on tiny Noah's chest, one hand in his hair, holding his head at an angle that exposes his neck and the other holding the hilt of the sword, as she slices through. There is realistic looking blood, and Isobel and Noah are very recognizable, and it's literally the most amazing thing that Michael has ever seen in his life.

He looks up at Alex, who blinks twice at him before speaking.

"Yes," he says shortly, bordering on defensive. "I talked with your sister and she told me her story while I sketched out some ideas, and afterwards she chose her favorite."

Michael just exhales and wonders if it would be creepy to tell someone that he just met that he thinks he's in love with him.

"It's one of the most-" Michael starts and stops looking for a word to say, and Alex just sighs, like he's tired and cuts him off.

"Disturbing things you've ever seen?" He says, a little mockingly making air quotes and rolling his eyes.

Michael's complete attention focuses on Alex's fingers, long and pale and strong and covered in rings silver and black, and several bandages.

Michael stares obviously enough that Alex fidgets a little, looking at his hands and scoffing.

"Don't worry," he says dead pan. "It's not my blood. I only save the blood sacrifices for when I'm making pastry."

Michael laughs, a startled burst of giggles that he can't seem to really control, and Alex freezes completely on the other side of the counter, not moving, barely even breathing.

"I was actually going to say, it's one of the most amazing things I've ever seen in my life," Michael says and sincerely as he can.

Alex just stares at Michael with wide eyes, and he looks a little panicked and like he really needs to bail the scene, but as he turns to Rosa, Rosa turns away, heading towards the entrance.

"I'm taking my fifteen minute break," she says.

Alex opens his mouth, and Rosa cuts him off as she pulls her phone out of her pocket.

"Yes, I'll get you the French vanilla iced latte."

He makes another attempt to say something, but the doorbell rings out again, and this time Michael lets the smile take over his face.

When he turns back to look at Alex, Alex is staring at him with a furrowed brow.

Michael licks his lips, but before he can say anything, Alex is speaking.

"The amount pending is 60$," he says, and moves towards the register, pulling a receipt notebook from a pocket hanging beside the register and starts to write out the receipt.

Michael pulls out the money that Isobel had given him, the amount due plus a large tip.

Michael leaves the money on the counter, and pulls his phone out of his pocket to take a picture of the cake.

He sends it to Isobel and she immediately responds with a bunch of excited and happy emojis, and a text demanding that he hurry up and get back to her place.

Michael slides his phone back in his pocket without answering her, and turns to Alex who is counting the money and putting it inside of the register before he tears Michael's copy of the receipt off the notebook and hands it to him.

Michael takes the receipt and before Alex can say anything else, his eyes fall on the caramel apples with the sign that Rosa had set down earlier.

"Does that mean I get one of those?" He asks pointing at the apples.

Alex purses his mouth and gives him a look.

Before he sighs and looks down at the apples.

"I like experimenting with flavors in my baking and sometimes it works really well, but most of the time it's a disaster. I still test them out on customers to see if they like them."

Michael nods his head slowly, "So the apple is the experiment you're testing today?"

Alex smiles, a quick brief thing that Michael almost misses, before he grabs one of the plastic cake knives from a jar full of them, and a small white ceramic plate.

He lifts one of the apples on to the plate, using the side of the knife, and then sets the plate down in front of Michael.

He takes the knife and places the edge right by the wooden stick.

He pushes the knife down, and Michael expects resistance, so he's surprised when the plastic knife just falls straight through, cutting the apple in half easily, only a slight crunch towards the bottom.

He parts the two halves and pushes one aside and then starts to speak again.

Michael looks away from the interesting layers of mousse and jelly and cookie, and looks at Alex and then can't find himself able to look away.

"It's a dark chocolate mousse sitting on top of a layer of hot mint jelly and a shortbread cookie infused with jalapeños and lime, shaped into a sphere and covered in a shiny red mirror glaze," he says, pointing out every layer with a finger, and looking so animated that he almost seemed like a different person.

"I'm calling it the Poison Apple. The idea behind the flavors is that they'll balance each other out, and I really like a little bit of heat in my desserts, something that I became fond of when I was overseas. But it's not exactly everyone's cup of tea."

He looks up straight into Michael's eyes and stops talking.

Michael licks his lips and looks down at the dessert.

"That actually sounds awesome," he says honestly, before he looks back up at Alex who flinches a little like he got caught doing something he shouldn't.

Michael just smiles as reassuringly as possible and asks, "Can I have a fork?"

Alex stares at him for another long moment before he reaches down beneath the counter and pulls out a silver fork, and hands it over to Michael, who takes it smiling at Alex, who continues to look at Michael suspiciously like he's expecting something bad to happen at any moment.

Michael just pulls the plate closer and tries a forkful, making sure to get a little bit of everything, and he barely hesitates as he takes the bite.

The flavors explode on Michael's tongue one after the other starting with the slightly bitter chocolate and then a sharp burst of lemon and the heat coming from the shortbread before there is a soothing coolness coming from the jelly, and Michael doesn't really understand it and he never in a million years would've thought that the flavors would go together, but it actually works.

"Wow," he says and looks at Alex who is just blinking at him like Michael is being confusing. "It's amazing."

He can't help but sound awed. He hadn't really expected it to taste as good as it did, and he wonders how much of it is due to the fact that Alex was the one who made it.

Michael eats most of the case, knowing he's making the most ridiculous faces, but every time it hits him different.

Alex just continues to stare at him, gaze intense, and Michael finds that he really likes it.

He looks up at Alex then, and Alex is licking across his bottom lip, and Michael feels a pulse of heat go straight down the back of his neck, and he doesn't think that he's ever wanted anyone the way that he wants him, right now, but he also doesn't think that he's wanted to keep someone as much as well.

Before Michael can make any decision, Rosa is moving behind the counter, and Michael's gaze falls on her, and he wonders how long she'd been watching.

The knowing smirk on her face tells him that it was long enough.

Alex jumps back, startled and he looks from Michael to Rosa before he grabs the coffee in her hands and walks straight through the double doors not even looking back.

Michael sets the fork down slowly and he looks at Rosa, who gives him a sympathetic smile, before she motions towards the cake with her chin. "Need some help with that?"

Michael nods his head, and Rosa covers the cake back up.

Together they get it secure to the back of the truck and Michael promises that he'll drive slow.

Rosa turns to walk towards the bakery and then she turns back to Michael.

"Look," she says, a protective edge to her voice."You seem like a nice guy, and you obviously speak Alex, but Alex has been through a lot, and if you're just messing with him-"

"I like him," Michael blurts out, and rubs the back of his neck when Rosa looks at him, feeling a little embarrassed as he looks away from her. "I like him a lot. It actually feels a little insane how much."

"Good," she says and Michael's gaze snaps back to her.

"You gotta be a little insane to try and date Alex," she says, shrugging a little as she turns back towards the bakery. "He's really fucking weird."

And with that and a cheerful see you soon that she shouts from the open doorway, almost getting drowned out by the doorbell.

Michael shakes his head and gets into his car.

Something crinkles as he sits and he pulls the piece of paper from beneath his thigh and looks at the address for the bakery.

He's almost completely sure that he'll remember the way to get back here even without an address, but he pulls his phone out and saves the address in his contacts.

A pop up appears asking him if he wants to add sugarandspice on instagram, and he clicks yes, and starts the truck.

His phone buzzes with a notification and he smiles when he sees rosa.zombie. is now following you.

He pulls away from the curb and finds his head full of thoughts that are entirely premature, but he can't exactly help himself.

He wonders if Alex will accept edible flowers and potted herbs in exchange for taste testing more of his flavor experiments.

The picture posted on Rosa's instagram before seven in the morning is of Michael eating one of the mousse cakes disguised as a caramel apple with a rapturous look on his face, and Alex is staring at him like he's confused and absolutely flabbergasted.

The caption for the picture is:

rosa.zombie. he is eating one of @manelydead's super special recipes. obviously, he's an alien.

Followed by the following comment thread almost immediately after posting:

lizziethestrange HOLYSHIT!!!

delucastyle holy shit

valentimcsexy hoLY SHIT

iamcamiam holy shit

manelydead Don't any of you assholes sleep in???

guerinsflowers @manelydead 😉😉😉

intergalacticbitch @guerinsflowers you fucking better not!

#malex fic #well here you go!!#thanks for reading!#😊😊😊😊😊💖💖💖💖💖💖#now on to finish my cosima au!!

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fernwehbookworm · 3 years

Text

Haunted- Chapter 4

The night was nearly sleepless as Kara tosses and turns. The few snatches she manages to catch are filled with shadowy hands and bright lights. Sometimes, she could swear she could hear Lena calling to her. Kara gives up around 4am and does the only thing she can think of, diving back into research. She has to actually begin to decipher the scientific terminology in the report.

“You look like shit.” Alex mumbles as she trudges into the room to start coffee.

“Pot calling the Kettle.”

“And under your eyes is just as black. I think your bags have bags.”

“And I think I almost have this figured out. I think… I think Lena was working on a matter transporter.”

Alex grabs three mugs from her cupboard and begins to get out sugar and creamer. “What? Like ‘Beam me up Scotty?’ Teleporting?”

“No, nothing that complicated. It seems the goal was to be able to send things like fruits and vegetables or medicines to third world countries. From what I can figure out, they were close, but Lena pushed the experiment by herself that night and used an apple which is much more complex than the small sample of pure iron they had been trying. From what the research team was able to decipher, an energy surge from the machine vaporized all the organic material near it, the apple, Lena, and some granola bars at a different workstation.”

“Wow, that is intense. I guess it's lucky that the explosion didn’t expand past the lab then. It could have been a catastrophe.”

“Yes, I believe they are scraping the project soon. Which will be a shame, it feels like they should finish it to honor Lena.”

“Or they shouldn’t so no one else gets hurt.”

“Very true. Got any pancake mix?”

Alex laughs and begins routing through her cupboards to make breakfast. Kara continues to reread everything, hoping to absorb more. Kelly appears, dressed in a sharp pant suit, and kisses Alex on the cheek. Kara feels a faint ache in her chest. It had been so long since she had this domesticity, even though it all had been a sham. It took a whole year for Kara to figure out she was the other woman, while Mike went home to his wife and two kids in the suburbs and left Kara waiting for him at his rented apartment in the city. She was completely unaware of his double life, Mike had told her he was on business trips. Until she figured it out, it was the happiest Kara had been. Then she was crushed. Last she heard, Mike and his wife were still together.

Kara pushes the loneliness away and refocuses on her computer, twirling the pen between her fingers. Out of the corner of her eye, Kara can now see Lena sitting in the chair to her right. Instead of focusing on the phantom, Kara just smiles and keeps working. When Alex and Kelly enter with pancakes, the image evaporates.

Slightly disappointed, Kara grabs a plate and a small stack of pancakes to douse in syrup. Nothing is better then Alex’s pancakes. Maybe sex, but sometimes the pancakes top that. They are made with the love of a sister and that’s all Kara needs right now.

“We have to leave in ten, I can drive you to work afterwards.” Kelly says eventually.

“Shounds mood,” Kara mumbles through a mouthful of fluffy goodness.

Kara swears she hears a giggle from behind her but fights the urge to turn around, she can’t be crazy. Not in front of the therapist. The last thing Kara needs is to be committed before this article is done.

><><><><>

“Okay, just try and relax. This is a full dive virtual reality. Physically you won’t move, but your mind will feel like it is. The program will read your thought patterns and try to take you to a happy place.”

Kara removes her glasses and takes the little black case from Kelly. With a deep breath, Kara pops the contact lenses into her eyes and Kara lays down on a very stereotypical leather couch and tries to do as Kelly says.

