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viking-raider · 4 years ago

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Southern Generation - Part III *Mature*

Summary: Sy and Lily had a harmonious bubble around them, but ripples are sent through it, with an action of Lily’s and the past haunting Austin.

Pairing: Captain Syverson/Reader

Word Count: 6,211

Warning: M - Language, Fluff, Domestic Kink, PTSD, Attempted Overdose, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Teeny White Lie, Stalking and Harassment

Inspiration: It’s Sy, need I say more?

Author’s Note: Loving this story! Much love to @wondersofdreaming!

Lily laughed as she played tug-a-war with Aika in the living room, the sound of Sy putting up the last of the siding vibrated throughout the house, with her laughs and Aika's playful growling. The hammering stopped and Sy appeared through the front door, smiling at the two partners in crime.

“I need to go into town.” Sy told Lily, when her attention settled onto him. “The saw blade has dulled and I need to replace it.” He explained to her.

“All right.” She nodded, letting Aika take her rope. “I need to get lunch going.”

“I shouldn't be too long.” He promised, then left.

Sy wasn't gone a minute, when the phone rang in the kitchen and Lily moved to pick it up, before she missed it. “Hello?” She answered, pressing the receiver to her ear with her shoulder and turned towards the refrigerator. “Hello?” She frowned, pulling out food items for her and Sy's lunch.

“How's the business going?” A voice finally answered her.

Lily froze, hand resting on the loaf of bread she was reaching for. “How did you get this number?” She gulped, her heart racing and pounding in her ears.

“I bet once that caveman finishes fixing up the place, it'll look brand new.”

“Ho-” She gasped, a dizzying wave of nausea punched her in the gut, as reality set in.

“Soon, Lily. Soon.” The voice chuckled, then the line went dead.

The phone slipped off of Lily's shoulder and clattered to the floor, alerting Aika, who was chewing on her rope in the living room, and came running in, barking in inquiry and suspicion, standing close to Lily's feet and looked up at her, head cocked to the side. Lily gripped the edge of the counter in front of her, trying to take deep breaths in and out, but her vision swam with an overflow of tears and her chest felt like an elephant was standing on it. She turned and stumbled up the staircase in the kitchen that led upstairs, and went into the hall bathroom, locking herself inside, Aika bounding after her and barking at the bathroom door.

“How? How is this possible?” She trembled, pacing the small space. “I was so careful, so careful. It’s not possible. It’s just a sick joke, from some disgruntled customer. But, what if it isn’t? What if it’s really. Where did I go wrong? I put so many miles between us.”

Her hands shook and she struggled to breath, furious tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. Flashback after flashback rippling through her horrified and panicked mind, her stomach lurched and she dropped to her knees, wrenching violently into the bowl and losing her breakfast into it. She sat there for a long time, before making up her mind, standing up and opening the medicine cabinet, removing a prescription bottle from inside and popped the top off of it. She knew this was a drastic and dark turn to things as she dumped the bottle into her hand, but it wasn’t as dark and ominous, if the voice on the other end of the phone kept their word about finding her, and Lily wasn’t going to take that chance.

She gulped down dozens of the teeny pills, swallowing them down with sink water, then slowly sank down to the floor.

Sy returned twenty minutes later, with a new saw blade and rumbling stomach. He expected, as always, to find Lily had set his lunch down on the table in the breakfast nook, and was either eating hers as well, or she was patiently waiting for him, so they could eat together.

Instead, he entered the house and heard Aika barking incessantly upstairs, which was unusual.

“Lily!” He called out, rounding into the kitchen, finding lunch foods on the counter, some half opened, and the phone on the floor. “Lily!” He yelled out again, a pit forming in his stomach as he mounted the stairs to the second floor.

He had never been upstairs before, everything he needed in the house was downstairs, the kitchen and half bath, so he was unfamiliar with the layout. But, as he reached the second floor landing, he found Aika standing in front of a closed door, barking, whining and scratching at the wood. He crossed the hall and lifted his hand, knocking softly on the door, and listening inside.

“Lily?” He called, knocking again. “Lily, are you all right in there?” He asked, growing even more concerned, when he didn't receive an answer.

Not waiting a moment longer, Sy pushed Aika away from the door and forced it open with his shoulder. As the door flung open and banged against the wall behind it, Sy rushed into the room and felt his heart plummet out of his body, finding Lily laying on the worn and discolored tile floor. He dropped to his knees as he scrambled over to her, cupping her cold, but sweaty, face in his hands, her eyes were rolled back and half lidded, her breathing was shallow and the scent of vomit permeated in the small space. Sy, despite his heart rocketing in his chest, was reasonably calm, his combat cool kicking in, as he quickly pressed his fingers to the spot under the corner of her jaw, feeling how faint her heartbeat was.

“Shit.” He snapped, under his breath, scanning the room, he found a prescription bottle that had rolled under the lip of the vanity, swiped it up and pocketed it. “Lily.” He called, patting her pale cheeks, trying to get any response out of her. “Come on, Lily. Answer me.” He begged her, patting her cheeks a little harder. “What were you thinking.” He growled, then rubbed his knuckles against her sternum in firm circles.

“Oh, thank god.” He sighed, when she whimpered at the painful rub. “Lily, open your eyes and look at me. Come on, darling, look at me.” He coaxed her, rubbing her chest again, but not with his knuckles, just trying to keep her responsive.

“Sy.” She whimpered, eyes fluttering.

“Yeah, love.” He nodded, shifting to pick her up into his arms and carried her out of the bathroom and down the stairs. “Don't worry, honey, I've got you. I'll take care of you and get you to the hospital.” He told her, carrying her out to his truck and got her strapped into the passenger seat, before hopping in and gunning it down the driveway, relieved at his slight laziness, that he left the gate wide open.

“Come on, Lily. Talk to me.” He told her, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder as she whined and pressed her forehead against the window. “Tell me something, anything.”

“I wanna sleep.” She whimpered, brows creased.

“No, no, you can't do that.” Sy shook his head at her, pulling her away from the window. “What color do you want me to paint the house?” He asked, trying to think of anything to keep her engaged long enough to get her to the emergency room.

“What about purple, with hot pink polka dots?” He grinned, blue eyes light up, but still scared for her.

“I hate pink.” Lily whined, her head moving to rest on Sy's broad and stiff shoulder.

“So, pink polka dots.” He said in a voice that said he agreed with the choice.

“No.” She groaned, shaking her head with a whimper, then fell quiet again.

“No, no! Come on, Lily, don't fall asleep.” He begged her, feeling her body relax against him.

The tires of Sy's truck squealed as he parked outside the hospital, pulling Lily out, he quickly carried her into the emergency room, his usual 'cool under pressure' attitude was starting to slip with the desperate situation. The nurse at the station instantly noticed Sy carrying Lily in and read how bad the situation was, jumping out of her seat and barking orders, while guiding Sy to a place he could lay her down and they could start working on her.

“What happened?” She asked Sy.

“I'm pretty sure she overdosed on these.” Sy replied, taking the prescription bottle out of his pocket and handed it to her. “I don't know why she decided to do it, I just found her unresponsive on the bathroom floor. She was responsive for a few minutes, but then stopped just before we got here.”

“How do you know her?” The nurse asked, reading the name off the bottle.

Sy bit his lip, he knew if he admitted that he only worked for Lily as a handyman, then they wouldn't let him see her until after they had done everything they could for her. So, he fibbed. “She's my fiancée.” He told her, his voice steady and his face gave away nothing, but his concern for her.

“So, her name is Lily Ana Moore?” The nurse asked, reading the name off the prescription label.

“Yes, ma'am.” Sy nodded, though he wasn't aware of her middle name.

“And, you are?” She asked, looking up at him.

“Austin Syverson.” He replied, glancing over to Lily's bed as she whimpered.

“We'll take the best care for her, Mr. Syverson.” the Nurse promised him, resting a gentle hand on his forearm and gave it a tender squeeze.

They tended to Lily, while Sy stepped out into the waiting room, he was too high strung and agitated to sit down, so he paced from the humming vending machine and the automatic doors. His mind roiled over reasons and scenarios as to why Lily would try to overdose. She had been fine, before he left to the hardware store for a new saw blade, playing tug-a-war with Aika and about to make them lunch. What could have happened in the, maybe, fifteen minutes he was away, that was so frightening that she would rather take her life, than to either face it or tell him about it. If she had said something to him, told him that she was afraid of something, or someone, then he would have promised to protect her.

In a heartbeat.

“I’ll protect her from now on.” He muttered to himself, still pacing the room.

Once they were satisfied with how stable she was, then sent her up to a private room for an overnight observation, Sy stayed with her the whole time, never leaving her side, even once she was stable and in her room. He sat in a chair beside her bed, chin resting on his chest as he snored softly, the room was dark and quiet, minus the heart monitor she was hooked up too. It was late, when Lily did finally come back around on her own, sighing and whimpering, her body feeling spent and sluggish. She opened her eyes and instantly recognized she wasn't in her own bed, but a strange room, and panic started to set it, causing her to wake Sy.

“Hey.” He sighed, rubbing his tired face and leaning forward to take her hand in his. “You're all right, Lily.” He told her, his voice rough from sleep.

“Where am I?” She asked, squeezing his hand, like it was a lifeline, calm now that she realized Sy was there, watching over her.

“The hospital.” He replied, thumb rubbing the top of her hand. “I barely managed to get you here, after that stunt you pulled.”

She let out a heavy breath and rested back against her pillow, squeezing her eyes shut. “I'm sorry, Sy.” She whispered, not opening her eyes again. “I didn't mean to scare you.”

“And what did you mean to do?” He asked, lifting a brow at her. “Why would you try killing yourself?”

“It's complicated.” She replied, sighing again and opening her eyes.

“Then, uncomplicate it.” Sy begged her, wanting to understand what she was thinking.

“I can't.” Lily shook her head, the fear that had gripped her before her attempt started to return.

Sy could feel the tremble in her hand as it gripped his, he knew there was something she was afraid of, that she was trying to run and hide from, and wanted to help her so much, to protect her, so badly. He got up out of his chair and sat on her bedside, holding her hand in his lap and gently brushed his fingers against her cheek.

“You don't have to be afraid.” He whispered, gently. “I promise, I will protect you.”

“Don't make a promise, you can't keep, Austin.” Lily replied, meeting his eye.

“I can, and I will.” Sy replied, his stomach twitched, hearing her use his first name. “Is there anything I can do for you?” He asked, lifting a brow at her.

Lily paused a moment, regarding him, then bit her lip. “Lay with me?” She whispered, gulping at the strangeness of her own request.

Sy blinked at her for a moment, it was a bit of an odd request, but, if that's what she wanted of him, then Sy would gladly do it. He nodded, feeling slightly awkward, then toed out of his boots, while she shifted and turned onto her side, so Sy had room to lay down with her. He let her shift, her back pressing against his chest, and tucked his arm under her head, gently pulling the blankets over them and resting his other arm over her side.

“This must be awkward for you.” She mumbled, a few minutes later.

“Actually, it's not.” He chuckled back, his breath lightly caressing the back of her hair. “The most awkward thing that I've ever done, happened on my very first deployment to Iraq.”

Lily turned her head to look back over at him. “Tell me about it?”

Sy smiled at her, biting his lip. “So, it was my first deployment, back in 2004, I had been in the country a week, but hadn't left base yet in that time.” He started to explain to her. “So, my first outing off the base was a decent distance, and at some point, I ended up needing to go to the restroom.”

She laughed, starting to get the picture, making Sy smile.

“Now, I wasn't naive. I knew there wasn't a bathroom for several klicks, and I doubted any of the locals were going to let my ass in to use their bathroom.” He laughed, making them both shake from its mirth. “So, I asked my commander, cause then, I was just some lowly runt, where I could go. He walked away for a moment and came back, carrying a short handled shovel, handed it to me and said, 'pick a spot.' motioning to the wide open field we were in.”

“Oh lord, no.” She grinned, blushing at the thought of digging a random hole and going in it. “Tell me you didn't!”

“Of course, I did!” He grinned back. “I really had to go, and I wasn't holding it for another hour on patrol and three hours back. So, I dug a hole, dropped my cameos and did my business, with six guys, more or less, watching me.”

“Watching you?”

“Well, they had to make sure no one snuck up on me, and tried to kill me.” He chuckled, fully amused.

“You're braver than I am.” Lily said, after they stopped laughing. “I would have held it.” She giggled, shaking her head at the thought, relaxing in his arms.

“I think that makes you much braver.” Sy whispered, feeling the change in her breathing against the skin of his bicep as she drifted back off to sleep. “So much braver.”

“Sy, you can't sleep on the couch like this.” Lily sighed, finding him on the couch in the living room.

Ever since she returned home from the hospital, Sy insisted on sleeping on the couch, not wanting to leave her alone in the house. She had tried convincing him that she was all right, that he didn't need to sleep there and keep an eye on her.

“You should go home to Austin, sleep in your own bed.” She told him, handing him a cup of fresh coffee.

“I haven't slept in my own bed, in nearly a month.” Sy replied, taking several deep gulps of the hot brew.

“What?” Lily snapped, sitting down beside him, with a cup of tea. “Still!”

“I told you, I've been sleeping at the motel in Celina.” He confessed to her. “I've been too tired most nights to safely drive back to Austin, and it's only a couple minutes from here, instead of three hours.” He told her, rubbing a hand over his face.

“And I told you, you didn't need too, Sy?” Lily sighed, annoyed with him.

“Because, you would have wanted to pay for it.” He countered.

“No, I would have given you the guest room upstairs, like I said.” She countered back, lifting a brow at him. “And, if you insist on staying here, then I suggest you take the room, instead of the couch, so at least then, you can stretch out and not wake up all stiff and uncomfortable.” She told him, firmly.

“Especially, since Aika seems to enjoy sleeping with you.”

Lily had come downstairs at night, several times, to find Sy's long body stretched out on the couch, his head resting on one armrest, while his feet hung over the other one, and Aika's large body laid on top of him, like some sort of furry blanket.

“I've already made it up for you.” She added, getting back up and going into the kitchen.

Sy got up and followed her, setting his coffee down on the breakfast nook table. “Lily-”

“We both know, you're not going to leave me alone in the house, Austin.” Lily huffed, yanking open the refrigerator door. “So, there's no use for your additional discomfort, by sleeping on a couch that has zero support or comfort, especially after you've spent all day breaking your back to fix up my property.” She explained to him, pulling out a carton of eggs and milk, before letting the door of the original Big Chill refrigerator slam shut behind her.

“There's a comfortable bed in the guestroom, that's situated against the window, with a small walk-in closet and dresser, as well as being across from the hallway bathroom. As I said, I made the bed up for you, clean sheets and pillowcases. I opened the window as well, to air it out, since it's usually closed up and unused.” She explained to him, pulling out a pan and setting it on the stove, clicking on the gas burner.

“I do need to warn you, that the hot water tap in the upstairs bathroom, doesn't work.”

“Is there something wrong with the hot water heater?” Sy asked, lifting a brow at her.

“Not that I'm aware of, but I also don’t know crap about them, so I wouldn't know where to look or how to fix it, without replacing the thing completely. But, I don't think there is a problem with it.”

“Why's that?”

“Because, the hot water in all the sinks work, and the hot water in my master bathroom works as well.” She explained to him, whipping up a pancake batter, while the pan heated up. “I just don't understand why the hot water in that particular bathroom doesn't work.”

“Has it worked at any point, while you lived here?” Sy asked, watching her.

Lily paused and sighed, her brow creasing as she stared off in the middle distance for a moment, trying to recall. “I don't think so.” She finally replied, going back to the batter.

“Hm.” Sy frowned, his own brow deeply creased as he mauled over the numerous reasons the hot water wouldn't work. “I'll check it after breakfast.” He answered, pressing his lips together. “Do you need any help?” He asked, watching her fuss over the rest of breakfast.

“Yeah, can you flip the pancakes for me.” She nodded, side stepping the stove, so he could flip them.

Sy nodded, taking up the rubber spatula she was using and gripped the handle of the pan, carefully working the edge of the spatula around the sides of the bubbling pancake, before slipping it under and flipped it, quite unsuccessfully, splattering half cooked batter all over the pan. Lily saw it from the corner of her eye and laughed, shaking her head at him.

“Have you never flipped a pancake before, Captain?” She teased, turning to face him.

“I have, I'm just shit at it.” He replied, grinning at her, but Lily could see the warmth seeping into his hairy cheeks.

“Here.”

Lily stepped between Sy and the stove, gripping his hand, that still held the utensil, and guided him to the other pancake in the pan, gently slipping the edge of the spatula under it, and with a quick flick of their wrists, she helped him flip over the pancake, perfectly.

“See?” She smiled up at him, her blue eyes filled with pride. “You just have to do it quick and steady, like ripping off a plaster.” She picked up the batter and poured some of it into the sizzling pan. “Give it a minute, then try flipping it again.”

With that, she turned back to what she was doing, dicing up some potatoes. “Look at you!” She exclaimed, watching Sy's smooth pancake flip.

“You're a good teacher.” He smiled at her, setting the finished pancakes on a plate beside the stove.

“Would you like bacon or sausage?” She asked, opening the refrigerator again, turning her head to look at him, a brow lifted in curiosity.

Sy licked his lips and got a funny feeling in his stomach, something he had never felt before, not even as a young boy. He felt like he—belonged, here and now, with Lily. It was a natural feeling of domestic belonging, like there was a oneness between them and he had found his rightful place in the world.

“Sy?” Lily frowned at him, concerned.

She saw that far off look in his eye and worried he was having a flashback. She had seen him have them before, and after the first one, where he nearly took her head off, Lily learned not to touch Sy, calling his name, usually, did the trick of bringing him back around. But, this time was different, there was a sparkle in his cerulean eyes, and a soft smile on his lips.

“Austin?” She said, carefully, licking her lips and feeling butterflies in her stomach.

Sy blinked several times and focused on her, smiling completely, warm and happy. “Sausage, please.” He finally replied, cocking his head at her.

“Okay.” Lily nodded back, eyes wide like a doe's. “Why don't you sit down and relax, I can finish up.” She suggested, motioning to the table. “Your coffee is getting cold.”

“Sure.”

He kept smiling at her, even as he sat down at the table and sipped his cooling coffee; watching her drop the finely diced potatoes into the pan, stirring them around as they cooked and browned, before cracking three eggs on the edge of the pan and dumped the contents in with the potatoes, then tossed the shells into the empty bowl the pancake batter was in. She kept stirring the browned potatoes and fluffy eggs together, then added sliced up sausage. Finishing it up, she brought the food to the table and Sy served himself, heaping the potato, egg and sausage scramble onto his plate with four large pancakes, drizzling maple syrup everywhere. Lily picked Sy's now empty coffee cup up and filled it with fresh coffee, putting in two sugars and set it back down in front of his plate.

“You know how I take my coffee.” He asked, digging his fork into his mountain of food.

“I've known you for several months at this point, so, it's only natural that I've noticed things about you.” She chuckled, sitting down and making her own plate for breakfast.

“Fair enough.” He laughed, and got down to eating.

After breakfast, and helping Lily wash and dry the dishes, Sy went upstairs to the hallway bathroom to try and figure out why the hot water wasn't coming out of the tap. He tested it, spinning the hot tap all the way over, water jetting out of the shower head. He left it running for several long minutes, touching it periodically, and only found it to be even colder than when it first came out. Pressing his lips together and sighing through his nose, Sy turned the tap off and went downstairs to his truck, taking out the tool box from the back and carried it back inside, removing the faucet cover and checked the valve. He removed the tap handle, unscrewed the plate and reached inside for the valve, finding it was broken.

“There you are, you pesky little shit.” He said, setting it on the sink counter. “I need a new one.” He sighed. “Lily.” He called out, going down the hall to her office.

“Sy?” She called back, her eyes still on the work on her computer screen.

“I found the problem with the shower in the hall bath.” He told her, standing in the office doorway. “I'm going to go down to the hardware store to get a replacement part for it.” He explained, looking her over as she sat cross legged in her office chair.

“Will you be okay, while I'm gone?” He asked, his tone careful.

Lily's shoulders slumped and she looked over at him. “I'll be fine, Austin.” She told him, slightly annoyed with him being so overprotective, though she appreciated it and felt incredibly safe with him around. “Go, and if you remember, can you bring me back some Reese cups?” She asked, as he turned to leave.

“I've got a mad chocolate craving going on.”

“A hot shower and chocolate coming up.” He grinned at her, and left for the store. “Keep an eye on her, Aika.” He whispered to the pup as she laid spread out on the front porch, enjoying the warm rays of the sun; patting her on the head.

Aika huffed at him, before getting up and strolling inside, climbing the stairs and wandering into Lily's office, then laid down at her feet, dropping back off to sleep. Lily smiled down at her, bending in her chair to pat her between her proudly standing ears, then returned to her work. Sy returned an hour later, with four packages of king sized Reese Cups and the replacement hot water valve.

“Christ.” Lily laughed, when he set the candy down in front of her. “Did you buy the store out?” She teased, looking up at him.

“Actually,” Sy grinned brazenly at her. “I did. It was all they had in the little corner store, next to the hardware store.” He confessed, he thought it would be funny to buy them all, and one can never have enough chocolate.

“Thank you.” She giggled, opening one of them up, amused by his sense of humor and popped one into her mouth..

“You're welcome.” Sy nodded his head to her, butterflies filling his stomach hearing her laugh, making her laugh, and gulped as he watched her take the candy whole into her mouth, feeling something stir much lower than his stomach, before turning and going back to fix the shower.

“Is it working?” Lily asked, a little while later, coming into the bathroom to watch him work.

“See for yourself.” Sy replied, turning the tap on and stepping aside.

Lily stepped forward and held her hand out under the streaming water, feeling the pleasant warmth of it. She looked over her shoulder at Sy and smiled at him, proud and amazed. “That's amazing! Is there anything you can't fix?” She asked, drying her hand on the towel hanging on the rack.

“Oh, I'm sure there is.” Sy smiled, leaning back against the vanity. “But, if I encounter it, I'm sure I could figure it out.”

“I'm sure you would.” Lily smiled, patting him on the chest as she went out of the bathroom.

Sy beamed with pride, seeing how happy and proud of him she was, her gentle pat only re-enforcing that fact.

Later that night, Sy took the duffle bag he had filled with his clothing and other things he needed, upstairs to Lily's offered guestroom. It was a sweet little room, the window let in a lot of light during the day and he could see Billie Marlowe's crops and the beautiful night sky as he laid in bed. The dresser was big enough for all his things. He toed out of his boots and sat down on the edge of the bed, then laid back. It was a comfortable bed, more comfortable than the couch and the bed in the motel room he had been renting.

Satisfied, Sy stood, pulled out a pair of shorts and a black tank top, with a bar of soap, and crossed the hall to the bathroom.

He stood under the hot spray of the shower head, letting it seep into his tired and sore body for a while, before soaping up his body, head to toe, rinsed and dressed, before stepping out of the steamy bathroom. He paused in the hall and turned his head, Lily's room was at the end of the hall, the staircase leading into the kitchen between them, and her door was closed. But, he could hear the soft creaks of her moving about her room, no doubt doing the similar ritual he was, before going off to sleep.

Sighing, he went into his room, leaving the door cracked open for Aika to come in and out, and crawled into bed, the washed sheets and quilt smelled just like Lily, and he couldn't suppress the moan that escaped from deep in his throat, pressing the quilt to his nose and inhaling deeply. She smelled amazing, he wondered what her skin smelled like, before drifting off.

Lily wasn't sure what time it was, when she first heard it. At first, she thought it was just part of the dream she was having, but as it came more regularly, she realized it wasn't in her dream, but in the house. Her eyes opened, blinking in the darkness of her room as she laid still in bed, listening intently.

Yes, it was real and in the house, but what was it?

Shaking her head, she threw her blankets back and got out of bed, tiptoeing to her closed door and pressed her ear to the wood. It was a loud whimper, followed by a whine, with other noises mixed in. Daring to open her door, she stepped out into the hall and slowly followed the noise, down to Sy's room. She pushed open his half open door and peeked inside, Aika was sitting on the side of the bed, whining as she looked up at Sy, who was laying on his back, sweaty brow deeply creased and shaking his head, like he was trying to wake himself up, to no avail.

“Move.” He called out, body jerking. “Tristan.” He yelled out, then whined.

“Sy.” She called out to him, standing in the doorway. “Sy, wake up.”

But, he didn't.

Biting her lip, and stepping into the fray, Lily moved to the side of the bed, her stomach clenched as she sat down beside him, waiting for him to suddenly lunge at her, but he didn't. Her heart was pounding as she reached out and gently wiped away the heavy sweat on his brow, he made a sound, between a sigh and a growl as she did, his hands coming up, but fell back to the bed, before reaching her. She frowned at him, stroking the side of his face, his hair was slightly longer than it had been, when he first came. He usually kept it very short, but with her going into the hospital, he had neglected cutting it.

She touched the side of his head, feeling the soft hair just above his ear, then petting down his neck and cupping his cheek.

“It's all right.” She cooed at him in a soft and silky voice. “Ssshh, it's all right.” She spoke to him softly, caressing his bearded cheek with her thumb and rubbed his chest through the thin black material of his tank top.

Sy's wide and alarmed eyes shot open and he snapped upright, gasping for air and shaking, but he didn't lash out at her, like he had on the porch that day. She bit her lip, watching this bear of a man tremble, struggling to control his breathing and so frightened. Lily laid her hand on his tense shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze; Sy's head snapped to the side, looking at her, but not quite seeing her, but the face of the teammate he had been calling out for, one of the first men Sy had ever lost in combat.

“Lily.” He whispered, in a disembodied voice. “What are you doing here?” He asked, suddenly sounding alarmed and panicked, his sweaty body rigid. “It’s not safe, you have to leave, before more of them show up.” He told her, his voice still sounding discorporated.

“Who, Austin?” Lily frowned, shaking her head at him, not understanding what he was talking about. “Who’s coming?”

Sy’s vision hyper-focused on the small gap between them, twitching quickly side to side, like he was trying to reconnect unplugged wires in his jumbled up and confused mind, struggling to remember if he was in reality with Lily or in the nightmare of a long ago mission in Iraq that had gone bad for everyone involved, changing Sy forever, the first hung thread in a thick web of PTSD and flashbacks. But, the gentle touch of Lily’s hands on him, the soft whisper of his name in her voice, the close warmth of her body and her sweet smell gave Sy the traction he needed to pull himself back to reality and consciousness.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, biting his lip, self-conscious. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s all right.” She replied, then wrapped her arms around him, hugging him against her and rubbing his back. “It's okay, Austin.” She whispered into his ear as he buried his face into her neck. “You're okay. Safe and sound, back home, and with me.” She told him, closing her eyes as his arms wrapped around her waist and he clutched her against his sweaty and shaking body.

“I've got you, Austin.” She assured him and rested her cheek against his temple, tenderly rubbing the back of his head. “I won't let anything happen.”

Sy nuzzled his face into her neck, taking deep breaths to calm himself down and took in the comforting scent of her skin as he did, it helped him relax, as did the soft words she whispered into his ear and the soothing touch of her hand on his head or on his back. He didn't want to let her go, afraid that as soon as he did, she would fade away and the nightmares would come back, having only tricked him into thinking it was her.

Even though her heart thundered in her chest, she made a choice. “Come on, Austin.” She said into his ear, patting him on the back and wiggling in his arms, trying to entice him to let her go, so she could stand up.

“Where?” He whimpered into her neck.

She licked her lips. “Come to bed with me.” She told him, her lips brushing the rim of his earlobe. “Let me hold you and keep the nightmares away.”

Sy moaned softly into her ear, but his arms secured themselves around her waist, shifting her into his lap and stood, picking her up, still very unwilling to let her go, even for the minute it would take to go down to her room. So, he carried her down the hall and laid down in her bed, only then, letting her go long enough for her to cover them up and lay down beside him. Sy turned onto his side, wrapping his arms around her and hugged her against his body, his head laying on her chest.

Lily frowned, sympathetically, down at Sy, caressing his head, neck and shoulders, whispering soft things to him, soothing and lulling him back to sleep, with the pound of her heart in his ear and the pillow-y warmth of her skin and breasts under his head.

“My sweet bear.” She cooed at his sleeping form, then kissed the top of his head.

#Henry Cavill #HenryCavill #Southern Generation #Southern Generation *fic*#viking-raider fics #captain syverson #Syverson #Austin Syverson #Syverson/OFC #Syverson x OFC #Sand Castle #Lily #Hurt/Comfort #PTSD #Domestic Kink #Language #Fluff #Angst

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trashyswitch · 4 years ago

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Logan's Invention Trouble

Logan had created a new machine that could grip and tickle you if you step up to it. But, faulty wiring leads to Logan getting stuck in his own invention! And due to an unlucky break, Logan has to rely on some not-so-reliable people to save him from his own foolishness.

This fanfic was suggested by @gamequeenanya. I hope you enjoy, Violet!

His new invention had been a wonderful success. He had tested it on a dummy, and had tested it on the air to see the controls without a person in the machine. To Logan’s happiness, it worked like a gem. Logan had originally set it up to be button activated. However, that was only for the testing. So, Logan decided to make it motion controlled instead, to guarantee a surprise for everyone that walked into it.

After finishing up the motion sensor, Logan threw the dummy down in front of the machine. Quickly, many pairs of hands gathered the dummy’s hands and feet, and started doing its expected thing. Logan smiled at his own success and clicked the button to shut it down. Slowly, the hands slowed down to a stop and let the dummy go.

He planned to gather the dummy. But before he got even remotely close, Logan had switched the motion sensor off so that he didn’t end up caught in the machine.

However…

Logan didn’t really know this, but the wiring had been done incorrectly, making the button completely useless. The button didn’t shut off the motion sensor. If anything, it alerted the sensor that something was gonna be coming to it very soon.

Confident that the button had turned it off however, Logan walked up to the machine to retrieve the dummy.

Suddenly, the machine grabbed Logan’s hands! Logan yelped the moment his hand was grabbed, and immediately made the realization that the button was faulty! It was way too late for that though, and Logan’s bodily functions took over as about 15 hands tickled his armpits, sides, ribs, belly, feet, back of the knees, and the shoulderblades.

OH NO!

“GAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! OHOHOHOHO GEHEHEHEHEEEZ! WHAHAHAT HAHAHAHAPPEHEHEHENED?!” Logan asked.

Logan realized something even worse than the tickles:

Logan hadn’t added a proper timer to the machine yet! He had planned to add the timer after he had gathered the dummy!

That means that the machine was gonna tickle tickle tickle him forever! Or, until someone clicks the button that he had foolishly dropped during the attack! And the other unfortunate part, was that the remote was JUST out of reach of his foot! But the hand that had grabbed his foot, would automatically lift his foot back into position if he even tried to reach out to click it!

The only way he’d ever get out, will involve getting one of the sides to help him out!

This was a nightmare come true! Or...Well, Logan would say a mixed emotion-kinda dream. It was a nightmare in how he was gonna get out, but it was a dream that Logan could experience the machine first hand.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! HEHEHEHEHELP! SOHOHOMEOHOHONE!” Logan called.

This was gonna be so embarrassing to explain...But dammit all, Logan needed out!

Logan looked around and tried to get out himself. But each time he would pull on the restraints, the hands nearby would tickle harder for a few seconds each, to further weaken him! Logan knew this was a thing that came with installing the motion sensor...He knew that he added this due to his intense ler mood...But this just gave fuel to the fire!

Logan growled as he felt powerless against his own machine. What a joke...Of course the inventor will get stuck in his own invention! It’s bound to happen! But this is just too much!

Finally, after what felt like hours, someone followed his laughter to the laboratory.

“Logan? Are you...laughing?!” Someone asked.

“HEHEHEHELP MEEEEHEHEHEHE!” Logan begged.

The person peeked his head in and widened his eyes. “Holy Zeus...What is thihihis?!” The person asked.

As you could tell by the reaction, this intruder was Roman.

“HEHEHEHELP! IHIHIHI’M STUHUHUHUHUCK!” Logan shouted to him.

“Ihihi can tehehell!” Roman reacted, giggling. “What in the name of Peter Pan did you get yourself stuck in?!” Roman asked.

“IHIHIT’S AHAHA MAHAHACHIHIHINE! PLEHEHEHEASE HEHEHELP!” Logan begged.

“Well...How do I turn it off?” Roman asked.

“BUHUHUTTON! BEHEHELOHOHOW MYHYHY FEHEHEHEET!” Logan replied, pointing to the remote that laid on the floor.

Roman looked up and immediately noticed the cameras. “Uh oh...It’s motion censored?!” Roman reacted. “Now why would you make a tickling machine motion sensored?” Roman asked.

“SHUHUHUT UHUHUP AHAHAND GEHEHET MEHEHE OHOHOUT!” Logan begged.

Roman gasped and grabbed the remote. But he didn’t press the button...not yet.

“Now you listen here, you son of a sword! You, as the damsel in distress, are relying on me, the hero, to save you from the eeeevil tickle machine of your own invention!” Roman explained. “Perhaps you should treat the hero with a little more respect?” Roman asked.

“JUHUHUST PREHEHESS IHIHIHIT!” Logan begged.

“No way! Not yet. I wanna hear more of your cute little laughter.” Roman told him.

Out of all the people to call his hero…

Logan tried to get out himself, but winded up causing the hands at his feet to tickle more. “eeEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE! NAHAHAHAT THEHEHE TOHOHOHOES!” ogan begged helplessly. “PLEHEHEHEASE! IHIHIHIHI’M SAHAHAHARRYHYHYHY!” Logan told him.

He was gonna need some wine after he’s done this…

Roman smiled at the apology and clicked the button. Slowly, the hands started to slow down and stopped tickling the man.

Logan let out a long breath of relief and gasped for air while the hands lowered him down and let go. “Th...Thank you.” Logan told him.

Roman nodded in response and immediately noticed a button that was labelled on the remote:

[CAPTURE]

Roman smiled and clicked the button.

Quickly, the hands grabbed Logan’s hands, feet and torso, and held him up again. “eeEEK! Um...What are you doing?” Logan asked.

“Tell me: Why did you create an invention for tickling people?” Roman asked.

Logan face blushed almost immediately after hearing that word. “Uuuuuuh...Well…” Logan mumbled.

“Welll???” Roman teased. “A little reminder that I have the remote~” Roman added.

