#something about suits and men (specifically men for some reason) crossing their legs while sitting that just Makes Me Fall In Love

[cy-cyborg]

Writing disability: The Super-Crip Trope, and how to avoid falling into it's harmful elements

The "Magical disabled person" or as it's often called in disability circles, the "Super-Crip" is the name of a trope in which a disabled character has some kind of magic or special abilities, which is used to mitigate or erase the impact of their disability. While not a mandatory part of the trope, many super-crip characters are also stronger than their peers, specifically because of their disability's impact on their powers. So why is this trope so unpopular among many disabled people? There's a few reasons. The main one is because more often than not, Super-crips who are written by non-disabled people are often treated as an easy way out of actually having to deal with a character's disability, and a shortcut out of having to do the research into how a disabled character would deal with certain situations. When these writers encounter something they think their disabled character can't do, instead of actually talking to people with the same disability as their character and doing research, they just write that its not a problem because "magic powers go!"

In some cases, but not all, their powers all but erase their disability completely, at least from the perspective of it's relevance to the story. While, to my knowledge, this was never in the comics or movies, A good example of this is a "fan-theory" I've seen among non-disabled X-men fans who claim professor X could use his telepathy to walk, functionally bypassing his spinal injury (Or his leg injury, if we're going off some of the comics' timelines). This would functionally erase his disability, making it an example of both the super-crip trope and the miracle-cure trope.

ID: An image of Professor X from X-men, a white bald man wearing a suit, sitting in a silver wheelchair, and another unknown man in a suit standing beside him, framed by a circular doorway, both their faces are partially obscured by shadow. /end ID]

Another reason this trope is disliked is because writer's often have good intentions when using this trope, but they actually end up undermining the points they were trying to make. Often, super-crips are portrayed as badasses in an attempt to show that "you can still be a hero/useful to the plot and be disabled", but the way they portray it usually implies that disabled people, as they exist in real life, aren't useful unless they have something that compensates for their disability or have impossible powers.

So should super-crips be avoided entirely? Some folks in the community think so, but personally, I don't agree. Despite all of what I've said so far, I think there are ways to write characters who technically fit the definition of a super-crip, without it being harmful. There's an argument to be made that "super-crip" specifically refers to harmful version of the trope, so not everyone will consider characters who aren't part of it, but I do, and I think it's important to discuss both the harm this trope can bring, and how this trope can be used in non-harmful ways. Humans (and creatures with human-level intelligence) are adaptable creatures, and in a world where magic exists and especially in worlds where its common, disabled people will find ways to use it to help themselves. but help is the key word there. So let's talk about some ways you can write super-crips, without it crossing the line into becoming harmful. The following are some things for you to consider about your character's disability, how their magic/powers interacts with it, how they interact with the world (and vice versa) and more:

Are your character's powers an aid or a cure?

The first, and one of the most important things to consider, is if your character's powers function like an aid or piece of assistive tech, or a cure? If you boil it down, is the magic helping them or "fixing" them? This can be a cure in the literal sense, as in giving an amputee the ability to shape-shift to get their limb back, or a functional cure, meaning the power essentially by-passes the disability, like the above mentioned professor-X fan-theory. It's not literally curing him, but it might as well be. In a world where this magic or super-powers exist, it's perfectly natural that a character might use the magic to lessen the impact of their disability, but it shouldn't erase it entirely. Give the magic a trade off, make it imperfect. You character can cummon a magic prosthetic, but there's a time limit on how long it lasts for, or their magic needs to recharge it. A wheelchair using mage might be able to engrave magic runes on their chair that allow them to pass over rough terrain, but only to a certain extent. It might allow them to go up-stairs, but it can only be used so many times per day (and make sure you show the times where they need to get up the stairs, but have run out of uses!) Things like that.

Is the power directly tied to their disability?

Is the power you're giving the character directly tied to their disability? There's 2 ways you could read this, and both should be considered. 1. The power is something you, as the author, gave to them specifically because it would help mitigate their disability (e.g. giving a character without arms telepathy so they can still pick things up/hold things because you couldn't figure out how they would be a badass swordsman without it) or 2. Does this character, in universe, have their power specifically because of their disability? e.g. Did our arm amputee develop telepathy through sheer-force of will because they really wanted to be a swordsman, and their determination manifested as telepathy/A god gave them the powers because they felt bad for them/a wizard taught them how to do it because they were inspired by the person's perseverance? If the answer to the first one was yes, perhaps reconsider and do more research. If the answer to the second one is yes, proceed with a lot of caution. Generally, if the powers originate from someone feeling sorry for your character, being inspired by them or anything to do with their determination and perseverance, I'd recommend changing that. However, if the powers came from your character having to adapt something to to their disability, that is really a case-by-case basis thing. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. your success with it will depend on the character, the setting and the specifics of how.

Is this power common, or is this character the only person in the cast/only person we see with this ability?

Is the power you're giving your disabled character rare, or even unique? It's fine to give your disabled characters powers that are common within the world, but if they're one of the only people who has that ability (or similar abilities), ESPECIALLY if it directly helps mitigate their disability, you might want to reconsider that choice. In a world where everyone can fly, it would be weird if your wheelchair user couldn't without an explanation. But if no one else in the story can fly except your wheelchair user, it starts looking more like you just gave them that power so you don't have to think about accessibility in your world. If you really must give your disabled character the rare/unique power, consider making another character with a similar disability but no/more common powers so you aren't just avoiding the issue, or making the power not related to/impact their disability directly (e.g. giving your leg amputee super-hearing.)

Does this power solve a wider access issue in your world, or does it just make it easier for your character alone?

As a general rule of thumb, if you are writing a story where you don't want accessibility issues to be a thing (e.g. a story set in a utopia), focus on fixing the environment, not the characters. Instead of giving your wheelchair user the ability to fly upstairs, give the buildings ramps and lifts. That way, its a solution for everyone with that disability, no matter their access to things like magic or technology. When talking about super-crips, this is especially important, doubly so if your character's power is rare! I made a (mostly joking) post ages ago about an idea for an earth-bender character in the Avatar universe, who gets fed up with republic city being inaccessible and starts earth-bending all the stairs into ramps. This solves the accessibility issue for them, but also makes their environment more accessible for others without bending to get around. Of course, not every disabled character will want to help/care to help others, but often when non-disabled people write disabled characters with powers, they kind of forget that their character won't be the only disabled person in this world. It often feels like they honestly think fixing things for their character means there's no problem anymore, and that's not the case.

Avoid, "I may have [insert disability here] but I can still do stuff because of my power!"

By this, I mean give your character other ways to address issues relating to their disability than just their powers. One funny example I remember reading in a writing group I was a part of was this author who was bragging about how their paralysed character could still drive a car because they had electrokinisis (the ability to telepathically control electronics). Aside from the fact that wouldn't work on all cars - including the one their character drove, since not all cars have electronic components controlling their acceleration and brakes, the way they described it was extremely complex, and overall not worth the effort when the real-life solution, hand controls, was much, much easier and the setting allowed for easy access to that kind of tech. When I pointed this out to them, they said they had no idea hand controls were a thing, and they had no idea that real disabled people could drive. They thankfully changed it, but there's 2 things to take from this: 1, double check that disabled people can do the things you assume they can't, your magic solution might very well not be needed, and 2. variety is important regardless. No one device, or in this case, magic power, should act as a one-size-fits-all solution. IRL disabled people have lots of tools to help us, I have 2 sets of prosthetics for different tasks, a wheelchair, a grabby claw (for reaching things on high shelves when using my short legs and wheelchair) and hand controls in my car (or at least I used to but we won't get into that lol). My prosthetics won't "fix" all my problems, I need other tools too. keep this in mind when it comes to magic too - it shouldn't be the only thing at your character's disposal.

There's nothing to compensate for.

Remember, don't treat your character's disability as something they need to make up for (especially if they "make up for it" using their powers). Your disabled character is allowed to make mistakes, they're allowed to have flaws both related and unrelated to their disability, they're allowed to not be good at some things, and they don't always have to be the best at whatever their roll in the plot is. In most stories, they should be on par with the other characters, or at least in the same ball-park, but as I mentioned before, a lot of stories don't let disabled characters fail. In order to justify them even being present, they are often made out to be the undeniable best, almost to mary-sue levels of perfection and super-crips especially fall into this issue a lot. They can be good at things, but balance it out, like with any other character.

You don't have to use all of these points, but they are still worth at least considering. For example, Toph fails all of these points except the first three. Despite that, she's still one of my favorite disabled characters in media, even if she's not perfect, and I'm not alone in thinking that. I've seen lots of other disabled people say the same about her. Which of these points you should use will depend on your story, character, setting and tone. As I've mentioned a few times now, the key is striking a balance. At the end of the day though, these are only general pieces of advice and a lot more factors go into making a character like this work. only disabled people will be able to tell you if you've pulled it off, and that's where beta-readers and disabled sensitivity readers come in!

Also, remember, these kinds of tropes don't just apply to the more common/well-known disabilities like amputations and wheelchair users, that's just what I have experience with! Be sure to research any disabilities your character has to ensure you are not falling into these tropes.

[mrbingley]

hmm!!! fascinating! very attracted to finneas in his let’s fall in love for the night music video!

[felswritingfire]

April Brain Rot #1

Prompts: 

19. Elegant

12. “I gotta admit I’m a little surprised”

(Mafia AU) Vil x Reader

Summery: Vil takes you with him on a “business trip” and you talk to Cater Diamond about the names of alcohol. Specifically, the drink you ordered.

TW: Alcohol; suggestive dialogue

Word Count: 2,508

A note from Fel:  I don’t speak a lick of French, so I apologize if the French translations are wrong (I used Google Translate)! So, I hope you can forgive me and that you’ll still have a good time reading it! Enjoy!

“I gotta admit, I’m a little surprised. I never thought someone like Vil would bring… someone like you.” 

Your nose crinkled, eyebrows furrowing into an angry v. Your gaze shot from your drink to the man sitting across from you, a lazy smirk on his face as he widened the spread of his legs in front of him. He took a sip from his drink (a beautiful electric blue drink where a slice of lemon was wedged on the lip of the cup). “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

His eyebrows raised and a chuckle shook his chest. “No offense meant-” he leaned his elbows on his knees- “I just meant you’re much more of…” he nodded his head back and forth, seemingly trying to find the word he was looking for. “Of the innocent sort I suppose? Though, I don’t think innocent fits you properly. Not with what you're drinking.”

“Drinking? What’s wrong with my drink?” You look down at the whip cream topped drink that you had ordered after Vil and Rook went inside a VIP room with a man (you honestly thought he was a child at first, he had such a cute baby face and the way his red hair framed his face made him almost look angelic- though your view of him was shattered when he had opened his mouth to reveal quite the no-nonsense tone dripping off of each of his words). You had a feeling that the meeting wasn’t going to end anytime soon and Vil had, afterall, given you free reign to enjoy yourself at the fancy club that this meeting was taking place at; so you got the first drink you saw another patron had that caught your interest. It just happened to be the one that you thought might have something sweet in it. 

The man- Cater, you recall- tilted his head to the side, his green eyes shining under the bright lights of the club. “You know what it’s called don’t you?”

You looked at it and back at him, your eyes squinting at him.

“Oh, dear, maybe you are more innocent than I thought.” Cater placed a finger against his lips, a smile threatening to break out on his face. “It’s called a Blow Job, darling.”

Your startled expression throws him into a fit of laughter. You feel your cheeks flush as you grip your drink closer to your chest, eyes darting around the room. “I- it still tastes good.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” His shoulders are still shaking from chuckles and he wipes a tear from his eye before that annoying smirk crosses his face and he picks up the drink he placed on the table somewhere in the midst of your conversation. You frown when he stands up and makes his way around the table to sit next to you. “You know what this drink is called, Sweetie?”

You lean back from how close his face is- you can smell his cologne, something mellow yet expensive. You shake your head.

You realize too late that you have no more couch to scoot away on when your back hits the arm of the couch. You feel sweat pool at the small of your back when his smooth lips brush against your ear. “Sex in the Driveway.”

The tips of your ears burn in a blush. “Oh, fuck off.”

Cater throws his head back and another round of laughter leaves him.  

“Why do drinks have to have such weird names,” you mumble. Looking away from him and taking a sip from your drink.

“I don’t know-” he throws an arm over the back of the couch where you’re squished against the arm of it- “but they’re good conversation starters, no?”

You sigh. “I guess.”

Cater hums, drinking from his Sex in the Driveway before asking: “so, why did Vil bring you, anyway?”

I don’t know either. You scowled, tapping your nails against the side of the glass. “Didn’t have a babysitter, I guess.”

“Babysitter?”

“Yeah, Vil usually has these two guys watch over me for whatever reason- probably because I’m friends with him or something-” you suddenly stopped talking when you realized where you were and who you were talking with: a really fancy club, that had velvet red seats and a corner for rich old white men to play croquet, that was owned by one of the seven most influential mob bosses in Twisted Wonderland- Riddle Rosehearts- and you were currently sitting with one of said mob bosses cronies. You glared at him, scowling. 

He raised his hands shaking his head. “Hey, now, I’m not gonna go snooping for any dirt on Vil- they’re talking about a pseudo-partnership in there currently-” he nods his head to the heart-shaped doors that the three disappeared to earlier- “I don’t want to do anything to- ah- jeopardize that. Riddle’ll have my head, you know?”

“Good.” You say, taking another drink before continuing, “I don’t know anything anyway.”

“Oh? Aren’t you part of the Pomefior group though? They don’t let just anyone in without some sort of knowledge, you know.”

“Yeah, I know that. Might be because I’m one of the only people he trusts with helping him get ready.”

“Oh,” Cater’s eyes shined at that, leaning against your side. “So, you’re like his personal stylist?”

“Something like that. He always comes to my shop when he has time.”

“You have a shop?”

“Yeah, I own a boutique,” you smile. “Vil usually comes and commissions me for his clothes- always so elegant, you know? Really fun to work on and they just fit him. One of my favorite ones to work on was-” you blink, realization hitting you- “the one he’s wearing tonight, actually.”

Cater gasps, he places his drink down on the table, grabbing both of your hands and shuffling so close to you that your chests almost touch. “You’re telling me that you made that suit he’s wearing today?”

You nod, your cheeks warming once again. 

“He’s worn that suit more than once you know? I would do anything to get my hands on a suit like that- it complements his waist so well and the colors-” an almost squeal slips from Cater’s throat as he squeezes your hands- “divine. No one can take their eyes off of him when he wears that thing- well, even without the suit people don’t really take their eyes off of him, but- you get what I mean, don’t you?”

A small drop of pride blossomed in your chest, happy that convincing Vil to let you alter the color pallet had paid off. You nod, “yeah.” There’s a brief moment where you tug your bottom lip into your mouth with your teeth before you say, “you know I do take commissions- I can always make you one for the right price.”

“Really?” He reminded you of a puppy in that moment he was practically vibrating with excitement as he half situates himself in your lap. “You’d really do that for me?”

“Well- again- for the right price-”

“No, they wouldn’t. This suit is one of a kind and I do hope it will stay one of a kind. Isn’t that right, my Sweet Potato?”

“I- Vil! I- the meeting! How’d it go?” You feel the blush creep down your neck and over your chest- Cater whining and pressing against you, lamenting the fact that he’d have to commission you something else. 

“Incroyable!” Rook declared from behind Vil (who was still glaring down at you and Cater). “Roi des Roses and Roi du Poison have settled upon an agreement-” Rook wiped an invisible tear away with one hand while he placed the other on his chest- “Belle harmonie.”

“That’s great!” You smile at the small group of men. “That means you guys’ll be friends for a bit, huh? How neat!”

Vil’s brow creased and his lips tugged into a frown- expression caught between concern and frustration. “Who told you-”

“Ah, you’re so cute, (Y/N)-chan!” Cater suddenly wrapped his arms around you causing you to yelp, your face flushing a deeper shade of red. His cheek pressed against yours as he began to chatter: “Did you guys know that they didn’t realize they ordered a Blow Job? I thought they were going to be all hardcore and sexy, but no- they’re so innocent- look at them! Blushing because of a hug!” He laughed squeezing you tighter. “You should really try a Sex in the Driveway next! It’s super yummy, also it’s so aesthetic for pictures.” Cater's voice dropped to a whisper when he added: “even special types of pictures- I have a really nice driveway we can take those pictures at, you know?”

You can feel a scream build in your throat when Vil’s voice- too even, too calm- suddenly cuts in: “I do believe it’s time for us to go. I would appreciate it if you would let my Potato go, Mr. Diamond.”

Cater looks up at him from underneath his eyelashes. “Ah, yes, apologies, Don Schoenhiet.” He lets you go but not before leaving a kiss on your cheek as he grabs his drink and skips away with a wave. “Bye-bye, (Y/N)-chan! See you later!”

You sputtered, feeling like you were going to overheat as you stood on wobbly legs and staggered to Vil’s side. Rook’s fighting the urge to giggle at the situation as the two Dons talk between themselves to wrap up a few loose ends before they nod at one another and Vil is dragging you out the door by your elbow. 

The blast of cool air that blasted against your face as the doors opened pulled a quiet gasp from you. Vil still dragging you by the elbow, his expression fixed on the sleek, black limo that waited in front, a boy with purple hair leaning against the side of it. Rook waves to Epel and he nods, opening the door for the three of you. Well, you thought it was going to be for the three of you, instead you watched as Rook waved at you through the tinted window once the door shut and followed Epel up to the front of the car. 

You chewed on your lip, patting your lap as silence took up the space between you and Vil. He had his legs cross as well as his arms, glaring down at you. You looked up, with a sheepish smile. “So, the meeting went good, right?”

“It went amazing.”

“That’s good.”

The silence was beginning to seep back in again and you went back to chewing on your lip when you heard Vil click his tongue. “Stop doing that.”

“Sorry.” You felt your face flush.

“What were you and Diamond talking about?”

“I- huh?”

“My Sweet Potato, you know I don’t like repeating myself.” His eyes were unwavering and the sound of wind blowing across the frame of the limo seemed to be so much louder with the way the blood rushed to your ears.

You shrugged. “Nothing too interesting, honestly. He told me what my drink was called- which, I will have you know, was a complete accident that I ordered that thing, ok? I saw some guy had one and it had whip cream, that is it.” You rested your chin in your hand as you slouched to lean against your knee, a happy smile on your face, “and then I got to talk about my shop, so that was really nice.” You blink sitting straight again and looking at him: your eyebrows slightly knitted together and an honest shine in your eyes. “If you're worried that he tried to get some info from me about you guys, I didn’t tell him anything! It wouldn’t have worked anyway-” you look almost proud of yourself as you cross your arms over your chest- “I don’t know anything about what you guys do and I told him that to his face.”

“Anything else?”

You looked at Vil, tilting your head. He didn’t seem angry, more like… mildly annoyed? You weren’t completely positive, but the loosening of his eyebrows said that he was at least calming down from whatever set him off. “He… he asked me why you brought me if I didn’t know anything.”

“Oh? And what did you say?”

“I- I said I didn’t know either, probably because I’m your friend and that you couldn’t find my babysitters,” You chuckle to yourself, patting at your lap again. 

Vil blinks at you, before leaning back and covering his eyes with an arm. He sighs. 

You look up at Vil, concern suddenly tickling the bottom of your heart. “Vil?”

“What a silly potato you are.” You feel your face burst into flames as Vil shows you his face once again: his expression is raw- pure adoration and something that you never expected him to show you; the smile on his face is not one that is beautiful and perfectly maintained- it didn’t have a purpose- instead, it was soft, something so vulnerable that you could feel your breath catching in your throat. He leaned towards you, his hands finding your cheeks, he gently rested his forehead against yours. You feel your eyes flutter as you smell his perfume: apples and cinnamon. “I brought you with me because I remember you mentioning you wanted to go there.”

You gasp, an excited glint in your eyes. “I did, didn’t I?”

The smile stayed on his face as he leaned back. “Did you enjoy it?”

You nod. “It was just as pretty as I thought it was going to be- but I like your club a lot more. It’s just so much more…” you scrunch your nose and giggle when you feel him begin to play with your hair. “More you.” You nod, proud that you finally found the words you wanted to say. 

He pauses in twirling your hair, he breaths a laugh. “‘More me’, hm?”

“Yeah! It makes me feel safe,” you laugh, “It’s like being surrounded by your muse you know?” You smile at him. 

Vil pulls you into his arms. You feel him shivering and you wrap your arms around, being mindful not to rumple his suit too much. “Never change, my Sweet Potato.”

“I’m not planning to!”

Another breathy laugh as he brushes his nose against the skin of your neck. Your skin warm with a building blush. You two stay like that: happy, content in each other's arms before he speaks again: “you’re not allowed to converse with Diamond ever again, do you understand me?”

“He’s a potential customer though! I have to talk to him! Also, he seemed like an alright guy-”

“Looks can be deceiving.”

You pull away from the hug crossing your arms, forcing your cheeks to cool down as Vil stares at you with sweet eyes. “That’s not fair. You’re not even my boyfriend.”

“I can change that very easily, Sweet Potato.”

Your cheeks begin to burn as you let out the most pitiful yet happy noise out of your throat. 

<The Next Chosen Characters>

Thank you for reading!

[beatricethecat2]

"Chill for a minute! You're making me nervous," Myka says.

"I'll not miss the performance because of a third-rate watchman," Helena huffs.

"Abigail said she'd sort this out."

"Abigail got us into this."

"She didn't slug him."

"He tackled me."

"You grabbed the book and ran."

"And I'd have succeeded were it not for that wandering child," Helena gruffs. "Who brings a child to theater?"

"You wouldn't have brought Christina?"

"Were she old enough and properly dressed, yes. That child was in dungarees."

"They probably came to see the exhibition not the matinee—"

"We're not dressed properly either," Helena grumbles, swiping dirt off a pant leg.

"Theater's not as formal as it used to be. And you did put your hair up," Myka says, flashing a feeble smile.

"And now it's mussed. It wasn't much to look at to begin with." Helena fusses with her bun.

"Hey, I think you look really nice," Myka says, reaching over, stilling Helena's hands.

"This is hardly theater attire."

"It's the Oregon Shakespeare Festival not the Met Opera."

"Attending the theater used to mean something." Helena's hands drop to her lap.

"It still does, but not corsets and gowns." Myka raises a brow. "Would you have worn a dress if this was a real date?"

"I very well may have. I'd certainly have made more of an effort."

"A nineteenth or twenty-first century effort?

"May I not embody both?"

"Yeah, but I'm just noticing you sort of default to the nineteenth when you're around me."

"And you disapprove."

"No. It think it's kind of sweet. I like that you don't have to hide who you are with me." Myka bumps her shoulder into Helena's.

"And to think, I once yearned to live in a future such as this. I'd no clue how exhausting it'd be being out of time."

"It'll get easier," Myka says, meeting Helena's unsure gaze. She leans towards Helena and Helena follows suit, their lips nearly touching when a door slamming in the distance halts the action.

"So, um...when's the last time you saw Shakespeare?" Myka asks, recomposing herself.

Helena thinks back. "Hamlet, in Stratford; Sarah Bernhardt as lead. We'd travelled specifically to see her, as it was unusual for a woman to play a male's part. She was her bombastic self, but watching Shakespeare translated into French was odd. I may have opinions about the American accent as well."

"Oh you will."

"Flipping through those gravures on display really took me back. Then the cabinet cards...are you familiar with those actors?"

"No."

"Such a shame," Helena says, pushing up from her slouch to sit upright.  "Ellen Terry, she who worked so very hard to elevate the acting profession for women and men; Lillie Langtree, the beauty who pulled her reputation up from the mud through her craft; Violet Vanbrugh, locked in competition with her sister for the spotlight...celebrities, one and all, yet seeing them now, they feel like lost friends." 

Helena sighs deeply and looks away. "When I snatched the book, my mind was no longer present. Hence the guard getting a jump on me."

"It's going to work out," Myka says, flashing a comforting smile.

"How exactly is Abigail remedying this? I heard little of your hushed conversation earlier," Helena says, narrowing her eyes at Myka.

"She's convincing them to put it back so we can swap it with a copy she's sending."

"Could she not have done so previously?"

"With Artie out of town, she's scrambling to keep up."

"How exactly is she convincing them?"

"She's, um..." Myka looks down at her lap and adjusts her wrist watch. "Do you actually need to know?"

"I do now," Helena says, swerving in her seat to face Myka.

"She's posing as your therapist."

"And I'm a babbling idiot."

"No...our pitch is you're obsessed with Victoriana."

"Convenient," Helena grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Do you want to see the play or not?"

"What do you think?"

"I think we wouldn't be here at all if Abigail hadn't asked us to snag volume nine of 'The Illustrated Library of Shakespeare.' And I think she'll fix this for now so we can see a play like two normal people who see plays. We'll worry about the book tomorrow."

Helena's scowl stays firmly in place.

"I'll make it up to you tonight at the hotel," Myka says, eyes pleading.

"Placating me for performing the Warehouse's bidding is not in the least desirable—"

"Ooh, look, he's coming out," Myka says, patting Helena's leg as she rises to talk to the head of security. "Stay here."

Helena stays put but her scowl grows all consuming.

-END SCENE-

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

Bering and Wells: Field Trip ("Warehouse 13" Season 5 replacement) Season 1: Episode 7 Title: Oregon: To one thing constant never

Summary: With Warehouse staff stretched thin, Myka and Helena are asked to dash from Myka's parents to The Oregon Shakespeare Festival. The pickup hits a snag when Helena, lost in memories, bungles the retrieval. Emotions run high when Helena reveals an unshakable impulse that threatens their newfound bliss.

Previously: Episode 1, Episode 2, Episode 3, Episode 4, Episode 5, Episode 6

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

BONUS SCENE

The next day, in the parking in the lot of the festival, freshly off the phone from the Warehouse, Myka turns to Helena.

"Artie's booking us a flight. He wants us to bring the book in person—"

"We are not altering our plans again," Helena sneers. "He can pick it up from us."

"I think he needs it sooner," Myka mumbles. "It'll be quick, just a day or two. Maybe we can push our bookings up?"

"As if that's worked in the past."

"True," Myka says, shoulders slumping as she sighs defeatedly. "Then we'll skip Mendocino and head straight to San Francisco from there. I'll grab some of my stuff since we might stay in the city longer." She turns the key, revving the car to life.

"I'll drive to Mendocino and meet you in San Francisco. You go on to the Warehouse."

"But Artie said you can come," Myka explains, looking over her shoulder, backing out of their parking spot. She puts the car in drive and moves towards the exit.

"There's no reason for me to do so."

"But you haven't met Abigail. Or Steve, really. Plus Claudia's dying to see you—"

"Myka, I can't."

Myka steps on the brake and turns to face Helena. "Is this a Regent thing? Because Artie wouldn't have said you could come if you couldn't."

"It's not a Regent thing."

"Then what?" Myka huffs.

"We've not time to discuss this now."

"Then tell me the abbreviated version."

A honk from behind jolts them both.

"Alright, alright!" Myka grumbles, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the road.

"You go on. I'll follow our plan," Helena says. "I wish to feel the land shifting underfoot, as if Elizabeth, Christina, and I had made our way through California in my own day."

"Wouldn't that have been on a train? Or a carriage maybe?" Myka asks.

"Is a car not the modern equivalent?"

"I guess," Myka says, her face the picture of concern. "You know, most of San Francisco was destroyed in the 1906 earthquake. There's not much left from back then."

"No matter. It's the spirit in which it's encountered."

"Then I want to 'encounter' it with you."

"Then have them pick the book up from us. You're not obligated to obey their every beck and call."

"I guess not," Myka says, frowning as she stops at a red light.

"Their prerogative led us to rush here, waylaying our plans," Helena presses.

"And the plays."

"Which we may have seen, in our own time, had we not been browbeaten into a retrieval—"

"We weren't browbeaten, we were helping Abigail—"

"The light's green."

"I see that," Myka grumps, the car jerking forward as she presses on the gas too hard. "So that's why you won't come with me? You're mad we came here in the first place?"

"It more than that. My relationship with the Warehouse must remain distant. Better if I retain none at all."

"How exactly is that going to work? Because I live there."

"I'd rather not discuss this while you're driving."

"Then I'll stop." Myka flips her turn signal and veers left at an intersection. She swings into a parking lot turns off the engine. "You said I'm your One. That we're partners."

"You are both of those things to me."

"But you can't come to the Warehouse, maybe ever? Explain." Myka shifts in her seat to face Helena as fully as possible.

"I've come to understand distance may be the only remedy for certain...triggers."

"What triggers?"

"Where to start?"

"Anywhere, really," Myka gruffs, holding onto Helena's petulant gaze.

"A hundred years in bronze weighs heavy on one's soul."

"You were fine there before."

"Was I?"

"You said it was your tether!"

"I'd have said anything to—"

"Gain access, dupe everyone, and destroy the world. I know." Myka scowls. "But you wouldn't do that again."

"That's no longer my vice," Helena says.

"Then what is?"

Helena looks off into the distance. "A secondary plan, utilizing artifacts catalogued since my bronzing."

"W-What kind of plan?" Myka says, her back straightening.

"One in which Christina would be returned to me."

"Wait, you tried again when you were there?"

"How could I not?" Helena laments. "I've hatched countless schemes since."

"But you said you'd made peace with not having kids."

"Moving forward. But I may never find true peace with Christina's passing. Apparently, it's not uncommon."

"How do you know?"

"At the precinct, after particularly gruesome cases, they conducted psychological evaluations. I'd breezed through most, but one in particular, concerning the death of a little girl, was difficult to shake."

"Oh, Helena." Myka scoots forward and takes hold of Helena's hand. "What happened?"

"I recounted my story, albeit heavily modified, and learned about triggers. Avoiding them entirely was an acceptable solution, so the Warehouse...but you? You were a conundrum."

"I was a trigger, too." Myka slips her hand from Helena's but Helena grabs it back.

"You remained a symbol of hope, of all that was good in this world. I ached to be near you but feared disappointing you again. When you turned up in Montreal, I was drumming up the courage to approach you."

"But you weren't there yet."

"I wasn't," Helena says, squeezing Myka's hand. "Asking you to separate yourself from your home, from your calling, was difficult to justify. But after hearing of your illness, nothing else mattered but being by your side."

Helena cups Myka's jaw and strokes her cheek with a thumb. "But I must protect myself, and you, from those demons."

Helena shifts closer and guides their lips together. Their kiss lingers until Myka's phone rings.

"Artie," Myka says, answering in an instant. "We can't come. We'll keep the the book safe until someone can pick it up—"

Myka moves the phone away from her ear at Arties loud volume.

"Ok, ok! But H.G.'s not coming. Put me on a flight."

Myka places her hand over the microphone and glances at Helena. "He said Mrs. Frederic's there and 'needs it yesterday'—"

She's interrupted by Artie chiming in.

"I'm not taking a flight with two connections because it leaves tonight! Put me on a red eye."

Grumbling emanates from the other side of the phone.

"Five-thirty's fine. Send me the details."

More grumbling, then silence. Myka hangs up the phone.

"Artie seems his usual congenial self—"

"I'm really proud of you," Myka blurts, turning to face Helena again.

"Whatever for?" Helena asks, head tilting, brow furrowing.

"For fighting your demons on your own. Though I wish we'd been doing it together."

"From now on, we shall," Helena says, meeting Myka halfway as she leans in for another kiss.

Hands reach across the console, twining in hair, groping at necks, arms, shoulders, as if the space between them is too great.

Minutes later, a tap on the window jerks them apart.

"Ma'ams, bank won't open again until 9AM," a man says as Helena rolls down the window. "I'm going to have to ask to come back tomorrow."

"Bank?" Myka croaks, scanning the parking lot, eyes locking on a glowing sign at its entrance. "Oh, bank."

"Terribly sorry officer. We pulled over to take a call before becoming...distracted," Helena explains.

"Just a security guard, ma'am. But I'd appreciate it if you move on. I didn't want to disturb you but my manager's going to wonder why you were here so long."

"Nothing nefarious, I assure you. We'd have been stealthier were anything afoot," Helena says with a wink.

"Helena!"

"Just reassuring the boy."

"We didn't mean to....we were just..." Myka stumbles over a more direct explanation.

"We've been granted one more night together before our separation."

"But we do have a hotel room."

"And mere hours before I'm to deliver you to the airport."

"True." Myka's lips push together, her face contorting into one of a new understanding. "Not enough hours. We should go."

"Thank you again for accommodating us," Helena says to the security guard.

"Um, sure?" he says as Helena rolls up the window.

"We'll make this work," Myka says, slipping a hand over Helena's thigh as she drives away. "I know we can."

"I adore your enthusiasm," Helena says, covering Myka's hand with her own, threading their fingers together.