“Now, to activate the deep dive the key phrase to think is ‘Obsidian Pineapple Boots.’”

“Obsidian Pineapple Boo—” Kara gasps in surprise before she finishes her question.

Her vision goes black and then descends into a tunnel of colors before she finds herself in the snow. It’s shin deep but her boots protect her. The warm fur coat is soft and smells of home. Kara slowly turns as she takes in the landscape. SHe is home. Her childhood home. Before the fire. Trees are shrouded in snow and the full moon reflects off the ground, creating a false sense of daylight. The house is lit up with colorful lights and Stars of David. A menorah is burning in the front bay window. Everything is just as she remembers from when she was a child. Even the bite of the wind on her nose brings tears to her eyes, both from the cold and emotion.

"It's beautiful." Kelly says softly from beside her, dressed in her own winter clothing.

"It is." Kara steps up on the porch to look in the window.

Bathed in yellow light, Kara sees something she can't explain. The interior seems to be a mix of the Danvers beach home with her parents more rustic home from the outskirts of Moscow. Inside is her parents, and Jeremiah, Eliza, and Alex. A Christmas tree stands in a corner with stockings hanging from the mantle. On the mantle is a menorah. Its a perfect mix of both of her lives. One before the fire and one after.

"It seems you must equally think of your childhood home and the Danvers home as safe. The program pulled them together for you."

Kara only nods, unable to speak. A tear escapes her eye as she pulls off a glove to touch her fingertips to the cold glass. Instead of going in, Kara sits on the porch swing, hearing the familiar squeak as her momentum carries her back. Kelly eases herself into it with her.

"I didn't think I would ever see their faces again. If it wasn't for the couple of scorched pictures, I don't think I would remember them." Kara whispers into the cold night air. Music can be heard playing through the walls of the house and Kara closes her eyes to soak it in.

"That's part of why we are trying to launch this therapy program. So people can see loved ones again. Process emotions and maybe get closure. Our studies so far have yielded mostly positive results."

"Mostly?"

"There are a few people who, when confronted with past abusers and victims, were actually worse off. They require more traditional therapy. But it has helped build a screening program for who will be benefited by the virtual program and who won't be."

The conversation has helped Kara reign in some of her emotions and she takes a deep breath. "So what do we do now?"

"Now, we go back to where it started. Can you picture it? The lab that you first learned of Lena Luthor."

“Yeah. Easily. It's been a frequent place in my—" Suddenly instead of a swing, Kara is sitting in a lab stool with Kelly on one next to her. "---dreams." Kara finishes softly.

"You've been dreaming of the lab?"

"Yeah. Sometimes I just sit here and talk to Lena. Not about anything important to remember when I wake up. Sometimes I see her but it's like she can't see me."

Lena seems to fade into focus, already mid stride as she walks towards the matter transporter and begins to pull a panel off.

"And this?" Kelly asks.

"One time, she was pulling it apart. Trying to figure out what went wrong. Mumbling to herself that she didn't understand what could have happened."

In a blink, Lena was back at the computer. The room went dark. It was exactly Kara's nightmare from the night before. Kara's breathing picks up as she realizes what is happening.

"What is happening?" Kelly asks.

“This was my nightmare last night. I saw the accident happen. But I don't think it was an accident. Watch." Kara points to the man shaped blur of darkness as Lena is drawn closer to the machine.

"You mean how you think it happened?"

"Huh?" Kara is only half listening as she watches the light getting brighter. She can only see Lena's silhouette. Then that is gone. The whole lab is. Kelly and Kara are sitting at her kitchen table with Kelly on her right and Lena is sitting on her left. It's just like the first time that she and Lena talked.

"You mean how.you think it happened? You weren't actually there." Kelly points out.

"I know. But it just feels so real. Like I'm not watching my memories. I'm seeing hers." Kara gestures to Lena. *But then sometimes we just sit and talk and I've learned a lot about her. Like things I don't think I could make up. Like this. This was the first dream I had of her. I feel asleep after researching and then she appeared. We talked. She said she had been following me all day. She even called me Ponytail like Snapper did. Then when I asked about her life, she told me she hadn't really been living. She just worked herself to the bone. She was lonely and sad and found little joy in things outside of her lab."

"That is all details your subconscious could fill in with all the research you have been doing. You could feel like you know her. You saw the amount of projects and technological advancements L-Corp was involved in. And with how little she was in tabloids, she probably lived in her office half the time."

"Yeah she did. She even got a pull out sofa for nights she worked too late to go home."

"Did she tell you that?"

Kara watches Lena. She seems like she is laughing and carrying on a conversation with Kara, but Kara can't hear the laughter. But that smile, it could make Kara swoon. The way she shows almost too many teeth and scrunches her nose up. It's beautiful.

"Yeah, she did tell me that. But then I asked Jess, the acting CEO now, and she said it was true."

"You have good instincts then. Reporting is definitely the profession for you."

"There's been other things too. Stuff I haven't found online but I would email Jess and she would tell me it was true. And be pretty surprised that I would know."

"Like what?"

Lena gets up and goes to get a glass of water, moving around Kara's apartment like she had been there a hundred times.

"Like, she had a horse as a kid. It was the only pet she was allowed. He's name was Comet. Beautiful white stallion. Or that Lena was actually born in Ireland. That's not anywhere. Her adoption records were sealed. But it's all true."

"So Lena was an orphan from a different country?"

"As far as she knows. She saw her mother drown one morning, there is still no evidence whether it was suicide or and accident, and her father was never in the picture. Then the Luthors adopted her and brought her home." Kara smiles as she watches Lena in her pretend conversation. "She even still curses in Gaelic when she is angry, or slips into an accent when she is drunk."

"All confirmed by Jess?"

Kara sighs and finally looks back to Kelly. "Yeah. They were just too specific for me to ignore. I had to ask. At least Jess knows I'm trying to do an article on her or it would just sound stalkerish."

Kelly opens her mouth to respond but then it's like lag in a video game. She gets all jerky, disappears and reappears two feet to the left. Then she stands, sits, disappears and is gone.

"Oh god, finally." Kara jumps as Lena actually speaks next to her. "It took forever to figure out how to get into this program and to speak. Sorry I think I kicked your therapist out."

"Lena!" Kara gasps.

"The one and only." Lena smirks.

"This is real right? You are really here? I'm not crazy?"

"Yes jeez. Quite. I don't know how much time I have. I figured out what went wrong with the matter transporter. I'm somehow stuck in between planes of existence. That pen you stole, yes stole." Lena pauses to acknowledge Kara's sheepish expression. "I think that is my anchor in this plane. Well, the actual plane. But this virtual reality is making it easier to talk to you. Okay so if you hold that pen, it's easier for me to communicate. But I need you to help me."

An error message starts flashing above Kara's kitchen table. Then an override starts to be plugged in underneath it.

"Crap. She's terminating the program. Look, I need you to turn the machine back on. But reverse it so I can get back. I'm not dead. But I might be soon. It's getting harder. I feel like I'm fading. But not. Like it's getting harder to hold all my molecules together. They are trying to scatter and transfer my energy back into the universe."

"But—"

"Just hurry Kara! And remember the Pe—"

Kara snaps up right as her apartment disappears and she is suddenly back in Kelly's office. “Kara!” Kelly yells out.

“No! Wait! Why did you pull me out?”

“What do you mean ‘why?’ I suddenly got kicked out of my own therapy program. I’m the admin. That should not have happened. It's still an experimental program. I was worried.”

“She was there! I’m not going crazy. And she needs my help.” Kara hastily removes the lenses and grabs her purse.

“Kara! Wait! It was a glitch. Lena wasn’t actually there. I think your subconscious took over a bit.”

“No! She was there! I know it. I can feel it. I have to go.”

“Kara! Wai—” the office door slams shut behind Kara and she is practically sprinting through the hallway and to the elevator.

Kara doesn’t go to work. She hails a cab and heads straight to Alex’s. She uses her spare key to get inside and immediately starts packing up all her stuff. Kara scoops Streaky off the back of the couch and tucks him under an arm. This is the first place Kelly will look for her. Kara had asked the cab to wait for her and she climbs back in, immediately heading to her apartment. Once she is safely home, Kara locks her door and takes a deep breath. Streaky wiggles from her grasp with a meow of protest and disappears under the couch.

“The Pen!” Kara exclaims and digs in her computer bag. Kara cries out in victory as she snatches it from the depths and pulls it out. Then… Nothing happens. Kara slides down the front door and sits with her knees tucked into her chest.

“Come on… Come on….” Kara grips the pen, eyes roving the apartment, looking for any indication of Lena.

“Geez, relax. I’m like anchored to you or that pen. I've been here the whole time. You’re the one who couldn’t see me.” Lena materializes next to Kara, causing her to jump.

“Holy crap! Don’t do that.” Kara glares at Lena.

Lena just laughs and begins to wander around Kara’s apartment. She occasionally tries to touch things, successfully brushing a sheet of paper to the floor and rattling a glass. Her hand passes through the counter and the handle of the fridge.

“Wow. Okay. This is real. And I am not actually being haunted.”

“I mean I guess you kind of are. I’m a loose collection of energy that is somehow tied to either you or that pen or both, and I have been doing everything in my limited power to get your attention.”

“Okay, I may be even crazier than I thought. What the actual fuck is happening?”

“Ooo… That may be the first time I’ve heard you cuss. Very attractive. You should do that more often.” Lena strides back towards Kara. It’s a weird experience because there is no sound to accompany her footsteps. Kara glares at her ghost.

“Look, what I have been able to figure out is that something went wrong with my transmatter portal and I am now trapped in a void between places. It’s very hard to describe and I have no scientific terms on it. All I know is it feels like every molecule in my body is trying to separate and scatter and I am using every ounce of my will to keep it together.” Lena sits next to Kara on the floor.

“So what am I supposed to do?”

“I need you to turn the machine back on and reverse it. I think I can coach you through the settings.”

“Oh yeah. Sure. Just turn the machine back on. In a high-security lab. Easy.” Kara rests her elbows on her knees and runs both hands through her hair.

“It's fine. I can get you in through my private entrance.”

“I am sooo getting arrested for this. And then thrown in the looney bin.”

“Not if we succeed. I promise you, I will literally buy you a penthouse of your choice if you do this.”

“I don’t want a penthouse.”

“Car?”

“Nope.”

“Come on, everyone wants something.”

“How about a date?” “A what?”

“You know, a date. Go out for food, maybe some sort of entertainment, maybe some hand-holding.”

Lena looks puzzled still. “You don’t want money or a penthouse? You want to take me ,” Lena points to Kara and then to herself, “on a date.”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I want to take a beautiful woman who has given all of herself to the world to dinner?”

“Because I am a total stranger who is basically haunting you and we don’t know each other.”

“Well I have done a deep dive into your personal life, which is strange and stalker-y but, in my defense, you were dead, and I like what I have seen. You have also basically been following me for the past couple days so I hope you have seen enough to give me a yes or no answer. Full disclosure, I will still help you even if you say no, but I re—” Kara freezes when she feels something cold brush across her hand. Kara looks down to see Lena’s hand resting on top of hers.

“You are rambling.” Lena smiles and Kara swears she has goosebumps. “Yes, I would love to go on a date with you. But first, I need a body to do it.”

“Right! Yes! Of course. How do we start?”

Lena removes her hand from Kara’s and places it under her chin to think. “Well, I think we will have to wait until tomorrow night. Security will be tighter but there will be fewer people. And alarms won't be an issue since I can take you through my personal doors. It would just be the people. Hopefully, Jess has actually left the office during all this.”

“She barely has. She would answer my emails at any time of the night. She might actually be sleeping there.”

