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softomi · 3 years

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Catfish

prompt: mother says to be wary of people you meet on the internet, especially since you never know who’s on the other side of the screen.

pairing: atsumu x reader

the unpaid extras: osamu, suna

general taglist: @graykageyama

Osamu liked to mess with his brother and lately he’s been planning the largest prank. It originally wasn’t supposed become a huge thing, but then Suna just kept edging him on; adding more things one by one and it just spiraled. Osamu was catfishing Atsumu with your pictures.

Now, Osamu knows that it sounds bad but technically you were in on the prank. You had never met nor even knew Atsumu, heck, you didn’t even know who Osamu was. You had been part of the prank merely through text messages and the occasional meet up with Suna.

To put it simply, Suna met you through one of his teammates; coincidentally you ended up in one of his classes and the two of you built a tiny friendship. Which was why, when Suna was thinking of the perfect person to catfish Atsumu with; your face lit up in his head.

You were the perfect candidate, exactly Atsumu’s type literally to a tee. When Suna pulled up your contact, the first thing he did was offer to pay you. Every picture you sent used for the prank, he’ll send you cash through an app and as a broke college student who needed cash fast, you agreed as long as the photos weren’t used for anything weird or sexual. He made sure to send you proof of each photo in use.

This brings it all back to dear Osamu catfishing his brother. He had created an entirely new Instagram for you, complete using your name and a cute description that him and Suna had spent two hours thinking of. They decided to even spend a few days perfecting it, posting pictures a few days apart with captions, following random groups, liking posts, essentially creating a whole new personality using your photos. Osamu had even developed a fake occupation for you; a foodie blogger to which some posts were dedicated to food reviews for restaurants Osamu deemed worthy of a post.

And when Osamu says that the prank spiraled; it fucking spiraled. Originally it started with Suna and Osamu following the account, suddenly Suna’s teammates began following the account. Osamu made the mistake of tagging Onigirl Miya in one of your photos, ultimately adding a few random people to follow the account. Suddenly after two weeks of having the account, you gained over two thousand follows.

It was no worries though, because Osamu can quickly catfish Atsumu, take down the account, and call it all good.

Safe to say, Atsumu accepted the friend request rather quickly. Osamu and Suna snicker to themselves, it took Atsumu less than five minutes to accept and he was already liking all of your photos. Not even ten minutes pass and he’s sliding into the DM’s.

The two men looking at the phone and burst into laughter. They spend five minutes cackling at Atsumu’s random ‘hey’ message that followed with a smiling emoji.

Osamu was absolutely entertained, it was hilarious that his own brother had fallen for his catfish and honestly, Osamu was ready to give up the act after three days but then Atsumu said something that just really pissed him off. He doesn’t remember what it was, he just suddenly ended up two more weeks later still having the fake Instagram account and still having Atsumu believe that he was falling in love with some girl.

Somehow the account ended up with over five thousand followers, Atsumu messages the account religiously, and Osamu for some godly reason is still managing the account three months later. It’s spiraled.

“I have a girlfriend!” Atsumu doesn’t know why his friend and brother are laughing. He’s scrolling through your Instagram, the catfish Instagram.

Osamu almost chokes on his food, “So what, have you guys gone on a date? Have you even seen her in real life?” Suna snorts into his drink, he coughs when he accidentally inhales the water sharply.

Atsumu slumps in his seat, his voice small, “No, but we talk every day and she likes me!”

Suna is coughing even harder now, tears threatening to leave his eyes to the point that he excuses himself to the bathroom. Osamu has a shit eating grin on his face, “How do you know she’s actually not some old dude catfishing you?”

“She’s not!” Atsumu stutters, “She’s real!”

“Prove it.”

Osamu was about to learn a harsh lesson about the world; the world loves to bite you in the ass when you least expect it.

Atsumu leans forward, an eerie grin on his lips, “Happily.” Atsumu whips out his phone, quickly presses a number and holds the phone to his ear. He holds a finger up to his brother, even gesturing for the returning Suna to remain quiet. The phone picks up, “Hey babe, you wanna meet me here at Onigiri Miya?” Atsumu looks at the watch on his wrist, “Twenty minutes? Perfect.”

Osamu’s believing his brother is bluffing. There was no way in hell he’d be able to somehow magically bring the catfish to life, heck, Atsumu would be a god if suddenly he could. Thirty minutes pass, Osamu is exchanging looks with Suna. It’s absolutely silent between the three.

Osamu is suddenly feeling guilty, Suna is uncomfortable to the point that he’s even texting you to make sure you weren’t actually coming, and you confirmed with him that you weren’t.

“Should we tell him?” Osamu whispers when another five minutes pass.

Suna is deadpanned, “I don’t know, we’re kind of reaching a sad territory now. Let’s just break up with him and ghost him.”

Osamu groans, “But do we want to deal with a sad Atsumu, I’ll take getting my ass kicked over him crying in my apartment.”

The door chimes and their jaws smack the floor. You walked through the door, eyes roaming the place before landing on the three huddled into the corner. Is he a fucking god? Atsumu stands from his seat, he meets you halfway, pulling you into a heartfelt kiss that has you swooning.

The closer you approach with Atsumu’s arm around your shoulder, the more they truly begin to believe that Atsumu is a god.

“Guys, this is my girlfriend.” This time it’s Atsumu who has a shit-eating grin, “Ain’t she a beauty, the pictures don’t do her justice.”

It takes everything in Osamu to not scream, “But, you said you’d never even met her before.”

Atsumu gazes into your eyes, hearts practically floating above his head, “I mean I guess technically this is our first-time meeting, right?”

You nod, a puppy like expression on your face, “I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself yet. You must be Osamu.” You point to him then your fingers drag to the other male, “Suna.”

“Oh.” Suna sits straight up, “Oh!” He catches the glint in your eyes, the conniving little minx of a look. Suna was no longer calm, “We’ve been double crossed!”

There’s screaming, fingers are being pointed at each other, Atsumu is gripping Osamu by the neck of his shirt, Suna is literally calling your phone to make sure that it’s actually you, Osamu is pulling his brother’s hair. The customers of the restaurant stare with their jaws dropped at the scene.

Everyone is squished into Osamu’s small office. Suna is sitting on the desktop, Osamu in his chair, Atsumu in the spare seat, and you lean on the arm of Atsumu’s chair. His arm dangles around your waist, pulling you to lean on him with a cheery grin.

Atsumu leans forward, taking in the expressions of the two bewildered boys, “I guess let’s start at the beginning.”

While the story technically began three months ago with Suna asking for your cooperation, the story of you and Atsumu began two months ago.

The extra cash from all the pictures you sent Suna was giving you enough to be able to go out and live a little on the weekends. Originally the bar was dead, you and your friends were tucked into the corner in a booth when a rowdy bunch of men came in. Your friends gasped having recognize them as members of a sports team and with their excitement, they must have won a game.

It didn’t affect your group that much until it came to split ways; being in your last year of university, you excused yourself, insisting that you needed to go home to finish a project. As you stood at the register, card tapping against the counter, that was when he showed up.

At this point, Atsumu had spent the past hour believing the gods were on his side. He practically walked by your table ten times just to make sure the face matched the one in his instagram’s DM. After forty minutes of the constant back and forth, your quick gazes at him walking by the table seem to do nothing. Were you unable to recognize him?

He took his shot watching you stand alone at the counter. He finishes off his drink and smoothly strides to you.

“Hey!” Atsumu leans on the counter, flashing a smile despite alcohol dripping from the side of his mouth, “Wouldn’t you consider this fate?” He gestures between the both of you.

You’re confused, shooting him a puzzled gaze, “Sorry, you must have me mistaken for someone else.” You hand the card to the worker, anxiously eyeing the male who’s increasingly invading your space.

Atsumu places a hand on the small of your back, it was something Instagram you had mentioned you liked, instead it triggered a fight or flight. Your hand makes harsh contact with his cheek, he retracts his hand immediately.

“Don’t touch me!” You bark at him, “Perv.” You’re aggressively signing the receipt, storming out of the door while other men seem to ooh at Atsumu’s situation.

“Hey!” Atsumu catches your figure outside of the bar, you’re waving a hand to catch a cab, “I think we got off on the wrong foot there.”

You don’t give him a second glance, “Look, I don’t know who you think you are.”

“Atsumu.” He stands right in front of you, blocking your sights for a cab. He’s got the widest smile on his face as he holds out a hand, “Miya Atsumu. Volleyball player. Setter for the Black Jackals.”

“Okay.” You run a hand through your hair, oddly taking his hand into a shake while eyeing him, “Miya Atsumu, volleyball player, setter for the Black Jackals.”

You step to the side, arm out still trying to catch a taxi but he blocks your way once more and he looks at you with such wonder. His eyes practically having stars coming out and his smile warm and inviting. He was wondering if you were a twin, maybe he had actually gotten the wrong person.

“You are?”

The wind is causing your hair to blow in your face, he wants to so bad to brush the strands behind your ears but the way you gave him a slap earlier makes him think that’s a bad idea. Your fingers pull your hair back, “Y/n. I don’t have a fancy title like yours but, I guess I don’t know, senior to be graduating at the university.” You sidestep him once more, “I’m just trying to catch a cab home.”

Once more he blocks your way and you look at him with defeat. He was persistent. He laughs, “Sorry, last time, but do you not know me?”

You’re still as confused as ever, “Look if you’re going to pull some cheesy line about seeing me before, it’s not going to work.”

“Wait, just hold on a second.” Atsumu pulls out his phone, his fingers are shaking as he presses onto the app. He pulls up your profile, handing you his cell phone, “This is you isn’t it?!”

Your eyes scan the social media page, your mouth falling open, there’s a hidden laugh itching in your throat. These were all the picture you had taken for Suna and somehow, you’re being shown by a stranger your fake profile.

“We’ve been messaging for like a month, I can’t believe you don’t recognize me.”

I don’t recognize you because I’m not the one talking to you.

You’re perplexed, you weren’t sure what you were supposed to do, if you told him he’s being catfished you’d lose the flow of side cash you’ve developed but if you didn’t, isn’t that just wrong. And the more you look at him from under the stars, he’s rather cute; you suddenly feel bad for slapping his face earlier.

“Do you want to get some coffee?”

Your offer sends him over the moon, he’s walking alongside you to the nearest convenience; Atsumu is rather talkative, bringing up topics of everything and anything that comes to his mind. As the two of you look over drink options in the cooler, his hands pull two cans of black coffee.

“You’re favorite right?” He holds one out to you.

Your actively smiling, biting your lower lip and wondering if you needed to play along with the role but as he stares at you with such adoring eyes, it makes your heart skip a beat just taking in the fact that he would remember something trivial over text.

“Actually.” You place the drink back, opting for a sweeter caramel macchiato, “I would say that this is my favorite.”

Atsumu quirks a brow, “Are you saying you were lying to me?” He places a hand over his heart, “And here I thought we were soulmates.”

Your hand smacks against his arm, “Shut up.”

“So what are you studying for?” Atsumu sips his drink, the two of you leaning against the windows of the convenience store. There’s a slight sway in his body and you’ve unknowingly followed his movements.

“Literature. Once I graduate, an internship is probably where I’ll start but I’m hoping I can get hired into a publishing company.” He’s comfortable to be with and you aren’t sure if it’s because he thinks he knows you or because his presence is just like that; comfortable.

Atsumu finishes off his canned beverage, “And you do that, all on top of running a foodie Instagram.”

From what you gathered on a quick skim of the account; they have your occupation as a lower level food blog; it’s rather funny. You can only nod to him, “It’s just a side hobby really.”

“Well maybe I could join you on one of your little adventures.”

You try to suppress the immense grin that wants to grow on your lips, there’s an internal battle happening of whether you should tell him or not but once again, the way he looks at you, the cute doe eyed look; it puts butterflies in your stomach.

“How about tomorrow?” He lets out a small gasp, your hands pull out your cell phone and offer it to him, “Your number?”

“I’m free for lunch, just text me when and where.”

You press the number he’s inserted into his contact; in a second his cell rings and he’s showing off his screen, “Don’t message me on Instagram though, I’m detoxing from social media for a bit. Just, text my number.”

He walks you to the curb, helping you flag down a cab, and you give him one last gleeful glance before getting into the car. As you sit, you’re quick to dial Suna’s number. You know he’s probably sleeping but the light feeling in your heart overrides his sleep schedule.

“What?” He’s groaning.

“Suna listen to me carefully. The prank that you guys are doing.” You hear a small snore, “Suna!” He jolts awake and you groan, “You know what, go back to sleep.”

“Thanks.” He hangs up immediately.

Your phone dings, Atsumu’s name pops up. Can’t wait for our date. You bite on your thumb, a smile on you before you respond.

Although having just seen him forty minutes ago, you two text back and forth. First he wondered if you arrived home safe, next he sent pictures of himself insisting it’s for you to choose for his icon, then he proceeds to narrate his way home. You wonder if you’re responding like catfish you but the more he brings up random topics, the more you forget about that stupid prank.

Wait let me call you.

Your heart beats faster, your phone lighting up with his name. You press the answer button slowly, “Hello?” You giggle.

“You’re telling me that you like spikers more than setters.” His voice is nearly screaming and you lean back on your chair laughing into the phone.

The quick research you did on his team had you watching short videos, and while you had to admit it was amazing to watch, your eyes drifted more to one of his teammates than him, “What’s his name?” You lean to look at your computer screen, “Bokuto Koutarou?”

“No!” He’s whining out into the air, “If I had known you were a spiker girl I would have changed positions.”

Your eyes catch the time on your laptop, “Woah. It’s three in the morning.” That meant you had spent over four hours total texting him and now you were on the phone with him, “What are you doing awake?”

He blows out a breath of air, “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Well.” You draw out the word, dragging your self to your bed, “I’m going to go to sleep now.” There’s a pause on the line, “Atsumu?” He hums tiredly, “Good night.”

There’s a small snore from him before he shifts around, “Good night.”

The morning light urges you awake, for a second you peak at your phone’s time and it nears ten in the morning. You’re about to throw your phone back onto the bedside table until Atsumu’s name catches your eye. For having gone to bed at three a.m. he shot you a text at seven.

Morning beautiful.

It was sweet, simple, and it made you smile; giving you the extra push to get out of bed. You stalked your own catfish page, there hadn’t seemed to be any updates so there was still time. A quick search of the internet has you picking out a random restaurant nearby and you send off a text to Atsumu about a meeting time.

You were late, pushing through the doors of the restaurant, your eyes scan the place to see him raise a hand for you. He’s dashingly handsome despite being in casual wear, you wonder if he spent time like you did just trying to pick out an outfit or if he spent forever gelling his hair as long as you tried to get your strands into the perfect waves.

“Sorry, did you wait long?” You pull into the seat in front of him.

He’s smiling and you hope to god that when you break the news to him, he’ll still smile for you, “I just got here not too long ago too.” He looks over the menu quickly, “What do you think you’ll get?”

You inspect each dish, a light hum on you as you dance around the option, “The spaghetti sounds nice.”

Atsumu tilts his head, “It has red meat in it.” You stare blankly at him, “Aren’t you allergic to red meat?”

“Oh.” You set the menu down, “Actually.” He follows your actions, you’ve become nervous at what you’re suddenly about to do, “There’s something you should know.”

“Fuck this!” Atsumu throws the napkin on the table, you jump as he harshly stands, throwing the chair back.

“Atsumu.” You stand.

“No! Don’t. Were you just messing with me then? Did Osamu tell you I was going to be at the bar last night?” Atsumu’s fist ball, “You know what, whatever.”

“Wait.” You follow him behind, “Atsumu. I’m sorry.”

He harshly turns to you, god, even in sunlight you were beautiful to him. He wants to laugh, the month he spent talking to the fake you; yeah that was all bullshit to him but honestly when he saw you last night, when he spent over four hours actually talking to you; he actually felt that maybe this could be something deeper.

“I’m really sorry, I know I should have said something right away.” You have a soft pout on you and it makes him outwardly groan.

He runs a hand through his hair, “Okay, it’s fine. I probably deserved this prank too anyways; must have pissed him off somehow.” He waves a hand, “You can just go back to doing whatever.”

Your hand pulls on his wrist, “I owe you a meal.” You bat your eyes with a cheeky grin, “If you take pictures of me, we can send them to Suna and use the money for our food.”

“Oh.” He begins to smile, “I like that idea.”

Back into Osamu’s office, Atsumu has now pulled you onto his lap, your head resting on his shoulder with arms hanging around his shoulders. The two bachelors stare at the sickly loving sight.

A lightbulb goes off in Suna’s head, “Wait! My money!”

You snort a laugh into Atsumu’s shoulder, “Hey, I earned that fair and square. You paid for goods.”

Osamu is having a staring contest with his brother, “So you two have been actually dating for two months? Why would you still message the catfish account then, why not just kick my ass when you found out?”

Atsumu taps a finger on his chin, “Well, I was just originally going to ghost you guys but then babe here and I discovered that we could fund all of our dates with Suna’s money. We even started setting aside leftover cash from our dates to plan a trip.”

You giggle, “We’re going to Disney next weekend.”

“All the pictures.” Suna whispers.

There’s an amused hum in your throat, “Honestly I’m surprised you guys didn’t figure it out. We were dropping hints in the photos.”

Indeed, the two males looked at the pictures you sent them. If they backtracked to two months ago, there wouldn’t be any hints but the closer they get to the present; it was painfully obvious. They were just too caught up in their excitement to even notice. In one photo, part of Atsumu’s shoulder and hair was just barely in the picture; another had his reflection vividly displayed in the window of the restaurant, and somehow Osamu and Suna missed the obvious Black Jackals jacket sitting on the back of the chair next to you.

The two boys were having a mental breakdown.

You shifted on Atsumu’s lap, leaning forward to tap against the top of Osamu’s phone, “Now, if you’d please deactivate the account since this whole charade is over.”

Osamu ended up not deleting the account. He set the account to private because seeing how his brother was so deeply entranced by you, Osamu had a feeling this one was going to last and he was right; on Atsumu’s wedding day, his little best-man speech had him whipping out the catfish Instagram to display on the monitor for everyone to see.

#haikyuu #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader #atsumu x reader #atsumu scenarios #osamu #suna #atsumu

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anika-ann · 4 years

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Lessons in Rule-breaking - Pt.1

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 4100

Warnings: ...nothing major? Swearing, fluff, mention of death.

Summary: Working part-time at Smithsonian for a while now, you knew you could get in trouble when breaking the no-newcomers-after-30-minutes-before-the-closing-time rule, but you sure didn’t expect the trouble to look like this.

Story Masterlist

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You were bored. Enormously. The clock was telling you there was still twenty minutes until the closing time and that time was always filled with boredom – half an hour ago, impressive crowds were still flooding the Captain America’s exhibition as if it was The Independence Day aka Cap’s birthday. Now, with the well-known rule of not letting any newcomers in less than 30 minutes before the closing time, the counter desk was painfully empty. Hence the boredom and the idle hands.

As far as you heard, idle hands were the devil’s tools and maybe it was the truth – but here in Smithsonian, there weren’t many things for the devil operate with. Sure, you could go to another level for a different exhibition and mix up some captions to artefacts, but that seemed like too much work and with how crowded the space was, it was next to impossible. Another option was to pull the fire alarm, but you weren’t that much of a punk.