Logan growled and pulled on his hands. “Just let me out, you mischievous beast!” Logan shot back.

“Ooooh! Refusing to reply to my message? And calling me names?!” Roman reacted.

Roman clicked a couple buttons on the remote. “You just earned yourself some more feet tickles, sir.” Roman decided.

Logan squealed as the hands touched his feet and started tickling. But not just any hands...Roman’s hands! Roman had knelt down and started tickling Logan’s sensitive feet! Logan giggled at the tickles and laughed as the inner arch, the balls of his foot and the heels were tickled bit by bit.

“Rohohohoho cohohome ohohohon! Whyhyhyhy?” Logan asked.

Roman smiled. “Why did you make the tickle machine?” Roman asked. “I know you’re hiding something.”

Logan refused to answer. “Ihihihi’m nahahahat tehehellihihing yohohohou!” Logan shot back.

“Oh? And why is that?” Roman asked.

“Nohohone ohohof yohohohour beeeheheheezwahahahax!” Logan replied confidently.

“Oooooh! Looks like I’m gonna keep on tickle tickle tickling you then!” Roman decided.

Roman had moved up to Logan’s kneecaps, when someone else walked in.

“Oh? What’s this?” someone asked.

Roman turned around and brightened up. “Hello little stormcloud! You just caught me in the middle of a ticklish interrogation! Logan got himself stuck in this machine he made, and I’m trying to find out why he made it.” Roman explained to the man.

As you could tell by the nickname, the third person who walked into the room was Virgil.

“Oh? Huh...What have you found out so far?” Virgil asked, growing curious.

“None of your beeswax, was Logan’s sacred answer. So, I guess I have to keep going till he answers me.” Roman replied.

Virgil chuckled. “Mind if I have that remote?” Virgil asked.

Roman nodded. “Sure! Thankfully, all the remote buttons are labeled, so it’s fairly easy to figure out how they work.” Roman explained.

“Looks like it. I see I can choose the amount of hands I want to tickle Logan.” Virgil explained. “How about...2 to start? And...On the hips.” Virgil decided.

Virgil clicked the buttons [2] and [HIPS], and watched as the fingers squeezed and tweaked Logan’s hips.

Logan’s laughter grew a little louder as he laughed, and grew higher in octave as well. “VEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHE! MEHEHERCYYYHYHYHYHY!” Logan pleaded.

“Are you gonna tell us? Tell us the reason behind such a funny invention?” Virgil asked.

“NOHOHO! IHIHIT’S EHEHEMBARASSIHIHIHING!” Logan told them.

“We don’t care. We’re not gonna tell.” Virgil told him. “The only person we might tell is Patton. But that’s only because he’d love to hear it.” Virgil added.

Logan mentally sighed. He really had to tell them, or else he wouldn’t be freed. Logan finally gave in.

“OHOHOKAHAHAY FIHIHIHINE! IHIHI’LL TEHEHEHELL YOHOHOU!” Logan told them.

“Promise?” Roman asked.

“YEHEHEHES! IHIHI PROHOHOMISE!” Logan replied desperately.

Roman smiled confidently and stopped tickling. Virgil also smiled and clicked the [STOP] button to stop the machine.

The machine took a moment or two to slow itself down, before letting the Logical side go. Logan sighed and breathed somewhat heavily to recuperate his lungs. Logan found his lungs to be heavy after being tickled so much.

Logan soon looked at Virgil and Roman. Roman was holding a bottle of water for him, while Virgil was holding a wet cold wash cloth for him. Logan smiled and happily took both items. Logan took a drink of water to help his throat, and dabbed off his face with the washcloth to help cool down. “Thank you, you two. I appreciate the care.” Logan told them.

“No problem.” Virgil replied.

“You gonna tell us now?” Roman asked.

Logan almost choked on his water. Damn...He forgot he had to tell the boys about why he made the invention.

Logan cleared his throat and put the lid onto his water bottle. “Well…” Logan took a moment. “I find that I have been growing more and more touch starved. Basically, I miss being touched, loved, and...tickled. So...I thought I could create a device that gives me what I desire for 5-10 minutes if I need it.” Logan told them.

Roman was about to cry. “Awwww, you poor being! I had no idea you felt that way!” Roman walked up and gave him a hug. “Sacred Wilbur, I would be dying if I were in your shoes.” Roman admitted.

Logan took the hug rather awkwardly, and looked to Virgil.

“I understand where you’re coming from. But, I didn’t expect...this to be a solution you would go for.” Virgil admitted. “You must’ve been desperate.”

Roman giggled. “I see you made a dummy of Thomas’s little Orange side.” Roman teased, showing him the somewhat decently made dummy.

Logan chuckled. “I think he deserves some love.” Logan admitted.

“Agreed.” Roman replied.

Virgil walked himself closer to the machine.

“VIRGIL WAIT-”

Virgil stopped, and yelped as the machine gathered Virgil’s arms and legs into the hands’ grip, and started tickling the key spots that Logan recommended it go for.

Logan bit his lip. “I...Forgot to mention that the machine is now motion sensored…” Logan admitted as he picked up the remote.

“WHOHOHOHOHOAHAHAHAHAHA! IHIHIHIT’S SOHOHOHO EHEHEHEFFEHEHECTIVE!” Virgil reacted.

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Logan told him as he clicked the [STOP] button. “I need to program a timer into the machine to let people got after 10 minutes or so...And I need to fix the [MC OFF] button.” Logan admitted.

Virgil was a giggly mess as he was let go. Noticing Virgil enjoyed it too, Logan clicked a couple buttons on the remote. The hands moved up to Virgil’s sides, and started to tickle and skitter.

Virgil squeaked and giggled helplessly, wiggling around and liking some of the tickles it offered.

“Thihihihis ihihis fuhuhuhun!” Virgil admitted.

“Oh oh oh! I wanna try!” Roman admitted, running to the camera. The sensor sensed Roman immediately, and eagerly watched as the machine gathered Roman into a little grip and started attacking his armpits, feet, and belly.

Logan widened his eyes. He did not know that the machine could tickle two people at once! Roman was lucky he didn’t get caught in the machine earlier…

And so...Virgil, Roman and Logan all enjoyed the machine...And before Logan could get the timer installed, they always made sure that someone had the remote.

Otherwise they would be stuck in the tickle machine forever…

#ticklefic #tickle machine #switch!logan #switch!roman #switch!virgil

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platypanthewriter · 4 years ago

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Dildos and Hayfever

Harringrove April prompt day 13, Hayfever. Detective Billy Hargrove's had a rough time lately, and Captain Hopper assigns him a partner who'll either make everything worse...or everything better.

“All you need to know is he’s the commissioner’s son,” rang in Billy’s head as he stalked down the hall. Hopper had followed up with “I told him you were fresh out of rehab,” and “I’m sure you can remember enough of the ropes to show him, right, it’s not like he’s gonna be doing the work anyway,” and Billy gritted his teeth, punching the elevator buttons with a vengeance.

The light flickered, worsening the headache that always came on in the spring when all the flowers bloomed, and every tree on every sidewalk in the city shot its rocks off in midair—or when he had to walk into the office of the captain. This morning, to his utmost joy, he’d had both, and he took the opportunity of alone time in the elevator to blow his nose, hard.

Captain Hopper meant well, probably, Billy told himself, and set his shoulders.

He found the right building because of the smoke pouring out half the upper windows, the six fire trucks, and the EMTs coming out with the victims—a nice brownstone, before. Billy looked—somewhat hopelessly—for an elevator, sighed, and hauled himself up seven flights of stairs, sneezing.

Police Commissioner Harrington’s son was interviewing witnesses. Billy’d seen him before—always with his own office, always flirting with whoever worked reception, always with his uniform tailored. How he’d brokered a transfer to Major Crimes was a riddle Billy couldn’t wait to ask about—though if he was absolute dead weight, Hopper would probably come up with another solution to Billy’s bullshit, and kick Harrington back onto a desk somewhere.

Harrington was on an upper landing, listening to a black lady and her husband. They looked in their...seventies, maybe, well-off, both crying, and clutching tabby cats. “I can speak to you later,” he said gently, “—if you’d like to—” but the woman shook her head, grabbing his hand.

“He’s a good boy,” she said, sniffling, “—and you better catch whoever did this. Anyone who could do this. There aren’t many young men ready to haul an old lady’s groceries up nine flights, or open her pickle jars, either. Anything we can tell you—”

The man nodded too, holding her hand, and Harrington crouched, jotting down their story, while Billy showed his ID and ducked under the crime scene tape into the half-gutted apartment. He listened as he pulled the whole crime scene kit on, his gloves, mask, booties, and haircap and all.

It smelled horrible, still thick with greasy smoke that clung to the inside of Billy’s sinuses, and he was grateful for the mask.

The parts of the apartment that hadn’t caught fire were nice—nicer than he could afford, certainly—with art everywhere, photos, paintings...and a floor-to-ceiling, sculptural mobile he couldn’t help thinking looked like a cock. He surveyed the scene—a coffee table with wine glasses for two, chocolate-dipped strawberries, and chocolate dick-shaped marshmallows, in front of a couch with penis-shaped pillows.

There was a spray-painted ‘GOD HATES F—’ on the wall, the last word obscured by char from the fire, but Billy honestly wasn’t sure it was new, given the decor in general, and the adjacent broken glass glued to the wall in a penis shape. He leaned in and sniffed it, and he could still smell the fumes of the paint. He snapped a few pictures of it, for later.

When he backed up to get a wider view, his shoulder thumped into someone. “Sorry,” said Harrington, and then, showing why he’d made detective, “...that huge thing on the ceiling kinda looks like a dick.”

“A lot of things in this apartment do, you’ll find,” said Wheeler, the lead CSI, raising her eyebrows at Billy with a smirk. He tensed, a little, but she just started giving him the report, and he nearly shut his eyes in relief. “Including the weapon.” She waved at a bagged, cement dong sculpture that looked like art deco. “It probably didn’t take any prints,” she said, sighing, “—with a gritty surface like that.” Harrington grimaced, wincing, and touching his head.

“The victim will probably regain consciousness,” Wheeler went on. “He left the windows open all along that side of the apartment,” she pointed, “—and with as windy as it’s been today, it sucked the fire away from him, so he didn’t get much smoke inhalation.”

“What even...robbery?” Harrington asked, then, “Domestic violence?” and she grimaced, clicking around on her tablet.

“From his phone, it looks like a first date. We’re going over it with a fine-tooth comb, though,” she said, frowning at Billy, then down at her tablet. “Since the assailant obviously wanted the crime scene burned to the ground.”

Billy nodded, his eyes watering either from the fumes, or the pollen count. He sneezed inside his mask, and grimaced as it stuck to his face wetly. “Who is the victim?” he asked, sighing, and wrinkling his nose.

“Ishaq Hill,” Harrington put in, glancing between them. “Profession, camboy. Posted photos and videos of himself, pinup style mostly, artsy, sometimes naked. Neighbors don’t think it was stressing him out any, though, he just talked about being single a lot.”

Wheeler raised her eyebrows. “Because of the head trauma, they’re keeping him in a medically induced coma, so we can’t ask him what happened at least until tomorrow. But look,” she said, leaning between them to flick between photos on her tablet. She zoomed in on the victim’s crotch, and Billy automatically shot an alarmed glance at the nearest human, who happened to be Harrington, his brown eyes frowning back.

“Was there evidence of sexual assault?” he asked, and Wheeler shook her head, waving him closer.

“No, no, look,” she said, zooming it in further. “It’s hard to see, but look, the harness. The color, there, against his white vinyl? It’s a leather harness, dyed rainbow tie-dye. The straps are cut—and it’s empty.”

Billy stared at her. “...you’re saying the victim is trans,” he said slowly, making sure he had it right, “—and the attempted murderer stole his dick.”

“What the hell,” Harrington breathed.

She raised her eyebrows, waving her arms in a dramatic shrug. “I have no idea! But go look, there’s another one in the bedroom—” she pointed, and then bent back to sweeping something into a tiny ziploc bag.

In the bedroom, Harrington pointed at the waist-to-hip sculpture of a man, used to demo, apparently, turquoise leather straps similar to the rainbow straps they could make out in the photos. This one had a securely-fitted glass dildo in it with a whole blown-glass coral reef inside. Harrington bent close to stare at the cock made of tiny jellyfish and anemones, while Billy took in the display on the dresser—a whole array of fancy condoms and butt plugs, with decorated stands, and nameplates.

“He must have used this stuff in videos,” Harrington said. “Like, you know, unboxing.”

“I think he probably filmed less taking them out and more more putting them in things,” Billy muttered, as Harrington snickered, and then waved at the small, rhinestoned pastry stand labeled ‘God <3 Fags’. It was empty.

He looked over to see whether Harrington had noticed the empty stand, but he was fiddling with his phone. “...doesn’t look like he had any nasty public messages, or anything,” he said, frowning. “I’ll look through his account when we get back—”

“I’m gonna see where he gets all these dildos,” Billy said, frowning at one with what looked like birthday candles, and ‘Ishaq 23rd’ floating inside. He pulled a drawer open, and found a few boxed vibrators, and a lot of lingerie. “Some of this stuff has to be custom. Maybe they’ll know which one got stolen.”

“Oh,” Harrington said, brightening. “Good idea!”

“You can call around,” Billy told him, and Harrington shot him a sideways glance that made Billy wonder if he was gonna be a shithead about his dad being the commissioner, but he just nodded. He dropped into a chair at a desk out on the floor like any other cop when they got back to the precinct, searching up both Ishaq Hill’s social media, and local sex shops.

Billy went to find coffee and gossip, avoiding the old guard—his father’s friends.

“Steve’s all right,” said Holland, another CSI he thought he could trust, since she was friends with Wheeler. She considered, crossing her arms. “Everybody figures he’ll be bad at the job, so he gets all the desk work, and he’s kind of obnoxious, but he’ll get down and dust vac a bloody trunk, if you need him to.”

Hagen in Vice sneered, and yelled for everyone to come say hey to Neil Hargrove’s son, back from rehab, and Billy turned on his heel and stalked back to his own department, his heart racing.

He returned to hand Harrington a vending machine coffee, and Harrington looked grateful, toasting him in the air as he talked on the phone. “No, ma’am, I’m not trying to make any trouble. No, it’s nothing like—” he groaned, leaning his head against the handset, then sipped his coffee, and hit redial. “Hey, I’m looking to buy custom, handmade dildos. I’ve got a—” he grimaced at the wall, screwed up his face in thought, and then shrugged, glancing at Billy, and grimacing as he sighed. “I’ve got a highschool ring I wanna put in a dildo. Uh, go 2011!” He listened.�� “Oh, you do? Oh, thanks so much,” he said, writing down a phone number, and mumbling more thank yous.

“What’d you get?” Billy asked.

“Just another store to try,” Steve muttered. He kicked the desk, and rolled a couple feet closer to hand the post-it note to Billy. “They don’t want to talk to me until I want a weird sex toy,” he said, flushing a little, but laughing. “I’ve looked for one with plastic dinosaurs in it, a butt plug with my old glass eye—”

Billy snorted his coffee, coughing as Harrington scrambled up to pat his back.

“I think one time I maybe said moose antlers,” he muttered, counting off on his fingers. “That one must think I’m pretty weird.”

“Not the eyeball one though,” Billy choked out, trying not to die. “The fake eye ass plug store thinks that’s normal as shit.”

“I just mean,” Steve said, blushing, and waving his arms in a vaguely antler-like shape from his head, “—moose antlers wouldn’t probably fit in my ass, you know?”

“Jesus H. Christ,” Billy gasped, wiping his eyes, leaned in to where Harrington had brought up Hill’s social media, and scrolled.

“What’s all this shit about the Westboro Baptist Church?” he asked.

Steve was mumbling and scribbling, and then he hung up. “Oh,” he nodded. “They’ve been spamming ‘God Hates Fags’ on all his sites. He’s been doing a big photoshoot with teasers, kind of...at them? He kept tagging them. It’s gone viral.” He held out his phone, and Billy was treated to a lock screen of their assault victim on his knees, arms out like he was singing, his glittery dick spurting a cartoon rainbow.

“...sorry, that’s not very professional,” Harrington said, grimacing, and yanking it back. “I’ll change it.”

“Did you see this at the crime scene?” Billy asked him, yanking his phone out and showing Harrington the spray-painted ‘GOD HATES F—’ he’d found on the wall.

“Holy shit,” Harrington said. “Eugh, imagine them knowing where you live. Shit, I didn’t even notice that.” He sighed, and Billy kicked his chair, lightly.

“Kinda busy walls in that place,” he pointed out, and Steve shot him a smirk.

“Hargrove!” a familiar voice yelled, and Detective Holloway ran up and gave Billy a hug. “You look so good!” she told him, and then nodded at Harrington, and smiled back at Billy. “We found the guy the date was with on Grindr. They’re bringing him in.”

It was nice to have somebody happy to see him, even if her face made him kinda uncomfortable, knowing she’d been the one to catch him drinking in the supply room after all the—after.

“Make him wait,” Billy said, considering. “I wanna go through the conversations on Grindr. He can work up some nerves first.”

“He’s ex-military,” she said, grimacing. “His CV says his last job was as a ‘fully armed and trained combat specialist’ who did security for diamond mines in war-torn areas. I don’t think you’re gonna make him nervous.”

“Eugh,” Harrington said, making a face. “I can see why that date didn’t go well. He probably dresses like a supervillain.”

Holloway’s look at him was a little withering, and he shut up, turning back to sit at his computer. “Lemme know if you need anything,” she told Billy, frowning into his face, and he pushed her shoulder away, quirking his mouth.

“...I’m okay,” he told her, and she didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t hug him again, at least.

“How are you doing?” Harrington asked, after she’d left, and after swallowing half the cup of coffee in one chipmunk-cheeked slurp. He wiped his mouth, blinking wide brown eyes up at Billy, and Billy groaned.

“Look, about what the captain—”

“I know the story,” Harrington said, tossing back the rest of the coffee like a bathtub drain. Billy reminded himself to make Harrington pee before they got in a car together, like a little kid on a road trip. “My dad’s the commissioner, I know the whole...thing,” he said, grimacing. “You shoulda got a commendation.”

“...he was a dirty cop,” Billy grunted, hunching his shoulders. “It’s our job to make sure—”

“Yeah, it is,” Steve agreed, nodding at his screen, and Billy relaxed a little, out from under the weight of sympathetic eyes. “It’s our job, but not everybody does it. And you knew what it was gonna be like.”

“I did,” Billy said, grimacing. “I thought I did.”

“Hey, they let me into Major Crimes for this,” Harrington laughed, unhappily. “Even if my police work isn’t up to scratch, they won’t try anything on you if I’m standing there.”

Billy watched him, and felt a kind of brotherhood, suddenly, looking at Harrington’s tight smile, and tense shoulders. “...police work’s been okay so far,” he said, and Harrington shot him a startled grin. “I’m gonna go...call the hospital,” Billy told him, suddenly needing to be somewhere else. “Maybe swing by and take a look at our victim.”

“Oh,” Harrington said, nodding.

Billy had a few more pictures of the harness sent over—Wheeler was right about what it was, at least—and then they brought the ex-military Grindr date in. He didn’t look that intimidating, actually—his huge biceps were flexed as he held kleenex over his nose, sneezing so hard every few feet he staggered, and he was wearing a t-shirt with a badly-designed logo for a Queer Youth Charity Marathon.

“Hey,” Harrington whispered, touching his shoulder just before they went inside. “Uh, there’s a lot of hate on there from the Westboro Baptist Church. Like, they were getting specific, said someone doxxed him.”

In the interrogation room, their person of interest sneezed so hard snot dangled from both his nostrils, like a drooly dog. Steve snorted a laugh, and walked off to lean against another detective’s desk—Carol’s, Billy thought.

“Can I bribe you for some of that kleenex?” he asked, leaning in like he was flirting on a movie poster, and Carol laughed out loud, and hit him with it.

“Take it and git,” she said, and Steve ran back, grinning.

“Here we go,” he said, handing one to Billy. “One for you, the rest of the box for him.”

“I didn’t even stay for the whole date,” said Braxton Haglund, 34 years old, dark haired and caucasian, with a tattoo Billy could see peeking from under the sleeve of his t-shirt. Haglund blew his nose, again, and the kleenex was so wet it made a noise as he dropped it against the table. “He’d left the windows all open. I walked up so many stairs—” he sneezed, miserably, several times, wadding handfuls of kleenex under his nose, and wiping his eyes.

“God,” he mumbled. “If I didn’t have hayfever, I’d probably still have been there when...whatever happened,” he said, between sneezes. His wide shoulders were hunched despairingly, and even Harrington had a sympathetic grimace. “Dunno if I’d have been much use, though.”

“Did you see anyone as you left?” Billy asked, and Haglund thought, taking deep breaths between blowing his nose.

“...nobody that stood out,” he said. “Some neighbors, maybe. Think I walked into somebody, once, my eyes were watering.”

He hadn’t seen anybody going in, either, so after they let him leave, Billy spent a while scrolling through all the victim’s media accounts. Harrington stayed doggedly on tracking down the dildo maker—Billy nearly felt sorry for him, except it was giving Billy such a good read on what to expect—and he was coming up with a continuous stream of weird sex toys to be in search of. “I’m an author,” he told one. “I want a dildo containing the pen I wrote my first book with.” He jotted down another number, called it, sighed, and tried again. “Uh, I want a dildo full of baby teeth—” he started, and then stopped, frowning at the phone. “They hung up,” he said, sounding betrayed.

“Wouldn’t you?!” Billy asked, smiling despite having to see comment after comment by the Westboro Baptist Church. He found further reasons to hate them, but nothing specifically actionable, so he finally stretched and grabbed his jacket. “I’m done for the day,” he called over the other empty desks.

“Go ahead,” Harrington said, frowning at the screen. “I won’t stay much longer. How the hell hard can this be, really?”

He was there before Billy the next morning, his jaw set, with dark shadows under his eyes. Billy detoured to the coffee machine first, and plonked it down in front of him, and Harington rewarded him with widening eyes, and then a bewildered stare.

“...thanks,” he said softly, then smirked up through a yawn. “Heard back from the arson investigators, and guess what? The fire looks accidental.” He bounced a little in his chair, and Billy wondered whether he was really into murder mysteries, or whether he was just trying to stay awake. “There was a pan on the stove, some kind of chocolate fondue, they think. Just caught fire, and with Ishaq unconscious, nobody turned off the stove.”

“...lucky bastard,” Billy said, grimacing, and Harrington raised his eyebrows.

“You think? Oh, also, guess what—I found her. Our dildo artist. She’s not all that local, but she did send me a few pictures of the dildos she’s made for our guy.”

“Had to track her down eventually,” Billy said, sipping his coffee, and then caught the way Harrington just bit his lips, his jaw tensing.

“Good job,” Billy told him, feeling a little...stupid, like he was praising a dog, but Harrington brightened, smirking up at him again.

Billy studied the printouts, as Harrington spun around on his chair, guzzling down coffee, and explaining his triumph. “She says that photoshoot that had the Westboro Baptist Church up in arms? Upcoming? Get this,” he said, getting up to lean over Billy’s shoulder. “—they’re pissed because our boy was staying at a hotel once with the new leader, Steven Drain. He pretended to be maid service, snuck in, and took the guy’s wedding ring, and made it into a dildo. He describes it as ‘surrounded by rainbow unicorn confetti and delicious queer flesh’. Our victim stole his wedding ring,” Harrington cackled, beaming. “I’m subscribing to his...everything.”

“Lemme see if any of these comments can be traced to Steven Drain,” Billy said, heading off to ask someone to do computer magic. Steve hopped up and came with him, which was kinda weird, but it was nice to walk down a hall without people shoulder-slamming him like he wasn’t there.

“Hate that he has my name,” Steve muttered, as they walked back. “Drain’s got restraining orders for beating up and threatening two young teenagers his daughter talked to, it’s on the public record. We could see what kinda injuries they had,” Harrington said. “...imagine taking down the whole Westboro church.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice,” Billy laughed, dropping into his own chair as Harrington got more coffee, then called around and discovered the assailants had both been right-handed.

“Get this,” he said excitedly, “—Steven Drain is in town. Gay soldier’s wedding, they’re planning to picket it and scream at his widower, you know, their whole thing, but he flew in the night before the assault.”

“We should talk to him,” Billy said, most of his brain on the photos of dildos and butt plugs.

“Can’t we just drop a piano on him?” Steve muttered, and Billy snorted, flicking back through, and trying to figure out what was bugging him about the dildos. There were lots of them, more than Billy’d seen in the victim’s room, and Billy stopped, squinting at his phone screen at one that looked like it was full of tiny antique coins. “...wait,” he muttered. “Where did you say she lived? Dildo lady?”

“Upstate,” Harrington told him, blinking up at him, as he held his pen on the list of neighbors he’d called to ask whether they’d seen anyone that looked like Steven Drain.

“I need to talk to Dildo Lady,” Billy announced, and Harrington blinked at him, then glanced at his screen and back to Billy, waiting. “...we should go talk to her,” Billy amended, and Harrington grinned, grabbing his jacket.

“Should we talk to Drain first?” he asked, “—since he’s local?”

“Let’s wait and see the CSI reports,” Billy told him. “We’ll be on a lot firmer ground if he clipped his nails after he clocked Ishaq Hill upside the head.”

“Hard to believe somebody that loud went down quietly,” Harrington said, nodding. “There’ll probably be hair or something. Even if he doesn’t wake up and tell us. I called this morning—he’s out of danger, it sounds like,” he said, grimacing, and Billy nodded.

“Nice if we can tell him it’s all handled, though,” he said, and Harrington laughed.

“That’s a definite yep.”

Billy led the way to the level where his car was parked, and then stopped.

His car had dead rats on it. He walked closer, and there was a scratch where somebody’d jimmied his window, and tossed more rats inside, and suddenly he longed for a drink.

“Shit,” Harrington said, putting an arm around his shoulders to steer him away, and whipping out his phone. “Yeah, hey—”

“Stop,” Billy hissed, grabbing for it. “You’ll just make it worse, don’t tell your fucking dad—”

“Wheeler,” Harrington said. “Mmm, yeah, you know you said you had some CSI training to do? I’ve got a, uh, little crime scene in the parking garage. Could you get your most annoying rookie to come down and—yeah. Yeah, blue Camaro, license plate PCE 235.” He listened for a long second, and then thanked her again, tucking his phone away.

“...shit,” Billy sighed, as Harrington manhandled him to a different car.

To his relief, Harrington didn’t say anything sympathetic. After a few minutes, driving at a snail’s pace through downtown traffic, he took a breath, and Billy’s hands twitched. “Huh,” Harrington said, glancing down, and then biting his lips in a cartoonishly intent face.

“...jesus, just say whatever it is,” Billy told him, snorting a laugh, and sipping his coffee.

“Sorry your dad is a bastard asshole shithead,” Harrington said, wincing, and Billy choked again, coughing and spluttering coffee down his shirt, but he hadn’t been able to laugh about it before, ever, and it felt good, even if he tried to breathe coffee, and couldn’t stop coughing.

When he could finally draw breath, he sighed contentedly, leaning his head against the window. “...he is, isn’t he,” he said.

“He is, and so are most of the officers he came up from the academy with,” Steve said, clenching his hands on the steering wheel. “My dad too. He didn’t—ugh.”

“What?” Billy asked, curious, suddenly, about Steve Harrington, instead of just the commissioner’s son.

“He didn’t want me to transfer,” Harrington muttered. “He said Major Crimes doesn’t need the dead weight. Hopper had to kinda go out on a limb. I fuck up and I’m kicked all the way down to traffic, I think.”

The thought that the commissioner had stepped in to help Billy, Detective Neil Hargrove’s son, had gotten Billy through some long nights in rehab. He drew a long breath, realizing he was even more alone than he’d thought. “...shit,” he said softly. His eyes stung.

“It’s fine,” Harrington said. “Hopper’s got your back. There are enough of us. I’ll lean on Hagen some, I think I can talk him around. It’s good you turned your dad in. You did a good thing, and everybody shit on you for it,” he growled, glancing over. “I’ve got your back. Jesus, man, don’t cry.”

“It’s the pollen,” Billy said thickly.

“Yeah, sure.”

“I have hayfever,” Billy hissed at him, rubbing his face.

The Dildo Lady looked about sixty, Pakistani probably, and wore a hijab. Her name was Faiza Khalol, and she was delighted to tell them about her work.

“Do you have any better pictures of these?” Billy asked her, showing her the one with the coins in it. “Or could you describe them?”

She could, as it turned out—and even better, when she’d asked about them, Hill had given her one, and she handed Billy a tiny silver coin which, after some googling, he thought might be an Athenian drachma.

“Oh,” she whispered, her brows drawing together. “Um, is it valuable?”

“I have no idea,” Billy told her, but flicked to another picture. “But these are, I think.” The clear butt-plug was full of greyish crystals, with a huge one where it would show.

“I didn’t see these in his dresser,” Harrington said, leaning in warmly against him, and Billy annoyed himself by shivering.

“No. These are uncut diamonds, I think.” Faiza and Harrington gasped satisfyingly, and Billy grinned. “Ishaq Hill stole more than a wedding ring, I think. We’ve had the wrong motive.”

“Braxton Haglund guarded diamond mines,” Harrington breathed. “He’d probably recognize them. Did Ishaq post pictures with these?”

“He always put up pictures of my latest work,” Faiza said, covering her mouth in horror. “Do you think…”

“I think we better talk to Braxton Haglund again,” Billy said, reveling in Harrington’s impressed grin.

“You’ve got duthing on be,” Haglund gasped, blowing his nose miserably. “You gan’t brove I saw ‘s pictures. You gan’t brove anything.”

Billy tried to parse that for a long second, and then, for Harrington, who looked bewildered, said, “Oh, that’s not all we have. Have you wondered,” he said, turning to his partner, who grinned back, “—how anyone could come in to Ishaq Hill’s apartment, clonk him from behind with a dick sculpture, then search his apartment, and not notice he’d left chocolate heating on the stove? Chocolate burns fast,” he said, raising his eyebrows at Haglund. “How did you not notice the smell?”

“His hayfever,” Harrington breathed, his eyes widening at Billy as his cheeks flushed, and Haglund slammed his fist on the table, opened his mouth to yell, and then stopped to blow his nose, and sneeze.

“Also while you were waiting,” Billy told Haglind with satisfaction, “—we searched your apartment. The warrant judge was convinced by our diamond-and-hayfever argument, and guess what we found?”

Haglund’s eyes widened in horror, and his back thudded against his chair as Billy shot Harrington a grin, and Harrington smirked back. “Good job framing a hate group for the crime,” Billy said, his grin widening, “—but why were Ishaq Hill’s dildos on the table in your front room?”

The other Harringrove April prompts I’ve done

#Harringrove April #harringrove #Ridiculous #Billy and Steve like each other more than they thought #=D

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camoolla · 5 years ago

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The world has their Jaskier, and Geralt has his.

The soft-spoken poet capable of wrenching lyrics, raw gospels from the very heart of humanity, lute strung across his shoulders like that of Excalibur, the once and future herald of a new generation of musical genius has once again bestowed his wisdom upon the world.

Disciples, who dub themselves the ‘Florets’, continue to sing his praises up and down the country as Julian ‘Jaskier’ Pankratz, known by his stage name Dandelion, has released his latest album Garrotter to the public this month. Comfortably sitting on its rightful throne at the #1 spot on the Official Global Charts for the fourth week in a row, the round table has grown a head to which Jaskier has conquered and is settled to stay for a decidedly long reign.

We fans can only speculate on how this titan of the music industry is spending his amply earned morning. Tapping his foot to the beat of our collective hearts? Strumming the chords to the melody of our souls? Penning the words to the anthem of the generation? Does everything this man touch turn to such benevolent artistry-

“Oh fuck,”

Geralt looked over the top of his phone.

“I put salt in the coffee again.”

The once and future herald of a new generation of musical genius indeed.

The titan of the music industry pouted as he poured out two mugs of steaming, salty coffee. He turned back to the maker, pressing a few of the various buttons on the over-expensive machine; it buzzed suddenly to life and he jumped. Geralt looked back down at the article. The corners of his mouth twitched.

He scrolled through many more paragraphs worshipping and deifying the man currently humming and tapping his fingers against the counter to the beat of Cotton Eyed Joe until he paused at an embedded photo. It was the one from Oxenfurt Pride two years ago - a picture that currently sat on the Instagram jaskierxo at a steady 1.2 million likes, but also tucked into a not-so-secret photo album labelled Jask.

He was mid-set, his hair slightly sweaty so it was perfectly askew, tumbling over his forehead, the dark locks glittering with tiny artificial jewels. His mouth was open in a grin as he sang his heart out. Glitter swiped across his cheekbones in pink, purple, and blue - the blue the same startling hue of that of his eyes, shining and shimmering in the sunlight staring out in awe and joy at the crowd shouting his own lyrics back to him. The stage light behind him was a deep yellow, bouncing off the golden trimmings of his shirt, the hues in his hair, and the light illuminated him, circled, haloed, around his head. He was heavenly. He was beautiful. He was wearing Geralt's dirty hoodie.

Too large and too dark on him, shoulders drooped over his, the sleeves reaching past his hands. What he matched Geralt in height he lacked in girth meaning all Geralt's clothes swallowed him a bit. Geralt adored it. He watched Jaskier push the stubborn sleeves back up his arm to free his hands for stirring. He hummed as he took a sip.

"Almost forgot how good coffee tastes without salt." Jaskier picked up both mugs and made his way over to Geralt at the table. Geralt hummed, reaching out for his.

"How can you mess up the only two steps you have to do?" He mused as he took a long gulp of the hot, bitter liquid. Jaskier huffed and then suddenly Geralt had a lapful of still sleep-soft and second-hand sweat-smelling bard. He steadied an arm around him, forgoing his phone for a warm handful of his own hoodie on Jaskier's stomach.

"Three! I have to put the mug underneath it too." He tilted his head to lean against Geralt's head, cradling the mug between his hands.

"How gruelling." He chuckled and moved his mug of out Jaskier's reach as he lunged for it.