“Her husband is not going to be happy with me then. I’ll have to make sure to send them on a trip as soon as possible.”

“That will give me time to finish this article.”

“Finish it? But I’m not dead.”

“But no one else knows that. My editor still wants the story by tomorrow morning to be edited and put to print. Look, you can read it. It will just be good press and then I can start on your miracle return.”

“Ah, so you're just in it for the story.” Lena accuses but there is a playful glint in her eye that tells Kara she knows it's not the full truth.

“That’s the only reason I am helping the most beautiful ghost to ever exist. For a story.

Lena doesn't respond with a witty comeback, she just grins ear to ear and ducks her head to avoid Kara’s gaze.

“Let me show you the article, it would be great to get your opinion. I’ve mostly just been using Jess for fact-checking.”

“Well, Jess does know most of my life. She’s one of the only friends I have.”

“Good to know you consider her a friend. She didn’t seem so sure. But I can tell she loves you.” Kara makes her way to the kitchen table and opens her laptop.

#supergirl #supercorp #scbb2020 #Scbb #fanfiction #au #Haunted

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emospritelet · 4 years

Note

Manifesto Prompt : Anna insists it will look good if Sutherland is the one bringing Belle the folders back to wherever she is.

[AO3]

Sutherland had spent a restless night, and felt tired and irritable the next day. Press briefings and the planned visits to a local school and hospital were the last thing he felt like doing, but he drank several cups of coffee and ate a good breakfast, which made him feel a little more human. If no less irritable.

One of the chief reasons for his bad mood faced him on every news channel: Miss French, with her flashing blue eyes and perfect lips, puffed up with righteous indignation and berating him in the marketplace. He sounded calm when he spoke to her, his demeanour smooth and unruffled, but some of the newsroom guests on the early morning newspaper review segments still found something to criticise. Sutherland scowled from his place on the couch as they wondered aloud whether his lack of reaction suggested that he didn’t care about the suffering of ordinary people in deprived constituencies like Avonleigh.

“Public service passion standing up to posh privilege,” announced a left-leaning columnist, a disdainful twist of his lips showing beneath one of those hipster beards as he shook out the paper. “Sutherland has to expect more of this as we get deeper into the election year. There’s a lot of dissatisfaction with the Government, and I’m sure the redoubtable Miss French is only the first of many to confront him over his record.”

“There’s a certain amount of glee all over Twitter at Miss French’s outburst,” added his female counterpart. “I won’t repeat the hashtag that seems to be trending, though.”

“Belle French is only saying what many in the country are thinking,” went on Hipster Beard. “Looks as though Sutherland might have his work cut out for him in appealing to ordinary working people.”

“It’s not as though I’ve had a lack of bloody critics up to now,” growled Sutherland, glancing at the coffee table, where Miss French’s folder of research still sat. He still hadn’t decided what to say to her.

“No press were allowed in when the two met for a discussion last night, but I suspect the Prime Minister might find it difficult to charm his way out of this one.”

“I’m not trying to charm my way anywhere,” said Sutherland loudly, as though the panel could hear him.

“What have I told you about yelling at the TV?” Anna swept into the room with an armful of newspapers and her free hand clutching his leather briefcase. “Turn that off, we have to be on the move soon.”

“Fucking gladly,” he muttered, flicking at the remote control and shutting off those having a laugh at his expense. “Any coverage of what we actually came here for?”

“Some,” she said. “Not as much as we’d like. Which is why today is important.”

Sutherland ran a hand over his face.

“Fine,” he said tiredly. “It’s the school first, yeah?”

“We’re scheduled to be at St Cuthbert’s in thirty minutes.”

“Any more coffee?”

Anna gave him a flat look.

“You already look as though your bloodstream’s pure caffeine.”

“Yes, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

She sighed heavily, dropping the newspapers on the table.

“Fine. Don’t complain to me when you get heart palpitations.”

“As if.”

She poured him another coffee, and one for herself.

“That’s it. It’s not very hot, either.”

“It’ll do.”

Anna sat down on the couch next to him, crossing her legs and giving him a thoughtful look.

“Didn’t you sleep last night?”

“Not much.”

“What’s the matter?”

Sutherland gave her a level look.

“Are you serious?”

“Oh, the Belle French thing’ll blow over,” she said impatiently, waving a hand. “Especially with what you plan to do with her. Assuming she agrees, of course.”

“I think you should ask her,” he said. “I’m willing to bet she’d respond better to you than to me.”

Anna shook her head.

“If you give the folder of research back and ask her yourself, it’ll look better,” she said. “She’s more likely to be persuaded that you’re taking her seriously that way.”

“I’m not making another press opportunity out of this,” he said impatiently. “Either she’s interested or she isn’t; I’m not having the whole thing play out on national media.”

“So go over there before we leave,” she said. “Wait until all the press are on the bus and pop to the library. That way you’ll be assured of some privacy.”

“So she can tell me to fuck off without anyone hearing, you mean?”

Anna looked irritated, slapping her hands down on her thighs.

“Why are you so convinced she’ll be hostile?”

“Experience?”

“From what you told me, your meeting last night was perfectly civil,” she countered. “And you’ve faced far more urgent crises and not batted an eyelid. What’s making you lose sleep over this?”

Sutherland hesitated, reaching for his coffee as he thought it over.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It bothers me. Can’t explain it.”

She was watching him with a shrewd expression that usually meant she had worked something out, but wasn’t ready to tell him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it anyway, so he drained the lukewarm coffee, pulling a face.

“Come on, we can think about Miss French later,” he said, pushing up off the couch. “St Cuthbert’s, right?”

Thirty minutes later Sutherland was walking down a school corridor with the Deputy Head of St Cuthbert’s, Mrs Nolan. She was a petite, dark-haired woman with a pixie cut and a kind smile. The press pack, kept in line by Anna, followed as they walked, and Mrs Nolan explained a little of the history of the school, and its more recent issues.

“The school’s pretty much at capacity right now,” she said. “Class sizes have increased over the past couple of years, but we’re still just about on target.”

“Do you have trouble filling teaching vacancies?” asked Sutherland, and she shrugged.

“I think our turnover is less than the inner cities, but sick leave has increased with the class sizes. We’re forced to use more substitutes than I would like, and we’ve had to cut back on after-school programmes.” She glanced at him. “I don’t know what the kids would do if it wasn’t for the parents that run sports clubs. And Belle with her classes at the library, of course.”

Of course, he thought wryly.

“I thought you could meet with the Year Threes,” she said, drawing to a stop outside a classroom door. “They’re doing a project on Vikings.”

The classroom was bright and cheerful, pictures of Viking longboats and Norse gods pinned up on the walls and the children, all around seven or eight, seated around tables with paper and paints. They looked up, eyeing the visitors with curiosity.

“Good morning everyone!” called Mrs Nolan.

“Good morning Mrs Nolan,” chorused the class. Mrs Nolan put her hands together.

“I’m sure you all remember me saying that the Prime Minister would be visiting us today,” she said. “He’s come to take a look at your project work, and these nice people have come with him to take some pictures.”

One ear on the clacking of cameras around him, Sutherland crossed to squat down by the nearest table. A small girl with round glasses and two brown braids was carefully painting a large tree with spreading branches.

“Hey,” he said gently. “What’s your name?”

“Effie,” said the girl, not looking at him.

“Is that for your project?”

“It’s Yggdrasil,” she said placidly, brush swirling on the paper.

“It’s very good,” he said. “I was never much use at drawing when I was your age. Or any age, really.”

Effie finally looked at him, her thick glasses giving her a somewhat owlish expression. Eventually she nodded, as though she had remembered something.

“You were on the telly,” she said decidedly. Sutherland smiled.

“That’s right.”

“Miss Belle shouted at you,” she added, and Sutherland felt his smile slip a little.

“Yes, she certainly did.”

“I like Miss Belle,” she said, dipping her brush in the paint again. “I’m sure if you say sorry, she’ll be nice to you again.”

Sutherland wanted to sigh. Flashes in the air made him very aware that the press were getting every moment of an eight year old giving him advice on how to handle Miss French.

“Do you go to the library?” he asked.

“Oh yes,” she said eagerly. “I go every weekend, and just read all day! Miss Belle makes me tea. And she has biscuits.”

“Chocolate biscuits?” he asked, and she beamed.

“One day we had chocolate fingers.”

Sutherland put a hand up to cup his mouth, as though they were sharing a secret.

“I like to dunk those in my tea,” he whispered, and she giggled, nodding.

“What would you do if the library wasn’t there?” he asked, and she wrinkled her nose

“Dunno.”

“Is there anywhere else you can go to read?” he asked. “What about home?”

Effie rolled her eyes.

“I have twin brothers,” she said, in a deadpan tone, and Sutherland nodded.

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Effie,” he said. “Good luck with your project.”

“Thank you.” She gave him another thoughtful look. “Be nice to Miss Belle.”

“Of course.”

Sutherland straightened up, mouth flattening as he moved on to the next table. Miss French certainly has her supporters. I suppose it’s hardly surprising if she’s teaching them all after school. Perhaps once we get to the hospital I’ll finally be free of her. Unless she has a part-time job as a bloody paramedic.

Two hours later, Sutherland was walking the hospital corridors with Miss Fay, the Matron. He was due to tour the wards before sitting down with the Board of Directors for a lunch meeting. The hospital smelt strongly of disinfectant, and ahead of him a janitor with a beard and a surly expression was mopping the floor.

“We had an outbreak of norovirus in December.” Miss Fay walked serenely along the hospital corridor beside Sutherland, brown hair brushed into a neat, shining bun. “It meant closing one of the wards during a flu outbreak, but I ordered a deep clean, so we managed to get it under control.”

“Did that result in any cancellation of procedures?” asked Sutherland, and she sniffed.

“Some, but we’ve rescheduled ninety percent of them. It was more a case of delay than cancellation. Difficult decisions needed to be made for the good of all.”

“Indeed.”

They drew closer to the janitor, who had grounded his mop and was glaring at Sutherland from beneath heavy brows.

“Sorry we’re undoing all your hard work on this floor,” said Sutherland apologetically, and the man’s scowl grew.

“Not as sorry as this town’s gonna be when the library closes,” he said roughly.

“Leroy!” snapped Miss Fay, and his scowl twisted into something sullen as he drew back. Sutherland shook his head.

Miss French again. I can’t escape the woman. She’s bloody everywhere in this town.

“I keep hearing a lot about this library,” he said. “You make use of it yourself?”

Leroy raised his head, a suspicious look on his face.

“Yeah,” he said. “Belle helped me get this job. Let me use the computer, helped me with my application - she’s like an angel in this town. And book club once a week’s the only thing that gets me out of the house in the evenings. Take that away, you take the town’s heart, don’t you get that?”

“The Prime Minister isn’t taking anything away,” said Miss Fay stiffly. “And I suggest you find another floor to mop. Go on, now.”

Leroy muttered something under his breath, pushing his cleaning cart with him as he stomped off.

“I apologise for Leroy,” said Miss Fay. “He rather idolises the librarian, it has to be said.”

“So I see,” said Sutherland. “Do you know Miss French?”

She sniffed again.

“I don’t use the library myself, but she runs a book reservation and collection service for our longer-term patients. Brings a trolley of books around twice a week.”

“That sounds like a useful service,” said Sutherland. “What do the patients think?”

“Oh, I’m told they appreciate it. She reads to a few of those with impaired vision.”

“Sounds as though she’s very dedicated to her profession,” he observed, and she shrugged.

“Perhaps.”

“What impact do you think the loss of that service would have on the patients?” he asked.

