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foxymoxynoona · 1 year ago

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Over the Falls Ch. 3: Churn

Sexy Banner & bar by @borabae-gx

Summary: Jungkook sees a lot of things as a pool tech. It’s… fine. It pays the bills between mornings on the water and evenings rocking out with his garage-band. His favorite thing to see on the job has been Grace Birch –older but a hottie, wealthy but nice, and unfortunately very married. At least until Grace learns what her husband has been up to behind her back. Now that she’s free, Jungkook finds himself wondering: what does it take for a guy like him to catch the eye of a woman like that?

Genre: Poolboy Jungkook x Rich Divorcee OC

Tags: Age gap (older woman), socioeconomic gap, Surferboy JK, drummer/guitarist/vocalist JK, Wealthy divorcee OC, househusband

CW: Mature/Explicit, Infidelity (not between JKxOC), language, alcohol, recreational drugs, lots of explicit sex, ageist/racist/classist remarks down the road, outdoor sex, beach sex

Chapter Two | Masterlist | Chapter Three

“GRACE!”

She hated the way her name sounded as a shout. The gr got swallowed, the a dragged out, the c punched too hard. Tim had always said her name in a way that sounded like an insult, she just hadn’t realized it until now. He rarely called her by it, only if he was angry or disappointing her, pleading for her to accept an insincere apology.

Grace pulled her phone out and opened the voice recording app, as instructed. When her divorce attorney had given her these tips, she hadn’t thought she would need them. She’d been more focused on her regret that she wouldn’t get to see Tim’s face when he got served the papers. He’d be so shocked. He didn’t know she knew. He would never expect her to go through with this even if she did find out –and that had, in fact, been the deciding thing for her. Her husband would make excuses and expect to be forgiven.

Well, she refused. She refused to be that woman. She refused to spend another minute of her time working on a marriage to this man. She’d worried about her decision up until the first meeting with her divorce attorney and then relief had flooded her system so sharp and fast that it nearly carried her away. She couldn’t fucking wait to be divorced from this asshole, who was too stupid and to even delete the evidence from their in-home camera system

They’re always stupid, the divorce attorney –a woman named Lidiya Hel, very good at what she did– told her. Their egos can’t imagine that they’ll get caught. Their egos can’t imagine they won’t be forgiven because they’ve always been forgiven for everything. It’s not like this is the first thing he’s done wrong in the marriage, is it?

No. It was not.

As soon as the backdoor slid open, Grace sprang to her feet, hit record, and announced, “I am recording this conversation so I’d suggest not saying anything you don’t want on record.”

“Grace.” He spat her name and stormed towards her, the yellow legal envelope curled in his hand like a newspaper to hit her on the nose with. “The fuck is this? Divorce papers?”

“Yes. Did you read them?”

“I didn’t need to! I saw the first line and knew something was wrong. I was at work! I was just leaving a meeting with the CEO and this fucktard comes up and asks who I am. I thought it was a shithead new hire! Instead he gives me this shit. At work!”

Grace was glad to hear the play by play and corrected him, “I don’t control when the server finds you.”

“Don’t give me that shit. What is this? What do you mean, divorce? First I’m hearing that you’ve got any issues in this marriage and you didn’t even have the balls to talk to me first? Sweetheart, whatever it is–”

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” she interrupted. “That’s what you’ve been calling all of the women you fuck in our home. I’m not sure what you call the ones you don’t bring here.” She didn’t actually know if there were more than the three over the last two years, but she assumed so. Probably on all those business trips.

Tim froze. The fucking idiot. The papers said she was filing on grounds of adultery. He really hadn’t read them. Grace couldn’t imagine the self importance you needed to just walk into a situation like this blindly and assume it would go well for you.

“You can’t be surprised I figured it out,” she scoffed. “Do you realize how much footage I have from the home security system you chose?”

“You’re bluffing and it’s not a good look for you,” he countered. “You don’t have the login for the account. It’s in–”

“I’m your wife. It was no problem at all to get it.”

Tim froze, like she’d paused a video, for an insanely long moment.

“Now… now look here. I…” he restarted.

Actually, this was even better than seeing him when he got served. The emotions moved so rapidly across his flace she couldn’t name them, but she did know they indicated a usually brilliantly-quick mind trying to pick its angle. He was quick on his feet, that was why he did so well at his job. What would he choose: play the victim? Blame her? Beg for forgiveness? Rage about the invasion of his privacy?

He glanced at the phone in her hand and laughed, “What do you think you’re doing, sweetheart. I can toss that in the pool and there goes your precious recording.”

“Ruining my property, I think that’s technically assault.”

“Just because your head-up-his-ass father is a lawyer doesn’t make you one. I’m sure he’s– no. No, I didn’t mean that. You’re just catching me by surprise right now. I’m not going to break your phone. What, did you think I was going to do something violent?”

“Maybe.”

“Grace…”

“Turns out I don’t know you at all.”