-END-

-TBC-

NOTES: A quick reminder - this Christina is the daughter of Helena's original "One" back in the 1800's - Elizabeth. I think that story is in the second installment of this series. Also note this text probably pretty rough as I'm out of town and have sporadic internet (remember DSL?) and so haven't been able to use my usual text checkers (let me know if anything's super bad!) I'm putting it up now so I won't fuss over it as I'd like to not fuss over *anything* this week. Also, the first manip is one of my favorites - there's only one I can think of that tops it, but it's not public yet (I think you'll know when you see it.) Anyway, here are some of the people HG mentioned. And here are some of the amazing panoramas of the SF earthquake. Also Sarah Bernhardt - look her up, she was *quite* the character.

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

(Prompts with boxes have been taken, highlighted have been written)

Requests for this card are closed, thank you to anyone who sent in requests! If you don’t want to see these you can block the tag #false bthb. As always shoot me an ask if you wanna be tagged in future stories, whether it be for bad things happen bingo or any of the other series, one shots or in general!

I’ve been picking at this particular request since early December as the person who requested it had a lot of details they wanted put in making the writing process a bit more challenging. As a disclaimer, note that the chapter is split between present time and the past; with Logan recalling things in his past in an attempt to make the details requested for the story flow better. I received this request from AO3.

General taglist: @im-an-anxious-wreck

Experimental Socialization

Summary: Logan was raised by the government to be nothing more than an experiment and a weapon, utilizing his unique abilities as a mutant. When he finally escapes things are much different than he imagined they’d be but thankfully finds others like him willing to help guide him right where he needs to be.(Happy Ending)

Warnings: allusions to abuse, physical punishment and human experimentation, tw for weapons and fire, panic attack. If there are more please let me know

Prompt; Not Used To Freedom (requested by AngstyEmoGal on AO3)

Ships: Intrulogical, Logan x Remus

WC: 3432

“You just gotta breathe, Logan. In four, hold seven, out eight remember? You’re doing great, just keep going.”

Logan felt himself slowly coming back to reality as his breathing evening out, the raw panic that had gripped his chest easing slightly as Virgili continued coaxing him through the exercise. He felt the other slowly rub up and down his arm in a slow, steady beat that helped ground him further in reality and he smiled up at his friend gratefully and nodded to let xem know he was okay. Gripping his knees as Virgil’s voice trailed off he squeezed his eyes shut tightly and let out one last calming breath.

“Thank you, Virgil. I-” He struggled to find words, gesturing flippantly in the air making Virgil grin.

“It’s okay. Take your time, L.”

Logan puffed his cheeks out in frustration, thoughts swirling too quickly for him to comprehend anything but the apprehensive fear he held for the plans Remus had made for them later that evening. “I am- not used to being outside. Given my history and the threat I pose as a potential compromise to our place of hiding I fail to understand Remus’ reasoning for going out when we could just as easily celebrate our relationship here.”

“Hm.” Virgil leaned back on xyr hands and looked up at the low ceiling of their underground paradise. “Can’t really see the stars from here, no matter how many stickers Princey finds and puts up it can't really be compared to the real thing.”

Logan had made the mistake of going on a tirade of space facts a few months into his stay in the hideout, Remus patiently listening to the extensive infodump of constellation facts and space physics and planetary rotation. Having a limited amount of books to entertain oneself with for extended periods of time meant memorizing entire books on one subject, which Logan had used all too happily as a figurative escape from his situation in the past until he had actually managed to escape when he was 16. Hearing Logan speak so passionately about the subject had apparently made his mind up that he was taking Logan outside for their first “official” date to view the stars, which had then landed Logan in his current state of panic as he realized that date was today and he was decidedly not ready for what might lay in store outside of safety of the hideout.

“I can stay close by if you want. I won’t spy or anything and Remus won’t have to know.” Logan looked over as his thoughts were interrupted by the offer, Virgil turning invisible and reappearing a couple seconds later to emphasize xyr point. Smiling Logan shook his head, knowing the other derived as much joy from going outside as Logan felt about going himself.

“Thank you for the offer though, you’re very kind.” Letting his thoughts drift again he idly wondered when Virgil had discovered xe could disappear and reappear at will and if xyr parents had tried to hide it before the government had found out. His own parents-

-----

“Logan?” A very small Logan turned at his mother’s voice, losing his concentration which made the hidden jar of Crofters fall from its suspended place in the air and smash to the floor. His parents hadn’t known he possessed any sort of powers, and even as small as he was he still understood the position he’d put them in if they ever found out. Fearfully his hands dropped to his sides as his mother covered her mouth in shock, tears rolling down her cheeks as she took a step back.

Men in suits and long coats were there just a few hours later, speaking in hushed voices while both of his parents cried and he was ushered out the door and into an unmarked car, quiet as he understood yelling and crying would do him no good now. What’s done was done, all he could do was be compliant and hope to be treated gently.

-----

The room suddenly brightening with a flickering light brought him back out of his thoughts, Roman entering with his signature bright flame held proudly in his hand. The image of him in his rather scrapped together Princely outfit posing subconsciously in the doorway was almost enough to make Logan roll his eyes but he didn’t want Virgil to think it was because of xem so he managed to restrain himself.

“My dearest brother has been pacing in the same spot for two hours now and I haven't been able to calm him down soooo I thought to check on our resident nerd.” Roman declared with his usual flare. Logan actually did roll his eyes this time but Virgil did as well so he figured it was fine.

“The ‘resident nerd’ is doing fine, Roman. Though it's concerning to hear Remus is nervous as well considering he’s the one who suggested the date.”

Roman waved his hand at Logan dismissively. “He’s just a sap- moreso than me surprisingly. He doesn’t want to do anything to put you in danger but he wants to do something nice, so he’s worried that’s all. Remus is an idiot but I trust him with my life; believe me when I say you have nothing to worry about except his terrible sense of humor.”

Logan merely hummed in response, staring at the way the flame moved around as Roman gestured with his words.

-----

He panted as he rolled out of the way of another flamethrower, singeing the tips of his hair in the process but he couldn’t afford to slow down enough to worry about that. Years of training with different fighting styles had earned him incredibly fast reflexes but a good portion of his accuracy in knowing where to step and when was owed to him working even harder to focus his powers. Thoughts from others constantly surrounded him on a regular basis, getting more and more prevalent the older he grew. Learning to block out the constant string of stimuli was a useful skill to keep him sane but learning to hone in on specific thoughts to predict actions was what had kept him alive.

He ducked below another bullet and brought up his leg in the same motion, kicking a throwing knife to the side and sending it to clatter harmlessly between one of his assailants feet. A twirl to the side and a tilt of the head let another bought of flame boil the air beside him while another knife just barely brushed his ear. The constant bang of bullets and roar of flames and whistling of knives was overwhelming and made the air so thick he could barely draw a breath and it was becoming a struggle to concentrate the way he needed to and-

A high pitched alarm sounded one, twice, three times- a blaring flash accompanying it that left him blinking painfully. His shoulders slumped as the barrage finally ended, another successful training day completed. He watched as everyone began putting their weapons away, laughing and congratulating each other, clapping themselves on the back and discussing whatever they had planned after this. No one even spared the thing they had been firing at seconds before a spare glance, save for the director of the branch, who took long steps forward to stand in front of him only to snap his fingers and motion forward no doubt to see him back to his room until dinner. Absorbing the sounds around him he drank in as much praise as he could that wasn’t his and would never be for him; people rarely congratulated weapons after all.

-----

“Is this where we all decided to hide today?” Logan looked up to see Patton sitting cross legged on one one of the beams in the ceiling, grinning happily down at them even as their fluffy ears twitched nervously and even fluffier tail whipped back and forth in agitation. They must have come back from trying to calm Remus as well, Logan mused; Patton had never done well being in the same room as Remus who tended to voice his thoughts abruptly and without much care to how they might sound to others which always managed to set Patton on edge no matter how hard they tried not to show it.

Patton was a rare mutant in that as opposed to being born with abnormal traits or abilities they had been a science experiment from the start- an effort to create super soldiers rather than stealing them away from families and training them. Even rarer was the fact that the DNA splicing had taken extraordinarily well by pure chance as Patton was born with a mutation that left their DNA incredibly malleable- a mutation that never would have been discovered had cellular manipulation not been the reason for them being in the experimental branch that they were. They had tried cloning Patton at first to see if their power could be duplicated but when that failed to work they began trying to combine them with different animals to see if desirable traits would come forward. By manipulating them on a physical and anatomical level they were able to change some parts of them to be more cat like, intending, Patton had guessed, to turn them into a kind of stealth soldier but they got away before they completed it, leaving them with heightened agility and surgically coaxed cat ears and a tail. They were only a child when the lab had done this but somehow they were never bitter, simply preferring to leave their past alone and embrace whatever future they could make- a trait Logan greatly admired them for even if their unending optimism could be somewhat grating at times.

“Did Janus brush your tail out Pat? It looks fluffier today.” Patton preened at Virgil's compliment, their tail beginning to wave in a more relaxed manner as their mind was distracted from whatever it was Remus had been ranting about.

“He did! He found a cat brush and got it for me so I could finally get the undercoat out!” Jumping down and landing lightly on their feet they posed a little and flashed another wide grin.

“Beautiful as always, Patton.” Roman said genuinely as he lowered his hand into a barrel to light up the paper scraps and wood in it for the night, the dim sunlight that had filtered through the grated having long since died. The home was a modified branch of a sewer system, thankfully the part most removed from the city where it flowed without the stench and was sealed off inconspicuously enough that in the ten years Janus and Remus had been using it no worker had ever found it.

-----

It had been Janus and Remus who had found him, beaten and bloody from an escape attempt he had made just days before his real one. He had made a weak attempt to coax the scientists into a false sense of security, holding back the full scoop of his powers during training for a year in anticipation for his final escape. He had punished severely but had simply thrown him in his regular cell, assuming he wasn’t strong enough to do any more damage than they had seen him do already and trusting that they had beaten him down enough that it would be a while before he tried again- if he ever did. Not six days later the mangled metal of the front of his cell was tossed into a group of guards, walls torn apart in a straight line to the exit and the huge buzzing gates leading to the outside world thrown open wide and stuck there with varying amounts of heavy debris.

The outside world, as it turns out, was a lot bigger and louder and downright terrifying when you weren’t being sent out as a personal assassin or field missions or training sessions- all controlled on some level to keep him from being killed and compromised. Without the begrudged protection from the labs and moreover having to hide from said lab was another story entirely. The times they searched for him and how closely they came to his spots were random and made it incredibly hard for him to pick out their thoughts from anyone else’s in the city and figure out how close they were. On more than one occasion they passed right by him crouched under piles of garbage or laying low under a hedge, his breath held as he tried desperately to keep himself as still and quiet as possible, thoughts of what they would to him once they found him pounding against his head and making him squeeze his eyes shut to keep his terrified tears from falling.

That was how Remus had found him. It had been dark and hours had passed since the searchers had left that park he had been hiding in. He had still been hiccuping down his sobs as he rolled out from under the hedge that he hadn’t bothered to scope the area for anyone’s close by thoughts, having shut out as much as he could after they had left to try and block out any other hate fueled thoughts that may send him spiraling again. His heart had leapt in his throat so high his breath caught painfully, immediately shifting to offense as he tensed, ready to fight as long and hard as he could. He couldn’t go back- he wouldn’t. No matter what they did or promised him or punished him with; he’d go down fighting or not at all.

But Remus had only raised his hands in the air in a motion of peace, eyes widening as he locked onto the government issued bracelet that marked him as an experimental mutant. He had grinned impossibly wide then Logan remembered, briefly disappearing from his sight and reappearing a moment later, setting him even more on edge but curious nonetheless.

“I’m like you.” Remus had said quietly. “Basically I run real fast and the government hasn’t figured out how to get me yet.”

Logan had watched as he jiggled his wrists a bit for emphasis, bare save for colored chords that he assumed didn’t associate him with any government branch since they didn’t look official.

“Are you okay?” Remus had asked next and mutely Logan nodded, unsure of how to react to this fellow mutant who had never been caught by any sort of lab, apparently living as free as one could when you were as different as they were. He stepped back as another man appeared behind him, Janus he later learned.

“Liar.” Janus had hissed, making Remus reach around and smack the back of his head.

“It was a polite thing to ask that he tried to dismiss Jan. Let the adults speak for a second.”

Logan had noted the faint pout on Janus’ face though he was still trying very hard to look intimidating. And then all at once his eyes had turned cold as his attention was once again focused on Logan, glaring menacingly from beneath a black bowler hat. “I’m younger than you and yet I’m the one that has to put my foot down. He’s being chased clearly; we are not bringing him back with us.”

Remus has turned, Logan seemingly forgotten for the moment. “That’s not how it works! He needs help and we’re not leaving him to starve or be found in the middle of a park! What would Patton say?”

“Patton is a soft fool who needs to figure out where their morals stand. I myself am choosing not to compromise our place of hiding and three other people that you know those power hungry idiots would love nothing more than to get their hands on!”

Remus rolled his eyes so hard his head had lolled with it, face going pale as he watched something in the sky. It was then that Logan heard the telling sound of a helicopter flying low and getting closer but he had barely tensed before he found himself gripped around the middle and held vertically with the ground flying underneath him. They stopped abruptly and he was set down, blinking in rapid confusion as Remus grinned sheepishly at him.

“Welcome to the hideout?”

Logan’s eyes had widened and his breath had caught yet again, chest tightening as he shook his head vehemently. “You can’t- I need to go back! They’ll do anything to get me back-!”

He was stopped from going forward with a finger to his chest, his blue eyes locking with beautiful brown as Remus held his gaze. “And we will do everything to keep you safe.”

Safe. With that one word Logan was his. He hadn’t known why and he still didn’t quite understand it but he had trusted Remus with everything he had- and he still did. Even as Janus had stalked off grumbling and Virgil and Roman had kept their distance at first Remus had kept him close and showed him how much better his life could be, even if they were living in a modified sewer system.

Back in the present he looked up as a hand was thrust under his chin, smiling softly as he took Remus’ hand and let himself be led away from the others’ idle chatter. He counted himself extremely lucky in the end that Janus had eventually come around to him, seeing how happy he made Remus and how Remus made Logan feel it had been him to finally talk to Logan about it and get the two to officially talk about how they felt, going on about the being “hopeless gay idiots” when they had finally started to date officially. Logan wasn’t sure what he’d do without Remus at this point, just a year later and he was so attached to their small group of hideaways he wouldn’t trade for the world.

They approached the exit to the sewers, Remus swinging their hands between them. Logan held his breath right before they crossed the threshold, closing his eyes and letting it out slowly as his feet met grass and he opened his eyes to the darkened field. There were a few tunnels that lead out to different places depending on where they needed to go and this, Remus had told him, was his favorite because of how empty it was. The city lay far in the distance so there was almost no light pollution to block out the sky. Soft grass and flowers brushed his ankles as he scanned the area carefully, seeing nothing but trees lining the far end of the field with a road so far away he could barely, make it out in the darkness. Remus tugged his hand softly to get his attention, searching his eyes for any hint of discomfort.

“Is this okay?’

Logan took another breath and let it out, the last of his nerves fading away as he took in the quiet. “It’s perfect Remus.”

The other grinned and tugged a little harder this time, walking fast to the middle of the field where he stopped suddenly and raised Logan’s arm up to lead him into an impromptu twirl. Logan laughed quietly and then louder as he was dipped, secure in Remus’ strong hold as he reached up to grip the back of his neck. He was safe. He was free and safe and happy finally with someone who truly loved and cared for him. His breath caught in his throat again but this time in awe, Remus chuckling as he was laid down carefully tucked into his side, till with his arms around his neck.

The stars shone bright and winked lazily while swirls of color dusted faintly behind them. The moon was waning, a barely there light that let the beauty behind it show fully as the wind whisked away any clouds that dared to try and cover it. It was everything Logan had ever hoped it would be and more, excitement thrumming through him as he squeezed Remus tightly in an attempt to convey it. He felt Remus grin against his scalp where his face was buried in his hair.

“It’s beautiful isn't it?”

Logan looked back at him, light from the stars reflected in his eyes and wild brown hair framing his face. He leaned up slightly and kissed him, a faint brush of their lips that left them both grinning like the idiots they were. Placing a hand on Remus’ cheek Logan smiled at him, thumb brushing over his cheek in adoration.

“Absolutely stunning.”

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[parvuls]

fic: in the space between (1/2)

the astronauts/scifi au literally no one asked for.   a 3k ficlet of eric bittle thriving in places the world thinks he can’t -- in every single universe.

(part 1 | part 2 | read on ao3)

-

    FABER 15 AIR-TO-GROUND TRANSCRIPTIONS

  00 00 00 34 CAPCOM L. DUAN

Just letting you know your trajectory is headed straight into Driucs, Zimmermann. Over.

00 00 00 41 COMMANDER J. ZIMMERMANN

Roger. We copy that, Houston. Changing courses now. 

00 00 00 48 CAPCOM L. DUAN

Get on that. Things aren’t looking good ahead. Over.

00 00 00 55 SECOND PILOT B. KNIGHT

Can’t believe you don’t fucking trust this guy. He’s already tense as shit, Lards, you got nothin’ to worry about. 

00 00 00 57 SECOND PILOT B. KNIGHT

Over.

00 00 01 06 CAPCOM L. DUAN

Keep it clean on the coms, Faber 15. Administration is already on your case. Over.

00 00 01 12 COMMANDER J. ZIMMERMANN

Roger. You’re welcome to come shut him up. Over.

00 00 01 19 CAPCOM L. DUAN

Wish I could, Zimmermann. Change courses, now. Or I’m stealing a ship and coming to beat your ass. 

00 00 01 22 CAPCOM L. DUAN

Off record, Houston. Delete from written transcriptions. 

00 00 01 24 CAPCOM L. DUAN

Just get out of dodge, Faber 15. Over. 

00 00 01 30 COMMANDER J. ZIMMERMANN

Roger. Trajectory adjusted, should be going around Driucs. Over.

00 00 01 36 CAPCOM L. DUAN

(Music: “It’s About Time”)

.

  Driucs is a ball of hot pink mottled with orange from the sandstorms raging on its surface. Shitty thinks that it’s pretty, wants to screencap the ship’s monitors so he can ask Lardo for a painting of it later. Jack thinks that it’s an unnecessary hazard ringed with a dense asteroid belt, and that all he wants to do is bypass it as quickly as possible without colliding with a mass of solid carbon.

“Chillax,” Shitty says to this, kicking his feet up to the control panel. His toes are edging the radar display, and Jack grinds his teeth, shoves them off without bothering to argue about it once again. He’s so tense that he doesn’t even comment on Shitty’s choice of socks; galaxy printed with tiny marijuana leaves, crisse. “Everything will be A-OK. Always fucking is, Jacko.”

Jack wipes his brow with the back of his hand, shifts his hold on the control wheel and tries to focus on getting them through safely. “You know I hate it when you’re being cavalier.”

The door to the flight deck slides open, and someone exclaims, “Oh, what a view!”. Jack doesn’t need to turn his head; Bittle walks up between the two piloting seats, leans right on the center panel to gaze up at Driucs through the big windows. “It’s absolutely gorgeous, ain’t it? We should make a stop there.”

It’s what he always says. Jack specifically asked Holster to keep Bittle in the sleeping quarters until they’re out of the Merudan System because he’s got no patience for this right now. “It runs a hundred and two degrees, Bittle. We can’t make a stop there.”

Bittle talks about everything like they’re driving Route 66 down to Arizona and landing on a foreign planet is just a stop at Wendy’s for a Vanilla Frosty mid-roadtrip. Some days Jack can’t believe NASA ever let him out of the Solar System; other days, he thinks that maybe they did this so he’d never come back.

Bittle either doesn’t notice Jack’s impatient tone or, most likely, chooses to ignore it completely. “A hundred and two degrees is just another hot day in Georgia,” he huffs, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Goodness, it must stop being winter in Canada sometimes, does it not?”

Shitty snorts. His feet are back on the panel again, scratching against each other absently. “I think he means a hundred and two degrees Celsius, brah.”

Bittle pauses, hovers over Jack’s shoulder for a moment. And then says, “Oh. Well, that is rather warm, indeed.”

.

  They picked Bittle up from a tiny space station right by Cleto, where they'd stopped for supplies. The order came from high up in Houston, and was very specific: Bittle was to join them on all ground missions until further notice, and was to lead all communication with nonhum species. They were provided with no background information or justification for expanding Jack’s crew, and Flight Director Hall hung up on Jack when he tried asking.

Bittle, the moment he stepped into the ship through airlock, pulled off his helmet to reveal a head of blonde hair and a radiant smile. His suit had pins of rainbows and bunnies on it next to the American flag, blatantly disobeying uniform regulations. He offered his hand for an enthusiastic handshake despite the bulky EV glove covering it -- without decontaminating first -- and Jack’s first thought was that all of it must be a joke. 

But it wasn’t. It’s been three months since orders came and no further notice was given. Instead, every day since has been filled with ceaseless chatter and pop music playing in the communal area and Bittle’s petulant morning complaints about intergalactic coffee being just not the same.

“You’re not even trying,” Shitty tells Jack nearly every night. He’s made a habit of crawling into Jack’s bunk since their first year on the same crew, gives bullshit excuses about how Jack keeps him warm in the cold, cold outer space. It’d be less troublesome if he at least bothered to put some clothes on to save Jack the uncomfortable conversations with Mission Control Center about workplace relations. “Do not motherfuckin’ lie to my face, Zimmermann -- you are not trying, you didn’t try once, Bittle is a tiny Southern bundle of delight and you’d like the shit out of him if you could get over your sorry ass and try.”

But Jack doesn’t want to try. Jack wants to get to his annual performance review and pass with spotless marks, which may as well not happen if Bittle insists on striking conversation with every nonhum race they encounter during the simplest of missions. Jack didn’t leave Earth to make friends, neither with crewmates nor alien species, and he certainly isn’t looking for friends who put his job at risk.

Shitty won’t stop pestering him about it, though, so Jack takes to pushing him out of the bed and shoving a pillow over his ears. It doesn’t make Shitty stop talking, but Jack is good at pretending to fall back asleep.

.

  Evor is five days’ flight past Dricus. Jack assembles a mission brief in the communal area the night before landing, gathers the boys around the large screens covering the rounded center of the ship. The screens are currently displaying all known information about the people of Evor, who are notoriously unfriendly and are especially inhospitable towards humans. There are reasons, Jack figures, but he never looked too deeply into it; he has no intention of contacting them at all.

“Mission goal is to extract soil samples from the mines on the mountainous side of the planet,” Jack says. The images on the screen behind him switch on voice command, are now a rotating photo of said mines. “It’s mostly unpopulated, so there shouldn’t be any run-ins with the locals. Mission estimated time is three hours on Earth clock.”

Ransom shoves his hand into the bag of chips balanced between Holster and him with a contemplating expression. “Sounds like child’s play. We all going in?”

“Yes,” Jack crosses his arms. He’s no doubt that any of the boys would like to stay behind and get a few extra hours of rest, but he doesn’t like taking unneeded risks. There’s strength in numbers, and he feels safer knowing that they have several eyes watching several backs out there. “Solid landing, no risk to the ship, no reason for anyone to stay here. Get your gear ready tonight.”

“Wait, Jack --” it’s Bittle. Of course it’s Bittle. Jack takes a deep breath and turns to him. He’s sitting in a single seat, legs crossed and hands clasped in his lap. “Listen, I’m not sure it’s such a great idea.” Jack’s scowl must be deeper than usual, because Bittle cringes and hurries to explain, “I mean, no offence to your -- mission planning, or. You’re usually great at that. I just mean, the Evor people don’t like strangers, and they sure as heck won’t like us, and they’re a people of warriors, you know, like, they make their money off lending their fighting skills to other armies --”

“Is there a point to this?” Jack cuts him off. It’s not that he doesn’t think Bittle means well, because he’s not blind: Bittle is made of nothing but good intentions and sunshine demeanor. His tendency to babble on and on simply isn’t welcome during mission briefs. Too time-consuming. 

“Yes,” Bittle insists. He looks unhappy, a tiny furrow wrinkling at his forehead. “Going in with more than two or three men can be seen as a threat, and I just don’t think --”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jack interrupts, “because if all of you will follow orders there’s no reason for us to come across them or stay on the ground for long enough to be perceived as anything but transients. Leaving crewmates behind is a risk that we won’t be taking.”

“But --”

“End of story, Bittle,” Jack says, and it’s louder, meaner than it usually would be. He can see Shitty frowning at him from the corner of his eye, can see Holster glaring into his handful of chips. He gets that they feel overprotective of Bittle, being the smallest and the newest, but if Bittle wants to be part of the crew he’s got to either get with the program or quit. Jack can’t lower his professionalism standards just because Bittle might be offended. “Any more questions?”

There’s silence, so Jack adjourns the brief and turns away. He can hear, muttered from somewhere behind him, “Yeah, what crawled up your ass?”. He chooses to ignore it and focus on turning off the screens, instead of giving it enough thought to start doubting himself.

.

  The worst thing is: Jack can’t figure out how the hell Bittle got there.

“I think he has a degree in like, sociology or something, man,” Holster told him a few weeks after Bittle had come aboard, while they were waiting outside the showers and listening to Bittle’s off-key rendition of a song that’d been in the radio maybe a decade before. “A master’s, I think, definitely no doctorate.”

Holster actually really liked Bittle, right off the bat; they all did, bar Jack, which just made the whole situation even more irritating. But they hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep that night and Bittle’s singing was truly awful, so Holster was probably feeling less kind than usual.

“Shitty’s got four PhDs,” Jack said, banging his head back against the wall, abstractedly thinking that a concussion might make the singing stop. “Ransom’s getting his second one now. While in space. You don’t think it’s fucked that some undereducated humanities kid from nowhere, Georgia is going through the cosmos like he’s on a third grade school trip?”

Because Bittle was terrible at physics, and he paled visibly whenever someone started talking about biomechanics, and Jack had once caught him snoozing while Ransom had been fervently explaining the primary composition of Krer’s atmosphere. The most insulting part of it all, probably, was that NASA used to demand a STEM degree to even qualify for a program, and Bittle barely had a dubious understanding of astronomy, while traveling space.

Of course, the moment the words were out of Jack’s mouth the singing stopped and the bathroom door slid open, Bittle standing behind it. He was wrapped in a towel, beads of water still lingering on his temple, dripping down his cheekbones. His face was red, blotchy, but the hard expression on his face made Jack think that the color wasn’t necessarily from the water temperature. 

“Excuse me,” he said, voice uncharacteristically cold. His shoulder knocked into Jack’s when he passed them, leaving behind a wet patch on Jack’s shirt. Bittle was small, and the door was adequately sized, and there were a good two meters between Holster and Jack, which left the obvious conclusion that it was most definitely on purpose. 

Holster followed his departure with bleary eyes, shifting the bundle of clothes in his hands guiltily. “I think he heard you, bro.”

Jack rubbed at the wet patch with his right hand. “No kidding,” he grunted, and couldn’t really find it in himself to care.

.

  Bittle seems wary from the moment they step foot on the jagged surface of Evor. Holster and Ransom force their way into the space by his sides, bracketing him like two towering bodyguards. They do their best at trying to get him to lighten up while climbing up to the mines; the crew figured out that they all played hockey at some point of high school, so Holster is animatedly explaining the rules of zero-G hockey, all of which he’s made up himself. 

“And sometimes we do full out matches when we meet other ships,” Ransom says, struggling with the unfamiliar gravity force to hoist himself up a big rock. “But a few months ago we were on Islikaru and there was this Russian crew, and this dude, Alexei, oh my god --”

A few small stones tumbling downhill bump into Jack’s boot, drawing his attention away from Ransom’s voice, and he mutes the coms to listen closely for any noises. There’s a rumbling coming from the other side of the mountain. It sounds like -- oncoming thunders, maybe, or a little like --

“Prepare for attack,” Jack turns the coms back on immediately, dives in front of Shitty to block the crew’s path up to the mines. Shitty stumbles, catches himself with one knee and both palms flat on the ground. “Abandon mission, now! Back to the ship!”

A dozen of Evor warriors descend from beyond the peak of the mountain, closing in on them faster than they can run. Jack’s crew doesn’t carry weapons. The Evor warriors are big, look like an odd mix of a gorilla and an elephant that’d be classified as some sort of reptile. Ostie de tabarnak, Jack knows next to nothing about them, and definitely nothing about how to beat them in a fight three-on-one. 

“We’d never make it back on time!” Shitty yells, clambering to his feet and shoving the rest of the boys back down the mountain anyway. He’s right, but Jack has no backup plans and less than no time to come up with any. This was not supposed to happen, there was no reason for this to happen. They’ve been on Evor ten minutes, not even that.

Bittle jumps from between Holster and Ransom, scrambling up to reach Jack. He grabs Jack’s arm, face white and rapid breaths fogging up the visor. His expression is just as terrified as the rest of them, but Jack has never seen him this determined. It makes his feature look sharper, less angelic. “Let me go talk to them! Jack, let me --”

“What?” Jack rips his arm away, tries to shove Bittle back towards the ship as fast as he can. “Bittle, are you insane, they’re coming to attack us --!”

“Because we seem like a threat!” Bittle yells. The volume of his voice catches Jack by surprise, gets him to stop racing down for a moment just long enough to remember that Bittle said the same thing at the previous night’s mission brief. That Bittle must be holding himself back from screaming, I told you so, and now look where we are. “Let me go talk to them, I can explain the situation --”

“No! They’ll attack you before you get a word out --”

“They won’t! I understand their culture, the way they work -- Jack, you just -- you gotta let me try!”

“You’ll die --”

“Oh, Lord, we’re gonna die either way, so what’ve you got to lose, Zimmermann? You gotta trust me to have your back! ”

Jack stops. His breathing is loud in his ears, heart pounding. Shitty, Holster and Ransom are ten meters down the mountain, staring at Bittle and he wide-eyed, waiting for a decision. The Evor people are fast, and they look furious; they’re ninety or maybe a hundred meters away, and closing the gap with every second. Jack swallows, tramps down the panic rising in his throat. 

“Go,” he says finally, voice gravelly. “Go, Bittle.”

Bittle gives him one last wild look, and runs towards imminent death. 

.

  FABER 15 CREW GROUND-TO-GROUND TRANSCRIPTIONS

  00 00 02 04 CAPCOM L. DUAN

Faber 15, Faber 15, this is Houston. Over.

00 00 02 06 CAPCOM L. DUAN

Faber 15, this is Houston. What is going on. Over.

00 00 02 09 CAPCOM L. DUAN

Faber 15, this is Houston. Answer me. Over.

00 00 02 11 CAPCOM L. DUAN

Goddamnit boys, what happened!

00 00 02 14 COMMANDER J. ZIMMERMANN

Houston, this is Faber 15 returning to ship. Over.

00 00 02 17 CAPCOM L. DUAN

Jesus Christ, Jack. Tell me what happened.

00 00 02 21 SECOND PILOT B. KNIGHT

Jesus’ got nothing to do with this, Lardo. This was all Eric R. Bittle.

00 00 02 25 COMMANDER J. ZIMMERMANN

Mission didn’t go as planned. Sending you a full report as soon as we’re back on board. Over.

00 00 02 29 CAPCOM L. DUAN

Roger. Tell me everyone’s okay, Zimmermann. Over.

00 00 02 34 SECOND PILOT B. KNIGHT

Alive and kickin’. Can’t get rid of us that easy. But seriously, tell whoever sent us Bittle that I’m getting them a fruit basket whenever I’m back on Earth. 

00 00 02 38 CAPCOM L. DUAN

Roger. I’ll tell them to expect that. Get that report done ASAP, Zimmermann. And never do this to me again. Over.

00 00 02 42 COMMANDER J. ZIMMERMANN

Roger, Houston. Out.  

.

  The boys all separate into their quarters as soon as they’re back in the ship, their postures slumping and their hair damp with cold sweat. Jack stays behind, twists the airlock chamber shut. It feels like his entire body is heavier than usual, and it isn’t because of the ship’s gravity. 

When he looks up, he finds that Bittle’s still there; there’s an uncomfortable pause when they both hesitate by the passageway. Bittle’s back is turned to Jack, muscles tense beneath the dark fabric of his undershirt, but his head is tilted over his shoulder, searching for Jack’s eyes. His face is closed off, looks as blank as it can get. Jack’s hands clench into fists by his side and it makes the rubber of the gloves creak. He works his jaw as he tries to find the right words to say.

“That was --” he begins, and then swallows with difficulty. Bittle doesn’t turn to fully face him, only lifts his gaze until their eyes lock together. There’s spots of furious red high on his cheeks, his mouth pressed thin. Jack has no idea how to translate this information into any sort of social clue. “You. Euh. That was good, Bittle. Good work.”

Bittle’s mouth parts, his eyebrows knitting together, but his chin drops down so his expression is hidden from Jack’s view before he can try to read into it further. His right hand, leaning on the passage frame and keeping him in the mid-motion of leaving, tightens almost imperceptibly.

“Thanks, Commander,” Bittle says finally. His voice is steady, neutral. He’s still facing away. “Just doing my job.” 