“Well, I daresay they’d get over it,” she said. “No one’s irreplaceable, are they? Their families would have to step up, instead of leaving it to others. Follow me, I’ll show you around Paediatrics.”

She marched on, and Sutherland shared a look with Anna before following.

“Miss French’s role seems to extend beyond that of a regular librarian,” he murmured, watching the back of Miss Fay’s head as they walked.

“All the more reason to have her on our team, wouldn’t you say?” whispered Anna, and Sutherland sighed.

“Alright, fine,” he said, his voice still low. “I’ll talk to her.”

#fic: manifesto #sutherelle fic #sutherelle #my fic #ripperblackstaff

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9uk · 5 years

Text

The Stranger I Met On The Bus

⌲ summary : Your life became a mess of colours the day you decided to leave the luxurious comfort of your home and board the same bus a wandering Namjoon was on.

⌲ pairing : namjoon x reader

⌲ word count : 12.6k

⌲ genre: slow burn......fluff, angst, smut, strangers2lovers...? or not. unrequited love but fate does it thing ye

⌲ warnings : rough times man, sexual scenes

a/n: it’s super messy & horrible i know...but i’ve been dying to get this out and i’ve been feeling all sorts of things as of late :’

“Is there something you need?” He starts, after having mulled over the reason behind your incessant gawking for long.

You blinked.

Something you need? Was there something you need? Why was he suddenly questioning you?

How are you going to tell him that he looks so much like somebody you used to know?

The both of you stayed right there, staring at each other with an equal amount of confusion.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him the first time you saw him. It was a brief, yet impactful eye contact shared. The split second his eyes locked with your own had your insides whirring like a washing machine. He looked around your age, perhaps a little older. Obvious dimples and agonisingly familiar mono lids. Something about the way he left your orbs as fast as they landed on them made you feel like something was going on.

It was too quick.

Too fast till it exposed his scheme. The guy had been watching you the whole time, and you had successfully caught him red-handed. Or maybe you were seeing things. Feeling things. Things you could not decipher what were.

Coincidence is a strange occurrence not many have in their lives. Some call it fate, but really you’d like to believe it as just pure luck. It’s baffling how a mere stranger could be the reason behind your insides shimmering with excitement again.

The bus station was bustling with business men rushing off to their destinations, families making their way back home, or even, wandering souls who have lost their sense of direction in life, travelling far away from their abodes to seek comfort in the beauty of escaping. Take you, for example. To sum it up, you were running away from some family matters back at home. Ones that require way more energy and attention than you can handle.

You were just in line to collect your ticket for the entire bus journey. Quite a long and drawn-out ride, you would say. You silently thanked your brain for the abrupt cue to bring your book along just as you stepped out of the house. 11 hours. What on earth were you going to do spending half a day coped up in a long, empty carriage?

“Nothing,” Your lips finally discovered the courage to open up and let a word out. The exchange of weirded out, perplexed faces of expression resumed.

He raises his brows slightly, expecting you to provide the actual cause as a continuation.

It was a millisecond away from him turning his head back into his own business. But a millisecond seems a tad too long for your short fused patience on a Friday morning.

“What? I said nothing.” The last word is shot like a poison dart to the neck—attack acting as the best shield—and the stranger is utterly surprised by the switch in attitude.

He gets the red-light, diverting eyes to the front in an instant and pressing his lips into a firm line. Your feistiness cooled down and regret immediately settled in as your tone replays in your head.

You absolutely hated repeating yourself and towards the man who resembled him too much, you lost all the rationality you contained. It probably looked like you were a temperamental piece of shit who obviously had some serious anger issues, making it tough to convince him otherwise. You want to apologise straight away, you really do. But you find yourself tongue-tied wondering if you should say it with the pronoun or not. By the time you’ve arrived to a decision, it was too late. Apologising a few minutes after the outburst of questionable annoyance would just seem...weird.

Like you have been thinking about him all this while.

Which isn’t true, at all.

A tiny seed of ego sprouted until you were crossing your arms in fumes, mainly irritated at your own cranky behaviour.

You swore to the heavens that you were much nicer than the nasty impression you left on him.

It was just, a slip of the tongue. At an absurdly wrong timing.

Yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him those two words that could clear your name.

Two hours of terrible attempts at falling asleep. The interaction with the handsome lad troubling the entrance of your dreams. The initial road is a bumpy one, the movements of the vehicle not coordinating with your pulse. One hundred and twenty minutes of stressing over the stranger of familiarity just inches away from you. He smelled like Seven thousand and two hundred seconds of—

“Excuse me, I want to get off.”

The lids you have been trying to press shut to let the unconsciousness close in on you flew open. Back jerking straight up, you realise you were in his way of leaving his seat.

The bus was almost empty, randomly splattered with a few passengers who did not need anything outside of this carriage. Vision a blur, you can only make out a big bright red panel that signified a gas station. He is a man patient enough to let you settle out of your trance before making space for his exit.

“Sorry.”

You snatch your purse and decided to get out of the bus as well.

From behind, a giant figure looms over yours and a sense of smallness washes over you.

Was your seat buddy always this tall?

You never noticed.

The mart at this particular gas station sucks. Out of 10, it barely even made pass 4.

You scanned the rows of snacks once more, as if doing just that would bring your cheese rings into existence. Forget about cheese rings, there weren’t even cheese balls available! The staple of snacks, king of crunches—to you, at the very least.

Shoving your hands into the pockets of your hoodie, you sighed in exasperation.

It is then you are suddenly reminded of the encounter with the guy sitting beside you.

It was time you got rid of the perpetual habit of yours to unleash your annoyance on anyone or anything.

After carefully reviewing every item under the snacks section, you ended up furrowing your brows at a bag of sour cream and onion chips. The grumble rolling off your stomach forces you to grab it off the shelf.

The kiosk is filled with people who were in the same bus as you, but yet you find yourself searching for a specific someone. You remember paying him no mind when you made a beeline for the mart, not wanting to waste anymore time from this precious brief stopover. For the familiar face that you still cannot put together the similarities. The uncanny resemblance in both their heights. It’s a funny thing because you always have a thing for guys around 6 feet tall.

The aluminium crinkles in your grasp as you fail to spot him. And there you are, left wondering about where the tall guy had went.

Placing your sole purchase onto the counter, you glanced over the lollipops decorated in a spiral. You absentmindedly stare at the wide array of bright colours with the beeping sound of your chips being scanned into the register.

Your focus seems to drift away, for you don’t seem to notice the cashier announcing the price of your potato chips.

“I’ll have this too,” Snapping out of the sandcastle building, you fish out a five dollar bill to the poor shop assistant who only just began her shift. “Thanks.”

Stepping outside, a fresh breath of wind whooshes past your face and you never felt this alive. Mainly because you’ve also never been up this early for so long and the morning air really hits different. It’s been forever since you actually witnessed the sun in its early form. It’s been also so long since you’ve had breakfast, and it being a bag of chips is fabulous and says a lot about your eating habits.

Most of the passengers are queuing for the public washroom, some are still lingering in the store heating up a grilled cheese or whatever. And so you drive yourself out of the lane and wander around with the remaining time left.

That would be a lie, truth to be told.

You weren’t just basically wandering around.

You were wandering around in hopes of bumping into that man.

Your legs brought your idling form to the corner of the walls of petrol kiosk.

You were not wholly surprised when you saw exactly what your mind pictured; him standing there leaned back against the white bricks and maybe, a cigarette in hand.

Except there was no tobacco or the cap he was wearing earlier on in sight, just him lowering the cellphone from his ear with dejection written all over his face. Did someone just relay a piece of bad news to him? Or did his girlfriend break up with him over the phone?

You stand there, taking in his gorgeous side profile and the cute tip of his nose you want to kiss. His Adam apple bobs as he swallows and tucks the phone back into the pocket of his navy pants. No one else has the ability to wear an outfit so baggy and casual and look like they belong on the runway. It’s like he knows which style suits him best and puts each piece of clothing to their fullest potential. His exposed brown locks fall over his eyes and your fingers itch to run through them and sweep his hair back.

It is in the middle of your not-so-subtle gawking when his gaze rises and falls onto you.

The expression on his face drops even further if possible, and he stumbles for the right words. The following squint of his eyes tells you that he did not thoroughly enjoy your presence. You roll the ball of the sweet in your palm nervously.

“W-Wha—How long have you been standing there?” The doubt flows out of his mouth and a clear displeasure in his tone.

Shorter than he thinks, definitely. You’ve only just arrived.

“A couple of seconds ago.”

The suspicion of you eavesdropping is not completely wiped off his face despite your answer. The despondency from before has somewhat grown into vexation, and he is ready to leave you alone in this alley.

The tension between the two of you is unbearable, like he has nothing to say to you or even annoyed by your existence while your fingers wrap around the lollipop stick even tighter.

“Hey,” You step in his way, but bodies not touching at all.

Gulping, you raise the candy in front of you.

“I-I wanted to apologise for earlier on,” You ignored the stammering and carried on. “I was being plain rude to you for no reason at all. I was having a bad morning and you just look so much like someone I used to know I-” You’re rambling and he cuts you off deadly.

“Is that all?”

Your breath hitches in your throat and you realise there’s nothing else left to say. God, the lollipop in your hand makes you feel so stupid now. He’s trying to dismiss you as quickly as possible while you wish to become acquaintances with him. You were overthinking it. He is saving the embarrassment for you. This man was driving you crazy. Firstly from how scarily similar he looks to him and second from how you wanted to know everything about him now. The impression he left on you is near perfect—patient, understanding and an offbeat sadness adorning his features.

And the impression you left on him is a horrible, distasteful one. A kind of impression you would never want anyone to have of yourself, let alone the guy who looked so ravishing and have been nothing but nice towards you.

Why would someone acting blue be any of your business?

Precisely, because it’s this guy who you caught staring at you in the bus interchange and it’s the same guy who you lashed out at and again, the guy who you are currently offering a goddamned lollipop to.

You wanted to know who he was calling and why he looked so sad. You wanted so badly to wrap him in your arms and tell him that everything’s going to be fine. The important question however, remains untouched. Why were you trying to fix somebody when you were so broken yourself? You have been so deprived of proper love and care that you want him. It’s a rash burst of infatuation for that man.

If this is what the hours at the start of the day did to your buzzed head and racing heart, you finally understand why you constantly slept in till the peace of afternoon came.

All in all, you just needed him to accept the apology and move on.

You painfully muster the courage to avert your eyes from pink ball and look up at him.

“Yeah, that is all.”

A lie, because you have so much more to say to him and is in no position to put the thoughts out like that. There was no other way to explain a peculiar connection you one-sidedly felt with him without sounding creepy as hell.

He simply takes your answer as it is and receives the strawberry lollipop from you.

The way his slender fingers brushes over the back of your hand sends a shiver straight to your spine. He was warm and cold, polite yet dismissive. A walking contradiction, truly. A contrast that has you secretly swooning over him even more.

Nonetheless, you were glad he did not shove a rejection in your face.

Of all things that you could have done, you foolishly got yourself into a predicament with him like this.

Once everyone was comfortably seated, the bus driver hops on and whirs the bulky engine to life once more.

When you returned to your seat, the wrapper had already been ripped off and the lollipop was being savoured in his mouth already. You try to hide the blooming smile on your face.

You were busy plucking the petals of a non-existent flower in your mind, contemplating at maximum whether or not you should strike a conversation with him.

If you did, you played out the different possibilities of responses he could have and how to carry on talking no matter what. It’s been quite some time since you’ve actually tried to talk to a stranger, and it was hard. But the desire to get to know him is diminishing all the worries bubbling inside you. When there’s a will, there’s a way indeed.

Rehearsing your voice in your head, you wait for the perfect timing to start speaking.