"Mean people don't get coffee from their lovely husbands! I lied; there are four steps, but I shielded you from the actual most arduous ingredient: love! I have to scrounge every morning to summon the barest sprinkle for you, and this is how you betray me?" Geralt laughed, kissing away the playful crease between his bard's eyebrows and the downturn of his mouth. He tasted like coffee, milk, sugar and... yes, a bit of salt.

"You taste of salt."

"That's just from talking to you," Jaskier placed down his mug and noticed Geralt's phone still lit on the table. He picked it up, catching his name in the lines of text, "What are you reading?"

Geralt quickly plucked his phone from his hands, "An article Yen sent me."

"I saw my name."

"It is... about you."

"Can I read it then?"

"No."

"What why?"

"She said you're not allowed."

"What does it say about me?"

"It's... mean?"

"Mean?"

"Yes."

"Geralt, dear, I've read mean things about me before. I'm a big boy I can handle it."

"It’s... really mean?"

"...Are you lying?"

"...Yes."

"Give me the phone!" He laughed and moved abruptly, forcing Geralt to sweep his arm of hot coffee out of harm's way, but in doing so, left the side with the pocket his phone was stashed in open. Jaskier's nimble hand wriggled and brought it out, unlocking it and scrolling. He blinked as he began to read, lips parting and then curling minutely, "Oh."

"Yen said your head was big enough already." Jaskier’s grin widened bit by bit as he read each paragraph, the gleam in his eye the exact one Yennefer had warned Geralt against.

"Not remotely big enough as by evidence of this spectacular article! In comparison to the scripture of this journalist, my head is microscopic! I'm practically a monk with all this modesty! I better buy some extra-extra-large hats, my dear, because I have some major cranial engorgement to do!” He trilled, squirming in Geralt's lap to evade his hands. Geralt jabbed him in the side and Jaskier relinquished, Geralt snatching the phone from his nimble fingers.

”I think you've read enough.” Jaskier pouted, and in punishment shuffled off Geralt to perch on the table, which in hindsight was more punishment to himself really by how Geralt's warm hand didn't move from his thigh. But he stood his ground. Or sat it, he supposed.

Geralt's phone buzzed, officially breaking up their playful moment, and Jaskier sighed, taking a long swig of his coffee as if in preparation, "What toil does Yennefer have for me to do today?" Geralt pulled up their shared calendar, looking for the dreaded yellow dot on the day. There wasn't one. He smiled.

"Nothing."

Jaskier whipped up from his cup and tilted Geralt's phone to see - oh to see, miraculously, incredibly, unbelievably - a white square without a trace of yellow, "Nothing?"

"Hm." And Jaskier had never heard a hum so pleased. His shoulders slumped with relief, and, placing his mug down, he carded a hand through his hair ruffling it back out his face. Today was a day of possibilities. He probably should, and Yennefer would agree, work on the few very early drafts of his next album, he was still struggling to find a rhyme for amber-eyed after all, or, even just as the bare minimum, interact with some fans. But it seemed Geralt had made the decision for him as he reached over to place his mug next to his.

Two large hands engulfed his thighs and with a tug, pulled him down to fall on Geralt's lap, pulling and pulling until his knees bracketed his hips and his nose bumped his. But Geralt leaned down and to the right instead, his mouth sliding around the curve of his jaw. Jaskier exhaled softly, his arms gliding over his shoulders automatically, and he smiled, "No responsibilities,"

Geralt moved his mouth further down his neck, "No photoshoots,"

behind his ear, "No interviews,"

over his pulse point, "No taunting evil little yellow dot."

"We'll have to be quick," Geralt rumbled, unwillingly to pull back from Jaskier’s throat to make the words clear, “Ciri’s coming for lunch.”

Jaskier squirmed, and his patience snapped as he fisted his hands into Geralt's hair to bring their mouths together as he rolled his hips, delighted to find that the fabric of Geralt’s sweat pants were thinner and more revealing than he thought. Geralt groaned, circling his hands to keep the pressure against him hot and taut - Jaskier’s restlessness as he constantly shifted, twisting, rising higher to claim Geralt’s mouth at newer angles, creating gorgeous bursts of friction. Jaskier keened as he squeezed his handful and Geralt bit desperately at Jaskiers lip at the flare of hot pain. He pulled back for a brief gulp of air.

“Plenty of time,” Jaskier smirked down at him, his mouth sinfully red and curved. Geralt briefly grinned wolfishly and with a swift movement that had Jaskier's heart dropping into his stomach and thighs tightening their grip, stood the both of them up with Jaskier lined particularly up where he needed him most.

"Back to bed." Geralt muttered before licking back into his mouth with distinct possessiveness. With a muffled moan, Jaskier agreed.

The phone laid abandoned on the floor, knocked by Jaskier's hip, and the ignored even when notifications flooded the screen. JaskierStan999, jaskiersbrokenlutestring, jasss_bitch, and hundred of others were commenting and tagging the article Yennefer had taken the liberty in warning the two of them about. Is he even real??, have y'all seen the fucking photo renaissance painters are quaking!!, jaskier is my god and i pray by being gay bitch!!, can you believe this man walks around and breathes and eats like we don't know he's an immortal nymph; reverence in all varieties swamped their feed, liking and praising and loving and worshipping the image Jaskier had created.

But what nobody saw, what nobody would ever be allowed to see (sans a curious Jaskier who upon finding, smiles wetly with a silent promise of secrecy and a whispered, “Fucking sap.”) is the photo found if one were to scroll to the very first photo in the album Nudes (Fuck Off). Taken off-stage, the two of them blended into the crowd, two faces into a parade of thousands. A front camera photo, an accident, an overlooked distraction from a planned photo snapped, a moment of time caught and treasured. Geralt has been positioned to press a kiss to Jaskier’s cheek, but, having turned suddenly to check the timer, instead had glitter smudged across his nose. Jaskier had exploded, forgetting the camera to press his forehead to Geralt’s as he leaned into his laughter. Geralt grinned back, full and fond, eyes magnetised to the scrunch of his nose, the pink blush beneath the glitter, the brilliant blue of his eyes. The two of them shimmered in the sunlight, basking in one another’s glow.

The world had their Jaskier, and Geralt had his.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt z rivii #geralt of rivia #jaskier #drabble

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goldencorecrunches · 5 years ago

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@lanzhanshands and I were having a conversation about LXC being everyone’s emergency contact and --

Jiang Cheng could understand Lan Jingyi. Not, like, in general-- kid talked up a storm and, as far as Jiang Cheng could tell, had never followed through on a thought in his life-- but he could understand why he'd put down his...uncle? How were the two of them related? Anyway, why he'd put Lan Xichen down as his emergency contact, while his parents were off on sabbatical. (Jiang Cheng was sure he'd heard that, somewhere. He'd never actually met Lan Jingyi's parents, come to think of it. Not that he needed to meet everyone, but….well, the world of modern cultivation tended to be fairly small, by necessity.) (Maybe he should look into that.) He could even understand Lan Sizhui-- his fathers were both terrible at picking up their phones, and tended towards the type of work besides that put them in deep secret locations with poor cell service and difficulty leaving in a hurry. A little unconventional, maybe, but hey, Jiang Cheng had had enough experience with the ways the conventional fell short of the necessary mark. What he didn't get was why-- "WEI YING! What the FUCK!"

"Ah! A-Cheng!" His brother had the grace to look guilty, at least-- unless that was just the pallor from the bloodloss. "What are you doing here?" "I'm dropping Jin Ling off, because his friends," Jiang Cheng said, stalking forward, "got sent to the ER, and I think now I have a good idea how."

"This one wasn't my idea!" Wei Ying held up his hands, pleading. His right arm was in a cast. Wei Ying saw Jiang Cheng glaring at it and hid it quickly under the scratchy-looking hospital sheet. "Ask them! I'm innocent!" "Sir, please stay still," said the nurse, attempting to fasten a blood pressure cuff around Wei Ying's flailing, un-broken arm. The man's name tag said his name was Wen Ning; the circles under his eyes said he'd been on shift for too many hours. Poor guy looked dead. How could he be sure he was doing things correctly, then? Jiang Chang eyed him suspiciously. "You could handcuff me to the bed," Wei Ying suggested cheerfully. The nurse paused, blinked slowly, and then resumed attempting to fasten the velcro cuff. Jiang Cheng opened his mouth to yell at his brother, because you shouldn't flirt with people at their jobs, and besides he had a husband, and-- and that was the whole point! "Why is he your emergency contact, and not the one you're married to?" Jiang Cheng said, waving a hand towards Lan Xichen. The man was standing at the end of Lan Sizuhi's bed, speaking with an intern with a clipboard. He was as serene and well-put-together as ever. Every time they were in the same room Jiang Cheng was painfully aware of how his hair never lay down flat, and his shirts always seemed to come untucked in the back. "Lan Zhan worries so much," Wei Ying said, pulling a face so sappy Jiang Cheng wanted to punch it off. Except there was a lot of bruising there already, kind of an alarming overripe fruit color, and couldn't he stay out of trouble for one week, one fucking week while Jiang Cheng tried to keep the sect from curdling around their ears? The nurse had progressed to tucking his stethoscope under the cuff and listening to his pulse, which greatly restricted the breadth of Wei Ying's gestures. Something in Jiang Cheng's chest squeezed, so tight it hurt. "And he gets all frowny, and I like it when he's frowny but not at me--" "THAT'S NOT A GOOD ENOUGH--" "Shhhh, no yelling," said Lan Jingyi from the next bed. He flapped his hands from beneath the tangle of arms caging him in. Jin Ling and that Ouyang kid seemed to have performed some eldritch summoning charm to allow them to stretch across the beds of both of their friends at the same time. The Ouyang kid had also procured handmade cards, which was impressive considering how little lead time he must've had. (Not that Jin Ling had told Jiang Cheng that he'd be picking up Ouyang Zizhen as well as him, on this one-of-too-many-before-it hospital trip. Because Jiang Cheng was apparently a chauffeur service for his nephew's friends now. Great.) (He remembered painfully what it had been like before Jin Ling had had any friends at all, and how much happier he was now. So what if he was a little indulgent? A-Ling deserved that!)

"They gave him a sedative," Lan Sizhui said apologetically, beneath his own multitudinous embrace. "I think it hit him pretty hard. He was going on about the new drama he's watching…" "Everyone should watch it," Lan Jingyi said, in a slow, sing-song voice. He opened his mouth, as if to yawn, and then frowned when nothing happened. He smacked his lips and tried again. And again. He was distracted from trying a fourth time by Jin Ling shoving a cup of water in his face. A bit forceful, maybe, considering how half of it slopped down Lan Jingyi's front, but Jiang Cheng figured his nephew had the right caring spirit. Lan Xichen's smile was beginning to look slightly concerned. "I wasn't aware your brother hadn't informed you he was in the hospital," he said to Jiang Cheng; ostensibly, it was a murmur, but the general noise of the ER around them made it closer to normal volume. "I apologize if I've overstepped." "You haven't," Jiang Cheng said automatically, because it was impossible to be rude to Lan Xichen without feeling some kind of guilty about it; it was like kicking a baby….small animal thing. Like a chipmunk? No, bigger than that. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, blocking out the whole mess before him for a few blessed moments. When he opened his eyes again he discovered Wei Ying had taken those few moments to open a bag of vending machine gummy worms, one-handed, and spill them all over the bed. "Should you even be eating those?" Jiang Cheng asked, dodging Nurse Wen-- who had moved on to attempt the blood pressure cuff on Lan Jingyi, a better patient only in the context of having Wei Ying go before him-- and picking up the now-empty bag to check the label. Sugar dust poured out of the rip down the center, sticking to Jiang Cheng's hands. He sighed again, pointedly, at Wei Ying. "Mm-mm," said Wei Ying through a mouthful of gummy worms, shrugging. Jiang Cheng threw the bag at his face. It fluttered disappointingly through the air between them, coming to a gentle rest on Wei Ying's blanketed knee.

"If you don't want a Lan as your emergency contact, you could have just put me," Jiang Cheng said. He raised a hand as he saw Wei Ying's eyes bulge, mouth opening to show half-chewed gummies (gross). "Don't! Don't say anything! Whatever you're about to say, stop it!" "You do love me!" Wei Ying said anyway, in blatant disregard of Jiang Cheng's express orders. Jiang Cheng felt his face flush hot, and he stepped back as fast as he could, dodging the clumsy sweep of Wei Ying's arm. "A-Yuan, he's being mean to me," Wei Ying whined, turning on his side. He got caught on the tube from his IV; grumbling, Jiang Cheng moved to drape it safely over the back of his pillow. "I think you might deserve it this time, dad." "Hey! Hey!" "Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" "Please stop moving, I'm almost finished I promise--"

#cql #the untamed #mzds #yunmeng brothers #jiang cheng #*drags fingertips down keyboard* ohhh sometimes i write metaphors but sometimes i write memes #jiang cheng tapping his temple: can't be sad and scared about my brother ending up in the ER if im angry at him instead #my fics

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barney-james · 5 years ago

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Mission Incomplete || Bucky Barnes x Reader Imagine

AN: i saw a post about tfatws that said that they wouldn’t let villains have their evil monologue so i kinda used this idea. also hi im back!

The loud bang of your partner, and best friend, breaking down the metal door makes you jump, and is likely to alert the attention of many people inside.

“Dude!” you whisper yell at him, slapping his arm. He shrugs his shoulder as he looks over and down at you with a sly smirk. He nods his head towards the door, wordlessly telling you to follow him in. He aims his machine gun in front of him as he makes his way slowly down the hall, ready to fire at any threat to the mission.

You follow closely behind him, trying to peak around his tall, muscular figure in the narrow hall. All you can see is the seemingly continuous walls. When he reaches a T intersection, he stops abruptly, and you run into his back, but it doesn’t faze hime.

“Hey!” you hear a shout from further down the hall. Had Bucky not been walking while aiming a squad automatic, the people in the offices around the two of you may have let you both pass as unfamiliar faces. But Bucky is not one to walk into possible -- yet probable in this case -- danger unarmed. That being said, he’s definitely armed -- his machine gun, two pistols, and a knife.

From behind Bucky, you still can’t see, but you can hear gunshots from down the hall, and hear Bucky fire back, seeing his body jump slightly with the back fire. He moves forward, towards the building guards, still shooting and taking many down at once. As he passes the sign on the wall that points down the adjacent hall, he taps it to turn your attention to it. The sign says ‘Servers’ with an arrow pointed down the hall.

“Got it,” you tell your partner and pull your pistol out of your hip holster, aiming it in front of you. The commotion behind you had alerted many people in the building, and now a dozen or so people were running towards you, then stopped when they say you and went to draw their own guns. You beat them though, shooting them all down on your way past them. You continued down the hall for a time, passing other halls and many offices. Lucky for you, the offices only had doors into the halls, no windows as some do, so no one inside them would see you striding down the hall with your gun pointed in front of you. More people came out of offices with guns pointed at the increased commotion. You effortlessly took them all down with single shots, continuing your journey to the server room.

When you reached the door that’s sign read ‘Servers’, you waited a moment, checking to make sure there was no one in the hall to see you enter. You thought the door would be locked, but surprisingly, it opened with a light push. You had your gun held in front of you as you cleared the room. No one was in the room, but you noticed an unlabeled door. You contemplated for a moment if you should clear that room before going on with your part of the mission, but you pushed it aside, telling yourself that you’d be quick enough if anyone walked out of it. You closed the door to the hall behind you and jogged over to the big computers. You pulled the necklace out from under your suit and detached the pendant. At first glance, the bulky pendant is credulous enough to pass as just that, but only you, and other agents within SHIELD, know that it’s a flash drive. You quickly insert it into the first USB port you find and begin hacking the computer. It takes several minutes to break through the fire walls, and the whole time you’re anticipating someone to enter the room. You’re on edge, ready to jump on whoever interrupts your mission, but no one comes. You’re uncertain if anything was going on that you didn’t know about, and doubtful that Bucky would not call on you for help if he were in trouble. Though, he’d likely never get into trouble, as he can take care of himself better than anyone on the team.

Once the computer was hacked in, and you located the files, you hit the download button and smirk to yourself in satisfaction.

“Buck,” you say into com system. “Download has started, should be ten-”

You’re cut off by a gunshot and the breath being knocked out of you. You squeak at the sudden penetrating impact, gasping as you collapse to the floor. You look up at the man in front of you as your vision blurs and your body aches. You bring your hand up to your side, just bellow your rib cage. You feel a deep hole, and it’s wet from the blood rapidly pouring from it.

Meanwhile, down the hall, while your just fighting to stay awake as you stare at the man who shot you, Bucky stops dead, his fist in mid swing. He had a guy on the ground as he beat his face in. He was the last of the men who had come into the hall. He stands up quickly, placing his boot on the man’s chest to hold him down as he turns and looks back down the hall. He could see more people charging his way.

“Y/n?” he asks into the com, his voice breaking, scared you won’t respond.

“Buck-” you barely whisper on the other end, choking up as you try to save your energy.

Bucky draws his pistol out of his pocket as he’s blinded by a red hot rage, his machine gun being discarded somewhere in the hall from being knocked out of his hands. He turns back to the man under his foot and quickly ends him with a single bullet to the head, then swiftly runs down the hall. He easily shoots everyone in his way, taking them all down with single bullets. He jumps over bodies as he rushes down the hall. Barely paying attention, he has to skid to a stop and back up when he realizes he just walked past the door labeled ‘Servers’. He kicks the door in, not waiting to see if it’s clear. He holds his gun up as he walks into the room, noticing the four men standing in the corner, seemingly theorizing.

You see him burst in from your spot on the floor, leaning against the desk. “Bucky,” you call weekly.

Somehow, the commotion of the door being kicked in didn’t get the men’s attention, but you calling for your partner’s name almost inaudibly does.

They turn quickly. Bucky can easily tell the head of the group from the rest, as he’s wearing a long black coat over a suit with a fedora and gloves, also carrying a fancy ass walking stick that reminds you of Lucius Malfoy. The other men wearing button downs and dress pants, just like everyone else he’s shot down. The recruits reach for their guns, but they’re too slow, and Bucky shoots them all down before one could even aim at him. He shifts his aim to the head man, his finger on the trigger ready to shoot. The man adjusts his watch as if checking the time before looking up to Bucky. His gun is in plain view in his belt holster, but he doesn’t reach for it. Bucky steps over you to stand between you and the man as a shield.

Almost hyper-focused, Bucky can hear your shallow breath, and he continues to listen to make sure it doesn’t stop.

The man before you both rests his hands to his hips after checking his watch. “Sergeant Barnes,” he begins with a thick English accent. He begins to walk towards Bucky, who doesn’t speak, and the man removes the fedora from his head, placing it on the table as he leans his walking stick against it. He evidently does not need the extra support and is just trying to look sophisticated, as he continues to walk across the room towards you and your partner with a normal gate. “It took you 86 seconds to get here. I expected better from a super soldier... Then again,” he continues, “You’re not the super soldier I was expecting... Nonetheless, I have the Avenger’s attention.” The man leans against a nearby desk, looking nonchalantly at his watch once again. “You see, James, the world needs cleansing, and I suppose we should start with the super heroes. You think yourself high enough to ignore the accords, signed by nearly all the world’s nations, and that in itself is corrupt. So I brought it upon myself to study your lot of heroes and derived a plan to lure you here, giving myself the advantage of my own turf. You and your super friends will pay for the global destruction you all have caused. Starting with you two.” The man pears behind Bucky to look at you, pale and weak, and he smiles to himself. “She's already on deaths door,” he points out. “But maybe we could use Mr. Barnes to lure the -”

Bucky drops his aim, loosely holding the gun in one hand now. “Shut up,” he rolls his eyes and shoots the man in the chest at a consistent rhythm five times. He watches the man fall to the ground, trying to cover his wounds but having too many.

Bucky drops his gun and rushes over to you, feeling your weak pulse. “C’mon, Doll,” he murmurs, stress and fear evident in his voice like you’ve never heard before, but you’re still fading, and can’t register the information. All you hear is ringing, your vision continues to blur and darken.

The man coughs behind Bucky, and Bucky turns to look at him, seeing him coughing through the blood pooling in his mouth.

“Corruption...must...end,” the man struggles to say.

Bucky garbs your pistol from the floor next to you. “I told you to shut up,” he says through gritted teeth and puts a last bullet in the man’s head. He drops the gun again and bends down to you again, effortlessly picking you up out of your pool of blood. Bucky’s mind is fogged with the fear of losing you, thinking over every little thing he could’ve done differently, not only on the mission, but in your friendship.

“Bucky,” you cough his name one last time before becoming dead weight in his arms, having felt safe enough to black out now that he was holding you.

“No, no, no,” Bucky cries. “No, Y/n, baby, stay with me.” He runs, his mind still clouded with fear and sorrow, not even noticing as he reached the SHIELD vans. The only people sent on the mission were the two of you. He straps you into the passenger seat and leans your seat back. He runs to the drivers door and floors it for the hospital.

~*~

Your eyes flutter open, struggling to adjust to the bright lights and loud beeping that fills the unfamiliar room. You take a few deep breaths as you gradually open your eyes. The crispness of the clean air burns your nose, making your eyes water. You look around the room, coming to a quick conclusion that you’re in the hospital and the beeping is coming from your monitors as you remember what happened last time you were conscious. You look over in the corner and see a long haired brunette staring out the window, spinning red power through her nervous fingers.

“Wanda,” you croak out.

She gasps in surprise and turns around with her hand clutched over her heart. She sighs with great relief to see you awake. “Oh, thank God,” she exclaims. “Finally!” She runs over to you, looking into your eyes as she tucks your messy hair out of your face.

“How long?” you ask, pain finally filling your abdomen and making you wince.

“A week,” she begins, then hesitates.

You give her your ‘spill it’ look, and she sighs.

“Two,” she half smiles. “I’ll be right back.” She gets up from the chair next to your bed, lightly squeezing your hand before walking away.

You hear her foot steps retreat down the hall, a pause, and then several loud crashes as heavy feet run down the hall before your best friend bursts into the room, sliding to a stop once inside the door, barely catching himself on it so he doesn’t fall over. Bucky lets out a soft sob as his hand covers his mouth and he buckles over in relief.

“Oh, God,” he cries and walks slowly to the chair, as if approaching you would break you again. When he reaches the chair, he collapses into it, crying into his hands.

You try to move for the first time since waking up, your sore muscles making it difficult, but you reach your hand over to him anyway. With his face buried in his hands, he doesn’t notice the motion. “Buck,” you mutter.

He instantly looks up at you, his eyes filled with all the worry in the world as tears creep down his cheeks. You’ve never seen him so upset, and still hazy from your two week sleep, you can’t quite understand why he’s like this. He takes your hand and scoots the chair closer to the bed.

You reach your hand up to hold his cheek, and he takes deep breaths, telling himself this isn’t a dream, that you’re awake. He turns his face into your palm and gives it a kiss, before letting it drop and holding it in both of his.

“I love you,” he says, his voice breaking through the tears as he looks down at you hand held in his. He takes more deep breaths. You don’t respond, being too shocked and tired to really understand. He looks up at you, the fear having almost completely left his eyes, now filled with hope, and love. “I love you, Y/n,” he continues. “So damn much. And I have, for years, but I never said anything. I-I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, or-or make work awkward. But I just - I can’t not tell you anymore. I thought I lost you, I was sure of it. And the fact that I never told you was weighing me down, and then I started thinking about how I could’ve been there with you, and this wouldn’t have happened,” he starts to ramble whine attentively playing with your fingers with his own, and a smile bursts across your cheeks from seeing him all nervous to say this, and finally hearing the words you’ve always wanted to hear him say, wanted to say to him but didn’t for the same reason, and sure of rejection. A happy tear slips from your eye, unnoticed by you both. “And-and I know you don’t feel the same, and that’s okay. I’ll get over it. I just couldn’t hold it any longer. Not after almost never getting the opportunity again.” He goes silent as he finishes his spiel, and you don’t say anything, still processing everything.

His hands loosen from yours, regret and rejection filling him, but you squeeze his hand tighter, with all your strength. As he stands up to leave, you don’t let go, and you attempt to pull him back to you, but your fatigue wins the battle.

“Buck,” you call to him. He finally looks at you again, but now you can’t read his expression; there’s too much going on in his head. “Is this real?” you chuckle, and wince, inhaling sharply at the pain, and your free hand grabs your side.

Out of instinct, Bucky steps back closer to you and puts his hand on your leg to make sure your okay. “Wait- what?” he asks confused, having finally registered what you just said.

You smile, sighing happily. “This has to be heaven, right?” you begin. “I’ve been waiting years for this, so I must be dead. This isn’t real.”

Bucky’s mouth drops agape as he stumbles towards you, and you use more strength than you have to pull him over to you. You reach you free hand up and grab his upper arm, but he still doesn’t deem to get the message.

“Kiss me, dummy,” you laugh, this time ignoring the pain.

He scoffs in disbelief and steps closer again, sitting on the edge of your bed. He gently cradles your face in your hands, and you relish in the familiar contrast of his warm flesh hand and his metal one. Your finger thread into the hair at the nape of his neck as he leans closer to you and captures your lips in a passionate kiss, one long awaited. His happy tears mix with your own in the salty kiss, but you both ignore it as your lips move together perfectly.

He pulls away, one hand still on your cheek as he looks at you. You lean into his hand involuntarily and smile. “I love you, more,” you say.

“Not possible,” he laughs and leans in to kiss you again.

“Wait!” you say as his lips graze yours. He pulls back quickly, afraid he did something wrong, or that this is in fact a dream. “Did you eject the flash drive?” you ask.

He sighs heavily and pulls away completely, removing his hands from you and rubbing his thighs up and down nervously as he faces the window. He opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off by another voice in the room.

“Don’t worry, Y/n,” you hear a familiar voice, and look to the door to see Steve standing in the door way. “Save your breath; I’m giving him enough shit for that as it is.”

“Oh my gosh, Buck!” you laugh. “You’re telling me I got shot for nothing?”

His mouth falls open in a sarcastic surprised smile. “So what I just admitted is nothing?” he fakes being hurt.

You grab his hand again and squeeze it. “No,” you giggle, looking up at him. “It’s everything.”

An: I totally didn’t cry writing this, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Also 200 followers away from a thousand!! Thank you all so much!!!

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #marvel #marvel imagine #Sebastian Stan #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x reader #avengers #avengers imagine #avengers x reader #avenger!reader

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adinathinternationalindia · 7 months ago

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psychopersonified · 5 years ago

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Legend has it...

Part of the prequel series to "Are we ever going to talk about this?".

A glimpse into Bond’s shared office with the Double-Os. Explore a little more of Q’s recent backstory prior to meeting Bond. Mostly banter and fluff, but there are spots of emotional poignancy - it all ends well so it is safe.

This one was inspired by a few things: like Bond in his Naval uniform, HRH Prince William’s real life weeklong stint in the Secret Service incl MI6.

Tags: Not dating, dates. Clueless Q but getting there. Intimacy in plain sight. Naval uniforms. 006 is a bit of a cad. Banter. Humour. Q Origins.

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

“So you do have an office. A rather nice one in fact. Why then do you insist on doing your paperwork amidst the clutter in Q-Branch?”

Bond looks cagey, like he’s hiding something. He clears his throat and mutters, “The WiFi is better down there.”

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

SIS Building, Level 9 - Double-0 Division Office

Of course Bond knows where his office is, the Double-0s share a bullpen somewhere on the 9th floor. Only Agent 009 ever uses it with any regularity, so the man practically has the whole space to himself - which if you consider the square footage alone, makes his office larger than Mallory’s, even if it is not as imposing. He’s even arranged his desk so he sits apart, monopolising the fantastic view behind him.

Bond is mildly peeved. 009 had put him charge of housekeeping the Double-0 office though who made him the boss of the division is anyone’s guess. Agent 009 fancies himself Mallory’s deputy, which if you ask virtually anyone in SIS, he is - informally at least.

In all honesty Bond can’t argue with that, 009 is possessed of good leadership skills and experienced enough to carry it well. It is just that aside from 009, Trevelyan and himself, all the other agents are away on mission. 009 is with Mallory and Tanner, busy finalising the itinerary for the coming royal visit by The Royal Highnesses Prince Charles and Prince William - a weeklong visit to the British Intelligence Services (which included MI5, MI6 and GCCHQ) so they are understandably swamped with the planning and coordination.

The least Bond could do is to help out by doing this comparably small task of making the division office presentable for the visit. Alec is present in the office with him, but practically useless. He had injured his arm (bullet wound) during his last mission and it is conveniently in a sling at the moment. From the sounds if it, it was merely a flesh wound that Alec is milking for all it is worth in the face of menial labour.

What this all means at the end of the day is that 007 is on his own - it reminds him of boarding school, only this time all his roommates are gone and he is saddled with the responsibility of cleaning clean up before the professors come to inspect their dorm or they all cop the punishment.

“Would you stop your moaning?” Bond snaps irritably at his ‘roommate’. “All you have to do is feed the bloody papers into the shredder, you’re not a complete invalid.”

“I’m doing that! It keeps jamming!” Trevelyan slams the cheap plastic feed cover shut, having just unstuck the temperamental machine - possibly because it was cheap.

“Take the staples out first will you? And feed the thicker papers in one at a time.” Bond instructs.

“Arrrgh! This thing is mind numbingly slow...” Alec continues to moan.

“You have to empty it Alec. It’s not a bottomless pit.” Bond reigns in the temptation to throttle the other agent.

The childish part of Bond is indignant, it is not fair. He hasn’t stepped into this office space for almost two years, preferring to do his paperwork and research in Q-Branch where he’d cleared a small empty space on Q’s workbench. Other times he would commandeer the makeshift Q-Branch lounge with it’s well worn Chesterfield sofas. If anyone asks why he’s there, he just uses the excus that the WiFi is faster down there despite not having a shred of either empirical or anecdotal evidence.

Bond’s prolonged absence from his office means that his desk has since been converted into a catch all purgatory; collecting detritus from all thirteen agents - things that they couldn’t be bothered to decide to keep, file or dispose. There are at least two years worth of interdepartmental circulars, equipment manuals, Health & Safety reports, copies of expense claims, greeting cards, even copies of his premature obituary - piled a foot high over the entire surface of his desk. Even his chair hadn’t escaped the treatment.

Bond continues to sort through the papers, sending those that need disposal to Alec’s growing ‘to shred’ pile. The other agent shoots him a dirty look.

“Do you smell something?” There is a stench coming from somewhere around his side of the room that has been bothering Bond all morning.

“Aside from your poor choice in aftershave?” Alec’s juvenile insult is automatic.

Bond rolls his eyes even though they have their backs turned to each other. “No really, smells like weeks old bin.” He wrinkles his nose.

Alec could care less as he is wrestling with the shredder bin. He finally manages to wriggle free the overfull collection drawer with a Neanderthal yank. Strings of paper explode absolutely everywhere. “Bloody fuck!”

Bond turns around, Alec is trying to keep the mess under control by trying to shove the bin back in, which of course is now impossible. Her Majesty’s finest, ladies and gentlemen.

“James! Hand me a bin liner will you?” Alec requests with some urgency. His useful arm pressing down on the springy mess threatening to overflow.

Bond grabs the roll and lobs it in his direction. The other agent only has the use of one arm so he can’t conceivably catch the projectile. It hits Trevelyan square on his injured arm. “Oww! Bond what the hell?!”

“Stop your whining, you’ve endured worse. Now, clean it up.“

Minutes go by and countless invectives later, Alec has the situation under control. No, that’s too generous. The damage has been somewhat contained - with the majority of the shredded mess now in the bag, Alec ties it off then declares, “I need a break. I’m going to take these to the incinerator.”

“Already? You’ve only been at it for an hour.” Bond can’t believe the lazy arsehole. There are at lest four more boxes awaiting his attention.

“Try doing it with one arm, it’s hard work man.” he grouses.

“Will you stop milking it. Take the blasted sling off, you don’t even need it.” Truly annoyed now.

“How dare you! It’s medically prescribed.” Alec defends himself with exaggerated affront, hefting the bag over a shoulder.

Bond huffs in resignation, “Fine, then get me coffee while you’re at it please.”

Alec is already heading out, his back is towards the other agent, he flips him off with the hand on his supposedly injured arm, “Not bloody likely!” and disappears out the door.

A moment later, Alec’s booming voice carries down the hallway, “Oh hello Quartermaster. Come for a visit have we?”

“Hello 006. How’s the tidying up coming along?” Comes the softer reply.

“It would be quicker if 007 would pull his weight. Look at this! He’s making me do all the work. Have a word with him will you?” he shakes the bag on his shoulder for emphasis.

“Trevelyan!!” Bond warns from inside the room.

“Ah! There he goes again. Toodles Q.” Alec hurries off before 007 makes good on his threat.

Q peeks around the door into the legendary Double-0 office. “Heard that you’ve been put to task. Came to see it for myself.” Q says cheerily.

Bond is standing behind a desk, a stack of papers balanced on one forearm, another held in his other hand hovering between two piles he was making. All around him are open box files labelled with post-it notes. Agent 007 doing filing. The rumours were true - only the Queen or in this case two Princes could compel Bond to clean up his office. Either that or hell really has frozen over.

“If you’ve come to gloat, please make it a quick one - before I set this place on fire.”

Q steps further into the room. It’s a generous size. Each agent has a set comprised of a decent sized desk, high backed chair, side cabinet and a tall cupboard. There are even a little plaques on the desks engraved with their names. So very civil service.

The room itself is divided into roomy cubicles and arranged into four rows of three. However, One set stands apart, closest to the panoramic glass windows and looking ‘over’ the others - Agent 009, Q presumes.

On one wall there is a setup of communal facilities like a bulletin board, stationery cupboard, printers and a shredder. Speaking of the shredder, the poor machine is in a state; the collection bin is detached and lying on its side a few feet away. Scattered around the base of the shredder and indeed all over the carpeted floor are bits and strings of shredded paper; like someone had a fight with the machine and lost. The static from the carpet is going to make this mess an absolute pain to hoover up.

Q comes to stand in front of Bond’s executive sized desk and picks up his name plate ::James Bond C.M.G, R.N::

“So you do have an office. A rather nice one in fact. Why then do you insist on doing your paperwork amidst the clutter in Q-Branch?”

Bond looks cagey, like he’s hiding something. He clears his throat and mutters, “The WiFi is better down there.”