So, most of the time, you settled with watching people around you – unlike when the insane number of people was flowing in and if you hadn’t had an ID shoved into your face allowing a children discount you wouldn’t have known if a kid was coming or an adult, a man, a woman, a farmer, the freaking president or Captain America himself – finally having the time to relax. You weren’t proud of barely paying attention during the busy hours, but… well. You made up for that in the free time in the evening.

There was a kid with a backpack with Captain America’s shield on it, watching what could be his brother in his father’s arms as he was holding the kid up right next to the panel showing Captain’s transformation from the skinny boy to a walking rock. Very cute rock. Anyway, in the corner, an incredibly bored-looking girl was pulling her mother’s sleeve, impatient to get out, perhaps looking forward to seeing a cartoon instead of a war museum exhibit. There was a guy rolling his eyes at his girlfriend, who was standing by the display of authentic outfits (and mannequins, the source of the man’s annoyance, if you could take a guess), making heart eyes at the Captain’s figure; you couldn’t hold back a giggle and looked away.

Which was exactly when you noticed the pair on the different side of the gate, outside of the space of exhibition. It was a woman with a boy who couldn’t be older than six years old. He would have been cute, a ginger with several freckles on his nose and cheeks, looking like he would have dimples when smiling, but he wasn’t exactly in the mood for smiling. In fact, he seemed wrecked. Glassy tears were rolling down his cheeks, welled up in huge eyes and he sniffed from time to time. The woman whom you assumed was his mother was trying to comfort him, herself wearing a helpless expression.

Alright, you were leaving your post right now. Perhaps it was the devil’s handiwork indeed, maybe it was none of your business, whatever the kid was crying for. But it was breaking your heart. You approached them rapidly, and being just few steps from them, you could see the mum pointing at a sign – the sign that was telling them that they could no longer enter the exhibition.

Ah, damn.

“Can I help you?” you asked politely, the woman’s gaze immediately snapping your direction, startled a bit. She eyed your nametag.

“No, no thank you,” she brushed you off, an apologetic smile on her lips. The kid sniffed again.

“Alright. If you’re sure…”

You backed off quickly, spinning on your heels and mentally slapping yourself. Why had you come to them again?

“But mommy-“

“No, Jamie, sweetheart. We’re late, we spent too much time in the park. We’ll have to come here another time-“ the woman explained patiently, her voice gentle but firm.

You bit your lip but started walking. Rules. There were rules.

“But you said we’re coming home in the morning! I’ll never see Captain America,” he sobbed and your heart sank. They must have been tourists.

But nope. No exceptions. You would do it once and then it would become a standard. Not to mention you could also get freaking fired for it— well, probably not fired, just punished, but still. Rules.

“We do, honey. We’ll have to come-“

“But you promised!”

Yeah, that was enough. You turned to them again and squatted to the kid. He frowned at you, his lower lip trembling. Oh boy, now you were lost to him.

“There are rules that need to be followed,” you said quietly and the kid sobbed again. The mother looked at you, caught between apologetic and angry about you moralizing her kid. You quickly continued. “But, we have one more rule here that not many people know. Can you keep a secret?”

The boy seemed intrigued enough, which was good. You eyed the woman; she was watching you in anticipation, probably ready to report you for harassment, but curious about what your play was.

The kid nodded.

“Good. I’ll tell you, but I’m gonna ask you a question first, okay?” Another nod. “Who’s Captain America?”

“A hero!” the kid replied immediately, his eyes lighting up with a spark of excitement. You couldn’t help but smile.

“And why is he a hero?”

“Because he’s strong! And he has the shield! I have a Frisbee like him! He’s the best superhero!”

You bit the inside of your cheek at the idea of what the big hero would think about his shield being compared to a Frisbee – it certainly wasn’t the first time you heard this, but it never failed to amuse you.

“Really? That’s great. But do you know why he’s a real hero?”

The boy seemed thoughtful for a second before he measured you with wide eyes, clueless.

“Because,” you whispered, leaning closer to him conspiratorially, “he has a good heart and he’s helping people.”

The kid was in awe. The mother stared at you, still unsure of what you would do.

“Now the secret – we have one more rule here. If someone has enough strength to open the ticket barrier, he can come in even if there is only 20 minutes left.” Jamie’s eyes widened, his mouth falling open. “But, he can’t only open it for himself. He needs to be of a good heart and let someone else in. Do you think you can do that? Are you good?”

The kid immediately nodded in agreement, taking his mum’s hand. You smiled at him and looked at the woman hesitantly. Did you just screw up?

“Can you really let us in?” she asked you lowly when you levelled yourself with her. You just nodded wordlessly. You would have to put in someone’s year pass, but it would work.

The boy practically pulled his mum to the ticket barrier, impatient. He tried to push before you even took your place by the computer. The barrier didn’t move, of course. You mentally grinned at his confused expression and quickly entered a pass. He tried again, an amazed smile on his lips as he went through. Being on the other side, he pulled so his mum could get in too. He had an extremely focused expression on his face and he was too cute for his own good. The way he lighted up when the woman got in was simply priceless.

“Mom! I’m strong and good like Captain America!” he exclaimed enthusiastically and the woman patted his head lovingly.

“Yes, sweetheart. Now, let’s thank the nice lady-“

“Thank you!”

“You’re welcome. Now go to see your hero,” you whispered encouragingly, anxious to get them moving. You were suddenly worried that your interaction might attract someone’s curious eye. You prayed it hadn’t.

The mother shot you one more grateful look and let her son to drag her away. You went to throw the tickets away to destroy the evidence, picking few more on your way – why did people throw these on the floor when the trashcan was like three meters away?

"That was really nice of you."

"Crap!” you cursed, nearly jumping out of your skin at the fright. Someone had seen you let the kid in. Definitely. Oh shit. You quickly spun to the male voice. “I— please don't report me. I’m-“

You froze when you saw the man who had witnessed your offence to the regulations, recognizing him immediately despite his baseball cap and casual stance.

“OH CRAP."

"You seem to swear a lot though," he noted, the smile on his lips amused, cheeky even.

Captain America was a cheeky man. Who would have guessed? Not you, that was for sure. You slowly let the impossible fact of Steve Rogers being here sink in. It was not an easy task, your mind kept screaming ‘holy shit, Captain America is here and talking to me’, but that was not the main problem – the rule-breaking was. Captain America caught you breaking a rule. You were so fired.

"Well, someone who is not just anyone, caught me breaking a rule that is written in huge-a-“ you closed you mouth before another curse could leave you mouth, remembering his… teasing? “-huge letters for everyone to see. The American symbol of righteousness did, actually. I count myself entitled."

You were honestly proud of yourself for saying so many sentences without a stutter despite freaking out.

His smile turned a bit bashful, the amused spark remaining in his eyes only. Really? He was self-conscious? And now? Wow. Did he notice his face was all over the walls? The entire exposition was about him for god’s sake.

"I won't report you. I told you – I think it was really nice of you."

You hesitantly smiled back, still unsure. "Uhm... okay."

And then you did something you excelled at. You spun on your heels and returned behind the counter, pretending you didn’t exist. You didn’t even say goodbye; yet, you would swear that when was Steven Grant Rogers disappearing behind a corner, he glanced at you over his shoulder with a smile.

The moment you couldn’t see him anymore, you let your elbows hit the counter desk and your head fell into your palms with a whine.

You had talked to Captain America. He had been ridiculously nice despite – or because – of what he had seen you doing. And you ran away. You were such an idiot.

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To say that you forgot about the incident before it was time to kick people out would be a big fat lie – mainly because it had been only tens of minutes. It was time to close the exposition for visitors. The guards always took care of people, reminding them that it was time to go and by eight o’clock, the last individuals were leaving so you could close the gate. Today was your turn to check on the space once more as the guards were switching shifts and so you rose to your feet to perform your duty as your sort-of-friend Mia waved you goodbye.

Usually, there were no ‘left-overs’ as you called people who somehow managed to escape the security and stayed in. But naturally, with your turn being today, there had to be an exception.

You slowly approached the man standing by Sergeant Barnes’ panel, realizing who he was within several feet distance. You stopped dead in your tracks, unsure what do to.

What would anyone else do when finding Captain America standing by his dead best friend’s panel after clock? ‘Cause you sure as hell had no clue how you should proceed. You nervously bit your lip, continuing your way with no plan.

You stopped two steps from him, opening your mouth and-- no words came out. You closed it again, clearing your throat.

“Captain Rogers, uhm…“

He glanced at you, seemingly surprised, as if he only acknowledged you now, when you were standing at arm’s length – well, his anyway. His blue eyes measured you, a bit confused until he looked around only to see no one else was here. How the hell did the guard miss him? Or had he left him here? Should you do the same?

"Sorry, I'm leaving," he whispered with a forced smile, sparing one more glance at the board. You did the same, your eyes landing on the date of birth of the soldier. Your heart sank. Oh. It was suddenly very clear whether you should leave Captain alone here or not; it was the anniversary of his best friend’s birthday.

"You don't... you don't have to,” you blurted out hastily, waving it off in a wannabe casual gesture. He tilted his head, confused. “I need to do some… administrative stuff anyway. Have your moment."

"Really? Bending the rules again?" he asked, the teasing coming out much less challenging than he probably intended. You shrugged.

"Only if it's okay with the Star-Spangled Man."

He lowered his gaze to the floor, but a tiny grateful smile played on his lips. "It is. Thank you."

"It's nothing."

"It's a lot. And... my name is Steve."

He peeked at you from under his unnaturally long eyelashes, his eyes saying more than his words or tone. You felt your heart jump nervously, blood rushing to your cheeks. He actually extended his hand for you to shake. His hand was freaking huge – yet, it closed around yours rather gently despite being able to crush your bones to dust or something.

"Nice to meet you… Steve. It's an honour." One corner of his lips rose higher at the note and you just wished to disappear into thin air before you would turn into a puddle of lovesick jelly with rapidly beating heart. You took your leave hastily, whispering over your shoulder. “Take your time.”

It was only few minutes later when you were dully staring at the computer screen on the counter that you realized you hadn’t even introduced yourself to the man you apparently had a crush on – you were fucking working at his exhibition, how had you missed that? You whimpered silently and resisted urge to bang your forehead against the desk.

Almost thirty minutes later, you really needed to leave and kick Capt— Steve out. You really, really didn’t want to do that. You had secretly hoped he would pass your desk during ‘administrative stuff’ time, but he hadn’t.

Approaching him by the very same board you had left him at, you felt like a monster.

“Lots of memories?” you tried out, minding to whisper so you wouldn’t startled him like the last time.

“Yeah, more than I can count. Mostly the good ones though. He saved me from getting beat to a pulp multiple times. Often dragged me out to dance, because he met a new girl and she was generous enough to bring a friend – not that she was interested in a guy who was barely reaching her shoulders,” he hummed, remembering his pre-serum times probably. There was nothing malicious or envious in his words. He seemed melancholic. “Bucky was a true ladies’ man.”

You couldn’t help but grin – sure, with Bucky’s looks and him being excellent at about everything, you could imagine. But it was a little different, hearing it from Captain America himself.

“Was he now?”

“Oh yes. The first time a beautiful woman looked at me rather than at him, he said he was living a nightmare becoming me.”

“He didn’t,” you whispered incredulously, silencing the giggle that wanted to escape your lips. Damn, some best friend he was; you were sure Bucky only had been teasing and it felt so casual, so normal, just two friends making fun of each other. It wasn’t exactly easy to imagine that when all you had ever heard were legends of their bravery.

Steve glanced at you with a corner of his eye. “He did.”

“That’s mean. What did you say?”

His smile grew wider. “Not to be sore about it, because she sure had a friend.”

You burst out laughing, feeling like Mr. Righteous suddenly stepped into a column of light which made him someone completely else. Cheeky. Mischievous. Friendly in the most common way. Human. Just a guy. Just a kid from Brooklyn.

“I take it I really need to leave now,” he noted, his hands tucked in the pockets of his jeans as if he truly was a regular guy walking down the street. Unbelievable.

“Depends,” you hummed, not sure where that came from. “You have more fun facts like this to share? Or not funny ones, just interesting?”

He tilted his head curiously, examining you, trying to figure out whether you were serious.

“You won’t get into trouble?”

You shrugged. “I don’t think so.”

“In that case, I actually do. Follow me, madam.”

An hour later, your cheeks hurt, your tear ducts were probably dried up completely and your head was full of so many new information it should hurt, but instead, it was just buzzing pleasantly. Also, you were sure you had a heart condition, because that constant flutter could not be healthy. You were tired, yet, you found yourself being disappointed that the special tour was ending.

"Okay, now I feel really sorry we don't do guided tours. I would be so popular..." you exclaimed, rewarded by a grin from Steve.

"It's a thing to consider. You should offer it to your boss."

You let out probably very unattractive snort. "Sure. And why would we wanna do that, miss? Because Captain America took me on a tour and told me very interesting details. He would probably want to run blood tests to check for drugs or something.... Thank you, Capt— Steve. I imagine it couldn't have been all easy."

"It's memories. It still... still feels more like home," he admitted and after so many rather light facts, you were reminded of just how heavy his destiny was.

"I can't imagine that. Waking up after seventy years. It's..."

"Insane?" he offered, eyebrow raised.

"I was gonna say ��lonely’, but sure, ‘insane’ works. Everything has to be so different."

"It is. The progress of technology... I mean... just phones and computers. It's… a lot."

"Yeah... I wonder how much the world would change if I fell asleep for 70 years now. Theories? More like flying cars or a huge garbage bin like in Wall-E?"

"Wall-E?" he questioned, looking a bit confused. Only then it hit you – he probably hadn’t seen it.

"Oh, right. It's an animated film set in the future. A robot named Wall-E is on Earth, searching for a sign of life, fauna, flora, anything, while the rest of humanity is on a huge spaceship. Not your typical Pixar movie. I remember seeing it as a kid and being bored out of my mind when the first twenty minutes was just the robot moving between trash and occasionally saying ‘Wall-E’. It gets better though. Still, it's pretty far from movies like Finding Nemo."

"…I don't know what that is either.”

"Dude! You gotta check out Finding Nemo!" you called out, half outraged, half excited. Then you froze. "I mean— sorry. Jesus, I just called you a dude-"

What was wrong with you? You had had troubles to switch from Captain to Steve, and now he was a dude? Talk about respect, young lady…

But Steve just laughed at you, a full-belly laugh with his head thrown backwards and it was so normal and relaxed that you found yourself starring incredulously and possibly a little bit in love.

"That's okay, really. You got very excited."

"It's an amazing movie! Do you... do you catch up with pop culture?" you asked, honestly curious.

Seventy years’ worth of books, movies, TV series, music, theatre… wow. You couldn’t imagine that.

"I'm trying," he admitted, pulling out a small notebook and a pen. For a split second, you thought he was gonna give you his phone number, which was ridiculous of course. He wrote something down, smiling. "Now I have other tips.” Now that made more sense. “Do they still play that?"

"Yeeeah... no. Not by a long shot. You can always downlo— how does Captain America feel about downloading stuff from the internet? I mean..."

"That's like... putting it into your computer without paying a single dollar, right?" he asked, just to be sure. It was cute.

"Yep. Which I don't do. At all."

His laugh was more subtle this time, but his eyes were locked with yours, causing you butterflies, so there was that. "Well, Captain America is very disappointed in you. Steve understands."

"Thanks, Steve. Is it offensive to say that it somehow matters to me more?"

"Not really."

His eyes shined and his smile was wrapping you in a soft warm blanket and you knew that if there was something you definitely didn’t want it was saying goodbye and never seeing this man again. In flesh, that was, the exhibition didn’t count. Your mind raced.

"...I just got the craziest idea."

"If at first, the idea is not absurd, then there is no hope for it,” he quoted god knew who. You assumed it was a quote, not that you wanted to underestimate this wonderful man. “Hit me with it."

You gulped nervously. This was as terrible idea as it was an amazing one.

"There are old slide projectors in here, sure... but there are digital projectors too. If you... if you wanted to... have a cinema-like atmosphere, I can download the movie for you to watch it here,” you offered reluctantly, carefully observing his reaction. “Hell, we have a microwave in personal’s, I can even make popcorn!”

He blinked at you, the shiny baby-blues baffled.

“Or not. It's a silly idea-"

"No!” he protested quickly, smiling reassuringly at you. “It's... it sounds really nice. Do you think the guards would be... okay with that? You did mean after closing time, right?"

Did he just say yes?

"Yeah, of course! And yes, I mean... it would be for Captain America. How could they say no?"

His cheeks seemed to flush – but that must have been the lighting only, right? Captain America was not freaking blushing. Though he did look a bit timid. "You would really do that?"

"Sure. I mean... I can try."

"Alright — but only if it's not too much trouble. I wouldn't want you to have problems with your employer," he said sincerely, his eyes locked with yours again and your heart honest to god stopped.

Christ, was he trying to give you a heart attack?

“ ’kay,” you breathed, completely lost, mesmerized by the intensity of his gaze.

What was your name again?

“If I give you my phone number, will you text me when you would have time?”

It was official; you had died and went to heaven. An incredibly attractive man was standing in front of you practically shoving you his phone number and it might have been purely friendly, but still. Oh. My. God.

“Yep.”

Really? ‘Yep’?

He pulled out the notebook again, tearing one page and writing down the digits. You forgot how to breathe. This was really happening. He handed you the paper with a shy smile and whispered ‘here you go.’ When he added your name, you were about to swoon.

He wrote down not only the number, but his name too. You found it adorable, chuckling at that.

“You think I’m carrying lots of phone numbers in my pockets, Steve?” you teased him about it a little and he seemed confused at first, until something that was not a flirtatious smile for sure settled on his lips.

“Wouldn’t surprise me.”

Your breath caught in your throat, some inner voice screaming at you not to interpret it in a wrong way. Steve was a very nice person, that was a fact. He probably didn’t even realize how that sounded. Yeah, that was it.

You laughed it off. “Sure. Thanks, Steve, I’ll let you know. Hopefully, you won’t be busy.” Alright, backpedal, backpedal. “Thank you for the special tour, Captain.”

“You’re very welcome, ma’am,” he saluted and you chuckled silently. Who was this guy? Did you imagine this? Were you high? Maybe you really needed the blood tests… “Have a good night-- you need a ride?”

You almost choked on your own spit. BACKPEDAL.

Oh yes, you could use a ride. Whatever that meant.

You smiled awkwardly. “Uhm… no thank you. Goodnight, Steve.”

He returned the goodbye with a tiny smile.

You held the delighted shriek inside until five minutes passed since the door closed behind him.

You were in so much trouble.

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Part 2 (final)

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Tags: @mermaidxatxheart

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Awww, this one is an oldie of mine. Even more fluff than usual and that’s saying something...

#marvel #fanfiction #mcu #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #captain america fanfiction #captain america imagine #captain america exhibit #fluff #lessons in rule-breaking #anika ann

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years

Note

#1 or #13 for indruck? sfw or nsfw, dealer's choice :)

I went with 13 and NSFW: “we make contact before trying to steal the last seat on the subway/bus/train and I end up in your lap and fuck you, I’m going to stay here because I’ve had a really long day and this seat was mine”

The concert was a bust, Duck is learning that, at the ripe old age of 24, his body can no longer stand up to a mosh-pit, and Juno had to cut out early, taking the car. Which is fine, he can take BART home.