He was not doing anything much, still suckling on the ball of sugar and looking out the window.

You can’t help but admire his angelic features for a while. The cosiness of this coach granted the close proximity you had with him, allowing you to be able to catch a whiff of his smell. He didn’t smell like the sharp colognes of business men that flooded office areas, but rather, he had a soft lotion scent that was not too thick for your nose to hurt, yet subtle which has you craving for more.

Topped off with that coldness in his attitude and gentlemanly ways, you really are beginning to develop a tiny crush on him.

Very, tiny.

You have not much time left, it was easy to figure when someone was shamelessly planting their eyes on you.

He had no earpiece on, which was a good sign because you hated it when people tried to interrupt your music. And end up asking something so stupid, like your name.

“I never asked, but what is your name?”

Loud and clear, not wanting any slip-ups. The thread of tension that was initially pulled taut between the two of you seemed to have loosened on your side.

Like mentioned, you’ve actually browsed through all types of replies he could give.

He could have probed about the reason behind you wanting to know, or he could play games with you and not tell you, keeping it as a mystery unsolved so that you wouldn’t stop talking to him about it.

But no, his answer was the most difficult for the continuation of a conversation.

He is deeply distracted by the greenery outside, peeling his line of sight off the window pane and finally directing it to you.

He thinks—for whatever reason in this world you can about your own name—before gently replying.

“Namjoon.”

A blatant response which leaves you with not much options left to venture.

However, it doesn’t stop you from appreciating each syllable of his name. Nam and Joon just goes so well with each other just like how the colour of his cap matches his pants and you are naturally repeating after him, his name leaving your lips in such a blissful way. You are officially going bonkers for this man.

He doesn’t pay any more attention to you, turning to view the scenery that runs past the moving vehicle. The passing trees and blue sky are more interesting to look at than talking to you very apparently.

“That’s a nice name.” You pointed out and he flashes you a faint smile before going back to the window.

You note that he doesn’t ask for yours and an unexpected feeling of hurt thuds at your chest.

You take it as a telltale sign that Namjoon, is not interested in you like the way you are in him. All practice of the conversation gets deleted and thrown into the trash bin like a child’s silly doodling, and you sink back into your seat, trying to not feel all stupid and crestfallen.

Nothing else is said between the both of you until the next rest stop.

This time, you buy a packet of bread and a hotdog bun because it’s lunch.

He is no longer standing at some secluded corner of this new gas station, just shifting on both feet just outside the doors of this e-mart.

From inside, you spot Namjoon at the same place from before. You tear the package of the ready-made bun and observe him for a moment.

Namjoon had been repetitively trying to call someone. Each time the line reaches nowhere, his jaw clenches even harder and he tongues at his cheeks in a disputable infuriation.

Though, that is all you can see. You have yet to fully understand his actual situation.

The bells jingle as you push through the glass doors to exit.

Again, he removes the phone from his ear and angrily taps on the screen as if that would help his call get through.

“Here,” You offer him the bread. Butter flavoured, nothing too much to be disliked by anyone. You haven’t seen Namjoon eat anything from the start of the journey up till now and you are genuinely concerned about his hunger.

“Oh, no thanks. I’m not hungry.” You know that phrase too well. A statement someone would say even when they in fact are hungry, but the loss of appetite is too overwhelming for the empty stomach. The loss of appetite can be caused by several factors—like one being too bothered about something on their mind.

You retract the bread in hand from him, and fall silent.

“Do you want to use mine?”

You considered for a long moment before raising the suggestion.

The rest stop in the middle of nowhere would destroy reception for some phones, but yours could call from almost anywhere. Well, as the line contract promised.

Namjoon looks up and at last, a glint of care swirling in his orbs.

You wonder who he is trying to dial.

“Really?” It’s like he cannot believe the small offer you made, different from the other times you buy him food. You guess Namjoon really did not have a thing for food at gas stations.

“Yeah,” You click your phone to the dialling page.

“Mine should be able to get through.”

He swipes the device off your hand faster than light, not caring about the desperation he is displaying.

“Thanks.” He mumbles as he hastily keys in whoever’s number that was. It is soft, but it could still be heard.

The call seems to really manage to get through and he mouths an ‘excuse me’ before striding off to somewhere more private for the conversation to happen.

Munching away at your hotdog bun, you watch him grow frustrated as the call goes on, Namjoon crossly gesturing with his hands to try to get his point across and the locking of his jaw every time he spat out a word. Then, his eyebrows are knitted in fury, like he had just met with news of anguish. He stomps around, sometimes even yelling into your phone and at some point in time, you were afraid that he would smash your phone into pieces. The vein at his neck visibly pops and you could tell how many emotions he was trying so hard to contain. Emotions like anger, disappointment, confusion—all at once, bombarding poor Namjoon.

The person on the other end likely ended the call, for Namjoon stares ahead at a red stationary motorcycle with emptiness crowding his eyes. His lips were no longer aggressively moving to negotiate whatever that was, his hand turned motionless as well—and the phone lowers, just like the previous times. This time though, with a knowing answer and clarity clouding his glistening eyes.

His hands were tightly balled into fists and your phone almost gets crushed. Even from afar, you can see the rapid rise and falls of his chest and the grief stinging his eyes. You skipped through the hesitation and made your way over to the bull.

“Hey are you alright—”

“Thanks for the call.”

He is quick to shut you off, slamming the device onto your palm and strolls away to probably hide his moment of sorrow.

Namjoon looked more upset than anything you’d imagine. And it broke your heart to see him this unhappy.

“Namjoon!” You yelled after him.

Tracing his footsteps, his back faces you.

You can’t explain the need surging throughout you to just step forward and smooth your hand over the broad expanse of his back, the itch to calm him down and ask what was wrong. But you weren’t really in a position to do so.

The clock ticks a whole silent round before he slowly turns around with a long exhale.

The sight of his tear-stained cheeks and red eyes wrenches hard at your heart.

Strangers had boundaries, and you yearned to cross them with Namjoon.

“Do you…want a hug?” There was much nothing left on your plate that you could offer.

Awkwardly natural, the distance between your two bodies closes.

Everything afterwards happened in a blink; his head sinking heavily onto the blade of your shoulder, his arms wrapped around your body and your face smashing into his well-built chest.

Heaven, that’s the best description you can make of burying yourself into Namjoon arms.

You were supposed to hug him, and not the other way around.

He takes a deep breath, tightening his hold on you and his nose digging into your hair, making you fight back a shiver as you carefully rest your hands on his lower back. The smell of his lotion grows even stronger when you are this close to him, and you wished you could stay like this with him forever.

His breathing was still hard and you could feel his heart frantically hammering onto yours, as if having suffered a major attack.

The hug was quiet but comfortable. Everything with Namjoon felt comfortable if you even make sense.

“I needed this.” He mumbles into your skin, pulling away seconds after, causing you to cling onto every last bit of him.

The two of you returned to the bus straight away, with no words exchanged.

However, you can feel Namjoon beginning to open up to you.

Still, you’d like to take your time to understand him.

Feelings settled and heart at ease, the subject of the call and his breakdown was never broached again.

He was, as usual, peering at the outer layer of the woods along the road. Namjoon observes them with a concentration not to be disregarded.

It almost feels like he was scripting every line and carve on their barks, counting the number of leaves on each branch and watching how mighty they stood tall—which was technically impossible, but with Namjoon, one would never know.

“Ah, by the way,” You try to casually start a conversation, but at the same time you feel bad for interrupting his tree-watching session. “Where are you headed to?”

“Uh,” He hesitates, the area between his eyes scrunching up. “I… actually have no idea.”

He knew where he was going. But it looks like plans got ruined midway.

Was it because of the phone call? You promised yourself not to poke that matter. Not now.

“Huh. Same here. Probably the last stop or something.” You shrugged, nonchalant.

This huge bus was driving from the city to various locations—from small towns to farms and other districts basically.

You didn’t have a place in mind; you just needed to get out of that hellhole.

He widens his eyes at you because it is not all the time you randomly find someone as lost as you are.

Namjoon really has nowhere to go now. The most he could do would be to buy another trip back into the city—but that was the option he’d leave for last. Other than the mortifying decision to backpedal into your old routes, he could only face frontwards and hope for the best. It would be so easy to return to his hometown—which was along the way—where his parents would more than gladly welcome him with open arms, but the last thing he wanted was to become a burden to his family.

“You really don’t know where exactly you are going to?”

Taking in his words, you had to double confirm. Namjoon looked like someone who clearly knew all the directions in his life, knew for sure what to do and what not to do. Looks can be deceiving, after all.

“I wish I did.” His body turns to face you now, away from the window and the sudden attention is making you panic a little.

“Honestly, there aren’t many places I could go to either, so.” He points out, acting more like he was engaged in a conversation with himself rather than you.

At that, you could only smile in relation. Strangely, the both of you were very similar in thoughts but worlds apart in expression.

Namjoon enclosed his heart and mind, choosing the appropriate timing to open them and to specifically who. Meanwhile, you consistently let yourself out there even though you try not to, it just happens without intention. But the outgoing exterior eventually fades as you start becoming comfortable with keeping low and quiet as well. Many people would be shocked upon witnessing a whole 360 change in your demeanour, just as they would with Namjoon turning talkative.

“I wish I did too.” A light chuckle spills past your lips and as well as you are attempting to hide the misery suffocating your lungs, you don’t think you’re doing a great job at it.

Namjoon inspects your expression for a fraction, not adding on to the conversation anymore, before he throws his attention back at the greens.

Somehow, there formed an unspoken agreement between the two of you that the last stop would be your destinations.

As the trip went by, the number of passengers onboard gradually decreases, each and every one of them assured of where to alight and where they must reach. You were slightly envious of, especially the complete families who got down the bus with joy spread across their faces. They must have a home that is like a safe haven to them, one where the members could retreat to after a long day in comfort and bliss.

One you could never afford to have, despite how fortunate you were.

There was never an end to the screams and fights, the smashing of objects and the destroying of furniture like they costed nothing. The amount of terrible sleep you get every passing day, progressively shredding your sleep schedule to uneven strips.

It wasn’t until the start of spring when you arrived at a decision to leave home. School was still ongoing, but a break was urgent. Anymore of the nonsense you receive at both your workplace and home, you’re afraid you might just turn haywire and end up being sent to the mental hospital. Throw your mentally and emotionally unstable ass into the asylum—your parents had every aspect to perfectly do so.

“But miss, you can’t just leave like that.” Jungkook, one of your dad’s most trusted security personnel and chauffeur begs you to stay put in your sickening stuffy room with his undying persistence.

“Yes I can. Watch me.” He refused to open the gate no matter how hard you try to plea him and this was your final resort. Flinging your bag over the barrier, it lands on the other side of freedom with a heavy thud and that’s when Jungkook relents.

“Oh my god, Y/N!” You know he’s pissed when he says your name.

Jungkook was slightly older than you, but the both of you grew up together. The family feuds put him in an uncomfortable situation at times, but he wasn’t to step into matters as such.

Although maintained at a professional distance, it doesn’t stop him from bringing your favourite cake into the bedroom you would always be found hiding under the sheets from all that fighting. After the storm subsides, Jungkook always appeared with a cake and drink in hand to appease your frightened form, the desserts acting as a type of consolation he couldn’t provide. He was a sweet guy, but you never saw him that way. Jungkook was like an older brother to you. And he wasn’t that good at covering up his silly crush on you.

“Fine!” He unlocks the gate in the most passive-aggressive way ever and you only giggle.

You have him wrapped around your finger and it was no doubt an advantage to you could use all the time.

“Stay safe, regardless.”