Q looks skeptical. He would know, he had worked with Mark to add secure repeaters all over the building’s dead spots. They had carried out WiFi speed and coverage tests all over the building and there isn’t any significant difference anymore. “That’s a common misconception, 007. We’ve tested the speeds—“

“—Yes well, it just feels that way.” Bond cuts him off before Q pokes more holes in his excuse with inconvenient facts.

Q decides to let it go. Instead, he makes a slow circuit around the room out of curiosity - observing the individual touches that each agent has added to their space, a little glimpse at their personal choices and preferences.

For example 001, their longest serving female agent, silver haired matriarch with a razor sharp wit that could cut through any armour better than depleted uranium bullets - but collects tacky porcelain teacups from her travels. Q fears she might become a politician someday and maybe even Prime Minister.

Then there is 008, who is retiring by the end of the year. Poignantly he has pictures of his family all around him. An ex-wife whom he still loves and is battling serious illness; and teenaged children that he has missed out on most of formative lives. His retirement couldn’t come soon enough.

When Q is finally done snooping, he comes to a stop at the cubicle opposite Bond’s and seats himself on the edge of the desk, “Ugh something smells ripe….”

“Yes, it reeks in here.” Then suddenly Bond looks up concerned, “It’s not me is it?”

“No…don’t think so.” Q reassures distractedly. He turns around in place, sniffing. “It think… It’s coming from around here,” he spies the owner’s name on the plaque - Alec Trevelyan. Q gets up and rounds the desk. When he bends over closer to the desk drawers the smell gets significantly stronger. “I think it’s coming from in here.”

“What is it?” Bond asks curious now.

“Well I’m not opening it! Who knows what kind of souvenirs 006 brings back from his missions,” Q backs away from the desk, images of severed ears and pinky fingers briefly crossing his mind. After all, they are all barely restrained psychopaths at the best of times. Although if that were true, what does that say about Q then; that he prefers their company to that of most people - well not all of them, just one in particular if he were to be honest.

Bond laughs, knowing exactly what Q is imagining, “No stomach for the macabre?” he crosses the short distance to Alec’s desk, gently moving Q out of the way. “Besides if he were to bring back a souvenir, he would be sure to pickle them first.”

He’s teasing of course - but nevertheless, as he hooks his fingers under the drawer pull, he braces himself for what he might find. The drawer slides out smoothly, releasing a noxious plume of rotting stench.

“Oh Christ!!” The smell nearly makes him gag. Q covers his nose with the sleeve of his cardigan and leans over Bond’s hunched shoulder to see. In there lies what looks to be the remains of someone’s putrefied lunch or lunches. A banana so rotten its has liquefied into black slush, a circle of half eaten soft cheese sitting on top of the rotting liquid that is now absolutely overgrown with mould and the piece de resistance - a quarter tray of what must have been sashimi of some kind. The rotting seafood, vegetation and cheese slurry a potent combination.

Fucking Alec is always leaving food around to the dismay of his colleagues that share the space. It is no wonder then, there is every so often the passive aggressive ‘cc all’ email from some returning Double-0 about clearing out leftover food and a reminder to consume all food in the break room at the end of the hall outside.

Bond slams the drawer back shut and retreats to his side quickly, herding Q along with him.

Q looks a little green around the gills, “I don’t know if it’s a good or bad thing that I ate lunch before I came in here.”

“I hope you don’t mind being one agent short, because I’m going to kill Alec when he gets back.” Bond resolves.

“IF he comes back you mean. You know him, he’s likely absconded to an early dinner by now.”

Bond dreads the implication, ”There is no way in Hell I’m cleaning that mess up.” He draws the line at that. Nope. No way.

Speaking of killing agents, there is a small stack of printed cards on the corner of Bond’s desk. Q picks them up, he’d seen these before, several years ago. It’s Bond’s premature obituary from the small ceremony the service held in his honour. Q was a senior tech then and had not known Bond other than brief glimpses when he came to pick up his kit.

“Are you shredding these?”

“Rather odd to keep them.” A curios thought pops into his mind, “Where were you then, Q? Had you joined the service?”

“I was Senior Tech, equivalent to Nish’s S position. It’s likely we never crossed paths but you would have been familiar with my tech in the field… You didn’t spend as much time in Q-Branch then as you do now.” Q tries to needle him about that again.

Bond sidesteps it with an expertly placed question, “Did you come to my funeral?”

“No, it was a small private affair. Only the old Q and R went. Besides, I was atoning for my sins then.” The question triggers Q to reminisce about those few months before he met 007 and how much his life changed within that short span on time.

——

Flashback: 3 years prior...

45 minutes before the start of The Istanbul Incident.

The phone rings down in Q-Branch’s general line. After the sixth ring, “Anyone going to pick that up?!” Engineering Minion A calls out as he wipes his hands on an oily rag. Its early, 7:30am so Q-branch is mostly deserted. Minion A is loading ammo into 008’s BMW before the agent arrives to pick up his car.

Nobody answers, so Minion A has to trudge over to the phone. For his trouble, he is rewarded immediately with a string of expletives as greeting coming through from the other end. It is too early in the morning for this, “Look either you calm the hell down or I’m hanging up.”

“Where are the cyberboffs in Q-branch?!” the voice on the other side demands.

Minion A takes a deep breath and explains that it is early, they’re not in yet but he’ll check. He finds a still sleepy Q (who is currently still Collin Mitchel, holding the S rank) in the small pantry hidden in the back of Q-branch nursing his cup of tea. Hair in a wild mess as usual. He informs him about the call and warns that the person on the other end is in a right mood.

Q picks up the transferred call to a frantic Mark of IT-Branch on the other end. “Fuck Mitchel! Please tell me its you guys messing about the Level 5 servers right now! I know we said surprise us but it’s a little early in the day don’t you think??” Mark is referring to the CyberWar games that IT and Q Branches usually play on Friday nights to strengthen MI6’s cybersecurity.

“What are you talking about? I’m hardly awake enough to operate anything more sophisticated than a kettle…” Q sighs as he removes his glasses and rubs his sleepy eyes.

“Collin…” Mark’s voice goes dead serious as he attempts to calm down, “… I’m not dicking around right now. If it’s not you or anyone in Q-Branch, then why the hell is my system logging unusually large data downloads from Level 5 severs?”.

That gets Q’s attention. Mark is one of the best in IT-Branch and and they share a mutual concern about the state of MI6’s cyber security preparedness. There have been times when Q has thought of asking Mark to transfer to Q-Branch, coaxing him to the ‘dark-side’ as they call it. So Mark’s uncharacteristic panic is like a jolt of adrenaline that wakes Q up faster than the strongest cup of tea. Q punches the speaker button and replaces the receiver before grabbing the nearest chair, spinning it around and settling in front of a console. He logs in and pulls up the data traffic log Mark is monitoring.

Over the past year IT and Q Branches have come to a truce so to speak. Q-Branch will provide the cybersecurity tools and IT will carry out the implementation. What it meant was that Q and his colleagues would build the encryption and protocols, but it was up to IT to roll it out, monitor and patch. So just like what they did for the field agents, they made the weapons but it was up to the agents when and where to use it. In the event an active threat was present, they will work together to repel the attack. IT was in the midst of overhauling the systems - but as anyone can imagine, with so many layers of legacy systems, it was a slow process. But at least it no longer resembled Swiss cheese.

They’ve secured the most sensitive files with the latest encryption at least - but that is always double edged, put too many padlocks on a door and you’re telling the burglar where you’re hiding your best stuff.

“I see it. When did it start? Q switches to his game voice. Crisp, efficient.

“15 minutes ago. I was on my morning run when the alarm came through. I ran back as fast as I could.”

“Can you shut down the server?”

“Not while Ops is running. They’ll loose access to classified files for cross-referencing. As well as the encrypted satellite feeds that run though it. We’ve got Eastern Russia running right now and Istanbul is coming up soon.”

“Has M been informed?”

“Not yet. I was hoping it was you guys mucking around.”

“Mark, I don’t have full access to the servers from Q-Branch terminals. I can hack it, but I’d rather not cause even more alarm.”

“Get up here then! M and Tanner just arrived, you can work up here and.... I’d rather you came with me to face M.”

“You’ll have to buzz me up, I don’t have full clearance.”

A second later he hears Mark’s muffled voice yell something to someone in his team.

“Davis is going down to get you now. Fuck. …Mitchel is this it?”

The question hangs heavily. They’ve been predicting something like this to happen for a few months now. In the last 18 months, there has been an increase in breach attempts on MI6 systems. Together IT and Q-Branch have managed to repel most of them or limit the extent. It’s a cat-and-mouse game. Both sides using each successive attempts to gauge skill and strength.

The elevator ride up to Q-Branch was excruciating. Q now understands why M wants to have the two branches working closer together, the bureaucracy is eating into their response time.

When Q arrives at IT-Branch, Mark is tracing the source. M and Tanner standing close by. It’s coming from an MI6 laptop - using the credentials of an Agent Sebastian Ronson who is currently on mission in Istanbul. Q slides into the station next to Mark, they fall into practiced ease. Mark will defend the keep, and Q will chase the trail.

“Contact Agent Ronson, now!” Tanner tells Mark. Mark calls the mobile number registered to Ronson in Istanbul.

*Click* an automated female voice informs them that the number is currently not in service.

They pull up the Istanbul Ops file, Ronson has three other field agents with him. He calls the other numbers with the same result. He calls the hotel next, but the front desk informs them that the men have checked out.

While Mark is trying to make contact, Q is tracing the breach, trying to identify the affected files. To his relief, the files in this partition were not just encrypted, they were protected with a copy prevention and decryption protocol that he had written. He didn’t know what the files contained, he didn’t have that security clearance. He just built the moat and the fortress that surrounded it. What the higher ups put in it was anyone’s guess. But one thing he did know was that whoever wanted the data had to physically retrieve Ronson’s authorised hard drive to to get to it.

He informs M as much.

Something about the this whole situation seems odd, ”Ma’am if the hackers anticipated that they would need an authorised laptop as a file cache, and they’ve cut off Ronson’s communication with us - the only logical assumption is that they not only know the location of Ronson and the team but they have a plan to retrieve that laptop.... and very soon. Before we re-establish communication or Ronson suspects something is amiss.”

Tanners eyes go wide, M goes very still. This would mean the hacker’s plan is live - making this a life threatening emergency.

“Do you know what files were downloaded?” M asks.

“I can show you the list of files, but I don’t know what’s in it.” Q pulls up the log and moves aside for M to look for herself.

One of the folders makes M’s heart skip a beat. It’s a summary of field reports from across NATO agencies informing each other of their activities including embedded undercover agents and informants. The idea was to coordinate efforts and reduce doubling up agents which might increase suspicion and also prevent ‘friendly fire’ so to speak from multiple agencies working independently. It’s not a list per se, but it would be fairly easy to put the information together into one.

M points out the folder to Q, absolute certainty in her voice, “He’s after this folder. Can you delete it remotely?”

Q activates remote access of the agent’s laptop and gets to work.

::ERROR. Remote access denied. Sys admin required::

Q tries 3 more times with different admin credentials with the same result. Now they’re in real shit.

“Mark I’m locked out.” Q looks to Mark. Mark tries an even higher level credential and still nothing.

“We have to pull the plug—” Mark tells him.

“—Wait till I’m done. If you do that now, the download stops, and the hacker will know we’re on to them and cut the connection.”

“Isn’t that the point?” M interrupts him sharply.

“Ma’am, if he already has the file you think he’s after, and everything else is just a blind grab, then this is the last chance we have at wiping that drive. I need him to remain connected until I can hack in and execute the delete code.”

M sees his point. Use the other files as bait, the hacker doesn’t actually know the right folder yet. Q turns back to access the laptop through backchannels, several long minutes later, he finally manages to get in. He has partial access, one of them happens to be turning on the webcam on the laptop.

“Come on, come on…” The webcam turns on, but no-one is in front of it. “Mark, the webcam! Try getting through to Ronson.” Q broadcasts the feed to the main IT room monitor and the video conferencing camera attached to it.

While Mark scrambles into action, Q continues to chip away at the hijacked laptop’s protocols to gain delete access. Over his shoulder and speakers he can hear Mark trying to make contact with their agent, accessing the laptop’s volume control remotely and cranking it up as high as it would go.

“Agent Ronson! Can you hear me?… Agent Ronson?”

There are sounds of men talking in the background, and suddenly Ronson comes into view.

“Agent Ronson! Your position has been compromised. You need to move urgently. You are to remove the laptop drive and destroy it immediately.” Mark informs him.

“What? What’s going on? We’ve just finished our morning briefing and about to head out.” These precious few seconds of confusion will cost Ronson his life.

“Abort mission, get out of there and destroy the laptop!” M steps into view of the camera and barks the order.

Ronson finally realises the severity of the situation, but it is too late. He barely has time to draw his weapon when the sound of a door being kicked open is heard. Automatic gunfire sprays into the room, including two right into Agent Ronson’s torso and its over. Ronson collapses into the armchair, as they watch, impotent. Few seconds later the assailant pushes shut the laptop screen from behind. They never get a look at the person.

In those few seconds before that, Q finally gains access. Just after he executes the secure delete code, the connection is terminated. The screen goes dark. Q doesn’t know if it worked.

All eyes are on him. Not just his superiors, but the rest of IT techs, the room is dead silent.

“I..I can’t be sure it worked. If they shut down the laptop before the drive is wiped, it would mean the data is still on it. But they will have to still break the encryption on the files to read it. That buys us time—”

M starts walking away before he is even finished talking. Tanner on her heels. Q can hear her rapid fire orders to him as they turn to enter the main Ops room and to her office.

“Where is 007?”

“On his way.”

“Who else do we have in Istanbul?”

“Eve Moneypenny, junior field agent.”

“Get her on the ground to support 007.”

“Medical evac for Ronson and the team?”

“Still trying to contact them…..” Their voices fade away as the doors close.

Mark and Q share a look. -Shit-….doesn’t even begin to cover the magnitude of this cockup. Q can’t stop the feeling of crushing disappointment building inside. They’ve lost this one.

Mark in an uncharacteristic fit of anger-filled frustration, picks up his mouse and hurls it at a wall. There is nothing they can do anymore, Ops team will handle it from here. “I’m going to shower,” he announces to the quiet floor. Q notices that Mark is still in his running gear and sweaty either from the run or the emergency.

Q waits till Mark is out the door before slowly rising and facing the rest of the IT techs staring at him wide-eyed. It’s literally first thing in the morning and they’ve just watched a field agent take two right in the chest. Not an everyday occurrence.

He takes a deep breath and starts rattling off orders even though Q isn’t technically their boss.

“Revoke Ronson’s credentials, check and update credentials of all the other agents in the field that we can contact, pull the activity logs and study the hack, comb the application code for a trojan, check the other servers to see if anything else was downloaded, request for Ronson’s laptop to be returned as soon as Ops can recover it…..” and so on. No one questions him, and the floor bursts into a hive of activity.

Weeks later, when the dust settles and the forensics completed, they would learn that Agent Ronson was never aware of the breach. Ronson’s laptop was just an entry point, they intercepted data traffic through his WIFI. It was excruciatingly simple once they examined the remains of the laptop. The hackers switched out his secure mobile hotspot and used the same network name - a moment of inattentiveness on Ronson’s part and that was it. A key logger captured his credentials and the hacker used it as an entry point to gain access to the system, releasing a virus that burrowed into deeper levels of the classified database.

———

Two Weeks later…

The young woman about his age in the monochrome pantsuit looks over at him,”What are you in for?”

Her question stops Q’s nervous pacing outside the conference room.

“I mean we’re both here for the Istanbul investigation…” she coaxes. There is no smugness - just deadpan with a hint of dark humour to her tone. She doesn’t look so great herself, her hands have kept up their anxious smoothing of the fabric covering her thighs. It somehow puts Q at ease, knowing he’s not the only one here facing the firing squad.

Might as well, she’ll hear about it in the meeting anyway, “Failed to delete Ronson’s computer hard drive in time. What about you?”

“Shot the double-0 agent who was in the middle of retrieving said drive,” the woman replies wryly.

“Ah... that is unfortunate,” was all Q could come up with. He’s heard the story. It was all everyone could talk about the past weeks. So this is the junior agent with the dubious honour of being the first field agent to kill a Double-0 through friendly fire.

Then because Q is an emotionally bumbling halfwit who thinks humour solves everything, he adds, “Do you think they’ll put us in neighbouring cells? I hear the dungeons are pretty bleak this time of year.”

Instead of the exasperated look he is expecting, the woman regards him and smiles slowly, “Eve Moneypenny, Station-T.” She eventually offers as introduction.

“Collin Mitchell, Q-Branch” he reciprocates, shaking her hand.

—

The meeting goes as expected. No intel about the drive or any sign of decryption activity. 007 is still MIA, no body was recovered - if they don’t find a body in another week, they’ll call off the search teams. There is now serious pressure to restructure how Ops is carried out. They can’t have Ops, IT and Q-Branches working separately without a clear chain of command not in this day and age.

In addition to that, the incident brings home the need to have the handlers and agents work much more closely, like a ‘hand in glove’ so to speak - instead of fobbing them off to a constantly rotating shift of support team. Ronson second guessing Mark’s information was a result of a combination of factors; the unexpected mode of communication and him not knowing who Mark was and therefore not trusting the information. Precious seconds wasted in establishing veracity of the information likely cost him his life.

Agent Moneypenney is suspended from field duty. Pending reassignment possibly to a desk job. Q is temporarily assigned to IT branch to help with securing MI6 systems - he has already been helping out Mark the past few weeks, but this order means he has to dotted line report to IT-Branch Head Timothy Hayden who hates his guts and second guesses everything Q does. It is not going to be pleasant.

Outside the SIS building in the park across from the train station, Eve and Q sit morosely on opposite ends of a bench, picking at their lunch arranged between them.

“Well, I think we got off lightly all things considered.” Eve speaks first.

“Speak for yourself. Hayden still wants his pound of flesh after the print-pocalypse I caused two years back. I’m going to be debugging applications for the rest of my life if he has any say in it.”

Eve snorts, then a few moments later very sombrely reminds him, ”I killed someone Collin.”

Q hangs his head. Perspective. “OK. You win... “ He says very gently, trying to lighten the mood. “…So much for our promising careers in espionage.”

They eat their lunch in silence for a while before Eve speaks up again. “I thought of going to see his next of kin; you know... to make amends. Tell his wife and children how brave he was, how his last moments were spent defending his country. Least I could do... Maybe even ask for forgiveness one day.” Eve’s face crumples, her voice cracking.

She draws in a long shaky breath, then through a thick sob she says,“Tanner tells me he didn’t have any. This bloody -job- was his whole life.” She gasps, a hand coming up quickly to cover her mouth and nose, muffling the earnest sobs that were wrecking through her now. Before this, she had held steady for two weeks to the day since she pulled that trigger.

He doesn’t know what to say, up to two weeks ago he had been mostly sheltered from the more gruesome aspects of his job - Ronson was the first agent he’d ever seen killed live, not a recording after the fact. One moment he was talking, the next, fatally wounded - his story ended right that moment. Ronson had an ex-wife, no child.

Not knowing what else to do, Q moves their lunch away and scoots close, wrapping his arms around Moneypenny and she does the same for him. They don’t say much after this. But it is the start of their standing Thursday lunch. A friendship forged through mutual adversity and tragedy. The both of them having to work their way back into M’s good graces.

——

Back to Present…

“Oh? Not classified is it? Would you be able to tell me about it?” Bond looks genuinely interested.

“Over dinner… if you can finish up here by then.” Q raises an eyebrow at the amount of work still to be done.

Alec chooses that moment to swan back into the room, two ladies from the secretarial pool in tow, one on each arm. They gingerly lower him into his chair and he sighs in excessive relief. The ladies coo soothingly at him, massaging his allegedly sore shoulders and back.

“Awfully nice of you to come back.” Bond says but refuses to acknowledge his theatrics.

“I had to, left my pills here. Sam dear, could I have some help with these?” He pouts pitifully at her as he hands her the blister pack of pain medication that was on the table. Then,“Ta, so kind of you,” when Sam pops the requisite number of pills into his mouth and Ginny brings his coffee to his lips.

Q shakes his head at 006’s antics. He can be such a loveable cad. Not too long ago 007 was reputed to be the same - twin terrors that made M rethink her decision on a daily basis.

“Oh, and we brought your coffee as demanded.” Ginny comes over to hand Bond his coffee - it is no longer hot but warm. She glances apologetically at Q, “Sorry we didn’t get you one, sir.”

“Well, now that you’re back, mind finishing up here?” Bond shakes a box of papers awaiting the shredding machine for emphasis.

“Ooooh… give me a moment. The meds haven’t kicked in.” Alec moans woefully, which prompts the women to renew their fussing over him.

“Really sir! Can’t you see Alec isn’t fit to do any heavy lifting?” Sam admonishes Bond.

Her audacity takes Bond aback, he glances at Q and spreads his arms in a ’look what I have to endure because of Alec’ gesture. Q smiles back at him sympathetically.

An idea forms in Bond’s mind. He makes a show of stapling a stack of papers that needs to be filed. “Oh bugger!” he proclaims loudly. “Ran out of staples. Alec do you have any refills?”

Alec still basking in the female attention pulls open his desk drawers distractedly before turning to look. Within seconds, the stench of his past meals come back to haunt him as it wafts intrusively into the room. He slams the drawers back shut again.

“Oh! What is that smell?!” Ginny straightens, alarmed. Sam recoils as well. Both women stepping away from his desk instinctively.

Alec shots to his feet, eyes wide, “Whoops! Looks like break time is over. I ought to get back to finishing the housekeeping.”

006 quickly usher the women out, sending them on their way with a wink and a flirty quip, “I’ll see you ladies later this evening. 5:30? I shall count down the hours.”

When they are out of earshot, he rounds on 007, “You bastard!”

Bond’s infantile snickering turns into outright uncontainable laughter. “How is it my fault? Throw your dammed leftovers away.”

“Oh I’ll throw something alright,” Alec grabs his empty coffee cup and is about to pitch it at Bond’s head when Q slides in front of him. Q levels them both with his Quartermaster stare, quelling any further childish escalation of hostilities.

“Well now, if the both of you are quite finished sabotaging each other, perhaps you’d like to bring those boxes and the offending drawer down to Q-Branch?”

Twin looks of confusion.

“We have an industrial shredder and a power washer down in the lair... If you gentlemen would like the use of it.” Q smiles and nods his leave.

——

Day of HRHs Prince Charles and William’s Visit

Q-Branch is abuzz with activity, even more than usual. The labs are cleaner than they ever will be again. Not pristine, but not quite the mad scientist lair and far less a safety hazard than it usually is.

Everyone has on their cleanest lab coat, overalls and PPE. Q’s even had a haircut and attempted to tame it with ‘product’ this morning.

Center stage for this portion of the visit is the modified Aston Martin V8 Vantage recovered from 007’s latest mission - with a battered front end and deep gouges along its flanks. On top of Bond’s decorative additions - it was also generously riddled with bullet marks, much of it concentrated on the pockmarked windscreen and windows, none of which penetrated the bulletproofing thankfully.

Q nearly had a fit, it would have been impossible to repair the damage in time; but Moneypenny had the brilliant idea to turn the narrative in their favour - a gritty, uncensored example showcasing the dangers their agents face in the line of duty and the tech used to keep them safe. And what better way to bring the message home than to have the actual agent that survived the ordeal; Commander James Bond aka 007 regale the Royal Highnesses with the story himself.

So they left the car pretty much alone, other than rolling it into the centre of Q-Branch. It cut a forlorn picture sitting there, with its damage on full display - gun barrels sticking out, boot open and bits of carbon fibre hanging off. It looked like a squashed insect in the middle of a clean floor.

As for the man of the hour himself, he had sauntered into Q-Branch right after the tour of the Double-0 office was done. He’s there practicing his story, memorising the script Eve wrote for him. Not that he needed a script to remember what happened - he was there after all, but he tended be a little sarcastic and churlish with his words, at least in his written reports so the script was an insurance against that.

Moneypenny had insisted that 006 & 007 wear their military uniforms as it added to the pomp and circumstance, Mallory agreed. So Bond and Trevelyan were in their Naval uniforms. Trevelyan was somewhere in the building making full use of the uniform and the effect it produced on anyone inclined to go home with him. Last Bond saw of him, he had amassed a small entourage of both sexes in the cafeteria.

*Pheeeww-whiit!!*

There were loud appreciative catcalls and whistles when 007 made his entrance to Q-Branch wearing his immaculate Naval Commander ensemble. He’d politely tipped his hat to everyone as he went around looking for the Quartermaster to present himself - curios to see if it produced any effect.

“How are the preparations coming along?” He found the Chief Overlord in the back pantry making a cup of tea and had sidled right up behind him to rumble in his ear. Q chokes on his tea. Bond quickly rescues the mug from the quartermaster’s hand while the man sputters and recovers from the fright.

“Bond! How many times have I told—,”Q’s words are cut off abruptly when he turns around to face the insufferable agent.

“… have I… I…,” He tries to restart his standard tirade, but it dies on his lips so he gives up and resigns to just staring. His brain is frizzing out, Q’s sure. The only thought on his mind is what a dashing figure he cut - those magnificent the gold braids on his cuffs, the eight gold buttons glinting in the light, the shoes polished to perfection.

He could almost forgive this man for ruining his prized car. Almost. -The navy colour brings out his eyes-. And for loosing the rifle. Maybe. -What do all those insignias mean?-

A minute later, and Q is still lost in contemplation. Bond leans in close again, blue eyes shining, “Are you nearly done with your assessment?” He brings Q’s rescued mug up to his lips and takes a long sip, never breaking eye contact throughout.

Q’s eyes trail down to Bond’s throat, the way his Adam’s apple bob against the white collar and dark tie as the agent swallows. At the sound of Bond clearing his throat, Q’s eyes snap back up again to regard the agent in the eye. -What were they taking about again?-

“Right. Yes. Preparations. Everything’s ready… And how are you with your script?” Q reclaims his mug, clutching it with both hands to protect it. The bastard has taken to stealing his drink at every opportunity, ever since that night of the party* here at Q-Branch.

“All squared away in here,” Bond taps his temple with a finger. “The hair’s new,” He makes an observation of his own. He brings up his right hand and lightly cards his fingers through Q’s fringe. It breaks up the neatly gelled hair, letting a few pieces fall more beguilingly over his forehead. Personally, he prefers the perpetually messy look Q wears on a daily basis.

Q is transfixed by the presumptuously familiar gesture. All he can do is let his gaze drift along the hands, up to the white cuff peeking out of the navy sleeve, the triple gold braid rank insignia on the sleeve, up the arm to the crisp line of the shoulder and back to Bond’s face.

Those fingers that were a second ago in his hair lowers slowly to touch the back of Q’s hand that is wrapped around the mug, drawing a slow teasing circle on the skin before circling his wrist to pull his hand and the mug up to the agent’s mouth - stealing another long sip. When Bond finally withdraws, his bottom lip graze lightly over Q’s forefinger.

Q’s breathing has transformed into embarrassingly short and shaky pants. -The fucker doesn’t even drink tea on a regular basis- so all this, is for Q’s benefit. And it is highly effective. The warm flush that has crept over his cheeks throughout the ordeal, spreads like wildfire over his skin right down to his groin at that final touch.

It comes out as an almost whimper, “Is it just me, or is it too warm in here?… Perhaps I should check on the settings. It wouldn’t do to broil our royal guests.” Q edges along the pantry counter, out of the agent’s magnetic circle of influence - he needs all his faculties intact right now.

“Are we still on for dinner tonight?” Bond catches his cardigan sleeve just before he is out of reach.

“Yes, of course. See you after.” Q ducks out of reach as soon has Bond’s fingers release him.

——

Post Royal visit…

-It is perfectly normal to have a standing Friday night dinner with a colleague isn’t it?- Q questions the reflection in the lavatory mirror.

The royal visit to Q-Branch had gone off without a hitch. M was mighty pleased, 007 was engaging and respectful, his minions competent and efficient and all of Q’s live tech demonstrations went smoothly as rehearsed.

Now that it was over, Bond was waiting for him outside so they can adjourn to their dinner appointment. The prospect of spending this evening with the agent, as they almost invariably do countless nights before this, feels daunting all of a sudden. What the bloody hell is wrong with him tonight? This is so uncharacteristically like him.

Q knows that Bond loves to tease. And Q has permitted and played along all this time - but he’s not sure how Bond would feel if the agent knew how many less than ‘proper’ fantasies of Q’s he has had a staring role in. Q feels bad about using the agent like this. He genuinely enjoys Bond’s company and tries to stay in it for as long as the other would permit; but sometimes Q thinks he might be imposing on the agent’s down time.

-This is karma- Q thinks. His sins finally catching up to him. That blasted naval uniform and its amplifying effects on Bond’s already considerable charms - he can’t think straight when the agent is in it. Squashing his arousal has been especially difficult this evening. He doesn’t want to cause Bond any discomfort... in case the agent notices.

Perhaps cancelling tonight would be the decent thing to do; and maybe put a stop to subsequent dinner invitations. Oh but no… the thought of not having these evenings with Bond hurts him like a round kick to the chest. A curious if painful reaction, one that he is not prepared to examine just yet.

-Oh you selfish prick.- We all know how short a Double-0’s tenure can be. Bond should be spending his time with someone he has a chance of developing a consequential connection with; not humouring a romantically challenged quartermaster. There he said it, happy?

Where had this melancholy mood come from? -From the depths of your guilty conscience you dolt.- Or maybe its sexual frustration?

By the time he’s done with with the self recriminations, Q’s so morose he’s close to losing it emotionally. He had turned his back to the mirror at some point, and is now leaning against the sink counter, head bent, a hand in his hair, phone in the other. He seriously considers calling Eve, she knows how to deal with… squishy emotions like adult.

But before he can make the call, the lavatory door creaks open. It is after hours, so there shouldn’t be many people still about.

“Q? Are you in here?” Bond’s voice calls out. Shit. He must have been waiting too long for this liking.

The man steps into view. One look at Q and immediately concern colours his voice. “Q, are you alright?” Then seeing the phone in Q’s hand, “What happened?” He steps in close, wrapping his hands around Q’s elbows.

“I uh… I… I don’t know where to start.” Q is hesitant for a few seconds, looking for his words. But then it seems the cork on his bottled up emotions pop and it all comes pouring out.

“Bond… I feel… somewhat guilty. These dinners, I mean. I sometimes feel I’m taking advantage of your time. I’m not imposing am I? And please be honest. I won’t hold it against you. I know you Double-Os have this weird game about flustering the quartermaster, but I don’t want you to think I take the game seriously and that I’ll withhold any tech you’ll need because of it. If you have somewhere better to be, please don’t hold out on my account—”

He feels a full on ramble developing. Maybe he should stop talking so the man can answer. Or maybe he’s afraid of the answer and that’s why he can’t stop talking.

“—Don’t get me wrong, I genuinely enjoy these evenings with you. I look forward to every one of them in fact, but I don’t want you to feel like you -have- to continue with them because of some silly game. We both know your down time is precious and you don’t have many opportunities to socialise outside of your cover. So it would be immensely selfish of me to continue to take up that time…“

Q pauses, not because he ran out of things to say, but because he ran out of breath. He gulps air like a drowning man and continues… because if he stops talking, he just might start blubbering like some hysterical idiot.

“You ought to be spending this time more constructively, with someone you care about and have that reciprocated. Not that I’m indifferent… your welfare concerns me greatly. Hence this overdue lecture about not wasting your time on something that would essentially amount to… to… to nothing.” -Oh wow… that fucking hurt to say out loud.- Right in the diaphragm, just under the sternum. Q unconsciously presses a thumb as close to the spot as he can get.

He meant every word of it. He wouldn’t stand in the way if Bond found someone he would rather spend time with. -What is he even saying, of course he wouldn’t be in the way, he had no claim in the first place.Silly dolt.-

“Not that there are any expectations on my side.” Q is quick to put him at ease on that front. -Liar-. Why is he even saying these things? It was just dinner between friends. Why is he being so bloody melodramatic about it? -Shut up. Shut up.-

Q gives his head a shake for finality, “Bottom line is, I’ve taken advantage of you and I apologise.” He finally looks Bond in the eyes, or tries to. The man’s face is blurry, Q thinks to reach up to clean his glasses but realises to his horror that it is unshed tears that is clouding his vision. -Well isn’t this perfectly humiliating.-

Bond is studying him with intense blue eyes - searching for something. The moment stretches…

It reminds Q of that silly Netflix show where the characters roll a dice and their futures split into six different outcomes. For the first time Q wonders if there exists a timeline where he and Bond could conceivably end up more than friends. There is a likelier chance that in some timeline, maybe even this one - Bond walks into the sunset with some femme fatale he picks up along the way. Alive and whole with the possibility of finally finding the happiness he so deserves after years of tragic sacrifice. And Q has no choice but to shake his hand and watch him go. Knowing Bond, he’ll probably ask to keep the DB5 too.

-Well, good luck getting that thing serviced at any random garage.- Q digs his thumb harder into his diaphragm to distract himself from the flaring discomfort.

Bond’s voice is low and soft when he finally says something, “Q… this might have been longest ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ speech anyone has made. Are you breaking up with me?”

That earns Bond an involuntary chuckle even through his unshed tears, “Don’t be facetious… *sniff*…I’m being serious.” Bond is right though, this whole conversation was silly, they were just friends. What kind of person weeps over dinner with a friend?

From Bond’s point of view; he knows if he leaves Q to his own devices tonight, the quartermaster will play the gentleman and logic himself out of going out with Bond ever again. Even if that’s not what Q wants himself. Bond can’t risk that.

At the same time, he doesn’t want to push too hard, not when Q hasn’t had a chance to process his own revelations. He has heard enough between the lines of Q’s rambling admission to be fairly confident that his affections are not in vain. All that is needed is patience.

Bond chooses his words and tone carefully, “You’re right… in some aspects. My time is precious, and perhaps limited—,” wry smile,”—So the fact that I choose to spend it with my quartermaster says something about the depth of my fondness for his company.

“As for taking advantage of me, in so much as it is possible,” this one, he is less clear how Q came to the conclusion, “It is true, if there was anyone in the world who might be capable of it, it would be you. But only because I allow it.” He gives Q a few moments to process what he had said. The quartermaster wasn’t the only one who can tiptoe around a subject without actually referencing it.