“Oh come on,” he sighed, and looked away. He was still deliberating. He was trying to buy time, trying to calculate which method would get him what he wanted. And she knew he was having a hard time because he couldn’t predict her anymore. He pinched the bridge of his nose and gave another deep sigh. “Grace. I’m sorry.”

She really hadn’t thought he’d pick that one.

“I made a mistake. You’re right.” He nodded, gaze roaming the pool area, her book, her drink beside the lounge chair. “I got carried away… I’m under so much pressure with work, you know that. A few late nights, and… and you working so much…”

“So it’s my fault you fucked multiple women?”

“I’m a sex addict.”

“You’re a liar,” she corrected, “And a selfish prick.”

“Oh, what now, who’s the one calling names on your little recording?” he demanded, as if this was some incredible victory for him. “Here I want to have a conversation about how we can fix this marriage and you’re–”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Fix what?”

“I know you’re hurting right now and in shock… I… I didn’t mean for you to find out,” he said, hands out like he expected her to slip hers into them. “I knew I messed up. I’d already called it off and I was going to come clean and–”

“Yeah fucking right.”

“You fucking bitch, you can’t even listen to me saying I– Sorry,” he interrupted himself again, holding his hands up for a pause and looking away. Grace just stared at him and tried to understand how she had ever loved this toad. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that,” he said. “I’m just frustrated. Sweetheart, I understand you’re hurt and mad. Hey, I’d be pissed too if you were fucking around, but if the situation was reversed and I was looking at it from how you’ve been, I’d hear me out because I love you and—”

“From how I’ve been? How have I been, Tim?” she demanded. “Supportive? Lonely? Dedicated to our marriage and the things that make you happy?”

“Me? The things that make me happy? What’s so hard that you’re doing to make me happy? You don’t sacrifice a damn thing for me, you just peck at my all the time and all the ways I’m not as successful as your dear old dad. Let me tell you what you’re not doing to make me happy is you aren’t… you aren’t supporting me when things are hard at work. You aren’t listening to me now as I’m apologizing and trying to fix this.”

“There’s nothing to fix! You’re a terrible husband but I thought you were at least loyal! I thought you were just a workaholic because I’m an idiot!” She stepped away from him, biting back her own rage so it wouldn’t make her cry. She didn’t want to rage cry. She wanted to stay calm and in control because she had made her decision and there was nothing he could say to change it.

“Sure, now you’re saying I’m a terrible husband, but I’ve made you happy! We’ve been happy together all these years and I’m not the one giving up on our future. Get rid of these fucking papers,” he said and threw them into the pool. “We’re not talking divorce. We’ll go to counseling. I’ll go with you.”

“I’m not going to counseling with you.”

“Oh, but I’m the bad guy? I’m the one who wants to work on our marriage here–”

“We don’t have a marriage, Tim. It broke as soon as you started fucking around and I can’t begin to understand why you suddenly want to fight for it now.”

“Because I made a mistake and I don’t want to let that ruin the best thing in my life–”

“No. No you did not make a mistake. How many mistakes did you make, Tim? How many women? For how many years? I have proof of at least three and I’m sure more will be uncovered–”

“What, your dad hired a fucking P.I. or something?” His face hardened and it reminded her of the “jokes” he’d made before, about whether her family did that kind of thing, if they’d have him investigated or watched, if they’d ever trust him. He said they were crazy, delusional, then reached his hand out for some of their money. They had done that before the wedding, without her knowledge of blessing. Because her family well knew that money made other people crazy and delusional and willing to do anything to get it from you. There had been nothing to find back then. Or he hadn’t been as lazy about hiding it.

Tim paced, tucking his hands into his armpits as this new thread caught him, and he pressed, ‘What does your dad think about this, huh? Your family all up in arms ready to crucify me when I bet your dad’s done the same thing. It happens, Grace. Men make mistakes when they work with the kind of stakes men like me and your dad do–”

“Stop comparing yourself to my father,” she scoffed. “You are nothing like him.”

“So far as you know, huh, Grace? You’re so fucking naive…”

“Yeah, about you!”

“Daddy’s Girl, worship the ground he walks on. I should have known he’d tell you to leave me. Is that what he said?”

Grace knew it would drive him crazy as she answered, “His reaction isn’t any of your business.” Tim wanted so badly to be liked by her father, despite his claims of not caring. How devastating for her that he would probably be more upset to lose her father’s respect than to lose hers.

“You want me to apologize to him? I’ll do it.”

“It’s over, Tim. I am not interested in reconciliation and it has nothing to do with my–”

“Like hell you’re not! I’ll fight for this marriage–”

“Why?!” she cried. “You don’t want to be with me!”

“Of course I do! I married you, Grace! I love you!”

“You don’t.”

“Don’t you tell me what I do or don’t–”

“You cheated on me! You don’t cheat on people you love!”

“It was a mistake. I regret it! You get that on your recording? You got your little trophy? Turns out when a man is nagged by his wife it gets to him.”