You hold both his hands in the most dramatic way ever, swaying up to him like a Disney princess.

When you lean in close to his face, Jungkook is rendered speechless, a flushed mess.

“I will and thank you.” You hum sweetly and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

“Byeeeeee!” You sing and happily leave the stifling confines of the house, as well as an embarrassed Jungkook standing rooted to the ground.

Your eyes never leave Namjoon on the third rest stop.

The both of you sat in the convenience store, devouring bowls of instant ramen.

You wonder how one phone call can lead to all of this.

Everything Namjoon did was hurtingly adorable to you. Your heart twisted in a wickedly joyful manner when he furrowed his brows. You swear your eyes were pooling with endearment when his cheeks were stuffed full of noodles. The type of attraction you were having for Namjoon was fascinating, like never before. A kind of flower you’ve never had blooming wildly in your chest for a long time. You wonder how he feels about you. Whether he sees you in the same light or not.

The bowls sitting in front of the two of you are now empty, stomachs filled with content.

You stared at Namjoon and Namjoon stared back at you, your eyes never averting because you feel like you could drown in his pretty brown orbs forever. Namjoon breaks the contact and raises a question before you could.

“Is your shampoo jasmine?” He flickered his gaze to your hair, arms coming up to rest on the small table barely enough for two. His face suddenly grows bigger, featuring becoming clearer as the gap in between is shortened.

“Yeah,” You breathed out when he moving towards you. He was leaning so close to your face, you feel yourself unknowingly reversing a little.

Then, everything vanishes and he relaxes back on the chair again.

“And h-how did you know?”

“Someone I used to know.” His voice comes out quiet.

The both of you grabbed lollipops before returning to the coach.

This was the final stretch before the journey ends, the longest one amongst the rest and the fatigue is starting to consume you whole, eyelids feeling heavy.

You don’t know how or when, but a shoulder is pressed to your cheek as hand lightly shakes you.

“We’re here,” He says, stirring you awake.

The driver is long gone, in the restroom or something.

You jump off the coach, butt and neck feeling sore.

The two of you stood in front of a shredded motel.

“Looks like we’ll have to make do.”

The room was smaller than it could have already been, the ceiling paint flaking like horrid dry skin and the cream wallpapers looked like they were going to crumble into dust by a touch of the finger. The first blow is delivered to the layer of glass, cracks beginning to form in the center. Something smells. There’s a distinct stench lingering in the atmosphere of this room. Your eyes dart over to the bathroom. A dirty sock naps comfortably on the rusty towel rack—no, hibernates—because the navy piece of laundry seems to be having the time of its life stinking up possibly the entire motel with its century-old odour.

You switched your life goal to become as unbothered as that abandoned sock.

A second hit to the fragile material, completely falling apart but still you try your best to hold it together for the sake of Namjoon’s optimism.

“Sure we do.” You mumble, but it is amplified in the tiny space.

The volume of your voice was one thing, but Namjoon feels more gigantic than ever, his large frame towering over yours and unknowingly you shrink. He looked so much bigger than you noticed from before and it is evident that you have definitely been noticing him for quite a bit. It must be the size of the room, and not the rapid blossoming of your attraction for him.

The only bed sandwiched between both your standing forms was yet, another issue to be solved. There wasn’t even a couch to be spared, you had to place your bags on the crusty floor. You can’t even hide the grimace crumpling your features when you spot a black dot faded under the white sheets, crawling its way to the pillow. That sight itself, shattered the already broken glass pane of tolerance into fragments.

“Trust me when I say this isn’t the worst I’ve seen.”

Namjoon chirps in, trying to lift the frown off your disgusted face. “Honestly, for a place beside a gas station, this is-”

“Not okay at all.”

You arrived at a decision. And that is to get the hell out of this trash can before Namjoon’s witty tongue and strong cologne persuades you otherwise.

An idea flashes in your mind.

No one would have guessed that you were the daughter of a pair of millionaire parents.

Dressed humbly in a hoodie and leggings, you passed off as any other normal person. You did not fancy the wealthy status plastered onto you since birth. Instead, you actually wished for a simple, blissful life. It was true that money could solve most problems, but you were seeking for another kind of happiness. A happiness so genuine and pure. The grass is always greener on the other side. You weren’t planning to let Namjoon know about your family background at all, but the circumstances the both of you were caught in left you with no other choice.

As soon as you laid your eyes on the bed bug having the time of its life under the sheets, you boldly grabbed Namjoon’s hand and flew out of the musty motel.

The sun was already diving into the horizon, daylight beginning to feel insufficient.

The haggard old man manning the petrol kiosk watches the two of you exit the rundown building and if your vision did not fail you—he sniggers to himself.

Namjoon seems to have noticed this as well, head still turned to face the disheveled man after the two of you made your way to the grass patch by the main road. You stare at Namjoon looking at the man. He was unpacking some boxes of food, and you wonder what is so intriguing about that that Namjoon can’t peel his eyes off of him.

“It’s not easy,” He finally faces front, upon reaching the road. You tuck your fists into the warm pockets of your hoodie.

“What is?”

“Working at a gas station.” Namjoon mumbles lowly, fallen deep in thought.

You contemplate for a while before choosing to not say anything to that. You don’t know how to reply to that anyway.

The air outside was not the freshest, but it was heaven to your lungs compared to the interior.

Your first instinct was to call Jungkook.

This subconscious behaviour of yours has yet to be eradicated, and you figured it must have to do with the fact that Jungkook was the man who could do anything and everything in your eyes. Plus, he was someone you turned to habitually whenever you were met with a crisis. Major or minor.

“Y/N! You better get your ass home by midnight or else your father will behead me!”

“Woah, chill Jungkook. Can you help me see if there are any decent places nearby to stay at?”

Jungkook could easily track you down, a feature your parents granted him to better watch over you.

“What in the world are you doing there?!”

“Sorry. But please help me?” That is all you can provide. Namjoon raises a brow at your conversation over the phone. Darkness was racing to swallow the sky whole and there was not much time left for you to find shelter. You mentally prepared yourself for a sleepless night ahead.

“You’re kidding. There is literally nothing but dirt on that piece of wasteland. What did you expect? One of your father’s lavish villas to pop out magically in front of your eyes?” Jungkook sounds extremely frustrated with the situation you landed yourself in. What he doesn’t and wouldn’t need to know, is that you have someone by your side.

“However…”

All hope is not lost.

“Tell me more about this fantastic idea of yours.” Namjoon’s incessant questioning sparks an urge in you to just go up to him and shut him up with a kiss. Out of annoyance, of course. Containing the thought, you continue denying him of an answer.

“Just wait and see,”

You can’t believe it slipped your mind that the last stop was on the outlines of this town, which meant that the sea was close.

The beach that barely had any visitors was probably just a few miles away from this polluted gas station. The only staff who worked there was the old man from before reaching seventy, unkempt appearance for wandering spirits in this isolated town to see.

The place was derelict and untidy. Litter scattered across the road and the walls reeked of rotten flesh.

Finally, the sea approaches you and Namjoon. Compared to the gas station, the area wrapping the beach was spotless and your mouth falls open slightly. Walking towards the edge of the small cliff, down below laid the fine sand that reflected the dusty evening glow who’s rays of pink and purple are slowly overshadowing the initial golden.

It was then you realised the sun had never meant to eagerly head to bed, it was instead fighting against time, refusing to fade into the sea line this early.

Namjoon must be as struck as you are by the sight, for he doesn’t say a word, only calmly tracing your steps.

The both of you sat on the short grass, quietly admiring the sunset-tainted coast and watching the waves accumulate strength each time it leaves and arrives.

Legs dangling in the air and bags thrown on the ground, you wonder when a time like this would ever happen again. The orange sky gently toasting your eyes and the prickly sensation on the hamstrings. A guy who resembled your ex-boyfriend sitting by your side. A possible tent in your backpack.

A smile stubbornly grows on your face and you let out a soft giggle at the strange events of today, shaking your head at the foolishness.

“What’re you gleaming about?”

The tranquility is not broken by his voice, only further accentuating it.

“Huh? Oh. Nothing much really, haha…just everything maybe,”

You turn your head to look for his reaction at your contradiction and his eyes capture yours in bewilderment.

“I see. Don’t worry, I understand.” He smiles and the world vanishes, your heartbeat—the only thing you can feel.

“Sometimes the only thing you can do is laugh. When everything’s too painful, when everything’s too joyous, when everything’s going downhill or when everything’s so…serene.”

His fingers clutches onto a random stone and he begins meddling with it.

“Maybe all at once.” You lean back a little, easing into the conversation.

Namjoon chuckles.

“Sometimes though, you gotta vent it out!”

He swings his arm back and throws it forward, catapulting the innocent stone into somewhere in the salty water. It disappears from sight, so you would never know.

When the second-hand hit a quarter to eight, the moon’s motherly appearance persuaded the mischievous yolk to fully drop into the ocean. Nightfall pays a visit.

The possible tent in your backpack.

The only times you have ever slept outside of the neatly painted walls of your enormous room (excluding the walk-in wardrobe), would be sleeping over in the marvellous pink doll house bedroom belonging to your best friend. That counts…right?

There were a few camps here and there in your entire education journey. The thrill of water rafting with the bumpy rocks, the struggles of kayaking and capsizing in the dirty river, the tall grass that crept up your knees and the mud your track shoes sank into. You wish you knew how all of those felt, because every time your class was required to have the time of their lives in a camp site, your teacher would never pass you a consent form for that. Dejected, you already knew the reason behind the disallowing of your participation. It was too harsh for your body and health, they’d always repeat to you and you would stomp to your bedroom and make a mess out of your sheets with piping hot tears.

You hate living a sheltered life. You detested it, even though some may cry for days to have a pampered life like yours. Call it ungrateful, but you would rather live a simple life with simple happiness. Because money may be the manifestation of bliss, but it also creates problems that it itself cannot be able to solve.

However, money helped Jungkook to create this circular object to pop into a tent once you push the button located inside the mechanism.

“Why and how do you have this?” Namjoon sends you a questionable look.

“Don’t ask. I…uh, like to come prepared.”

You lied. Jungkook sneaked this compacted tent into your bag without you even knowing.

But he informed you about it over the phone and it came in handy at the very least.

“Well then, go ahead and press the activation button.”

“Erm…” You hesitated. What if this was some kind of abduction assistance for Jungkook to bring you back home to your fuming parents?

“I’m having second thoughts about this—Wait no!”

Namjoon yanks it out of your hands and slams the button.

The sphere starts beeping, a red light flashing on the top.

Paranoid, you subconsciously grab onto Namjoon’s hand like you always did to Jungkook when your father raised his voice.

A loud noise erupts from the transformation, and you screw your eyes closed in fear.

The round device jumps and explodes harmlessly, the surfaces opens and nylon sheets are spiralled out into the shape of a tent.

“Y/N,” Namjoon squeezes your hand.

“I think it’s done.”

The both of you view the tent, then the interlocked fingers.

Redness graze your cheeks and Namjoon clears his throat.

You quickly let go and step to inspect the inflated tent.

You silently thanked Jungkook as your body plopped onto the clothed base. Lying on the thin material with the cold ground just beneath it, you are able to feel the earthiness seeping through your skin and the softness of the soil as a bedding. The feeling was no match to the fluffiness of your blankets and bouncy mattress.

Namjoon had gone out to grab booze and a couple of ready-made food from the store earlier and you happily agreed. You haven’t got much of a choice actually, but you were grateful for an opportunity like this with him.

A buzz coming from behind interrupts your stargazing session, you pull your sight away from the deep black sky to realise that it was your phone.

Curiosity overruling your judgement, you reached for the phone.

It was a text from an unknown contact.