Except there was a fucking game tonight and everyone and their goddamn uncle is packed onto the train. He dips and shoves his way in, spots the sole empty seat towards the back and makes it there before it’s taken. He sighs, turning to sit, only for a black clad figure to slip in behind him.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

The man looks up, startled, and Duck sees he has earbuds in and was staring at his phone when he sat down.

“Excuse me?”

“That was my seat.”

“Clearly not, since I’m sitting in it.”

“I was about toFUCK!” The train jolts and he loses his balance, landing in the seat-stealers lap.

“Agh, hey!”

“Fuckin’ busted ass infrastructure.” God it feels nice to be off his feet. Fuck it, he’s staying here.

“Are, ah, you planning to get up any time soon?” The man is trying to push him off, so Duck puts all his weight into his lap.

“Nope, gonna stay right here because it’s my fuckin seat.”

“It is not! It is a public train, no one has claim to a seat!”

“There’s rules!”

“It was empty so I sat down. I have been up on my feet since four in the morning, for goodness sake, I just wanted to sit.”

“Join the fuckin club.”

“Get. off” He grunts, continues failing to move Duck, “agh, why are you so heavy?”

“Hey!”

“Look, normally I enjoy having a bear in my lap, but not when you’re cutting off circulation in my thighs.”

“I’ll take my own weight again if you stop pushin me.”

“Fine.” The man crosses his arms, slumps back in the seat. Duck adjusts so he’s no longer just dead weight.

“You’re really going to sit on me the whole ride?”

“Yep.”

The man grumbles something rude, shoves his earbud back in and stares angrily at his phone. Duck pulls his phone out, but keeps glancing at his new chair. The man’s hair is dyed silver, with black patches that suggest he did it himself. His ears are pierced, his glasses are dark red, there’s a weird orange crystal around his neck, and his jacket is covered in patches. Duck knows his type; some willowly gay trying to hard to seem edgy. He’s probably on his way to the suburbs on the other side of the tunnel. And he’s gotta ride in his lap for a fucking half hour.

He snorts in bitter amusement and turns on a video. About ten minutes later, he realizes he’s not watching alone.

“Don’t you got your own phone?” He turns, finds the stranger’s head cocked in interest, still engrossed in his screen.

“Hey’ he snaps his fingers in front of his glasses, “I asked why the fuck you’re looking over my shoulder.”

“Because our positions mean your screen is right in my sight whenever I look up.” He glares, then adds, “although now I’m mostly just watching for fun. Who knew plants could be so interesting?”

Duck almost offers to share, then decides he’s not getting seat-stealer ear-gunk on his headphones. He turns back to his phone with another annoyed grunt. And promptly flicks on the closed captions in case the stranger wants to read them.

Twenty minutes into the ride his butt is falling asleep, so he shifts in the stranger’s lap. The man hisses, bumping an arm into his side to still him.

“Stop moving.”

“I’m just--oh” he registers the unmistakable feeling of a denim-trapped cock bumping his ass.

“Jesus, man.” He giggles at how ridiculous it is; he spent half last week trying to get various guys into this position with him, and now some dipshit on a train’s done it by accident.

“I’m, I’m sorry” it’s still a hissing whisper, “it’s vibrations from the train plus friction, I didn’t mean for it to happen, so for goodness sake stay still.”

“Why? Ain’t my fault you got a hair-trigger down there.”

“You'd be singing a different song if our positions were reversed.” The voice is creeping up an octave.

A wicked thought enters his head, “Who say’s I ain’t in the same boat now?”

“Because I can see you, you jerk.”

“Eh, I ain’t all that big. Thick, but nothin’ to write home about, not to mention these jeans are kinda loose. So I could be getting wound up as we speak and you might not spot it.”

“Talking about your dick is not helping the situation.” The man is staring him down now, hunger flitting around beneath mortification on his face.

He escalates the game, wiggles his ass slightly, “Might wanna rethink those tight jeans next time.”

“If, if nnnh!” the man stifles a moan against Duck’s neck, then giggles “if this is how you flirt, I think I might know an issue with your approach.”

“Naw, this ain’t how I flirt.” He turns, exaggerates his drawl, “if I were flirtin, I’d ask if a tall drink of water like you was in the mood for some bear huntin. Tell you I liked your style, liked the thought of you under me in bed,” he reaches his hand up, runs his fingertips along the man’s cheekbones, and from so close he sees an excited, playful glint in the eyes behind the glasses, “liked how that face is cut-diamond gorgeous.”

The glint disappears, “Please don’t tease. Not about that, anyway.”

“I ain’t.” The sincerity sparks between them without warning as he splays his fingers on a cool cheek to gingerly cup it.

“That, uh, that is, uh, I’d say all that if we we’re flirtin’.” He turns back around, flustered and wrong-footed by his own damn feelings. He wants the other man to start the game again. He wants to say he’s sorry, ask if they can start over. He wants someone, anyone, to make the decision about what to do next for him.

The stranger obliges him, wiry arms slipping around his middle as breath tickles his neck.

“Since we’re playing what ifs, were I flirting with you, I might say that the shirt you are wearing is very flattering.” He hesitates, and Duck realizes that in spite of being around him, his arms aren’t actually touching Duck. They’re waiting, patiently, for a sign to continue.

Duck takes the bony wrists, drawing the arms close, and chuckles, “you did say you liked my type.”

“I did. Or, ah, I do.’ One hand pets Duck’s thigh. Keeping an eye out for onlookers, he guides the other stealthily under his jacket and shirt, shivering as cold fingers tease his skin.

“Well, uh, how do I measure up, ahehe, hey, no, was tryin to show off this bit.” He guides the hand currently petting his belly up to the noticeable muscle near his pecs.

“I know, and it is very nice” A purr in his ear now, “but I like this bit just as much.” His other hand rubs circles on Ducks belly through his clothes, “it’s all such a pleasing shape.”

A kiss on his neck makes him sigh, and he fights to get the upper hand again, to not just melt, to make this a game again because the game feels safe.

“Seems like your dick’s calmed down some.”

“Yes, thank you for holding sti-AH” another moan in his shoulder, another high laugh as he jerks his hips without warning, “you dick.”

“Pretty sure that’s your dick.” Duck grins at him, enjoying the fact he’s still holding him, savoring how he can nuzzle his cheek even as he whispers, “sure as hell’d like to make it mine, though.”

“Is that so? I’d like to see you try.” The man practically snarls, lust dripping from every word.

He doesn’t get to answer, drowned out by the voice announcing his stop.

“Shit, that’s me, gotta, uh, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Getting off the train?” The man points at the opening doors, “this is my stop too.”

They make their way off and onto the platform. It would be easy to lose each other in the crowds, slip away and pretend nothing ever happened. Yet Duck keeps his pace slow and, when they do get separated, he finds his new friend has chosen the exit turn-style with the longest line, conveniently allowing Duck to catch up with him.

When they reach the street, night air chilling with fog, Duck decides to be reckless.

“How close is your place?”

“Six blocks that way.”

“Mine’s four this way.” He holds out his hand. The stranger takes it, grinning, and they’re off, stopping only when crosswalk and Saturday night traffic demands it.

“Almost thereah!” Duck jumps a little when, as they’re stuck waiting, the other man steps directly behind him, kneading his ass.

“MmM, apologies, this has been tempting me ever since you sat down.”

“You were rubbin off on it, ain’t that enough?”

“That was on accident. This” he squeezes harder “is on purpose.”

“C’mon.” Duck growls, dragging them across the intersection and to the door of his apartment. They’re stone cold sober but take the stairs like drunks, fumbling and mis-stepping as they laugh and grab at each other.

Duck slams the door shut and shoves the taller man against it, making him stumble and bring them both to the floor. He kisses him hard, biting his lip and pulling silver hair while bony fingers dig into his back and ass. Their tongues tease together and he gets a hint of metal, pulls back.

“Stick out your tongue.”

Instant compliance as the other man reveals his pierced tongue through panting lips.

“Damn, gonna have some fun with that later.”

“Why, why wait?”

“Because” he tugs a fistful of hair, making him whine, “you’re gonna get that nice cock out and get real hard so I can ride you.”

“Yes, ohyesyes.” He’s frantically undoing his pants as Duck stands and strips his own off, tossing them and his boxers into the laundry.

“Stay.” He rifles through his tiny nightstand, finds two condoms and his lube, returns and barks, “legs out in front of you.

Lean legs still half-trapped in jeans slide forward, red canvas sneakers scuffing the floor.

“Now” Duck straddles him, tearing open a condom as he does, “you keep that dick nice and hard while I get ready. Then I’m, fuck, gonna use it like a toy.” He pushes the first finger deeper, moaning, grits his teeth trying to get the second in as the silver-haired man slowly strokes himself, licking his lips as he stares at Duck’s hardening cock.

“C’mon, fuck, there we go” he breathes deep, gets three fingers in and flexes them.

“Don’t, nnnn, rush on my account, I’m enjoying the show.” He runs his free hand up Duck’s body, purring appreciatively.

“Cute how you think you’re the one settin’ the pace.” He pulls his fingers out, grabs the second condom and rolls it down that perfectly average but nonetheless mouthwatering cock, “fuck, yeah, yeah,” he sinks down the first few inches and the other man’s head thunks back, hands flying to gratefully cup and paw his ass.

“Oh goodness, ohyes, you, your ass is amazing.”

“Think so? Then how about you, nnfuck, thank me for the pleasure of fuckin it.” He sinks down nearly to the base, a high gasp coming from his partner when he does. Based on their exchange on the train, he’s expecting the man to tease, or maybe snark at him.

What he gets is a desperate, blissed out expression and, “thank you, thankyouohgodthankyou” as his hips buck wildly, making Duck grunt with each thrust.

“There we, fuck, there we go sugar, now you got the idea, you be good and fuck me like youFUCK, mean it, maybe I’ll even cum on you.”

A whimper as the thrusts quicken, Duck bouncing as best he can with the angle and speed. He dips forward, kisses him messily, then switches to tender pecks up and down as face until laughter joins the moans.

The he grabs the other man’s hair and yanks hard enough to pull some of it out, making him sob with pleasure and pump madly up into him, delivering two retaliatory smacks to Duck’s ass.

“Oh fuck yeah” Duck grins, “you like it rough, don’t you sugar?”

“Yes, god yes, AHnnnn” Duck bites his neck this time, chuckling when he hears his feet kicking against the wood floor.

“Good, I like it too.” He murmurs, kissing the new bruise before biting down on it a second time.

“AHGOD, god, please, I’m, I’m close, I want to come, please sweetheart, please-”

“Duck.”

“W-what?”

“My name, fuck, that’s my name.”

“Ohhhhh” the man nods, understanding, then tightens his hold on him, “Duck, please, you feel so good, so amazing, please let me cum.”

“Alright sugar, since I’m feeling, fuck, so fuckin generous, you can cum in my ass.”

Two more thrusts and a high, breathy cry signal the taller man doing just that, his whole body shaking under Duck. He’s fighting to stay upright, panting as he looks to Duck for direction. Duck grabs his left hand from his hip and places it on his dick, guides it swiftly up and down.

“Mnnff, yeah, like that, like that sugar, fuck that feels good.”

A pleased whimper as a narrow nose and metal glasses frames presses into his neck, the man clinging to him with his other hand.

“You like that? Like bein’ good for somethin?”

“Yes, yes, want to be good, want to be good for you.”

A pang of affection and he kisses his cheek even as he growls, “you wanna see just what you’re good for.”

A nod, and so he cups the back of the man’s head, shifting it so he’s gazing down as his cock.

Duck snarls “That’s what you’re fuckin, fuck, good for, and goddamn you do it well, fuck, fuck, ain’t been this fuckin hard in months, fuck, shit.” He comes, dropping the cool hand as spend dribbles down their joined fingers.

Then he slumps forward, hoping for a few seconds to catch his breath before the man up and leaves. But all he does is loop his arms around him, breathe shaky as he nuzzles and kisses Duck’s hair. So Duck takes his time, let’s his breathing recover, enjoys the feeling of fine hair under his fingers and heartbeat next to his own.

“I, ah, I don’t wish to bother you, but could I have a tissue? I have, ah, eh, well-”

Duck sits up and immediately giggles; the man has cum across the left lens of his glasses.

“Shit, sorry about that. Here, I can get ‘em clean.”

A shy smile as the glasses are handed off, and he’s face to face with deep brown eyes, still glazed with contentment.

“Be right back.” He kisses him once. His search for a clean cloth, however, leaves him vulnerable.

“OWFUCK, jesus Taco!” An enraged ball of blonde fur savages his ankle and his friend sits up, alarmed.

“Do you need help?”

“Naw, ow, he’s just pissed that we made a racket and woke him up.”

“Oh dear, that was very rude.” The man holds out his hand and, to Duck’s surprise, gets a headbump and a “mrrp” instead of a brush off.

“My, aren’t you soft and lovely. You said his name was Taco?” He keeps scritching the cat’s head, smiling, as he looks at Duck.

“Yeah. And, uh, speakin of names, I, uh, I never got yours.” The admission is at once thrilling and shameful.

“Indrid.”

“It’s, uh, it’s nice to meet you, Indrid.” He holds out the now clean glasses and Indrid slips them on, before tilting his head and sitting up on his knees to look at Duck’s thigh.

“I assume this tattoo is because of your name?”

“Eeesh, yeah. Long story short, ex of mine got tattoo equipment and offered me a hundred bucks if I let him practice one on me. I needed the cash, but I was a dingdong and let him choose the design. Thought he was real funny.”

“Please tell me he did not go on to become a professional” Indrid wrinkles his nose at the cartoonish image.

“Nope. Got bored with it. Like he did, uh, most things.”

“Ah.” Indrid nods with perfect understanding and sympathy, “you know, it would take a little design work, but I could correct this into something knew, something you might like.”

“Not unless you got a-”

“License? Almost. I’m finishing up my apprenticeship at Cobra over in the city. I might even be able to swing you a, ah, shall we say, friends and family discount.”

“Shit, really?”

“Of course. Why would I offer if I didn’t mean it?” He looks up, so sweet and genuine that Duck wants to fall to the floor and cuddle him up.

“Do you, uh, do you want to shower? With me? We’re both kinda sticky.”

“Very well.” Indrid stands, following him to the bathroom, “though you’re warned, I like it hot.”

Duck turns on the water, kisses him playfully on the nose, “I gathered.”

Indrid laughs, pulls him into a kiss, smiling all the while.

They swap tattoo stories as they shower, Indrid explaining the designs on his arms and complimenting the realistic pine tree on Duck’s arm. By the time they’re dried and bundled in various tray sweatpants and shirts, Indrid is asking him about what he does.

“Golden Gate Park. My, that must be a master gardeners dream.”

“It’s pretty damn cool, even if I’m still just low level help.”

“You must” Indrid yawns, leaning against him in bed, “you must tell me all about it.”

“In the mornin’, sugar.” Duck lays down next to him, grabbing his thickest blanket to compensate for the shitty heat in the building.

“I don’t” another yawn “I don’t wish to impose, I can call a ride or something, or just walk home.”

“Do you wanna stay?” Duck asks softly.

“Yes. Very much.” Indrid nods, smiles sleepily when Duck gently removes his glasses and sets them on the nightstand.

“Then stay. Please. Fuck, Indrid, I know we got off on a bad foot but I’m so fuckin glad you stole my seat. I wanna get to know you so bad.”

“Was my seat, but agreed.” Indrid smirks as he cuddles closer.

“That’s good enough for me, sugar. Sleep tight.”

He switches off the light and curls up in the arms of the happiest accident he’s ever had.

#Indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #meet ugly #prompt fills #the author does not condone this method of conflict resolution

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ncstings · 4 years

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#7 having a phone call from the non sexual from of intimacy list - luke & charlotte

It’s been a long time since he’d been in this spot. Maybe in his early twenties when he’d be away from Scarlet, he’d find himself here. But there’s something about the open planes and the smell of the grass that makes him nostalgic for something wholesome.

“Hey bud,” There’s a voice behind him, and he turns around.

His dad’s finally looking like he’s aging. For a long time he’d looked like he’d been preserved in a glass case, forever thirty-three. But maybe it was the loss that did that. Froze him in time to the moment Mom got shot and he didn’t age until he found peace with it. Moved on.

Moved on in the shape of a six foot tall woman named Terry who looked a little bit like Sandra Bullock. She knits and goes to church every Sunday and calls her kids once a week to tell them everything they’ve missed in this bum-fuck town. She also sends Luke brownies on his birthday and he has no idea why they taste so good, or what she puts in them to make them hold up so well through postage.

But Dad’s happy and that’s all that matters.

“Hey,” Luke’s got his hands in his pockets, squinting from the light shining in from the hallway.

It’s not his childhood house. Dad moved out of there a long time ago. Both he and Terry work pretty good jobs, they were able to find some contemporary place on the edge of town. Big windows, hardwood. Modern. But how they built modern in the eighties.

“We’re all going to watch a movie downstairs. The kids picked.” He smiles. “I made the mistake of telling them about your famous popcorn and now they wont stop begging for it.”

Luke can’t help the lopsided smile on his features when his dad brings it up. Both of Terry’s kids have kids of their own. They’re cute. They call him Uncle Luke which makes his chest ache in a way he never thought it would. And his step siblings are nice. They don’t ask too many questions. The last time he saw them was when he went home after getting out of the hospital. Terry hovered a bit too much and her kids came by for dinner. One of his first meals in years he hadn’t cooked himself. It wasn’t too bad.

“Maybe in a bit.” He nods, looking at his dad. It’s hard to resent the man for years of neglect when really, he was doing what he could with the pain left at his front door. It’s not his fault Mom died. Not his fault he couldn’t handle losing her.

“Okay, bud.” He pats the door frame. “Happy to have you home.” Luke catches his smile in the light. It’s good to see it.

The man turns the corner and slides the door so it’s half shut, light still leaking in. Luke turns back around to sit on the edge of the bed, looking out the big floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the massive flat planes in front of their property.

He digs out his phone. He stares at the screen for a moment before he taps the button, holding it up to his ear.

It rings four times. By the fifth, he wonders if he should just hang up.

“I can’t come over.” It’s the first thing she says, and he can tell she’s tired. “It’s eleven-thirty.”

“Have you ever been the Wyoming?” He doesn’t answer Charlotte’s question, he just stands back up, stepping closer to the window.

There’s silence on her end, and she speaks. “I haven’t. Why?”

“I grew up thinking it was the most boring place on earth. Now I think I’m sort of getting the appeal.” He leans his arm against the window, watching the wind blow through the long grass.

“So you’re going to be moving out to Wyoming then?” She speaks the words slowly, still confused.

“No,” He presses his lips together. “I think I’m just appreciating things differently now.”

“Why are you calling me, Luke. I have to be up early in the morning.” She’s getting impatient with him. “Are you drunk?”

“I’m not drunk.” He looks down at the driveway where his rental car is sitting. Terry only keeps wine in the house and they drank it all last night. If he wanted some, he could get some. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“To tell me you appreciate Wyoming?”