He carries on walking away, then, like his pause in the passageway never occurred at all. The insulating door slides closed behind him, and Jack is left standing in his gear, staring at the white expanses of the walls. He has this sinking feeling that he made a critical misstep has no idea how to undo.

[ushiwakaa]

𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐈𝐄

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : you’re a pre-med student working the closing shift at your part-time job when you find an injured gangster by the dumpster.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : ushijima wakatoshi x gn!reader

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : fluff

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 : gun induced injury, ( potentially ) graphic description of said injury

𝐚/𝐧 : sometimes idk if i do this fic thing right !! anyway !! this is dedicated to the brave captains of my ushijima harem , @from-left-to-write​ and @bubbleteaa​ 

While your parents give you what they can, it’s barely enough to pay tuition and living expenses while you’re off at school. Picking up a part-time job gives you some pocket money and something to take your mind off of studying.

The coffee shop you work part-time at is a tiny, yet bustling spot in the heart of the financial district. As one of the few university students that work there, you get the privilege of working morning shifts. This means, you plaster on your brightest smile at six in the morning to laugh kindly with business men who deign to pick up their own coffee and grouchy interns who are dissatisfied with getting their boss’.

On instinct, you smile brightly at the chime of the door.

“Good morning, Washijo-san! How are you?”

The regular at your store was grumpy old thing with a stubby nose and bushy brows. His suits were befitting of his location: impeccably pressed. While he appeared to be perpetually unhappy, you knew that was a lie. You swore to all your coworkers that there was a heart underneath his gruffness.

The elderly gentleman gives an endearing huff, ignoring your question. “Small black.”

You don’t let it deter you as you beam at the man. “Anything else, Washijo-san?”

“Ushijima—” the man grunts— “do you want anything?”

The man on his left silently shakes his head.

“That’s all.”

“Coming right up!” You chime.

Washijo hands you crisp bill — significantly more than his total. When you hand him the change, as he does with every visit, he promptly dumps it into the tip jar. Your heart jumps in guilt but, as a struggling student, you swallow your tongue.

“Thank you!”

Washijo waves you off flippantly as he takes a seat. In his stead, the young man waits stoically by the counter. As you ready the man's coffee, you watch his companion from the corner of your eye.

While you had many questions for the old man, the most interesting mystery of all was the string of bodyguards who followed his every whim. While you’d gotten used to the anxiously eager Goshiki and his oatmeal chocolate chip cookie, your interest was piqued by latest guard by his side. He was strong jawed with a stern look to him — broad shouldered and serious. Like his boss, his well-tailored suit was befitting of the bankers in the area.

“Ushijima-kun, right?”

His eyes are far more intense than you anticipate. Lightning runs up your spine when he raises his head. He nods.

A second is lost on you as you try to compose yourself. “Um… Do you work with Washijo-san?”

“He’s my boss.”

Your heart almost stops. His voice is a deep timber, gravelly from lack of use. His words leave a resounding echo in your ears despite the low volume.

…Is this love? The dopey grin on your face grows.

“You must work around here then!”

He nods.

“Very nice!” You place the steaming cup of coffee on the serving counter before wiping your hands on your apron. “It’s a great place to walk around during your lunch break. Before I got a job here, I worked at the hospital around the corner. I could never decide where to go for lunch.”

Reaching for the coffee, he asks, “Why did you leave the hospital for a coffee shop?”

“It was just a summer internship program!” You reply as you begin plating a pair of sugar cookies. “I’m studying pre-med, actually.”

He gives a hum and you place the cookies in front of him. He frowns.

“We didn’t order those.”

“Don’t worry about it.” It was a feeble attempt to balance out the ridiculous amount the elderly man had supplied to your tip jar over the last year. “You should come by with Washijo-san more often, though! It’s nice to see new faces.”

—

It’s sort of like speaking a curse aloud. You don’t see Washijo, or the young man for a handful of weeks after that. While your tip jar remains fairly healthy thanks to your charming customer service, you do miss the endearing demeanour of the grouchy old man.

Shamefully, you can’t say that you don’t hope to see Ushijima, though. While you don’t share the same rapport with him yet, you would like to. There was something endearing about his quiet personality. He was like a sleeping volcano. There was something hidden just below the surface.

Without noticing, you find yourself grinning into the pages of your anatomy textbook.

After cleaning steadily throughout the night — all you have to do at this point is empty the pastry case and take out the trash. With nothing else to do, of course you spend your free time studying. It’s a boring way to pass the time, but it trickles away quickly.

The clock uneventfully strikes one and you flip the welcome sign.

As you’re looking out of the glass, watching a cat cross the sheet — two men run past the storefront, one taunts their tail with a daunting tune barely muffled through the glass. It sends a shiver up your spine.

Quickly, you lock the door before retreating further into the store.

You definitely prefer morning shifts, but with the younger part-timers out of school for the time being — you had no choice but to pick up the closings for fairness sake.

A sigh escapes your lips as you lament your tragic life as a university student. You push open the back door with your shoulder, lugging along a large garbage bag. It’s a struggle with your weak arms, but you manage to heft it into the garbage dump in the back alley.

As you give yourself a congratulatory pat on the back, you find yourself jumping six feet into the air.

Tucked behind the dumpster is a man, his long legs barely hidden behind the length of the trash heap. While you’d really like to run back inside, shut off the lights and lock up for the night, your morality wins.

“Are you okay?” You ask, coming to his side.

He groans in response.

“Do you think you can stand?”

He shakes his head.

You help him into the back of the store and lead him to sit at your makeshift break table. In the light, you can finally see his face.

“Ushijima-kun,” you gasp, kneeling at his side.

You can see two bright spots of poppy-red blossom into the white of his dress shirt. You stiffen your gasp with the sleeve of your sweater before inspecting his wound. The buttons of his shirt come undone with a touch of your nimble fingers. You swallow back a second gasp. Though you saw a hint of his wounds through the poplin fabric, you’re not ready to stare directly at the angry pucker of red skin in his red pectoral.

“I—” you pull away, patting at your pockets in search of your phone— “I need to call the ambulance. This… This is more than I can handle. Well, actually this is — this is entirely more than I know how to handle but—”

You’re startled out of your panic by the warmth of his touch on your arm. He says nothing to you but shakes his head instead.

“No ambulance,” he appeals.

Your hands drop to your sides. “Okay. No ambulance.”

When you move to your feet, he tights his grip on your sleeve. His sharp eyes, previously wary, watch you desperately.

“I’m just going to wash my hands.”

His grip goes lax.

With the first aid kit hung on the wall and your mediocre knowledge of dressing a gunshot wound, you do your best to treat his wounds. You’ve yet to learn how to clean a gunshot wound specifically but you’ve always been good at guessing games. Applying what you know from the pdfs you stole off the online library: you clean, you dress, and you bandage.

When the silence of it all gets unbearable, you croak, “You know. This isn’t what I meant when I told you to come by more often.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“It’s okay,” you reply, disinfecting the wound. You offer an apologetic smile when he winces. “I’m just glad to see you, really. I haven’t seen you in weeks.” A weak laugh escapes you. “I mean, you and Washijo-san, obviously. He’s one of my favourite regulars. I was worried.” You can’t seem to look away from the gunshot. “I mean… I guess it was for good reason.”

He says nothing, lulling the two of you into another bout of silence. You mask your disappointment as you move away from him — reaching for a dressing pack in the first aid kit. As steadily as you can, you apply the dressing to his chest wound.

Perhaps you’re distracted by his chiselled pectorals, or maybe you’re exhausted past the capabilities that your brain can handle at one in the morning — regardless, your startled gaze meets his intensity when he grunts.

For an infinity confined within the limits of second, you can feel his heart beat within his chest.

“This is an occupational hazard.”

They’ve said that lightning doesn’t strike twice, but here you are: silent in an aftershock.

“…This?”

He stares at you for a hard moment. “This.”

“Getting… Shot?”

“Yes. Similar to how an athlete expect injuries, I too expect injuries.”

Your lips press into a frown. “I don’t know many people who would take a bullet for their job.”

“As I mentioned, this is an—”

“Occupational hazard,” you cut him off with a roll of your eyes. “I heard. I guess this means that finding men hiding in my trash is also an occupational hazard.” As you fix him with your sternest glare, you simultaneously smooth down his dressing. “Should I expect more injured men outside my store at one in the morning? Because you should know that I rarely close and I should really pass along the message.”

He has the sense to look embarassed but it doesn’t look quite right on him.

“I couldn’t go anywhere else.” Then, quietly, he adds, “I hoped it would be you.”

A list of places come to mind, but rather than chew him out, you fix him with a stare. You stare at him until you’re sure he can see the questions overflowing from your ears. One glaring question stands above the rest, but for some reason, you can’t manage to ask it. Instead, you stand, putting a comfortable distance between you two.

“Do you want a cookie? I forgot to empty the pastry display.”

—

Other than a handful of students huddled on the couch in the back corner of the café, the store is virtually empty in the last fifteen minutes to close. After that encounter with Ushijima ( who a couple weeks later grunted and said, “Call me Wakatoshi.” ), you began to pick up closing shifts more often. While Washijo lamented this fact to your manager, you decided you liked having Wakatoshi walk you home after your shift more than the tips. 

As you doodle absently in the margin of your textbook, the café door slams open. Wakatoshi isn’t usually so flamboyant, but you’ve learned to control yourself when startled.You look at the clock pointedly, then at your boyfriend. 

“Toshi,” you whine, “you’re — oh. What happened to Tendou?”

The redheaded man hangs limply, upright only thanks to your boyfriend’s support.

“I — believe it or not — got shot!” In spite of his pale face, he’s scarily gleeful.

“Crazy,” you cheer weakly, coming to support him on his other side. “Why don’t you tell me more about it in the back.”

On noticing the injured redhead, the group hightail it out of the store — leaving behind their dirtied plates and mugs. 

“Have a good night!” You call after them.

Tendou rolls his head back. “Have a good night~!”

Over his head, you give your boyfriend a pointed look. He meets your look. While his eyes still smoulder, you can see the tiredness in his movements as well. You give a sigh. 

Biting the bullet, you decide not to chew out your boyfriend for letting his injured friend bleed allover you freshly swept store. Instead, you apply the same care to Tendou as you do when you do when treating your boyfriend.

“You’re better at this than Shirabu,” he says with a contented sigh, munching on the sugar cookie you had set aside for Wakatoshi.

You smile at the compliment. “Thanks, Tendou. Really, I’m still in school though.”

“Don’t diminish your talents,” Wakatoshi proclaims, pausing in his sweeping.

You give him a glare. Without a word, he continues. 

“Rest here for a bit, okay, Tendou? I just need to finish closing up the store and then we’ll figure out what to do after.”

Tendou’s already humming under his breath as you walk back to the front. Wakatoshi, apparently finished sweeping, is behind the counter taking out the trash. He stops when he sees you, coming to your side. Immediately you pout.

“I’m sorry for bringing Tendou.” When your pout doesn’t go away, he takes matters into his own hands and draws you carefully into his chest. “I know it was supposed to be just us, but—”

You sigh. “It’s okay, Toshi. I’m not mad.”

While you’re still encircled in his arms, he pulls away to peer at your face. “You aren’t? You look mad. And, you’re not saying anything. That is an indicator that you’re not okay—”

“I’m upset because that could’ve been you, Toshi. You’re still healing from your last injury. You’re in absolutely no shape to be getting in more fights!”

You smack him lightly on his chest but he quickly catches your wrist. You try again and he catches you, again. You glare at him. He stares at you. You wind back your leg. Before you get a chance to kick him, he wraps his arms around you and hoists you off the ground.

You gasp, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Put me down!”

Rather than listening to you, he hugs you tighter. 

“Babe!” 

Now, he’s walking.

“Toshi!”

When he releases you, the both of you fall into the worn pleather of the back corner couch. The fall is sudden enough to surprise you out of your anger. Still, encaged in his arms, you look up at your boyfriend moodily. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

The gentleness of his words relax you and all you can hear is his heartbeat. 

“I know it’s an occupational hazard, but I can’t help but worry about you.”

His hand moves from your waist to gently pat your hair. “Thank you for caring about me.”

You melt in his arms — there’s something beautiful his softness. 

“Toshi?” You murmur, squirming in his arms to look into his eyes. “You know I love you, right?” 

He gives you a gentle smile, leaning in to give you a soft peck on the lips. “I love you too, baby.” 

—

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 : @akaashichigo​ @drainedjaz​ @haikkeiji​ @annalyn-annalyn​ @mlkytobio​ @sosugasweet​ @cali-writes-sometimes​  @simping4ratsumu​ @shishinoya​ @ushiwakaa​ @from-left-to-write​ @akaashit-baeji​  @kxgeyamasmilk​ @agaassi​ @hanibuni​ @cupofkenma​  @kawanisshi​ @milkandc00kiez​ @thiccbokuto​ @shinsukestan​ @sufiawrites​ @wakaitoshi​ @skyguy-peach​ @fern-writes-ig​ @briswriting​ @airybby​ @kawaiikraykray​ @bubbleteaa​ @miyuswriting​ @raevaioli​ @ouikarwa​ @hakueishirei​ @pineapplekween​ @estherwritess​ @keiji-n​ @achoohq​ @badlywritten-hq​ @mochibeaa​ @hanzwrites​ @chxrry-wxne​ (  cheese cult taglist  )

[littlefreya]

The Way to Hell - Part 6

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Summary: Post Mi6 - August manages to escape with his face intact and just won himself the title of being the most dangerous man on earth. With every agent in the world on the hunt for him, life became a living hell, but that’s okay because hell is where he reigns.

Too bad for the woman who’ll stand in his way.

Chapters: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10| Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 |

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) | August Walker x ofc Suzy

Word count: 5K

Warnings: Dark themes, rough oral sex, gagging, hinted anal, mentions of rough sex, and August twisted thoughts.  

A/N: The adventures of August and Ingvild continue 💖 thanks again for reading and giving me your feedback, it keeps me fueled so keep it up :D! Of course thanks @agniavateira​ for editing my work and being my muse.

Title: Stargazer

The love boat sets sail through the icy water of the North Sea. The apostle, Knight_of_Cockn3ss, or whatever that kid’s name is, wasn’t joking when he mentioned a romantic cruise.

The traitorous sun hangs mid-sky as August trails across the deck. A beige fedora covers his dark curls and a matching cream-coloured suit over his sturdy body. In his right hand rests his laptop, he is not daring to leave it out of sight even for a minute. His eyes observe the surroundings; he must be the only single person on this trip, surrounded by timid couples on the verge of divorce and sugar daddies with their sugar babies.

‘At least the young girls are pretty.’ August greets a tall blonde, holding one hand behind his back and giving her a small bow before continuing on his way.

He’ll have to endure this trip for a couple more days, which isn’t ideal by any means, but he can’t risk getting caught or killed. Airports all over the world are swarming with security guards, agents, and assassins on really fucking high alert by now, all of them waiting for him.

The irony of the situation is that a long time ago used to be one of them. A wanted target on a scale of world catastrophe would spin a web of agents worldwide and Agent Walker would always get there first. That’s why they called him “The Hammer” - he nailed each target on the head, among other things.

No one cared about torture and extreme violence. He once brought back a target in such a dire condition that Erica was forced to send him to psych evaluation. He bluntly told the psychiatrist he enjoys the violence for no particular reason why, and then fucked her over the desk.

He scoffs at the memory, breaking into a wolfish grin.

Standing on the rail, his gaze is glued to the blue horizon, following the trail of sea-foam left by the boat as it slices through the water, disturbing the peaceful life beneath the sea. Slowly, his chaotic mind begins to drift, reveries of the CIA reminding him of her.

Golden locks of hair glow like hot sand on a summer day. Sweetly, she jokes about buying a yacht, telling Erica to fuck off so they can leave everything behind, and sail into freedom.

Memories are perfidious. Why has she been on his mind so much as of late? She’s been dead for years, flesh eaten by worms and the insects.

She is no more but a sack of rotting bones.

To condemn her memory is more than she deserves.

August’s nostrils flare. For whatever reason, his mind wanders to the girl who lived. Gently snorting, he shakes his head, remembering the condition of how he left ‘poor little’ Ingvild; half-naked, wrists tied up to the bed, probably crying to whatever father figure she has.

After what he did to her, she’ll probably retire from Icarus.

“I’m coming after you,” he mimics her voice in his head, and laughs while making his way toward the stack of beach lounge chairs. The section is nearly empty as most of the lovebirds are dinning in the main hall and unlike the degenerated visitors of this cruise, he is here solely on business.

Much work is left to be done. “Knight” has promised to meet him in London’s sky tower, suggesting he may or may not have a source of plutonium. Whether he’s a broker, a source, or a possible troll matters very little to a man on the run. Desperate times are ahead; he may be sticking his neck out, might be stepping into an obvious trap, but choice is scarce at the moment.

‘This is not the type of anarchy I dreamed of.’

That little girl, Ingvild, was the first to come. There will be others, endless more until the world will fall apart.  

“I’ll keep coming after you.” Her voice hinges on his troubled mind.

He opens his laptop with a groan, trying to ignore the truth that lies on his mind like a pile of heavy brick.

‘You should have left her pretty face to die in the bottom of the lake.’

“Oh, but to miss out on all the fun that followed in that bedroom?” he speaks to himself quietly, unlocking his laptop with a retinal scan.

Luckily, his old drive is still accessible on the cloud he encrypted. Years of work and dirt collected on the CIA and the government nestles on a single server. The ugly truth, the lies, the corruptness. Thick and black like a pit filled of tar.

Erica Sloane has her own dedicated special folder. Personal vendetta was never on his agenda, it was never about revenge, it was about a cause but sweet Erica deserves whatever damnation he could think of. He hopes that when he detonates his nuclear bombs, that once this world falls apart, she’ll sit on a front-row seat to see her failures raining down like fire from the sky.

A vicious smirk paints his face as his fingertips slide onto the touchpad. August scans through his many folders, seeking a specific one regarding illegal weapon deals. It would be a lovely afternoon at the CIA had one of these recordings or documents would find their way to the public eye.

August slides the cursor around, entering one of the CIA’s subfolders when his smile fades away.

He thought he deleted her folder a long time ago, but it seems like mistakenly, he placed it in another section instead.

And now here it is. A name he thought he’d never see again: Lacey.

Strange, he hardly remembers what she looked like. How long has it been? Six? Seven years ago? In his dreams, she’s nothing but a rotting corpse, but the mind has a tendency to alter one’s memory, doesn’t it?

Was she even sweet at all?

‘Manipulation was her strongest trait anyway.’

Without mustering a mother breath, he deletes the folder, and proceeds to search for the files he means to leak. He muses if they caught up with the notion that it was him who poisoned the well this entire time. Years of stirring chaos while sitting with his laptop of his bed while Sloane and her high-ranking management freaked out and did all that’s in their power to cover shit up.

It was so hard to keep a poker face and pretend he is trying to help. One particular time, he got so ecstatic he had to go and jack off in the men’s room.  

‘That was a good one.’

Something abruptly disturbs his attention, making his heart nearly drop.

‘It can’t be, is that...?’

A petite brunette passes through the lounge, joyfully trodding along the deck. Her hair is tucked back into a ponytail. No, it can’t be her, not in the situation he left her at. By what sort of dark magic would she exactly appear here out of nowhere?

‘I wouldn’t be surprised if the little Valkyrie turns out to be some sort of a witch.’

The brunette feels his gaze upon her figure and turns. He is met with a brown, warm gaze, rather than the sharp icy lustre that is Ingvild’s trademark. Less pretty as well, but looks about the same age, perhaps a year or two younger.

Another sugar baby, weary and discontent.

August realises he must have been staring with a dumbfounded look as she decides to smile back and make her way to him.

“Good afternoon,” she greets in a Midwestern accent. August’s eyes focus on her painted lips and in his mind, he imagines wiping that cotton candy pink lipstick by his thumb.

“Afternoon,” he smiles kindly, tipping his fedora with a welcoming bow.

Always the gentleman.

The young woman moves to sit on the seat in front of him, crossing her legs together as she takes in his sight. She observes and assesses how old he is and how much money he must own.

Probably looking for a new target.

‘Not old enough to be your daddy, but you can still call me that if it floats your boat.’

“Are you a secret agent?” She jokes, peering at his laptop before he smooths his hand on the lid to shuts it. He pretends to be intrigued by her senseless, obvious seduction when his mind once again forced him to go back and compare her to living-dead girl.

It seems like he can’t get away from her. Perhaps her threats were a curse? Even halfway across the sea, this total stranger reignites his curiosity.

‘Does Ingvild has any values? Any empathy toward others?’

She did experience fear in those little moments when his knife penetrated her soft little gut - that look in her eyes; like a virgin, fucked extremely rough for the very first time.

Thinking of those big, terrified eyes light up a snarl on his bewhiskered lip.

There was an inch of vulnerability in that sweet farewell kiss, a sense lost look on her face as if she couldn’t fit that emotion into any drawer inside her brain. It made her look so much more beautiful.

He wonders what she would have looked like if he went ahead with his besser urges and fucked her.

‘Maybe she’d finally break into tears. Fuck, I’d love to see her cry.’

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” He interrupts the sassy brunette as she speaks of Lord-knows-what. It seems that she doesn’t even realise he wasn't listening to her for the last 5 minutes she been babbling . The girl smiles sweetly, tucking a brown lock of hair behind her ear. The diamond bracelet that decorated her wrist dangles as she does.

“Suzy.”

“Suzy,” August repeats and smiles charmingly before giving his lips a quick flick of a tongue. “Would you like to join me in my room?”

The brunette pretends to blush beneath the layers of foundation on her face and fakes an argument inside her mind as if she actually considers refusing his bold suggestion.

~*~

Back in his room, he pushes the petite brunette to her knees. He wipes away her makeup, smearing the pink paint with the crudeness of thumb. Suzy giggles, thinking she probably had men do worse than that by now.

‘Oh, darling, we haven’t even started yet.’

August’s large hand traces her rounded face, knuckles brushing against her cheek tenderly while running down to meet her lips again.

“Open up sweetheart,” he commands in a relaxed voice, his index finger demanding entrance to her velvety mouth. She spreads her lips open slowly, allowing him to slip in his long digit to explore the wet cavern while his thumb caresses her chin. Much to his delight, she sucks on his finger obediently, moaning as he slowly pumps in and out of her hot mouth.

“Good girl,” he praises, his free hand reaching to unbuckle his belt urgently and free his aching cock from his trousers. He tugs at himself for a second, staring how she suckles on his finger with fake devotion. She probably do want his cock, but it’s his money that she’d care for more later.

‘Oh, how disappointed you are going to be once I’m off this boat, baby.’

“How about I’ll fuck that pretty little throat, hmm?” August asks and without waiting for an answer, pulls his soaked finger away and clasps his hand around the hollows of her cheeks instead, forcing her to keep her mouth open.

She voices no protest, only her eyes staring at him wide and helpless. He pays no attention, preferring the sight of his cock sliding in between those puffy lips and pushing into the warm depths instead. A prolong groan slips out of his mouth, emphasising the relief of finally getting his dick wet.

Usually, he loves to watch, yet he lets his eyes roll back and shuts them tightly this time while she in the background. It only makes him fuck her throat more vigorously, his hands cradling and saddling her head, forcing her to meet the violent thrust of his hips.

“Don’t touch me,” he rasps breathlessly, as her her dirty paws snake for his waist. Terrified, she pulls away, intimidated by his voice. August’s eyes remain shut yet he can feel the wetness on her cheeks as his thumbs dig into them. Those tears are enough to send him over the edge, and he comes into her throat without any warning, grunting a couple of times and lingering inside her mouth to make sure she’ll swallow him clean.

‘That’s right little Valkyrie angel, you’ll take what I’ll give you.’

The mists of fantasy fade as August blinks his eyes open. Debunked by the plastic-type of woman. Slowly, he pulls his cock out, impressed by the mascara that’s smeared beneath Suzy’s now glassy red eyes. He wipes her lower lip clean and then gives her chin a gentle pinch with a soft grin.

Suzy gives out a weak smile in return, trying to look satisfied while remaining on her knees. He can tell that her little brain is pretty much half-through into realising she made a mistake by following the devil into his room.

Tall and menacing, he looks at her drenched by vile mischief. August moves to sit on the queen sized bed, petting the empty spot next to him. She follows, fighting her instinct to put a hand on his knee as she is used to, afraid that he will bark at her again.

“Tell me, Suzy,” he coaxes, reaching for the wallet in his pocket and drawing out a Trojan condom.

“Have you ever tried anal sex?”

****

“Ingvild,” the old man calls her name once he brings her to her new home. It’s a simple, minimalist apartment with naked walls and generic black IKEA furniture.

Silent, she peers at him, holding her small luggage between sinewy fingers. Everything that she possesses in the world is in that suitcase; a bunch of plaid skirts, white buttoned shirts, and a few books about fairies and monsters.

This man called Liam, is he to be her new father? He never even offered her a smile and hardly bothers looking into her eyes. Instead he grunts and sighs while making his way around the house and gesturing for her to follow.

At least he is kinder than Mother Superior. At least in here, no girl is going to pick any fights with her and get her into trouble.

“This is your room,” Liam gestures. The pubescent girl sneaks closer, peeking inside with curiosity. It’s not what someone would call a girl’s room by any means, very much like the rooms they had at the orphanage. It contains a single bed with a thin mattress and white metal bars and on the bed rest some casual clothes for her to wear.

At least she won’t have to wear skirts anymore.

As little Ingvild continues to scan the room, she picks on a small library housing some books and a learning desk with a computer. Probably for her to gain some knowledge of the world. She never had any of that at the orphanage, just the bible and the “forbidden” books of fairytales she stole from one of the nuns.

“Today you can rest,” Liam speaks, watching the little girl as she moves to place her luggage inside and sits on the bed.

“Tomorrow, you will start your first day of training.”

‘Training?’

Ingvild says nothing, only glares at him back quietly. It’s quite clear no woman is present in the house which makes her wonder; the orphanage doesn’t allow single parents to adopt, especially not men. Was Mother Superior this desperate to get rid of her that she decided to throw her at the first person who asked?

“Just so we’re clear, girl,” Liam grumbles, “I am not your father. You call me Liam and that’s that.”

She nods silently and watches him leave the room, shutting the door behind. Sighing, she falls back to the mattress, her silver eyes fixing at the ceiling in wonders of what sort of new life has she been sold ito.

“Ingvild...”

A low, velvety voice calls for her again, the mattress dipping, shifting with the weight of the one who joins her. As she turns her face aside, she is met with hungry eyes and a smile so cold it makes her heart shrivel.

August.

*~*

A loud thud wakes her with a sharp inhale. Though her face remain stoic, quickly readjusting to the sight of moving ground as the plane’s wheels make their landing. ‘Arrogant August Walker, invading my dreams’, she curses but pays no more thought to why he was there. Analysing dreams was never her thing. They were just memories of random things that happened to her in her childhood and August is no different as he had been on her mind for the last 72 hours.

He was a job.

One that she needed to get over with.

Liam was at her throat with this one specifically, nagging her like an old shrew. He wasn’t used for her taking her time with it, not his special girl.

Massaging her strained neck, she waits for the last person to leave the plane, observing the empty cabin and noticing how used it appears with all the crumpled, empty snack bags lying on the floor.

‘Ungrateful’, she thinks before exiting her seat and tip-toeing to get her luggage.

The arrivals terminal is infested with agents. Having been trained for years, she sees right through their casual attire, so fake they almost look like B-movie actors. It’s those badly selected outfits and their observant gazes - eyes obsessively fixed on every gate. Every airport in the world must be the same right now, desperate to catch this nightmare of a terrorist.

‘As if he would be stupid enough to travel by plane.’

With a high profile target like August on the loose, it almost feels like the world is on the brink of war.

‘Is that what he wants? To be an anarchistic god that plows chaos everywhere?’

Maybe that’s why he gave her back her life, to humiliate her, to show her how easily he can twist everyone’s life and disrupt the world people know.

‘Mephisto, Lucifer, Hades, Hel.’

“Remember that you’re only alive because I have allowed it.”

A sudden shard of pain sears through her torso, the wound reacting to the phantasm of his low timbre which plays in her mind. It makes her slow on her steps and chews on her inner cheek to suppress a moan that has been begging to escape her lips since yesterday afternoon.

“August Walker”, the name rolls on the tip of her tongue.

Her very first failure, the very first man who killed her.

It almost feels like a bond now, intimate and twisted. August went deeper than any other man ever did - he fucked her internal organs.

‘Is that is why you “performed” for him in the shower? Why you thought about him, slipping inside you with his cock rather than his knife?’

Ingvild huffs tenderly and passes in-between a couple reuniting with passion, her shoulder sharply bumping against the woman, who yells at her while she remains indifferent, never bothering to look back.

Putting on her shades, she continues to head for the exit. The wound in her gut throbs even further, all of a sudden and just when she is tempted to give into the pain and acknowledge it, the new mobile device in her jacket’s pocket begins to vibrate.

Liam, who else?

“Papa?” She answers, the big exit sign finally flickering in front of her eyes.

She can see Liam rolling his eyes without having to see his grumpy old face.

“What progress do you hope to make with this lead? Someone says they saw him in Singapore yesterday, you should be following these threads instead.”

Ingvild holds her breath, knowing very well the lead is false. August was with her a night ago, so close she tasted him, so near his fingers dug deep into her flesh, leaving an imprint on her bones and even though there is something quite demonic about him, she doubts he can be at two different places at once.

“I need access to his world, I need to pick up the clues,” she explains, yet the sad truth is that she has no idea what to look for. August is not a rookie idiot, he did a fine job leaving zero clues back at the bed&breakfast room they “shared”. Not even the receptionist who ogled her oddly when she left could tell her where he was heading.  

“Just get it done, Ingvild. You’re acting like a child, this isn’t like you,” Liam mutters before hanging up.

‘He is right, this isn’t like you.’

Ingvild feels hooks clutching her guts, not just the pain August inflicted upon her, but something deeper, something desperate, leaving a void in that same spot. The fact that he slipped between her fingers seems to torments, just as much as the fact that she lied to Liam for the first time. It makes her feel like a rebellious teenager. She never keeps secrets from him and there she is, lying through every word.

Absentmindedly, her fingers press against her lips as she exits the airport.

~*~

The address led her to a small suburban house in southern London. It’s the type of house that has large glass windows where anyone standing outside can ogle freely. Rich people houses, as she likes to call it. She had a few missions in the past with people living in homes like this one - always an easy kill.

A blond woman meanders about inside the house, wearing a grey silk nightgown, preparing for bedtime probably. According to Walker’s file, she’s the most recent ex - Sydney. They broke up a couple of months before he decided to go on what he thought would be his final mission, his deathstrike.

‘If only.’

Glancing from the gravel path that leads to large metal doors, she learns the woman’s delicate manoeuvres, her mind reciting every graceful gestures as she crouches down to place food for a large Maine coon cat.

‘Is that the type of woman he likes?’

August would strikes her as a man who would fuck anything with a heartbeat but he did have more than a few relationships. She can’t help but wonder if he has a type, noticing how Sydney is more of a woman than a girl; solid income, big name lawyer, a woman who can take care of herself, a woman to start a family with.

Not that she imagines Walker starting a family anytime soon.

She is pretty too, with her mid-length straight golden hair, bright eyes and a shapely body. Ingvild looks at her own outfit: jeans, sneakers and a black sleeved shirt, nowhere as classy as beautiful Sydney.

The hour is late, still she walks toward the door and rings the bell.

“Can I help you?”

Ingvild is greeted by green eyes and a subtle Welsh accent. She gives her one of her fake smiles, trying to look as charming and pleasant as a sweet doll.

“Sydney Bedford?” She asks, while briefly scanning her body. She tries to imagine what August liked about her the most; her figure? Her angelic face? Her emerald stare?

“I have some questions about August Walker, he used to…”

Sydney shakes her head vehemently, waving her hands in the air. Something in her eyes drastically changes the moment the name “August” slaps her across the face.

“Are you MI6!? Please, I don’t want to speak about that psychotic loser anymore.”

Ingvild smiles calmly, a soft chuckle leaving her throat.

“Oh you see, he disappeared…”

“Good riddance!” Sydney replies, her eyes filling with anger, her face turning red within seconds. “Listen. I already told them everything I know.”

“Please,” Ingvild begs, batting her long lashes and tilting her head like a cute little kitten. “I’m new in this and my superior will be mad if I don’t at least speak to you. May I please come in? It’s important for my investigation.”

The same childlike charm that works on men might as well work on women, for different reasons in this occasion. Sydney is a single 36-38-year old woman who lives alone with her cat.

She must have wanted a family, perhaps with Walker, no wonder she’s furious.

Leaning against the door frame, Sydney scrutinises the young girl, believing she is younger than she really is with that pale smooth face and big innocent greyish eyes.  

“Come on in, dear.” She opens the door wide, letting Ingvild step inside before closing it behind her.