Your eyes doubled in size at the series of notifications.

Visiting the petrol station again caused a bitterness to rise up his throat.

He wonders if he will end up like the old man behind the counter in the future.

Namjoon was an aspiring producer and lyricist.

He hasn’t shot to fame with his completed works yet, but he has a strong belief that he eventually will, one day. He struggles with the low income the job as a gas pump attendant, taking care of his ill-stricken mother who had been diagnosed with lung cancer as of last year and all hope seemed to be lost.

The news came off as no surprise to him because his mother turned into a heavy smoker after his father abandoned the pair of mother and son for some other woman. The nicotine helped her relieve her stress and depression that consumed her heart, so Namjoon as a young boy couldn’t really say anything to stop his broken mother.

His only parent had insufficient funds to further continue his education after high school so he was left with no options but to work many part-time jobs to support himself.

As time flew by, Namjoon grew into a man that had no direction in life.

He worked in a polluted environment, paid for his mother’s chemotherapy, ate, slept and wished he’d never wake up to see the light of day again.

His apartment was filthy and small, but he was barely keeping up with the rent payments on time. Medical bills placed a huge burden onto his shoulders but he could not give up on his only family who always looked at him with sympathy and hatred.

Hatred because she had told him that life would be much better without her, and Namjoon was stubborn in not willing to let her life end even if it was for good.

His girlfriend did not improve the situation of his life.

If anything, she only worsened it.

She blamed him for being incompetent and unable to bring her happiness as a boyfriend.

She constantly gave degrading remarks and once mentioned that she felt humiliated by him. If anything, she made him feel shittier about his life than he already was.

She was toxic and he knew it but he was still unable to cut ties with someone who loved him back and was willing to stay with him for so long.

He was a man of strong will and he believes that once he succeeds in his ambition, all the problems he was facing at that moment would disappear.

His girlfriend would stop looking at him like he was a loser and his mother would recover faster in a cleaner and better environment.

This week was a turning point in his life.

His mother overdosed and Sunbin cheated on him a few days after.

To think that his own mother gave up on herself and him when he persevered was heart-breaking. Losing his only kin drove him to the point of insanity.

Beyond devastated, he was a step away from falling off the roof of his apartment.

But something about the bright full moon watching over him that night tweaked his decision.

The wind caressed his cheeks as a form of consolation and the stars sang in the gloomy moonlight for him.

Namjoon thinks, that maybe the occurrence of these events was a sign.

Maybe the heavens were trying to tell him something.

He climbed up the wall of his dead end and saw something greater.

His strength was back when he stepped down from the platform.

That is why the morning after he was at the bus station, waiting for the vehicle that will carry him around to clear his thoughts.

Being on a long bus ride relaxed him and for some reason, made his heart feel at ease.

Perhaps it was the trees passing by or the sun that stayed still in position when he was moving, but it filled him with happiness to distance away from the cruel reality for a while in the comfortable seats of a bus. Bus rides were so peaceful and he enjoyed them to the fullest every time without fail.

As he tossed the lollipop stick into the trash bin, his eyes skim across the people at the station, it hooked onto a book he had been wanting to read for a long time.

Jung’s Map Of The Soul: An Introduction was a book that summarises Jung’s vision of psychological and spiritual life.

He hadn’t got the time or money to think about a book, but now that he had seen the actual copy, he was intrigued.

His gaze travel up to the owner of the book, then to the book, then to your face again.

He wasn’t gawking creepily or anything, but your features were rather beautiful. Not that he went up straight to your face and told you that. But he stared for a while, switching between the book and you before minding his own business again.

Looking at you reminded him of his past and only girlfriend. A book in hand, warming her hands over a cup of coffee as he strikes a conversation with her over the book. Later on he found out that she was not into reading at all, and the precious book was a prop in her scheme to get Namjoon to notice her. He didn’t express the wryness he felt tugging at his insides, but he was a little shocked by her deceiving appearance. He wonders just how many more things she was hiding about herself. The only exception with you is that he did not walk towards you.

His girlfriend had just left him.

Sunbin called and he tried his hardest to not care.

It was impossible. He had to hear her out, know what exactly he did wrong, where it all started.

When you lent him your cellphone he keyed in her number like it was the only thing he memorised by heart and frustratedly waited for her answer.

Sunbin was the type to lie in order to achieve whatever result she wanted, but when Namjoon demanded the truth or she was exposed, she would tell him things from the bottom of her heart.

It was after her true explanation behind her abandonment of the relationship that Namjoon lowers the phone in hand and ends the call with a cold farewell.

It wasn’t anything that had to do with her character. It was about the money and status.

That was the time she informed him about how ashamed she was when she introduced Namjoon to her parents or told her friends about her boyfriend.

Namjoon realised that he had nothing to say about that, only silently agreeing and nodding in understanding.

But he wished that his own girlfriend would have a little more faith and pride in his passion and dreams. Not to the point where she’d went out and slept with another man.

His heart broke even more when she confessed that she brought the man home to meet her parents instead of him because he was more capable, as she stated.

Namjoon loved her like she was his everything and yet, she treated him like nothing.

Sunbin made him question his worth and drive all the time. He should be grateful that the poison in his life had been removed.

The third time you try to talk to him, he gave in to your advances.

Namjoon was just going to let whatever happen happen, not purposely going out of way to shut you out or anything.

He was single and available.

He could do anything he wanted now like a man with freedom now.

He’s got nothing to lose.

Namjoon returns with some greasy mac ’n cheese and some bottles of beer.

He finds you inside, full attention on the book that you did not even realise he entered.

The temperature was dropping and the inside of the tent felt as cold as outside.

“Don’t you find it a little cold?”

He ducks and steps inside with bags of food and drinks.

You put your book down.

“Do you want me to set up a fire or something?”

He pauses, fighting back a smile.

Before challenging you.

“Do you even know how to?”

He snickers and takes out the container, allowing the smell of cheese to roam the confined space.

“Right…you have a point.” You pout, the imaginary little campfire bursting like a bubble popped in your head.

Something even better comes to mind.

“Maybe we can… cuddle or something.”

Namjoon freezes, unable to make proper eye contact with you.

“It’s a friendly suggestion.”

You say that, but your eyes glimmer with hope and admiration for him.

After a long awkward moment, Namjoon seems to have set his mind onto something when he finishes his meal.

“We’ll see about that. Here,” He hands you one of the bottles of booze and you gladly accepted it.

The two of you sit at the exact spot from before, this time with the company of the moon and stars.

Namjoon looks at them like he did with the trees and you concluded that this man must carry a deep love for the nature.

“I have a question,” You take a swig of the beer to give yourself alcohol courage.

Should you ask it now? Or are you taking things too fast, considering that you’ve only met this man today and letting him know that you would give him the world?

“Moon or stars?”

You ask quietly, careful to not ruin the placidity of the hushed waves and bristling trees.

“The moon.”

“Why?” You chuckle at how his reply was almost instantaneous.

“The moon, you see. Stars, there are plenty of them. But the moon is the one and only. It may sound quite stupid to you, but I like special things. Especially when people don’t pay much mind to them…little things. Like the moon.”

You watch and listen to him speak attentively.

The moon isn’t exactly little, but you hold back your interruption to let him finish.

“Everybody is so caught up with their business—be it work or play—that they don’t care about the little things that much anymore. One day, if the moon turns slightly yellow, probably five in a hundred people would only notice. The rest don’t take the time to look at the surroundings, the peaceful nature that is with them in life. Which is quite sad actually. Why is stargazing so popular but moongazing isn’t? They come in a package, it’s unfair to exclude her from the word.”

At that, you burst out into laughter.

“That makes sense,” You laugh again. “Stars appear and disappear all the time, that is why. The moon…well, the moon is sort of always just there. People tend to take these things for granted you see.”

Namjoon turns to face you, allured by your explanation.

“Why do you think it’s whale watching and not fish watching?”

You tilt your head at him, providing an analogy.

“Because we don’t see whales all the time…” He mutters, staring into the distance as if he had just got a math equation figured out.

“Precisely. It’s a strange world.”

You were different.

It was silly of Namjoon to automatically assume that you were the same as his ex-girlfriend, because the both of you were total opposites.

She would have just actively dismissed him before he even started on his thoughts on the topic—no, she wouldn’t even ask a question like that.

Namjoon was sure that she did not even know about his love for the moon.

And here he was, with a stranger he met on the bus, pouring out his opinions and questions about stars and moons. He felt like he was on cloud nine to be able to talk to someone so comfortably about something so random. Something that not many would even give two hoots about.

Your fingers drum on the surface of the ground, your hands propping your body to sit upright on the edge of the cliff.

“Then,” You start again.

“Desert or sea.” You point out to the ocean, which was barely even visible under the shade of night.

“Can I choose beach?” Namjoon chortles, placing his hands behind as well to lean back, brushing over yours accidentally.

His fingers graze and land over your smaller ones, his big hand trapping yours in an almost uncertain way.

He didn’t move, you didn’t move. He just let his hand rest near yours, slightly touching but never mentioned.

You shake your head in response, grinning.

Namjoon was just about to answer with the latter but you beat him to it.

“I’d say desert. When you have everything… it could just drown you.”

You say this and bite on your lip, like having everything actually hurt you before.

Namjoon disagrees, a man who tasted the feeling of losing everything.

“Having nothing is just as equal.” He rebuts, washing the sadness stinging in his veins with a full mouth of beer.

Like a man suffering a drought.

A silence of mutual understanding blankets the conversation, staring at the glittery sky and listening to the rushed waves of the sea, and drinking booze.

Unconsciously, you slip nearer to him.

Blame the alcohol, because the feeling of his thigh touching yours was electrifying.

Somewhere into the slow night, you and Namjoon talked about all sorts of stuff without returning to the tent. The night breeze was cooling to the skin and you enjoyed it very much. Still, your thighs were still touching but no one got onto each other’s lap or avoided the skin contact. You placed the last bottle down carelessly, the clanking of it against the hard rock warning you of the close breakage—but honestly you couldn’t care less.

Namjoon was on his third bottle of Soju and you were on the second, but the answer was clear as to who was the lightweight.

“I think lobsters are immortals,” You made a brave statement, puffing out your chest.

“I think the fuck not, Y/N.”

You never liked your name being called by someone this much.

The way it perfectly flows out of his mouth, his thick voice and blank expression. Heat began creeping up to your cheeks—you’re unsure if it’s from the anger of retorting or your name on his lips.

You’re a little tipsy to be thinking coherent thoughts, but screw sobriety.

“Technically, there is evidence—”

“Oh, why don’t you just shut up and own some crabby petties?” You sassed back at him, ignoring his substantial proof of lobsters dying of age.

“And, leave. My. Lobsters. Alone.”

You draw your face closer to his as you tell him that, the realisation of the proximity between both your lips not dawning right on you yet.

You were in the middle of a discussion on crustaceans with him, and suddenly your face was pulled so close to his own.

Namjoon looks you in the eyes, something fiery can be sensed through his brown orbs and you can feel his breath on your cupid’s bow.

His gaze kept flickering between your lips and your eyes, and you dark your tongue out to lick at them, feeling slightly self-conscious.

Then, he makes home at your eyes.

“Did you just make a pun,”

His voice falls an octave, a hint of raspiness hidden behind his throat.

Both your bodies were leaning so close to each other now, arms behind each other’s backs to keep near.

“Yeah I did. So what.” You breathed out shyly yet your words bagged a heavy tut. You were surprised that you even managed to form a response being this close to Namjoon.

You swear your nose was bumping onto the tip of his now, the one you had so badly dreamt of kissing from the gas station earlier on.

You fired the last question.