“To tell you I appreciate you.” He finger presses into the glass. He knows in his career life he’s moved at a mile a minute. But with Charlotte everything’s been so slow. So chaotic. There’s been yelling and bitter words and cold shoulders from both of them. But he likes when she speaks. Likes when she lays in his bed, or comes up next to him to try his breakfast in the morning. She likes her honesty and the way she laughs at his jokes. She doesn’t touch him with fear. She’s not repulsed by his body. She’s touched his scars not with some patronizing romanticism but with certainty.

“Oh,” She says after a few beats of silence. Luke’s not really sure what he’s trying to get out of sharing this. Maybe it’s that he’s not trying to get anything at all.

“I’m back home right now.” He continues, deciding not to wait for some type of answer. “I maybe come back once a year. Figured I’d come other than the holidays and see my old man.” He finger traces patterns in the glass, still a bit taken by the moonlight over the grass. Of being in the middle of nowhere. No cars. No trains. No people. Just this house. “I just spent all night wondering where you were, and what you were doing. I don’t know why. I think you just occupy my brain sometimes. And then I got back to my room after dinner and I kept looking out the window and--...” For once, he doesn’t know where his words were carrying him. “You ever just get the feeling of wanting to share something with someone?”

He can hear her swallow on the other end, followed by a, “Yes.” Which comes out a bit shaken, a bit breathless.

“I’ve had that feeling all weekend.” He steps back, sitting on the bed. Silence hangs between them. It’s thick. It holds onto them by the collar, and he wonders if her breath is caught just like his is. “I didn’t want to keep you long, you should go to bed if you’ve got an early morning.” He looks down at his lap. There’s a stain on the edge of his shirt. One he hasn’t noticed. How long has that been there? He always notices those right away.

“Yes,” She clears her throat. “I have to try Gianno’s Breakfast Diner in the morning.”

He hums. “I’ve heard they’re good.”

Silence wraps them again but this feels a bit more soft. It’s a touch to the cheek and he’s shivering.

“Will you call when you come back?” She asks, his hand shaking.

“If you’d like that.”

“I would.”

“Then I will.” There’s a lot of empty promises he’s made in his life time. But this was one he planned to keep. “Have a good night, Charlotte.”

“You too.”

When he hangs up, he sits there and stares out the window for what feels like hours. Watching the grass dance back and forth, it feels like it steady’s his heartbeat.

He gets up finally, squinting at the light from the hallway when he leaves the room. But he walks down the hall and slides open the door to the deck, where he steps out. It’s quiet. The crickets are loud in his hears and he’s pretty sure there’s owl somewhere, making itself known. The wind passes through the grass and the sound of green against green could put anyone to sleep. He lifts up his phone, turning on his camera, and capturing the moment for ten seconds. Stationary. With the grass moving in patterns to get lost in, and the bugs singing undying tunes to hear. He turns it off, and pulls up his chat box. He doesn’t send any caption with it. Just lets the shared moment speak for itself.

He goes back inside, tucking his phone into his pocket to be forgotten, and he trots down the stairs where the others have started their movie.

#> ◦ luke & charlotte .

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wellhellotragic · 6 years

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Of Wolves and Lambs 8/?

Summary: Killian Jones has known a lifetime’s worth of pain. He’s lost everyone he’s ever cared about, but when the love of his life is murdered, he vows that nothing will stop him from getting his revenge. Even if it means losing his soul to do so. What starts off as a simple quest for revenge turns into a world filled with secrets and lies. Nothing is what he thought, and no one seems to be who he thought.

Rating: E (and that’s not E for everyone)

A/N: This is my last finished chapter of my repost so anything from here on out will be new material

The next nine months were a blur. Discovering that the love of his life was also the woman he had spent almost two years hunting had ruined him. Anger descended upon him and everything he had ever known to be true in his life twisted and contorted under his wrath.

He hated everyone. Milah, the woman he was meant to marry, the woman who was meant to carry his children had forsaken him for another. She had given her flesh to another man in spite of her promise to cherish their future. And then there was Emma. She had lied to him over and over. She had betrayed their friendship for a man unworthy of anything but death. She was the reason Milah had cheated on him, the reason she was dead. If he hadn’t spent so much time and energy focused on capturing her, he would have been home with Milah starting the life they had planned.

David had thrown him away like garbage for loving her. Had he known who she was too? Had everyone known and kept it a secret from him, laughing behind his back at the fool that he was?

He let the fury spur him on in his efforts to find the Alchemist. It was no longer the pain of losing Emma that fueled him in his mission, but the pure unadulterated hate that he felt for the world. He let it wash over him and drank it in.

Robin and Will did what they could, but he kept them at arms length, unable to trust anyone now but himself.

They had restarted their investigation from the beginning trying to see if they could amass any new information now that they had Emma as a lead. She had become a ghost from the moment she left Boston as a teenager though. She had received monthly paychecks from a shell corporation posing as a non-profit organization. The shell company was another dead-end.

Robin tried to reach out to Jefferson as Killian had explained that they had worked together at the non-profit, but Jefferson had disappeared as well. All inquiries into him showed that he had never even existed. His social security number had been spoofed from a child that had passed away a few months after birth. All efforts to run his fingerprints had yielded nothing. There was no next of kin, no change to his financial accounts, no leads to follow.

Finally, Killian was forced to go to the house in Storybrooke to search it for clues. When he entered the home he was met with covered furniture and inches of dust. No one had set foot in that house in twenty years. Still, he ransacked through every cabinet and drawer. He searched every inch of the stables. There was nothing to suggest that Emma Swan had hidden any information there.

In fact, the only item in the entire house that could prove that Emma had even existed was a framed photograph on a nightstand in the master bedroom. In the photograph stood a blonde woman with blue eyes looking up at a blonde, green-eyed child sitting atop a horse. The child smiled at the camera while the woman beamed up at the child with immense pride. The child looked to be around four years old.

He felt the rage build as he thought of her, the temptress that had destroyed everything he held dear in life. He grabbed the picture and lobbed it at the opposite wall as hard as he could. Glass shattered everywhere as the frame hit the ground. He was about to step over the mess to leave and search through another room when something on the back of the picture caught his eye. It was a small handwritten caption. Emma’s first riding lesson. For a moment he felt a twinge of sadness, looking at the front of the picture. For that one moment, he allowed himself to grieve her, to grieve for young Emma. His body slid down the door frame as he clutched the photograph to his chest.

He missed her. It wasn’t a thought he allowed himself to dwell on ever anymore. She was the enemy and he needed to think of her that way first and foremost, but there were those fleeting seconds that passed through his mind. Seconds where he remembered sitting on the couch with her in Ruth’s house. Seconds where he could almost hear her laughter ringing through his ears still. Seconds where he remembered whispering I love you in her ears as she drifted to sleep. Seconds that shattered his heart beyond repair. Seconds that were now pure torture.

He missed that young girl and the carefree spirit that had captivated him. He mourned for the innocence that she had lost, and for whatever had happened to her that turned her into the monster she had become. All of the oxygen left his body and he thought he might die from the void she left. But he didn’t. With a gasp, he reawaked, as did his anger, and with that, the affection he felt for her washed away in the storm of rage that poured upon him.

They were no closer to finding the Alchemist after months of research. Other specialty teams from both the United Kingdom and America had come up equally short for information.

Both Robin and Will implored him to take a few days off and clear his head. They hoped that if he could distance himself from everything, he may be able to regain control of himself, but he refused them each time they brought it up. Instead, he insisted on going over every detail once again. And that’s when he found it.

On his seventh review of Jefferson’s finances he found a small memo on the back of a check that had posted the day of Emma’s funeral. It was the last transaction made, one that was seemingly innocuous. He had written a check for a donation in Emma’s name to an organization that helped foster children apply to college. At the time, it had made sense. He knew Emma well enough to know that she had spent years in the system before Ruth and David took her in. It was the perfect way to honor her memory.

How had he never noticed it before? In the memo section he had written a note, For Pip, The greatest expectation is love. Something about that was stuck in his mind but he couldn’t quite pinpoint it.

“Hey guys, do we have any persons of interest named Pip or any variation there of,” he asked Will and Robin.

Robin cross searched their databases and came up short. Will went through all of the physical files in their makeshift office and also found nothing. Killian wasn’t ready to let it go though. He knew there was something to it, it was too random of a note to have meant nothing.

He stared at the copy of the check for over forty-five minutes trying and failing to decipherer the only clue he had. It was Will who finally forced him from the room stating that it was late and he needed to sleep on it.

He was out almost immediately when his head hit his pillow. The clue haunted him through his dreams though in the form of memories of Emma. He dreamt of their first night together. He had been consumed with his hunger for Emma at the time that he hadn’t noticed it was his first time in her room. When he woke that next morning Emma was sleeping soundly at his side. She looked so peaceful that he didn’t want to risk disturbing her, so he laid on his back, holding her in his arms as she snuggled in closer to him.

Her room was scarcely decorated. The dark blue walls were empty, devoid of any pictures or paintings. Aside from her bed, she had a single dresser, one nightstand on each side of the bed, and an oversized bookshelf. There was nothing there that spoke of the room belonging to Emma except for the rows and rows of all her favorite novels filling the bookshelf. She had always been an avid reader, and all of the books on the shelf looked to be first editions, well worn around the bindings and aged in color. As he perused the books from his spot on the bed, he noticed a single empty spot, likely from whichever one she was currently reading. Emma stirred next to him and let out a small hum of content.

He woke with a start. It was the vividness of the dream that had startled him. He could almost smell her shampoo; feel her hair against his nose. The longer he lay in his bed, the faster his heart began to beat. It was if her ghost was lying next to him, taunting him with something he would never have again, something he shouldn't want again, but did anyway.

There would be no returning to sleep that night. The base they were using was small, and there was nothing to do after sunset. The only options for him were to sit in the room breathing in her spirit, or go back to his desk and try to figure out whom Pip was. The latter won out.

Going through the files was tedious and frustrating. He scoured through boxes and boxes of physical files from the adjoining storage room making sure that nothing had been missed with Robin scanned the physical copies into the computer database. Four hours later and there was no mention of Pip, Piper, Pippa, or Pipin. There were no locations beginning with Pip either, and that check was the only mention of it in any of Jefferson’s finances. Killian was right back at square one and the anger rose in him again.

He took the file he was holding and slammed it on the ground, causing a few pages to scatter on the floor. He bent over to shuffle the pages back into the folder and realized what they were.

Staring back as him was the Boston police’s crime scene photographs from Emma’s house after the attack. He had glanced at them briefly, but the report stated there was no physical evidence found implication a suspect, so he tossed them aside and hadn’t thought of them since. In the back of his mind, he also knew how hard it would be to see them. Her beating had been brutal, and he knew it would show.

Victor told him that it didn’t appear as if she had fought back, but her body had been traumatized and he hadn’t been ready to see her blood pooled on the wood floors. He needed to look them over though, for if nothing else just to make sure the police hadn’t missed something. The Alchemist was known to leave calling cards taking claim of his atrocities. He viewed it as good advertisement for his business.

The pictures were just as bad as he had expected, if not worse. The first three pictures were of random rooms in her house that weren’t considered part of the crime scene. David had made sure that everything was shown just in case though. It was the fourth picture that twisted his gut. Furniture had snapped in half. Glass vases had been shattered. There were three large red stains on the ground. He had to steady himself against the bile that assaulted his throat.

Remembering her battered body in the hospital bed and putting it with the damage in her living room brought back a flood of emotions and he wasn’t sure if the damn he built would hold. Trying to speed his way through he glanced at a few more photos of the kitchen, a bathroom, and finally her bedroom. The bed hadn’t been made, the curtains hadn’t been pulled back, and the lamp on her nightstand was still on.

The general consensus was that she assumed Killian had come back after checking on his house, so she didn’t think twice about checking the door, and the Alchemist drugged her. The autopsy had shown a paraplegic in her system that the Alice had favored. She never stood a chance against him.

He shoved all of the photos back into the folder and returned to the desk. He laid his head on the wood and closed his eyes trying to purge the images he had seen. None of them had given him any insight.

As he rested, sleep finally beckoned to him again. The same dreamed returned. It was torture on his senses. He noticed all of the same things again, but every touch and smell was intensified. He woke again at the same point in the dream. Why was he dreaming of this moment over and over suddenly after months?

Clearly his subconscious was trying to tell him something. He walked back to the storage room and grabbed the file on the top of the pile. He was careful to only pull out the last photo of Emma’s room this time. What was it about this memory that kept calling to him?

Nothing stuck out to him no matter how closely he looked at the picture. Her nightstand was empty except for the lamp. The bed was a tangle of sheets and blankets. There was still nothing on the walls, nothing to see outside the windows. What was it?

He sat back in his chair, letting his head fall back. He closed his eyes and tried to walk himself through the dream. Emma wasn’t in the photo so most of the things he experienced in the dream were irrelevant. He mentally scanned the room, and nothing was out of place between his memory and the photograph, except for the lone empty spot on the bookshelf. In the photograph it was filled, with Emma’s favorite book. How could he have missed it? She reread it once every year.

Great Expectations.

He had never read it, but he briefly remembered Emma telling him about it. The lead character was an orphan just like Emma, which is what drew her to it in the first place. It was a story of love, loss, pain, and deception, all things Emma was intimately familiar with.

He couldn’t remember any of the specifics of the book though. He logged onto the nearest computer a searched for a synopsis of the book. The lead character’s name was Pip, and he knew he was on to something. He scanned the plot of the book, but not much stood out to him. Emma was similar to Pip is some aspects, that much was clear, but nothing gave him any indication of where to search next.

As he was mulling over the new information he had discovered, the sun rose and Robin and Will joined him. He explained what he had found and the three of them regrouped.

Killian and Robin went through the plot of the book again, both agreeing that it must mean something, but they hadn’t a clue of what. It was Will’s insight that surprised both men.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He looked astonished that the two men were shocked that he may have an answer for them. “Did you both skip your basic literature courses? Pip went to Cairo to make amends after a rejected marriage proposal before finally returning home to set things right. Sound like anyone we know?”

“Wait,” Robin cut in, “are you trying to say that Emma was in Cairo before coming home? Don’t you think you’re being a bit too literal?”

Will sighed. “Perhaps, but add in the part about love being the greatest expectation. Pip was rejected, went to Cairo, and the made it home to the woman he had always loved where they were finally able to be together. I’m willing to stake my entire ration of ale on it.”

Killian rolled his eyes. It seemed like a stretch but it was the only they had. Robin searched for any incidences matching the Alchemist’s profile around Cairo in the last five years. Buried under thousands of stories of civil unrest and terrorist activities, was one small blurb about a family that died of suspicious causes. No autopsies were performed due to family wishes, but the symptoms the victims exhibited matched.

They couldn’t get any information on the incident from their current location so the three men packed up and headed Cairo West Air Base. From there they would be able to access medical records, news articles, and possibly surveillance evidence from just before the deaths.

June was not the ideal time to be spending days in the arid desert. The building they were using had no air conditioning, and all three men were sweating out liquids faster than they could take them in.

They had been there for a week combing though everything they could get their hands on. Will’s literary analysis had paid off. The coroner's report was basic but substantiated their theory that the Alchemist had drugged the family, although they still weren’t sure why.

There was no real-time video surveillance of the area to see who was coming or going just before the family became ill, but a news article had managed to capture a photograph of the front of the house after the family had passed. In the background of the photograph, a woman dressed in camel colored trousers, a cream colored sweater, and a shawl wrapped around her head, with only a sliver of golden blonde hair peaking out.

Killian knew in his bones that it was Emma. She had been there, part of the attacks. She had been with the Alchemist from the beginning, reigniting his hatred of her. Unfortunately, all clues ended there. The lack of police reports or physical evidence left them at a dead-end.

Killian was at his wits end ready to give up. Why was he even there anymore? Emma had been a villain who got what was coming to her. He didn’t need to avenge her death. The Alchemist was a horrible person, but was he really Killian’s problem? Not currently. Killian’s only issue at that moment was that he was pissed and sober.

While the base didn’t have an official bar, as visiting American soldiers weren’t allowed to drink, there was a building at the rear of the base that flew under the radar.

The building was originally one large room, but had since been partitioned separating it into two ones. The smaller room was understood to be reserved for higher commanding officers, so most of the people were milling around in the front area. Killian walked up to a makeshift bar made of crates and minifridges, and grabbed an ale, dropping a few dollars into a silver bucket.

He sat on a stool in the corner of the room nursing his drink, trying to decide whether or not he should walk away. Everyone he knew had turned his or her backs on him. There was no one counting on him to bring justice to Emma’s killer. Emma wasn’t the innocent victim he originally thought she was. It was all on him now. Did he want to continue, or walk away and start over somewhere new?

As he sat there, contemplating his options, he completely missed the man who had approached him.

“Lieutenant Jones, your presence has been requested in the other room.”

Killian looked the man over. He was wearing an American army uniform, with not a hair out of place. Killian hoped that if he ignored him long enough, that he would go away, but instead the man stood at attention. He groaned internally before standing and moving to the smaller room in the back.

There was nothing different about that space. Nothing fancy that set it off from the room in the front. The only difference he could see was the lack of bodies. In fact, there was only one body present. Colonel French.

Fuck he thought to himself. Everything started falling into place in that instant. Jefferson had been a partner of sorts to Emma. Colonel French was in Cairo. The alchemist and his team were going after anyone who had knowledge of him. It only stood to reason that Jefferson had spied on them talking in the hospital and sent a hidden message to the Alchemist telling him where he could find Colonel French.

“Jones, please.” The colonel motioned to Killian to take the seat next to him. “I have to admit, I thought you’d arrive here sooner.”

Killian furrowed his brows at him. Had his team already discovered the threat to his life? “I’m sorry?”

“We have access to the same information regarding your girlfriends death. I assume we followed the same trail.”

Killian tensed. “I wouldn’t call her my girlfriend. Just someone I once knew, or should I say someone I once thought I knew.”

“Ah, so I take it you know of her other identity then?”

Anger began simmering inside Killian. The colonel had known all along and was playing games with him. “How long have you known?”

“To which part? How long have I known about Cairo, or how long have I known that Miss Swan also went by Alice?”

Killian could felt his jaw muscles clenching as his fists balled up on the tabletop.

“Since the beginning, for both questions.”

“And you’ve just let me and my team run around in circles for your amusement?”

The colonel took in a death breath sensing Killian’s tension.

“No. I’ll admit, I thought you would decipher to clue faster than you did, but to your credit, you are the only team so far that had figure out even this much.”

“You mean aside from your team?” Killian took a swig of beer hoping it might dull his emotions.

“Not exactly.” He saw Killian’s look of confusion so he quickly continued. “My team was ahead of the game, so studying the clues to find the next avenue of action wasn’t really necessary.”

Killian thought on that. His team had been leaps and bounds ahead of every other team out there.

“I told you once that I had intended to invite you to join my team, but that you weren’t ready at the time. Are you ready now?”

Not ten minutes earlier Killian had considered walking away completely, and now he was being asked if he was finally ready to take the next step. The irony wasn’t lost on him.

“If I were, what would that mean?”