The main entrance leads into a large living room, furnished with a black leather sofas and a glass coffee table. She owns a TV that is larger than Ingvild's entire living room and the walls are moulded with grey bricks, shiny from some cut stone.

Ingvild imagines how lovely it would feel to crack the shimmering stone with August’s skull.

“Would you like some tea?” Sydney offers while heading toward her luxurious kitchen.

“Please,” Ingvild answers, walking around the house and examining every corner to learn of the woman who invited her in. She nearly stumbles as the large cat rubs against her foot. “Oh,” she exclaims, lowering herself to pick the chubby feline to her arms.

She never owned a pet. Liam said it’s unnecessary.

“So like I said,” Sydney calls from the kitchen, putting the kettle on the stove. “I don’t know anything about August and where he is. All I can tell you is that he was weird.”

“Weird? How?” Ingvild asks, stroking the cat behind his ears and while it purr against her chest.

Sydney places two mugs on the black marble counter in the kitchen and opens a cabinet, looking for some tea bags. “He would disappear and then return after weeks, telling me not to ask any questions. Then, he would go away and come back in crazy hours. He was a gentleman of course but arrogant and demanding, never taking no for an answer.”

Ingvild turns to look at Sydney, arching her eyebrow as if she is surprised to learn this about the man who stabbed and drowned her in an icy lake. “Is that so?”

“Yes!” Sydney shouts back, her chest heaving as she throws the bags into the mugs and turns toward Ingvild.

“Everything had to go his way, and I won’t be surprised if he had a mistress or another family, or god! Maybe an illegal drug practice.”

The cat jumps down from Ingvild’s embrace, and she brushes the grey hairs off her black shirt. “What makes you think this way?”

“Like I said; disappearing in the middle of the night, coming back... I knew something was off so I went and... wait I… I shouldn’t tell you this, you’re an agent!” Sydney looks around her, as if she’s afraid someone might be listening to their conversation.

Ingvild takes a step forward into the kitchen, her grey eyes seeking Sydney’s, giving her a warm, kind smile. “You can tell me anything Sydney, you are not in danger, I promise. We just want to locate Walker, he hasn't reported to HQ in a while.”

Sydney observes her gaze, trying to determine her personality. She thinks the young woman seem gentle with those unique eyes and the hair that’s tucked back to a strict ponytail.

“I had him traced,” she whispers. “I know I wasn’t supposed to because he is CIA, and trust me I was scared but I had to know.”

“How did you do that?” Ingvild asks, tilting her head with curiosity and slight disbelief. It seems odd that a man like Walker was bugged by some dumb lawyer woman.

“I did his laundry, it wasn’t hard to hide something inside the pocket of his jacket. I mean, inside the fabric, where he can’t find it.”

Ingvild can’t help but let out a small snort, amused by the fact that the infamous CIA agent got made so easily. She covers her mouth with her fist, shyly smiling into it, but it’s noticed by Sydney who stands in front of her, staring oddly.

“Where would he go?”

“Some place in South Kensington, almost every day for the last month of our relationship. He would vanish there for hours and then come back. I have the address, hold on.” Sydney leaves the kitchen and walks through a long corridor.

Not bothering with politeness, Ingvild follows her, easy off her feet like the big grey cat, carefully exploring this new territory. She imagines the fights August would have with this woman and then the passionate sex afterwards while her hand runs against the texture of the garnet.

“Oh!” Sydney exclaims, confused to see Ingvild in the doorway of her bedroom. The young woman looks around curiously, trying to find any memorabilia from August; a photo, a clothing article, man cologne. It seems like he was never even been here, though there is a certain coldness in this room that feels strangely familiar.

‘No, not August, his touch is warm.’

“He did trading or something,” Sydney says as she hands her over a small yellow note that was hidden in her purse. It has the address to August’s “secret lover”.

Ingvild takes the notes, memorizing the address before placing it in her jeans pocket. “Trading? Can you elaborate?”

She shrugs. “He asked me to not disturb him while he was doing some dealing, I don’t know what it was… it looked fishy but it might just be CIA stuff.”

Ingvild nods silently, scanning the room again and again and eventually taking in the sight of the empty bed. Her mind fills in the gaps, painting an image of August fucking Sydney into oblivion, his muscular body ramming into hers, one leg held over his shoulder while the blond little bitch screams in ecstasy.

“How was he in bed? Would you say he performed well?” Ingvild asks, her eyes gesturing toward the mattress.

Sydney frowns, giving her a slight repulsed face as she finds her question remarkably rude.

“How is this relevant to the investigation?”

She means to berate her when she witnesses Ingvild’s kind smile growing remarkably cold.

The young woman remains silent, taking a step closer and making Sydney almost stumble back as sudden fear creeps in. Grey frigid eyes, like icy shards, her nostrils slightly flares as she catches up the scent of her expensive perfume.

“How is this relevant to the MI6?!” Sydney asks again, trying to dismiss the tension yet continues to draw distance from the young agent.

“I never said I am MI6.”

Sydney’s back hits the wall with a soft thud, she attempts to flee but Ingvild’s hands lock around her shoulders, forcing her against the wall with a thud. As small as this woman is, she is way stronger than she appears.

“How was he in bed?” she repeats, her voice becoming more demanding while her glare threatening to spear into Sydney’s skull. “Would you say he satisfies you?”

Puny gasps peal from Sydney’s mouth, her green eyes becoming moist with pure fear.

“Please, don’t... He was... Rough.”

“Bondage?”

“He... he..he choked me,” she answers in a trembling voice, her lower lip quivering, much to Ingvild’s delight.

“He was too rough, he was big and he didn’t care, it was as if he enjoyed my pain...”

Ingvild licks her bottom lip, imagining Sydney thrown on the bed with August treating her like a rag doll, wrecking her completely. Bruises left everywhere, tattoos on her skin for the world to see this fine artist’s work. A cold flame licks at her spine, crawling down to the small of her back.

She’s uncertain why.

“Would you say he loved you?”

Sydney’s peers at her quietly, thinking of her answer for a few seconds while Ingvild’s fingers bury into her collarbone, voicelessly demanding a response.

“August Walker is incapable of love. He is dead inside.”

________________________________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own August Walker or the Mission Impossible Frenchise

[9uk]

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?”

[fortheloveoffanfic]

The One That Stays

Keanu Reeves x Reader Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4 Warnings- SMUT/NSFW

Chapter 5- Nebulousness

“Blurring all the lines, you intoxicate me.” -Camila Cabello, Never be the Same

A knock on the door had Y/n dragging herself off her sofa and padding barefoot towards her front door. Without thinking twice of it, she undid the chain lock and pulled it open, grinning giddily at the sight of Keanu; standing in the hallway with his helmet wedged between his arm and his side, riding back still over his shoulder. “You’re early,” she greeted after taking his hand and pulling him inside, giving him a quick peck at the side of his lips.

“I am,” Keanu held her for a minute in a lingering hug and then continued, “And I brought wine,” from his backpack, he produced a dark tinted bottle of white wine, offering it to Y/n.

“Thank you,” they walked to the kitchen and Y/n made a place for the wine in her refrigerator, “I made pasta,” she gestured to a covered pot on the stove.

“I didn’t think you were much of a cook,” Keanu joked as he helped her set up a couple plates and then open an already chilled bottle of red.

Y/n made a noise of mock offense, her hand, almost swallowed up by her over-sized cable knit sweater going to the center of her chest, “That’s a bold assumption, I’m offended.”

“No you’re not,” he laughed. They set the plates on the table near the floor to ceiling window and before he joined her, Keanu shrugged off his jacket, drapping it to where she pointed to on the sofa, near a throw blanket laid on the back. “How was work?”

Y/n’s shoulders shook as she put her glass back down, “It was work, I’ve been working on projections for a product we’re launching this Christmas, if it goes well I could get a raise.”

“That’s great. What’s the product?” He probed, and Y/n’s insides bubbled excitedly at his genuine interest. The few men she had gone out with usually thought that her job was all numbers; a bore, and the couple who hadn’t; had accused her of being superficial for working in the beauty industry. 

“It’s an entire winter inspired line; a partnership with a beauty influencer,” for a couple minutes Y/n excitedly went on about the specifics of an eyeshadow pallet and some of the expected profits.

When she was finished, Keanu was still wearing a goofy smile, but it was mostly out of second hand excitement. Co-owning a company had given him a considerable amount of knowledge when it came to projected profits and pricing, hearing her talk about make-up though, that was something that he had trouble following, “I know those words mean something, but I have no idea what cream eyeshadow is. Is that like a color or....”

“It’s a type,” she corrected, “It’s better during cooler weather, very versatile. Well, enough about that, what about you, how was your day?”

“It was okay. My agent sent me a couple scripts a while ago and I finally got around to starting on them,” he explained nonchalantly.

Y/n raised her brows with silent intrigue, “Anything you like?”

Her cool interest was refreshing compared to the extremes of barrage of questions from those who were too interested and the blank stares of those who thought his job was reserved to what happened on camera. “Not really, they were okay, but they aren’t really for me.”

“Well, you’ll find something soon,” the light from the full moon filtering in, coupled with the dimmed blubs imbedded into the ceiling washed Y/n’s delicate features with a cool glow. With her face free of product and half of her hair only held back by a tiny black hair clamp, strands fell out the sides, casting dark shadows on her skin; she looked almost ethereal. 

“Yeah,” Keanu nodded, “But I don’t know, I’m enjoying the down time more than I usually do,” by then, his free hand had reached across the table, meeting hers half-way, his thumb tracing her knuckles. In response, Y/n just blushed, biting her lip as her cheeks took on an almost unnoticeable shade of pink.

When they were finshed with dinner, Keanu helped her clear up and afterwards, they had moved on to their second bottle of wine, lingering in the kitchen long after they had finished with the dishes, when Y/n’s eyes widened, “I almost forgot, I wanted to show you something.”

“What is it?” Keanu laughed, watching her grab the bottle and encourage him to follow her lead.

They walked down the hallway he had seen on his first visit to her place, when he picked her up for their first- well, ‘forth’ date. It was just a bit longer than the front hallway, but was lined with doors on both side, going about thirty feet in and ending with a simple set of white double doors. Y/n turned the knob of one side, pushing it in, and Keanu followed her as she flicked on a light switch; presumably, her room.

It was nice, and Keanu wasn’t sure what he expected, but it somehow suited Y/n. A large bed at the center of the room, was pressed with it’s head to a cream wall, a set of abstract paintings hanging a couple feet above it. The wall to the left was interrupted by two doors, both with shiny gold hooks, set about five feet apart. The flooring was a dark colored hard wood but her bed sat stylishly upon a fluffy white rug that came out a few feet on all sides. Furniture was minimal; a couple shelved nightstands, both topped with matching antique lamps, but only one packed neatly with books, a couple chargers and other little trinkets. There was a dresser, and finally at the awing, full length window, covered by pale gold drapes, a wide vanity, the top decked with various perfumes and beauty products.

“You room?” Though the answer was plainly obvious, Keanu asked anyway. 

“Yeah, you can sit on the bed. Or where ever you want,” she gestured around, pointing out a printed floral, accent chair and the other at her vanity. When he opted, for a reason that he couldn’t attribute to anything other than the wine, for the floor, Y/n giggled musically, “The floor?”

“Yeah, it looked comfortable,” he patted the spot next him, and Y/n sank down, cross legged holding a carved wooden box in her lap, “Is that what you wanted to show me?” He questioned, intrigued.

“It is,” taking a long swing of her wine, Y/n set her glass a little ways from the rug, then cast the cover of the box aside. From where he sat, it seemed to be filled mostly with pictures, mixed in with a couple odds and ends; key rings, a tiny stuffed animal and some other telling treasures. The printed photographs were her focus though, and she sifted through a few, looking for the right ones. “Here,” she finally offered, depositing a few in her lap, “I know I said you’d never see them, but I thought about it, and maybe prom pictures weren’t so bad.

Keanu placed his glass a couple feet away, looking through the memories Y/n had handed him. Most of them were in fact, from her prom, and on the white backs, they were dated for 2009. She looked almost the same, though, her hair was longer and she looked a more of a child than the woman he sat next to. What a difference ten years could make. Most of them were of her and Julie, though there were others taken with a large group. The remainder appeared to be from college, mostly taken on places around a campus. 

“This was taken on spring break during my last year in college,” she pointed one out, of her and Julie and two men, probably their age, one with his arm loosely around Julie, the other hugging Y/n from behind, “That’s my college boyfriend, Andy. I met him after my run in with the I.T guy.”

“Miami?” The beach seemed familiar, though Keanu couldn’t readily recall the last time he had been there.

“Mhm,” she hummed her response, “Julie planned the whole thing. Well, if you call, going to the airport and booking the cheapest last minute flight ‘planning’. That trip was a mess,” she continued and her smile suggested that even with all the bumps along the way, her last spring break as an undergrad had been more than memorable, “We weren’t exactly rolling in money, so we all had to share this one tiny hotel room, with one bed and a bathroom the size of a matchbox. And if things couldn’t get worse, the guys thought it would be cost effective to save money on street food, and ended up spending the first two days with food poisoning.” 

“That sounds terrible,” Keanu scoffed, mirroring her amused smile, “How’d it turn out?”

“With the exception of their pride, they got over it pretty quickly. And afterwards, it was actually really fun. We skinny dipped on a private beach, almost got arrested for trespassing on that beach. We got drunk, went hiking and at some point, Julie talked onto this boat party thrown by a pro league footballer. It was awesome.”

“Sounds like fun. What happened between you and Andy?” He wasn’t jealous, it would be ridiculous, but Keanu was curious, always eager to learn more about her.

“Nothing really,” Y/n shrugged, “He wanted to move to New York, go to grad school. I wanted to stay here for my MBA, so I did,” for a minute, Y/n continued looking at the picture and her face fell a little, “He asked me to go with him, and when I said no, he.....” she scoffed, “He said that I never really loved him.”

“Didn’t you?” Besides Y/n’s head resting on Keanu’s shoulder, they weren’t touching, their thighs kept apart by about an inch of space.

“I don’t know.....I don’t think,” she paused, swallowing thickly, “I don’t think I’d know if I did. I mean, how do you even know? Do you just wake up and decide you’re in love with someone? Do you feel the same way you did before? How do you know if you can’t make sense of it; identify it, measure it”

Keanu mulled on her words for a while, thinking carefully before he spoke, knowing his next words might be risky. He shouldn’t say them, he thought, but he did anyway. “Maybe you always know; from the beginning, when everything changes, when you can’t them off your mind and the thought of them makes you smile. Maybe its simple, and all it takes is one night,” Y/n shifted and their eyes met, something that should have been new, but was instead, oddly familiar flowed between them. A little reminiscent from the first night on the balcony, but more so on their first ‘in person’ date and on their afternoon at the beach. Bits and bits of whatever it was during their lengthy phone conversations; the ones where they'd spend so long talking, hours into the night, that they’d fall asleep, the line dominated by even breathing and soft snores until one of them would rouse, barely awake and whisper a quiet ‘goodnight’ to the other. “Or one day,” he finally added in an attempt to cover his tracks.

Y/n’s eyes sparkled questioningly. Even if she knew what he meant, she still wasn’t willing to believe it. Would she know it if she felt it? What if Keanu was wrong and it was too soon. Like Julie and his friend had said. They were supposed to be going slow.

“I really like you,” he said quietly, breaking the short bout of silence, his face close to hers. Y/n could smell the alcohol on his breath and the cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes. On anyone else, it might have been off putting, but something about Keanu, it was just.....intoxicating, “I want to kiss you.”

“We’ve kissed before,” Y/n breathed nervously. No moment had ever felt that way, so private, like there was something buzzing around them, pushing them together. Her hand slid from the softness of the rug, resting on his thigh, a silent signal that she wanted it to happen.

Keanu’s hand rose to cup her cheek, tangling with escaped dark strands; they felt like strands of silk between his fingers. He had known her for two weeks, they had been doing....whatever it was that they were doing for a measly one week. But still, Y/n was unlike many of the woman Keanu had gone around with, she was like a breath of fresh air, and if people were water, she’d be champagne. “We have,” he cocked a faint half smile, “But not the way I want to kiss you right now.” Taking a deep breath, Keanu pressed his lips to Y/n’s cradling the back of her neck with his free hand.

His lips melded with hers easily, like two puzzle pieces just being put together, working so well with each other. His tongue slipped passed the barrier of Y/n’s teeth, tangling with hers and she found that he tasted unsurprisingly of wine. So much was poured into the gesture; passion and lust with notes of something softer and more lasting. Something that would make it past a steamy encounter, that Y/n wasn’t sure if she was ready for, but wanted to hold on too.

As things grew more heated, Keanu pressed her against the base of the bed, and Y/n adjusted her legs, spreading them so he was kneeling between them. His tongue swirled around hers between teasing nibbles on her bottom lip, and her hands roamed his strong back, eventually tangling in the ends of his hair. 

Soon enough, Keanu found the hem of her sweater, pulling it over her head clumsily, before Y/n did the same with his t-shirt, not caring where it fell as she tossed it aside, “I thought we were going slow?” Y/n questioned against his lips, smiling as Keanu’s fingers hooked into the waist of her yoga pants, urging them into a laying position.

He hovered over her, taking a moment to admire her bra clad chest, cleavage pushed up a little by cups decorated with light grey lace and silk,  before peeling her pants off at a tantalizingly slow pace, “I can go slow,” Keanu smirked, lifting her left leg, placing an open mouthed kiss on her inner thigh, near the lacy edge of her underwear.

Y/n’s breath shook and her toes toyed teasingly with the button of his jeans, slowly running the length of his crotch, watching him inhale sharply. When Keanu dropped her leg and leaned over her, Y/n reached for the fastenings on his pants, letting him kick of his shoes before pushing them off.

His lips made contact with the warm skin in the valley of her breasts, favoring the left with his hand after he  had quickly slipped it beneath the cup of her bra, groping and squeezing enthusiastically, “You’re so beautiful,” he mumbled, his lips still against her skin. Y/n’s bare heels rubbed against Keanu’s calves, her hands tangling in his hair.

Eventually, his hands slipped to her back, holding her to his chest as he clumsily undid the fastenings of her bra, helping her out of it and then letting it join the rest of their clothing. “Is this what you want?” Keanu asked, suddenly a little unsure of himself, not wanting Y/n to feel pressured just because they had gotten carried away.

“Yeah,” she exhaled with a steady smile, inviting him with her touch; fingers running along his back, nails barely grazing his skin, sending shivers though his body. With her other hand, still tangled in Keanu’s hair, Y/n urged him down into another passionate kiss, her legs wrapping around his middle, grinding slowly though encouragingly against his erection.

Once again, one of Keanu’s hands travelled to her front, fondling her breasts, and for the slightest second, Y/n faintly recalled the night when Julie so surly determined that Keanu was a ‘boobs man’. Though, the memory was pushed hastily aside when two of his digits invaded her underwear, startling her as he pumped slowly. His ministrations, the rough yet gentle texture of his fingers, touching her, sparked pleasurable shocks throughout her body, ones that Y/n swore she could feel in her fingertips. Her back arched, yearning for more, “Keanu,” she breathed heavily.

His response was a low hum as he continued favoring her chest, his tongue swirling around her hardened nipple, the fingers of his free hand pressed into the silky skin at her hip, probably already making bruises that that Y/n would have to remember the moment by. 

Y/n’s manicured nails sunk deeper into his back and she pleaded again with his name on her tongue, “Keanu,” she begged, sucking in a sharp breath when his fingers started going faster, her panties consequently slipping down her thighs, creating an excitable friction. When the flimsy lace garment was low enough, Y/n let her legs shake them off, gridding against Keanu’s stocky fingers. “More,” she begged.

Groaning when his still clothed erection brushed her thigh, Keanu let Y/n aid him his getting rid of the last bit of clothing between them; a pesky pair of grey boxers that didn’t make it too far. It barely took a minute for Keanu to line himself up with Y/n’s entrance, easing into her, admiring how her jaw slackened at the new sensation. 

With slow thrusts, Keanu marveled in how tight she was, feeling her warm, slick goodness around him, “You’re so tight baby,” he moaned through gritted teeth, the side of his head pressed to hers. 

Y/n’s grip dug into Keanu’s shoulder blades as she moaned a garbled plea, “Faster, go faster.” With a low, carnal groan, Keanu picked up the pace and as their bodies moved, the rug below Y/n felt oddly rough, rubbing against her bare skin. He felt so good inside her, stretching her, his generous length reaching her deepest point of pleasure. As they kept going, Keanu reached between again, them, his index and middle finger rubbing her cilt and Y/n moaned breathily, shutting her eyes and biting her lip at the added sensation. 

Eventually, the coil in the pit of her stomach was about to snap and Y/n was clawing at Keanu’s back, her nails raking across his skin, hard enough to leave angry red bruises, “I’m gonna.....god Keanu,” she moaned loudly.

“Do it,” he encouraged, his voice hoarse and low, his face buried in her hair, “I want to feel you come around me.”

With her breathing still ragged and heavy, Y/n moaned Keanu’s name again, clenching around him as he rode though her orgasm. Her legs, which were still around his waist, held their hips close and shook with pleasure as her back arched and she threw her head back.

Keanu was close behind her and when he was about to pull out, Y/n tightened her legs around him encouraging, “Come inside me baby,” she suggested, the overwhelming desire to have him lingering in her like that, giving that to him, clouding her judgement.

“Fuck!” He managed, the word muffled by his lips on her neck as he shot his hot release inside of her, his formerly controlled thrusts going sloppy and their thighs growing sticky with release.

Even after his own orgasm, Keanu lingered between her legs, and eventually, when he pulled out, rolling onto his back, Y/n winced at the emptiness. Their breathing slowed as the high took its time to fade, and as they adjusted on the floor, Keanu pulled Y/n to his chest. They didn’t speak- there wasn’t much to say, at least not right then, but Y/n and Keanu both knew that soon, they’d have to.

*******

Tagging- @baphometwolf666  @kindainlovewithkeanu  @a-really-bi-girl  @soarocks  @harrisongslimited

[perfeggso]

Noir (yutae)

Week II pt. 2

Tokyo – fall of 1983: Nakamoto Yuta is quickly rising in the ranks of one of Japan’s most notorious yakuza families, and he’s poised to climb even further if he can stop himself from being ruined by the pretty Korean boy who’s shown up out of nowhere.

Chapter 1  |  Chapter 2  |  Chapter 3  |  Chapter 4  |  Chapter 5 |  Chapter 6  |  Chapter 7  |  Chapter 8  |  Masterlist

Glossary of Japanese words

Characters: Yuta x Taeyong + NCT ensemble, Twice J-line (for funsies)

Genres: Gang!AU, angst, smut, fluff, 1980s!AU

Warnings: graphic violence, swearing, minor character death, alcohol use, mentions of drugs, period-typical homophobia, xenophobia, BDSM

Rating: 18+

Length: 4k (will progressively get way longer)

Yuta had a problem: he couldn’t keep his mind off of Taeyong.  He had immediately been taken in by the contrast between the new recruit’s wide eyes and soft expressions and his sharp features and rough background.  However, over the course of a little over a week, Yuta had only found himself slipping farther into dangerous territory that made him question his decision to help Taeyong out by taking him on as a partner.  He questioned himself when Taeyong’s shirts would ride up and expose the soft skin of his lower stomach, or when Yuta would catch his subordinate zoning out with his fingers running over his lips.  These moments sometimes made Yuta feel like a creep, but it was nothing compared to the way most men he grew up with treated women.  Also, he had at least a sneaking suspicion his little infatuation might be reciprocated from the way Taeyong would flush easily at any praise from Yuta, for example, or the few times when Yuta thought he heard a hitch in Taeyong’s breathing when Yuta addressed him seriously or got into his personal space.

Yuta had always needed to be careful – his closest friends among the Inagawa-kai knew he liked men and could not have cared less, but being gay was so stigmatized amongst the yakuza and in Japanese society in general that any inkling of Yuta’s secret had to be vigorously guarded to avoid disaster.  That’s why Hirai Goro had decided years earlier that at twenty-five, Yuta would, for the protection of the family, marry his daughter Momo.  Momo was his best friend since adolescence and was as uninterested in men as Yuta was in women.  It was an ideal arrangement, but one that had to be carefully managed.  That wedding would be in a year.  In the meantime, Yuta had learned to be careful with his encounters, stay in queer-friendly spaces away from work, and read small cues from potential partners since nothing would ever be clearly spelled out for him.  He was rarely wrong, and he thought he would be right again about Taeyong too.

“Yuta-san?” Jaehyun’s voice on the other side of the door rattled Yuta out of another Taeyong-induced stupor and he remembered that he was in his office, leaning over his wooden desk with the Miyazaki file disassembled in front of him.  Even if Yuta hadn’t recognized that warm voice, it could only have been Jaehyun who, as an unofficial member of the operation without a defined position, was one of the few people who didn’t have to address Yuta by his title.

“Douzo, Jaehyun-kun.”  The door slid open and in walked Yuta’s guest, wearing a pinstripe suit and letting his dark hair fall softly over his forehead.  Unlike most of Yuta’s acquaintances, Jaehyun had neither tattoos nor visible scars or disfigurements.  If it weren’t for his parentage, Yuta figured that Jaehyun would have been an innocent and upstanding member of society.  In fact, Yuta wondered why he didn’t stay as far away from his father’s line of work as humanly possible, for his own sake.  But, if Jaehyun did do that then Yuta would be losing the benefit of one of his keenest minds.  Besides, Yuta knew that Jaehyun was branded as suspicious in the outside world by default just by being a conspicuously wealthy zainichi boy, so he might as well lean into it.  

“You look busy,” Jaehyun observed with a smile.

Yuta smiled back and pushed some papers to the far side of his desk, closer to Jaehyun.  “That’s because I’ve been working on something.  What are your thoughts on this?”

Jaehyun sat on the desk – something the average enlisted man would not be permitted to do – and scanned his eyes over what appeared to be paperwork from several banks in Thailand.

“Looks like he’s got offshore accounts,” said Jaehyun, obviously.

“Bingo!”

“Are they illegal?”

Yuta smiled and hummed to himself in satisfaction.  “Those banks are all under current investigation by Interpol for money laundering.  One case has been proven.  And Miyazaki might be a key player.”            

“Congratulations, Shategashira ,” said Jaehyun, pushing himself off the desk, letting out a small laugh once standing.

“What’s so funny?” Yuta challenged.

“Nothing, really,” said Jaehyun. He knew he could get away with saying whatever he wanted.  “But Yuta-san, you launder money all the time.”

“I know that very well, Jaehyun,” explained Yuta, knowing the mild defiance from his friend was nothing serious.  “But it’s expected from people like us.”  Jaehyun scowled slightly, Yuta assumed, at his implication in whatever dirty business the Inagawa-kai did.  “For someone like Miyazaki it’s – it’s a career-ending – no, life ending event since he’ll probably have to go to jail for a year or so and never be hired again.  His reputation will be ruined.  This information could tank Mitsubishi’s stocks for a while too.  He’s supposed to be a reputable businessman, not a gangster.”

“My dad always says that companies are just like gangs;” offered Jaehyun, “the salaryman is just a glorified foot-soldier with a less interesting life and their bosses probably have more blood on their hands than they realize.”

Yuta pulled out a cigarette from the pack in his pocket, placed it in his mouth, and then offered the pack to Jaehyun with the raise of an eyebrow.  Jaehyun took one and as he spoke, Yuta lit their cigarettes.

“That’s why I always listen to your father, Jaehyun, and why you should too,” said Yuta, pausing to take a drag.  “Gwang-suk is the most insightful bastard in this whole operation.”

Jaehyun’s face curled into a thoughtful smile.  “I’ll keep that in mind.  By the way, I know you have proof that these banks are crooked, and that Miyazaki has money in them, but what’s your direct evidence of his wrongdoing?”

“Ah,” Yuta remarked, letting a tumble of smoke fall from his lips.  “That is forthcoming, if you have time to wait a few minutes.”

“Sure.”

After another drag on his cigarette, Jaehyun seemed about to begin a new conversation, his expression contorting into one of active thought, but at that moment, a succinct series of knocks rang out on the other side of the door.  Yuta put his crossed legs up on his desk and leaned back in his leather chair.

“ Douzo.”    

With that, Doyoung, who was wearing slacks, a sweater vest, and an upmarket wristwatch, opened the door with a thin stack of papers under his arm.  His eyes went wide when he saw the cloud of smoke rendering the room in soft focus.  Still, he steeled himself and managed a salute and a greeting of “Shategashira!”

“At ease.”

Doyoung seemed to sigh in relief and wasted no time fanning the space directly before his face and hurrying to the one small outward-facing window in the room to open it.

“My god, you two, this is absurd! How do you breathe?”  Even in disgust, Doyoung’s voice was measured.  To most, the thin, almost delicate, and usually soft-spoken man would have been difficult to pinpoint as a member of the yakuza – especially if he was covering his tattoos which he kept more minimal than most of his friends.  Nevertheless, his intelligence had always been an asset to the family and any doubt of his intensity would be assuaged the minute he lost his temper, or alternately, came at you coolly with a Sten Gun.  Around those close to him though, Doyoung’s vibe was still more nagging grandmother than anything.

“Doyoung,” began Yuta, “tell me you found something good.”

Doyoung made his way back to the desk on the other side of the room, holding his stack of papers up in one hand.  “Tell me you two won’t keel over from lung cancer before I show it to you.”  And with this jest, he let the papers drop to the desk with a smack .  Yuta took one more drag and extinguished his cigarette, partially to appease Doyoung and partially to free his hands.

“All I found was the record of recent wirings, invoices, and transfers for his accounts between Japan and Thailand,” explained Doyoung as Yuta began digging into the papers with Jaehyun sitting in observation.  “It appears that he’s been embezzling money from the company under the guise of a bunch of contractors and business expenses that don’t exist as far as I can tell.  He’s transferred a lot of it, via some of these banks in Thailand, to a specific woman.  You’ll see her information in the paperwork there.  Sometimes she uses different names, but I have reason to believe it’s all one person and that her name is Minatozaki Sana.”

“A mistress, perhaps,” speculated Jaehyun, and Yuta let out a hum of agreement.

Doyoung nodded.  “That would make sense.  I’ll keep on the trail from here and see what else I find; how conclusive the connections are, etc.”

“Good work, Hosa ,"  Yuta praised.  "You’re dismissed if you need to be anywhere.  Do you?”

Doyoung shrugged, planting himself in one of the molded wood chairs across from Yuta and Jaehyun followed suit.  “I’m going on patrol with Johnny in an hour but I’m meeting him here.  Might take a bit of a break.  By the way, where’s Taeyong?”

Yuta had to stop a smile from overtaking his expression at the mention of his partner.  “I don’t need his help and he’d been working so hard, so I gave him some time to himself.  He could be practicing shooting, taking a walk, going to the conbini around the corner, I have no way of knowing.”            

Jaehyun spluttered, for what reason Yuta could only imagine.  He sat forward in his chair, trying to look serious.  “Oi, what is this?  The little prince finds something amusing, does he?”

Jaehyun held his outstretched palm in front of his face and shook his head.  Yuta was a very intimidating person by most standards and was famous for his wit, but even he had moments of insecurity that his friends could exploit for entertainment.  That is, until they got their asses beat for disrespecting a superior.

“No, I promise you, Yuta-san, it’s nothing really.  I’m sorry.  I was just surprised because in the last, what? Almost-week that he’s been with you, you two have been pretty inseparable.  And whenever he isn’t with you, you’re yelling ‘where’s Taeyong? Someone find him now!’”  Jaehyun started to laugh harder at his own impression.  Next to him, Doyoung adjusted his sleeve, watching, and in his calmly matter-of-fact manner stated, “we’re not idiots, Shategashira .  We can tell when you’re distracted, and we can usually guess why.  Jaehyun and I think you have it bad for Taeyong.  We even bet on it with Taeil.”

Yuta found himself in a bit of a shock.  Him?  Distracted?  Was he that obvious about it?

Yuta pawed weakly at a piece of ash and flicked it into his ashtray, but he couldn’t help himself from smirking just a tiny bit.

“Fuck off,” he practically whispered.

“You don’t deny it,” Doyoung observed, and now it was Jaehyun smirking, ready to watch a confession unfold.

The haze still left in the room seemed like protection from the outside world, and Yuta felt his chest filling with boldness.  He didn’t have anything to hide from his friends, anyway.  He only cursed the timing.  Now was not the time for lust nor – god forbid – for romance.

Yuta bit his thumb nail and sighed.  “That’s because you’re not wrong,” he admitted.

Jaehyun and Doyoung exchanged tittering smiles in response.

“Yeah, go ahead and celebrate your victory,” said Yuta, nearly rolling his eyes and allowing his friends to relax and high five each other.