Bond studies Q as he mulls over the words. He would make a terrible poker player. Q fidgets when he thinks; self soothing gestures - fingers stroking his own hands or turning an object over and over. Over the last half year, those unconscious self soothing gestures have spilled over to include Bond himself, if he is in close enough proximity. Q’s favourite is the tie pin if available, and if not, the cuff links on his sleeve. The satisfaction he derives from be being a source of comfort to Q is unquantifiable.

This evening is no different, despite the ‘breakup’ speech, Q’s fingers have found their way to a gold button on Bond’s uniform - the pad of his thumb worrying over the embossed gilt crown and anchor motif.

“So… it’s not an imposition then? You don’t mind this?” Q summaries felling terribly silly, now that the melancholic fog is lifting.

“Q, not even terrorist with a gun to my head can compel me to give up state secrets, what makes you think I can’t fend off an unwanted dinner appointment?” This statement coming from anyone else would have been hyperbole, but from Bond, it puts his little freakout into perspective. “Believe it or not, I look forward our evenings as well.”

“Ah. Right… “ More contemplative fidgeting with the gold button. Then a deep breath and a noisy sniffle, “Does the invitation to dinner still stand? Some food would do me good I think.” Maybe it’s the low blood sugar that is causing this silliness, Q’s certainly going to play it off that way. Though he suspects this weekend is going to be one of quiet introspection about this oddly personal relationship developing between them.

Bond smiles, leaning close to whisper in his ear, “Dinner always stands.”

Q lets Bond lead him out of the washroom and into the lift, thankful that no one was around to notice how long they spent in there.

In the lift, Q rests his back and head against the side wall. Bond is crowding close next to him, despite the empty lift. He has his arms crossed, one shoulder leaning against the same wall, body angled towards Q and watching him contemplatively.

“You don’t mind my aftershave do you?” Bond asks all of a sudden with cheeky grin.

“What?” The bizarre question makes Q turn his head to look at him.

“Its not offensive or overpowering is it? You know, in case its off putting to the marks.“ Bond continues, verbally nudging Q to play along, to fall back into their usual banter.

“I didn’t think it appropriate that I should have an opinion about it before.”

“Well, what if I want you to have an opinion about it now?”

Q can’t stay away from their usual play for long; this time it is him that initiates, leaning in close. Bond tips up his chin automatically, to give his favourite boffin better access. Q presses close, nose just shy of touching the underside of Bond’s jaw and takes a long whiff.

It’s the end of a long day so there is only the barest hint of aftershave mixed with his natural scent. -God. He smells good.-

Q passes his verdict, “I… I suppose if I were to have opinion about it, I’d say you smell… perfect.”

————The End————————-

Extended scene….

The lift dings and the doors open. Bond and Q part reluctantly back to a semi-respectable distance. But not before a waiting SIS employee on the other side of the door catches sight of them in what could be construed as a compromising position.

What’s-his-name takes longer than normal to step into the lift, dawdling on the threshold trying to make up his mind to get in or take the next one - despite the virtually empty lift.

The man in the Navy uniform is undoubtedly a Double-0, but the younger one he isn’t so sure, one of the boffs in IT or Q-Branch from the looks of it. If they’re carrying on a secret affair, he doesn’t want to be an unwitting witness - rumours have it, those Double-0s have a way of making interlopers… disappear.

His indecisiveness makes both men shift their attentions towards him. Both expressions quizzical. Navy man sweeps an arm round the empty lift, welcoming him to enter.

“I’ll… um… take the next one…” he says awkwardly and steps quickly out of sight.

——————Fin——————-

Note: If you liked this fic, there’s more like it on the blog. Enjoy!

Q’s Origin story might make more sense if you read my attempt at writing Q’s backstory in the plot outlines below: (they’re not full fics but you’ll get the sense of who this version of Q is.)

Series 1 Pilot here.

Series 2 Episode 1 & 2 here.

And Episode 3.

Also I’m lazy, so some of the other Double-0s are based on pre-existing characters from other fandoms.

009 is based on Harry Hart (Galahad) in Kingsman.

001 is based on Emma Thompson in Johnny English and Late Night, I love how comedically irreverent and straight talking she is, I can imagine her being fed up with the way everyone else talks in their roundabout way and calls them out on it.

#00Q #ooq #Q #quartermaster #00q fanfiction

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howtodisassembleyourdeviant · 5 years ago

Text

Be My Garden of Eden Ch.1

ConnorxFReader Pleasure Android AU

I finally decided to get a Tumblr and post more of my beta chapters here. Just a place to get some opinions or a wider gauge of how people feel about my writing.

I also take requests for ConnorxReader one-shots.

If you like what I post, I also have stories posted on AO3 under DisassembledDeviant. If you have read them, you know I don't mind venturing into the NSFW category... At all. ;)

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Warnings: probably cursing and sexual implications

"Goddammit! You stupid piece of shit!" The wrench came down hard against the android's shoulder. "I should have just left your ass with the rest of the scrap!" Another blow, this time to his chest, warnings of the damage flashing on his HUD.

Connor couldn't help but agree.

His recollection of his life before working at Club Mimosa in the seedier side of town was minimal. A roof, A little girl, Falling... Then, nothing. Just a name. Connor.

The owner had found him in the scrapyard, looking for replacement parts or functional androids he could illegally fix up for his club. While much of his body was destroyed, the owner re-built him. His unique look was sure to capture new clients, and he was right. Connor started as a popular model. Both males and females would pay for a session with the doe-eyed android.

However, no matter what he was 'equipped' with, it was apparent he was not programmed to please humans sexually. His movements were stiff, his reactions lackluster. Most demanded a refund, as his last client did. The owner was getting fed up, and the beatings were getting worse. Before the owner could take another swing, one of the employees entered the workshop.

"Hey, boss, someone is requesting Connor for delivery."

"Fuck!" The owner sneered, "tell them it will be on its way in a minute!" He turned to Connor, tossing the wrench on the metal table behind him, attempting to be intimidating. Connor didn't even give him the satisfaction of imitating fear, simply watching the middle-aged man turn redder by the second. "Fix yourself up, then go to the client's address, and if you fuck this one up, I'll scrap you for parts!"

Connor was sitting in an automatic taxi ten minutes later, dressed in a simple button-up and jeans, the familiar illuminated triangle on his back. There was still a small dent on his chest, but he couldn't do anything about it, only hope the client doesn't notice. Outside, he watched the protesters, harassing androids, the homeless begging for change on the street corners, and all the people, heads down at their phones while ordering their androids to do various tasks they were perfectly capable of doing themselves. It... Bothered him.

Not as much as working at that terrible club. He wonders what would happen if he never turned up at the client's address, if he got out of the taxi and just kept walking. Would the owner bother hunting him down? He didn't want to be touched, used by people in such a humiliating way. No matter how many times he was disinfected, he felt dirty. Catching his reflection in the window, he turned away. Even if he left, where could he go? These... Thoughts are dangerous.

The taxi led him to a more rural area of the city, a small house with several trees surrounding it, the Autumn leaves dancing gracefully through the air. He had to double-check the address. This was far nicer than anywhere he had gone before. He walked up the cobblestone path to the door, a soft chime ringing when he pressed the doorbell.

"Coming!" A singsong voice called from inside. The door opened, revealing a young woman, dressed in a tight black turtleneck, jeans, and an apron covered in various paints, some of which had gotten on your cheek and the tip of your nose. You were... cute... For human standards, that is.

"Hello, my name is Connor. I'm the Android sent by Club Mimosa for your personal pleasure."

Confusion, realization, and exasperation washed over your face in waves. Eventually, you sighed.

"Come on in and have a seat."

He entered the little home to find it just as cozy on the inside as it was on the outside. The colors gave off a feeling of warmth, the small trinkets and figurines adding to the atmosphere. Usually, the homes or apartments he had been to were run down, a few even host to drug dealers. He didn't know there was a place like this in Detroit.

Above your fireplace was a portrait, an abstract painting of a pair of hands reaching out. Based on your appearance, he initially assumed it was yours, but a quick scan informed him it was a Carl Manfred original. He didn't know much of art, but he did know that Carl Manfred was a renowned artist of Detroit and a favorite of the android creator, Elijah Kamski.

He stood in the doorway, unsure what to do.

"Make yourself at home."

He didn't know how to respond to that.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand your request." Your eyes seemed sad. He was already screwing things up.

"I guess take your shoes off and make yourself comfortable." While he was able to follow the first instruction, he still remained in the doorway. You hesitantly reached out and took his hand, leading him to the loveseat before sitting him down.

Usually, this would be the part where the client would straddle his lap, grind on his crotch while forcing their tongue in his mouth, the rancid taste of red ice, cigarettes, and alcohol broken down to their basic ingredients as he ignored the urge to shove them away. He sat back, expecting the same. He had a task to do, and this time, his life was on the line. Instead, you headed for your kitchen, coming back with a cold beverage.

"I don't have anything to offer you, sorry."

"I do not require anything, " nobody had even thought to offer him anything before, let alone apologize for not having it. It left him fumbling for words, clutching onto repeated phrases he hated, "I am here for you to do with as you please."

You sipped your drink, a small giggle leaving your lips. He liked how it sounded, even if he was confused as to why.

"To be honest, I didn't call for you."

Something inside him sank. Of course this was too good to be true.

"I'm sorry. There must have been an error in our system. I will take my leave now." He went to stand, but you put your hand on his knee, stilling his motions.

"There is no error. A well-meaning friend has been concerned with how much time I spend working and believes I need to let loose sometimes. This is exactly something he would do."

"Oh, " he was still disappointed that you hadn't been the one to call directly. Your hand was still on his knee. You only seemed to notice when he glances down at it, quickly pulling your hand back and apologizing again. Your cheeks even flushed, the red only adding to your beauty. You were so different from everything Connor has known.

"So, Connor, " even his name sounded pleasant coming from you, "how long did my friend request you for?"

"24 hours."

"That long? How much stamina does he think I have?" You looked him in the eye, "though, I have no intention of sleeping with you."

"Why?" He had to have done something wrong. He's dead if he goes back empty-handed. You noticed the panic in his voice, his LED flashing a bright red.

"It's nothing you did, I'm just not the type to sleep with just anybody."

"But I'm not 'anybody'. I am a machine made to please humans. If I fail, they will destroy me." Your eyes widened. How could they do such a thing? Even if they are machines, how could they kill them so easily? If it weren't for that light on his head and the android labeled clothes, you would think him a human. Especially with the desperation he showed.

"Calm down. I'll call whichever club you came from tomorrow and tell them you were the best lay of my life. Everything will be fine." His LED flickered on yellow for a second before returning to blue. He was not going to be destroyed.

"Thank you." He didn't know what else to say or how to show his appreciation. You were lying just to keep a machine from shutting down. It might not mean much to you, but you were saving his life. You smiled nervously as he stared in awe.

"Don't mention it. Now, the TV remote is on the coffee table, there's a list of movies I own on there that you are welcome to watch. If not, there's books and a stereo over by the front window. If you need anything, just let me know."

"Where are you going?"

"To my studio. It's just down the hall, the last door on the end, " he only looked more lost and confused, "you can come with me if you like."

He stood, following you down the hall. At one time, it must have been the garage, but it has since been modified, the back portion knocked out and replaced with glass, revealing a small koi pond in the back, a statue of a lion prowling the edge, water pouring from its open mouth. Ivy climbed the walls inside, the sun shining through the leaves. Paintings lined the walls, some finished and some abandoned. Looking them over, he found he liked them. They were colorful. Your style favored realism, yet they seemed to hold a sense of wonder, something he couldn't put into words. There was one of a beagle, lying next to a roaring fire.

"Someone wanted a painting of their recently deceased pet as a memorial. A friend of mine had the same breed and let me borrow her for two weeks. There are some slight differences, to match the owner's photo."

"It's beautiful." He didn't have too many memories of dogs, though one did try to bite him at a client's house, but looking at this one, he could imagine the warmth from the fire, almost touch its fur, and hear the tiny snores coming from the beast. It made him want to be there.

You had moved before an easel, a painting sitting half-finished already on it. It was of a clinical white pot sitting on a wooden table, several cracks along it, revealing bits of dirt, roots, and leaves. The top was unfinished, just shades of reds and blues, blending to violet in a few spots. Various photos of plants were lying about your workspace, and across from you was a cheap, plastic flower arrangement.

You wasted no time getting back to work, a fresh brush in hand. Connor stood, watching you, mesmerized by your focus and the grace in each stroke of the brush. You felt awkward, being observed so closely, but quickly fell back into the task at hand. Ten minutes of him just standing there though was too much.

"You can sit down if you like." He found the closest chair to him and sat down, perfectly straight, hands in his lap. "Just relax, this is a safe environment."

It took time, but after half an hour, he leaned back into the chair, and in another hour, he was standing again, looking around the studio at all the different paintings, the plants that kept this place feeling more vibrant, and he stared out at the koi pond, watching the fish. You had told him how to get to the back for a closer look, but he made no moves to leave.

"I couldn't help but notice you have a Carl Manfred original in your living room," He broke the silence. "It must have been quite expensive."

You continued to paint, "It probably would be. It was a graduation gift. Carl was my mentor. Our styles are completely different, but I don't think I could ask for a better teacher or friend."

"I see," Connor returned to sitting down, watching you once again. "What made you want to become a painter?"

You brought the brush to your chin, thinking.

"Well, I've always liked to draw. A lot of people in my family were artistic, but they never did anything with it. They believed it wasn't a good career path. I guess I just wanted to prove it was. Though, I will say it can be an uphill battle. Sometimes I can sell a painting or get commissions with ease, other times I look at my paintings and wonder if I'll get any nutritional value if I just ate them. It seems to be the only value I could get."

He nodded, even if he didn't really understand what you meant. He had never heard of the term "starving artist".

"You've got paint on your face." You pulled the brush away, wiping at your chin, succeeding only in spreading it around. You could hear Connor suppressing a laugh. Looking over, you could see him trying to hide his smile. A part of you found it adorable, while another was saddened. Why hide such a nice smile? Was he forbidden from smiling, or could it be because it was technically at the client's expense?

You pushed it from your mind. As much as it pained you, you couldn't afford to get involved. You had it calculated. The commission would go to restocking your food, paying the water bill, and the mortgage. The painting in front of you would go towards paying your electric bill, along with the late charge they tacked on. If you don't finish it on time, you'll miss the deadline and will be painting in the dark, not to mention how that could hurt your reputation for future commissions. Carl would loan you the money if you asked, but you refused to take advantage of him like that. You will earn your place, even if it kills you.

"I guess I'll go wash up, " you giggled. Connor stood, as if to follow you. "Why don't you pick a movie we can watch when I get out of the shower?"

"You don't wish for me to accompany you?" All his other clients had. Your cheeks flushed.

"N-no, no, thank you! I can do it myself, " you stammered. You were embarrassed. Connor liked how you stuttered and when your cheeks turned red.

After a few minutes of sitting on the couch, he started to hear your voice from the bathroom. Curious, he moved a little closer, just outside the door. You were singing. He... Liked it. You couldn't quite hit the high notes, and your lows sounded more like growls, but it was sweet and melodic. He stifled another laugh when you started singing what sounded like a duet, but one of the singers was a male.

He'd never laughed before, or even had the inclination. He didn't know if he should laugh out loud or if you wouldn't like that. Was he allowed to laugh? The female androids at the club, particularly the Tracis, often giggled at clients, but the males rarely did, and it was usually nothing more than a huff or a scoff. Despite his worries, he liked the feeling that accompanied the involuntary action. He leaned against the wall, listening to you until he heard the water shut off, moving swiftly to the couch as to not arouse suspicion.

The rest of the evening was quiet, something Connor wasn't used to. There was no loud groaning or terrible derogatory names. No claws digging into his back, threatening to break through his synthetic skin, or rough hands clutching his hips. Just you and him, sitting on your small couch, a cartoon playing on your screen. He had never chosen a movie before, never chose anything before, yet when he showed interest in it, you didn't hesitate to put it on. It was childish, but he was greatly enjoying it, enjoying being with you.

Halfway through the third movie, he felt a weight on his shoulder. You had fallen asleep, your head resting against him. You appeared so serene, softly snoring. He had never met anyone like you. Nobody had ever treated him with such kindness. In one afternoon, you had flipped his whole world upside down.

When the movie ended, you woke up, the loud end credit music startling you. Realizing just who you were using as a pillow, you could feel your cheeks heating up.

"Sorry."

"It's fine." He smiled down at you, your eyes glazed over with exhaustion, "Perhaps you should retire for the night."

You hummed, stretching before a thought came to you.

"Why don't you take my bed and I'll take the couch? You're far too tall for it."

He gaped at you. You would give up your bed, your comfort, for him? A machine?

"I... Don't require sleep..." He said in a hushed tone, still in shock.

You seemed unsure of what to do. "Well, what do you usually do?"

His mind played memories of working a pole or acting 'tantalizing' behind glass. Not really helpful in this situation.

"Sometimes I enter stasis between clients, " he murmured. Usually for repairs after the owner beats him, but it seemed the only appropriate response.

"Stasis... that's, like, sleeping for androids, right?"

"I suppose it's similar."

"Well, come on then," you took his hand and hauled him to his feet, leading him down the hall to your bedroom. Your bed was so plush, he sank into it when you sat him down. With your urging, he positioned himself to lay back into the pillows. You went to the closet, pulling out a spare blanket.

"You make yourself comfortable, and I'll be on the couch if you need anything."

"I couldn't take your bed. I don't require sleep, you do, " he tried to stand, but you gently pushed him back down.

"The couch is comfortable enough. I don't mind."

"Since you're so insistent, why don't we share the bed?"

The heat returned to your cheeks. Your mouth was gaping open, as if to argue why not, but eventually, you said nothing. You didn't want to admit this would be your first time having a man share your bed. Instead, you walked to the other side of the bed, the flush on your cheeks spreading to your ears and neck as you climbed in. You laid on your side, facing away from him.

"Good night, Connor," You mumbled under your breath.

"Good night, Y/n."

He wished tomorrow would never come, that he could stay here forever instead. It was such an insignificant day, yet it meant everything to him. Here, he felt a peace he never knew existed outside his daily hell. He wanted to pull you close, feel the warmth he felt as he sat next to you on the couch, the weight of your head on his shoulder again, but for the first time, he felt like the greedy one. He did turn to lay on his side, just a few more inches closer to you, just barely able to register the heat radiating off your body. It will have to be enough.

You, on the other hand, could not sleep. Not only because you were sharing a bed with a man, a very attractive man at that, but because you felt guilty. Your "friend" couldn't have picked a worse time. He was a polarizing character whom you knew since middle school. He dropped out of high school and started selling drugs. He deals with anything but red ice, and as he grew more powerful on the streets, he would sell prescription drugs to people who couldn't afford their medications at a much cheaper rate. Something like a robin hood character, though he still sold hardcore drugs to violent criminals, so you were at a loss how to feel about him. He liked androids though, having been raised by one, who was also his right-hand man. He wouldn't dare take blue blood from his friend just for a few bucks and finds red ice to be deplorable.

He knows you like androids and how you feel about them, so, occasionally, he would send one to your place to 'liberate'. With your connections, you could help get androids across the border, or if needed, you could help them find Jericho, the android safe haven. Because of his stance on androids, he couldn't help directly without risking his own safety, so he was like an informant (except you didn't ask for the information, he would just leave it with you, knowing you wouldn't just look the other way like any smart human that wanted to live a healthy life would do).

Most of the time, they were abuse victims that ran away from their owner after he told them where to find you. Unless they were damaged, they were easy enough to deal with. Occasionally, though, he would send you an Android he suspected of abuse that came from some sleazy sex club. It was part of the reason you were broke. The last one was from a more upscale club and cost you $7,000 just to get her out. You had to sell your car just to make your mortgage payment on time. Must be nice to have all these ideals but not spend a dime to support them. Though you supposed he did send supplies to your house on occasion, blue blood or sometimes food, not much, but it would get you by. It was as if he wanted you to be on the cusp of hatred toward him.

You couldn't afford to help this time, and it tore you apart on the inside. Connor wasn't like the others, not only in appearance, but in his manners. He came from a sex club, but he was clearly uncomfortable with it, and not just because he didn't want to satisfy humans. He genuinely didn't know what he is supposed to do. Any other Traci would have been flirting or trying to fondle you before you could even begin to explain the situation. With Connor, you couldn't tell him what you do. It would be far too cruel, knowing you couldn't save him. All you could offer was a day of solace. It was nowhere near enough, but it was all you had.

The next day, he returned to the club. You had been reluctant to let him go, but when he told you how much another night would be, you blanched. It couldn't be helped. He can only hope you or your friend might call for his services once again. You embraced him before he left, promising that you would see him again. He carried that warmth all the way back to the club.

#connor #rk800 #rk800 connor reader #connor fanfiction #detroit become human #video games #connor reader #connor x reader #dbh au #dbh connor #dbh

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chaoticneutralwriter · 6 years ago

Text

The Extent of Happiness

Jimin thinks he’s a perfect demon, given the centuries of work he’s done and now he dare say he makes for a pretty decent temp-guardian too — he even has the papers to prove it. So with a good clean record, he’s well on his way to getting into the good graces of heaven again to pardon his mischief, only he never realized in his long years of living until now that there is one short-coming he had — as both a demon and a guardian.

guardian demon!Jimin x reader

word count: 18.6k (lord)

genre: slow-burn, supernatural, comedy, fluff, romance, a little angst, slice of life

warning: brief talk of some ill-intentions towards another character

Related works: see masterlist under guardian demon! Jimin

A/N: THIS TOOK FOREVERR.... ;_; tfw the chapter is pretty straight forward but didn’t realize the scenes would take so much planning XD Lots of time skips-ish but it at least takes over the course of two days. Hope you enjoy it, thank you so much for all the patience and love once again! 😚😚💖💖

It’s over.

It’s finally over.

You collapse onto your bed, exhausted but victorious in a way. You’ve just finished your last exam, gone in with a fuck-all attitude that made it go by in a blur and now that it’s out of your hands, you’re finally allowed to be numb to it all. The stress of it is over and though you would be elated if you passed with a pretty good grade, you honestly don’t care if you scraped by or even fail one (you’ve done the math, that's how much you've given up). All you want to do now is to sleep for three years….and maybe have a glass of wine, or a whole bottle you’re not sure.

You’ll have to think on that. But right now, you just want to do nothing for a while.

Unfortunately, your body interpreted ‘do nothing’ as straight up passing out. You’re disoriented by the time you wake up, having not realized you fell into a coma-like sleep in the first place. Jaehee’s the one who knocks on your door to come check on you.

“Fam, you good?” She asks, half-jokingly but you can still hear the tinge of worry slipping through her tone.

You only let out a low, half-dying groan, shifting so that your face is not entirely smushed into your mattress.

“I don’t even remember falling asleep….”

If you had turned over more, you would’ve seen Jaehee giving you a wry smile. “Yeah…. You were out cold when I got home and I didn’t have the heart to wake you, but then I got really worried because you were seriously like out.”

That got a snort out of you, however groggy you might feel as your mind takes its time to become more alert.

“But congrats on finishing your last exam today!” Jaehee cheers, coming over to sit at the end of your bed where your body is draped over in a horizontal fashion. “We should celebrate.”

You let out a whining noise of protest because although you do want to go celebrate (read: drink yourself into an oblivion while stuffing your face with the fattiest, greasiest foods you could find), you also really don’t feel like moving yet. Jaehee laughs, patting your head in a very motherly way that has you nearly dozing off again.

“Okay, okay how about we order pizza and we crack open some cold ones over Netflix?”

That gets a short bark of laughter from you and that’s all that Jaehee needs before she’s getting up again to place the order. During that time, you roll around on your bed some more, scroll through your social media for a while before finally mustering up the strength to get up with a stretch. You loudly let out a drawn out groan as your joints pop and your muscles unwind from being in the same position for so long before you stand, grabbing a new set of PJs as you head to the bathroom.

After a refreshing shower that leaves you more awake now and ready to devour some serious carbs, you saunter into the living room where Jaehee is setting up the extra large pizza box on the coffee table. Your mouth instantly waters at the smell of melted cheese, pepperoni, bacon and mushrooms. Beside the box is a case of Somersby cider, the cans still chilled with condensation so when you crack it open to take a sip, it sends a pleasant chill down your throat.

Taking a seat next to Jaehee on the couch, you reach for a slice of pizza and the first bite has you moaning loudly. “Let me stay like this forever.”

Your friend giggles at your overdramatic comment but nevertheless starts scrolling through the Netflix account to find a series to watch.

“Well, you can now that you’re done for the semester.”

“Thank God for that.”

As Jaehee settles on a show, she reaches for her own can of alcohol, bringing it up towards you and you instantly respond by grabbing yours.

“Cheers to finishing that semester.”

You clink cans, grinning as you take a hefty sip, sighing out contently as you already feel your nerves dissipate with the sweet promise of long restful days of sleeping, eating, and lounging.

Yeah right.

It’s like the universe had decided for you that you’ve had your fill of living out your best life as a human sloth and now you need to get back to being a useful member of society. And since you’re always in need for those few extra dollars, it’s no surprise you find yourself taking on more work shifts, no matter how soul draining it all is.

Do it for the money, you tell yourself, just do it for the money.

Besides, you further reason, you need a distraction or you’ll just find yourself perusing your social media threads which would lead to you being caught up in the hype for BTS’ first day of their North American leg of the tour. It’s fast approaching but at this point, you feel like you’ve gone through your stages of grief and had reached the inevitable acceptance — you’re not going to any of the stops and your only hope rests in the four small words at the very bottom of the official touring website.

You cash out the last of the customer standing in line, grateful to have a moment of peace where you can do something other than force a smile on your face and be overly polite and friendly. You walk over to the end of the cash counter where off to the side is a cart full of items that needed to be ticketed for clearance. It’s not the most exciting job, but after spending majority of your shifts on cash and nothing but cash you’re willing to take any job. So with a label gun in hand, you set to work on scanning the items and adjusting the numbers appropriately to make the correct price tags.

You’re halfway through the cart when you feel a sudden chill, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand and automatically you already know who this is. Your gaze whips around, trying to be subtle about it until a voice calls out to you from above.

“Right over here poppet.”

Your eyes land on the shelves behind you and situated at the very top on a sewing machine box, you find Jungkook peering down at you with his signature bunny grin. His mop of brown hair is a little unruly, leaving his front bangs to sweep over his forehead and he’s still dressed like one of the international students at your college — comfy but bougie as hell. Sighing, you continue with the task at hand, pretending he’s not there just so you won’t look crazy on camera.

“Don’t you have better things to do?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” He rebuttals, jumping down gracefully next to you despite those clumpy looking Balenciaga shoes he’s wearing (you swear you could kill someone if you threw it at them hard enough). You roll your eyes, already knowing what he’s insinuating when he says that.

“For the billionth time I’m not going; I thought we had this conversation already.”

“Well you can’t blame me for thinking you’ve got such a weak will.”

That causes you to shoot a glare his way and all he does is raise an eyebrow back at you, almost challengingly. It makes you let out a huff of frustration, going back to slapping the items with their pricing stickers a little too aggressively.

“Then what do you suggest I do? Summon another demon so they could be my doppleganger?”

“What? Oh no, that won’t do. Your soul is bound to Jimin so there’s possibly nothing you could offer in exchange for another demon’s service.” Jungkook brushes off your sarcastic rhetorical as if you had seriously asked. “Although you possibly could ask an incubus in exchange for sex….but I don’t think Jimin would be too happy with that…”

Jungkook successfully makes you blush at his offhanded comment, mind reeling and going off in places that they most definitely shouldn’t be going. You have to shake your head to rid of those thoughts, but that doesn’t stop your cheeks from burning still. Forcefully, you think about puppies and kittens and BT— No, no, the one time to not think of them.

Your hand pauses briefly and you turn to pin the brunette sitting on the counter beside you a hard stare. He’s lost in thought, actually considering all the ways that can possibly help you play hooky with your job. You’re a slight bit touched that he seems to care so much but at the same time, you think this is all completely unnecessary. Finally, after a few more minutes of pondering, he sighs out in a defeated manner.

“The only other option I can think of is finding a witch to clone you. But I heard their methods are highly unstable, usually a fifty-fifty chance in death or your clone going on a rampage to actually steal your identity so I don’t know if you’d be down with those odds.” Turning to you, he nods in serious affirmation. “I think the sex demon is your best bet, even if it’ll make Jimin a little mad.”

You choke on the air you harshly inhale, hand coming up to try and smother your coughing fit. By the time you’re able to breathe again without losing a lung, you have tears in your eyes from the exertion but that doesn’t stop you from throwing a narrowed eyed glare at Jungkook who’s watching on with an obviously amused smile.

“I am not doing that.” You wheeze.

“Why not? If it’s because of Jimin, then I’ll handle him for you.”

“No Jungkook, it’s not— “ You pause to kiss your teeth, agitated. “I’m not that desperate. Besides, I’ve already put my money on them adding additional dates after their first leg is over.”

It’s true, you’re not about to resort to shadier means to get what you want; point proven when you turned down even Jimin when he offered (and his method had way less strings attached than the one Jungkook is suggesting). Furthermore, what logic would that be if you refuse help from your own guardian demon only to turn around and accept help from someone else, much less another demon? He’s insufferable, the bane of your existence at times sure, but you can never imagine doing something like that to him, especially after all he’s done. The very suggestion makes your stomach churn unpleasantly — he doesn’t deserve that.

The young demon doesn’t say anything afterwards, just quietly stares at you in utter disbelief for what you think is an uncomfortably long amount of time before —

“You seriously would rather subject yourself to this capitalist slavery than take the chance of getting good demon di—“

The package you’re holding goes flying out of your hand before you can think about it (you think it’s a Disney Princess pink foam crown from the kids section). Jungkook narrowly dodges it with a swift lean of his head, impeccably wide eyes indicating that even he was caught off guard from your sudden display of speed. The item merely smacks against the edge of the computer monitor of the register, lightweight enough that you didn’t need to worry about getting fired for property damage but it didn’t go unnoticed by your manager on duty as not even a minute passes before your headset crackles with her concerned voice.

“Woah what happened there, Y/N? You okay?”

You fumble with your mic, face a raging inferno as you press down on the button to laugh nervously into. “Y-Yeah, no I just saw a spider and it freaked me out. That’s all!”

You get a laugh in return, “Oh yikes. Okay, understandable. Carry on!”

Jungkook’s snickering brings your attention back to him and you could only petulantly glare at him. Luckily, you didn’t have to continue bickering uselessly with him as over his shoulder, you see a few customers begin to stream into the queue line. With one last pointed look, you mutter quickly through gritted teeth.

“I am not going to the concert and I don’t need any of your scheming ways to make it happen otherwise.”

You see him roll his eyes before swiftly, you turn on your heels and scurry back over to your designated register to wave down the approaching customer to ring them up.

It’s just past three o’clock and noticeably the cafe starts to pick up with an influx of patrons. Evidently, being situated near the downtown area didn’t help either as every which street, the establishment is surrounded by towering office buildings. Whether it be just a single elevator trip down or just a walk across the street, everyone flocked to this cafe to get their caffeine fix or a quick bite to eat. The place drew in all sorts of people, which made for a very interesting place to people watch.

Now normally, Jimin wouldn’t be out so early in the day, preferring to wander the streets at night. That’s when all the greatest likes of people come out — well, ‘great’ in demon standards; the perfect hunting ground to secure more poor souls doomed to hell with all their scheming, ill-intent, self-destructive ways.

But, he thinks, a slow smile barely contained behind the rim of his coffee cup, it doesn’t take much to spot a potential victim, even with the rose-tinted glasses of daylight on. All you had to do was stop and look.

His dark eyes lock onto the figure seated in the far corner of the cafe, hunched over the laptop in front of her. From his vantage point, he could make out her features clearly — long dark hair falling in loose curls around her shoulders, framing a heart-shaped face, straight nose, full lips with a dainty cupid’s bow, and porcelain skin all make up this young face. She looked to be mid-twenties if Jimin had to guess and by the way she dressed so casually amongst the sea of business suits and blazers suggests she might possibly be a student or someone who just got out of school. At first glance, this girl was like any other face in the crowd — unassuming and made an effort to sticking to themselves, just like everybody else in this cafe.

Except Jimin can spot something shady going on a mile away, and this one was only a few tables.

Now as to exactly what, he’ll have to get a closer look to find out. So with one last sip from his cup, he uncrosses his legs and gets up to make his way over to the young lady’s table. He approaches with just a few long strides and though it takes her a moment to notice his presence, she still had to do a double take once her wide eyes landed on his face. It makes him smile, eyes creasing and when he sees her face flush pink, he knows he’s got her.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin starts, coming off bashful as he brings a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. “This might seem really creepy but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around this cafe before and I’m a regular here.”

The girl barely recovers from her flustered state, shaky hands also coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She’s having a hard time maintaining eye contact with him and it only goads him on further, keeping his eyes on her and the ever sweet smile still present in an almost purposefully teasing way.

“O-Oh, uh, um yeah. I usually like to hang out in this other place but, I had errands to do around here so I just stopped here for a bit….” Her voice wavers with nerves but she clears her throat, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

“Ah, I see.” Jimin replies, feigning interest as he idly runs a hand through his new ash brown hair. “I’m glad you did, it’s a really nice place to come by — amazing coffee and in-house pastry. Have you tried them?”

The small talk continues with Jimin effortlessly getting her to let her guard down more and more until after an empty pastry plate and a latte later, he’s managed to settle himself comfortably in the seat in front of her sharing chuckles and names (Kim), her laptop long forgotten. Here, Jimin can really take in the details of her person; the Chanel t-shirt peeking out from underneath her windbreaker that’s definitely not a knockoff, the Cartier necklace with it’s dainty charm sitting at the base of her throat, the Hermes bangle that gives off a lustrous shine whenever she brings her slender hand up to cover her mouth as she laughs along with the rose gold diamond Rolex watch.

Either she’s got a nice honest paying job, or she’s getting her funds by….other means.

“That’s a really nice watch you have there; Rolex?” Jimin asks, smoothly taking Kim’s hand into his to inspect the watch clasped onto her wrist. He pretends to admire it, completely ignoring the way she blushes.

“Yeah, got it not too long ago.”