Killian could see a spark of hope in the colonel’s eyes. “Unfortunately, your current clearance level prevents me from discussing it with you. It’s a catch twenty-two I’m afraid. You have to agree before I can brief you, and if you agree and I brief you, there’s no walking away. So you’ll have to decide now, are you in or out.”

“And I don’t suppose I get time to think about it?”

“Sorry, Jones, but I’m flying out tomorrow morning. It’s now or never.”

Screw irony. How was he supposed to make this life altering decision spur of the moment without any information? He stared at the table, trying to will an answer to pop into his head. He had already spent the better part of three years chasing this man. Was it worth giving up more of his life to catch him, or was he already so far in that giving up now would have been the waste?

His thoughts drifted to Emma. As teenagers she had been the lone ray of sunshine for him. What happened that sent her down such a dark path? If he had just summoned up the courage to tell her how he felt, would she have left, would she still be the innocent girl he fell madly in love with? Every question lead to another question, and in the end he realized that what he needed most was answers so he could have closure.

“And if I say yes, what happens to my team?”

“That would be up to you. You seemed to believe in them when last we spoke. Has that changed?”

“No.” That answer was easy. If it hadn’t been for Will, he wouldn’t have even made it this far. “Then you’ll speak for them. You’ll decide, but again, I need to know now.”

“They’re in.” Killian hoped he wasn’t damning his team. He knew that if asked they would follow him to the end of the world, but making such a call without their consent felt like a violation. He could only hope they understood.

“Very well. Have your team pack up all of their belongings and information. Meet my in hanger four at oh five hundred hours.”

“And where, might I ask, are we going.”

The colonel stood up and walked to the exit.

“That’s classified for now. I’ll make sure you all have upgraded clearance by the time we land.”

And with that, the colonel was gone and Killian felt like his soul had been sold away to the highest bidder.

When the team landed, green fields and trees greeted them. It was a far cry from the desert they had just left. There were a few scattered buildings that looked as if they were in ruins, and a high fence with a barbwire top acting as a barrier. Nothing about it screamed high security.

“Gentlemen,” the colonel gestured outwards, “welcome to Serbia, where it all started.”

The men grabbed their packs and hauled them in line behind the colonel, stopped abruptly when they came to the entrance of a crumbling building.

“I know what you’re thinking, but don’t be fooled. There’s no better to place to hide than in plain site.”

The colonel continued into the building to the back wall, where a small thermostat box was fixed in place. Killian thought it odd as he didn’t remember seeing any air conditioning units outside, but perhaps they had been picked off. The colonel walked up to the thermostat and lifted the cover off. He turned the temperature dial up and down, before turning it back up again like a combination. When he finished, a portion of the wall slide into itself reveling a set of elevator doors.

The colonel stepped up to the door where he was greeted by a retinal scanner. The elevator doors opened and all four men crammed into the elevator before he continued.

“According to one of our agents, this was the first site he used. The agent in question managed to discover that the Alchemist had been born here, but that his family was run out of town for something his father did. His mother was humiliated and left him alone with his father, who later abandoned him as well, so when it came time to find his first test site, he couldn’t resist getting back at the people that destroyed his family.

My agent came here to investigate and see if there was anything else to be learned, but as you can see, there wasn’t much left, but I saw the opportunity. We built a base down below the ruins, in the once place we knew meant so much to him, but that he would never return to.”

The elevator came to a halt and the doors slid open.

“This way gentleman.”

Killian, Robin, and Will followed him taking in the enormous scale of the base. From the outside, he never would have guess that anything was there. As they walked down corridors they passed a gym, a dinning hall, and a medical office. As they turned a corner, Killian could hear mumbled voices coming from a room at the end of the hall.

The colonel lead them into the room and Killian stopped in his tracks just before the doors, at the sound of a woman’s laughter. Will had to push him forward and he felt his stomach flip.

“Jones, I believe you already know all three members of my team, but for the rest of you may I introduce Agent Humbert, Agent Hatter and Agent Swan.”

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sugarmiyu · 6 years

Text

Why Do I Keep Doing This to Myself?

Idolm@ster Cinderella Girls / Jougasaki Mika/Ohtsuki Yui

Summary: Mika has a well earned day off from being the country's #1 Charisma Gal (tm). But after spending years running from one place to another, she finds there isn't much to do without the chaos of her job. Thankfully, her girlfriend knows how to make every day a little less boring.

Read on ao3 / give me a ko-fi?

Mika couldn’t remember the last time she had a day off.

Rolling onto her side, the weight of the blanket pressed against her body. Rika had left for the office hours ago. She had a gig with Decoration today and Mika had already set up the DVR the night before to record the program. The midday sun shone through the gap between the curtains that adorned her windows. Even without an alarm clock, Mika’s body had instinctively woken her up at 8 a.m. So she lied there, checking her phone and falling in and out of sleep until the clock had lazily spun forward to just past noon. She had shrugged her blanket off her body somewhere during the course of her morning in and traced the cold of the sheets with her toes.

Her stomach let out a low growl and Mika rolled over onto her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows. She picked up her phone, looking at the stream of messages and Snapchats from everyone back at the agency. Opening Snapchat, Mika’s eyes skipped the long line of names until she reached Yui - saved with the name of “My Girl” followed by a multitude of sparkling hearts and a slowly building Snapchat streak. The picture lit up on the screen, Yui taking a selfie in the brightness of the dance studio. Yui held up a peace sign and stuck out her tongue, a tied up cherry stem resting on top of it. It was captioned: “Guess I’m pretty good with my tongue huh babe~ ;)” and decorated with heart emojis.

Mika buried her face in her pillow. If she could cringe, roll her eyes, groan, sigh, pinch the bridge of her nose, and crawl into a hole all at once she would. Instead, she resigned herself to taking a picture of her headboard, feeling too naked without makeup on to send anything close to a selfie. She carefully arranged the face-palm emoji in lines of five before sending it out. Her head was dizzy and she sat up in bed. The picture that Yui had sent was with her back facing the wall-mirrors that lined one side of the studio. They had gone out to choose that tank-top she was wearing together, talking about how chic the practically backless design was. Now, midday with nothing to do, Mika couldn’t keep her mind off the dip of Yui’s back and the outline of her skin against the fabric of the sports bra.

Wow, she really needed to do something else.

Opening the curtains sounded like a good idea. Mika got up, stretching out her stiff arms and reaching over to let the light into her room. It was sunny and she opened the window just enough to let the breeze in. She scooped up the pile of clothes she’d left behind the night before after coming home at some ungodly hour and unceremoniously dumped them in the laundry hamper. Picking up a hoodie and tiny gym shorts, Mika figured a shower was all she needed for now. A bath could wait until later tonight but she could still feel the cling of last night’s perfume and the places where her foundation hadn’t come off completely.

On her way to the bathroom, Mika flipped through the rest of the Snapchats she had ignored earlier in favor of prioritizing her girlfriend. The LiPPS group chat was as unintelligible as ever - though it seemed Kanade, Syuko, and Frederica were currently in a competition to see who could get the most candid shots of Arisu during a Project Krone meeting. Mika sent them a shot of her hallway with a timestamp and was immediately met with messages about how lucky she was to get a day off. She grinned as it generated just the response she expected. Shrugging off her shirt, Mika was nearly ready to get into the shower when her phone buzzed with another snap from Yui.

The picture was of Yui’s hand (Mika noticed she was wearing the bracelets they had picked out together on a date last week) making a peace sign (again?) in front of a vending machine. The rest of Yui’s fingers were precariously holding onto the top of a Pocari Sweat and Mika could barely make out Chinatsu standing off to the side. This one wasn’t captioned but it wasn’t hard to imagine the scene. Yui had probably overdone it during lessons and Chinatsu, ever the responsible guardian over her best friend, had probably gone with her for a much needed hydration sesh.

Mika rolled the options around in her head. If she didn’t respond, she would ruin their streak and Yui would make a big fuss about it like she had the last time it happened. But, there wasn’t much to snap without it being awkward. She was already half-naked and while the giant mirror in her bathroom was usually her pride and joy, it made for an inconvenience when she wanted to take pics without exposing herself. Looking around, the only viable item seemed to be a pile of towels stacked on a shelf by the door into the bath. It was tucked away enough to be free from the voyeurism of the mirror but obviously signaled where she was. She took a quick picture, captioning it with “BRB gotta shower babe - don’t get any weird ideas ♥” before putting her phone on top of her clothes.

When the hot water finally hit her skin and the steam helped clear her mind, Mika spent about half an hour wondering why in the world she had sent that.

“Onee-chan! Can you see me?”

Rika’s grinning face took up nearly the entire screen as their Facetime started, “I can see you~ Maybe a little too well. You need to work on choosing the right angles, Rika.”

“Boo! I can totally hit the right angles,” Rika said, the image shifting to a more reasonable distance, “What’cha doin’? Right now, Kirari and Miria are taking pictures together!”

“Hm? Nothing much,” Mika glanced at the dishes she had left in the sink after lunch - she made a pretty damn good seafood pasta. She’d have to make it for Yui some time. “I ate a little bit ago and now I’m not sure what to do. Maybe I’ll play one of your video games.”

“Wha- no fair! You’re gonna clear all the levels before I get to!”

Rika looked adorable with her pouty face and scrunched up eyebrows. Mika wanted to be there in person so she could give her little sister a flick on the forehead. But because technology hadn’t progressed that far yet, she grinned and said, “Fine, fine. I guess I’ll read some magazines or something. We’ll play together some other time.”

“Yay!” Rika grinned, “You know, earlier today, Ranko was talking about…”

After about half an hour of chatting, Rika had to hang up to begin their recording. Mika was proud of her younger sister, but with her days usually so busy with work, they two of them didn’t get much time to spend together. She got up from the couch, walking towards the dishes that had been ignored for a few hours. Feeling the hot water hit her hands, Mika shuddered and looked up towards the clock on the kitchen counter. It was almost four - the day having passed without anything at all having been done. If she had been in the office today, she probably would have finished up one job and would be on transit to the next site. Or maybe, she would be packing up after a hard day’s work to hit her favorite karaoke places with Rina and Yui. Or she would have been trying to fix LiPPS’ newest mess.

Mika shook the water off her hands after placing the last dish on the rack. Checking the clock again, it had only moved forward fifteen minutes. She wiped whatever water was left on her hoodie and picked up her phone, only to be greeted by a screen full of notifications. They were all from Yui and Mika opened up the newest message. It had been sent a minute ago and asked, “Are you home, babe?”

Looking through the previous twenty or so messages - all of them variations of “Mika” and “my beautiful girlfriend” and “i want to see you” - she turned her attention back to the most recent. “Yeah, I’m home” she responded, following up with a sticker of a pink cat with a large question mark.

“Awesome!!!!” Sent with a sticker of a yellow puppy with its tail wagging. No more messages.

Mika could guess what Yui was up to. She made her way upstairs, looking through her closet for something better to wear. Even though she loved her girlfriend, her reputation as a charismatic gyaru was in jeopardy if she ever went out dressed like this. Just as Mika was putting the finishing touches on her makeup, she heard the doorbell ring. It was thirty minutes from when Yui had sent that last message - about the same amount of time it took to get to her house from the office. Adjusting her bangs in the mirror, Mika came downstairs and opened the door to Yui with a big grin on her face.

“Hey, babe!” Yui said, hands totally not suspiciously behind her back, “I thought I’d come surprise you since I finished my work early today. You can, like, totally take in how awesome of an idol your girlfriend is.”

“You’re an awesome idol, but you have some work to do on being awesome at surprises,” Mika smiled and poked Yui’s forehead, “I could tell what you were up to, you little scamp~”

“Aw man, you’re too sharp for me Mika,” Yui knitted her brows together, “And here I thought I was really gonna wow you today. But, if you’re so clever, I guess you won’t need this.” From behind her, Yui brought out a trendy looking cake box. Splashed onto the side was the logo for an extra-famous and extra-trendy cake restaurant from Shibuya that Mika had been dying to go visit for weeks. Mika stared at the box in dumb surprise while Yui opened it up with a smug look of triumph, “One orange mille feuille for you madame~”

“How did you-?”

“Well, me and Rina were picked to be the poster girls for this place’s ‘Take Over Shibuya with Fashion’ campaign so we went to the store today! The producer sweet talked the manager into letting us get away with some of the goods,” Yui’s grin turned sheepish, “I-I know you’ve been eyeing this place so… Yeah… C-Come on, babe, say something.”

Mika grabbed Yui’s wrist, pulling her through the doorway. Closing the door behind her, Mika pulled Yui in for a kiss. The cake box between them prevented it for lasting more than a few seconds but Mika hoped she got her feelings across. She could feel the blush creeping up along her neck - she wasn’t usually the one to initiate affection between them. But this was a happy exception. Yui stood for a second, mouth agape and eyes wide. She spun on her heel, placing the box on top of the cabinet near the door before tackling Mika against the door.

“Mi~ka! I’m happy you like it!” Yui grinned, touching their foreheads together.

“Of course I like it,” Mika said, wrapping her arms around Yui’s waist, “You’re the best girlfriend ever, Yui.”

She brought her girlfriend into another kiss, tasting the remnants of Yui’s lip gloss from earlier that day. Mika felt her blush creep towards her ears as Yui deepened the kiss. Their lips parted for each other and Mika’s head was starting to feel dangerously empty except for the smell of Yui’s perfume and the lingering image of her in that open-backed tank top…

Mika let out a small yell when she felt a hand slip under her shirt, fingers lazily tracing circles around the small of her back. Yui tilted her head to the side, kissing along Mika’s jaw and towards her ear. Another hand slipped under her shirt and Mika’s hips were pushed closer until they were flush with Yui’s. Mika struggled to find the energy to speak, out of breath from their kiss and barely able to manage above a whisper.

“Y-Yui, wait a second,” Mika said, biting her lip as Yui moved down towards her neck, “Y-Yui…!”

“Hn?” Yui looked up, tongue sticking out just past her lips and eyes wide, “O-Oh wait, I went too far again, huh?” Yui drew her hands back, taking a step away from Mika and staring towards the corner where the floor and door frame met, “S-Sorry…”

Mika readjusted her clothes - she loved Yui but her girlfriend was a bit of a hair-trigger. This was why they always had to be careful when they were out together. Who knew who was watching them and Mika wasn’t going to give the tabloids the pleasure of leaking her relationship out to the masses. Yui wrung her hands together and was making tiny circles with the tip of her shoe, like a child that had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Mika smiled, leaning over to kiss her on the forehead.

“It’s okay, Yui. Come on, let’s go eat this cake together since you brought it over,” Mika took the box and walked past Yui, neck still a flushed red, “A-And maybe later we could, um, y’know… Keep going.”

Yui turned her head around at break-neck speed and said, “Y-Yeah! Totally, dude! Babe!” She nearly stumbled over the step from the entrance of Mika’s house up into the hallway as she tried to kick off her shoes. As they walked into the living room, Yui let her hand hover out a few times towards Mika’s waist until the other girl took it and placed it there herself. The two settled down on the couch and took in the pleasing visuals of the cake box. Even the plastic forks they gave out were chic! They took plenty of pictures that they could post later and dug in. Yui got cream from her strawberry shortcake around her mouth and Mika happily wiped it away with a decorated napkin.

After they had eaten the cake, they had sat around and talked about their days until Yui had fallen asleep while Mika was posting the cakes on Instagram. Yui had curled up on one side of the couch, face buried in the crook of her arm. Mika thought she looked like a puppy and decided to make her little comparison a reality. She finally managed to make Snapchat recognize Yui’s face long enough for her to get a picture of her sleeping girlfriend with the dog filter. Sitting back down on the couch, Mika mulled over what she could caption a picture like this. Writing anything out seemed too sappy and just the thought of it made her cheeks warm. Eventually she decided to just put a sticker of an orange heart in the corner.

“Perfect,” Mika whispered, saving the image onto her phone. But, ultimately Mika was a creature of habit. She had intended to send the picture to Yui - it would have been cute to see her reaction afterwards at the candid after all. However, almost instinctively, Mika’s fingers had tapped several other contacts. Notably: the LiPPS group chat, Rika, the group chat she shared with Yui and Rina, Miho, and her story. When she realized what she had done, she had already pressed send.

A minute after she had sent it/posted it/done that incredibly stupid thing, Mika was hit with a flood of messages from LiPPS. Then came the messages from the others. In response, Rina sent a picture she had taken a while back of a sleeping Takumi with cat ears drawn on it. Miho was surprised that the two of them were so close that Yui came to hang out with them on their day off. The poor, oblivious girl. Rika immediately jumped to complaining about how it wasn’t fair that Yui got to hang out with her sister instead of her. And there were only more people sending her messages because of the post on her story.

For the second time that day, Mika wondered why in the world she had sent something like that.

#the idolm@ster cinderella girls #deresute #mika jougasaki #yui ohtsuki #fanfiction #femslash #wow long time no fic skdflkjsfksdj or any post on tumblr rlly #but OH WELL SKDJFLSFJ #i finally finish writing smth that isnt for school wow #anyway i hope u guys like it expect more deresute #i still love love live but like #lol #tomes

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one-soul-two-brothers · 7 years

Text

This Could Be Worth the Risk, Worth the Guarantee

season 12 stories [part VI] ao3

“Tom, put daddy’s guitar down, please!” Holy crap. “Wait, JJ, stop poking Odette!” Christ, these kids are acting like they’re on crack. Where’s the goddamn food? Where’s Jared?? “Shep, stop trying to do flips off the couch! You’re gonna break your neck!”

Jensen finally gave up on his attempt to run in six different directions at once and stood up, surveying the pandemonium playing out in front of him. He and Jared had all their kids for the weekend holiday, and it had been great, really great, but it was Sunday evening and they were absolutely wired. They’d been waiting for their food to be delivered for over an hour, and as the kids had gotten hungrier they’d also gotten grumpier, so Jared (and fine, maybe Jensen would admit he was a willing participant in the horrible decision) finally broke down and gave them all snacks. Unfortunately, the only snacks they’d had available were, of course, candy. (The fact that the only edible things they had in their entire kitchen were sweet tarts, rainbow ribbons, miniature Reese’s cups, four bags of gummy bears, a twelve-pack of Coke, and eight beers was totally Jared’s fault, Jensen decided.)

But Jared had disappeared a few minutes ago, leaving Jensen all alone to try and make sure the six (were there really only six? it seemed like twenty) kids didn’t set the apartment on fire…or worse.

“Jared!” Jensen bellowed, and Jared popped his head out of their bedroom. Jensen just stood there and lifted his hands up casually, inviting Jared to notice and perhaps help control the mayhem.

“I was calling the delivery place,” Jared explained as he stepped out of the bedroom and walked down the short hallway until he was standing right in front of Jensen. “They fucking canceled our order and didn’t even let us know!” Jared’s whisper was angry.

“Well, that would’ve been helpful to know,” Jensen growled, but he was less angry and more just frustrated, resigned to the fact that it would be at least another half hour before they could get something else delivered, which meant another half hour of acting not so much like a father as a freaking zookeeper. He loved and adored every single one of their kids, but there was a reason the original plan was to just have four. Because having six children all within five years of each other was…something else. Bang-your-head-on-the-wall, cry-until-you-laugh something else.