It felt nice to get it off his chest officially, but Yuta also felt a heaviness in his gut as a result of the conversation.  What if this was nothing more than a brief infatuation and he was jumping the gun by talking about it?  What if Taeyong wasn’t interested?  How was he even supposed to go about acting on anything?  He was busy and needed to focus and he tried to avoid hooking up with coworkers.  Fuck it , he thought, he was already distracted .  Yuta finally raised his eyes to meet the gaze of his two friends across from him.  Despite their satisfied smiles he still felt the tight, dead-end sensation of a prisoner.

“You should tell him, Shategashira , if you don’t mind my advice,” said Doyoung.

“I should, hm?” Yuta puzzled. “And how do you propose I do that?”

***

Taeyong’s sleeping face was yet another distraction.  He and Yuta had been sitting in the front of Yuta’s black 1982 Corolla for a couple of hours and it was already approaching three A.M.  Yuta knew Taeyong hadn’t had a completely easy time adjusting to his new life and was hardly sleeping even when he had time to, so when Taeyong’s eyes took on a telltale droopiness an hour ago and their target had yet to come around, Yuta had allowed Taeyong the option to nod off.  It was good for Yuta too, as it gave him the opportunity to gather his thoughts about the sleeping angel next to him.  Maybe Ms. Minatozaki wasn’t coming home that night at all – or maybe she was already asleep and Yuta had gotten bad intel.  Maybe Yuta, who was growing tired himself, could allow himself a moment of weakness and drink in the image of the man beside him.  Still, if the lead was correct and Minatozaki was going to be home soon, he didn’t want to miss her just because he was smitten with a boy he barely knew.

Yuta allowed himself one more moment to take in Taeyong’s serene face, admiring the flicker in his dark lashes, the slope of his sharp jaw into his smooth neck – interrupted only by the press of his Adam’s apple against the skin.  Yuta’s gaze fell on the pitted scar that dug its way like a crater into the flesh next to Taeyong’s right eye.  Yuta had wondered where it came from but never wanted to pry.  Taeyong’s earring twinkled as it caught the reflection of a streetlight.

Yuta couldn’t stop thinking of his earlier conversation with Jaehyun and Doyoung.  He felt almost laid bare by it, and he didn’t know why.  His friends already knew Yuta liked men and he trusted them enough to know they would never challenge his authority.  But still, telling them this felt different somehow.  Perhaps it was because Taeyong was someone who they, too, were getting to know personally; so they could make an offhand comment by accident or worse, pass judgement in ways they never could on Yuta’s anonymous hookups.  Perhaps it was because Yuta felt like he was on the edge of losing control at a time when he needed as much control as possible.  Perhaps it was because he knew nothing good could come from giving into his desires.  Any impropriety could be used against him or Taeyong after all, and he needed to maintain his position in the Inagawa-kai and help Taeyong in the process.  Still, the more time he spent around Taeyong, the more Yuta was sure he wanted to do unspeakable things to him.  At least if Taeyong wasn’t interested, he could go from distracted to morose, and the latter state would be a marginal improvement for his ability to focus.

Yuta had asked how Jaehyun and Doyoung would suggest he approach Taeyong with his attraction.  Jaehyun councelled him to treat the situation as if it were a heteronormative one: as if Yuta were confident and straight and there were no stakes in the interaction.  Besides, said Jaehyun, if you think he’s interested then all those things might as well be true.  Doyoung, on the other hand, decided to play devil’s advocate and suggest that Yuta confront Taeyong with the information that he knows Taeyong is gay (which, again, he didn’t). Once he had Taeyong scared and talking, only then should he reveal his true intentions.  Obviously, neither tactic was a viable option, so Yuta found himself left to his own devices once more.

Yuta sensed motion in his peripheral vision and jolted to attention, watching as a young woman scurried down the sidewalk and up the stairs of the small house he and Taeyong were staking out.

“Oi! Taeyong!” Yuta yelled, hitting his partner in the arm and waking him, wondering to himself if the violence of the action wasn’t partially a means of relieving some pent-up sexual aggression.

Taeyong raised his eyebrows and looked around, bleary.  “Right there!  It’s her.”  Taeyong followed Yuta’s outstretched finger and noticed the woman just in time to see her finish turning her key in the lock and slip inside.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, realizing what was going on.  “Should we go knock on the door or something?”

As they spoke, a few orange lights illuminated the windows of the house.  Yuta shook his head. “No, it’s too late at night and she’d be suspicious.  She’s likely already in a sensitive situation being a millionaire’s mistress.  Besides, we’re only here to confirm her location for when we come back before the meeting.  We want to give her as little time as possible that should could use to inform the Yamaguchi-gumi if it goes wrong.”

“So, mission accomplished?”

Yuta grinned his signature grin; wide and almost unhinged under bright eyes.  “Mission accomplished.”

Taeyong nodded, seeming to suppress a shiver, and turned his head to the house which had returned to its dark quiet.  “I still don’t understand why we can’t just go around to some neighbors to confirm her identity.”

Yuta tutted, hoping maybe to provoke a clearer reaction from Taeyong.  “Too risky,” he explained.  “If we do that what will happen?  They’ll all tell her the next time they see her that the yakuza were asking about her.  We have her I.D. photo; it’s all under control.”  

Taeyong nodded, a contemplative pout settling on his face and sending Yuta’s blood rushing.

“ Shategashira ,” he began, “why’d you take me on this recon mission with you if you were just gonna let me sleep?”

Yuta shrugged.  “It looks good for you if you can prove you accompanied me.  Good for your case so you can gain more freedom.” Yuta cleared his throat.  “Can I drive you home, Taeyong?”

Yuta thought he saw a hint of pink bloom on Taeyong’s cheeks, but it dissipated as quickly as it had appeared.  Taeyong nodded, eyes gluing to the floor mats.

“Thank you, Shategashira .  But if it’s too out of the way –”

“Nonsense,” interrupted Yuta.  “Just tell me where I’m going.”

The dark, tree-lined reprieve of Ms. Minatozaki’s neighborhood eventually opened up into the neon jungle which consisted most of the city.

“Take a right up ahead,” Taeyong directed.

Yuta took the turn and soon the car was rolling by a street famous for its adult businesses.  A love hotel here, a strip club there.  Taeyong made a sound in his throat.

“What is it?” asked Yuta.

“I was just figuring that the girl we were watching for and her Mitsubishi man probably meet up in places like this.”

Yuta wondered what Taeyong was getting at.  “You’re probably not wrong,” he said. “Though I’d imagine they do it in nicer parts of town.”

“It’s kind of despicable, no?” Taeyong asked, seemingly to himself, head leaning sleepily against the window.  “These guys get power and then suddenly they can do whatever they want.  Lie to their wives, launder money, you know?  Keep left.”  Taeyong paused as Yuta followed his direction silently, allowing him to finish his thought.

“I can’t really imagine you guys doing that, with your samurai code of honor and all that.”

Yuta chuckled.  This boy either had Stockholm Syndrome or was purposefully trying to get some kind of result out of his musings.  “Taeyong, you forget we’re career criminals.  Adultery is the tamest thing some yakuza get up to.”    

Taeyong smirked, making Yuta surer the other man was playing him to some end.  His tired brain felt suddenly electrified.

“Whatever,” said Taeyong.  “Just promise you won’t cheat on Momo with some other woman.  I’d lose all respect for you.  I’m the tall apartment on the right up there, by the way.”

Yuta’s whole body went stiff.  This boy .  He decided to be honest with Taeyong – at least to the extent that he could still backtrack at any moment.

“That shouldn’t be difficult for me, Taeyong,” he said, pulling over to the curb.  “I don’t think about women all that much.  Haven’t been with many, either.”

Taeyong didn’t move to get out of the car.  Yuta waited in anticipation, feeling both relieved and like he’d dug himself into a hole.  He watched how Taeyong’s face roiled in thought, expressions materializing and evaporating as quickly as bubbles in a simmering pot.

Taeyong sighed, finally speaking.  “Well have you been with any men, then?  Do you think about men?”

Now it was Yuta’s turn to sigh.  What had he done?  This was so dangerous.  The hopeful look on Taeyong’s face egged him on, but what if it was all a trap?  What if Taeyong’s entire appearance in Yuta’s life was a setup to ensnare him?  He’d barely known him for two weeks.  Yuta could kill people but he couldn’t make a decision in this moment.  What did Doyoung say about confidence, again?  Fuck it.

“I – yes, Taeyong, as a matter of fact, yes.”  Yuta looked straight ahead over the steering wheel, feeling like his center of gravity was stuck somewhere in the seat below him and praying to anything at all for Taeyong to just get out of the car.  Instead, he felt the other man inch minutely closer.

“Do you…do you think about me?”

Shit .  Yuta was not equipped for this.  He was used to spaces where he could be clearer on the rules of engagement – where his work wasn’t so wrapped up in his sexual impulses.  He dared a glance at Taeyong, who’s eyes were blown out in anticipation.  Yes , Yuta thought.  God, he wanted to say yes, but he had some sorting to do in his own mind before he could.  He gripped the steering wheel and steeled his face and voice.

“I don’t think it would do either of us any good for me to answer that question,” he said lowly, and Taeyong drew back.  The look of shame on Taeyong’s face immediately made Yuta want to recant; he was digging himself into a bigger hole.

“I’m trying to protect you, Taeyong, and I think this is the best way to do that,” he tried to clarify.  “I hope you understand.  I appreciate you accompanying me today, but I need you to go inside now so I can go home.  Please.”

Taeyong nodded and turned to open the door with minimal movement, as if trying to take up less space.  Once outside the car he leaned over and said, voice distant with formal intonation, “Good night and good work today, Shategashira .  Thank you for helping me.  I understand, and your secret is safe with me.  Excuse me.”

Yuta watched Taeyong bow and hurry to the front door of his building, disappearing within.  Yuta couldn’t remember the last time he felt this shit, but he kept playing it over and he could envision no clean ending to the scenarios where he and Taeyong gave in to each other.  Yuta started to drive back the way he came, turning the radio on to avoid slipping into the murk of his mind and having an accident or something.  No , he assured himself, you did the right thing .  It would have to be this way between them; it was for the best.            

[neroesecuzioni]

watching your devil side

one.

///

The sun blazed through the large airport windows and the soft, hazy morning mist descended upon Naples. You hadn’t been in the since your last photo shoot for some jewellery line two years ago but you heard news about an old friend while preparing a home base for your art exploits in Europe.

The little kid you once saved from a beating after a pick-pocketing incident in Naples when he was ten and still had black hair was now the Don of the Passione and blond if your sources were right. You had meant to visit him two years ago but he was a hard kid to track down and meet within a time span of three days. However, now, you had all the time in the world with your current job as an artist and you were going to buy him an espresso like you promised all those years ago.

You tapped the screen of your phone and hummed.

I didn’t know you turned blond, you sent a text message and signed it with your typical Devil Yin attached to let him know it was you.

Your luggage trembled as you traversed through the bustling airport, looking for a sign with your name on it. The private driver you hired had given you explicit instructions. 

A tall man with silvery hair and in his fifties stood among the small crowds waiting for other passengers but held a small sign with your name written boldly in black. You shot him a friendly smile and waved. He bowed his head and tucked away the sign, gesturing for you to follow him.

“Hello, sir. You weren’t waiting long, were you?”

“Not at all, young miss,” he answered as he led you to a black car, “please, hand me your luggage. I trust your flight went well?”

“As well as any fourteen hour flight can go,” you replied wryly.

He opened the door for you and you slipped into the backseat, crossing your legs. The silky fabric of your pants pressed into your skin and you itched to get out of them to let your body breath after the stale plane air.

“Still the villa in Napoli, miss?”

“Yes, take your time. I still need to decompress from the trip and car rides are perfect for that.”

Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you pulled it out.

How did you know that?

You smiled and typed out quickly. I just do. Remember that espresso I promised you six years ago? You’re old enough to drink one now, don’t you think?

I accept your offer. Where are you staying? I’ll send a car over.

You texted him the address to your villa and told him to meet you at lunch. That would give you enough time to decompress, get ready, and unpack half of your things. You were staying in Italy for a while, after all.

///

A black sedan with a polite but distant driver picked you up thirty minutes before noon and deposited you in front of a little cafe tucked in between a bakery and a bookstore. You walked in, the sharp but comforting scent of espresso wafted and curled around you.

A blond head of dramatic curls peeked out from a booth along with a shock of black-blue hair. 

“I, Giorno Giovanna, will be a Gangstar!” The kid proclaimed.

That looked enough like a dramatic Gangstar to you.

“Giorno Giovanna?” you asked.

The boy turned around and sharp turquoise eyes landed on you. “It’s really you, Yin.”

“The one and only.” Your gaze slid to the man sitting beside him and you blinked. “Bruno Buccellati?”

“Devil Yin,” he greeted, a welcoming smile on his face. “It’s been a while.”

“...well, it seems like I’m caught as a disadvantage,” you said, “may I sit?”

“Yes, of course.” Giorno waved his hand. “Actually, you decided to visit at a good time.”

You sat down across from them and scrutinised the two. They were well put together with expensive suits, styled hair, and gleaming jewellery. “I’ve heard. Don of the Passione at sixteen is quite a feat. You really did become a Gangstar. Congratulations.”

Giorno smiled. “Thank you, but that’s not why your visit is...fortunate.”

“I assume the reason is why you’re here as well, signore Buccellati,” you said, guarded.

Buccellati smiled. “Perhaps Bruno would be best, signorina Yin.”

That wasn’t actually your name but you didn’t comment further, scanning the cafe. A red-patterned hat caught your eye, peeking out from another booth, and another booth with a familiar looking man with long silver hair caught your eye.

The presence of the Capo of Squadra Guardie del corpo along with his team was either a very good thing or a very bad thing and you sure hoped it was the former. You did not want to get shot at when you were trying to buy an espresso for a brat you met six years ago. You didn’t even know if this was a good idea considering the pendulum could swing any way and you wouldn’t know it.

“Hello!” A waitress swanned in, smiling prettily. “Is there anything I can get for you today?”

“A caffè lungo,” you said, staring at the two men across from you.

Giorno smiled charmingly at the waitress. “The same as her.”

“A caffè macchiato,” Bruno said.

You narrowed your eyes at them when the waitress disappeared with your orders.

“Now, why is Leone Abbacchio, signore Buccellati’s right hand man, and some strange teenager with a stand also in this cafe?” You leaned back. “I guess this isn’t the casual meeting I proposed?”

Giorno and Bruno exchanged glances and a smile cracked the blond’s facade.

“Still as perceptive as ever,” he said.

“And that’s not an answer.”

Bruno leaned forward, hands brace on the table. “We have a proposal for you, signorina Yin.”

“Listen, I’m just here to buy Giorno the espresso I promised he could have when he turned sixteen the last time we met. Not for any business with the Passione.”

He smiled, amused and infinitely a softer charm compared to the teenager beside him. 

“Come work for me in the Passione as an assassin,” Giorno said lowly. Calm, steady, and self-assured, and the turquoise eyes intense as he stared at you.

You looked at the waitress reappearing with your drinks, waiting for her to set them down and leave their presence once more. She probably knew they were the mafia with how quickly she scurried away.

“No,” you said and pushed Giorno’s drink at him while sliding the macchiato towards Bruno. The man accepted it graciously but your gaze didn’t leave Giorno’s unchanging expression. 

“No?” he asked calmly. 

“I quit the business, Giorno.” You shook your head and slid your phone across the table towards him with one of your galleries from Seattle, Washington. “I’m a painter and model now with a lot of money in stocks. I can’t go around assassinating people without drawing attention to myself. I put that life behind me for a reason.”

"We need someone of your calibre especially after the power change," he insisted. "Our assassination team lost two members before the change in power. They need a new but experienced hand and with your skills, their repertoire would expand. The amount of missions would increase for them."

You tilted your head. “...I’ll give you twenty minutes to give me the full story and another five to convince me.”

He smirked.

///

You cradled your empty cup, staring into the ceramic.

“That’s a ride,” you finally said. “A very, very long ride with too many lane changes and things going downhill but I don’t see what this has to do with you wanting me to become an assassin.”

“La Squadra Esecuzoni were being underutilised by Diavolo and we don’t want them to feel the same as they had beneath him,” Bruno explained.

“You’re afraid they’ll rebel.” You set down the cup. “And that’s not something you can afford right now. Aren’t they satisfied with the territory you’ve given them?”

“No,” Giorno said, leaning forward on folded hands. “They want more after helping us overthrow Diavolo.”

“I won’t become an assassin again,” you said.

Giorno’s expression furrowed and Bruno’s shoulders tensed, ever so slightly, but they wouldn’t force you to bend to their will. They were too nice for that.

“But... I think there’s a way I can help you.”

“Without becoming an assassin?” Bruno asked.

"I have a job in mind for them. How do they feel about being bodyguards?" You set your hands on the table between you. “I might need some while I’m here.”

“Bodyguards?” Giorno blinked.

“Did you know I was held hostage a few months ago by some pirates in the Indian Ocean? None of my friends answered my texts for two weeks. It really hurt my feelings.”

The two men in front of you exchanged looks.

///

It was rare for Risotto to call a team meeting nowadays. The last time had been hunting down Diavolo with Buccellati's squad but he was dead and Giorno hadn’t done anything yet.

Risotto sat at the head of their conference table in their new headquarters.

"The Boss has a new mission for us,” he announced. Red eyes surveyed their reactions. “As bodyguards to an important client.”

"What the fuck?" Ghiaccio said. "We're fucking assassins and he's sending us as bodyguards? Who the fuck does he think he is? Is he downgrading us?"

“Buccellati’s squad can’t handle it?” Prosciutto raised an eyebrow.

"We have no choice but to accept." Risotto slid a document into the centre of the table. “It’s a long term contract. Two of us at all times. Cash salary.”

“Di molto,” Melone breathed, eyes wide. “That’s a lot of money.”

“Holy shit.” Formaggio leaned forward to look closer at the papers. “Who the fuck are we protecting? A princess?”

“Is that a clause for vacation pay?” Illuso asked, incredulous. “They’re offering hitmen vacation pay?”

Prosciutto ran his fingers over the numbers, brows furrowed. “How did Giovanna secure something like this?”

Pesci’s eyes flickered between the other members then his black eyes landing on his mentor and asked nervously, “This is good... right, bro?”

Prosciutto didn’t answer, deep in thought as he leafed through the papers.

“Why the fuck is he giving us this mission instead of Buccellati’s squad? They’re meant for guarding. What’s Giovanna planning?” Ghiaccio scowled, arms crossed. “He would not give us something like this without leverage.”

“Giovanna said the client specifically requested us.” Risotto’s deep voice interrupted him before he could fall into a rant.

Ghiaccio adjusted his red glasses and smoothed his blue curls.

“Giorno said the client wants us to meet them at Passione headquarters.” Risotto folded his hands over the table, the black sclera of his eyes emphasised the red of his gaze. The resolve in his eyes silencing the rest of the members’ protests. “I will take Prosciutto and Illuso with me.”

“This is a hard offer to turn down,” Melone said.

“Do you have to say something we already know?” Illuso sighed.

///

Summary: La Squadra Esecuzioni ends up helping Bruno’s squad defeat Diavolo and everyone lives but the journey hasn’t even begun. Giorno becomes Don of the Passione and revolutionises the mafia but La Squadra finds themselves underutilized despite the new territory they've been given. At least, until you, an old friend of Giorno’s, takes a trip back to Naples. What they never expect is that you're a whirlwind in disguise and they can't help but get caught in your restless winds.

This entire storyline takes place in the year 2020 and everyone is alive. I can’t write a story without modern day technology or memes. Yes, this is a shitty first chapter. It might get better from here on out but we’re trying to establish a snappy first base for the zero attention span squad (me, that squad is me.)

(ao3 link)

[juniperwindsong]

Necessary Monsters (8/16)

Warning: this chapter will contain M rated themes including alcohol abuse, sexual situations, and some iffy decisions that I'd like to make clear I do not condone. PLEASE NOTE that just because characters act a certain way does not mean I agree with their actions. While I have refrained from including any smut out of respect for people who don't care for that sort of thing, I did write it. So the explicit version of a certain scene from this chapter can be found in my new story, Advanced Dragonology, which is where I'll be sticking all the smutty excerpts I'm not including in the story proper to keep it from being NSFW. It is posted only on A03 here or Wattpad here in order to comply with Tumblr’s content agreements.

Summary: "That was..." "Unexpected?" "Very." "So, does that prove this is real?" "If I say no, will you do that again?"

Proper socialisation is an essential part of a pureblood upbringing, so in his first seventeen years Felix has attended what he considers an excessive number of parties. Which is why it doesn't occur to him to be nervous until he steps up the squat house's ramshackle walk and realises he has never attended this sort of party: a gathering thrown by young people for young people, specifically for the purpose of "having fun". Although, wincing at the loud thumps of what he can only assume is intended to be music, Felix wonders exactly whose idea of "fun" this could possibly be.

The front door is slightly ajar; lucky, since he doubts anyone could hear a bell over all the noise. There's no host to greet him or make the necessary introductions, so Felix is left to stand awkwardly just inside the run-down east end townhouse, hands stuffed in his pockets and feeling entirely out of his depth.

A quick glance around at the crowd of milling teenagers informs Felix he isn't dressed appropriately. Exceptionally casual muggle attire appears to be the evening's dress code from what he's able to make out. Darkness also seems to be the fashion at this sort of party. There's hardly a candle to be seen anywhere, most of the light coming from a single flickering floor lamp tucked into a corner. There's a thin cord trailing from its base into the wall, and Felix remembers this from Muggle Studies as a tell-tale sign of a muggle invention. He puts two and two together, and his eyes widen in panic.

This is a muggle house; a muggle party. What on earth would Juniper and her friends be doing here? Tonks must have given him this address as a joke.

Fumbling behind him for the doorknob, Felix is just considering what sort of retribution would be fitting for the idiotic Hufflepuff, when a sudden outburst of applause draws his gaze to the corner of the packed room. Half a dozen teenagers are clustered around one garishly-dressed person and Felix's eyes narrow as he recognises the spiky pink hair. Tonks, grinning toothily, throws a jacket over her head then sweeps it off with a flourish, revealing hair, still short and spiky, but now electric blue. Another round of cheering and clapping from the spectators, and Tonks takes a dramatic bow, tripping over her own boot-laces. Felix can only stare, indignation flagging in the face of his open shock.

"Never seen a metamorphmagus before?" says a voice near his ear.

Tulip Karasu appears just beside Felix's elbow, leaning in uncomfortably close to be heard over the din. She's wearing muggle clothes as well, and considerably few, at that, but it's hardly the most concerning thing to Felix at the moment.

"I've never seen a metamorphmagus reveal herself in front of a whole pack of muggles, on purpose and in direct violation of the International Statute of Secrecy, no," he retorts waspishly. His voice is almost lost in the room's overbearing babble, but Tulip seems to understand the gist at any rate. She shakes her head with a wry smile.

"They're her cousins, or something. Her father's muggle-born," she says loudly into his ear again. "Besides, muggles don't believe in magic. Tonks could turn herself into a bear right there in front of them, and they'd still say it was a trick. It's fantastic."

Tulip glances around Felix.

"The rest of the entourage with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know," Tulip shrugs a shoulder. "Rowan Khanna...Penny Haywood."

It's painfully obvious, even in the dim light, that Tulip's nonchalant attitude is all a show, but whatever's happening between the tiny Ravenclaw girl and her Hufflepuff counterpart does not interest Felix in the slightest.

"No. I came alone. To see Juniper." Felix's brow furrows suddenly. "Please tell me she's not outside showing off her Comet 260 or something?"

Tulip's enigmatic smile sours slightly.

"Don't worry. Everyone's favorite curse-breaker is currently getting soused in the kitchen. Drinking contest, I think." Misinterpreting Felix's expression, she adds, "Don't worry. She always wins. Always wins everything, doesn't she?" And she saunters off in Tonks' direction without further comment.

-

It takes Felix several minutes to navigate the dark, over-crowded hallway and locate the dingy kitchen. He's relieved to find it more brightly lit then the rest of the house, and slightly quieter. A linoleum table takes up most of the room, covered in plastic cups full of unidentifiable liquids. A long bench set into the wall lines one side of the table, and at its end sits a girl with curled hair sipping through a plastic straw directly from a sloshing pitcher. A group of mostly male on-lookers eggs her on, giving a raucous cheer when she finishes. The girl pushes the empty pitcher away from her with a cry of triumph, and it isn't until she looks up that Felix is positive it's Juniper.

"Felix?"

He can't quite hear her over the continued cheering, but he recognises his name on her lips, painted an unlikely shade of electric pink. She's smiling, which might have been a good sign if it didn't seem so vacant, and she gestures at him wildly with a wrist full of clinking bracelets. Juniper's fans all turn to see who's captured her attention, and Felix pushes through them primly, seating himself next to Juniper, rather closer than strictly necessary. He shoots his patented prefect's glare at the gaggle of boys, most of whom take the hint and sidle away.

If Juniper notices her audience disperse, she doesn't show it. She hooks her wrist around a plastic cup and pulls it toward her. She plucks the straw from the pitcher with two fingers, and Felix is pleased to see her grip last long enough to drop the straw into the cup, before leaning down and chugging the drink nearly in one gulp.

When she finally comes up for air, Felix leans in close to her ear.

"Can we talk?"

Juniper turns so their faces are suddenly very close.

"I doubt it. It's quite loud in here." She smiles lop-sidedly, but her eyes are still dark and dead-looking underneath a thick layer of blue powder.

"Then, let's go somewhere else," urges Felix. Juniper shakes her head.

"Half the reason I come to these things is specifically because it's too loud to talk," and Felix has no counter-argument for that.

Juniper drags another cup across the table and leaves it in front of Felix, then pulls a third toward herself and inserts her straw once more. At a loss for anything else to do, Felix lifts the drink to his lips, but he can only take a small sip before returning it to the table in disgust. He swallows hard, trying to rid himself of the bitter taste.

Next to him, Juniper smirks. It's a nasty expression when combined with her empty-looking eyes. She dunks her straw into Felix's abandoned cup and leans over it. The drink hadn't tasted exceptionally strong to Felix, just rancid, but three plus a pitcher in less than five minutes seems dangerous. He's about to voice his concern when Juniper looks up.

"But would you like to dance?"

"What?"

Juniper nods at the dark room just beyond. It's full of people clumped together in groups and pairs, and Felix stares helplessly at the mass of bodies, their movements hardly recognisable as dancing. Even if he had the inclination to join them, he wouldn't have the first idea how to mimic them.

"I - I don't...really...I mean - that's not - "

"Suit yourself," Juniper interrupts with a shrug. She has to climb across him to exit the bench, using his shoulder for support, and once again Felix's entire attention is devoted to the sight of Juniper's legs, now covered only in black stockings. Not the kind worn with school uniforms, but the sort full of large, criss-crossing holes, like netting.

Without sparing a backward glance at Felix, Juniper joins a small cluster of girls just inside the other room, all moving in time with the thudding beat, arms rising and falling, close but not quite touching. Perhaps it's the current lack of blood in his brain, but Felix can suddenly see the appeal of the movements, clearly designed to call attention to certain parts of the body, and for the remainder of the song he's caught up in enjoying the sight. Juniper is smiling, and from here he can't see the haunted look in her eyes, and he can pretend it's the Juniper he knows, enjoying herself with friends like there's nothing wrong at all. Until the music changes seamlessly into a song with a more intense rhythm, and several young men take this as an invitation to join Juniper's group. Far from looking harassed, the girls seem to enjoy the company.

One particular boy positions himself just behind Juniper; far, far too close for Felix's liking. He runs distracted fingers through his hair, that primal call to action he associates with danger to Juniper tugging at him furiously, demanding he intervene. He contemplates whether a banishing charm might go unnoticed in the dark, or a stunning spell. He's just considering whether a Bat Bogey hex is too much, when the boy's hands are suddenly on Juniper's waist, guiding her back against him, and a mad rage erupts in Felix like he's never known. He stands, unsure what he's going to do but determined to do something, and his sudden, sharp movement knocks drinks from the table. In the split second he looks away to inspect the spill, there's a small bang, then a loud scream, and when Felix's head whips back round, the young man is on the floor.

The song plays on like nothing has happened, but the dancers around them have all stopped and stepped back, their collective whispers carrying over the music like rushing water. Juniper's chest is heaving, her head flicking warily from side to side. She reminds Felix of a cornered Vipertooth, evaluating its enemies, searching frantically for an escape route, and something about the comparison and the adrenaline still coursing through him activates his instincts. He crosses the room determinedly, grips Juniper by the elbow and pulls her out of the sea of muttering on-lookers, back through the kitchen, and out a door he hopes is an exit.

The warm night air hits him in the face as they step into the narrow alley between this house and the next, mercifully empty except for rubbish bins. Juniper rips her arm from Felix and totters a few steps away. She leans against the brick of the building, hands over her face, still breathing heavily.

"What happened?" asks Felix, voice calm in the way it always manages to be when he's focused.

"I didn't mean to. It - it just...happens sometimes."

"What did you do to him?"

"Just the Knock-Back jinx. I think."

Felix raises a curious eyebrow. "You can use your wand, now?"

Juniper shakes her head behind her hands. "No. Like I said, it just happens. I can't control it. It's like - being a little kid again, when you're angry and the magic just - just comes out." There's panic or hysteria at the back of her voice, and Felix reaches for his most soothing tones.

'It's alright. I doubt anyone saw you. And you're over seventeen, you don't have the trace on you anymore. You're not in trouble."

Dropping her hands, Juniper stares at Felix and the ice in her eyes make him shiver.

"What would they do, anyway? Snap my wand?" She tries to laugh, but it becomes a dry heave. Nerves begin to threaten Felix's composure.

"Juniper," he takes a step toward her, cautious as if she were an injured dragon. "Why don't you let me take you -" But Felix stops, unsure how to finish. Now he thinks about it, he isn't sure where to take her. The same idea occurs to Juniper.

"Where? To Tulip's house? She'd love that. Her parents don't even know she's gone. And I doubt anyone's been in my family's house in years. Unless maybe Jacob's camped out there." She forces another bitter laugh, clutching her stomach tightly.

"What about Khanna's place, then?" Felix suggests, when inspiration strikes him. "Or Hogwarts! Dumbledore won't mind, I'm sure of it. He's worried about you. Everyone is."

Somehow, this is the wrong thing to say. Juniper snorts, and tries to stand up straighter against the brick wall, an echo of anger flaring up behind her dark eyes.

"No. I'm not going back there. You know they're only worried about me because I'm the Cursebreaker." She pronounces the word like some vile epithet. "You think if they didn't need me for information or weren't worried I might turn out like my brother, they'd care about me at all? Dumbledore or Snape or the aurors? They don't worry about anyone else's safety! They don't keep tabs on Beatrice or any of the other students who've been hurt at the school. It's because they need me to take care of everything for them. That's the only thing I'm good for." Juniper wipes at her eyes viciously with the heel of her hand, smearing blue and black lines across her face. "And I can't even do that now, so, really, I don't matter at all, do I?

Felix shakes his head slowly, taken aback by this heated rant.

"That's not true."

"Yes, it is!" insists Juniper doggedly, wrapping her arms about herself as if the night were cold.

"That's not why I'm here," Felix argues, but Juniper only rolls her eyes.

"You're here because they sent you. If you're really here at all. This whole thing could just be some awful dream." Her words dissolve into a groan, and she slides down the bricks to the ground, arms clenched around her knees. Felix watches her in mounting frustration.

"Juniper, do you realise I left my job to be here? Without permission, without telling anyone. Probably, I'll end up sacked when they notice I'm gone, but I came anyway. Because I care more about you. And you know that I never cared about cursed vaults. I always wished you weren't so wrapped up in curse-breaking. I'm not here to help anyone use you for all that rubbish. I'm here to help you."

Juniper looks up at him, eyes still empty but her mouth trembling slightly. "I don't need help," she says stubbornly. Then she turns and heaves against the side of the building.

It's lucky, thinks Felix vaguely as he kneels next to her, that none of this happened three years ago, before he spent time in the wild. He can only imagine how he would have reacted to a girl vomiting in front of him when he was still at school. But Peruvian Vipertooth venom leaves one exceptionally ill, even after taking the cure, and Felix has spent more than his share of days sick as a pig, waiting for the toxin to leave his body. He's helped others on his expedition team, as well, so he lets practice take over, gathering Juniper's hair back for her and producing a handkerchief from the tip of his wand. Felix waits for the contractions in her stomach to subside, wishing uselessly that one of the bins next to them would suddenly turn into a dragon, maw open and flames spitting. Because that's more the sort of monster he'd prefer to rescue her from.

After a few minutes, Juniper climbs shakily to her feet. Felix takes her arm to help her, but she pulls away, letting the brick wall support her weight.

"I'm fine," she mumbles, wiping her hand across her mouth with a grimace. And Felix's temper, so patiently tamed throughout this entire bloody evening, flares unexpectedly.