“Lovely taste.” He lets go, making sure to linger in his touch. Kim appreciates the gesture, smiling coyly as she slowly takes her hand back. Amidst the chatter of the cafe, a chime followed by a buzz draws the girl’s attention to her phone placed off on the side. Kim takes it into her hand, unlocking before scrolling through it with hasty fingers. She looks up after a few moments later, regret reflecting in her brown irises.

“Hey, I gotta get going. Maybe we could grab coffee again some other time….?”

Jimin hears the way she lets the question hang and it only makes him grin. Regardless, he takes out his phone and Kim eagerly exchanges numbers with him (even sending him a text to make sure it goes through correctly). Once she’s satisfied, she packs her laptop into a sleeve and puts on her Gucci crossbody over her shoulder.

“I’ll see you around Julien.” Kim beams, walking off with a noticeable pep in her step. He watches her go with an easy smile and to onlookers, they might’ve pinned him for a poor sap who’s become infatuated by the girl he’s just met in his favourite coffee shop — a plot straight out of a romance novel. Oh, if only they knew; how funny would it be when they realize that this angelic smile hid a demon who’s just found his next prey.

Glancing down at his phone, his eyes read over the name of the poor girl who’s about to have karma bite her in the ass. Kim, he thinks with a dark chuckle, just what kind of dark secret are you hiding behind your own innocent smile?

He’ll look forward to finding out.

“Hey, are you working tomorrow?”

You’re in the break room, pulled out from your reveries (what you actually mean is dissociating) by the small chime of your phone signalling a text message. It’s Jaehee and you take a pause on reading her question to think of your answer, mentally going through your work schedule that you’ve gleaned over earlier today before coming into your shift. You don’t remember much but you do know you are working, just not sure whether it would be a short early shift or a closing one again. You hope that it’s not the latter. The very thought makes you shudder.

“Yeah I am. Why what’s up?” You shoot back and no sooner had the message been sent, you get one in return.

“Uhh? Your birthday….??”

Oh shit really? You think to yourself, shocked. You pull up the calendar on your phone and see that yes, your birthday is indeed tomorrow. The revelation has you dazed for a second, wondering where the time went.

“Oh wow, LOL. I didn’t even realize….”

“Girl…. We need to do something for your birthday!

We could do something like head out for dinner and a couple of drinks.”

“That sounds good, but I can’t remember if I’m closing or not :|

I’ll have to double check to make sure.”

“Okay, either way, let me know what the plan is and we work something out!”

“Yeah, will do :)” 

You say that but honestly, planning something for your birthday was the last thing on your mind. You would even go as far as to say that you don’t really care anymore. It sounds a lot more depressing than it really is because you think that most people reach that point about certain ages don’t they? When all of your friends’ schedules match up only once in a blue moon, too busy with the grind or other commitments that meeting up at all, let alone for someone’s birthday, is good enough.

Ugh.

You unconsciously frown, wanting to shake your thoughts off on the topic by pulling up your social media apps. Out of instincts, your thumb taps onto Twitter and you’re only greeted by your feed being filled up by huge banners and pictures of the BTS tour and how tickets for their next stop will promptly go on sale tomorrow at 3PM.

Wow.

It’s like the universe just said ‘fuck you’ to your face; tickets are going on sale on your birthday and you can’t even go. You must be the most unluckiest fan alive right now. What’s worse is that it’s for the next neighbouring city to you, and theoretically, your last chance to cave in.

No, no, you shake your head. You need to stop doing that — you’ve made your peace with this already, and the wanting feeling just resurfaced because you’ve been smacked in the face with it. You exit out of the app quickly and stand, shoving your mobile into your back pocket as you start to head back out of the break room to continue your shift. You dread every step of the way because today, you’re part of the closing team and with the warming weekend weather, people tend to want to hang out longer.

Which is, much to you and your co-workers chagrin, what ends up happening. You spend the next five to ten precious minutes past closing urging straggler shoppers to get the fuck out in the most politest way so that you could all finally start cleaning. So of course by the time you’re done and with no mischievous demon by the name of Jungkook around this time to cause any excuse to leaving early otherwise, you all get out way past the appointed end shift time.

You hurry to the bus stop after a hasty goodnight, eager to get home. Thankfully, you only wait around five minutes before the bus shows up and you get on, not bothering to take a seat for the short three stop ride even though there were plenty of empty seats for your picking. You can’t deny that you’re a little bit antsy, commuting at night alone always manages to do that for you even when you make it to your stop without any incident.

It’s okay, you think as you hastily make your way down the street, you’re nearly there and it’ll be fine the rest of the way.

You don’t stop to think about the logic of your thought just now because by no means are you anywhere near your house yet, let alone your street. You still had about a block left before you meet —

Oh.

You slow your power walking down to let out a huff of disbelief at yourself. You did not just seriously….

You sigh deeply, too tired to mentally battle it out with yourself about denying the fact that you find Jimin’s routine meet up on your night shifts gave you comfort and security on the trip home — that extra peace of mind. Not saying that you’d be completely crippled if he wasn’t there but… It's nice to have him walking beside you like a shadow that shielded you from any creeps way scarier than any demon you’ve met so far and… he makes the night a lot more enjoyable to be in.

Holy shit, you must be tired as hell because you did not just think that into existence. Your cheeks are heating up on their own and you had to give yourself a light smack to dispel any further thoughts of that nature from developing. At least there was one saving grace about it all; no one was around to witness any of this.

With that, you focus back on trucking along, heart hammering from your exertion or your anticipation, you’re not quite sure. Either way, your pace picks up when you see the beginnings of your street corner come into view. Usually, Jimin would be there just before you make the turn and from there, you’d both walk back the rest of the way, past the convenience store with the dumpster and flickering street light.

So when you round the corner —

Your feet falter, finding no one.

You slow until you stop completely, more concentrated on trying to spot his familiar lean figure that’s always dressed to the nines but somehow always look effortless but after double checking (triple checking, in case your eyes are really that bad) you find no one; not a single soul.

A weight suddenly drops into the pit of your stomach and for a moment, you’re at a loss of what to do. Should you wait around to see if he shows up with the off chance that he's late today? Or should you just power on through? Your gaze shifts to the street ahead of you and it’s like the darkness and the scattering of lights elongate to an endless pathway leading into an inky abyss. You lick your lips that had gone dry, taking in a shaky breath in an attempts to gather yourself but with one glance around your surroundings, you decide firmly that there was no way you were gonna hang around here longer than you need to, not when you know how notorious the store corner could get with its less-than-savoury visitors. You feel a bubble of irritation begin to swell inside you but you crush it in favour of wanting to get home as fast as you can.

So with a swallow, you take off in a power walk, shoulders hunched and legs burning with the strain you put with how quick of a pace you’ve set for yourself. Your hammering heart only accelerates once you come upon the twenty-four hour convenience store, the same one you got harassed by before Jimin showed up in the nick of time. The grip you have on your bag strap tightens as with a quick flit of your eyes, you find that the corner with the dumpster just behind the store is not occupied for once by anyone, at least from what you can see. You don’t bother to confirm if it’s true or not, taking full advantage of this bit of luck as you practically barrel past it, almost breaking out into a run just to get by. Once you do, you race the rest of the way up your front door steps and with a few fumbles of the keys in shaky, adrenaline-filled hands you fall through the doorway, the breath you didn’t realize you were holding comes out in one big whoosh.

You take a moment to stand there, breathing in deeply to calm yourself before eventually, move away from your threshold, locking the door and slipping off your shoes. Trudging to your bedroom, you don’t bother to flick the lights on as you blindly move about to grab your pyjamas, flinging your bag and heading to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

You hit the bed with a thump, thankful to be in its warm sheets but still feeling slightly miffed, mind racing to try and come up with some logical reason as to why Jimin wasn’t there tonight. You toss and turn for a bit but then come to a screeching halt halfway through it; he never explicitly said he would walk you home whenever you had a night shift, he sort of…started doing it on his own and you just never questioned it. Then somewhere along the way, you assumed it became an unspoken promise between you two — something that didn’t need an explanation and something that you grew to look forward to so to have it come to an abrupt stop…

You sigh out, flipping to your side and curling up on yourself, feeling ridiculous and still very much restless; guess you’re not going to sleep tonight and you hate how it’s because of how fixated you are on your guardian demon. Since when did you become someone who got so hung up on stupid small things like this? He’s his own being, a demon who roams the night freely and without fear doing what he does best; get people to make stupid decisions.

But he could’ve at least sent you a text.

You actually grab your own mobile, the light blinding you for a second as you pull up his message thread. The last text you sent each other was during your house viewing with Jaehee. Confronted with the option now, your fingers itch to send off a passive-aggressive text to him, letting him know that you made it home safely without his help thanks for asking—

You blink and suddenly the message is typed out in the box, ready for you to hit send. It takes you a second to register what you had done and it makes you backspace immediately in horror. No, you won’t be like this, can’t be like this, because does it even make sense for you to?

You grab the calico plushie with more strength than you mean to and smash your face against its soft body to drown a groan and the sinking feeling in your chest. That’s it, you’re stopping right there and you are going to sleep and forget about this all because if you don’t you’ll just give yourself a headache and lose out on sleep needlessly. You fling your phone to the ends of your bed for good measures.

Who cares about Jimin, you certainly don’t.

The girl in front of him throws her head back to laugh, hand covering her mouth to retain some modesty and keep up her appearances as being a ‘proper lady’. He doesn’t entirely care in that, nor the high spun tale he’s conjured up that caused her to laugh; it’s all pretences to him. Still, he plays his part, smiling behind the rim of his whiskey glass as he watches her with twinkling eyes full of mischief until she calms down, fanning herself lightly.

“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe that happened to you — on your first trip to Bali too.”

Jimin could only offer her a bemused shrug, placing his glass down on the table to cross his legs. “Guess that’s what you call life huh?”

Kim giggles, taking a sip of her own drink as well too before reclining back into the plush black leather booth seat. When she had suggested that they grab coffee again some time, this wasn’t exactly the first thing that Jimin had in mind. Though to be fair, he should’ve figured with the text she sent him, asking if he was free two days later from their initial meeting to come out at a time that’s way too late to be having coffee and at an establishment he swears didn’t exactly serve coffee. A ritzy place, dimly lit by warm lights from the crystal chandeliers hanging above each round table with a colour scheme of black, white and dark cherry wood. Not exactly a place your average Joe would pick for a date, not unless he wanted his wallet to bleed dry but luckily neither of them need to bother looking at the menu in the first place.

She makes show of that by refilling her glass of expensive wine, not caring how her dulled senses manhandles the bottle slightly, putting it down with a little too much added force. It makes her giggle sheepishly, ducking her head because the noise seems to rattle the entirety of the upscale bar, the soft jazz music no way helping to mask it. Jimin chortles and Kim flushes pinker than she already is under her foundation.

“So,” Jimin starts coolly, “How about yourself? Got any juicy stories you wanna share?”

Kim places her glass after sip down gently this time, licking her painted lips that had the slightest tinge of the darker berry colour to them now. She tilts her head to ponder, pouting but then smiles with a shrug.

“I don’t think any of mine would top yours to be honest.”

“Oh really? Nothing at all?”

“I’m positive.” She laughs, “I feel like all I do on trips is lay around, sun bathe, and eat and drink expensive wine.”

Jimin nods in understanding, reaching out to take a swig of his whiskey again. Throughout the night, he and Kim had talked about things that one typical does during a ‘date’ — work, hobbies, friends, families, the likes. Very mundane and nothing to be too concerned about, only what Kim doesn’t know is that the more she talks about herself, the more Jimin is beginning to get a good idea as to what sort of secret life she’s hiding. From what he gathered, she’s a recent college graduate majoring in marketing, lived alone in an apartment, and worked for a company that was getting their big break-through in expanding.

Doesn’t seem at all suspicious but considering the state of the economy, either Kim is one lucky girl or she’s obviously getting her funds somewhere else. No student straight out of college would be able to afford the luxury items Kim seems to so whole-heartedly indulge in, even with a decent paying job. Perhaps a sugar daddy? No, she’s out here seeing him isn’t she? A wealthy family then who funds everything for her?

There are still pieces missing to this puzzle and Jimin needs to find out more. Unfortunately for him, Kim downs the rest of her wine with a sense of finality and he already knows before she opens her mouth that she was planning on calling it a night.

“I think I’m done with my fill of merlot. Any more and I feel like you would have to carry me out and that’s not exactly how I want to end my night with you.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” Jimin grins wolfishly and that causes a bout of giggles to bubble from Kim’s lips. As she’s distracted, Jimin waves down the waiter to pay the bill, swiping his card and signing off the receipt before getting up from his seat. He waits patiently as Kim gathers her things but as she gets up, she tips a little too heavily to one side that Jimin had to steady her by the shoulder. The brunette laughs breathlessly, leaning into him as Jimin smiles while guiding her out of the upscale bar with a hand on the small of her back.

The night is a lot warmer compared to the last few, but of course that doesn’t stop Kim from clinging to Jimin’s arms like there was a biting breeze nipping at her skin, heeled footsteps echoing loudly against the asphalt. She also takes the liberty to direct him to round the side of the building where a small space reserved for parking was. Jimin’s quick to catch on as he glances down at Kim’s still flushed and smiley face with a quirked eyebrow.

“Do you intend to drive home like this?”

Immediately, she whips her glazed eyes upwards, widened in shock and pouts petulantly at him, seemingly offended by his assumptions. “Julien! I’m not that stupid. I just wanna make sure I didn’t leave anything important in there before I call an Uber.”

Jimin chuckles good-heartedly, bringing up a hand in a placating manner. “Sorry, sorry. People tend to be a poor of judge under the influence but it’s good to see that you’re one of the smarter ones.”

Unfortunately.

It would be so easy for Jimin to just whisper into her ear and convince her that she’s totally fine to drive home. Then, all he had to do was watch her drive off and not even a block down, she’d run a red light, get T-boned and he can dust his hands off with another job well done. The idea is tantalizing but no, he’s long since been tired of a successful hunt that lacked any thrill. Which is why when they both reach Kim’s car (a sleek black BMW M5), Jimin turns to her with a well-placed charming smile.

“How about I make it up to you on that last comment? I’ll drive you home.”

Kim pauses mid-push of unlocking her car, throwing a rather dubious look over her shoulder at him. Jimin holds his ground, steadfast in keeping up the non-threatening facade, posture relaxed even as she turns to face him squarely, leaning back heavily against her ride with an impressive piercing gaze. He senses the cogs in her head working, no doubt weighing the pros and cons of accepting his offer. Before he could let the doubts fester, Jimin speaks, voice lilting with an irresistibly smooth velvet finish.

“If it makes you uncomfortable, you don’t have to say yes. I just wanted to make sure you got home safe is all.”

His eyes flare a deep crimson so quickly that to Kim’s slightly muddled mind, it appeared to only be the trick of the light. Jimin sees the effects of his words take hold of her, and after a few minutes, Kim loses the tenseness of her shoulders, looking at him in a new light.

“I mean, if it won’t be too much trouble for you…”

And like that, she’s entangled herself more into his spider’s web. Jimin smiles, eyes creasing up in a very pleased way. It makes Kim smile in return for all the wrong reasons as she her keys off to him. He strides towards her, taking it from her grasp before unlocking the doors and opening the passenger one for her. She ducks into her seat and Jimin shuts it firmly once she’s settled in before rounding around the car to get into the driver’s seat.

As expected, the interior of the car was black, crisp leather interlaid with dark burgundy polished wood for the dashboard and for a second, he could pick up the faintest whiff of the new car smell still lingering around. The smile widens on Jimin’s lips as he glances over at the owner who’s buckling in her seatbelt. She feels his eyes on her and when she turns, she grins coquettishly.

“What?”

“It’s a very nice car.”

Kim preens at the compliment, leaning over to whisper, “I know.”

It makes Jimin chuckle, adjusting his seat and the steering wheel before fastening his own seatbelt. Once he’s comfortable, he hits the start-push button and the car hums to life.

The drive to Kim’s place was filled with more small talk about the passing neighbourhoods and other fancy eating places she hints at for potential future ‘dates’ — none of which interests Jimin. What does however, is the directions she’s giving him albeit in her now drunken sleepy state. She leads him out of the upscale part of the city where all the new high-rises and penthouse suite condos were gathered in favour of an older looking neighbourhood. The apartment buildings begin to look visibly aged, the colour scheme falling into the more rustic ash brown and not as lustrous or modern as the others they had just passed. It reminds him of where you live; modest, not-as-flashy but still well kept neighbourhood. They’re still in way better shape than some of the neighbourhoods Jimin has seen that’s for sure but in this case, it was not a place Jimin had pictured a someone like Kim who seems to live and breathe luxury to be living in.

But Kim only confirms her residencies here when she directs Jimin to an underground parking garage that was connected to one of these bricked apartment buildings. He can’t help quirking an eyebrow at her as he pulls up to the yellow plastic gate right next to the security speaker box.

“We’re at the right place right?” The teasing overtone of his question hides the backhandedness of it (but he thinks Kim wouldn’t notice anyways, given her state).

“Hm?” Kim turns from staring out her window, dazed for a moment at his remark before she seems to realize where she is. She flushes pink, clearly flustered as she stutters. “O-Oh! It’s just temporary….I’m actually moving soon.”

Jimin hums noncommittally, rolling down the window in order to speak to the building security to let them through the gate with Kim telling him that all he needs to say is that he’s a visitor, her full name and floor she’s living on. It works because the yellow gate lifts and he’s allowed to drive the rest of the way in, entering the garage as it opens and after more instructions, finds her designated parking spot. Jimin parks the car, shutting the engine off as he unfastens himself to exit, making quick work of rounding to Kim’s side to open her door. He even offers her his hand.

She smiles at the gesture, gladly taking it to haul herself up and out of her seat.

“And here I thought chivalry was dead.”

Jimin shrugs, “Guess I’m pretty old-fashioned.”

Kim tilts back with a bubbly laugh, swaying too much to where Jimin had to hold her hand a little more firmly to keep her from tipping back and falling over. In doing so though, Kim laces her fingers through his and brings herself closer, pressing up against his chest and forcing him to tilt his head down in order to look her in the face.

“I had a really great time tonight Julien.” Her voice rasps, the proximity lets her lips brush slightly against his own whenever she speaks. “And thank you so much for driving me home when you didn’t have to….”

Ah, here it comes.

“Is there anything I can do? Get you an Uber or maybe….?”

Jimin can’t stifle the smirk that creeps up on his lips, amusement dancing in his dark eyes as he slowly turns the tables on Kim. He brings up their joined hands, only to release himself from her grip to press her back against her car, letting his freed hand cage her instead. She doesn’t resist, so pliant under Jimin’s manipulation that he swears she’s enjoying the attention she’s getting from him. Does she think that she’s got him right where she wanted?

Cute….but not quite.

No, right now, Jimin’s motives are far from aligning with Kim’s despite her thinking otherwise. His plan is simple; get her to invite him up to her apartment, maybe let her have her way for a bit before he puts her out, snoop around to his heart’s content and when he’s found what he needs, disappear like a shadow in the night and let a demon’s karma do its part.

So he takes the bait.

“I think that whiskey is starting to get into my head a little….”

And that’s all Kim needs.

In a fitting whirlwind romance (Jimin uses that term very ironically), the steps of his plans were enacted and Kim is out like a light before she could even finish unbuttoning his shirt — using pressure points is one way to spice things up in the bedroom he supposes. A lot of other demons would give Jimin flak for not indulging in some added bonus fun while on a ‘hunt’ but he’s a demon of taste, and there’s something else hot and steamy that he’s after.

With Kim knocked out into a deep sleep, it makes for rifling through her stuff easy as pie. In the darkness of her room, he spies numerous amounts of name brand clothing strewn about on her dresser and floor. On the handle of her door and even by the foot of her bed, there were bags of different sizes, shapes and colour. Everything seems so disorganized and just thrown about that Jimin thinks the only clean space is her queen size bed and to a certain degree, vanity table which is where he heads towards as he spots her MacBook. It sits asleep on the counter surrounded by various bottles of perfume and lipsticks, organized by colour and brand.

He wastes no time opening the laptop, bypassing her password with ease, immediately diving into the most recent folders. It doesn’t take long for Jimin to start finding some….interesting things. First off was a folder, simply named ‘E-Pics’ that was dedicated to, of all things, concert e-tickets. There were around five of them, all from two shows that had played recently in the city. Jimin doesn’t recognize the names of the artist but he thinks it’s rather strange for someone to have saved pictures of e-tickets when there’s an app for that. Was Kim a secretly sentimental type of person….?

Highly unlikely, Jimin thinks so he continues digging, clicking away until….

A slow smile hooks at the corner of his mouth as his eyes scan over these newly discovered files. At a glance, they look exactly like the tickets in the previous folder but when Jimin fiddles around with the image a bit more, he spots the alterations in them, hidden in plain sight.

Forgery, and good enough that Jimin’s mildly impressed. If they had a course in college for that, he would’ve believed Kim would graduate at the top of her class.

This new information sends a newfound thrum of giddiness running through him and he wonders gleefully what other incriminating things Kim is hiding in other places. Perhaps her phone? Without a second thought, he closes the laptop and then heads out of her room.

He slinks out into Kim’s open space apartment with soundless footsteps. It’s on the small side and not much goes into these spaces other than her bedroom. There was an attempt though, hints of times Jimin could imagine the young woman would spontaneously have in trying to decorate her home from the colour coordinated throw cushions. It’s like she tried to go for a colour scheme but then quickly realized that she’d rather invest in her money in name brand handbags and shoes.

He picks one of them up on the couch; her clutch from tonight tossed aside carelessly in favour of trying to ravish him as soon as they made it through the doorway. Pretty thing, but the worth of the clutch doesn’t interest him so much as what’s inside it and reaching in, he easily pulls out her mobile phone. It lights up as soon as he hits the home button but when he goes to bypass her lock, he hesitates.

Blaring in his face is the time — 2:43AM.

Was it really that late already? The phone lays momentarily forgotten in his hand as he wonders how he hadn’t noticed the time flying by so fast. Unconsciously, he furrows his brows as another thought crosses his mind.

You should be home by now….right? Wait, you had a closing shift today didn’t you?

Shit.

Jimin reaches a hand into his pocket to pull out his own phone, bringing up your message thread to not find a single peep from you since your open house visit with Jaehee. Of course you wouldn’t, he knows you — stubborn as a mule and he swears if you had gotten stabbed, you would convince yourself that it’s not that serious only because you wouldn’t want to trouble anyone.

….Shit.

His hand travels to linger over his chest as if it had a mind of its own as his becomes completely lost in thought. Jimin didn’t feel any disturbances or distress that usually comes when your emotions flare, so it should mean that you were okay. But what are the possibilities that you simply didn’t have the time to react, too caught off guard to call out to him if you needed help?

Jimin exhales heavily through his nose in frustration, a hand combing through his hair as he glances down at Kim’s phone to see a few more minutes have passed and that now he had a choice to make; continue his search here for more information to blackmail Kim or abandon that possibility altogether. Fingers tap idly as the demon weighs his options and the more he stares at the phone, the more his mind screams at him to take just one peek, she’s fine.

….

Damn it.

He shoves Kim’s phone and all it’s garish pink glittery case glory back into her clutch before flinging it back onto the couch as if it were a dollar store pencil case. With long strides, he heads to the door but instead of going through it, he feels the familiar tug of apparating to another location and he finds himself at the head of your street. It’s relatively quiet when his senses readjust to his surroundings, the only sounds he picks up are the faint chirps of crickets and the occasional passing of a car way down at the other end of the road. He doesn’t see you nor anyone for that matter and he’s not sure whether that’s a good sign or a bad one. Still, he holds out on the belief that you’ve made it home all right.

So methodically, Jimin stalks forward, dark eyes narrowed to scan even the darkest corners for anything that might seem amiss, things that ordinary human beings don’t see. When he doesn’t pick up anything that raises any concerns, he makes another leap in location and this time, he ends up directly in your bedroom. The soft carpeted floor helps muffle his black Chelsea boots as he lands, but his attention immediately goes to your bed and without meaning to, he sighs, a tenseness he wasn’t even aware of dissipating from within him.

He sees the clear outline of your form under the covers, the rhythmic rise and fall of your breathing as you slumber and as he steps closer, almost feels the warmth of your body. The tops of your head just pokes out from where its rests on your pillow, hair spilling over messily but overall, you do not appear hurt. But as he continues to assess you, he notices the way you’ve curled in on yourself in spite of not having any shortage of room on your mattress, making you appear small and clutched to your chest was your beloved plush cat. Its face is squished by how hard you hold it against yourself but nevertheless, its cartoonish cat smile still peeked through its distorted face.

There’s a twinge that erupts in his chest, so sudden that he exhales sharply out of surprise. He reaches a hand up to his chest again, brows furrowed, where his heart beats and wonders in mild disbelief if something was wrong with it. Its never done something like that before, the only thing coming close was when you felt intense fear or anger. But you’re sound asleep, as quiet as a mouse. He stands there for a good minute trying to decipher this anomaly before he huffs, tearing his gaze away from you as he runs a hand through his hair frustrated.

Maybe he’d just imagined it, or there’s a glitch with this vessel. Either way, he pushes it to the back of his mind, focusing his attention to your discarded phone at the ends of your bed. He chortles under his breath, shaking his head — what is he going to do with you? Grabbing the phone, he gently places it on your bedside table (where it belongs) and settles himself into your desk chair, eyes sliding shut in a semi-meditative state. He’s lost out on one curiosity for the night, but at least the satisfaction of this one has made up for it.

You wake with an ache in your lower back that leaves you taking an extra fifteen minutes just to get out of bed without groaning or joints cracking. Doesn’t help that your phone goes off incessantly with messages from your friends wishing you a happy birthday. You smile to yourself though, thanking them each and even commenting how you woke up with a sore back, really feeling the aging kick in already.

Eventually, you drag yourself to the bathroom in a half daze and even after washing up you feel like you want to lie back down again, the comforter looks so invitingly warm still. But you resist the urge, knowing well that if you do give in, you’ll not get back up and that’s not something you want to do before going to your shift later on in the day.

What you didn’t know when you stepped into the kitchen is that it was already occupied by a certain demon that you had expected to see last night but didn’t. You visibly jerk at his appearance, taken aback at how casual he looks leaning against the counter, a mug of black coffee resting in his hand as he scrolls through his phone, the natural light of the afternoon sun highlighting the strands of hair falling in messy coordination over his forehead in a newly dyed ashen brown colour. The level of nonchalant coolness that he so effortlessly exudes is infuriating the more you stare at him because it’s so not fair for him to look this good, in fact, the only reason why he’s able to look this good is because he’s wearing another attractive person’s face but what’s really bullshit is that he’s still able to make your heart trip over itself when he’s only just pretending!

“You know you’ll see yourself to an early grave if you wake up already stressed like that darling.”

And the nerve!

You scoff, brushing past him to grab your own mug for a morning (technically afternoon now) tea. You move about to get your teabag, sugar and cream, all the while something starts to fester inside of you, instantly souring whatever good mood you had earlier. It leaves you slowly feeling irritated, restless and its not because of your earlier grievances with the demon. No, you know it’s that old wound you’re trying to stubbornly ignore from last night until the early hours of morning and it seems like now, in the presence of its cause, it's begun to itch again. Doesn’t help that when you glance over at your guardian demon, he’s busy once again with his phone, typing away and just the barest hint of a smile on his face. You scowl before you can help yourself, turning away to angrily sip on your tea in hopes of letting the warm liquid calm you down — it doesn’t. So you resort to placing down your mug, deciding on making peanut butter toast in order to distract yourself, even if you weren’t particularly hungry for it.

“Why so quiet cherub?”

You shoot him a look but brush off your underlying annoyance with an indifferent shrug, going back to opening the fridge to grab bread. “Just tired.” He shifts his weight from one hip to the other when you pull out a slice to pop into the toaster and you fight your hardest to ignore his eyes on you.

“Got home late from your shift…?”

The mention of last night pricks a nerve in you and you nearly throw the bag of bread back into the fridge with an unnecessary amount of force, only holding back by opting to grip the handle of the fridge until your hands are straining instead. You draw in a heaving breath under your nose as you slam the fridge door shut, not trusting yourself in speaking because you won’t be able to keep the seething out of your words. So you choose to hum — a short and clipped sound.

You hear the toaster spring up and you’re bustling about again in order to ignore him. In doing so, you miss the way he’s still watching you and the faint curl of his lips. Oh how tempting you look to tease, his natural instincts threatening to overtake him and he actually gives in to some experimental prodding. Jimin sidles up to your side as you’re scraping generous amounts of peanut butter onto your toast and his proximity catches your attention briefly, eyes flitting to him before they stubbornly fixate back onto your task. He cocks his head at you but you refuse to acknowledge him and it makes his smile creep wider. Then, he decides to lean in, past your comfort zone until you’re hunching your shoulders up, no longer able to keep him bay with how he’s literally breathing down your neck.

“What do you want?” You snap, stepping back to distance yourself. He only gives you a Cheshire grin in return, making you bristle.

“Just say you missed me darling and I’ll make it up to you I promise.” His teasing lilt drifts through the small kitchen and you blanche, screwing the lid of the peanut butter jar violently back on.

“I think you need to get your head out of your ass.” You retort through gritted teeth. He throws his head back to laugh, clearly amused and unfazed by your sour mood. When you swiftly turn on your heels away from him to toss the butter knife into the sink, toast shoved into your mouth, he steps in front of you, almost causing you to bump into him. You glower, a passing thought of wanting to smear the excess peanut butter into his stupidly expensive Saint Laurent t-shirt but he’s caught your hand in his like he’s read your mind.

“Don’t be such a sourpuss cherub, you could’ve called me if you wanted to see me that badly.”

Your cheeks redden traitorously at the suggestion, that infuriating smirk still plastered on his pillowy lips and you have no choice but to tear your toast from your mouth with your free hand to chew on a piece unless you wanted to choke, mumbling incoherently and refusing to make eye contact. As you try to pull your other hand away from him, his grip tightens a fraction to hold you in place but at this point, you’re quickly growing tired of this mental game. You honestly don’t know yourself why you’re choosing to be so petty when Jimin didn’t even violate the contract of keeping you out of harms way because there was no harm to begin with. God, what are you doing….

Your shoulders slump, drained as you deflate and your sudden withdrawal takes even Jimin by surprise.

“It’s fine Jimin; I got home alright so just forget it.” This time, your hand slips away from his easily and he lets you slink by him after depositing the dirtied knife into the sink. Even after you’ve pattered off into your room again, Jimin remains in the kitchen, silently watching you go, that peculiar twinge coming back again.

“Julien?….Julien?”

He blinks, knocked out of his stupor but he recovers so seamlessly that it’s as if he hadn’t been spacing out at all. Jimin turns his gaze back to the girl in front of him then, a benign smile gracing his handsome features.

“Sorry, I just had a thought…. You were saying Kim?”

The pretty brunette giggles breathlessly. “I was just saying how you have an impressive….recovery rate but I feel like I might’ve spoken too soon. Anyways,” She places her coffee cup back down on the saucer, “who am I to talk when I passed out on you last night — again, I’m so sorry about that.”

Subtly, Jimin’s jaw ticks though he conceals it with another smile and a carefully placed hand. “Not at all Kim, though at the time it was worrisome…. Like you just died on me.”

That pulls another bout of giggles from Kim, “Oh, it’ll take more than that. I’ll make it up to you I promise.” She throws in a playful wink to which Jimin accepts in feigned interest.

“I look forward to it.”

The rest of the ‘date’ is too boring for Jimin to recall as he spends most of his time drowning Kim’s ramblings and more focused on how he’s going to get her drunk again so he could rifle through her phone, get what he needs and then let karma do its thing. But more over, his thoughts keep straying back to you. You’re probably at work right now, an afternoon shift that had started maybe an hour or so after he’d left the house although he knows for sure you don’t close today which means he doesn’t have to worry about getting too carried away with this little project of his but at this rate, he doesn’t think he can bear a moment longer with this bland, materialistic woman any—

“Oh my God, is it already that time?”

His monotonous hum comes out automatically in response before the words can register but as soon as they do, his eyes finally focus on Kim for the first time in an hour. She’s scrolling through her phone, brows furrowed in concentration and then furiously typing away on it. Jimin’s curiosity piques with a raised eyebrow and he leans over the table in between them.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh no, it’s just…” Kim’s struggles with focusing on Jimin while still trying to do whatever it is on her phone that’s got her so frantic. Her body rises as if to get up and it makes Jimin follow suit. She shoots him an apologetic look, glancing down one last time at her phone and Jimin barely catches a glimpse of a countdown. “There’s something really important I have to do.”

“Oh, what is it if I may ask?”

“There’s a concert happening soon and I really want to get tickets for.”

Oh?

A serpentine smile pulls at the corners of his lips and Jimin’s eyes seem to come to life — now she’s speaking his language. He draws his face in to play the part; concerned and eager to help.

“Oh really? Are they hard to get?”

She takes the bait beautifully, rolling her eyes with a ragged sigh as she settles back into her chair. “Oh my God, you have no idea. It’s like winning the lottery I swear.”

“Wow, sounds impossible….” Jimin comments offhandedly, lowering himself back into his seat again. “Maybe I could…help?”

Kim perks up at the idea, the hopeful gleam in her eyes palpable that it nearly makes Jimin snort. She chews on her bottom lip, conflicted and right when Jimin’s about to sway her into temptation, her eyes meet the ticking timer on her phone browser reaching to t-minus three minutes. It’s enough to make her hasty decision and Kim wastes no time instructing Jimin to take his phone out, download the appropriate app and search for the show that she so desperately wants to get tickets for — enough to seal her fate with a demon out of her own volition at that!

So you could only imagine the surprise Jimin had when her directed search lands on—

“Love Yourself Tour? By BTS?”

“Yes that one.”

Seven hells there was no way.

Oh this was just too good.

The laughter starts bubbling rapidly in his chest, so much so that when he tries to lower his head to quell it it doesn’t work. It ruptures into a chuckle, shoulders shaking and before he knew it, he’s sinking back into his chair, head thrown back and a poor attempt to cover up the sounds of his cackling with his hand over his mouth. No doubt the entire cafe has eyes on their table but Jimin doesn’t care because his sides are killing him and he’s about to cry literal tears from trying to reel himself in — he only succeeds in folding in on himself and emitting occasional squeaks.