“Okay, well, what else could get here quick? That isn’t pizza,” Jensen rushed to add, knowing exactly what Jared was about to say. And any other night, pizza would have been perfectly satisfactory, but it was Easter weekend and it was the first time that all eight of them had been together. Together without any other…family.

Jared didn’t offer up any suggestions though; he was busy ranting to himself under his breath. Jensen knew with a sudden clarity that this was not going to be one of those times when Jared just let it go. Jensen could practically see the gears whirring in his head as Jared stared intently at his phone. Jensen knew Jared had decided on a course of action when his hands stopped fidgeting and he let a large breath of air out of his body, deflating like a balloon.

Jared looked up at Jensen with a crease between his eyebrows and his teeth biting at his bottom lip. He stared at Jensen like he was waiting for his permission or something. Jensen just raised his eyebrows; it was Jared’s choice, but Jensen figured it probably wouldn’t hurt to point out the obvious.

“You’re gonna get a lot of flak if you do it,” he said. His tone was light but still matter-of-fact. Jensen had expected Jared to hem and haw, or to groan knowingly, or to roll his eyes in exasperation; what Jensen wasn’t expecting was for Jared’s eyes to be glinting darkly like he was coming up with some evil master plan.

“Yeah. But…I think I can make it worthwhile,” he said with a shrug and a smirk.

“Umm…” Uncertainty flashed through Jensen’s mind as Jared’s thumbs tapped quickly on his phone. “Whatever, I’m ordering pizza,” he muttered to himself with a sigh as he brought out his own phone and scrolled through his contacts, finding their go-to pizza place and calling in an order. It only took a few minutes, and as Jensen ended the call a Twitter notification popped up on his phone.

He groaned; he knew this could only mean one thing. Jared was already back in the living room, his attention fully on their kids, so Jensen took a quick second to check and see what Jared had posted. It was a picture—a screenshot, actually—and the caption read: .@jensenackles and I waited over an hour for @Favor for 6 combined kids. No phone call or text to let us know it got cancelled. #NeverAgain.

Jensen had to reread it four times before it completely sunk in. He stood there speechless; maybe to a casual observer it didn’t seem conspicuous, but Jared had just publicly stated that he and Jensen were together with all their kids—and no wives—on Easter.

The tweet was already racking up likes and replies and retweets or whatever, so Jensen quickly scrolled through the comments. As predicted, some were rude or downright cruel; most were supportive; and a handful were people freaking out over the exact thing that Jensen was kind of freaking out over.

Jared had soft-outed them.

That’s what Jensen had taken to calling moments like these, when one (or both) of them said or did something that just seemed to make their relationship so blatantly obvious to anyone who was willing to see. There had been many of them over the years, but over the last two or three—probably since Jensen had moved to Austin—it was like they were rapid-fire shooting them.

Little rocks and pebbles hurled at the constricting and reviled glass closet they’d been forced into so many years ago. And boy, did Jensen love the look of those cracks.

“Jay!” he called loud enough to be heard over the whines and laughs and shrieks of six little ones. Jared looked up at him from where he was wrestling on the ground with JJ. Jensen pulled up the camera on his phone and took a quick video, wanting to remember everything about this moment. “I liked your tweet!” he said, knowing that his comment could be heard in the recording.

“Hey babe, I was just making a statement about poor customer service,” he said casually, tickling their daughter into a fit of laughter.

“Yeah, well…” Jensen trailed off as he walked over to them, bending forward and drawing his arm back at the same time so that he could be seen by the camera now too. He dropped onto the floor and leaned over JJ to give Jared a kiss.

“Eww!” Shep squealed right before jumping onto Jensen’s back.

“Daddy and Jensen sittin’ in a tree,” Tom sang loudly and off-key, “K-I-S-do-bo-me,” continued, changing the lyrics halfway through because he didn’t know how to spell the word ‘kissing’ quite yet.

“Where’d he learn that?” Jared asked, mock-scandalized. He looked into the camera. “Oh, right…I taught him.” He winked as Jensen cracked up and planted another kiss on Jared, his mouth still open and laughing.

“So that’s how you spend your time in Austin without me?”

“Well, I try to do all the important things while I’m there,” Jared replied. Tom tumbled over Jared’s legs and joined the group on the ground. Jensen stopped the recording and stuck his phone back in his pocket before it got stepped on by tiny but surprisingly damage-inflicting feet. The three babies were sitting in their little baby seat-things, not able to join in with the roughhousing but providing a very substantial background track. The commotion grew when the doorbell buzzed, probably the delivery guy with their pizzas.

Jared hauled himself up, Shep clinging to one shin and JJ the other, and shuffled over to the intercom to buzz the guy in. Minutes later, there was knocking on the door and Jared opened it immediately. Jensen appeared with his wallet and Tom hanging onto him in a piggyback ride.

“Looks like you’re having a fun evening,” the guy commented as he handed the pizzas to Jared and took cash from Jensen. Jensen had seen him enough over the last few years of him and Jared ordering pizza to know the guy’s name—Chris—and to have spent a few minutes here and there chatting.

“Yeah, loads” Jared said as he tried to balance the pizzas while walking towards the kitchen, dragging the two kids who were still on his legs.

“Have a good night,” Jensen grinned at Chris, who chuckled and waved before turning and heading back down the hall to the elevators.

“Okay, guys,” Jensen spoke loudly to get their children’s attention, “if you keep hanging on to us you won’t get to eat pizza—“

“PIZZA!” JJ shrieked and immediately released her grip on Jared, thumping down onto the floor. The others followed and Jared grabbed paper plates and napkins while Jensen poured drinks and heated up milk for the babies.

“You know,” Jared muttered to Jensen, “I’m kinda glad that stupid app screwed up our order.”

“Yeah? And why’s that, Padalecki?”

“Because, Ackles, now I have a good excuse when my manager calls me tomorrow to yell at me about saying I was with you and not Gen.”

“That won’t shut him up,” Jensen pointed out, internally wincing at the thought of yet another of Spilo’s red-faced meltdowns.

“True,” Jared agreed, then slipped his hand inside Jensen’s pocket and whipped out his phone. “Actually,” he said thoughtfully as he looked through something on the phone, “if I’m gonna get yelled at anyways, why don’t I just go ahead and post that video you just took?”

“Jay!” Jensen said in alarm, but there was no heat to it. Frankly, he didn’t give a shit if they accidentally (or not-so-accidentally) got outed, right here right now. However, he’d imagined the moment to be a bit more romantic and, well, epic.

“Yeah, babe, I know. I’m just kidding,” Jared sighed before handing the phone back. Jensen smiled sadly and ran his hand through Jared’s hair a few times.

“Soon,” he promised.

Later that night, Jared snored softly beside him as Jensen lay wide-awake in their bed; he’d been unable to fall asleep for hours now. He plucked his phone off the nightstand and flicked through it. His fingers shook as he composed a simple but sweet tweet and attached a video to it. He stared wistfully at the screen, his thumb hovering over the ‘tweet’ button for several minutes. He finally let out a long and slightly-pained sighed as he hit ‘X’ instead, deleting his declaration of love before anyone got the chance to see it.

Soon, he repeated to himself.

#j2 non au #ficlet #j2 season 12 stories #mine

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deehollowaywrites · 7 years

Text

I excerpted part of a chapter from Losing the Bug in July’s rewards, and now I’m posting it here, mainly for noted Benthusiast @lilbit4point0.

The sets at Natural Art were solid that morning, a thick white-capped wave rolling in every twenty minutes or so like we’d ordered them special. Dario sat next to me on his board and we hung out for a minute while a couple of the other regulars peeled off.

“You’re wasting time,” he called. The wind blew wet tangles across his face. Blond as he already was, in a month or so his hair would be Barbie-bleached thanks to the sun and salt water and the chlorine of the pool on his parents’ back patio. “What are you waiting for, dude?”

I shrugged, curling my legs up under my board beneath the water. “Not in any hurry. Calm your tits, Kelly Slater.”

“First good waves in a month and you’re not in any hurry,” Dario repeated. He clipped the side of his hand across the water to splash at me. “You better be. We need to leave in like ten minutes if you don’t want to be late for your date.”

“Uh-huh. Fifteen hands tall, long black hair…” I laughed, thinking of the first colt slotted onto my morning work-out schedule. “Shitty temper. Exactly my type.”

Dario laughed too, his face turned south to where a tiny figure was barely visible carving the froth off a wave. “I can’t be your conscience, Benjamin. Leave it up to me and we’ll just hang out here all day.”

That sounded ok, actually--better than ok, a day spent surfing and swimming and walking up to the snow cone hut on the bend. Watching the sky get light, working on my tan, checking out guys. It was June and that was what summer was for. It was the other reason kids from school still blew up my phone, requests for tips and cajoling to get them into the fancy lounges at Gulfstream one day, then gossip about the upcoming Surfriders competition on Fourth of July weekend the next day. What was the point of living in a place everyone else vacationed if you didn’t avail yourself now and then?

I slid down into the water until my chest pressed the grit of my board and started paddling. After a minute Dario did too, calling, “You’re no fun!” into the breeze at my back.

“You really aren’t,” he continued when we hit the sand and picked up our boards. “Seriously, you used to be Ben the good-time boy and now you’re, like...dour.”

“Get the fuck out of here with your SAT vocabulary. I’m a shimmering delight.”

“I hate to be like this,” he said, digging in the zipper pocket of his board shorts for his keys. “But like, if I don’t tell you, who will? That’s what best friends are for. Ben. Seriously. You need an intervention.”

“If my parents thought I was working too hard I’d be hearing about it from Mom.” I levered my board into the rack on the roof of his car. “As it is, I’m pretty sure Dad thinks I don’t work hard enough, so what’s your point?”

Dario snickered as we got into the car. “Man, I don’t care how hard you work. I care how boring you are lately. You think it’s fun to surf with some uptight princess who won’t shut up about how he’s winning the riding title, not Joel Canseco?”

I frowned at my reflection in the car’s side mirror, even though the salt water was doing nice things for my hair.

“Who the hell is Joel Canseco anyway?” Dario leaned his arms on the steering wheel and stared at the line of cars inching down 3rd Street. “God, look at that, we left at exactly the right time. Ben, for real, usually you’re just bitching about that redneck homophobe or whatever.”

“Mason Waller,” I muttered. That asshole should’ve been riding Guava Grove in Tampa, or better yet hauling his ass out of the state of Florida altogether, maybe to Mountaineer or some shit. “Whatever, Dario. Look, this is how it goes, if there’s more than one apprentice around that’s who your competition is. Same weight allowance, all the trainers want that. So it starts being about who’s actually better, not just who’s tacking less than the regular jocks.”

Dario blinked at me as we waited for the light. “So kick his ass, Ben. This is kindergarten math.”

Dario had managed to be friends with me since middle school without really figuring out how horse racing worked. I scrunched my toes up inside my flip-flops, wiggling them so that sand scattered across the floor mat. “God, why didn’t I think of that?”

“Look, if he’s as high and mighty as you keep saying, he’ll fuck up eventually,” Dario said. He hit the gas to squeak through the four-way stop sign at US1, throwing me back against the seat. “Snap, you know, Jockeys Gone Wild.” He giggled, glancing at me over his Ray Bans. “No offense, but I’d probably watch that.”

“You’re mixing metaphors,” I grumbled, then dug in the center console for my phone. “He’s just...a dick. I try to be nice, why shouldn’t I be, and he’s just a dick! He’s a dick, Dario.”

“So you’re saying he’s a dick.”

“Total dick.” My phone displayed its morning reminder from Dad not to be late, a few spam emails, something from the community college about autumn classes. I flipped to Twitter. “And boring. God, he’s boring.”

“If he spends all his time bitching about you to his best friend, yeah, he’s boring.”

“Just, like--he rode in New York, right, that’s pretty tight, bugs who start off at Aqueduct and Belmont usually get really good mounts. And his fucking Twitter is one hundred percent class, all retweets of trainers whose horses he’s on and--” I waved my phone at Dario. “You know. Nothing embarrassing. He’s making me look bad, man.”

“You do that all on your own,” Dario pointed out. “Like, for real. The tiniest bit of finesse, just a thought. You need a social media manager? I’ll run your Twitter account, keep you from wrecking your career with too many accidental dick pics.”

He took a hand off the steering wheel to make air quotes, just in case I missed the heavy sarcasm.

“That was one time, and there were extenuating circumstances.” Dario scoffed. I flipped him off, grinning. No apprentice avoided jock hazing, and social media made it easy to capture the egg-drenched hair, the water-soaked breeches, the pantsing and shoe polish. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure he’s a robot. Can robots win riding titles? I’m pretty sure it’s in the Florida statutes that they cannot.”

“Google it,” Dario said.

I tapped Gulfstream’s official account and scrolled down to where they’d tweeted something about Joel. I wasn’t following him, of course--I had been, because it was usually fun to chat with apprentices at different tracks, and then I’d promptly unfollowed him about two minutes after meeting him in person. “You know he told me I’m--”

“Sloppy,” Dario filled in. “I remember you mentioning that about twelve times this morning, actually.” He snorted and braked for the Hallandale Beach exit. “Maybe he’s just shy.”

“Shy?” I stuck my head out the window and howled. “I never met a shy horseman in my life. You can’t be shy in this business. You either know how to talk to people or you think you’re too good to need to.”

“Ok,” Dario said, ignoring my dramatics. “Maybe he thinks you’re cute.”

“Everyone thinks I’m cute,” I said. “Because I am. It usually works in my favor.”

“See,” he said, sighing. “That’s the problem. You’re spoiled, Ben, you’re used to smiling and people dropping their shit to get you a drink or let you copy their homework or throw a horse at you or whatever. Cute guys never have to work like the rest of us.”

“Please,” I said as we paused at the light for the horsemen’s lot. “This from Coconut Grove’s own Dane Dehaan.”

Dario pulled into a visitor’s spot and leaned across the seat to look at Twitter with me. “Oh my god. Thinking you’re cute isn’t the problem, clearly.” He grabbed my phone, Ray Bans sliding down his nose. “Is he Cuban?”

“Cuban-American,” I said. “I think. He’s from Miami, so...I guess it’s unfair, really, for me to feel all threatened. He’s got as much right to be riding here as anyone else.” I brooded for a minute while Dario started up his commentary over the pictures on Joel’s Twitter. “Still. He could’ve stayed in New York. No one would have minded.”

“So I don’t think he’s a robot,” Dario said. “Or if he is it’s the kind where they have multiple emotional settings. His Instagram is a little more human.”

I snatched my phone back. “How’d you find his Instagram?”

Dario cocked his head, smiling like I was a newborn. “There was a picture link in one of his mentions. God, Ben, do you understand how Twitter works?”

I scrolled slowly through the Instagram feed. “I just figured he didn’t have one since it’s not in his bio.”

“Not all of us put our entire life stories in a Twitter bio,” Dario said. “Cultivate some fucking mystique, hon, I swear.”

I didn’t say anything back, being a little distracted by how different Joel’s Instagram was from his Twitter. His name wasn’t in the handle, jjockeyc, which I guessed made it harder for creeps like me and Dario to find. There were track shots, sure, kind of artsy-lite pictures of horses at weird angles and sunrises, but it was mostly other stuff: bookstores and alley cafes captioned things like ‘pho yeah @ tha strand’ and New York skylines and marquees of movies. I hadn’t heard of most of them. Here it was, a whole little world that was hard to imagine him fitting into. My skin felt strange--almost crawling--like I was peeking through his window, even though it wasn’t like the Instagram was private.

Not many of the pictures featured him, a lone selfie for every five basically-identical shots of Aqueduct’s main track. For some reason I was glad.

“Shit,” Dario said. “I thought you said he was gay.”

“Pretty sure he is,” I said. “I told you about that interview, right? And like...people are sometimes nasty to him online. You know how it goes.”

“So who’s that girl? Maybe he’s bi.”

I tapped the photo Dario was pointing at, a picture of Joel and a girl with their tongues stuck sideways, arms looped over each other’s shoulders and the phone held out from the girl’s hand. She was pretty, fantastic skin and a pair of silver door-knocker earrings poking through wavy brown hair.

“‘Mi hermana la supermodelo,’” I read off the caption. “His sister, I guess.”

The shot bothered me, Joel’s eyes creased like he was about to laugh, or had been laughing before his sister took the picture. He didn’t look like himself at all.

“Awww,” Dario cooed. “See? Not a robot.”

#diana's writing #project: losing the bug #oc: ben goldfarb #u: honeycomb hills

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kyloknightofren · 7 years

Text

You’re Sure It’s Not Spelt Hucks?

So for the @verymerrykylux shindig that I’m totally late for, I got to write for @gingerbitch-hux. I’m so sorry it’s late. I have no excuses. I’m a lame dude. Anyways! I hope you like it. Thanks to @sithofren and @kyloren-sithlord for reading through this and giving it the polishing it needed!

There is something to this newfangled Facebook thing that Han is simply unable to wrap his mind around. Leia insists -- in that endlessly annoying Leia way of hers -- that he needs to get it in order to stay current with ‘this generation.’ Whatever that's supposed to mean. Han’s never met a computer he couldn't work his way around, but this god damned, imbecilic blue-and-white website of death is testing him in new and inspired ways.

He hates it.

His first friend, surprisingly, is Luke. He didn't even realize Tibetan monasteries had wifi, but proof to the contrary is staring him right in the face. Lando and Leia tie for second, because he can't find the little button that looks like a horribly mutilated and bleached upper body for a solid ten minutes while Leia sends him a series of increasingly concerned and illegible texts, using literally anything on the keyboard save actual letters, until he finally cedes defeat and calls her to ask for help.

She rolls her eyes at him but helps all the same. She's sweet like that -- burn and salve all in one.

It takes him a month to realize that he's missing something, or perhaps more accurately, someone. Han had simply assumed -- evidently wrongly -- that Ben would search up his name, click the little white face and their relationship would repair itself. The accident smoothed over, or perhaps even ignored; Ben’s attempts at running from the guilt that Han had no small part in exacerbating, resolved.

Searching ‘Ben Solo’ comes up with frustratingly little -- ‘Ben Organa’ produces even less. The internet is supposed to connect people, and all it’s left him with is the taste of palpable bitterness.

Leia gives him a knowing look over what could generously be considered spaghetti and spinach salad that night. She’s never been much of a cook, and Han himself can’t do much in the kitchen beyond opening the wrapper of a granola bar. The house feels empty with just the two of them, and Han can’t even fathom how much emptier it must feel when he can’t take anymore of acting domestic, when it’s just Leia.

“He’s not on there, you know,” she starts, apropos of nothing after too many minutes of uncomfortable silence.

Han grunts in response, digging into his pasta with renewed vigour. Perhaps if he just doesn’t respond, this conversation can simply stop. Of course, Han knows that’s a losing battle.

“I try looking, every few months. Perhaps I’m just not cut out for this internet crap. But -- I happen to know someone. He’s rather good with technology, always getting me out of a bind when I need it.” She smiles at him -- it’s small, but significant. Like everything about her. Han can’t remember the last time he saw her smile like that.

“Is that so?” he asks, the beginnings of a smirk playing about his mouth. “I suppose I could take another look for you, princess.”