“Kiss or be kissed,”

And your heart lurches when he steals the period of the sentence away, by dipping his head to snatch your breath away.

He was nothing like the kisser you imagined with those plump lips; rough, urgent and sensual all at the same time. Namjoon slants his lips with yours fervently, hand coming up to hold your neck firmly as he kisses you.

Fluttering your lids shut, your place your hands on his firm chest before smoothing them up to wrap around his neck. The action made him growl lowly before lunging onto your body like a beast starved.

A light whimper leaves your throat as he moves his lips rhythmically against yours, teeth clashing and breaths exchanged. Your moans in his mouth seem to encourage him further, but still his tongue makes no appearance.

He knew how to take things fast and slow at the same time, and you loved every moment of it.

Namjoon gains full control over you by tilting your head the angle he wants to devour you and he melds his lips with yours like you were going to disappear by the second.

He had pushed you onto your back onto the rock platform already, whole body caging yours when he finally breaks away.

You were a panting mess from his rushed kissing, lips swollen from how hard he had bit onto it and hair slightly tousled from his fingers running through it.

“Kiss. I want to kiss you all night.”

Inside you beamed like the brightest star alive and this time, it was you who captures his lips again.

Namjoon tasted like a mixture of bitter and sweet, he was soft in his actions but his mouth was relentless.

It took you a lot of willpower—with his face stuck to yours and hands caressing your jaw— but you succeeded in pushing him away to get inside.

“Namjoon,” You barely pronounce his name right, because he takes your gesture as a sign to continue his ministrations on your jaw.

“Do you wanna go into the tent instead?”

He plants a final kiss onto your lips before standing up and offering you a hand.

The buzz invites itself onto your phone once again and you internally groaned, wishing he’d heard nothing.

“I think that was your phone,” He alerts you, and you pretend to not care.

“It’s nothing important.” You say as you lean in and press your lips against his cheeks.

He shoves you away gently.

“Wait, what if it’s for me?”

“Nam—“

In no time, he let go of your hand and went on his knees to search for the resounding device.

The same cold Unknown flashed on the screen and you tongued at your cheek.

Namjoon stares at the phone for a while, biting the inside of his cheek in contemplation.

“I…I have to take this,” He stammers and it was all you needed.

You reach for his hand and held it calmly.

“Don’t,” You have no idea what you trying to tell him but you knew that he should never pick up.

“You looked so pained whenever you’re on that call…”

His hair reflected a streak of gold under the mini lamp and his features were so dangerously beautiful. He was still, in one way or another, a stranger to you but you were eager to learn about his world and dive into the deepness of his soul.

You could feel it—from the bus station, to the gas pumps and now by the beach with him—that he was so lost and broken, just the way you were.

You wanted to be the light to guide him out of this darkness but he always deemed it impossible by returning to the old ways.

“Then why are you here?” You take a step, decreasing the space between.

“Isn’t the purpose of this whole short escapade to renew and start afresh?”

You released a sigh, not navigating where exactly this was headed towards.

“It’s your life… It’s yours to decide.”

He doesn’t look at you, only thinking about it hard.

That is before he returns the phone to you and mumbles that he’ll head to bed first.

You rarely stopped yourself from asking questions when curiosity consumed you. But when it came to Namjoon however… you stay silent.

You did not want to intrude more than you should, but you also knew that Namjoon, the guy you’ve been crushing on since the start of the bus ride, would never open his mouth unless you asked him to.

Seeing Namjoon being so despondent reminded you of your situation with your family.

Thoughts about your parents, Jungkook, Namjoon…Namjoon.

The way he kissed you a few minutes ago soared you to heaven temporarily.

Was he ever this attracted to you as you were all along?

The more you think, the more things seemed bizarre and did not make any sense at all.

You wonder what sparked the sudden urge to pounce onto you like he did last night when he wouldn’t even spare you a proper glance on the bus.

You did not want this day to end on bad note.

If this was the first and last time with him, you wanted to make it worth while.

“So…you don’t mind cuddling, do you?”

The body beside you stirs awake.

Seems like you were not alone in failing to catch some sleep.

Namjoon doesn’t reply to that, only proceeding to finally wrap his arms firmly around you. You resist the squeak of excitement popping out of your chest as you feel his muscular chest press against your back. He hums in response, the low vibrations travelling down your spine and you fight back a shiver. Namjoon seemed too tired to say anything else.

You keep still, not wanting any small movement to disrupt his rest.

He falls asleep in two seconds while you carry on with your attempts.

You couldn’t sleep despite the fatigue rinsing you and draining your head of any sensibility.

Clamping your lids shut, you try to focus on the rhythm of your breathing instead to ease yourself into a slumber as well. This time, it twitches against your ass and you can no longer close one eye to the situation at hand.

Bucking your hips back into his, he involuntarily lets out a deep groan at the feeling. Whether he was still in his sleep or not, the noises Namjoon made sent your mind spiralling into a pool of lust.

His dick grows even harder, pushing against the material of your shorts.

“Namjoon,” You try to flip over to face him, but failing to do so as he steadies you in place.

“Namjoon,” You whine in protest, the feeling overwhelming and you have to do something about it.

The second call of his name stirs him slightly awake, hand accidentally sliding down the curve of your thigh and a shudder rumbles throughout your body as he touches the sensitive skin. He seems to get the reaction, doing it again, and this time skimming over the inside of your thigh. He’s doing this on purpose, to tease you to the end of your wits and you are not going to lie there and take it.

You swear you were about to throw yourself over and pin his cheeky hands down, but he beats you to it by a step. His lips ghosts over the shell of your ear, grip tightening on your thigh and you let loose completely.

“What is it that you want so badly,” His mouth travels to the exposed skin of your neck, tongue darting out to give you small licks. “That you keep waking me up?”

“W-Why do you have a boner?”

“It happens when I’m tired.”

“Oh,” You blinked, remembering the feel of it against your ass.

Long, thick and heavy. Throbbing, even. You couldn’t register the fact that you were salivating as he crashes his lips onto yours once more, savouring all of you.

“I want you to fuck me so good, Namjoon.”

He shoots his head up from the curve of your neck, expression laced with confused and shock.

“No pressure.” You blurt out to save yourself when he stares at you like you’ve made a bad joke.

“Say that again.”

He startles you by using his fingers to rub circles onto your clothed clit.

You let out a squeak when he applies more pressure onto the sensitive nub, drawling a moan to spill from your lips.

“What do you want?”

He’s getting impatient, shoving your panties to the side and sliding a finger inside of you.

You sighed and held onto his shoulders when he started pumping the digit in and out of your wetness.

“Can you fuck me please?” You look him in the eye as you say this, making him hiss and groan in satisfaction.

“Since you asked so nicely…”

His finger picks up a rapid pace, your juices smeared messily over his hand.

“Fuck baby, you’re so wet already…”

He sticks his tongue out and you oblige by sucking on his wet muscle.

Shortly after, he replaces it with his soaked finger and you take the whole length of his finger into your mouth and swirled your tongue around it.

Namjoon feels more blood rush to his cock if that is even possible, because he is so hard, he doesn’t even know if he can feel his dick.

You slowly let your oversized shirt fall off your shoulders, sliding down to expose your breasts.

Namjoon rips the shirt apart instead and latches his mouth onto a hardened nipple.

He cups the other breast in one hand, passionately massaging it while his other hand runs up and down the slickness of your heat.

“Everything about you…Mmm—so perfect…” He hums and sucks on your breast.

You were going to explode.

He was touching you in so many places at once, his hard length brushing against your torso occasionally and his hands possessively roaming over every inch of your skin.

“Namjoon,” You whined out to him again, wanting more than just touching and kissing.

“Turn around,” He commands deeply and you hurry to his desired position, giving him a full view of your ass.

He slaps it on instinct, before coming up to rub the sting away.

Namjoon doesn’t give you a heads up before sliding his cock into you easily.

Screaming, he starts off rough like his kisses and you can’t help but feel tears pricking at the corner of your eyes.

The pain was forced into pleasure as he continued to piston his hips into you relentlessly, the thickness stretching you out and filling you up so good.

As he slammed into you harder and harder, you felt like you were being used as a sex toy. Like he was only venting in the sex with you.

You hated it, but it still felt impossibly good and irresistible.

“Ah, god. You feel so fucking tight—argh!” He moans and you clench around him even more at the noise he made.

“N-Namjoon,” You repeated his name for as many times as you could, enjoying the way you can call him like that, in this manner.

Namjoon was close. He could feel it just by seeing you sprawled out naked for him, ass up and head smashed onto the pillow. The way your ass jiggled every time his hips smacked onto them, the pretty little noises you made with every thrust.

The way his name sounded falling from your lips.

He came inside of you, right after you climaxed with the help of the rubbing of your clit with your own fingers and the both you plopped down next to each other, beat from the sex.

Moments like these; him lying next to side half-naked and smiling away about nothing at all, and the small giggles that erupt from your lungs, the accidental light grazes of his hand over yours, his dimpled smile that rarely showed up.

When you wake up to the sun that glared fiercely through the nylon sheets of your temporary shelter, Namjoon was watching you.

Jumping back, you grab the blanket as a form of protection.

“What… are you doing here?!”

He looks down, trying to contain his laughter.

“Wait, where am I?”

The memories start running back to you piece by piece and you nod in realisation.

“Ah, right.”

Namjoon flashes the last of his full smile that is equivalent to the sun.

Moments like these, are short-lived.

“Y/N,” He says, tone somehow serious but casual.

“I’m leaving.”

You gather yourself and listen.

“Last night, was spectacular.” He tells you confidently. A shade of coral brushes over your cheeks.

“Not just…that, of course. I really enjoyed every second spent with you and I’m so glad you came into my life. Even if it was just for a night. Or day, whatever.”

Because nothing ever goes smoothly in life.

Even Alice had to leave Wonderland.

“I’m going to find her and get her back.”

Happiness was still something you were going to continue searching for, while Namjoon fights for his own.

“Oh,” It’s all you can reply, your head a pool of thoughts, words, feelings and emotions. But you wouldn’t voice them out. You couldn’t.

“Goodluck. I had a fun time as well.”

Even though you wished for more.

“I hope you’ll be heading wherever you need to be as well?”

Namjoon stretches his hand out and you slap it.

He was inserting all this platonic gestures to not make it feel weirder than it already is.

“Yeah. Will be on my way.”

You can already sense a Jungkook driving his way here to pick you up according to the summon of your father. While Namjoon will look for his lover and seek the clarification he needs.

In fact, the both of you will be on your separate ways now.

This, is where the true journey of a bus ride with him, ends.

It’s been exactly ten weeks since your strange encounter with Namjoon.

An encounter that consisted of almost everything an adventure had in store.

All of this is not a coincidence , you like to believe.

Every single time you were on a bus, you can’t help but wonder if Namjoon would magically pop out and turn your life downside up. Cause the butterflies in your stomach to form again. You want to know what he’s doing. If him and his girlfriend are well now.

Even as of right now, you can’t help but anticipate the next bus ride to happen, rejecting Jungkook’s offer for a ride.

At night, you cannot sleep without thinking about the moonlight that shines in his eyes.

The way your name falls from his lips.

His soft touches and gentle caresses.

His sweet and plump lips with his big hands on your hips.

As much as you’d like to forget, no one has ever brought you to close to euphoria before.

It was considerably the happiest moment in your stagnant life.

Being with Namjoon made you feel like achieved something great. The strong thumping of your heart, the words that flowed so smoothly out of your mouth, your jumbled thoughts coming together perfectly with him around.

It just felt so right.

A tap on your shoulder caused you to remove an ear bud.

“Excuse me, miss. Is this seat taken?”

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