When he rights himself finally, wiping away at the corners of his eyes he catches sight of Kim who’s giving him a look that nearly sends him into another fit again. He barely manages by clearing his throat and glancing away, breathing deeply before answering her unspoken question.

“Sorry, just— I’ve actually heard of them before so it explains why it’s so hard to get tickets for their show.”

Kim’s face breaks into a smile, still nonplussed by his outburst but nodding in solidarity. “Yeah, so if you manage to get tickets — good ones — I might just think you’re a God.”

Satan, this girl might actually kill him instead.

He waves her off, cheeks aching and Jimin is actually thankful when the countdown on his phone reaches zero and Kim reverts back into a rather serious demeanour, eyes lasering in on her phone as she furiously taps away at it. She lets out a loud gasp within the next few minutes, causing Jimin to look up.

“I’m behind 105 people! I think I might be able to do this! What about you?”

With a quick glance, Jimin reads, “100.”

The brunette’s eyes alight instantly, mouth falling open. “Oh my God, you might actually get in!”

He shrugs in return, feigning indifference. Secretly, however, Jimin knows very well that his chances of getting these golden tickets were high — way higher than Kim’s and not just because he’s ahead of her by five people but more importantly…..

As the agonizing wait of watching the little man run at a glacier pace, Jimin takes the opportunity to strike up a conversation.

“So, I didn’t think you were a fan of BTS.”

Kim tears her away from her phone momentarily, the wrinkle in her nose is all the answer Jimin needs. “Oh no, I don’t even know them like that — I just heard they were a huge deal, like really popular right now.”

Jimin already figures because Kim would’ve at least recognized him or remarked on how eerily similar he looks to one of the band members but this is just a segue to what Jimin really wants to get at from her. “Oh, then why are you trying to get tickets for their show?”

He catches the way she swallows nervously, eyes flitting to him briefly and there’s that bout of hesitation again. The smile is back on his face, disarming and with just enough sincerity that it convinces Kim that he won't judge. She glances around as if to make sure they weren’t being heard in their little booth corner before leaning towards him, voice coming out in a hush.

“Okay so, me and a friend have been doing this thing on the side where we buy tickets to really high demand shows and reselling them for higher prices. It’s honestly such good money when you come across big name artists that have crazy huge fanbases — like BTS.” She pauses to look down at her phone, keeping track of her little running man. “My friend got two P1 tickets to their show last year for $250 each and she resold them for $1,110, each!”

Jimin leans back as if impressed, throwing in a low whistle for effect. “Wow — that’s…pretty good.”

“I know right? The only problem is is that they’re so hard to get. Even though the average seats will still bring in good money, you get way better profit with GA or P1 seats.”

He nods along, looking contemplative but Kim’s gone back to her phone once again, this time, looking rather excited. It makes Jimin turn back to his own as well too and lo and behold, they’re finally in.

“Okay Julien just pick two tickets and do a run search for best seating until you find a pair. When you do, buy them because literally trying to find anything better would just mean you won’t get tickets at all. I'll owe you back the money afterwards.” Kim says it all in one breath, too into her own operation to notice the way the demon smirks and leisurely taps away as she had instructed him to do.

After what felt like hours of nail-biting suspense (on Kim’s end, Jimin had ordered himself a cappuccino in between that time), she finally pulls away with an exasperated groan.

“Damn it, I only managed to snag P3 tickets. Did you have any luck?”

He takes the time to uncross his legs, showing her the screen of his phone and grins boyishly when her eyes balks at what she reads.

“Two GA tickets?!” Kim almost screams it before she catches herself, slapping a hand over her mouth and ducking her head. When she’s sure no ones comes over to kick them out of the cafe for being a disturbance, she practically rounds on Jimin with unbidden elation. “Oh my God Julien! You’re amazing!” Her hands moves faster than her own words as she hastily pulls up her email. “You can send them over to me through my email. Honestly thank you so much for your help Julien, I’ll treat you to dinner tonight.”

When he makes no move to do as she says, Kim finally focuses on Jimin and her smile falters slightly. Jimin tilts his head almost too innocently, withdrawing his phone to blink wide, dark eyes at the brunette.

“What, did you think I was really going to hand these tickets over so easily after telling me all of that?”

He sees the way his words were not something Kim expected but she tries to play it off with a forced laugh. “You’re so funny Julien. Okay, how much?”

“$1,120.” A pause. “Each.”

She laughs again, the sound shrill and her face contorts into a mask of hollow mirth. Jimin watches on, only the barest of smiles ghosting his lips but he doesn’t join in on the joke. Well, not like there is one to begin with and Kim quickly realizes that as she calms down, all traces of a smile however fake, gone. Disbelief takes over her and that’s what almost makes Jimin laugh — he can literally see all the preconceptions she had of him disappear from her eyes. But he’s ever so charming; an amalgamation of soft and sharp, boyish and manly, chivalrous and a cunning wickedness underneath it all.

So it’s no surprise that he hasn’t completely lost her yet.

Kim takes the time to regard him, trying to gauge him and what’s going on in that pretty head of his only to come away, stumped. She’s contemplative, arms crossed before suddenly she cocks her head a little to one side, mouth tugging upwards into a half scoff, half smirk like she can’t believe Jimin’s about to try and play her at her own game.

“I’m gonna be honest — I never would’ve thought you would have the guts to do that.” She admits after a while, leaning back into her seat. “Usually all the guys I date would do whatever I ask them because they want to try and impress me.”

Figures.

Jimin didn’t need her to tell him that to know.

“But then again, I don't think you’re not quite like the other guys I’ve ever dated before.” Kim adds, voice dropping into a huskier tone right at the end. He goads her on, his expression darkens with the slightest hints of a promise she can’t refuse.

“Then how about I show what you’re missing out on?”

The sultry way in which he says it sends shivers down her spine, no doubt this new side she’s not aware of that could come from a face like his has her wanting more. With one last bite of her lip, she bites the bullet too.

“$1,000 each.”

“$1,115.”

“$1,100 each — And I’ll pay it in cash, only,” Jimin’s parted mouth stops halfway, his words falling short as Kim stops him with a coy smile. “We split it on some good dinner and Moet to celebrate tonight.”

Slowly, plush lips quirk upwards as an incredulous exhale escapes the demon; he hates to admit it, but Kim’s got spunk and unwittingly she’s been doing a good job at entertaining him. For a second, he considers, toys with the idea — she’s the perfect type to fuck around with, to string along on a wild and impulsive ride that would’ve involved a lot of money, sex, perhaps drugs until it left her breathless, addicted and drained to the very last penny. He would wrap her around his fingers so tightly, she would think it’s him that was under her spell. And right at the peak of it all, he would leave, disappear from her life as if he were nothing more than a self-indulgent dream she’d dreamt up, only for reality to come crashing down on her hard and the rest would’ve been history.

Tempting….

But…

He’s already been down that road, had more than his fair share of leaving women broken in more than one ways, tires of this game because no matter the centuries he’s lived in —

“Alright, how about we meet at The Red Muse later in the evening? You can take the time to go doll yourself up for me and we’ll go to town with this, yes?”

Kim grins, absolutely vibrating from his proposal as she bites her lower lip in an attempt to quell the salacious smile stretching her lips.

“Deal.”

They never learn.

Soon after, Jimin leaves to go off his separate ways with no particular plan in mind. He’s got a lot of time to kill before meeting Kim and he’s not particularly interested in seeking out another easy target to influence — he doesn’t get paid nearly enough to be working overtime. Jimin eventually settles on heading to his favourite upscale bar (one that even with Kim’s caliber couldn’t dream of affording) to do a bit of pregaming. As he was nursing a glass of single malt whiskey, the demon is interrupted by probably the only other thorn on his side.

“I suppose some things don’t end up changing after all.”

“I’m offended you would ever think there’s a time where I’ve lost an ounce of class at all.”

Silence.

Jimin’s gaze whips to the younger demon who’s thin lips are slightly downturned in disagreement, eyes rolled to the far corner with the recalling of some fabricated memory.

“Well there was that one time — “

“Shut it if you don’t want me to singe off that face you’re so proud of.”

Jungkook snickers, eyes crinkling up as if Jimin had just made a joke instead of a threat. The older demon rolls his eyes, waving down the bartender for another refill of his drink in hopes of numbing the headache he feels creeping up on him, only to have the younger obnoxiously steal his glass for a sip once he does.

“Still, I would’ve thought you’d be off lurking around poppet like a shadow right about now.” Jungkook comments offhandedly, wrinkling his nose when the hard liquor rolls down his throat. His momentary distraction lets Jimin swipe his drink back.

“I’m not her personal caretaker, and as long as she’s looking both ways before crossing the street, she’ll be fine.”

“Really?” Jungkook’s skepticism bleeds through. “Last I checked, poppet was pretty down in the dumps about the concert thing — swear she could conjure a cloud above her head at the rate she’s going.”

His statement causes Jimin to straighten up a bit, thoughts spinning for a few seconds before coming to a conclusion. A slow smirk makes its way onto his lips, barely contained over the rim of his glass. Jimin doesn’t need to look over to know that Jungkook’s probably blinking big doe eyes at him, gauging his reaction but Jimin’s onto him, already knows what he’s after, so he’s going to drag this out until the younger is losing his mind.

“She’ll be fine.” He replies indifferently and that already leaves Jungkook feeling miffed.

“Wow…that’s….” The younger starts, struggling to find words for this unexpected blasé attitude. “Surprisingly cold of you.”

Jimin shrugs, unconcerned about it all and as he continues to sip on his whiskey, leaving Jungkook to become visibly more and more antsy. He shifts in his seat, like a little kid who can’t keep still.

“So, you’re just gonna….leave her like that?”

“She’s already accepted that she’s not going so what’s there to do?”

“Well — !” Jungkook doesn’t know how to proceed, face pinched into one of utter confusion and it’s difficult to keep a straight face on when Jimin can literally see him questioning everything he believed up until this point. He continues to flounder for words, on the cusp of saying something but then stopping himself. It goes on for a few more minutes before Jungkook gives up with an exasperated huff. “So much for being a guardian…”

“Exactly; I’m a guardian, not a miracle worker.”

The words slip so easily past his lips and he’s so thankful for Jungkook finally leaving him alone so that he can let out the loud, snorting laugh he’s been keeping in the entire time. He probably looks crazy but he really could care less, muttering under his breath about how he can’t believe the irony of it all. This entire ordeal with Kim turned out to be a way better investment than he had initially thought; it almost made him feel sorry for the poor girl he’s about to drop off at hell’s doorsteps.

Almost.

He downs the rest of his drink in one go, savouring the smokey whiskey taste as it leaves a pleasant burn when he swallows. He wonders idly what the sensation of being drunk is like, trying to compare it to any other feelings he must’ve felt in his lifetime….

Jimin’s thoughts continue to wander for quite some time, thinking about this and that until belatedly, he realizes that the appointed time to meet Kim had passed nearly more than two hours. When he checks his phone, there is no trace of a text from the girl in question, not even one berating him for being stood up. At this point, any sensible person would be rather concerned, alarmed even. They would immediately call to see if everything was alright but for Jimin, the thought never crosses his mind. He merely humphs, like this is all an inconvenience to him, downs the rest of his drink and gets up after paying.

It’s late when he steps out of the bar, the sun having long since set and the city is alight, teeming with people enjoying dinner on patios, heading out for events or just strolling the streets. Instead of joining in on the hubbub, he strides off with the intention of heading to a more…peaceful place. But first, he thinks, he might pay you a visit. After all, he’s got a pair of BTS tickets on hand and now with Kim going MIA, he figured they could be put to better use, like making you admit that you miss him when he’s gone.

Either way, he can’t wait to see the look on your face.

He makes it back to your place faster than he expected, body thrumming with a feeling that he swears can’t be from the alcohol he’s consumed but nonetheless welcomes anyways. He’s in such a good mood that he almost rings your doorbell, catching himself last minute. Jimin laughs to himself, maybe it really is the alcohol after all? He shrugs if off and apparates to your room, only to find that it’s empty of you. He double takes, making sure he hasn’t accidentally overlooked you in the darkness but nope, there’s no signs of you anywhere.

Maybe you were in the living room or kitchen?

Jimin pads on over to your door, carefully listening in case any one other than you might be out there as well. When he hears nothing, he phases through the walls. He’s a bit caught off guard for a moment at how dark everything is, as if no one was home. It wasn’t until he catches sight of the faint warm glow of the living room lamp does he spot you, sitting alone on the couch.

You lock eyes, dazed and blinking in surprise from clearly not expecting him. You think it’s all in your head, an illusion thought up in your inebriated state but then he steps forward into the light and suddenly, you’re overwhelmed by his sheer presence, breath catching in your throat as you swallow. The black jeans he’s wearing hugs the shape of his legs so well and with his shirt tucked in, the silver YSL buckle glinting in the light, it looks as if his legs just go on for days. He’s dressed so simply and you’re appraising him like you’re seeing him for the first time until now instead of earlier today, yet your initial thought doesn’t change at all — it’s not fair that he looks this good.

He stops just short of the couch, head cocking to one side with a subtle shift of the hips to lean his weight on one foot, dainty earrings twinkling as well as his dark eyes as they gaze at you. The mere gesture makes you huff out, agitated.

“Someone’s home early.” Your voice comes out more nasally sounding than Jimin remembers it and he chokes back a snort.

“Someone’s been drinking.” He teases back, nodding to the wine glass in your hand before shifting his sight to the coffee table in front of you, taking in the two bottles and the little 6-inch, half eaten cake. Another tilt of his head, this time he raises one shapely eyebrow too. “That, or you’ve had a really rough day.”

“Har. Har.” You say sarcastically, swirling your wine before taking another hardy sip. “I’m not that bougie or impulsive to get a whole cake to binge on myself — not yet at least.”

“Then….” Jimin stops to think, trying to come up with answers for the sudden appearance of the confectionery treat, only to come up with, “A celebration? Someone’s birthday? Jaehee’s?”

You giggle half-heartedly, downing the rest of your glass and Jimin is quick to pick up your lack of confirmation. Now he’s blinking owlishly in astonishment, stunned into brief silence until the words slip out in an uncharacteristically soft murmur, “It’s your birthday…”

“Ding ding ding.” You sing-song, leaning over to refill your glass. The effort of it makes you nearly tip over but you hold out, retrieving your drink and anchoring yourself back onto the couch again. You should probably stop right about now since the pounding in your head is making you both simultaneously nauseous and sleepy. Or at the very least, go back to pacing yourself better but that would mean risking getting into your feelings and you’d rather die of alcohol poisoning than get in your feelings. So you drink.

“Well,” You hear Jimin huff, “I’m rather hurt you didn’t invite me to the party cherub.”

You snort, letting your head loll onto the back of the couch and shutting your eyes, cradling your glass to your chest like it’s a lifeline. “Don’t worry, you didn’t miss out much — just me and Jaehee, t’s all. Well, Jaehee’s sleeping now….work tomorrow…”

You trail off, the sound of your heartbeat ringing loudly in your ears that it might as well be beating inside your head than in your chest right now. You’re trying really hard to steady it but it only seems to make your breathing sound more laboured and doing no help to subside the killer wine buzz you have. Maybe you really should stop drinking after all, put down the glass you’re holding and call it a night before you do something mortifying, like throw up all the birthday cake you ate in front of Jimin. No, no, that is absolutely not happening. It would be disgusting and totally not cute. But then what are you going to do with the wine you just poured?

So caught up in your own inner ramblings, you failed to notice the quiet, pensive look marring Jimin’s face; eyebrows furrowed and the slightest downturn of his lips as he too becomes lost in his own thoughts. Clearly, he didn’t prepare himself for any of this — not like it would matter because he didn’t think anything would happen when he waltzed into your living room anyways. The most he had expected was to poke his head in, tease you about how obviously mopey you are about not going to the concert even when you had already decided not to go before dramatically brandishing the tickets with the promise of giving it to you after you dance a little for him. Instead, he’s caught in a conundrum of his own emotions, a jumbled mess that of course, only you could cause because you seem to be doing that a lot lately.

You’ve just about made up your mind, convinced to siphon the poured wine back into the bottle and then take your ass to bed when you nearly vault out of your own skin as soon as your eyes open.

“Jesus Jimin! What’re you—“

“Let’s go.”

You sputter, taken aback from the declaration before you blurt out, “Wha- Now? W-Where?” Your voice cracking as you lean away from Jimin’s imposing figure suddenly hovering over you to the point where you’re practically at a ninety-degree angle to the couch. He inhales deeply, one hand tousling through his hair while the other rests on his hip. He turns away from you briefly, allowing you the time to watch him go at war with himself, utterly confused and wondering what brought on such a spontaneous suggestion because, now that you think about it, you don’t think Jimin has ever invited you to go out anywhere before….

He rounds on you again and you’re forced back out of your thoughts to stare wide eyed up at him as he gathers himself.

“It’s just— just somewhere nice….As a…birthday present.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, bewildered at what you hear. If you were any more sober, you’d swear that that was the most you’ve heard Jimin fumble with his words. It’s….cute. Your heart’s still beating too loudly in your ear for your liking, you’ve still got a pulsing headache and your eyes are slowly becoming a little blurred, yet you still had the inkling thought of agreeing to go along with Jimin’s plan because how can you say no when he looks like that?

Well…. He might have to carry you but if he doesn’t mind then why the hell not?

You must’ve been staring for too long because Jimin starts to fidget in his spot, hand scratching the back of his neck. Oh, right; you gotta say yes you’re cool with it but might need some mobility assistance (this could get awkward).

“Uh…Well, that’s….cool. So like….where though?”

“That would ruin the surprise of it.” He laughs breathlessly and the sound itches to pull a smile on your own face.

“Do we gotta drive?”

“No driving cherub, you don’t even have a license.”

“Hey…I resent that.” You huff, limply pointing an accusatory finger at him before dropping your arm with a heavy thump. “So we walkin’? Cuz I’m telling ya now I can’t walk.”

“Clearly.” Jimin gracefully moves over towards your prone form again and with a dramatic sigh, he offers a hand to you. “C’mon get up, I’ll carry you.”

You blink hard, not believing your ears or luck. Here you thought you were gonna have to prostrate yourself to get him to carry you but he’s offering it willingly. Your heart squeezes inappropriately because this is touching you way more than it should and it’s probably showing on your face because Jimin gives you a weird look.

“Don’t make this weird, let’s just go before I change my mind.”

You only respond by holding out both your arms in the same manner a toddler wants to be picked up by their mother. Jimin exhales loudly through his nose, biting his bottom lip in order to school his face. When he’s composed himself again, he grabs onto you and hauls you up with effortless strength. Without meaning to, you fall against his broad chest with a yelp, clutching his biceps for dear life and trying very hard to stop your vision from swimming.

“You good cherub?” You hear him ask and even through your mantra of ‘don’t throw up’, you can still hear the restrained amusement seeping through.

“Just…Give me a sec.”

He gives you that courtesy, patiently waiting while holding you up from your unsteady legs, inhaling and exhaling until you think you’ve got most of your bearings back. You finally straighten, pulling back enough to be able to look up at him but when you do, you start to feel self-conscious. You probably look like a mess as much as you feel like one, or at least standing so close to Jimin you do. You’re still wearing your bare minimum ‘work clothes’ from earlier today that consists of a t-shirt you’ve had since high school and a pair of black yoga pants that has more or less faded to a dark grey from all the washes its been through.

“Ready?” Jimin asks, voice low that it gives off a slightly gravelly tone and pleasantly washes over you. You always liked the sound of his voice, could listen to him talk forever but it’s so soothing that it never fails to lull to sleep every time. When you swallow, mustering a nod of your head, he shifts you in his arms to have you looping yours around his neck and shoulder, startling you and igniting a heat that travels from the ends of your toes all the way up to your face. You immediately avert your gaze to your sock clad feet.

“Just hold onto me and,” He pauses, shooting you a roguish smirk. “You might want to close your eyes.”

That’s all the warning you get before you feel a pull so strong the air gets knocked out of you. All at once, you feel weightless with no sense of what’s up or down and instinctively, you huddle closer to the only other body mass that will indefinitely ensure you won’t fly away but before you can even emit a single shout, the powerful force vanishes and you feel solid ground.

“You can open your eyes now.” You feel Jimin’s chuckle rather than hear it and it takes you a whole hot second to realize you’ve actually had your eyes shut the entire time; when that happened you have no idea. Slowly, your eyes peel open as you release a shuddering breath, your senses having yet to fully catch up with you. They start to when you finally realize you’ve got a faceful of Jimin’s shirt, having practically squished into his chest, so much so that when you inhale you get a whiff of his cologne. It’s so subtle and almost undetectable but with you being this close, it overtakes you with ease. Next, your skin prickles as you feel a gentle breeze pass by, caressing the loose strands of your hair and tickling your cheeks and nose before finally you hear…. The humming of cars driving through the city with the occasional honks and sirens echoing off into the distant.

Wait, why do they sound so far away? Like…you’re above it all?

You flinch, alarmed and when you turn your head to look around you, your legs nearly give out. It’s only thanks to Jimin, who you’re still clutching onto with a vice grip that keeps you upright as you gaze out at the city horizon, illuminated by the multitudes of lights coming from the windows of buildings in front of you that stretch out as far as you can see. You double take, not believing if what you’re seeing is actually real until you feel Jimin move which makes you snap your bleary gaze up to him, searching for answers. He lets out a melodic laugh when he sees your expression.

“Never seen the city at night like this before huh?”

You could only open and close your mouth, gaping like a fish out of water as you look from him to the skyscrapers in front of you. Eventually, you gather enough courage to tentatively step away from Jimin since you’ve stepped foot onto this roof, but at the the first wave of vertigo, you instinctively sink down on your knees and remain fixed there. You must look ridiculous but like hell do you trust yourself right now to walk around on the flat roof of 6-story building with a system full of alcohol. Still, it doesn’t stop you from taking in the sights before you. It’s a clear night, not a single cloud lining the sky which leaves it so much more clear and vast, and with the glow from the lights below, you see the rich deep blues that peek through, reminding you of the depths of the open ocean. The view is beautiful and mesmerizing, like something you’d only see on the back of a postcard or in movies. You hadn’t noticed you’ve been swivelling around in your spot, head craned upwards in an attempt to take everything in until your world tilts once you’ve stopped long enough. You catch yourself on time from tipping over completely, hands shooting out as your heart leaps into your throat and you let out a shaky giggle.

“Slow down cherub, you’ll lose your head that way.” Jimin chides playfully, coming down to sit beside you. “If you think this is a view, wait till you get closer to the edge.”

“Oh ho ho, no, no, no.” You laugh, holding up a finger. “I refuse to go anywhere near it. Here is just fine.”

A snort, “I’ll catch you if that’s what you’re so worried about.”

You smile, “I had expect you to anyways.” And after a brief pause, you add quietly with your eyes fixated onto the city. “It’s still pretty — real pretty.”

You don’t catch the way he smiles softly in turn, the both of you lapsing into a companionable silence as you watch the city life continue to flow along. The ambient noise lets your mind drift freely, almost in a meditative state.

“This is nice.” You think aloud though your voice barely comes above a murmur, “Just watching the world go by like this, not having much to think on. Is this where you usually go off to when you’re not causing trouble?”

You side eye Jimin and hear him release air through his nose. “I’m much less of a menace than you think you know, but yes, I do come out here when I want to get away for a bit.”

You nod in understanding, letting your gaze wander over the landscape in front of you once more. You’re not sure what part of the city you’re in right now but you could imagine it being downtown, the faint bustling of traffic if you listen closely enough carrying over the gentle breeze and it doesn’t take much to picture the people down below, enjoying their night out in town with friends or families over dinner, a drink, or just by themselves, heading out or heading home. From the buildings, sometimes you catch the flicker of a light going out only for another one to come on in a different spot and you begin to wonder the lives these people might have.

“I wish I could stay up here.” You say, suddenly feeling melancholy. “Get away from it all too….”

Tired, you lean back until you’re lying down with your arms behind your head, facing towards the sky. Even from this high up and the sky as clear as it is, you don’t see a single star glimmering and you think it’s a pity; this would’ve been a perfect night to see them.

“It must be nice to be someone like you.” You continue to muse, “Not having to worry about insignificant mortal problems, like time or money…..”

You don’t hear a response from him and for a moment, you think he’s not even listening. It’s only when you think about backtracking do you hear his reply.

“Yeah, it’s kinda great when you start off but when you’ve been doing it for as long as I have….” He sighs, “It’s not what it’s cooked up to be….”

“Is it because it gets lonely?”

“More like boring…”

You laugh quietly under your breath, thinking to yourself that it’s so like him to think that; it’s evidence enough with him being here. Then another thought crosses your mind and you ask, “Do you think God judges you on the time you spend on earth?”

“….What makes you think that?” Jimin asks, sounding genuinely confused but also curious. You shrug, examining your nails listlessly.

“I saw it in a movie once. Apparently, when you die you go through seven levels of hell and each one has a trial you have to pass if you want to get reincarnated. If you fail one of the trials, you spend the rest of eternity getting punished there — one of them being called the Hell of Indolence, where they judge you on how well you’ve spent your time on earth and if they deem you’ve whiled away your life in laziness and inaction, you’ll be punished by running on a spinning disk while a spinning stone windmill chases you.”

“Sounds like a weekend on spring break.”

The wheeze comes out without you meaning to and you throw your hand out to the side to give him a reprimanding smack, trying to subdue your laughter. As usual, it hits his thigh but you’re too caught up in his punchline to care.

“I’m serious Jimin.” You say after collecting yourself. “It might’ve been fiction….Or maybe it really is real at this point who knows, but it really made me think — what if I had to go through those trials, like,” You take a moment, picturing the scene you’ve seen in the movie, imagining yourself before those trials, “how awful would it be to get told by a deity that you’ve basically failed at your life and you don’t deserve to get a second chance? Because you’ve done nothing with it….”

“….Do you think you would be told that?”

He knows it’s a loaded question, could hear the morose way in which you speak about life, death and the beyond, things he’s most familiar with. To him, it all means nothing but to you, it’s something that hangs above your head as a constant reminder that your time here is limited and it’s so precarious that it could end before you know it. He watches you shrug, too caught up in staring at the starless sky to notice.

“….Maybe….A small part of me does, and that’s what scares me.” You admit in a small voice. “Every year I feel like I haven’t moved forward at all with my life, just stuck doing the same thing while everyone else is getting that job they always wanted, traveling the world, getting engaged, doing what they love….” A humourless laugh expels along with the breath you exhale. “I don’t even know what I want to do beyond tomorrow, much less in two years… ten years from now? And it’s like any day, I’ll be left behind….”

The confession spills from you with unadulterated honesty, the most honest you’ve ever been in forever, it surprises even yourself. You think it’s the alcohol talking but you also think it’s mixed in conjunction with the coming of your birthday; another year tacked onto your life and along with it, the painstaking realization that time is passing by you way faster than you had fooled yourself to think otherwise. It’s something you’re not prepared to face.

Or ever will be.

So that’s why you choose to run, push it back to the farthest corners of your mind and even as it festers and grows, you vehemently ignore it. You drown yourself in school and work, meaningless distractions that lead to no self-satisfaction. It’s something to fill your time, nothing more or less. In those time, you yearned for an escape and that’s how you found your way through music, had found voices that called out to you with comforting words and made the uncertainties of the future seem less daunting.

“You won’t be left behind.”

His voice pierces above the white noise of the city below, clear as day even when it comes out no more than a quiet rasp. It rips you out from wallowing in the thoughts that you keep in the darker parts of your mind, almost startling you. Jimin’s eyes are locked on the horizon in front of him, even as you crane your neck up, you can’t discern any expression on his face but it seems you don’t need to as his words were more than enough to make up for it.

“If God judges you on your time spent on earth, then it is time where you’ve truly done nothing in the face of being able to do something.” Jimin says, unwavering. “And you’ve done something — have been doing something, because you’re somewhere different than where you were two years….ten years ago.

Life is many things darling, and everyone is too caught up with other people’s versions of it half the time. So even if you don’t know where you’re going, I think you owe it to yourself to at least make yours about you because no one else will.”

He finally turns his head to face you and if you thought you had trouble suppressing the swell of emotions in your chest before, you sure are screwed now. The lights of the buildings around you cast a warm glow to his profile, letting you see the slope of his nose, the fullness of his lips, the curve of his cheek that has you itching to stroke just to see if they’re as soft as they look, and the wispy way the strands of hair falls over his forehead, shorter than you had remembered; you wonder idly if he had it cut (it looks good). He’s beautiful — heartbreakingly so, like a statue carved in the finest of ivory but in that moment, it’s his eyes that makes your heart ache.

Endless pools of the deepest amber that hold so much history, seen so much history, perhaps the worst of mankind. They know of suffering, of loss, of betrayals and deceit, had even been the cause of them. You see the many emotions that had been reflected in those eyes, like gazing at an iridescent gem — pain, hatred, sadness, regret and at times, simply nothing at all. Time has both wisened and jaded them, but it is not a hardened glare that meets your own.

It’s tenderness.

“I know it may not seem like it, but if it’s worth anything,” Though it is only the two of you on this rooftop, he speaks in a way where he’s about to tell you the secrets to the world, something that only he wants you to hear and no one else. He takes a breath, never breaking your gaze as he says, “I think you’re doing just fine cherub, I really mean it.”

It’s so self-assured, so sincere, like he truly does believe in what he says that you think you don’t deserve this kind of faith, but perhaps it’s because he’s the one who said it that you find yourself believing it too.

A small smile breaks out onto your lips for the first time in a while. “You’re not saying that just because it’s my birthday right?” You tease in hopes to swallow past the lump that’s formed in your throat but your voice comes out sounding tight regardless. If Jimin notices, he doesn’t comment, instead shoots his own smile back at you, lips stretched until the tiniest hints of teeth are showing and eyes crinkling at the corners.

“I don’t think I need to tell you that I’ve seen some shit as a demon who’s lived way longer than you’ve been on earth. Besides,” He turns back to the city view before him, leisurely reclining back so that he leans his weight on his hands placed behind him. “No place worth going has any shortcuts and those that do would most likely lead to hell.”

You chuff a laugh with a shake of your head, turning your gaze back towards the dark sky that is still void of any stars. This time, you don’t mind that there aren’t because if not tonight, then maybe another night you’ll be able to see one.

And a part of you hopes it’ll be with him too.

“Thank you.” You say softly. “For everything until now…”

“….Don’t mention it cherub.”

It’s a heartfelt thanks that echoes in the quiet night, a rare display of vulnerability from you and shockingly, from himself. Even if your confession was acted upon by liquid courage, he knows that it had been something that weighed heavily on your mind for who knows how long but now, you’ve finally calmed that turmoil that threatens to break you and however temporary it may be, you’re genuinely grateful to have confided in him and walk away with a lighter heart.

It’s gratitude that he’s more than happy to revel in, if only it didn’t sound like this would be the first and last time.

“What time is it?” You ask, voice breaking through Jimin’s troubling thoughts and he belatedly reaches into his pocket to check his phone. You don’t see the way he raises an eyebrow at all the missed calls he’s got.

“Almost four.” He says, swiping away the notifications to clear the screen before his fingers tap away to pull up an app.

“Oh wow,” You breathe, getting up with a stretch. “Think we should head back? I’m definitely ready for bed.”

“When are you not?” Jimin snorts, “Is the age catching up to you already?”

“Stop, my back was killing me when I woke up today too.” You retort through a smile. You give your neck a roll and another stretch of your arms from having laid on a hard surface for a long period. Just when you’re about to muster up the strength to finally stand, Jimin stops you.

“There’s one more thing I have to show you.”

That catches your attention, whipping your eyes to him in mild surprise. He doesn’t have to — whatever it is that he has planned because this was more than enough. And you’re about to express that much when he suddenly shoves his phone into your face, startling you. You have to blink a couple of times in order to adjust to the brightness of the screen but when you do —

“What is this?” You dare to ask, heart beating quicker without meaning to as your eyes scan over the words, reading and then re-reading them but failing to register them all the same. Your eyes dart to Jimin who watches in quiet amusement from beside you, searching for any sort of answers for what you’re seeing.

“What does it look like?”

You’re left speechless and the only thing you could do is glance back and forth between the phone and Jimin, shaking your head in disbelief while trying to formulate words to your mess of thoughts.

“I — I don’t understand. How…?”

“….Guess you can call it a little demonic miracle of my own…” He says it as a light-hearted joke but unconsciously he brings a hand up to run through his hair, suddenly feeling bashful. Well, not like he could help it when you’re staring at him with wide, sparkly eyes. When he can’t handle your Bambi eyes any longer, he hurriedly blurts out the words you dare not speak yourself into existence for fear that it’s all just one hell of a good dream. “I got you tickets to go see BTS in the next city over alright?”

“But what about—?”

“I’ll take care of it all, don't worry about it.”

“Jimin that’s—!”

“Cherub, do you want to go or not?”

“I-I do! It’s just—“

“Then you’re going, no ifs, ands, or buts.” Jimin says it with finality, stern and in a way where you know he’ll ship you in a box if he has to. With no room left for arguing, you’re reduced to an overwhelming mess of emotion that has you struggling to contain it, leaving your hands to shake instead. Your quietness concerns Jimin for a minute before he lets out a grunt in surprise as he abruptly finds himself at the other end of your body slamming hug. He goes rigid, not knowing what to do with his hands as he lets you wrap yourself around him in a rather snug embrace that he thinks he can actually feel how fast your heart is beating against his chest. Or is that perhaps…his own?

“Thank you.” Your voice comes out as a hush warble against his ears. Two words and yet the amount of happiness Jimin hears coming from it is palpable, it makes him think that this is the happiest he’s ever seen you. He softens at that, tentatively wrapping his own arms around your waist to hold you steady and he thinks it’s nice to hold you for once without the context of having escaped a rather sticky situation beforehand.

And there it is again, that wretched twinge in his chest only this time it’s so obtrusive that he can no longer brush it off or ignore it. It comes with a realization of many things, but among them was something that he never would’ve expected to ever come into terms with, shocking him like an ice cold plunge in the middle of winter.

That as both a powerful demon and as a decent but temporary guardian, this is the extent of happiness that he'll ever be able to give you.