“My hero,” she says, rolling her eyes with something he hopes is fondness.

The next days are spent in a fevered state, scrolling through the blue-and-white screen of death. He’s always worked best when he has some sort of task to complete, some goal to reach for.

It seems unlikely that Ben simply isn’t on the internet — he’s a young man, after all. Or at least, that’s how Han remembers him. It’s been close to ten years. Things can change.

Still, no matter how hard he works, there’s no tangible results to give to Leia. no gold medal to award for a job well done. Google refuses to cooperate with him — all of the results pulled up relate back to the accident. One particular news site has the gall to refer to it as a tragedy, which is frankly absurd.

Han resorts to means he never thought he’d use — calling Luke’s daughter and praying that she doesn’t tell Leia. Rey insists that she hasn’t heard from her cousin in at least five years, which is still somehow better than Han himself.

But, she does give him a name, someone he was apparently seeing when they last ran into each other (in a coffee shop of all confounded places). Hucks. Which can hardly be the real name of a human being, but Han supposes that if Rey can be married to someone named Finn, then who is he to judge?

Hucks turns up...nothing. Well, not nothing exactly, but unless Hucks lives in the Bahamas and is a very busty sixty year old retiree whose given name is Pamela, Han probably has the wrong person. Still, he’s not here to judge Ben or his life choices (much), so he sends a link to Rey via email and waits for confirmation.

What he gets in response is a series of -- what are they? Emogicons? -- that indicate someone crying from laughter. Or at least, Han thinks that’s what it is. Rey sends another email to follow up, informing him that he’s spelt Hucks wrong, which is hardly his fault. Who the hell assumes it’s spelt ‘Hux’?

Idiots, that’s who.

Hux is apparently a very well-off lawyer with a strange fixation with ginger cats and a child that Han assumes is his own, given the bright shock of red hair and what Han can only consider to be most morose pout he’s ever seen on a toddler. He apparently doesn’t have a first name, and might be the most boring person Han could have ever conceived of.

His relationship status isn’t publically listed, and as he scrolls through pages and pages of Hux’s very tame Facebook history, he can’t help but be disappointed that there’s nothing on his wall from Ben Solo-Organa-whatever.

There is, however, a lot from a person named Kylo Ren, whose profile picture looks like a hunk of metal garbage in a white room. Leave it to uppity rich folks like Hux to be friends with modern artists. At the very least, this Kylo Ren character has good taste in animal pictures -- Han is a particular fan of the one with the cat holding onto a railing with the caption ‘Hang In There!’.

Han debates, for the better part of fifteen minutes, when is the appropriate time to send a friend request to someone you’ve never met before. He texts Leia for a second opinion and she replies with a series of thumbs up and the weird hands that look like they’re straight out of a televangelist gathering. Which probably means something like ‘go for it’, but Han has never been very good at figuring out what Leia’s trying to say without making a giant mess of everything.

At 3:02, which is probably a very respectable time for lawyers to get tired of working and go on their phones, Han sends his request.

It takes a week and three days for him to get a response from Hux, during which time Han alternately frets that this entire thing is a waste of time and curses Hux’s name for making him wait for so long.

<< Who the hell is this?

There’s a moment of clarity when Han realizes that yes, of course Facebook has a private messaging system. No wonder Leia kept teasing him about posting things onto Luke’s wall. Damn stupid website.

<< Hello? I’m very busy and I don’t have all day to sit here and wait for decrepit old men to figure out how to use the internet. I don’t want whatever it is you’re selling.

>> hi no dont go my name is han

>> i think u knew my son

>> ben

<< Jesus fucking Christ.

>> thats not my name but ill take the compliment

>> i just want to talk to ben

<< We’re all very happy without you and your miscreant ways, thank you very much.

>> wat does that even mean

<< “Ben” has told me all about you. We aren’t interested.

Han is...puzzled, to say the least. He knows he wasn’t the ideal father, knows the accident was his fault, but he doesn’t think that that qualifies him to be treated like the literal scum of the earth. But still. Ben knows this man.

>> wat do you mean “ben”

>> his name is ben

<< Perhaps it used to be, yes. That’s no longer what he goes by.

>> y not?

>> ben is a perfectly good name

>> its a family name

<< Yippee for that. It’s still not his name.

<< Look, I could spend all day arguing about what name my incredibly asinine husband prefers to go by, but that would be a) pointless, and b) a waste of everyone’s time, but most importantly mine.

>> i just want to make sure hes ok

>> wait

>> husband???!?!?!?!??!?!

<< Fuck.

<< Fine.

<< If I answer all your questions, will you promise not to try to contact “Ben”? He’s very . . . delicate, about things like this.

>> but i want to see him

<< Good for you. Those are my terms. Take them or leave them.

>> ok

There’s a brief negotiation, mostly steamrolled by Hux, where they discuss where to meet. They settle on a coffee shop in downtown which Han assumes must be close to Hux’s office. He’s never heard of it before, but -- it’s something.

Han hates the downtown core with all of his being. Where the hell is everyone supposed to park? It’s damn ridiculous. He circles around the block where Hux’s chosen coffee shop is for the better part of twenty minutes before finally finding a spot, squeezed in between two cars that independently are probably worth at least five times what the Falcon is.

He’s wearing his finest jacket — the one with only one grease stain — and a pair of probably clean brown corduroys. Definitely not because he wants to impress his...son-in-law? He’s still not fully able to wrap his head around the concept, no matter how hard he tries. He has a son-in-law, and that son-in-law has a child. Does that make him a grandfather? Does he even want to be a grandfather?

He hasn’t told Leia about this meeting, mostly because he doesn’t want to get her hopes up. Han has spent the better part of twenty years disappointing her, and there’s something about how tenuous their relationship is at the moment that tells him that if he well and truly fucks this up, there might not be any going back.

Hux is easy to spot — he’s the only one with ginger hair and a frown in the whole damn place. He’s sipping fancy coffee, which is to say, coffee that didn’t come from the McDonald's drive through around the corner from his garage.

He claps Hux on the back as he comes around, sliding into the seat opposite with a gruff “Hello.” Hux gives the watch on his hand a cursory glance before glaring up at Han.

“You’re seven minutes late.” His voice is clipped, accented in a way Han wasn’t expecting. It reminds him of Luke’s Uncle Ben, of the Arizona desert and his old smuggling routes.

“Yeah, well, you try parking around here and see if you can get anywhere on time, son.” Hux rolls his eyes, seemingly unimpressed.

From what Han can gleam, Hux is always seemingly unimpressed.

“Yes, well, that’s all well and good but I have a meeting I need to be at in thirty-three minutes, so if we could simply cut to the proverbial chase, I would be most appreciative.” Hux taps a finger on the cup of his fancy coffee, which seems to be more white fluff than actual coffee. The motion draws Han’s attention down, towards the ring gleaming on his hand.

“So — you really — you and Ben?”

“Me and Kylo, yes. If you want to have this conversation, the least you could do is make an attempt to call him by his preferred name.”

“Wait — you mean the Kylo Ren who posts all the cat pictures on your Facebook?”

“Oh my fucking — yes. Of course. Obviously. That Kylo. Your spawn, Kylo.”

“Oh.” Han stares down at the table, at Hux’s hand again. The ring is gold, plain and unadorned but clearly polished regularly and meticulously. There’s something about it that makes Han wish he’d worn his own wedding ring, if only to prove that he’s not a bad husband as well as a bad father. “Are you — happy?”

The question contorts Hux’s face into something more closely resembling a sneer -- it’s clearly not often that he considers happiness as something important, a metric to be closely observed. “I — yes. I suppose we are.”

“That’s good.”

“Indeed.”

They sit in silence — awkward, uncomfortable silence — for what feels like an eternity but is more likely only a minute or two. “He’s an artist, you know,” Hux starts, clearly trying to reach for any topic of conversation that the two of them might have in common. “He has his own studio, and — well, I suppose he doesn’t do as much now because of Cillian, but still. He’s very well known within art circles, if you go in for that sort of thing.”

“Cillian?” Han asks, desperate for anything to cling to in the hopes of continuing the conversation.

“Yes, Cillian. He’s rather brilliant, for a four year old. Kylo is — well, he’s much better with him than I am, but that’s perhaps because Kylo still has the mind of a child locked inside the body of a giant.” The words are harsh, but they’re said with the barest hint of affection — the first actual sign of emotion Hux has displayed throughout the entire conversation.

“And he’s — yours?”

“Ours,” Hux corrects quickly. It’s evidently a conversation he’s had before, if the rapid way he replies is any indication. “He’s ours, no matter who’s biology he’s got in him.”

“Right, yeah.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance of Leia or me getting to spend some time with Be-Kylo?” Han knows what the answer is most likely going to be, but he can’t help but ask anyways. For Leia’s sake, if not his own.

“I -— look. You seem like a nice guy, sort of. Kylo’s told me all sorts of absurd things about you that might be true, but given his proclivity towards grandiose exaggeration, probably aren’t.” Han nods along, waiting for the definitive ‘no’ that he’s expecting. “But I can’t speak for Kylo personally. It’s not my place.”

Hux reaches into his breast pocket, pulls out a business card in matte black with the name ‘Kylo Ren’ emblazoned in plain white font. “Send him an email. Don’t bother calling because he doesn’t answer his work phone and he has no idea how to check voicemail, no matter what he says to the contrary.”

“Thanks, kid,” Han says, taking the card and putting it in his pocket like it’s a winning lotto ticket. In some ways, it is.

“Don’t mention it,” Hux says, standing up and straightening his suit. “Really, don’t. I sleep on the couch enough as it is.”

Han chuckles, sliding out of his chair. “Yeah, his mom’s the same way. They’re always making you think they hate you when it’s the damn opposite.”

Hux makes a face, something between pained and affectionate, before looking down at his watch. “Well, this has been — something. I ought to —”

“Yeah, yeah. Go on, kid.” Hux glares, but offers his hand to Han anyways. The shake is firm — surprising, given Hux’s relatively willowy figure.

“Have a good day,” Hux says, by way of closing remarks. Han smiles and thinks that, for the first time in the better part of a decade, he actually might.

#kylux #gingerbitch hux

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anavoliselenu · 7 years

Text

Anchor me chapter 6

“Unless we settle, probably at least another week. Then it’ll depend on how long the jury’s out.” “We’ll do drinks when you get back,” I say. “Or you’ll drink, and I’ll look longingly at your scotch.” “Sounds like a plan. Love you.” “Back at you,” I say, and when I hang up, I see that I have a voicemail from Bijan. I call him back right away, and he apologizes that their PR department sent the newsletter before he’d spoken with me. I assure him it’s not a problem, we schedule a call for Wednesday to go over the specs and set the first round of Dallas meetings, and I manage to control my squeals of joy and delight until after the call ends. Then, of course, I call Justin—to give him both the good news and the bad. “He just left the office for a meeting,” Rachel says. “But congratulations!” “Twitter?” “Instagram, actually. That picture of you on the lawn of your old house. But the caption was good news, and so I asked Justin and—” “It’s all good,” I say, cutting her off. “How long do you think he’ll be out of the office?” “He didn’t say. I’m not even sure who he’s meeting with. He was over in the apartment, and when he came back, he said it had just come up. Do you want me to leave him a message?” “No, that’s okay. I’ll send him a text. He’ll call me when he gets a chance.” “Sounds good. By the way, what are you wearing to the premiere? I’ve never been to a red carpet thing before.” “I’m wearing a white dress with black trim on the bodice and a completely unreasonable slit up the thigh. I was excited about it before, but now I’m thrilled. I figure I should take advantage of the occasion since pretty soon I’ll be in maternity clothes. But as for you, you can do a gown or a cocktail dress. Either one’s appropriate.” “Gown, duh. It’s not like I get the chance that often. Besides, I think Graham Elliott might be there,” she adds, referring to the A-lister she actually met once for about seven seconds. “He and Kirstie Ellen Todd broke up, you know, so maybe I have a shot now.” “Maybe you do,” I say encouragingly. “And if not, there’s always Lyle Tarpin.” “He’ll definitely be there,” I say. “He’s not only starring in the movie, but he’s the incoming celebrity sponsor of the Stark Children’s Foundation.” “That man is seriously hot. I mean, there’s like lava flowing under that whole innocent Iowa boy vibe he’s got going.” I fight a grin. “You think?” “Definitely. Except I think the nice guy routine is real. I mean, you never hear about who he’s dating, and he’s only recently started going to red carpet things.” “Maybe he doesn’t like the whole Hollywood lifestyle.” “Oh, no. That’s not it at all. He loves Hollywood. He just values his privacy.” Her tone is almost solemn, and I can picture her shaking her head vehemently, then leaning forward and cupping her hand around the mouthpiece of the phone as she shares some big secret. I adore Rachel, but she’s significantly more fascinated with Hollywood than I am. Which isn’t saying much, though now that I live in LA, I try to at least pay enough attention that I can follow Jamie’s conversations over drinks. That thought reminds me that I’m meeting Jamie for lunch and I want to get some actual work done before that. I finish up with Rachel, then text Justin. Got the job! Call when you can. Want to share that good news and tell you something else, too. XXOO. Almost immediately, I get a reply. Never had a doubt. Soon, Mrs Stark . . . I hug my phone close, because I sure as hell had doubts. But I truly believe that Justin didn’t. Where my career is concerned, he is my most ardent fan. I text Jamie next, telling her I’ll be at Art’s Deli on Ventura at noon, which only gives me half an hour to go through all my emails and handle any crises. Except I’m not in the mood to work. Not at all. And since my office is less than a mile from the restaurant, I decide to walk there and do a little window shopping along the way. In the grand scheme of things, I haven’t lived in Los Angeles all that long. But Ventura Boulevardhas changed a lot in my time here. More restaurants, more shops. Jamie’s condo is just a few blocks off Ventura, so we came down here all the time to grab a drink or a bite or poke around in the bookstore housed in an old, converted theater. Now, I’m looking at the street with a different point of view. I see toys in windows. A shop with designer baby clothes. A store with what has to be the Rolls Royce of baby carriages and a crib that is the most precious thing ever. A darling little onesie with a giraffe catches my eye, and I veer toward that window, thinking that it’s a shame that it’s way too small for Jeffery. Almost the second the thought enters my head, I realize that I don’t have to focus my baby shopping on Jeffery—I have my own baby on the way. I can shop for Ashley. And so I do. In under twenty minutes, I manage to do significant damage to my credit card. Or what I would have considered significant in another life. The amount I just spent is probably less than what Justin has in his pocket at any given moment. That’s something that has taken me some getting used to—this constant proximity to money. The fact that I don’t actually have to think about how much things cost. Not as a matter of survival, at any rate. I still cringe at the thought of paying jacked-up prices just because the store or the designer is trendy. But the point is, I can. Which is why my shopping bag is now filled with a variety of undoubtedly overpriced baby clothes, all of which are just so darn cute that I couldn’t say no. They’re also all unisex, because even though I’ve started calling the baby Ashley, I’m not completely delusional. I’m just hopeful. “Congratulations again, Mrs. Stark,” the clerk says happily. “Come again soon.” “Thanks, I will.” I head out of the store, swinging the pretty yellow shopping bag as I hurry toward the crosswalk because, naturally, now I’m running late. I pull out my phone as I wait for the light to change, just in case Jamie has texted. She hasn’t. I glance to make sure the light is still red before I start to scroll through my emails. And that’s when I see the woman on the other side of the road. Mother? A nearby man turns sharply toward me. “Excuse me?” I hadn’t realized I’d spoken aloud, but I don’t bother to answer. Instead, I step forward off the curb. “Mother!” I say again. “Elizabeth!” But no one responds. It’s just a crush of people on the opposite sidewalk, all hurrying to and fro during the lunch hour. I curse under my breath and take another step, determined to get across the street. To find her. But now I don’t even see a blond head in the crowd, which is a miracle in a city like LA, and for a moment, I just stand there, defeated. Until someone screams my name—and I turn toward the voice and see a fast-moving BMW coming right at me.

A violent screeching accosts my ears as the smell of burning rubber insults my nose. My upper arm burns from where someone has grabbed it too tightly, and I turn, startled, to face Jamie. “What the fuck?” she shouts, looking more agitated than I’ve ever seen her. “Selena! What the hell are you doing?” “I—I thought I saw—” “Come on.” She gives my arm a tug, yanking me back onto the sidewalk. “But I saw my mom again,” I say, stupidly. “She was right there.” I point across the street in the general direction we need to be heading. “Your mom?” she repeats, and I nod. I watch as a full spectrum of emotions play over her face. Worry. Disbelief. Shock. Fear. She squints as she looks that direction, then shakes her head. “She’s not there, Nik.” “But—” “And even if she were, that’s not exactly a good reason to get pummeled in traffic. You scared the shit out of me.” “I know. I’m sorry.” I scared the shit out of me, too. I draw a deep breath and realize that my hand is resting protectively over the baby. “Jamie, I—” She holds up a hand. “Hold that thought. Come on.” This time when she takes my arm, it’s gentler. She leads me across the street in the direction where I saw my mother, then down a block to the deli where we were supposed to meet. We sit in silence until she’s ordered for both of us, then she leans back in the booth, stares right at me, and says, “What the fuck?” I don’t even know where to begin, but I suck in a fortifying breath and dive in. “That wasn’t my imagination. I saw her, James. I’m sure of it. She sold her house, and now she’s here.” She leans forward, her elbows on the table, then immediately leans back again because the waitress is sliding coffee cups in front of us. I expect her to say something, but instead she adds about a gallon of cream to her coffee, stirs, and then takes a sip. She puts the cup back down, then exhales slowly. “This has the potential to be seriously fucked up.” “No kidding.” “But if she moved here, why not say something to you? Why just keep popping up in the background like some freakish version of Where’s Waldo?” “To torment me, obviously.” “Maybe,” Jamie says, but she sounds dubious. “So what’s your theory?” I say, leaning back. I want to take a sip of something warm, but I can’t do coffee, and I’d been too out of it to change the order to herbal tea. “Nothing. I don’t know. You’re probably right. Your mom’s freakish enough to think that gaslighting you is a time-honored mother-daughter bonding technique.” She isn’t looking at me. Instead, she’s concentrating on running her finger around the rim of her coffee cup. “But . . .?” Her shoulders rise and fall. “It’s just that you’re the only one who’s seen her.” She lifts her head to look at me. “I’ve been with you twice now, and I didn’t see shit.” “That doesn’t mean—” “No, it doesn’t. But you’ve never caught up with her, and she disappears like Santa Claus.” “She sold her house.” “Lots of older women do. Maybe she wanted to live in a garden home and use the money she spent on landscapers to travel to Europe.” “Or Los Angeles,” I mutter, but Jamie doesn’t hear me. “Okay, fine. She sold her house and me seeing her is just a coincidence. Just my whacky imagination.” “Don’t act like that doesn’t make sense,” she says. “You know it does.” She starts to count out the reasons on her fingers. “First you were putting together that Dallas proposal, so she was on your mind. Now, you know she’s moved, so duh. Come on, Nicholas. We both know you’ve got mommy issues. And that’s got to be on overdrive now.” She glances at the little yellow shopping bag on the seat beside me, then bites her lower lip. “I mean, doesn’t it?” A sharp stab of guilt cuts through me, and I deflate. “I swear I was going to tell you at lunch—we didn’t start telling anyone until today. When did you hear?” She screws up her mouth. “I saw on social media when you were in Dallas. That’s why I called, actually. But then you told me about your mom moving, and I thought I should just wait until you told me about the baby.” “Oh.” I frown, feeling like a horrible best friend. “Listen, James,” I begin, but at the same moment, she reaches across the table to grab my hands, saying, “God, I’m such a bitch!” She pulls me into an awkward across-the-booth hug. “Congratulations,” she squeals, then plunks back down into her seat. “Oh, my God, I’m going to be an aunt!” “So you’re not mad at me?” “Are you kidding? Not even.” I laugh, happy and relieved and contrite all at the same time. “I really am sorry,” I say, but she just waves the apology away. “Oh, please! I should have told you I knew. I was just—doesn’t matter. I’m so freaking excited for you.” She props her elbows on the table and peers hard at me. “You’re excited, too, right?” There’s genuine concern under the question, and it reminds me of just how well she knows me. “I was freaked at first,” I admit. “But I’m over it. Now, I’m excited. Still nervous about—well, everything—but it’s a good kind of nervous.” Even as I talk, I realize that I’m more confident than I was yesterday. “Morning sickness isn’t my friend,” I continue. “But it’s part of the experience. And I’m even okay with not drinking coffee,” I add, then take a sip of water. “Oh, shit. I wasn’t thinking.” She drags my coffee to her side of the table, then adds cream. “I’ll just take that temptation away.” “How about you?” I ask. “Are you excited or nervous or both?” I expect her to bounce in her seat with typical Jamie exuberance, but all she does is stir the coffee. “You mean about the red carpet thing? It’s cool. Exciting, you know?” “Um, yeah. Hugely exciting.” The waitress slides the sandwich we’re sharing into the middle of the table, and I grab a French fry, then use it to point at her. “What’s going on?” “Oh, hell. It’s just that I thought the gig was the start of a promotion. It turns out it was the start of an audition. And I’m already failing, which means that the premiere is going to be my first and last time to walk a red carpet or do celebrity interviews or any of that stuff. And then I’m back to an anchor desk—which is a great job, don’t get me wrong, but now that they’ve dangled the entertainment reporter carrot . . .” She trails off with a frustrated sigh while I try to filter through everything she’s just rattled off and make some sense of it. “I’ve already asked Jane and Lyle.” “Asked them?” “To do an interview with me,” she explains.