"Are you physically incapable of saying anything else?" His sudden shout makes Juniper wince. "Juniper: You're. Not. Fine. And the only person who expects you to be is you. And pretending like you are isn't helping you or anybody else. Now, I can't make you let me help you - and you can carry on acting like a bloody idiot if that's really what you want - but you'll have to put up with me following you about everywhere because I'm not going to let this go."

Felix stops, panting slightly. He pushes back a bit of hair that's fallen into his eye. His anger now vented, he feels like a prat for shouting. He knows being angry at Juniper, so obviously irrational, won't solve anything, and he waits for her bitter retort or angry retreat. But Juniper only shakes her head, eyes still closed, and it isn't until tears leak from under her eyelids that Felix recognises her shaking as silent sobs.

"Juniper," he steps forward and reaches carefully for her, and for once, Juniper doesn't pull away. She leans into him, arms trapped against his chest, and buries her face in his shoulder. Felix can feel her crying quietly. "Juniper, I- I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"No," she interjects, voice muffled against his robes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Felix, I - I'm a mess, I know it. I'm such a mess right now. Everything's just - wrong, and I don't know how to fix it. I don't know why I'm like this right now. I don't know - how I feel or - or anything, and I'm - I'm so sorry."

Felix lets her cry, stroking a cautious hand across her hair. Tentative relief trickles through his veins, giddy and intoxicating, but a part of him can't help feeling ultimately disappointed. Supporting a crying, hopeless Juniper is far less romantic in real life than in his fantasy.

"Come on," he says quietly once her shaking has mostly subsided. "Let's get you out of here."

Juniper lifts her head from his shoulder and dabs at her eyes. "I can't apparate," she admits. Her face is too red and blotchy to tell if the confession embarrasses her.

"We can take the Knight bus. I've never actually ridden it before, but I think-"

"No!" Juniper shakes her head frantically, her curls coming unpinned. "No, please - I don't want anyone to see me like this. It'll be in the papers, for sure. That Skeeter woman's been sniffing around me all summer."

Her voice quavers again, and Felix wraps one arm tightly about her shoulder, pulling her against him to support her weight.

"Alright, alright," he reassures her, coaxing her feet forward. "We'll think of something else." They shuffle awkwardly out of the alley. "Aren't there muggle motors that take people places? Can't remember what they're called. Not buses."

"You mean a taxicab?"

"That's it." They turn onto a road lined with houses, but no motors. Felix guides her down the walk in the direction of city lights.

"How do you know about taxicabs?" Juniper asks between sniffles.

"Muggle studies," Felix admits. "You need at least an OWL in the class to work at the Ministry."

They have to walk another block before they reach a street full of lit shops and the occasional passing motor. Felix flings out an arm and one screeches to a halt. He fumbles with the handle on the door, struggling with the mechanism until the exasperated driver climbs out to assist him, mumbling about drunks. The man eyes Juniper suspiciously as she clambers into the back of the motor, giggling through scattered hiccoughs.

"Where are we going?" she mumbles as she leans back against the plastic covered seats. Felix climbs in next to her, eyeing the inside of the car dubiously.

"The Leaky Cauldon," he says as the driver returns to the front. The man glares at Felix from his little mounted mirror.

"You off your face?"

-

"Do you know, I've never actually been in the Leaky Cauldron before. Except in passing," remarks Juniper. She inspects the shabby room from her seat near the fireplace, lit in spite of the warm summer night. "It's nice."

"It's alright," shrugs Felix. He wishes he had somewhere more impressive to take her, but his room at the Leaky Cauldron is the only place he could think of where Juniper would both be safe and where they might have an uninterrupted conversation. After washing the vomit, tears, and smeared makeup from her face and having a quiet sit by the fire, Juniper seems in strangely serene spirits, and Felix sits across her nervously, wondering how to broach his desired topic.

"You stay here often?" inquires Juniper politely.

"When I'm in England."

She cocks her head curiously. "Why don't you stay at home?"

"I'm not currently welcome there. Not until I'm ready to 'give up this ridiculous dragon nonsense and return to my family obligations,'" Felix quotes wryly, but Juniper doesn't smile.

"I'm sorry."

Felix shrugs her sympathy away. Silence ticks between them again, and Juniper settles deeper into the winged armchair, closing her eyes. With her elaborate makeup gone, Felix thinks she looks pale again. Her hair has come out of it's pins, and something about the way the new length frames her face makes it seem thinner.

"Why did you cut your hair?" he asks.

Juniper sighs. She opens her eyes, but keeps her gaze firmly on the fire. Her fingers fiddle absently with her fallen curls.

"Sometimes, I sort of...space out. I feel like I'm back there - like it's happening to me again."

"I thought you said you couldn't remember what happened," Felix interjects sharply.

"I can't," Juniper confirms. "Not fully. Not like a story I could tell. It's just...bits and pieces. And they sort of...pop into my head sometimes when I'm not expecting. Or I have nightmares - I don't even know if they're about what really happened or if they're just my imagination - but I wake up and I...I don't know if I'm awake." She shudders. "That's the worst. Not knowing what's real. Not trusting myself. I thought - I don't know - I thought...if something were different about me - like my hair - then... maybe, it would be easier to tell the difference between the past and the present. Does that makes sense?"

"Sort of," Felix agrees vaguely, although he's not at all sure it does. "Does it work?"

"No." Juniper shakes her head. "Not when I need it to, anyway. The whole world just feels so...unreal sometimes. Like, for all I know I'm dreaming, and maybe I just cut my hair in my dream." She sighs heavily, and rubs the heels of her hands against her eyes as if they ache. "Maybe all of this is just a dream."

Worry crawls up Felix's spine. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, maybe I am cursed." Juniper pushes off from her chair and sidles to the window, arms clasped about herself. "Maybe I'm still in hospital and none of this is really happening."

"Juniper," Felix says firmly, trying to call her attention back to him. "You know this is real."

She shakes her head, back still turned.

"I don't know. I don't know what's happening with me. I just feel so..." She leans her forehead against the glass. "I don't know what I feel."

Felix stands, one hand rubbing nervously at the scar across his neck, entirely unsure how to approach this strange admission.

"I think...that's probably normal. Considering," he offers carefully.

"Not for me," argues Juniper, turning from the window and raking her fingers through her hair. "I'm scared all the time. I never used to be scared of anything, and now...I jump at shadows or sudden movement or people touching me unexpectedly." She pushes off from the sill and paces the room in quick steps. "It's like it is in a duel. You know that feeling? When you're dueling someone and your whole body is just ready...ready for action, ready to dodge a spell or attack. All tense, and defensive. But it's like that all the time. I can't shut it off, and it's...exhausting."

On the last word, Juniper leans back against a bed post. "Even when I sleep I have these awful nightmares and I'm more tired when I wake up then I was before. I know it's making me mad. I watch myself acting mad and stupid, and saying these horrid things to people. To my friends. Maybe I have gone mad." She lets her head loll back against the wooden post. Felix approaches her tentatively.

"I think, if you can be worried that you're mad, then you're probably not." He says reassuringly.

"I don't know. None of this seems very likely, does it?"

"None of what?"

"All this? You?" Juniper lifts her head to look at him, gesturing vaguely about the room. "Why would you be here when you're supposed to be Romania. That's not rational, is it? Probably you're just a visual representation of my conscience or better sense or something." She chuffs a mirthless laugh.

"I'm here because I was worried about you," Felix reminds her.

"But isn't that exactly what you'd say if I made you up in my head?" she retorts.

There's something about this abstract train of thought that irritates Felix. It's irrational, which means it isn't an argument he can win with facts. But she's finally talking, perhaps more than she's talked to anyone since the attack, and he's afraid to say anything that might shut her off again.

"So, how can I prove that this is real?" he asks, hiding his frustration. Juniper shrugs listlessly.

"I don't know. Say something...unexpected. Something I couldn't make up."

Felix wants to laugh, wildly. He's full to bursting with things he's never said to her that he's dying to say: that he loves her, that he's never really loved anyone but her, that he'll do anything to make her better again. He screams the words in his head, as if she might hear them if he just thinks loud enough, but he can't force his mouth to speak.

Instead, he takes her face in his hands and kisses her soundly.

A/N If you want the explicit version of this next scene, visit one of the links above, but be sure to return for the end.

It's in no way the perfect first kiss Felix has fantasized about: full of sparks and unspoken declarations of love. Juniper isn't expecting it, so her mouth isn't ready and their teeth clash. A few seconds of decidedly unromantic fumbling, and he pulls away to inspect her reaction.

Juniper's eyes are wide in surprise, but for the first time that day, there's a light behind them Felix recognises. She doesn't move, only stares. She wets her lips, shoulders heaving with the force of her shaky breath.

"That was..."

"Unexpected?" Felix provides when she cannot find the word.

Juniper nods, smiling faintly. "Very." And it's her smile. Her real smile. And her eyes. And the relief is a rush almost as heady as his proximity to her body. Felix's smile in return is small but genuine as he asks softly:

"So...does that prove this is real?"

Juniper meets his eyes the way she always has, quietly confident and determined to get what she wants.

"If I say no, will you do that again?"

This time, it's exactly how he pictured. Juniper's lips are so soft against his, they're almost insubstantial. She pauses after each long, light kiss, lips lingering on his mouth for a moment as if to savor it.

War rages in Felix as he tries to keep himself calm. Somewhere underneath the excitement and relief and joy of finally getting what he's wanted for so long, there's nagging doubts over whether this is really a good idea. But the need for more is stronger. He slides his hands into her hair, pulling her face closer to his to deepen their kiss. There's no resistance. Juniper softens against him, opening her mouth to let him explore. She presses her trembling hands against his shoulders, steadying herself against the onslaught. It's minutes before they break apart for air, still clinging to each other.

Felix wonders if its possible to get drunk from the alcohol in someone else's mouth. It's what she tastes like, and it leaves him heady and unbalanced. It's not at all what he imagined, but what with her has ever been?

Juniper's eyes are glassy as she stares transfixed at his lips, and Felix has to fight a primal urge to press her hips as tightly against his as he can. Some voice at the back of his head is warning him to stop, now, before things go too far. He opens his mouth to find a way to tell her, when Juniper bites the corner of her lip and the words evaporate. Felix grips her waist until she's flush against him, the way he's wanted to do since he saw her at that Quidditch match months ago. She's on her toes to make her body line up exactly with his, and the pressure against his trousers drives him mad.

It's really only minutes, but Felix isn't aware of time as he explores her body. It's another thing he's never managed to picture correctly, but it's better than he dreamed. So focused on feeling everything, Felix doesn't notice when Juniper move her hands until they're against skin. His skin. His shirt is untucked from his trousers, and her fingers slide under the waistband and there's another rush of blood and his mouth is suddenly dry.

We can't, thinks Felix automatically as Juniper's fingers trail across his lower belly, tracing the light outline of muscle. But is there a reason? Or is it only because it isn't usually done this way? There's dates, time spent, he thinks frantically, you have to earn the right. But Juniper never does anything the regular way. And haven't the best parts of his life always started with her dragging him along somewhere unexpected? Then her hands stroke across his hip bones, and Felix's body makes the decision for him.

His hands creep up her legs, where there's more muscle than he expected, and Felix wants to take time to explore them more thoroughly but he isn't in charge of his movements anymore. His fingers are just there when Juniper jerks, and this time her gasp isn't quite the same. There's something less pleasant in it, and Felix's skin turns cold as he pulls his hand back, unable to meet her eyes.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't-"

She stifles his apology with her lips, kissing him with new furvour as she fumbles for his wrist, pulling his hand back into place.

"It's good," she murmurs against his mouth. "So good, I've just...I've never actually done...this before."

How hasn't he thought of that? Felix cringes with shame. Perhaps because Juniper was dating Barnaby at the same time he was with Aurelie and so he'd just assumed all relationships follow the same natural progression. True, she and Barnaby were still in school, but that hardly means anything. School can't have changed that much since he left, and students were always finding ways to do this in spite of their prefects' best efforts. It never even occurred to Felix to hope that Barnaby hadn't had her first, he simply chose to overlook that fact in all his fantasies of her. The sudden knowledge that he might be the first, perhaps the only person, to touch Juniper like this is both elating and terrifying.

Felix is suddenly acutely aware of the rickety iron bed, and the peeling paint, and the raucous sounds from the pub below. This isn't romantic. There's nothing about this room or this situation that would make for a beautiful memory. He might be able to see past that, but this is more than their first time, it's her first time. Felix is sure he doesn't understand what that means for a girl, but he thinks, in general, it's supposed to be better than this.

"Juniper,' he mumbles against her mouth. "This-this isn't right."

"What?" 

Juniper freezes against him. He can feel her frantic heart beat against his chest, and he wraps his arms safely around her waist speaking into her hair.

"I mean...not like this. You're...this...it's supposed to be...perfect," Felix finishes, thankful she can't see how red his face his. He can feel her giggle, causing her body to ripple against him deliciously.

"Perfect? My life is hardly a novel, Felix."

"Special, then," he insists, his lips now pressed against her ear, searching for a safe place to kiss her that won't add any further fuel to the fire already burning through him. But Juniper turns, on her toes again, so she can press her forehead against his and speak directly at his face in a breathless voice

"It is special. I'm with you." Her trembling fingers slide across his cheeks, burying themselves in his hair. "It should be you. I want it to be you."

If Felix kept a diary, he would have accused her of reading it. How else could she know exactly what he's always wanted to hear? He can't suppress a shaky gasp. His lips brush hers as he asks:

"Are you sure?"

Juniper meet his gaze steadily, eyes dark, but a different sort of dark than this morning. There's something on fire behind them as she nods.

"Positive."

And for all the ways this isn’t how he planned, it's still perfect. Because it's her. It's them. The two of them together, finally joined the way they're supposed to be, as close as two people can get.

A short time later, Juniper shifts underneath Felix as their heart rates return to normal, and he rolls to the side to keep from crushing her. He snakes an arm under her to pull her back against him, not wanting to be away from her body for a second. Juniper curls up half beside, half on top of him, and rests her head on his shoulder, eyes closed and smile tired, and Felix realises she must be nearly as exhausted as he is.

"Juniper," he says softly, trying to infuse her name with everything he's feeling. Any other words would surely sound trite in the wake of what they've just done. Her smile widens, though her eyes remain shut.

"Felix," Juniper answers in a voice as full of meaning as his, and Felix sighs, familiar warmth spreading through his chest the way it always does when she says his name. Only now he has brand new memories of the way she can say his name, and he clutches her more tightly against him, satisfied in finally having one dream play out just right.

-

Felix wakes up in little waves. There's soft warmth surrounding him he doesn't understand, until the memory of Juniper from last night returns and he smiles. He reaches out to stroke her hair where it lays pooled on his chest and his hands clench against fabric. He opens his eyes. It's a sheet draped across him. And the bed beside him is empty.

Felix shoots up, instantly alert. A quick scan of the room reveals he's the only one in it. Throwing back the sheet, Felix leaps from the bed and searches the floor for his clothes. He has a vague memory of shedding them somewhere around the bed's foot, but they're nowhere to be found. He swivels around, looking for any kind of clue, and this time notices his robes laid across the chair by the fireplace. Definitely not where he let them drop in a careless heap the night before.

An uncomfortable writhing wakes in Felix's stomach as he tugs on his trousers. This is not how he was hoping this day would begin. He fumbles under his robes for his shirt only to find it isn't there. He barely has time to contemplate this new mystery when the door opens and Juniper enters, a tray with two steaming cups and a plate of scones hovering beside her. She starts upon seeing him, cheeks turning rosy, and Felix realises she's wearing his shirt on top of her skirt and stockings from the night before. The look is less openly suggestive than her sheer blouse, but he finds the sight of her in his clothes impossibly arousing.

Juniper's thoughts seem to be somewhere near his own. She grins sheepishly, still blushing, and turns to push the door closed. The tray makes its own way to the little table near Felix and sets itself down.

"Morning," says Juniper, and her voice is almost bright. So much like what Felix remembers of her, and he wants to laugh and cry at the same time. He settles for smiling at her as she lifts a mug from the tray. It's a beer mug, he notices, the kind with a large handle on the side and she threads her entire hand through it, balancing the other side with her wrist. His smile falters a little.

Juniper plops heavily onto the edge of the bed, curling her legs up underneath her and breathing in steam from the mug. Felix glances wistfully into the remaining cup, a regular tea cup, and entirely bereft of the coffee he craves. Forgoing drink, he sits down carefully beside Juniper, self-consciousness beginning to twist his stomach into knots. There's no reason he shouldn't be allowed to lean across and kiss her, surely? But something about her sipping tea, eyes wandering everywhere but at him reminds him too much of mornings with Aurelie, and the memories play havoc with his confidence.

"How are you feeling?" he asks uncertainly, watching Juniper sip her scalding tea without a wince.

"Honestly?" She ponders this a moment, before replying candidly. "Awful. Absolutely miserable. The worst I've ever felt in my life, I think." She takes another sip of her drink before adding, "But, if I can admit that, then I guess I'm a good sight better than yesterday, right?"

Juniper looks at Felix as if in confirmation, but he isn't sure what to say. His face is blank, an exact match for his current thoughts. Juniper sets her mug carefully onto the floor.

"Had to borrow your shirt, I hope you don't mind," she says, interrupting the awkward silence, and beginning to undo the buttons. "I had to run a quick errand. And I thought Tom might chuck me out if I showed up downstairs like this." She indicates the ridiculously thin and clinging fabric underneath his shirt that served as her blouse from the previous evening.

"Of course not," murmurs Felix. It's a moment before he processes her words, distracted as he is by her new state of undress, but before he can ask any questions, Juniper continues.

"I may need you to conjure something up for me to wear, if you can. I've got a fair bit to do this morning and I can't do it in this. And I don't really carry my wand much anymore," she admits with a small, resigned smile.

This rouses Felix from his stupor. He scoots across the rumpled sheets to sit closer to her.

"Juniper, it's...good that you feel a bit better, but you really shouldn't overdo it. If there's things you need to do, let me take care of it. You need to take it easy for a while. Get back to Khanna's before that Auror - Moody - finds out."

This time, Juniper's smile reaches her eyes. Which still seem tired and sad, but no longer have the terrifying dead look of yesterday.

"Felix," she begins, then shakes her head as if overcome with what she has to say. "You are...extraordinary. But you can't do everything for me. I've got about a dozen apologies I need to make and they need to be done sooner rather than later. Starting with you."

"Me?" Felix raises his eyebrows in surprise. "What for?"

"Everything." Juniper shifts on the lumpy mattress to face Felix more fully. "Ignoring you. Worrying you. Making you come all the way up here. Just being stupid and selfish. You've no idea how embarrassed I am about all this."

"You don't have to be embarrassed," argues Felix, but Juniper interrupts, face screwed up as if in pain.

"I could have cost you your job, Felix!" she exclaims. "You've given up your whole life for this job, and worked so hard, and this is the second time I've almost jeopardised that. But I promise it's the last." She takes a steadying breath and picks at the fabric criss-crossing her legs. "Look, I'm not pretending like - like I'm better or-or back to normal or anything, I know I'm not. I don't even know what normal looks like for me anymore. I'm sure it's not what it used to be. But, I think...I might be past the worst of it now. Entirely because of you." Juniper shoots him a small, embarrassed smile. "I think... I'm thinking more clearly than I have in a while, and I- I know the direction I need to go, even if it's going to take me forever to get there. So you don't have to worry about me anymore. And I- I just need to know that nothing's changed - between us, I mean."

Everything in Felix's chest crumples. His insides sinking toward his feet, leaving his legs heavy and leaden and his head too light. Keeping upright is suddenly the only thing he can concentrate on. Juniper, still looking determinedly at her legs where she's plucked a hole in the fabric of her stockings, notices nothing.

"I know I've still got a long way to go, and I think the only way I can get through it is if I know that you're - that we're - still friends. That I haven't messed that up being...being stupid."

She finally lifts her eyes to peer furtively into his face, and Felix can't imagine what it looks like now, but it feels like it's been turned to stone.

"Of course," he hears himself say, and Juniper sighs, shoulders relaxing in relief.

"I know it doesn't make up for everything I've put you through, but," she fumbles with the waistband of her skirt, retrieving a small slip of parchment. "I've got a portkey all arranged for you. It's set up to leave in an hour, and it'll actually take you inside the Reserve itself. Or it should. I've got it from a, well, a source that owed me a favour, and he's really only semi-reliable at the best of times, but he staked his hoodie on this portkey working, and that's really the highest promise I could wrench from him."

Felix listens to Juniper prattle on without really hearing. At some point, she pauses, and inspects his face more closely.

"Are you feeling alright?"

Felix can't respond. He doesn't feel anything. He feels nothing when they say goodbye, a brief embrace and an awkward smile all Juniper is willing to bestow. Nor when he arrives in Romania, marching straight to the Peruvian Vipertooth grounds to relieve Rashbold, who is fortunately too exhausted to ask many questions. Felix continues to feel nothing as he takes the next shifts, his body going through the familiar motions without the help of any conscious thought. It's only when he returns to his quiet, dusty room, crawls under the tatty sheet of his camp bed, and buries his face in his pillow that tears finally come.

-

Read Chapter 9 |Here’s the link to the Masterpost.

[saiilorstars]

The Beginning of Everything

Ch. 17: Dorothy Bell & the Osirans

Fandom: Doctor Who

Pairing: Female OC x 10th Doctor

(OC Renata’s Face claim: Marjorie de Sousa) (Gabby’s face claim: Victoria Moroles)

// Story Masterlist // 

~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~

DISCLAIMER: This chapter’s plotline is from Doctor Who’s comic stories. Most of the dialogue is directly written from the comic. The plot is NOT mine.

Chapter Summary: The time travelers are back in New York for an interesting auction that leads them to a celebrity and alien Gods.

For some reason, the Doctor had expressed a need to go to New York due to some strange readings he was getting from the TARDIS. None of his companions, including Renata, had much trouble accepting the impromptu visit since it was the perfect chance for Gabby to visit home and catch up with her family. While Gabby was at home, the remainder of the travelers went to a top-notch secret auction of 'alien' objects.

"Do I hear a hundred thousand? 200,000?" a chirpy young woman raised a finger at a gentleman in the crowd responsible for the new bid amount.

Way in the back, the Doctor rudely snorted.

Renata, who sat beside him, shot him a glance for his action. "Would you keep it down? I thought you were the one who said we needed to keep a low profile. Whatever that means."

"It just means staying low and not getting noticed," Donna chimed in from her seat which was on Renata's left.

"Yes, thanks Donna," the Time Lady huffed and crossed one leg over the other then put her hands over her lap. "I don't see the need for us to entertain this silly auction. Why, pray tell, are you making us sit through this, Doctor, when we all know you can just steal whatever you're looking for in its storage room?"

There was an inevitable smirk on the Doctor's face as he glanced at Renata. "Are you saying I can just steal something and be on our way?" Renata rolled her eyes at his sarcasm. "Renée, I am shocked - no, flabbergasted. Maybe I am rubbing off on you."

"You wouldn't be so lucky," Renata flatly said, though there was a hint of pink on her cheeks.

Donna eyed the two aliens as much as she could from where she sat. Those two had been acting...different. And by different, it meant less arguing and more harmless bantering. There was a more clear closeness between the two that, honestly, gave a warmer vibe to the whole TARDIS. Gabby was the only one who often seemed to be on edge about the two aliens, but she wouldn't say why.

"Doctor, why the hell are we here anyways?" Renata asked after watching some suited man pay over a million dollars for an object she was pretty sure was only a hair dryer. Almost all these objects, actually, resembled more human characteristics than alien as they were made out to be.

"I told you, I got some strange readings back in the TARDIS that I couldn't ignore," the Doctor picked up the pamphlet they'd been handed at the start of the auction and went through it again. When he found the item he'd been waiting for, he called one of the employees to inquire over it. The helpful woman informed him the object needed to be bid on privately at the front desk.

So he had the trio get up and go do just that.

"I'm pretty sure you don't have the kind of money to pay for these things," Renata whispered to the Doctor on their way out.

"And I'm pretty sure they don't have clearance to be selling this object," the man retorted with. He pulled out his sonic from his coat's inner pocket and activated its communication feature. "Message to UNIT HQ, NY. Flag this location with a clean up requirement for a few suspicious items, maybe ex-Torcheood - immediate effect."

"What's Torchwood?" Renata dreaded to ask but instead of getting the answer from the Doctor it was Donna who replied. She vaguely remembered the name from her time with the Master, but she could do with a fresh reminder.

"Some facility that was responsible for getting a good half of us killed with their robotic men and weird pepper bottles."

"She means Cybermen and Daleks," went the Doctor who wasn't very interested in retelling the story. He only informed Donna of the full story because she wouldn't leave him alone about it.

"What!?" Renata exclaimed. She honestly could have paid a little more attention while she was trapped with the Master. Once she got to thinking, she did remember a few times the Master mentioned the name 'Torchwood' sometimes but it wasn't like she paid much attention to him. He had a nasty habit of insulting her most of the time so she learned - as a survival mechanism - to ignore a lot of his words.

Before the Doctor could defend himself from any looming argument, he felt a very hard fist connect with the back of his head. He fell forwards, flat on his stomach and with a nose first-down on the ground.

"Doctor!" Renata was horrified at the sight.

"Uh, Ren…" Donna very gently shook the Time Lady's arm, meaning for Renata to look ahead but the woman was too focused on the Doctor.

"Don't make a move," warned a different woman, the culprit of such a blow. She was a young dark skinned woman dressed in all black. She held a high-tech gun on the trio as well as the Doctor's fallen sonic screwdriver.

But instead of being scared, Renata was furious. "And just who the hell do you think you are? And put that thing down before you hurt someone else!"

The woman raised an eyebrow at Renata, as if questioning whether or not Renata was actually demanding things from her when she held the gun. "I don't think you realize your position right now."

"I think I do, actually," the Doctor groaned as he got back on his feet. Renata yanked him to her side and pulled him slightly down in order for her to better check the spot where the woman's fist had knocked him.

"English accents," the woman noted from the trio. "So pompous. Lot 28, the artifact. You bought it and I need it."

"Wait a minute," Donna's eyebrows wrinkled together. "You think we bought it? Whatever the hell it is, we don't have it."

"Ha, sure," the woman scoffed.

"We really don't," Renata's eyes hardened. "And what kind of asking involves punching someone then threatening them with a gun and a stolen sonic?" she pointed specifically to the blue-lit sonic screwdriver in the woman's hand.

"A sonic?" the woman tilted her head at the sonic screwdriver, specifically eyeing the blue glow at the top.

"Unauthorized user alert," went the Doctor all of a sudden and in the next moment the woman was shocked. It was at the same time that the Doctor tackled the woman to her floor. "I haven't got a collection ticket. We're going to look silly at the front desk!"

"Don't be silly with the human who's trying to kill us," scolded Renata.

"We want to know who bought the artifact too," the Doctor informed the woman as he swiped her gun away then sat on the floor like nothing had occurred.

"Really?" the woman sat up, all of a sudden smiling. "Oh, well then we maybe we can work together."

"I think not!" went Renata and Donna at the same time.

"Yeah, I don't think my friends are very keen on you," the Doctor muttered as he disarmed the gun and dropped it to his side.

"Well, we're after the same thing so we can help each other out," the woman insisted as she pushed herself up to her feet. "And in good faith, I'll even tell you my name: Cleo."

"Oh and that's supposed to make us forget you nearly tried to kill him?" Renata gestured to the Doctor still sitting on the floor.

"And us!" Donna reminded with a huff.

"I only wanted the artifact before it got into the wrong hands," Cleo shrugged. "I imagine that's what you all want as well?"

The Doctor swayed his head specifically at Renata, as if trying to say Cleo made a good point. The Time Lady's face indicated pure warning. Do. Not. Do. It.

"We really can't let it fall into the wrong hands," the Doctor reminded her. Renata huffed and looked away, knowing what he was going to do next. "Alright Cleo, you can help us. But don't use that gun again on anything or anyone or it'll just zap you like my—" he swooped up his sonic from the floor, "-little friend did here."

"Oh, so we're just going to ignore my very wise advice not to let the evil woman come with us?" Renata was at his side the moment they started walking again.

"Better to have people who want to kill us near us then far away where we can't see them," he said.

"I'm not sure I like that logic," Donna mumbled to Renata who agreed with a nod of her head.

In a short amount of time, Cleo had taken the lead with a high-tech tracking device the Doctor knew she hadn't gotten out of the local market.

"Where's that Jeridian energy tracer from?" he inquired as Cleo led them out the backdoor of the building.

"Does it matter? I got a signal," Cleo shrugged.

"It really does, though."

"That car right there!" Cleo pointed a car that was just pulling out of the alley into the street.

The Doctor aimed his sonic at the car that was too far to stop. At the same time, Donna yelped that they were no longer alone. A group of armed men were making their way out of the building as well.

"C'mon!" Renata grabbed both Donna and the Doctor to lead them behind a dumpster to hide in. Cleo came as well but she was more interested in the readings of her tracker than the men almost finding them.

"I can't trace the signal!" the woman groaned as she continuously played with the controls.

"But I did," the Doctor grinned at his sonic. "I can pinpoint the power signature to within a few meters once it stops moving."

Cleo lowered her device to look at the man. "Okay, who are you? And what the hell is that?" she nodded to the sonic.

"Oh, right, we haven't been introduced," the Doctor smiled so casually Renata wanted to smack him on the spot. "I'm the Doctor, that's Renata and that's Donna." He then got up, pulling Renata who then pulled Donna towards the street after the men had passed. "Why are you so interested in this artifact, Cleo?" he asked once they were walking on the sidewalk.

"Not me," Cleo put a hand over her chest. "I just hunt that stuff for collectors. A lot of people are interested in that thing but I've no idea why."

"You never thought to ask what you were hunting down?" Renata incredulously glanced at the woman who merely shook her head. "Ignorance is not bliss, you know? You could get hurt."

"I know how to take care of myself just fine," Cleo smiled. "And I don't care where that stuff's from as long as I can put a high price on it."

"Lovely," Donna shook her head.

"Taxi!" Cleo called at the corner of the street, wailing her hand in the air. At her beck and call, a yellow taxi club stopped in front of her. "Come on! See as you're so in charge…" she pointed at the Doctor, "I'm following you. We'll split the proceeds."

"She's not kidding," Renata side-glanced the Doctor with a tilted head.

"Better to have her near," he reminded her of his logic that she could not disagree more with. She was very worried over this mysterious object the Doctor refused to tell her about, saying it was just something that shouldn't be in a human's hands. And this Cleo woman didn't exactly give her a good vibe.

And all those feelings of concern and worriment were, without her knowledge, reaching someone else in the city. A young girl whom Renata wanted far away from them right now.

The tracing had brought them to the upper east side of New York. It was an upscale building that had the end of the trace.

"It's coming from that apartment," the Doctor led the way towards the door marked '4G' at the end of the hallway. Just as he knocked, an small explosion rocked them all to the ground.

Cleo shrieked after feeling most of the explosion hit her. "What did you do to my gun!?"

"Did you seriously just try to shoot us again!?" Renata was about to lose it. The woman had tried shooting them while their backs were to her.

"I told you I didn't like guns," the Doctor frowned at Cleo.

Suddenly, the door he'd knocked on opened up to reveal a ginger woman with another gun pointed at them.

"Oh, that's just great!" Donna huffed at their odds.

"I don't know who you are but you need to come in right now before I shoot you all," the ginger warned and stepped aside.

The group were forced to go in, but secretly the Doctor knew it was their best chance to get the object back anyways.

"Oh my God, you're Dorothy Bell!" Cleo gasped at the sight of a middle-aged blonde woman. Said blonde woman was scowling back.

"What, the movie star?" Donna squinted her eyes for a second before they widened like Cleo's. "Oh my God! It is! You are!"

"I'm your biggest fan!" Cleo laughed in delight as she truly took a look at the apartment. It was full of trophies and awards and pictures. "Is this your Oscar for Tennessee Waltz? They should have given you the Oscar for the love scene in the Great Pretender too. It was so intense—"

"Shut up!" the ginger woman raised her gun as well. "Or I'll shoot you!"

"So shoot me!" Cleo laughed as she picked up a golden trophy.

"Oh my God I'm so confused," Renata deeply exhaled. Since she started travelling with the Doctor, she understood less and less of what went on with her life but this point...this was a new low point.

"Put that down!" Dorothy exclaimed.

"Of course," Cleo's lips suddenly curled into a smirk. "Catch!" she threw the trophy directly at the ginger woman, smacking her in the face and knocking her down. With the commotion, Cleo then reached for a golden object sitting on the table. It resembled a gun but with a wide circular end.

"Don't be so stupid," hissed Dorothy. "Don't touch that! You've no idea what it is!"

"Oh, but I do," Cleo shrugged.

"This—" Renata gestured at Cleo for the Doctor to see, "-is why I told you that she shouldn't have come!"

"Yeah alright, I see your point," the Doctor rolled his eyes. Of course she would pick this moment to say 'I told you so!'.