386 notes · View notes

justmickeyfornow · 6 years ago

Text

Super{Delivery}Girl

Lena heard the knock on her door and didn’t need to look up from her work to know it was her secretary, Jess. She highlighted a line of the contract that she needed to speak to the legal department about and noticed Jess placing a covered plate of food on her desk.

Just as she was about to argue that she wasn’t hungry, Jess put a finger up, shutting her up completely.

“One day, this conversation is gonna get old.” Jess said sternly, as she began opening up containers and setting the utensils, “I bring you food, you say you're not hungry, I threaten to quit if you don't eat, you end up eating it. Let's just skip to the end, Ms Luthor.”

Lena sighed. The smell of the seasoned veggie stir-fry from her favorite Chinese restaurant making her regret claiming she wasn’t hungry, “I don't know how I'll be able to survive without you the next two weeks.”

“I told you I could set up a food delivery service for you.” Jess claimed, going to the other side of the office and grabbing a bottle of wine and a glass.

“No, no. I don't like being interrupted. Other than by you, that is. Can you imagine a delivery boy walking in on one of my meetings to give me my food? Besides, I don’t like eating from the same place every day, you know that." Lena said.

"So, hire a temporary assistant until I get back." Jess chuckled.

Lena narrowed her eyes, "Oh, I can never cheat on you, Jess. How dare you suggest I would even think of it?"

Jess rolled her eyes, as she poured a glass of red wine for her boss, "I'm serious, Ms. Luthor. She won't be responsible for anything but ordering your food. I’ll make sure of it.”

Lena leaned back in her chair and took a sip of her wine, "I'm very peculiar about who I have to deal with on a daily basis. Remember? It took me forever to choose you as my assistant.”

Jess feigned innocence, “I remember you choosing me in the blink of an eye,” she shrugged, “but tomayto tomahto.”

Lena found herself laughing at that, "I'm gonna miss your snarky comments."

Jess bagan clearing some of the documents that Lena had set aside and marked as complete, "If you want an assistant with my snarky comments I have one trained and ready for you."

Lena rolled her eyes, “I’ll pass, thank you very much. Besides, think of it as a challenge.”

“A challenge of what? How long can you last without food?” Jess deadpanned with a raised eyebrow.

Lena shook her head at her antics, “No. Of whether or not I’m a snobby rich CEO that doesn’t know how to function without an assistant.”

“Oh, you can function! Trust me! You just have a goldfish memory regarding your food!"

Lena rolled her eyes and drank from her wine. Jess tapped the pile of papers to straighten them out, before carrying them with her, "I'm gonna take these and place them on Richard's desk. Do you need anything before I head out?"

Lena smiled warmly, "Just that you have the absolute most wonderful time on your much needed vacation."

Jess already began walking as she chuckled, "That's impossible. I'll be too worried whether or not you've dropped dead from malnutrition." she turned to Lena just as she reached the door and flinched to make her next point, "Not really in the mood to job hunt if you die on me."

Lena breathed out a chuckle in response, "Go, before I extend your vacation to 3 weeks. You're more of a workaholic than I am." Lena exclaimed.

Jess simply smiled and leaned against the door frame, "Goodbye, Ms. Luthor."

Lena returned the affectionate smile with one of her own, "See you in two weeks."

"Take care of yourself." Jess shouted from the hallway, "Literally!"

"What's the worst that can happen?" Lena replied just as loud.

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

Lena stayed at the office much later than she had planned. When she looked at the clock it was almost 10 pm and Jess had walked out through her doors almost 6 hours ago. She sighed at her inability to have normal working hours these days. Taking over the company has been a grand decision. One she was forced to make rather than given the option. But now that she had, she was determined to make the most of it. To create a force for good. Which was why she was changing the company name to L-Corp. A fresh start that strode away from the death and destruction that her brother had caused to the family company.

She let out a tired breath, looking at the papers in front of her. It looked to be a long night. She was only halfway through with the reports she was supposed to present tomorrow at the board meeting. She needed a break but she was determined to finish. She looked at the clock and decided to give herself another hour of work before heading home.

A few minutes later, as she was deep in thought about her presentation for the board, she heard a tap on her balcony windows. When she turned around, she found nothing.

Must be the wind.

She went back to work, but another tap interrupted her. This one sounding more like a knock. She scrunched her eyebrows in confusion and marked the spot where she left off before getting up from her chair and going to the balcony doors.

As she opened the door, she didn't find the superhero she expected to find. She had only met the hero of this city once or twice and didn't expect another visit. But no caped blonde woman stood at her balcony. Instead, there sat a brown paper bag with a huge yellow label that read "Big Belly Burger".

"What the...?" she whispered as she picked up the bag. The whiff of hot greasy food filled her nose as she opened the paper bag. Her stomach automatically rumbled at the tempting smell, her stubbornness slowly wavering.

There was only one person she knew who was able to reach her balcony and the hero was nowhere in sight. Supergirl seemed to have dropped the meal off and flew away.

It was odd. But a gesture Lena didn't think too much of. Maybe it was because she had cooperated with the government agencies to disclose information about her brother. Or maybe it was simply a late welcome-to-the-city gift. An odd gift at that, but maybe that's all that it was.

Whatever it was, Lena made a mental note to thank the hero if she ever ran into her.

A phone number would've probably been helpful right now.

She took the bag inside her office and sat down on the sofa, grabbing her tablet to finish off reading while she ate. Right at that moment, her phone began to ring.

The number of that reporter that Lena had recently befriended appeared and Lena smiled as she answered, putting it on speaker.

"Ms. Danvers?" she asked, flinching at the use of her last name even though Kara had more than once told her not to call her that. They were still pretty new to their friendship. It was unexpected, if Lena was being honest. She didn't think she would make a friend in this city that easily. But it was no easy task to say no to Kara Danvers and her golden retriever smile.

"Lena! Hi! I hope that it's ok I called so late? You're not busy or sleeping or anything right?" Kara asked in her excited nature.

"No, no. Of course not. It’s fine. Was there something you needed?" she found herself saying, always eager to please the blonde.

"Me? No no. I just thought maybe we could chat. I just ordered in and needed some company while eating."

"Oh, that's odd." Lena couldn't help but say.

"What's odd?"

Lena attention darted from the bag of food on her table, "Hmm? No, nothing. I just thought that it was odd since I was just about to eat as well. But I thought about doing some reading while eating.

"Yikes, that doesn't sound so fun. But I'll leave you to your reading then."

“No, no. Kara, please. I need an excuse to stop working for a bit. A break might help me refocus.”

“And I'm that excuse? “

“It seems you are these days.” A very very distracting excuse, Lena couldn’t help but think.

“OK, then! But should you even be working this late?”

“Truthfully, no. But my assistant isn’t here to push me out the door.” Lena admitted, chuckling at the end. She cringed after uttering the sentence, finding it a bit self-pitying.

“Well, I’m just glad you found time to eat a little.” Kara mentioned.

Lena thought of mentioning the mysterious bag of food on her balcony but decided against it, “You sound like Jess.”

“Well, she is a very wise woman. Anyway! Let me tell you about the crazy day I had today!”

Lena chuckled as she opened the bag and pulled out the French fries.

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

Lena arrived to work in a hurry, speaking on her phone and dumping a pile of paperwork on her desk that she had just retrieved from on top of jess' desk. It seemed as though not everyone was aware that her assistant was on vacation and that said paperwork should be put on her own desk rather than her assistant's.

"Yes, yes. I understand, Mr. Michaelson. But I truly cannot postpone my Hong Kong trip to September. It has to be next month." she unceremoniously dropped everything on her desk and watched as her purse slowly leaned at the edge before it toppled down onto the floor, spilling half its contents. Lena closed her eyes and resisted the urge to let out a loud sigh. "The deadline for the project is nearing and I need to finish up the schematics of... Yes, I understand. Mhmm. Of course. I'll have my assistant talk to you tomorrow then, ok? Ok. Goodbye."

She sank down on her chair and finally let out that sigh, only to suddenly remember that her assistant can't call him tomorrow because she was on vacation.

She cringed before she opened up her calendar on her computer to schedule a phone call with him tomorrow morning. She placed two alarms to remind her.

After looking through some emails, that were quite unpleasing if she was being honest with her herself, she pressed the intercom on her office phone to call Jess into her office.

When the usual ' Yes, Ms. Luthor?' never came, Lena groaned remembering again that Jess was on vacation. She looked at her Nespresso machine in her office and remembered it needed some sort of repairs that she could probably fix herself if she had the time.

"Ugh, what I wouldn't kill for a double shot right now!" she groaned out into the empty room.

Just then, a tap came on her balcony doors and Lena snapped her head towards the sound to find no one. When she walked towards the doors and slid them open, she found a cup of coffee with a sticky note on it.

Please don't kill anyone for coffee.

Lena gave a confused smile, looking around the sky to see if she could spot the hero but found only scattered birds. It was odd. Very very odd, in fact. She needed to speak with the hero about this. Thank her or ask her or... She wasn't sure.

She was grateful for the coffee anyway, taking a sip to find it exactly how she liked it. Very odd, indeed, for Supergirl to randomly know her exact coffee order. But she didn't have too much time to dwell on it. She took it inside to start her day.

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

Noon came with another disaster.

"What do you mean that the arugula cashew salad has been discontinued." Lena asked over the phone, "My assistant orders it for lunch almost everyday!" she exclaimed, admittedly a bit louder than she should have. "I am perfectly calm thank you very much, but I would be much calmer if maybe I would have my lunch delivered! I don't want your apologies, I want - you know what? Nevermind. Thank you for nothing!" She hung up in the guy's face and puffed out in frustration.

"What do I have to do to get a simple arugula cashew salad with pear and stilton cheese? Honestly it's not that hard! I can hire my own personal chef to simply..."

Just then a familiar knock came from behind her and Lena this time turned faster and caught a glimpse of a red cape flying off. She rushed to her balcony to find the exact salad she was trying to order, with a sticky note stuck to it. She picked it up and read it.

Your salad was actually discontinued. So, Jess found a new place that was across town that made it and would order it from there. Delivery was extra because it was further, but according to her, the salad tastes better than the first restaurant. Please don't take it out on Gary, he only answers the phone and works part time there to pay for college.

Lena was baffled. This was getting out of hand. How on Earth would Supergirl know any of that? Did she and Jess speak often? Did Kara tell her? Did Supergirl just happen to eavesdrop on her every conversation?

Lena was furiated. Grateful for her rumbling stomach and her hunger-induced foul mood, but also infuriated. She didn't need a nanny. She could handle a simple task as ordering food.

Maybe she really should have taken Jess on her offer of a temporary assistant. But she was still new to the city. It's barely been a year since she has moved to National City. She didn't take too kindly to people. Nor did she like dealing with those questioning stares and curious looks. The pity is the worse. She still had so much to prove that she was nothing like her brother. And she thought coming to National City and away from Superman's territory was the way to do it.

Never did she ever think that she would be in a situation with Supergirl such as the likes of this.

She sighed but took the salad anyway. She had a meeting in half an hour and she needed all the energy to get through it.

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

The evening saw Lena picking up a plastic container of sushi and sashimi from her favorite Japanese place. A cup of Matcha green tea sat beside it.

She still didn't like it but took it anyway.

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

The next morning, she walked into her office and found the same croissants that Jess would get her every Friday. Fridays she almost always forgot to have breakfast. It was mainly due to the fact that Thursdays she had her international calls scheduled in the late hours of the night. Dealing with the other side of the world meant she had to call during their working hours. Which happened to coincide with 3 am for her. And Jess knew this. Which is why every Friday, Jess would get her breakfast to have on her desk while she read her emails.

Croissants and a banana kale smoothie is what she usually preferred. Which was what sat on her balcony table right in front of her. There was no sticky note this time.

"What on Earth is she on about?" she asked no one but herself.

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

The noon was the same. A tap on her balcony door and a package of food delivered by National City's very own superhero.

Lena held the fruit salad bowl in frustration, "Do you deliver food to everyone in the city?" she shouted to the empty sky, feeling a bit stupid.

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

The next day’s evening when she found a plate of Fettuccine on her balcony, she was ready for a confrontation with the Girl of Steel. She had already picked up both her lunch and her afternoon coffee from the balcony like it had suddenly become a drive-thru window in her very own office.

She was very much confused at this point.

Was Supergirl that different from Superman?

She stabbed the pasta with her fork as thought hard about the most complicated question of her life.

Why was Supergirl delivering food to her?

Maybe this is some sort of benefit of National City that I wasn’t aware of. Some sort of agreement between Supergirl and the people of National City that she would deliver everyone’s food and they would... What? Give her free food in return?

Lena suddenly gasped.

Was I supposed to leave money on the table for her for delivering my food?!

She suddenly felt ashamed. Her cheeks burned with the realization that she was not paying for a service she was clearly using as she sat there eating the Fettuccine that Supergirl herself had delivered.

It was all so confusing and Lena was determined to get to the bottom of it. Which is why, the next day she arrived extra early to her office and began setting up.

She dragged her wooden coffee table all the way across her office and into the balcony. Then came the comfy armchair that she liked so much. She half expected it wouldn't fit through the balcony door, but it somehow did. A sane enough CEO of a multi-billion dollar company would have asked someone from the many employees she had to do the job for her.

But she was in a stubborn mood.

She then took out her laptop, placing it outside on the coffee table. Her printed copies of the annual financial reports. Her coffee cup and everything else she needed to do her work.

She was going to work from her balcony and catch Supergirl in the act.

She needed to understand the reasoning behind it all. Needed to see how much money she owed Supergirl. It just didn’t make sense that Supergirl was delivering everyone’s food without taking any sort of compensation!

And so she began working.

"Hello, Mr. Michaelson.” she spoke through her bluetooth earphones, using her hands to edit a paragraph in her speech while talking to the man. “Yes, it's me. No, my assistant is on vacation unfortunately. Where? Oh, umm well she went to Vancouver actually. Yes, yes, I agree, beautiful place. Now, as for our agreed upon dates for the project sc- Oh. Sure I could ask my assistant for you if Vancouver has nice Japanese restaurants."

She held her hand to the bottom of her phone and sighed audibly looking up to the sky and wishing Jess would just magically appear.

After almost an hour speaking to the old businessman, and not all of it spent talking about work, Lena almost whined when she saw her coffee cup empty.

"I'm gonna need a whole gallon of coffee to deal with more like him." she spoke out loud to herself.

Taking off her heels, she folded her legs neatly beneath her and balanced her laptop on the chair's armrest. She began typing out a detailed email to the finance department asking for a budget increase on the project.

It was less than ten minutes later that she noticed movement in the sky. When she looked up, she didn't find anyone. Frowning, she went back to work.

The next thing that happened would never have even crossed her mind. Dangling from her balcony ceiling was a thick string, securely tied to a cup of coffee, and coming down slowly as though someone was gradually letting more of the string go until the coffee cup would eventually reach Lena's brick railing.

Lena gawked at the coming down cup with wide eyes.

There was a coffee cup dangling from the roof of her balcony! Swaying from the wind and slowly coming down like a hookline of a fisherman.

After getting over her shock, Lena immediately got up, letting her laptop fall in her seat, "Hey!" she shouted, very unlady like of her. She planted both hands on her railing and cranked her neck to look up. The string went all the way up to the roof of the building and disappeared there.

"Excuse me? I would like to speak to you." she shouted towards the rooftop. "Thank you for the coffee but it's really not necessary for you to bring me food and drink everyday. I am more than capable of feeding myself." Lena blatantly spoke to the rooftop, looking more and more like a crazy person. Somewhere in the back of her mind she could hear Jess snicker at her words.

Capable of feeding myself, sure.

"Supergirl? Or whoever you are, I simply want to thank you personally if that's all right." Lena tried again, but still no answer.

And just like that she saw a flash of a red cape in the sky before it disappeared.

Why won't she talk to me?!

And then the answer came to her.

She probably doesn't have time. If she delivers food to everyone in the city, not mentioning the fact that she saves people left and right... Then. When does she have time for anything?!

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

There was a fire. Lena was having a meeting with a client at a restaurant when the smell of smoke began to filter into the air. Suddenly, one of the chefs barged into the restaurant, coming from the kitchen and collapsed onto the floor. The smoke began to seep quickly into the restaurant and in under a few minutes it started to get harder and harder to breathe.

Unfortunately, for everyone inside, the restaurant was quite a large and crowded one with only one exit, aside from the kitchen exit that was probably blazing in a fire. Chaos erupted and everyone began stumbling towards the door to escape.

And just as suddenly as it had happened, Supergirl flew in and saved the day. She blew out the fire and began evacuating people quickly. Lena had been hunched over a table, coughing from the smoke and eyes watering. She felt herself be lifted off the floor suddenly and found herself in the arms of the blonde hero. Supergirl flew her to an ambulance that was administering oxygen to those who needed it.

"I'll be right back," she said to Lena before flying off to make sure no one else was inside the building.

Lena was checked up by a medic and was cleared. She felt a little dizzy but she didn't inhale too much smoke. She was however buzzing with energy.

Supergirl flew back down and nodded towards the fire chief shaking his hand and assuring him no one was inside. She smiled at the job well done and was about to go check up on the Luthor woman when...

"You!" Lena shouted angrily, pointing an accusing finger at her.

Supergirl turned to find the woman's narrowed eyes and immediately took a step back, terrified. Oh, yes. She was very much terrified.

Lena came up to her, her heels seemingly still making her look shorter than the well-built hero. But she was not intimidated at all, in fact she was angry. She was out looking for answers and she expected to find them.

She jabbed a finger in the hero's chest, "Why do you insist on feeding me?!" she accused, "What do you have to gain from it all, hmm?!" her eyes were predatory, filled to the brim with frustration.

"M-Ms. Luthor, I don't know what you're talking about." Supergirl stuttered.

"The coffees, and croissants, and sushi, and salads. All of it! Why are you bringing me food everyday? I'm not crazy, I've seen your cape flying about! I'm more than capable of feeding myself, you don't need to bring me food, Supergirl!

"M-Ms. Luthor, I believe there's been some sort of misunderstanding."

"I would just like to know why ?! I didn’t sign up for this service!"

"Ms. Luthor, can we please please talk about this when there aren't so many cameras a-and and..."

Lena jabbed her finger harder into Supergirl's chest, "You tell me right now!!" she barked.

"M-Ms. Luthor..."

"Why-" she punctuated her word with a harder jab.

"I really think-" Supergirl took a step back.

"Do you insist-" another jab to the chest and a step forward.

"It's just maybe this isn't-"

"On bringing me-"

"If we could just-

"Food!" Lena jabbed her finger harder to punctuate her question.

Supergirl seemed to make up her mind on something, nodding once to herself with a tight lipped smile, “Yup, you’re not gonna like this. I’m really sorry in advance.” she said

“Sorr-”

Supergirl bent down, fireman carried Lena on her shoulder and flew off into the sky.

Lena screamed immediately, her scream echoing in the city, “What are you doing?!”

Supergirl didn’t answer which immediately led Lena to believe that she was being kidnapped.

She started banging her fist on the Super’s back, kicking with her feet, “Why would you buy me food for days only to kidnap me in the end??!!” she shouted at the top of her lungs.

Supergirl made an accidental swoosh in the sky trying to balance the struggling woman in her arms, “What?! I’m not kidnapping you! Stop moving so much!"

"Stop kidnapping me then!!" Lena shouted.

"I'm not kidnapping you!!"

“Put me down this instant!"

Supergirl’s sight was blocked by a smooth thigh, and she was momentarily distracted with how it felt that when she refocused again she found a brick wall in front of them. She immediately turned full circle and redirected their course before slamming into the wall with a struggling woman.

Lena tried to thrust her knee into Supergirl’s nose, her plan was to maybe somehow break the unbreakable nose made of steel. It wasn’t her best idea, “Put me down!”

“I’m trying!” Supergirl shouted back, “Rao, woman, just calm down and let me take you where I’m taking you!

“So you are kidnapping me ?!!”

“What?! Why would I kidnap you?!”

“Then where are we going?!”

Supergirl flew down a little, holding on to the squirming woman as tight as she can. She dived beneath the ceiling of the balcony and safely landed with her two feet on the ground. “Here!” she voiced out loudly, “Your balcony!” she said as she set the woman down.

Lena Luthor wobbled on her feet and realized she was one foot short. When she looked down, one heel seemed to be missing. She looked back up, staring daggers into the hero.

Supergirl put her hands up in surrender, “Hey! In my defense it wouldn’t have fallen if you had just simply calmed down!”

Lena crossed her arms and discarded the other shoe before facing Supergirl, “Do you mind telling me what all of this is?”

“All of what is?” Supergirl deadpanned.

Lena rolled her eyes, “Oh for the love of...” she sighed. When she looked back to the other woman, she found her distracted, looking over the balcony. Lena was about to ask when she got her answer.

“Oh! Found it.” The hero exclaimed before jumping over the balcony railing and diving down to the street. Lena had a miniature heart attack, barely remembering that the woman wasn’t falling to her death.

Seconds later, the hero flew back onto her balcony with her missing heel, smiling widely, “Cinderella.” she curtsied and handed the show to Lena.

“Very funny.” Lena said sarcastically before taking back her precious louboutins. She placed it beside the other and faced Supergirl, “Explain, please.”

Supergirl gave an innocent smile, “Explain what?”

And Lena more or less lost it, “Explain to me why it is that you’re delivering my food? I’ve been trying to get you to talk to me for the past week so I could explain to you that I am perfectly capable of ordering my own food, thank you very much! I don’t know if this is a National City deal that you have going on, but I don’t want you delivering my food. Not to mention paying for it! Which reminds me, I owe you...”

"Jess and I are friends." Supergirl blurted out, cringing as though she wasn't supposed to disclose that particular piece of information.

Lena tilted her head in confusion, "Friends?"

Supergirl sighed, "Yeah. I saved her once from a bus flipping over while she was getting you coffee this one time." she mentioned casually, like a bus flipping over was the most normal thing in the world.

Lena's eyes widened, she choked on a gasp in her throat, "Bus... F-Flipping over?"

Supergirl however didn't notice her shock nor seemed to be listening. Her eyes were on her fingers, counting the number of times she had saved Jess, "And then there was that time when I saved her from getting caught in the crossfire of a shooting." Supergirl listed, as Lena watched in utter horror, "And the time those CADMUS guys came to take you, and she wouldn't let them through the door. So, they were about to attack her but she had already called me-" Supergirl paused, putting up her finger to add information, "I gave her my number after the third time I saved her. Anyway, so she-

"Num...ber?" Lena's mouth moved to form the word as she watched with wide eyes, still frozen in place.

"Called me and I came and took care of the two guys before anything happened. Which was a good thing because Jess told me you were in a very important meeting that day and you weren't to be disturbed. Not even by CADMUS goons coming to kidnap you apparently!" Supergirl giggled at that, only to continue her rant as though nothing happened.

"You'd be surprised how much that woman is a chaos magnet. Accident prone too! I once saved her from tripping and dropping two coffees, a stack of papers, a laptop under her arm, a box of pastries balanced over the stack of papers, and herself because she was talking to you and her heel got stuck in the pavement. It was almost a disaster, but I was near her and I managed to catch it all." suddenly Supergirl's face lit up momentarily as though she remembered something before it was replaced by a dopey grin at the memory, "She gave me a donut as a thank you I was really hungry that day."

Supergirl scrunched her nose in thought, "What else? Oh yeah! There was this time I saved her from-"

"OK, I get it!" Lena suddenly interrupted her, if she heard one more story about Jess' life being risked because she was out getting her coffee... "I get it. I need to give Jess a raise. Or buy her a house. Maybe even give her my office while I'm at it. God knows she deserves it!" Lena mumbled the last part. She had no idea what Jess went through to simply get her coffee. What kind of world do they live in?

Lena sighed, refocused herself, "What does any of this have to do with you delivering my food to me?" she asked.

Supergirl furrowed her eyebrows like she didn't remember, before gasping and lighting up with wide eyes, "Oh! Yeah, sorry." she chuckled, scratching the back of her neck sheepishly, "I think I lost track of the story a bit there."

That's the understatement of the year, Lena couldn't help but think

“So, umm, after I saved Jess a bunch of times we eventually became friends. She also figured out I was Kara, so I pretty much-”

“You’re WHAT?!” Lena all but gawked.

Supergirl froze, hand in mid-gesture. Her face seemed very very confused, eyebrows scrunched together and mouth forming an O. She tilted her head to the side, “Kara?”

“You’re Kara?!!” Lena demanded, admittedly much louder than she expected to utter the words. "The-The..." the reporter, the friend I made, the possible crush. "Kara Danvers?"

“Well, yeah. I thought it was kinda obvious...”

Lena opened her mouth and closed it several times with no words making it out. With wide shocked eyes, she observed the blonde closely. Blonde tresses framing her face, blue piercing eyes. She imagined a ponytail, a pair of glasses.

“Oh God.” she half whispered.

She was crushing on Supergirl the whole time.

For some baffling reason that Lena couldn’t seem to fathom, Supergirl looked more confused than she was.

“I thought you already knew.” she noted.

“How could I have possibly known?! I’ve met you twice !”

Supergirl flattened her lips and swayed her head on each side, “Actually, it was three times.” she corrected.

“That is not the point!”

Supergirl backed away, putting her hands up in surrender, “Okay, okay. Sorry.” she shrugged then, “I kinda just thought you knew but weren’t saying anything. I mean Jess figured it out almost instantly and you’re supposed to be super smart-”

When Lena gave her a threatening glare, Supergirl realized her mistake.

“I-I mean you are super smart.” she backed up immediately, “You know, you were answering my calls and you laughed at my flew here on a bus joke.”

“You were being serious?!!!” Lena shouted unladylike. She was doing a lot of unladylike things today that involved this situation she found herself in.

There really wasn’t any possible way for Lena’s jaw to drop even more.

“Well, obviously not at first. But when you didn’t ask about it and then we met again and I mentioned flying again, you were totally okay with it.”

“People say stuff!! I didn’t think you were serious! I just thought you had weird expressions!”

“Huh.” Supergirl looked up and thought about it, “I never really-”

“Look.” Lena stopped her before she went on another rant. She was getting a headache from all that was happening on this God forsaken balcony, “Can we please go back to the food delivery situation?” Lena pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Oh!” Supergirl perked up again, chuckling, “I guess a sorta lost track of the story a bit there.”

“You seem to have a habit of that.” Lena muttered.

“I heard that.” Supergirl grinned.

“I know.” Lena deadpanned.

Supergirl ignored her, “Where was I?” Supergirl thought out loud.

“Literally still at the beginning.” Lena deadpanned again. When she saw that Supergirl was still thinking about it, she sighed and reminded her, “You and Jess are friends after you had saved her numerous times. What - for the love of all that is good - has that got to do with you suddenly being my delivery person?”

“Jess asked me to.” Supergirl miraculously gave the answer in less than a thousand words.

“She did what?”

“She said that she was going on vacation and that she didn’t trust you to properly take care of yourself. So, I volunteered to help.”

Once again, Lena found her jaw dropping and eyes widening.

“She even wrote me an instruction list.” Supergirl casually mentioned, not at all noticing the blood-curling shock on the young Luthor’s face.

“She...She wrote you...” Lena tried to mutter.

Supergirl began fumbling around in her suit, “I swear I had it somewhere here.” She patted her cape, “Darn, must’ve left it in my other cape.”

It must be a dream. There’s no possible explanation at how more and more absurd this situation was becoming.

Supergirl shrugged before turning back to her, “Anyway, she wrote me a list of instructions. Which restaurants to pick up from on which days, what to get from each restaurant, allergies. Days on which you might miss breakfast at home, days when you’ll be working extra late for a late second dinner. Important meetings I shouldn’t interrupt, stressful meetings that need a double shot afterwards. She wrote the type of tea you like to drink when you’re working on contracts, and the Kale smoothie that you drink when it’s hot out.” Supergirl made a disgusted face at that, “She even specified food items you don’t like in your food, like pickles in sandwiches and green olives in your salads. And other food items to add that aren’t in the ingredients, like cashews on your salad and-”

“Fuck me, I don’t pay that woman nearly half of what she deserves.” Lena blurted out, sighing out loud.

Supergirl suddenly stopped listing things - another habit of hers - and looked at Lena with a shocked face, before looking down and playing with her fingers with wide eyes and a blushing face.

Lena had a feeling that it had everything to do with the fuck me aspect of her blutness. It wasn’t her fault! All of this was too much! Was she really that snobby rich CEO who didn’t know anything about her assistant's duties. She knew Jess’ job wasn’t easy, sometimes Lena found her job harder than her own, but she never knew it was damn near impossible!

Lena pinched the bridge of her nose again, and sat down on the armchair that she had pulled out on the balcony the other day. She was honestly afraid to ask - if this whole conversation was anything to go by, she’d probably get some bizarre answer that’ll probably spin her head - but she needed to know one more thing.

She looked up at the hero, who was still very much blushing at the fuck me statement. She rolled her eyes and asked her question.

“I still don’t fully grasp why you refused to speak to me while delivering the food to my balcony. In fact, you avoided speaking to me so much to the point that you dangled my coffee cup by a string.”

Supergirl pointed with a finger, “Not my finest moment, I admit.”

“So, why? Would it have been so awful for you to-”

"I just thought you wouldn't like me." Supergirl answered sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck.

And there it was. The bizarreness unleashed.

“I beg your pardon?” Lena cocked an eyebrow.

“I thought you wouldn’t really like me, you know, as Supergirl.” Supergirl replied again, kicking some non-existent pebble. “I can be a little awkward in front of beautiful, smart, brunette women. My sister always makes fun of me for it. Says it's my kryptonite. So, yeah. I figured to just drop off the food and just go. But then you had to pull that trick and work from the balcony so I had to improvise."

"You thought... You thought I wouldn’t like you?"

"Yup."

"Me?"

"Uhu."

"Not like you? Supergirl?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

Commence jaw drop once more.

“But you also thought that I knew that you were Kara Danvers?” Lena asked, the fact she even said that was still mind blowing. She was talking to Kara Danvers who was also Supergirl.

Supergirl shrugged, “Yeah, what about it?”

Lena furrowed her eyebrows together, “So why wouldn’t I like you as Supergirl if I like you as Kara, if you thought that I thought that you were the same person?” the question gave her a headache just saying it.

Supergirl’s eyes widened, “You like me as Kara?” she gasped out.

“Was that what you got out of that question?” Lena asked. She needed to redirect the topic away - very very much away - from the fact that she like Kara Danvers.

Who happens to be Supergirl.

Supergirl was still sporting a dopey grin at it, but then lit up when she remembered something else, “Also, Jess said that you don’t like people in general.”

“Jess said that I don’t like people.”

“No, she said something else. But I’d really rather not say that out loud to you.”

Lena crossed her arms, standing up and facing the Girl of Steel with steel eyes of her own, “What did Jess say?”

Supergirl pouted, “Do I really have t...”

Lena pushed her on with a raised eyebrow.

“But...But...”

Eyebrow seemed to go higher.

Supergirl sighed, “She said you were prickly.”

“ Prickly ?” Lena honestly expected something worse. Like bitch. Or monster workaholic.

“Yeah. You know, like a cactus. And that only people who really got to know you would find water inside. Or something like that. I can’t really remember. But she called you prickly.”

Suddenly, something began to beep from Supergirl suit. The hero hunched over and reached inside her red boot, taking her phone out.

Lena figure it must be some sort of emergency in the city. A fire, maybe. A bank being robbed. Someone needed saving. A car...

"Ooh, it's time for your 2 O'clock lunch!" Supergirl exclaimed.

Not that!

She expected sirens! Fire Trucks! People in danger! Not her 2 O’clock lunch!

“Oh God, I can’t believe Supergirl has a reminder on her phone for my lunch.” she whispered, falling back on the armchair, giving up on trying to come to terms with everything that had happened in the last half hour.

Supergirl was busy on her phone, typing something and mumbling to herself, “Today is tuesday, so that means it’s the...” she pursed her lips, typing more, before, “Okay, I just ordered your baby spinach salad.” She looked up at Lena, “Apple, pecan and honey dressing, right?”

“R-Right...” Lena stuttered. Supergirl was literally taking her lunch order.

This is a dream. There is no possible way that...

Supergirl nodded, “Okay, I’m just gonna go grab it. It’ll take me no more than a minute.” she said, shrugging.

“Uhh O-okay.” Lena said, still frozen at the idea of Supergirl going to get her her lunch.

Supergirl reached behind her, pulled out a bag that was ultimately tied to the inside of her cape it seemed, “Do you mind if I just leave my Potstickers, here?”

Seven. Lena counted seven times now that Supergirl had said something that had caused her jaw to drop.

“Did you just put off a fire, save countless people, and have this whole conversation with me with a bag of dumplings tied to the inside of your cape?”

Supergirl chuckled, “You’d be surprised how often I do that.” she said, “I’ll be right back.”

She flew away right before Lena managed to gather herself and utter a, “Take your time.”

A minute later, Lena felt her clothes ruffle from a bust of wind as Supergirl landed on her balcony once more. “One spinach salad with apple, pecan and honey dressing.” she smiled brightly, putting the bag on the table. She picked up her own bag of potstickers, “And I believe these lovely potstickers are mine.” she grinned, barely hiding her excitement.

Lena finally caught up with her everlasting shock in time to stutter out, "Would... Would you like to have lunch with me?" she blurted out.

Supergirl sported on a huge grin at the question, "Would I ever?!" she exclaimed, already sitting cross-legged on the coffee table like she had done so a thousand times.

Lena said nothing about the existence of chairs. She actually liked how at ease the hero was as she dug inside her takeout bag and pulled out a container of potstickers.

Lena shook out of her daydream, not wanting Supergirl to catch her staring and took out her own lunch. She looked up just as she opened her plate to find Supergirl had already stuffed three potstickers in her chipmunk cheeks. She giggled, causing the blonde to look up in surprise with wide eyes as though she had been caught once more without her table manners. She gulped down the unchewed contents and gave Lena a guilty smile with a cringe of her eyes.

Lena chuckled, “You’re very different from your cousin.”

“Yeah, I’m the weird one in the family.”

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

Read it on AO3 HERE

#the supercorp one shot where supergirl delivers food to lena's balcony and lena is very very confused #jess is my favorite person #awkward kara danvers #ranting supergirl #confused luthor #puppy kara danvers #This blog is no longer a Supercorp blog #Supercorp one-shot #writing #fanfiction #oneshot #my writing

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