“They said no?” That doesn’t seem like something either one of them would do. “They said yes. The studio said no. I can catch them on the red carpet to chat about their outfits and how excited they are about the movie, but no one-on-one interview. Apparently, the studio’s already set up exclusives with another network.” “So you’re telling me that you have to go out and set up your own interviews? That sucks.” “Tell me about it.” She looks more morose than I’ve ever seen her. “Jackson knows Graham Elliott,” I say, referring to another A-lister. “I thought of that,” Jamie confesses. “But he’s in Vancouver on a shoot. I thought about asking Bryan,” she adds, referring to her ex-boyfriend, Bryan Raine, “but just the thought gave me hives.” “Besides,” I say, “you don’t want to give that asshole any free publicity.” “True that.” She sips her coffee. “We should have done happy hour. I could use a shot of bourbon in this. But I guess you’re a no-go on happy hour these days anyway.” She sighs. “I’m so fucked.” “The whole thing makes no sense. Do they think you can just pluck celebrities off a tree? And aren’t you the talent? Isn’t there someone behind the scenes whose job it is to line up the interviews for you?” “That’s the way it works once you land the job. Right now, I think it’s all about proving how much I want it. How spunky I am,” she adds with a very non-spunky snarl. “So we just need to find you one juicy story that gets their attention?” “I think so.” She shrugs. “I hope so.” I nod slowly, realizing now why she’d really called when I was in Dallas. And why it had sounded like she had my resume in front of her—because she’d been preparing interview questions. I reach for another French fry as I consider. Because while I hate the idea of putting the spotlight on Justin and me and the baby, I’m not naive enough to think we can avoid it forever. So maybe it’s better to jump right in and take control of the conversation from the get-go? I draw a breath, then jump into the deep end. “What about me?” I ask as she lifts a section of club sandwich to her mouth. “Or, actually, what about Justin?” Because goodness knows I’m not that interesting. But Justin has been in the public eye for decades. She drops the sandwich back to the plate, but her mouth stays open. “James?” “Are you serious? An interview with you and Justin? If you mean it, that would be amazing.” “I mean it,” I say. “And you could have asked when you called me in Dallas.” She sags, looking a bit sheepish. “I thought about it, obviously. But I know how much you hate interviews, and you were freaked about your mom, and—look, Nicholas, are you sure?” “Totally. I’d rather do an interview with you than have rumors floating around out there.” “And Justin?” “It’ll be fine,” I say, and she just nods. We both know that if I ask him, he’ll do the interview. “We’ll do it on the red carpet,” she says. “And you’ll keep it short?” “Hey, it’s fine by me,” she says. “I figure short is one hell of a lot more than any other reporter will get, right?” I laugh. “Only you, James,” I promise. “Only you.” She thrusts her hand across the table. “Pinkie swear,” she says. “Best friends forever, and we’ll always have each other’s backs.” “Always,” I agree. “And you’ll get the job, James. You’re awesome, so how could you not?” “Speaking of awesome and jobs, what happened at your interview? Any word yet?” “I got it.” Just saying the words makes me giddy all over again. “I found out this morning, actually.” “Ha! That’s fabulous! And damn, but we are an awesome pair.” “I’m just hoping I can survive morning sickness, stay awake long enough to finish interviewing possible new employees, and get everything done on time and on budget.” I bite my lower lip. “This is a make or break project, James. Am I allowed to say I’m nervous?” “Welcome to the club,” she says. “You’re also going to totally nail it. I’ve got your back. Justin’s got your back. Seriously, you’re swimming in a sea of well wishes.” “And a few sharks,” I say. Her brow furrows, but before she has the chance to ask what I’m talking about, I open my phone to my messaging app and pass it to her. “I figure they’re from somebody who’s pissed off I got the job and they didn’t. Or pissed that I was even invited to interview, because the first text came before the offer came in.” I watch as Jamie scrolls through the three messages. “Maybe Ryan can trace them?” Jamie’s husband is the head of security for Stark International. “I don’t think so,” she says. “We were talking about that once when we were watching some really bad action movie. He said it’s seriously hard to trace a text message. And odds are good this is coming from a burner phone, too.” “I hate not knowing who it is,” I admit. “Oh, please. I know. It’s some dickless wonder who thinks he’s all that, and that a gorgeous woman with a rich husband can’t have a brain. Fuck him.” I can’t help but smile. As far as I’m concerned, Jamie’s assessment is dead-on perfect. “What makes you think you can handle it?” she says, quoting the first text. “It.” She repeats. “Huh.” “What?” I ask. She shakes her head. “Probably nothing. It’s just that you said the first one came before you got the job. Did it come before you fainted, too?” I frown. “No, it was after my interview, actually. Why?” “It’s just that the rumors that you were pregnant had started by then. So maybe it doesn’t mean the job. Maybe it means the baby.” “I thought of that.” I press my hand over my belly. “And Giselle’s here.” “What?” Jamie turns in her seat. “Where?” “No, in LA. I saw her at the Tower this morning. She had a meeting with Justin.” “No shit? I bet she’s got a serious grudge going. What did Justin say? Does he think she sent the messages?” I pick up a sugar packet and start fiddling with it. “I haven’t told him about the messages yet,” I admit. “Have you lost your mind?” “I know, I know. But I just got these last two today. And as for the first, I figured it was a one-off, and why get Justin all riled up? But with today’s texts—well, I was actually about to tell him this morning, but then Ollie called, and then I headed out to meet you, and . . .” I trail off lamely. “Not an excuse,” she says sagely. “Trust me. Over the last few months, I’ve learned quite a few things about the marriage code.” She leans forward conspiratorially. “Did you know there are actually rules and expectations?” I feign shock. “No!” “Yes. It’s quite the minefield to navigate.” “I’m sure Ryan is happy to carry you over all the little bumps and incendiary devices.”

“My feet barely even touch the ground,” she says wistfully. “You’re loving it. I’m so happy for you.” “You know, on the whole, it feels pretty much the same as being single. Except with jewelry,” she adds, waggling her left hand and showing off her wedding band. “Bullshit.” “Hey, we were practically married before. So it was really no big deal to tie the knot officially.” I just smile, because I know how big of a deal it was. Jamie’s fear of matrimony almost made her blow the best thing that ever happened to her. “So where is the man of your house?” I ask. “You were attached at the hip when you first got married. But that was months ago on Valentine’s Day.” I make a sad face and try not to crack a smile. “Has the bloom worn off?” “Ha ha. We’re both working to prep for the premiere,” she says. “Which means I’m here negotiating high-level interviews with techno-savvy socialites—” I make a face. “—and he’s with his slave driver of a boss, otherwise known as your husband, to talk about tightening up security.” She glances over my shoulder toward the window and the view of Ventura Boulevard. “Actually, maybe he’s not.” I frown, then turn around to see what she’s looking at. Right there, parked just outside the window, is a shiny red Bugatti Veyron, one of the world’s most expensive cars. And one of my husband’s favorite toys. Within seconds after I notice Justin’s car, my phone pings with an incoming text. Here. Now. I grimace, then glance at Jamie. “Apparently, I need to go. You’ll get the check?” “Rules,” she says. “It’s a minefield.” “I’m pretty sure I’ve tripped a detonator,” I say as I remember that my iPad was in the apartment. And that my text messages flash across the lock screen. “Good luck,” she says, then grabs a section from my half of the sandwich. I give her a wave, then head outside. Then I draw in a deep breath for courage before I get into the car and stow my shopping bags at my feet. Sure enough, my iPad is sitting in the passenger seat. It’s quiet now, with nothing on the screen. But I scowl at it, anyway. “Traitor,” I say. “On the contrary,” Justin says. “I’m considering offering your iPad a job in security. Certainly it’s doing a better job keeping me informed about threats to my wife than the lady herself is managing.” “I was going to—” He holds up a finger, then waves it back and forth, indicating that I need to stay silent. “But—” “No.” I press my lips together and lean back in the seat. I know well enough that it’s best not to argue. Not yet, anyway. “Where are we going?” I ask as he pulls into traffic, and though he doesn’t say anything, in a few moments, I have my answer. He turns into the parking lot of my office condo, kills the engine, then gestures for me to follow him. We walk in silence up to my office, and the moment the door closes behind us, he grabs me and pulls me to him, holding me in such a tight embrace, I think I just might suffocate. “Justin—Justin.” He releases me, but before I can say another word, his mouth is on mine, his hands roaming my body, pulling up my skirt, tugging down my panties. I’m gasping, my contrite guilt at not having told him about the texts disappearing under a wave of pure arousal. “On the desk,” he says, but before I have the chance to move there, he’s lifted me up and sat my bare ass on the polished wood. He spreads my legs, drops to his knees, and buries his face between my thighs. I shudder with the building excitement, then lean back, putting my weight on one hand. I spread my legs even wider as I use my other hand to slide my fingers in his hair and hold his head as he goes down on me, his tongue licking and teasing and turning me on so much that all I can think of is the building explosion. Then he pulls back, and I whimper with a disappointment that fades as quickly as it came. Because now Justin is standing between my legs, and his fly is open and his cock is out. He holds my ass in one hand and scoots me to the edge, so that his cock is right at my core. And then, with one wild, hard movement, he thrusts deep inside me, fucking me hard, punishing me beautifully. “Lie back,” he orders, and I do, resting my back and shoulders on the desk. He lifts my hips, then tugs me toward him even as he buries himself deeper and deeper inside me. He needs this, I know. Needs to feel that I’m safe and here. Needs to know that no matter how wildly the world around us spins, he still has some measure of control—even if it’s only the control of my body, my pleasure. Even if it’s only ensuring that he and I are together, always. And so he takes from me as hard as he gives. It’s wild and brutal, and I’m so wet and turned on that I know I will explode any minute. I reach my hand between my legs, teasing my clit with my fingers and also stroking his cock as he enters me, harder and faster, until finally his body lurches and he bursts inside me, falling on top of me and pinning me down as the final throes of the orgasm rack through his body. I squirm against him, seeking release as he recovers. “I shouldn’t let you come,” he murmurs. “More than that, I should spank your ass.” I’m in no position to argue. Instead, I just beg. “Please,” I say. “Justin, please.” He slides his hand between us and teases my clit with firm, sure motions that have desire building anew inside me. Higher and higher, until I’m so wound up that when the explosion comes, I open my mouth to scream. Only a squeak gets out, though, because he captures the sound with a kiss. That’s for the best, I think as sanity returns. I hardly need to shock Marge. We sprawl on my desktop, half naked and sated from this wild, unexpected encounter. Soon, though, Justin gets up, then tugs me to my feet and leads me to the couch. “Why?” he says, taking a seat beside me and adjusting my clothes. “I saw the message flash on your screen, so I opened your app and saw two others with it. Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” “The first time was in Dallas before I went to see Ashley. I thought it was a one-off, I swear. And then I forgot about it.” “And the others?” “Both today,” I tell him. “I sent you a text, remember? Saying I had something to tell you. This was it.” He rubs his temples. He doesn’t look happy, but neither does he look pissed. “Who?” he asks. “Any ideas?” “At first I thought it was about the job—which means it could be anyone. A competitor. An employee at Greystone-Branch who doesn’t like me.” I shrug. “But then I thought Giselle. Or even Sofia. Or,” I add, looking down at the floor, “maybe even my mom.” For a moment, he’s still and silent. Then he stands and starts to pace. “I can’t believe Sofia would do that.”

I press my lips together. I can believe a hell of a lot worse about her, but considering she’s all the way in the UK, I’m not going to argue. “And not Giselle. She’s newly married to a man who doesn’t like controversy and has a hefty bank account. I don’t think she’d risk that.” I nod, that seems fair enough. Everything she did before was with an eye to saving her cash flow. “Your mother,” he says slowly. “You really think she moved here?” “I think I saw her today,” I admit. “I’ve been seeing her around town, remember? Maybe that was her warm-up act for the texts.” “Maybe,” he says, though he doesn’t sound convinced. “So what do we do?” I ask, as he reaches down to help me up. “For now, we wait. And you tell me the instant you get another message.” “I will,” I promise. “What else?” “Now we try and forget about it, at least for a little while.” “Oh.” I grin. I like that idea. “Are you heading back to work?” “Actually, I thought you might want to do some more shopping.” He presses a kiss to my forehead. “Unless you already got your fill?” “Of shopping for the baby? Not even close,” I meet his smile with one of my own. “In fact, I found the most darling crib . . .” 13 Justin’s already up by the time the sound of the ocean and the soft light of morning teases me awake. I slide out of bed and stretch, wishing that we could stay here all day. Not possible, though. We both have empires to run. The thought makes me grin, because it’s true. My empire’s significantly smaller than his, but it’s growing, and if I’m going to keep it chugging along, I need to park myself at my desk and get through some of the initial tasks for Greystone-Branch. Before that, though, I have one key appointment, and as I look at the clock, I realize that I should probably hurry. I’d gone to bed naked, and now I pull on a fuzzy robe and tie it around my waist before I head out in search of my husband. I expect to find him in the kitchen, and I’m surprised when I realize that the entire third floor is empty. The house is ten thousand square feet—large by normal human standards, though small in the world of billionaires—but still plenty big enough for a man to get lost in. When I don’t find him at his desk on the mezzanine level, I assume that he’s gone all the way down to the first floor to take a swim or work out in the gym. Unfortunately, I’ve assumed wrong. I’m about to give in and call for him through the intercom when I realize that I know exactly where he is. I head back upstairs to the second floor. Early in our marriage, this floor went mostly unused. Once Syl and Jackson got together and their kids came into our lives, however, we’d furnished one of the rooms as a kid-friendly guest room and another as a playroom. There are still two more rooms that have sat empty, filled with random furniture, miscellaneous boxes of mine, and some packed-up files of Justin’s. Now, I find him leaning against the door jamb of one of those unused rooms, just staring in at the mess of boxes and scattered, mismatched pieces of furniture. “Hey,” I say, easing beside him and sliding my hand into his. “What do you see?” he asks, nodding toward the room’s interior. “Boxes I need to sort through. I think some of those have clothes I’m never going to wear again.” I tilt my head to look at him and the wistful expression on his face. “What do you see?” “The crib we bought yesterday against the far wall,” he says, pointing to the spot he’s chosen. “It’s close enough to the window for the ambient light, but far enough away that the sun won’t shine in the baby’s eyes.” He turns to me. “Can you see it?” I nod, thinking about the sturdy white crib we’d decided on after looking at every single one on display in the upscale baby furniture store. None of them had been quite right, but then we saw one with a headboard design that had two elephants, their trunks twining into a heart shape, and a line of zoo animals stenciled on the outside. It’s absolutely darling, and both Justin and I fell in love with it immediately. It’s a special order, but it will be delivered soon. “It has a mobile hanging over it,” I say. “Another zoo theme.” I imagine a musical mobile hanging above the crib, tiny giraffes and lions and penguins going around and around above our little girl as she coos and kicks and reaches for the pretty animals. “And my rocker by the window,” I add. It was the only other piece of furniture we bought yesterday. When we’d set out, Justin had said he wanted to spread out the shopping. To take it slow and savor every moment and only buy one piece per trip. I was all for that plan until afternoon exhaustion snuck up on me, and I ended up sitting in the most amazing rocker in the history of the universe. And then I informed Justin that there was no way I was leaving that store without being absolutely certain that the rocker would soon be mine. “We need to figure out colors next,” I say. “And we need a changing table and a chest of drawers and maybe a rocking horse.” He grins at me. “I don’t think we need the rocking horse just yet.” “Okay, then. A giant stuffed bear. In fact, a whole menagerie of stuffed animals who can watchover her at night.” “And a bassinet,” he says. “Because she’s sleeping in our room at first.” “Definitely,” I say, as he starts to lead me away from the room toward the stairs. “And a baby monitor. Audio. Video. And a backup system.” “You read my mind.” We continue describing her room as we walk. What I want stenciled on the walls. Where to installspeakers so we can play her soothing music. The colors for her bedding. “Only about seven more months if Dr. Cray is right,” I say. “We’ll know Monday.” I nod. I don’t have to ask if he’s going with me to the appointment. There’s no way he’d miss it. And just that simple reality has me smiling again. “What?” he asks. “Just thinking how much I love you.” “Careful, or I might not let you out of the house. And I think you told me you had a full schedule today.” “I do,” I admit. “Today and tomorrow. I’m trying to get ahead of the game so that we can enjoy Friday.” “In that case, I suggest a sensual evening of working together in the library,” he says. “Two glasses of sparkling fruit juice. A coffee table littered with spreadsheets and computer code.” I laugh. “Sounds like the evening will have all the makings of an epic romance.” “So long as you’re with me, then yes,” he says, then pulls me close and kisses me hard. “You’re seeing Frank this morning?” he asks when he breaks the kiss, referring to my prodigal father. “Do you want me to come with you?”

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