"I know what you want to use this for, Dorothy! You want to use it to stop getting old. To get young again — to reverse the aging process," Cleo looked at the blonde who seemed now a bit frightened about her knowledge. "People like you think this thing is a fountain of youth. But it isn't. I mean, you can use it for that purpose but it can be used for so much more." Cleo ignited the object and a golden energy struck from it to attack the ginger woman. A golden and orange glow surrounded the woman but it looked like her figure was beginning to shrink. When the glow died down there was a baby girl with a tuft of orange hair right where the woman had been.

"Did that thing just turn her into a baby!?" Donna's eyes bulged to the point of nearly popping from her head.

"This something you can 'use', Cleo? How do you know so much about it?" the Doctor asked the woman who definitely seemed comfortable with the object than an ordinary human would be.

"I could ask you the same thing," Cleo retorted, her eyes narrowing on the Doctor. She dragged the object over Donna first, making the ginger woman squeak in terror.

Renata quickly positioned herself in front of Donna. "Don't you dare!"

"Why? I'm having way too much fun formation point but I'm not a total killjoy. Let's give that movie star what she wants!" Cleo pulled the 'gun' on Dorothy but the Doctor jumped in front of the blonde and received the blow instead.

"Doctor!" Renata exclaimed, almost running towards him when Donna caught her arm. "You need to stop! It's not having the same effect on him!" Renata begged from Cleo as the golden energy surrounded the Doctor.

Unlike the ginger woman, he didn't shrink but instead the energy became stronger, blinding. The Doctor groaned and clutched his head in terrible pain.

"Retro-regeneration!" Renata realized just as the man before him changed. With a new fierce determination, she ran directly for Cleo and tackled the woman down. "GIVE ME THAT THIS INSTANT!"

"Doctor…?" Donna hesitated to help the man on the ground, since he looked nothing like the Doctor she knew. This man had thinner hair and glimmering blue eyes, not to mention more protruding ears.

"It's me, Donna...just...stop them…" the Doctor, in his 9th incarnation, raised a finger towards Renata and Cleo currently battling it out for the damn object causing all the trouble.

Donna turned to the two women but before she even stepped towards them Dorothy beat her to it. All three women had a grip on the object but Renata, being stronger, seemingly was getting the upper hand.

"Renata! You need to stop! The local time field is in flux, be careful!" the Doctor tried getting up but that retro-regeneration was a strong thing. His legs actually felt wibbly-wobbly.

"Doctor — that thing is glowing again!" Donna noticed the golden energy beginning to surge from the object. "But no one's shooting!"

But there came another explosion that threw every women in different corners of the room with only a billowing golden energy afterwards.

At the same time that Renata felt a new surge of energy - the same energy in the air - course through her blood, Gabby felt it from her location. Her best friend, Cindy, was busy babbling about something while they walked the night streets of New York but Gabby had to stop listening. There was something in her head and in her heart that was telling her, yelling at her that Renata was in trouble.

By the time the Doctor and Donna woke up, Cleo was gone with the artifact. The Doctor, now back in his current incarnation, dashed for Renata who was outcold on the ground.

"She's back to normal," Donna pointed at the ginger woman now getting up as well. "Everyone is."

"Hey Renée — wake up," the Doctor gently pulled Renata into a sitting position, but the Time Lady remained unconscious.

"Can somebody help me?" the ginger woman was trying to move Dorothy's body to the nearby couch. Donna figured she was better off helping the humans than trying to wake up a Time Lady. Between the two of them, they moved Dorothy and all the meanwhile Renata stayed unconscious.

"Renée, you're, uh...you're not waking up…" there was a hint of fear in the Doctor's tone as he relentlessly shook Renata's body. He had no idea what happened to her and what could possibly keep her out could like this. What if he had finally hurt her so badly that she was...she was...

Renata gasped awake suddenly. Her eyes flickered from one side to the other as her brain caught up with what happened. "What the — Cleo!" her expression morphed into a deep scowl. "I told you we shouldn't have trusted her!" Her expression, however, seemed to fade when she noticed the Doctor's face. "What? Why are you smiling like an idiot?"

The Doctor had a growing smile on his face, but it was spreading far too much. "I thought you were really hurt..."

"Well, I just got zapped with some energy! I have no idea where it came from but-"

The Doctor pulled her body forwards for a hug, instantly quieting her. "You just scared me," he whispered as he held her tightly.

Renata blinked out of surprise. Slowly, her hands raised to rest on her back, but it was done rather awkwardly. She wasn't used to this type of touch from anyone. She'd made a damn good job keeping the Doctor away from her but it'd been getting harder lately. "Doctor, I'm fine," she patted his back and just barely resisted the urge to bring her hand up to his hair. She could've probably ran her fingers through it to ease his nerves...

But that was probably something a friend wouldn't do. Donna certainly wouldn't.

When the Doctor finally pulled her away, he still held her by the waist. He didn't even let her go when he pulled her up to her feet. He only studied her body to find any obvious injuries. "When we get back to the TARDIS, I'm going to run some tests on you just to make sure you're alright."

"I already told you that I'm fine," Renata rolled her eyes. Honestly, he was making a big deal out of nothing.

But she was thinking like he was. "This isn't the first time you've been hit with an unknown energy."

"Right..." So maybe she hadn't thought about that but she wanted to focus on the bigger problem: Cleo and the missing artifact. However, it was then that ginger woman — who introduced herself as Vivian — brought them to Dorothy and explained her situation.

As it turned out, Dorothy had some type of illness that was going to end life very soon. Hearing about this magical artifact that could cure anything, Dorothy sought out to buy it no matter how much it cost. After running a few quick exam on the sonic screwdriver, the Doctor realized that Dorothy was now connected to the power field of the artifact and that it was giving off even stronger signals than before. It meant that wherever Cleo and the artifact were, they would be able to track it with Dorothy's help.

"Uuh, Doctor…" Renata was the first to spy Dorothy's body levitating off the couch. "Don't think that's supposed to happen."

"Oh my God, what is it now?" Donna stepped backwards while the Doctor rushed to get up close.

"What's happening to her!?" Vivian shrieked in horror.

"If I didn't know better, I would say she was regenerating," the Doctor blinked, clearly flabbergasted with the sight.

"Hello?" they suddenly heard Gabby's voice. Renata spotted the young girl poking her head into the room. Along with her came an Asian girl with black hair.

"How'd you find us?" frowned Renata. She really didn't want Gabby anywhere near this place.

"You...wouldn't really believe me," Gabby smiled awkwardly since even she didn't understand how she'd found this place so fast. All she knew was that someone — Renata — had been in trouble and she just followed that sense. It brought her directly to this apartment. "Are you okay?" she walked up to Renata with a full etched concern on her face.

"Yes, why wouldn't I be?"

"Um, Maybe because you was that with some artifacts energy?" Donna reminded, something that earned quite a look from the Time Lady.

"Energy? What type of energy? Did it hurt you?" Gabby's mind immediately went to the prediction that Ood had made. What if this was the place where Renata would die?

"I'm fine," Renata smiled as wide as possible, almost as if she was reading Gabby's thoughts. She looked over Gabby's head and saw the black-haired girl. "And who's that?"

"Cindy," the girl introduced herself with a small wave since most of her attention was landing on the walls so clearly pointing out Dorothy Bell's life.

"She just followed me, sorry," Gabby apologized. In all her running, she didn't exactly tell her best friend where she was leading her to.

"Uh, excuse me!?" Vivian called back to Dorothy's situation. The unconscious woman was glowing white and still levitating. "She's pulsing now!"

The Doctor hurried to the window to see the reflection of the same glowing energy shooting into the sky.

Dorothy's body moved so that her head was closer to the ceiling and her feet below. The glow around her was becoming unbearingly blinding. But just like that, it died down.

Dorothy Bell stood in front of them, looking younger than ever. She was dressed in all white that consisted of a long pencil skirt tucked over a blouse and with a blazer. She was even wearing a 50s white hat.

"Ooh, so not regeneration but rejuvenation," the Doctor blinked.

"I was a bell and now I'm a key! I'm both!" Dorothy laughed, even the sound of her voice sounded completely new.

"She's now glowing orange," Renata raised an eyebrow and looked at the Doctor. "She's just rejuvenated and now she's glowing orange. How much trouble is this?"

"I have no bloody idea," admitted the man. He brought a hand to scratch the top of his head. He'd never seen anything like this.

The smile on Dorothy's face slowly faded as she looked out the window. "That looks wrong," she said suddenly.

"What does?" the Doctor watched her carefully. "The city?"

Dorothy looked back at the group, letting her bleached blonde hair flip over her shoulder. She walked up to them and smiled at Renata. "You in-took part of my energy."

"Did not mean to, honestly," Renata took a cautious step back.

"I know, and I am so sorry."

Renata tilted her head. For some reason, that didn't really sound like it was coming from Dorothy. "Sorry…? For what?"

Behind her, Gabby gulped. Was this another reminder of what was coming?

But Dorothy suddenly groaned as she staggered on her feet. The glow around her became a little bit stronger in that one moment. Everyone rushed to help her stay on her feet.

"Dorothy?" the Doctor called. "You are still Dorothy, right?"

"Who else is she supposed to be?" Cindy was staring at the entire procession like a true civilian: she was so lost. And a bit scared. What the hell had Gabby brought her into?

"I'm not, yet I am. How strange. We are merged as one. But then again, not quite as one...missing final component," Dorothy spoke in pauses and in different voices. One was hers and another sounded like a computerized female voice.

"We?" the Doctor raised an eyebrow at her. "You and who else? Tell me what's wrong, how are you feeling?"

"Nothing is wrong. I can put everything together they it's supposed to be. The city, I can make it better. More efficient." Dorothy turned away from the group and walked towards the window. She touched the glass with one palm and in that instant disintegrated the glass into nothing. The same blinding light that had her earlier once again enveloped her as she shot into the sky.

"What is going on with her?" Donna couldn't understand and she wasn't the only one.

"She's taking the new ones for a spin! Vivian where is she heading?" the Doctor turned to the ginger woman. "What's the first place Dorothy would go to?"

"The hospital. St. Joe's. Not for treatment though, she's funding a new wing and they're building it now," the woman quickly answered.

"Ah, Now I understand."

"Why we wanted the artifact?" Vivian sighed. "She wanted to be able to see the construction work completed, to be there when it opened."

"It's all sad but defying death is a huge mistake," Renata pointed at the woman, not that she thought a human would understand. It was natural that a human — with such short life spans — would want to elongate their lives.

"Are we going to follow her?" Gabby asked the Time Lady who then pointed a thumb at the Doctor.

"You think he's going to let it go?"

Gabby smiled and shook her head.

~ 0 ~

After leaving Vivian back in the apartment, hoping that they would have some luck and Dorothy might just go back to the apartment where her good friend was, the group rushed to follow the trace they had on Dorothy. Like Vivian had said, Dorothy had come to the hospital she was funding. With swift movements of her arms, she finished the construction herself and left a pretty damn good building.

On their way, however, a black car drove past them and an angry Cleo yelled at them through the passenger's door.

"I really hate her," Renata shook her head.

"Same," agreed Donna with a similar scowl on her face.

The car had stopped not too far from them and out came Cleo with two other men. They were making their way towards them and fearing they would get in the way, the Doctor ushered Renata forwards.

"Renée, try talking to Dorothy," he said as soon as they stood a few feet from the woman. She was still gazing at the newly finished hospital, almost as if she wasn't even aware that they had found her.

"What? Why me!?" the Time Lady frowned.

"Because she seems to like you? Just try it please," the Doctor gently pushed her forwards. "We can't afford to lose her when we don't understand what kind of abilities she now has."

Renata knew he was right. It would be irresponsible to let Dorothy get lost in the city again. "Fine," she huffed and walked towards Dorothy. "Um...Dorothy?"

At the sound of her voice, Dorothy turned around with a dreamy smile. "Hello again. See what I did? Nine extra levels. There's everything they will need," she gestured to the building behind her.

"It's all great…" Renata admitted it was a cool power to have. "But...maybe we should take it easy. It's not very wise to go running about using these abilities when you don't know how strong they are or what side effects can they have on you."

"Well honey, I do feel a bit wobbly. It's all so new and strange but I can't say I'm enjoying it. but to be honest my dear Renata, listen to your instincts. You will totally get what's going on." As Dorothy said those words, Renata stiffened as she had no idea what Dorothy was going on about. Dorothy walked up to the Time Lady with the sweetest smile anyone could have. "Looking at you, I can see a glow around you…it's fading. Unfairly too."

"Oh please just stop," Renata rolled her eyes and stepped away. "I need you to listen to me and just take a breather."

"Um, Ren?" Gabby called from her spot. She'd moved away from the Doctor and was pointing at the man arguing with Cleo and two other men. "That's not sounding very good."

"Yeah, got that," Renata sighed. "Look, Dorothy, I just need you to come back with me so we can make sure everything is okay."

Dorothy backtracked several steps before the glow around her became a dark red. She levitated into the air and struck a hand forwards. All arguments between the others ended when the artifact came zipping out from one of the men's pockets and into Dorothy's hand.

"Goddess, we have awaited for your arrival!" one of the men with Cleo, a man in a white lab coat named Hanif, exclaimed.

"That's ours," Dorothy's voice overlapped with the computerized voice from before. "Mine. That's what was missing."

"Dorothy?" Renata called from below. "Remember that thing I said about taking a breather? Now might be the right time to take it. Please?"

"Internal enhancements in progress. Biogenetic overhaul completed." Dorothy's hand seemed to merge with the artifact and disappeared altogether.

"Dorothy, we really need you to listen!" called the Doctor, but the woman just smiled at him.

"I'm fine," she assured. "Look at you all. So many possibilities. You Cleo, I haven't forgotten about you," she raised a finger at the woman in question. "You going to behave yourself now?"

"Y-yes ma'am," Cleo gave a quick nod of her head. "I really am a fan."

"And Doctor, you are an adept, present in the here and the now and yet not. You move through this reality like smoke, a beautiful, dangerous idea. You are a very complicated space-time event."

"Oh come now, I bet you say that to all the boys!"

"Not the time," Renata shot him a quick look.

"Don't joke," scolded Dorothy, very much sounding like Renata in that moment. "I saw what you did. You made Vivian stay at home. You kept her safe, protecting her."

"It was just an instinct…" the Doctor tried to say, but Dorothy shook her head.

"No, you're attuned to the Flux Of potentialities. If she had come here this man—" Dorothy pointed at the man suited in black, Erik, who'd come along with Cleo, "-would have shot her as she tried to protect me. She would be dead now. In a world parallel to this one, Vivian is dead."

"What?" went the man indignantly. "But I haven't!"

"I can see the possibilities," Dorothy began to lower herself to the ground but even then the glow around her hadn't dissipated.

"We came here only to welcome you," Erik began to say when the second man, Hanif, added.

"And to collect, humbly, our reward."

"Oh really — that's what brought you here," Donna scowled at the two men.

"We know only what our forebears told us," Hanif said. "Generations of us have guarded the secrets of your kind for Millennia. You are a herald, one who the return of the Gods."

"Now wait a minute," the Doctor called for the attention before it got more lost. "Dorothy thought the artifact was a fountain of youth while you think it's a radio for talking to the gods, is that it? It isn't either of those things."

"Let me guess, you've seen this before?" Renata wasn't even asking at this point, she just presumed he had to know.

"Then do tell us what the artifact was for, Doctor," Hanif pointed. "If this woman isn't a goddess, then she is a harbinger of the Gods."

"Lower East gods of yours...you're a religious sect. A cult?"

"Oh but there's nothing anymore," Dorothy suddenly went, raising her head as if she were looking up to the sky. "There's no more Gods."

"Ooh…" the Doctor blinked and slowly turned to Dorothy with a new look in his eyes. "Dorothy, hold on, I think I know what you are...what you've become."

But Dorothy's face had become the place for a stream.

"Oh now you've made her cry! Good going!" Renata exclaimed to the three men. "Dorothy, you should calm down…"

Dorothy shook her head away but seized Renata's wrist and pulled her up into the sky. The Time Lady screamed out of shock, and after realizing how high she was going it turned into screams of fear.

"Dorothy, come back! You're a Quantum Harvester!" the Doctor was left to holler from the ground. His hearts were pounding wildly under his chest as he saw Renata disappear into the sky.

"Doctor, we have to get Ren back!" Donna shook him by the arm while Gabby took hold of his other arm.

"What if she hurts Renata!?" Gabby started panicking, thinking this was yet the way Renata was supposed to go.

"Hello," Cindy suddenly called, "Was like some rustic form of particle physics terminology? Before anyone says anything, yes I do understand science."

"Beginning to like you a bit," the Doctor said but he was more focused on the missing Time Lady. "What was your name?"

"Cindy, and I'd really like to know what the hell is going on here?" Cindy looked more directly at Gabby for the answers. She'd been following Gabby everywhere and sure Gabby had already warned her that this was out of her world but would it kill Gabby to explain it better?

"Cleo warned us that you could mess things up for us," Hanif's words drew the traveler's attention and alerted them to the silver gun aimed on them.

"Thanks to you and your little friends, none of this went the way we anticipated. You are responsible—" Erik had been saying before Cleo pulled him back.

"Wait!" the woman blocked the gun's way to the travelers. "I am strategizing here! This is tactical, what you keeping me around for. Much as I hate to admit it, Doctor, you seem to know what's going on here. If we're going to follow the Hollywood all-high we should join forces."

"I would like to point out that Renata told us not to trust her," Donna quietly told the Doctor while keeping narrowed eyes on Cleo.

"You can walk behind me if you'd like," Cleo offered as another sign of good faith.

"Donna, we don't have much of a choice," the Doctor muttered. He needed everything and everyone at his disposal to get Renata back.

With his sonic, he managed to pick up a trace on Dorothy again and so that's what they did: follow it. With Cleo's help, they now had a car at their disposal to take them around the city as they went on a chase for Dorothy.

"So when are you going to explain what Dorothy is?" Donna asked, though she wasn't sure if the Doctor was listening to her. He'd been keenly focused on his sonic so far.

"She's a fusion of a human being and incredibly advanced alien technology. That's all."

"But is she dangerous?" asked Gabby who kept chewing on her lower lip.

"I don't think so," the Doctor said and that's the only thing keeping him somewhat calm. "I think she's an overwhelmed being who grabbed the person who was making her feel a bit better in all the chaos. Naturally, it had to be Renata. She inspires calmness and peace wherever she goes and I should know. Changed my life a while ago."

Both Gabby and Donna gave him the same strange, tilted-head look that he missed since he was staring at his sonic. He hadn't even realized what he said.

~ 0 ~

Renata only got her bearings back when Dorothy finally brought them back to the ground. And that was only after Dorothy went around the city repairing and building what she thought New York needed.

"You really should start listening," the Time Lady helped Dorothy — who was now weary from all her work — down the sidewalk leading up to her apartment building. "You can't go around doing that stuff when you've no idea what abilities you have nor what side effects you have."

"Something's coming…" Dorothy mumbled the same thing since they'd started to walk.

"You keep saying that but you don't tell me who is coming."

"I don't know," Dorothy admitted. "But it wants me."

"And here you are drawing attention to yourself."

They heard a car skid to a stop beside them and when Renata saw the Doctor jumping out of the car, she so greatly relaxed. If he was here, then Dorothy couldn't be in trouble anymore.

"Renée!" the Doctor came directly to the Time Lady, once again pulling her in for a hug just as when she'd fallen unconscious in Dorothy's apartment. Twice already he'd scared her and it was all because of some threats he hadn't been able to foresee.

"Oh no…" Dorothy stepped backwards when she saw the others getting out of the car.

"No, no, it's okay now," the Doctor tried to bring her back but Dorothy shook her head.

"No, it's them!" she pointed at Erik, Hanif and Cleo. "They're calling whatever's coming here."

The Doctor immediately looked back and saw the lab-coated man holding something in his hand, something he hadn't seen yet. "What are you doing!? Stop—"

But a golden light struck down and took all of them away, up into a clear alien spaceship. The room was huge with dark brown walls and one set of controls set at the end of the room. There was a clear distraught in Gabby, Cindy and Donna but for the other humans - Cleo, Erik and Hanif - they were quick to begin arguing. Cleo seemed to be the one taking the sudden transportation the worst.

"Shouldn't we stop them?" Donna asked Renata since the Doctor had already begun sonicking the entire room. Renata was tending to the even more fear-stricken Dorothy.

"Really? What would I do?" Renata shook her head. "Sounds to me like Cleo is finally getting a reality check. That is what you call it, right?"

Erik caught onto her poor description and turned at the woman. "We are very real! We are the Cult of the Black Pyramid!"

But to be honest, Renata stopped listening after that. She had no interest in learning what they were nor what exactly they worshiped.

"Would you all just stop?" the Doctor called. He had made his way up to the main bridge's control panel. "This is not the place of the 'Gods'. It's just a vessel of an old civilization that died eons ago. The ship is a remnant of the civilization, as if the relic that Dorothy merged with."

Dorothy's eyes widened. She looked at her palms as if the relic was still there, but it was far gone and yet so close.

"So, the ancient Egyptian gods those people-" Gabby jerked a thumb over her shoulder to Erik, "-are just aliens?"

"Yup! They're from a planet called Phaester Osiris."

"How about ancient Chinese gods?" Cindy asked, gesturing herself since she was of Chinese descent. "Got any of those?"

"It's not a game," scolded Renata.

The Doctor pressed a few buttons on the control panel, prompting Renata to warn him that messing with unknown controls of an unknown spaceship could lead to even worse consequences -

But then the spaceship rumbled and a rough voice spoke from the computer. "This is the will of the Seeker…"

"Doctor, what is that?" asked Donna.

"Like a Janitor Robot - an AI."

"And it wants me," Dorothy shook her head. She chose to merge with an alien tech and now the spaceship that owned that tech had come for it.

"And this," Hanif raised his hand with a peculiar ring on his finger. "I'm so sorry but I had to do it. It's said that this ring came from you - the Old Gods - and has been handed down in my family for more than a hundred generations."

"And that was a lie," Cindy rolled her eyes.

"See the mark of our faith?" the man went on, pulling up his sleeve to reveal a tattoo of a triangle inside a circle. Erik did the same behind him. "We are your true disciples."

"Did you not just hear that they're aliens and not Gods?" Renata gestured to the clear alien control panel. Why were they still on this plan? They were desperate for their beliefs.

But she was ignored, like Cindy's earlier remark. Hanif went on to explain how his family had cared for an old Egyptian black pyramid centuries ago that disappeared into darkness after some false prophet showed up.

The Doctor scratched the top of his head as he corrected, "The chap in the pyramid was probably the last Osirian. Trust me, he's gone too."

"I've had enough of your blasphemy, Doctor!" Erik pulled out his gun and pressed it to the back of the Doctor's head.

Renata stiffened but the Doctor seemed way too calm for her liking, leading her to believe he had something up his sleeve.

"Erik, there might be some automatic defenses-" Before he would finish, a golden light erupted from the gun in Erik's hand and when it disappeared Erik was left screaming in pain as the gun merged with his flesh.

"Force will be met with force," went the computer.

"This is our reward!?" Hanif cried in anger. "He's an archaeologist, one of the faithful! And my family have served you for centuries!"

"Seriously? He just tried to kill our friend," Gabby scowled at him.

"He wouldn't have used it!"

But now the Doctor frowned as well. "He had already pulled the trigger. That's why the seeker registered it as a projectile weapon."

"The key has been retrieved," the computer suddenly declared, at the same time Dorothy's glow became stronger. "All sentient Osirian devices are reclaimed. Any non-sentient devices will be rendered useless."

"Hey!" Hanif witnessed the glow from his ring die in two seconds.

"My purpose here has been fulfilled. Individuals potentially of value to be historical record will be retained for authentication. Individuals irrelevant to mission parameters will be returned to earth."

Flashes of portals blinded them all before one of theirs were dropped back to Earth. It was only the Doctor and Cindy who were dropped back onto the street. The Doctor quickly attempted to use the sonic to get them back into the ship, but the ship prevented it somehow.

"They've got all of 'em!" Cindy cried as she watched the triangular shaped - the Black pyramid - fly off in the sky. "Now what?"

The Doctor didn't even answer her. He'd broke into a full-fledged run down the sidewalk. He lost Renata twice to that thing, he wasn't going to let it happen again. There would be no more times!

"HEY! Wait up!" Cindy hollered as she ran her fastest to catch up with him. "You're going to have to start explaining things here! I haven't forgotten that you said Dorothy was a 'Quantum Harvester'. You can start with that!"

But the Doctor only explained once he was back in the TARDIS, because that's where he could get work done to get back onto that ship. "The Osirians used them to construct their civilization. They calculate and harvest the best possible outcomes of parallel universes' histories and co-opt them for our own. They are keys to the underlying structure of reality. With them, the Osirian architects reshaped whole galaxies to their whims. And they should all be extinct by now."

Cindy watched him work around that console, something she hadn't yet commented about. In fact, Cindy was the only person the Doctor had met who wasn't shocked about the TARDIS' misleading dimensions.

"Then you clearly misjudged the entire situation!"

"Yeah, won't happen again! Hold on now!" the Doctor pulled the lever of the console, jolting the TARDIS to life. Cindy yelped as she fell flat on her back. "We're heading for the 'Center of Things' - whatever that is!" He'd locked onto the Black Pyramid's location and merely following it. What he would find on the other side, he wasn't sure except for the fact Renata would be there.

~ 0 ~

Renata was getting really tired of being separated from the Doctor when there was an impending alien threat looming over them. The Black Pyramid ship had taken flight as soon as the Doctor and Cindy were teleported out and no matter how much Renata tried figuring the control panels out...she couldn't figure out where they were going. In the meanwhile, though, Dorothy and her merged Osirian half took it upon themselves to heal Erik with the hope that the man would re-evaluate his life choices. Donna loudly disagreed with that hope.

'Commencing disembarkation ritual,' the AI declared. At the corner of the room started creating a blue humanoid figure.

"I-is that an Osirian?" Cleo guessed, her eyes widening as the hologram finished forming.

"No, it's the AI - the Seeker," Renata sighed.

'I have scoured the universe to find and collect the last remnants of our civilization - and now that the task is completed. The debt is repaid.'

The ship embarked onto a new ship, this one making it seem like they were outside with the dark scenery around them. At the end of its short platform was a huge, golden pyramid.

The AI took form of a silver mummified figure with its arms crossed over his chest in the shape of an 'x'. It actually walked over to Dorothy, dismissing or ignoring the others' wide-eyed stares. "Sister, do you remember our home, the Shining Horizon? Here, sleep has long had the countenance of death but now the time of Atonement is over for us all."

"All?" Renata caught on fast to the word choice.

"Hear that?" Erik had turned to Hanif with a new flourished grin on his face. "Maybe we were right after all!"

Renata shushed them with a pointed finger, almost looking like a mother scolding her children for being so imprudent. "No, no you were not! They are still aliens!"

"Why do you speak in riddles?" Dorothy asked the AI. "You always speak in riddles. Can't you make sense for once?'

"Sister, suddenly you speak with acrimony and yet your compassionate nature is evident," the AI noted. "Horus would be proud. It is as if you chose your new human vessel very deliberately - perhaps as a reaction towards your previous owner?"

"No one owns me!" frowned Dorothy.

"You're incorrect," the AI sounded as if it was snapping. "Sutekh the Destroyer owned you! With you and the others like you, he extinguished life on millions of worlds."

"Well, at least now why she came to Earth," Donna remarked sourly.

"He burned a trail of death and destruction through the cosmos until his brother Horus, leader of the Osirians, cornered him on Earth and imprisoned him within the Forbidden Pyramid. You are his instrument - you are the hand of Sutekh."

"Now wait a second!" Renata yanked Dorothy behind her as if she could protect the woman from a 6 foot soldier. "You've no right calling anyone an 'instrument'. So do it again and I'll have my go at you right here and now! And I don't care if I'm dealing with Horus or Sutekh or Anubis - I want you to return me and the others back to Earth this instant!"

"But what he says is true…" Dorothy whispered behind her. "And they're not all dead. I can feel it. It's here."

"What is?" Gabby dreaded to ask.

"Master...architect. Your millenia long fatigue is over!" the AI raised his arms in a worship. "I have served you faithfully. Awake now. Our task is accomplished."

"Renata, what is he waking?" Donna wore the same dread Gabby had.

"Well…" Renata hated that she was actually beginning to figure it out as the situation went along - it made her feel a lot like the Doctor right now. "Remember how I said I'd rather face one of the Gods?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, I might get that wish. Because if these two-" Renata pointed at the AI and Dorothy, "-were the lackeys, and they just re-united...that means they have the keys to bring out the...what do you guys call it? 'The big guns'?"

The ground under them rumbled again as if an earthquake was striking. A black hole started forming out of thin air. With seconds, it formed a tall - a very tall - figure but it wasn't human. It was all black, like the true color of a black hole, but its hands were claw-like and its face...was the head of an animal.

"Anubis…" Renata sucked in a deep breath of true fear. She took a step back for caution but she knew that if her wanted to, he could wipe them out with a snap of a finger.

"Who dares wake Anubis, the son of Sutekh!?"

"Ren…." Donna's voice trembled with utter fear.

The Time Lady was at a loss for their next course of action. She had no idea what she was supposed to do - this is where the Doctor shined! Oh be honest, he always shines, the little voice in her head reminded her. "I-I don't know…the Doctor would know, I...I don't..."

"I awoke you," the AI spoke up. He explained how they came to be on the ship and that the world was at Anubis' hands.

"But these primitives?" Anubis gestured with his staff to the group crowded together.

"Excuse you," Renata said, momentarily getting over her fear to snap on behalf of the humans. "My friend over here-" she nodded to Dorothy, "-had a play in your awakening and you repay her by insulting her? Spoken like a true Noble, or God in your case."

"My key?" Anubis seemed to take a double-look at Dorothy. "I didn't recognize you in this form. You're now...part human?"

Suddenly, they heard the familiar wheeze of the TARDIS and a few seconds later the Doctor and Cindy emerged from the blue box.

"Renée!" the Doctor rushed up to the Time Lady, encasing her in a tight hug.

This time, Renata hugged him back with the same intensity. "Oh thank God you found your way to us! I have no idea what I'm doing here!"

The fact she even admitted that was a clear indication of how scared she actually was. For that, the Doctor may have squeezed her a bit tighter. Today had just been far too crazy, even for them, and if he had anything to say about it would be the last trip that separated them multiple time. "I'm here," he whispered beside her ear, unknowingly reminding Renata of the many times they'd done this back home too.

Each time she was upset, scared, or simply needed him, he'd be right there giving her such comforting hugs and his comforting whispers. Even today, his whispering voice next to her ears gave her the same chills. Funny how time couldn't make those feelings go away, or at least decrease.

Donna awkwardly cleared her throat to get the pair's attention. "Sorry to interrupt but I believe there is an alien trying to kill us all?" She smirked when they pulled apart with the same red blushes on their faces.

She gestured towards the alien and when the Doctor looked over he blinked in shock. "Well, sure missed a lot, then."

"More primitives?" roared Anubis.

"There's that word again," Renata frowned at him.

"They are uninvited," the AI said fast. "I only brought those with interesting historical records since it was one of your interests in the past."

"Historical records?" Gabby repeated quietly. "What does that mean?"

"It means that you, Donna and Renata each hold valuable historical importance to the time lines," the Doctor shrugged, not too worried about it as the three women seemingly were.

"What?" Renata frowned. "But me? I've done nothing important."

"I didn't say it was in your past," the Doctor smiled at her. "Who knows what your future has in store for you." He had no doubt that her future was bright considering all the amazing things she was capable of doing. Who knew where her big hearts would lead her to?

Renata looked away, for the first time feeling guilty about her pending fate. She thought, honestly, she was doing him a favor by sparing him the details of what was (apparently) coming. He didn't need to be burdened by her problems.

"Master!" the AI said, once again opening his arms only this time he had white spheres come into the air. "You must let the nano-meds begin their work. They must rejuvenate you before you start your work."

"Wait, Anubis needs medical attention now?" Cindy shot a look at the travelers as if they had some explaining to do. "Seriously?"

"They're aliens, not Gods," Renata sighed. She was getting tired of reminding everyone that details. "If they're aliens then medical attention makes sense."

Cindy looked between her and the God that was an alien. She shook her head a minute later. "...sure."

Renata glared. She didn't need that right now.

"You, Doctor," called Anubis who had trapped by the nano-meds as they commenced their work, "You are not a lesser species — as is the woman —" he languidly pointed one claw finger at the Doctor then Renata. "You're both long lived. I sense great age in both of you. What are you?"

"Time Lords," the Doctor answered only to be scoffed at.

"Last time I heard the Time Lords were engaged in some petty squabble with a Daleks."

Renata's face instantly morphed into a furious incredulity. "Squabble with the Daleks — are you serious!?" she moved for Anubis, as if ready to charge at him, but the Doctor grabbed onto her arm to keep her at his side. "He just said 'squabble' as if it were—"

"-I know," he nodded at her. He'd love to correct Anubis as well but he didn't want to make things worse. "But it's not really the time to correct him." Renata rolled her eyes but figured he was right.

"It is time for me to ascend," Anubis declared. "To travel beyond this universe!"

"No chance," went the Doctor. "Your 'circle of transcendence' isn't stable anymore. Don't even try it."

"Ha, who are you to tell me I can't do what I was meant to?"

The Doctor glowered at the creature. "Anubis, if you try to pass through that gateway, it will collapse. It will kill you and create a catastrophic effect that will Ripple outward at translight seeds, destroying the rest of the universe." He'd figured out that Anubis wanted to cross over through a 'gateway' promising some sort of new world for him and his people, but it was far too weak to actually work as a proper gateway.

Anubis rose into the air again, gaining a green glow in his eyes as he spoke. "You do not comprehend how long and lonely these final duties would be. I miss my people, my wife, my children."

"But there are ways to counter the loneliness," the Doctor said. "I speak from experience so trust me."

"You know me by what insight, Time Lord? Your race is gone too. You're a fugitive from destiny, as is your partner."

The Doctor unconsciously moved his body slightly in front of Renata's. He could handle whatever was said at him but there was no need to bring in Renata.

"Horus asked two final duties of me. Mindful of the destruction my father brought, the first was to stay behind as guardian of the circle, to keep it turning."

"The second was to seek and collect any remaining of Osirian technology from this universe, so as to help with people's departure from this plane," Dorothy suddenly said, the words seemingly tumbling out of her mouth before she could even process.

It seemed to surprise Anubis. "You remember?"

"Sure," she said after careful thought. "Just like I remember New Jersey, where I'm really from."

"So you see why it is time for me to transcend this universe, to follow the other Osirans through. Do not tell me that I cannot."

"Fact is, there is a lot of stuff in here that are mine and yet not mine," Dorothy brought her hands to her head. She shared a vast knowledge know with an alien and her mind was pretty jumbled up right now.

"What if we find a compromise?" the Doctor offered. "I can help you heal and safely get rid of the circle before it destroys us."

"It is my right to ascend!"

"And so, therefore, your right to destroy an entire universe? Because that's what you'll be doing. And you know what? I met Sutekh," the Doctor confessed, instantly gaining Anubis' and the other's attention. "I know what he stood for and I don't think it's quite you. You're not the same as him, no matter what horrid that to you before trapping you here. You need to forget your father and Horus because one destroyed and one lied but both of them fought. Don't be like either of them. You have power over all life and death. Live Anubis, and let the universe live too."

Anubis retracted a step from them, for the first time looking like words had affected him.

"We don't really have much to lose, do we?" Dorothy offered one small smile at Anubis. "Maybe, sometime in the future, we could fix the Circle and you can cross through safely. Without putting anyone in danger."

"But it would take eons before it'd be fixed!"

"So you would rather die because you're impatient?" Renata found her voice to demand. It was a fairly good question that stumped him for a moment. "Because that's the risk you're taking if you cross through the gateway. Wouldn't you rather wait and see it actually get fixed?"

"Look, Anubis," the Doctor called again, hoping to really drive things home with this last bit especially when he already seemed to be considering, "I'm not telling you that you'll never be able to cross through. I'm only saying to let us find a way of collapsing the circle safely so when the day comes...you can cross safely."

There was a moment of tensed silence as Anubis thought. If he didn't agree, then it would all be over. And truthfully, the Doctor didn't know what else to do.

"...Very well. I agree to delay my voyage to the circle," Anubis' words caused simultaneous relived sighs. "It's always best not to get caught between Horus and my father. I did as I had the misfortune of birthright. What is clear is that I cannot leave, not until the circle is repaired."

"Or until someone can take your place as guardian," Dorothy stepped forward, the look on her face indicating she would volunteer for the job.

"Are you sure about that, Dorothy?" Renata turned to her with concern, as if thinking that the other half of her, the alien half of her, was making Dorothy say that.

Dorothy nodded. "Yeah. I can learn. At the very least I can help. Anubis can train me. I'm only just beginning to explore my powers."

"We'll come back and check up on you," the Doctor offered, putting one hand over Renata's shoulder to let her know they wouldn't be abandoning Dorothy.

"I take that agreement," Anubis announced. " Doctor, I give you five thousand time-cycles, and no longer. I will look in on you and I will expect progress reports."

"I don't quite like the idea of leaving you here," Renata admitted to Dorothy while the Doctor started ushering everyone else into the TARDIS before Anubis changed his mind.

Dorothy still smiled her sweet smile. " I will be just fine. I'm an Osiran-Human hybrid now - I can take care of myself. Thank you for what you've done for me and I'm so sorry that I put you through so many scares."

Renata nodded. If it was Dorothy's choice, then there was nothing more she would say. At least now, she could return home safe and sound.

Until the Doctor would drop Cleo, Erik and Hanif back on Earth along with Cindy. Despite asking Gabby if she wanted to stay home for a few days, to get over what happened, the young girl shook her head and said she would much rather be in the TARDIS. So, she bid goodbye to Cindy and left with the trio in the TARDIS.

And while Renata usually whipped up her famous dinners, this night she seemed to missed it. Gabby and Donna ate dinner alone and it was just regular human cereal.

"Where are they?" Gabby asked the ginger at the table. She moved her spoon in endless circles against her bowl, not really in the mood to eat.

"Don't know," Donna shrugged. "Doctor said he wanted to run some tests on Ren but…" she smiled for a moment, "...Renata refused so it turned into one of their arguments. Kind of funny."

"Wait," Gabby straightened up in her chair, "He was going to run some tests on her? Like...medically-wise?" Donna nodded. "I have to go!" Gabby jumped from her chair and ran out of the kitchen before Donna could even say her name.

It was the perfect time to confirm whether or not Renata was safe in terms of health. If she was lucky, Gabby thought maybe she could be there when the results were in. Of course, she would have to convince Renata to let her stay in the room or at the very least she would have to convince Renata to tell her what the results were. Gabby came to a skidded stop before the open door of the medbay. She was already hearing some of the conversation and she didn't really have the courage to come in.

"So, are we finally done here?" Renata sat on the edge of the medbay bed, looking completely irritated. "And then you can realize this was a waste of time — I didn't even get to make dinner for everyone!"

The Doctor was reading off the results from the computer screen in front of him. He looked far too focused for there to be nothing wrong. Renata came to that conclusion only a minute after speaking up.

"What is it?" she asked quietly.

The Doctor straightened up and looked at her. "I'm so sorry. I keep putting you in danger, don't I?"

"Where'd you get that from?"

"I…" the Doctor drew in a breath then turned to face her completely. "You're...okay, but...you haven't expelled the energy you in-took from when we visited Zhe's art gallery. The Block-Transfer Matrix energy from the apprentices?"

"How could I forget?" Renata sourly said as she remembered the homicidal apprentices Zhe had conjured up. "But that was weeks ago!" Her body, while not being completely invincible, was still more attuned to a higher standard when it came to health. She'd always been very healthy in her previous incarnations. Why would this one be the exception?

"No," the Doctor shook his head. "And then you took in new energy from the Osiran lot. Now that's combined inside of you and…" a new type of fear etched across his face as he willed himself to say the truth, "...you've been contaminated."

Renata blinked slowly, the movements of her body slowing down to awkward shifts. From the hallway, Gabby felt her heart pounding under her chest.

Is this what that Ood meant? She started coming up with terrible ways this 'contamination' could kill Renata. Out of fear, she rushed away from the room.

"Contaminated?" Renata finally spoke up after a minute of processing. "I've been...contaminated? With what?" there was a confused smile on her face but the Doctor wondered — he had to — if it was in place of a growing fear.

"These two different energies have merged to form something new, something a Time Lady shouldn't have — that no Time Lord should have — because remember, we carry a bit of the Time Vortex in order to regenerate. Now couple this new energy with the Time Vortex and we have a triple-way contamination."

"So...am I just going to die, then?" Renata pushed herself off the medbed and walked over to the computer screen to see for herself.

"No," the Doctor said automatically. "You're not dying but...it's something we have to keep a constant eye on. We have to be careful of what you expose yourself to from here on out and see how your body continues to react to these energy forces."

Renata turned the computer screen off and turned to the Doctor. The fear on her face had disappeared, or perhaps stored away for the moment. "Okay, so we'll just do that but is there really any cause for concern? For all we know, my body is just a little slower in expelling the energy."

"No, it hasn't expelled anything," the Doctor urgently reminded her. "We cannot brush this off, Renée." If that was her plan then he was going to be sorry for being himself and making it a priority! He wasn't going to lose her.

Renata rolled her eyes but it seemed more like an action she forced in an attempt to be casual. She put a hand on his arm and wore her best smile. "I'm not brushing it off, Doctor, but I don't think it's that big of a deal. You've been through worse and I don't see you 'raising 'alarm' about yourself."

"Because it's you I'm talking about," the Doctor started to frown. "I don't want anything bad to happen to you. I'd rather it be me than you." He didn't even realize he said the words until they'd left his mouth. But Renata had flinched when he said those words. It actually made her gasp. It was astounding that he'd said it like it was an automatic instinct, but even as he went back to think about it...he wouldn't take them back. He was a terrible man, who cares if he got contaminated? Better him than someone as pure and honest as Renata.

Don't you dare! Renata felt her hearts skip several jolts while her mind went crazy wondering if he truly meant that. Once upon a time, he'd said those exact words to her but during the period where they both knew they loved each other. Right now, they were nowhere near that. They were friends, just friends.

[beatricethecat2]

NOTE: Sorry for the repost, but a friend told me this installment was not showing up in a tag search (it was not). So I took out all the links and am trying again. Look back through my Tumblr for previous installments!

* * * * * * *

"Chill for a minute! You're making me nervous," Myka says.

"I'll not miss the performance because of a third-rate watchman," Helena huffs.

"Abigail said she'd sort this out."

"Abigail got us into this."

"She didn't slug him."

"He tackled me."

"You grabbed the book and ran."

"And I'd have succeeded were it not for that wandering child," Helena gruffs. "Who brings a child to theater?"

"You wouldn't have brought Christina?"

"Were she old enough and properly dressed, yes. That child was in dungarees."

"They probably came to see the exhibition not the matinee—"

"We're not dressed properly either," Helena grumbles, swiping dirt off a pant leg.

"Theater's not as formal as it used to be. And you did put your hair up," Myka says, flashing a feeble smile.

"And now it's mussed. It wasn't much to look at to begin with." Helena fusses with her bun.

"Hey, I think you look really nice," Myka says, reaching over, stilling Helena's hands.

"This is hardly theater attire."

"It's the Oregon Shakespeare Festival not the Met Opera."

"Attending the theater used to mean something." Helena's hands drop to her lap.

"It still does, but not corsets and gowns." Myka raises a brow. "Would you have worn a dress if this was a real date?"

"I very well may have. I'd certainly have made more of an effort."

"A nineteenth or twenty-first century effort?

"May I not embody both?"

"Yeah, but I'm just noticing you sort of default to the nineteenth when you're around me."

"And you disapprove."

"No. It think it's kind of sweet. I like that you don't have to hide who you are with me." Myka bumps her shoulder into Helena's.

"And to think, I once yearned to live in a future such as this. I'd no clue how exhausting it'd be being out of time."

"It'll get easier," Myka says, meeting Helena's unsure gaze. She leans towards Helena and Helena follows suit, their lips nearly touching when a door slamming in the distance halts the action.

"So, um...when's the last time you saw Shakespeare?" Myka asks, recomposing herself.

Helena thinks back. "Hamlet, in Stratford; Sarah Bernhardt as lead. We'd travelled specifically to see her, as it was unusual for a woman to play a male's part. She was her bombastic self, but watching Shakespeare translated into French was odd. I may have opinions about the American accent as well."

"Oh you will."

"Flipping through those gravures on display really took me back. Then the cabinet cards...are you familiar with those actors?"

"No."

"Such a shame," Helena says, pushing up from her slouch to sit upright.  "Ellen Terry, she who worked so very hard to elevate the acting profession for women and men; Lillie Langtree, the beauty who pulled her reputation up from the mud through her craft; Violet Vanbrugh, locked in competition with her sister for the spotlight...celebrities, one and all, yet seeing them now, they feel like lost friends." 

Helena sighs deeply and looks away. "When I snatched the book, my mind was no longer present. Hence the guard getting a jump on me."

"It's going to work out," Myka says, flashing a comforting smile.

"How exactly is Abigail remedying this? I heard little of your hushed conversation earlier," Helena says, narrowing her eyes at Myka.

"She's convincing them to put it back so we can swap it with a copy she's sending."

"Could she not have done so previously?"

"With Artie out of town, she's scrambling to keep up."

"How exactly is she convincing them?"

"She's, um..." Myka looks down at her lap and adjusts her wrist watch. "Do you actually need to know?"

"I do now," Helena says, swerving in her seat to face Myka.

"She's posing as your therapist."

"And I'm a babbling idiot."

"No...our pitch is you're obsessed with Victoriana."

"Convenient," Helena grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Do you want to see the play or not?"

"What do you think?"

"I think we wouldn't be here at all if Abigail hadn't asked us to snag volume nine of 'The Illustrated Library of Shakespeare.' And I think she'll fix this for now so we can see a play like two normal people who see plays. We'll worry about the book tomorrow."

Helena's scowl stays firmly in place.

"I'll make it up to you tonight at the hotel," Myka says, eyes pleading.

"Placating me for performing the Warehouse's bidding is not in the least desirable—"

"Ooh, look, he's coming out," Myka says, patting Helena's leg as she rises to talk to the head of security. "Stay here."

Helena stays put but her scowl grows all consuming.

-END SCENE-

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

Bering and Wells: Field Trip ("Warehouse 13" Season 5 replacement) Season 1: Episode 7 Title: Oregon: To one thing constant never

Summary: With Warehouse staff stretched thin, Myka and Helena are asked to dash from Myka's parents to The Oregon Shakespeare Festival. The pickup hits a snag when Helena, lost in memories, bungles the retrieval. Emotions run high when Helena reveals an unshakable impulse that threatens their newfound bliss.

Previously:(look at the archive of my site)

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

BONUS SCENE

The next day, in the parking in the lot of the festival, freshly off the phone from the Warehouse, Myka turns to Helena.

"Artie's booking us a flight. He wants us to bring the book in person—"

"We are not altering our plans again," Helena sneers. "He can pick it up from us."

"I think he needs it sooner," Myka mumbles. "It'll be quick, just a day or two. Maybe we can push our bookings up?"

"As if that's worked in the past."

"True," Myka says, shoulders slumping as she sighs defeatedly. "Then we'll skip Mendocino and head straight to San Francisco from there. I'll grab some of my stuff since we might stay in the city longer." She turns the key, revving the car to life.

"I'll drive to Mendocino and meet you in San Francisco. You go on to the Warehouse."

"But Artie said you can come," Myka explains, looking over her shoulder, backing out of their parking spot. She puts the car in drive and moves towards the exit.

"There's no reason for me to do so."

"But you haven't met Abigail. Or Steve, really. Plus Claudia's dying to see you—"

"Myka, I can't."

Myka steps on the brake and turns to face Helena. "Is this a Regent thing? Because Artie wouldn't have said you could come if you couldn't."

"It's not a Regent thing."

"Then what?" Myka huffs.

"We've not time to discuss this now."

"Then tell me the abbreviated version."

A honk from behind jolts them both.

"Alright, alright!" Myka grumbles, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the road.

"You go on. I'll follow our plan," Helena says. "I wish to feel the land shifting underfoot, as if Elizabeth, Christina, and I had made our way through California in my own day."

"Wouldn't that have been on a train? Or a carriage maybe?" Myka asks.

"Is a car not the modern equivalent?"

"I guess," Myka says, her face the picture of concern. "You know, most of San Francisco was destroyed in the 1906 earthquake. There's not much left from back then."

"No matter. It's the spirit in which it's encountered."

"Then I want to 'encounter' it with you."

"Then have them pick the book up from us. You're not obligated to obey their every beck and call."

"I guess not," Myka says, frowning as she stops at a red light.

"Their prerogative led us to rush here, waylaying our plans," Helena presses.

"And the plays."

"Which we may have seen, in our own time, had we not been browbeaten into a retrieval—"

"We weren't browbeaten, we were helping Abigail—"

"The light's green."

"I see that," Myka grumps, the car jerking forward as she presses on the gas too hard. "So that's why you won't come with me? You're mad we came here in the first place?"

"It more than that. My relationship with the Warehouse must remain distant. Better if I retain none at all."

"How exactly is that going to work? Because I live there."

"I'd rather not discuss this while you're driving."

"Then I'll stop." Myka flips her turn signal and veers left at an intersection. She swings into a parking lot turns off the engine. "You said I'm your One. That we're partners."

"You are both of those things to me."

"But you can't come to the Warehouse, maybe ever? Explain." Myka shifts in her seat to face Helena as fully as possible.

"I've come to understand distance may be the only remedy for certain...triggers."

"What triggers?"

"Where to start?"

"Anywhere, really," Myka gruffs, holding onto Helena's petulant gaze.

"A hundred years in bronze weighs heavy on one's soul."

"You were fine there before."

"Was I?"

"You said it was your tether!"

"I'd have said anything to—"

"Gain access, dupe everyone, and destroy the world. I know." Myka scowls. "But you wouldn't do that again."

"That's no longer my vice," Helena says.

"Then what is?"

Helena looks off into the distance. "A secondary plan, utilizing artifacts catalogued since my bronzing."

"W-What kind of plan?" Myka says, her back straightening.

"One in which Christina would be returned to me."

"Wait, you tried again when you were there?"

"How could I not?" Helena laments. "I've hatched countless schemes since."

"But you said you'd made peace with not having kids."

"Moving forward. But I may never find true peace with Christina's passing. Apparently, it's not uncommon."

"How do you know?"

"At the precinct, after particularly gruesome cases, they conducted psychological evaluations. I'd breezed through most, but one in particular, concerning the death of a little girl, was difficult to shake."

"Oh, Helena." Myka scoots forward and takes hold of Helena's hand. "What happened?"

"I recounted my story, albeit heavily modified, and learned about triggers. Avoiding them entirely was an acceptable solution, so the Warehouse...but you? You were a conundrum."

"I was a trigger, too." Myka slips her hand from Helena's but Helena grabs it back.

"You remained a symbol of hope, of all that was good in this world. I ached to be near you but feared disappointing you again. When you turned up in Montreal, I was drumming up the courage to approach you."

"But you weren't there yet."

"I wasn't," Helena says, squeezing Myka's hand. "Asking you to separate yourself from your home, from your calling, was difficult to justify. But after hearing of your illness, nothing else mattered but being by your side."

Helena cups Myka's jaw and strokes her cheek with a thumb. "But I must protect myself, and you, from those demons."

Helena shifts closer and guides their lips together. Their kiss lingers until Myka's phone rings.

"Artie," Myka says, answering in an instant. "We can't come. We'll keep the the book safe until someone can pick it up—"

Myka moves the phone away from her ear at Arties loud volume.

"Ok, ok! But H.G.'s not coming. Put me on a flight."

Myka places her hand over the microphone and glances at Helena. "He said Mrs. Frederic's there and 'needs it yesterday'—"

She's interrupted by Artie chiming in.

"I'm not taking a flight with two connections because it leaves tonight! Put me on a red eye."

Grumbling emanates from the other side of the phone.

"Five-thirty's fine. Send me the details."

More grumbling, then silence. Myka hangs up the phone.

"Artie seems his usual congenial self—"

"I'm really proud of you," Myka blurts, turning to face Helena again.

"Whatever for?" Helena asks, head tilting, brow furrowing.

"For fighting your demons on your own. Though I wish we'd been doing it together."

"From now on, we shall," Helena says, meeting Myka halfway as she leans in for another kiss.

Hands reach across the console, twining in hair, groping at necks, arms, shoulders, as if the space between them is too great.

Minutes later, a tap on the window jerks them apart.

"Ma'ams, bank won't open again until 9AM," a man says as Helena rolls down the window. "I'm going to have to ask to come back tomorrow."

"Bank?" Myka croaks, scanning the parking lot, eyes locking on a glowing sign at its entrance. "Oh, bank."

"Terribly sorry officer. We pulled over to take a call before becoming...distracted," Helena explains.

"Just a security guard, ma'am. But I'd appreciate it if you move on. I didn't want to disturb you but my manager's going to wonder why you were here so long."

"Nothing nefarious, I assure you. We'd have been stealthier were anything afoot," Helena says with a wink.

"Helena!"

"Just reassuring the boy."

"We didn't mean to....we were just..." Myka stumbles over a more direct explanation.

"We've been granted one more night together before our separation."

"But we do have a hotel room."

"And mere hours before I'm to deliver you to the airport."

"True." Myka's lips push together, her face contorting into one of a new understanding. "Not enough hours. We should go."

"Thank you again for accommodating us," Helena says to the security guard.

"Um, sure?" he says as Helena rolls up the window.

"We'll make this work," Myka says, slipping a hand over Helena's thigh as she drives away. "I know we can."

"I adore your enthusiasm," Helena says, covering Myka's hand with her own, threading their fingers together.

-END-

-TBC-

NOTES: A quick reminder - this Christina is the daughter of Helena's original "One" back in the 1800's - Elizabeth. I think that story is in the second installment of this series. Also note this text probably pretty rough as I'm out of town and have sporadic internet (remember DSL?) and so haven't been able to use my usual text checkers (let me know if anything's super bad!) I'm putting it up now so I won't fuss over it as I'd like to not fuss over *anything* this week. Also, the first manip is one of my favorites - there's only one I can think of that tops it, but it's not public yet (I think you'll know when you see it.) Anyway, go to shakespeareillustration.org/photographs/ to see some of the people HG mentioned. And www.livabl.com/2015/09/panorama-san-francisco-earthquake.html for some of the amazing panoramas of the SF earthquake. Also Sarah Bernhardt - look her up, she was *quite* the character.

[idreamofhazel]

The Boyking: Chapter 4

Masterpost and series summary here.

Chapter summary: Sam, Dean, Ruby, and Dallas collide in Hell.

Characters: Sam, Dean, Ruby, Dallas, Bobby

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: This story is overall angsty. Read the masterpost description to get the full idea. I will put specific, important warnings on each chapter unless there are none.

A/N: I have a lovely team of people supporting me while I write this series. Thank you to my editors @butiaintgonnaloveem and @seenashwrite for your helpful insights and use of language.

You have a hunter, here, in hell?” Dean asked, his footsteps trailing Sam’s down another stone hallway. 

Sam did not answer, focused on getting to wherever he was going.

“He sure does,” Ruby answered for him, smugness lingering in her tone.

“This is not what I told you to do,” Sam said to Ruby. He stopped outside a doorway. “This one?”

Ruby narrowed her eyes and nodded her conformation.

“You put her here?” 

“Chocolates on the pillows and everything.”

“Stay,” he said. Then he placed his hand on the doorknob, took a breath, and gently pushed the door open.

A short entry opened into one of multiple master suites, originally furnished with the intention of housing willing visitors, but Sam had neither found the time nor the welcome guests he had hoped, so the rooms had remained largely unused over the years. He walked into the room cautiously, as if he were intruding on someone else’s bedroom, and found the hunter in question on the floor at the foot of the bed. She hugged her knees while breathing heavily.

Dean was close behind. “Maybe let me--” 

Sam put his hand on Dean’s chest, pushing him back as he quietly said, “Dean, look at her. We’re not barging in, especially not Ruby.”

Dean opened his mouth to argue but backed off after seeing Sam’s stern face.

Sam dropped his hand, standing to the side as Dean left the room. When the door shut with a click of the latch, he approached the woman slowly, careful to keep his steps soft and his body in a non-threatening stance. The woman’s head remained tucked between her knees and her chest as he moved closer. Sam was now less than a foot away, and she still hadn’t stirred. He frowned, reaching out his arm and laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. A jolt of something like electricity ran through his fingers at the contact.

Dallas’ head shot up and she scrambled away on her hands and feet, scooting across the abrasive floor.

“Don't touch me!” she yelled out. When her back hit a bookshelf, she stood, eyes lit up with fear.

Sam brought his hand up to his face, slowly turning it over, a set of jumbled memories that didn’t belong to him now in his mind, something like a child’s room, maybe-- 

“What did you do to me?” she asked, touching the spot on her arm where he made contact.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was only checking-- Wait, you felt that, too?”

Dallas blinked at Sam in confusion.

“Everything ok in here?” 

They both turned at the sound of Dean’s voice, as he’d apparently decided to ignore Sam’s order. He came through the entryway, his eyes landing on the captive woman as he stopped beside Sam. 

Her eyes went wide before she tucked away her surprise. Dean squinted at her curiously and then checked behind him to see if Ruby was the source of her shock, but there was only him.  

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Sam said.

Dallas moved further away.

Dean took a step forward, putting his hand out in front of Sam, looking at Dallas. “This has all been a misunderstanding. No one’s going to hurt you. We’re going to let you go. Right?” He looked at his brother. 

“Yes, this is a misunderstanding,” Sam echoed.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

Ruby loudly entered the room, and a glare settled in the center of Dallas’ eyes, pulling thin lines around her lips as she watched her kidnapper.

“Ruby, this is not the time,” Sam said, annoyed that no one seemed to be able to follow his orders tonight.

“Maybe we should speak, demon to demon, without any human interference.” 

The word “human” was said in the same tone as profanity, and Dallas clenched her fists, reigning in a slew of expletives and her urge to punch the demon, breaking her pretty nose. She was fearless but she wasn’t stupid.

Sam’s face and neck flushed with anger. “I’m not listening to anything you have to say right now. You’re dismissed.”

Ruby looked furious. There was a second where Dallas thought she might lash out, but Sam did not waver.

Ruby’s confidence shrunk enough to make her take a step back. “My apologies, your majesty,” she forced out before turning on her heel and leaving.

Sam turned to Dallas. “I’m sorry you had to witness that,” he apologized.

“You’re the King of Hell?”

The question practically fell out of Dallas’ mouth, and the corner of Sam’s mouth turned up involuntarily. 

“Were you expecting someone else?”

What Dallas had expected was black eyes, maybe red, that seethed with evil, and a man that stood with more… command. But his eyes were a normal color and his stance approachable -- she wouldn’t pick him out of a lineup for “most evil man alive.” But she kept her thoughts to herself as she stood frozen.

“Sam, I don’t think now is the time for conversation,” Dean said. “How about we just get her out of here?”

“I’m going to ask her some questions first.” He gestured at the woman. 

“I thought you didn’t want to keep her here?” Dean asked, visibly irritated.

“I don’t. But there are some things I would like to know, and since the opportunity has presented itself--”

Dean took a step back. “Unbelievable. And to think I believed you had changed, even just a little!”

“Dean--”

“No! You listen, and you hear this loud and clear. If you want any help from me-- any at all-- you let this girl go, no questions asked. You’re not keeping hunters captive while trying to get help from them, for christ’s sake!”

“I’m not keeping her captive. I just want to talk, then she is free to go.”

“How long are you planning on keeping her?”

“A few days, a week at the most.”

“I’ll stay.” Dallas’ voice had risen above the men’s bickering, and without hesitation, not giving herself a chance to second-guess the decision.

“Why?” Dean blurted out. “You don’t have to.”

Sam stood straighter, his eyes flashing with interest as the woman interacted with his brother.

Dallas crossed her arms, not saying a word.

“Fine,” Dean gave in, then pointed the rest of his response at Sam. “But I’m checking in on her in a couple of days.”

“You’re always welcome here,” Sam said. “Now, why don’t we let-- I’m sorry, what is your name?”

“Dallas.”

“Dallas,” Sam repeated with a polite nod, taking a second to let her name settle on his tongue. Then he turned to Dean. “Why don’t we let Dallas rest? I’m sure she’d appreciate some privacy.”

“Just one second,” Dean said, facing her. “I’m Dean, by the way.” He extended his right hand. She did not return the gesture, and he lowered his arm. “Right. Well, let me know if he gives you any trouble. You want my number or--”

“I can handle myself,” Dallas said.

“Right. Ok.” He took that as his cue to leave and walked towards the door. 

Sam followed, turning around one last time before leaving. “I’ll send someone to check on you in a few hours.”

Dallas nodded. When both men were out of sight and the door shut, Dallas frantically searched the room. She looked under the four-poster bed, behind the two armchairs, inside the armoire - her bag was nowhere to be found.

“Shit,” she said under her breath. 

An angel blade lying out in the open, or in the hands of a demon, could be a big problem. 

When Sam returned to the main hall, Ruby sat in his throne, one leg over an arm of the chair, flipping a knife between her fingers. She looked up nonchalantly, pretending to be surprised by Sam’s entrance.

“Is your brother gone?” she asked.

Sam walked up to the platform. “Get out of my seat.” 

“Oh, your throne, you mean?” She continued playing with the knife.

“I can force you if you’d like.”

Ruby’s brow popped up. “Maybe I would.”

Sam continued the unrelenting stare.

“Fine.” Ruby swung her legs to the front of the chair and stood.

“What has gotten into you?” 

“Sorry if I question the decision to have two hunters in hell at the same time,” Ruby snapped. 

“You question my judgment?” 

“Come on, Sam. I know how you are about your brother, everyone does, and when word gets out that you’re--”

“Word isn’t going to get out. Because this stays between you and me for now. Don’t think I don’t know what could happen if the demons find out.”

“It would give them one more reason to return their allegiance to Lucifer, and we can’t have that. We need you alive, on the throne.” Ruby stepped closer, placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder, gently directing him to sit down. “That is why I’m worried about your plan.”

Sam leaned back, letting out a deep breath. “You’ve been the one person who’s had my back through all of this, and I need that trust now. I can’t do this without you.”

“I know.” She placed her hand on Sam’s, kneeling at his side, “We want the same thing, Sam, to see Hell flourish with its intended purpose. But forgive me if I don’t fully trust the humans. This plan could backfire.”

“If it does, we’ll handle it, together. But I need Dean to see my real intentions. I know he still thinks I’m evil.”

“We can’t always change what people think of us. We have to do what is best for Hell.”

Sam looked Ruby in the eyes. “Promise me you won’t interfere with this plan anymore? It’s our best shot right now.”

Ruby lowered her eyes, bowing her head. “I’m with the King, always.”

Dean rolled up to Bobby’s in the Impala the next day, and the seasoned hunter greeted Dean with a hug after he set his bag down inside the door.

“I’ll grab some beers,” he said knowingly.

Dean made his way to the parlor, clearing the coffee table of clutter just before Bobby returned with the drinks. 

He sat down in his chair, handing a beer to Dean. “So. How’d it go?”

Dean plopped onto the sofa. “Let’s see--there’s an approaching apocalypse, Ruby’s still a pain in the ass, and Sam is keeping another hunter in hell with him.” Dean swallowed a large swig of his drink, easing back into the couch cushion.

“An apocalypse?” Bobby shook his head. “Balls.”

“You don’t seem that surprised.”

“Weird things have been happening. Ellen told me she talked to you not that long ago. There’s signs in the sky. Hunters are getting into more trouble than usual. I had one ask me about you just yesterday.”

“Who?”

“I didn’t catch her name, or much of anything. Only that she needed your help with something. But she left as soon as I said you weren’t in town.”

“I’m sure she’ll catch up to me soon enough.”

“But this other hunter, is this someone already on his side?”

“No,” Dean said, shaking his head, “I don’t know what she’s doing down there. She had the chance to leave and she didn’t take it.”

“Did she seem hexed, possessed maybe?”

“Nope. But I’m going back in a couple days to check on her, and I guess talk to Sam again.” 

Bobby leaned forward, looking Dean straight in the eye. “You’re really going to help him?”

“It’s the end of the world,” Dean replied.

“But he’s the devil and all that.”

“Since when have you been calling Sam the devil?”

Bobby shrugged. “That’s what you’ve always called him.”

Dean gave Bobby a look. “This arrangement is purely… strategic.”

“I thought you had a friend on the other side of things.”

“Well, he’s busy. And he hasn’t said a word about the apocalypse.”

“Plus, it’s your brother.”

Dean gave Bobby a harsher look.

Bobby put his hands up. “Alright, alright. I get it. Strictly strategic. You want me to talk to Ellen?”

“No, I’ll do that myself,” Dean said, “Once I figure out how the hell to sell this.”

“You’ve got one on the team besides yourself. You can use that.”

“You don’t have to help, really. You’ve been in this a long time. I know you’re trying to focus more on the junkyard.”

Bobby waved his hand. “Nonsense. If this is the Big One, I’m not sitting on the sidelines.”

Dean smiled, but it quickly faded. “Thanks. Most hunters are gonna douse me in holy water first, ask questions later.”

Bobby looked at him carefully, his tone serious. “And that’s if you’re lucky.”

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