“It’s not my fault!” Grace insisted. She felt like he was spinning around, trying to make her dizzy and confused.

“You want me to grovel? Is that it?”

“If I’m so awful as a wife, why do you even care that I want a divorce?” she countered. “Don’t you want to be free so you can be with those nineteen-year-olds.”

“I would never be with someone under twenty-five,” he grimaced. “And no, Grace, I want to be with my wife.” It was insane, the way he made it sound like she was the one hurting and depriving him here. She had thought her rage and pain had built enough of a bulwark around her heart for this conversation, but watching him lash out like this just drove the point in deeper. Maybe there was a small part of her that had hoped Tim would offer a valid excuse, or that his apology would feel sincere and enough and she could forgive him, love him again, save her marriage.

But all he had to say was that this was her fault and he’d made a mistake. He didn’t seem loving or apologetic as he grappled with a barely-controlled rage that had her checking that the chair wasn’t right behind her in case she needed to run. Tim wouldn’t hurt her physically… right? But two weeks ago, she wouldn’t have expected he could cheat on her either… well. Maybe that wasn’t totally true. Maybe she wasn’t actually surprised by all this. Was that better or worse than being blind-sided? It didn’t matter, she’d never be close enough with someone again to compare.

Her face must have shown some emotion that Tim seized upon, because he reached his hand out and insisted, “Come on, sweetheart. Stop this bullshit. We’ve been together too long. I know I fucked up and I’ll make it up to you. No need to call quits on us yet.”

“Is it because of the prenup?”

The question rolled out without a thought and she immediately regretted it.

What little restraint Tim had held through all of this snapped. Ah, the prenup. The one her dad had insisted on, that she almost hadn’t done in an effort to prove that she loved and trusted Tim. That he was worthy of trust.

“This isn’t about the fucking prenup!” he shouted in a way that made it very clear it was. At least in part. Grace was very familiar with that prenup, having just gone over it in detail with her divorce attorney. Their marital earnings would be split 50/50, but exclude any interest earned on the money either had before marriage, defined as a set dollar amount. Grace’s amount had been much larger than Tim’s. Tim would be safe from paying alimony despite the fact he made more now, unless a judge overruled their prenup on that point. But, probably the most stressful piece to Tim right now, was that he would owe her father the amount he had borrowed to start his consulting business, after his own parents wouldn’t loan him the money because the first one had folded. Grace had been so confident he’d succeed, she hadn’t even felt embarrassed by her father’s insistence on tying the loan to her prenup. She’d figured it was just a way to spare Tim’s ego at accepting the loan, since obviously he would always be a loving, devoted husband, and so it would forever remain just “family money” and not require payback. That consulting business too had gone under, the money was gone.

Until now. Now Tim owed her father $5 million dollars, on top of splitting his assets with Grace in half. She was not actually sure he even had the money, though she suspected he had multiple bank accounts in addition to their shared one. She had a second one, no harm in that, but at this point she doubted him on everything so who knew what he was hiding? So she had squashed her early instinct to be merciful and nodded when the attorney suggested he’s probably been using you for a long time; let’s take him to the cleaners.

“How fucking dare you bring up the prenup? The prenup doesn’t matter! We aren’t getting divorced! You know better than that! There’s no way your family supports you leaving me, we made a commitment to each other–”

“That you failed when you cheated on me.”

“And now you’re failing it worse by quitting! Don’t even talk about it anymore, I won’t go through with the divorce! We’ll take some time off work and go on a nice vacation together and do marriage counseling and then we’re going to put this whole thing behind us–”

“Until you cheat again?”

“Stop talking about that! You think I wanted to do that? But you’re such a bitch all the time and it wears a man down to have someone like you always nagging about what’s going on at work and whether I closed the deal and why can’t I be like your dad! Go fuck your dad then if you think he’s so fucking great!”

“Stop. Just stop talking,” she pleaded under the weight of his words. Probably the whole street could hear them right now, she realized. She was done with this conversation. She wanted it to end. Any sense of victory or enjoyment was now gone.

“No, you wanted to talk about our marriage! Let’s talk! You think you’re some poor suffering wife here? You’re barely a wife! You run around playing at being a real estate agent so you can spend money on that shit you call art and be some queen bee in the Society or whatever the fuck your family gets randy about–”

“Stop it, Tim!”

“Oh you don’t like us talking about you, huh?”

She grabbed her things, phone still clutched in her hand and tried to step around him to get to the house.

He grabbed her arm and she screamed, “LET GO OF ME!”

“Hey everything ok back there?” a male voice called, and for a brief moment Grace thought it was the pool guy again. Wouldn’t that be perfect? And yet a strange rush of relief came with the idea; Grace felt a desperation to hide behind any man who could make Tim go right now. So feminist of her, huh? She hated herself for the impulse and yet…

“Fuck off!” Tim shouted at the interloper.

“Ma’am?” the voice called again and now she could see the mailman by the back gate. “You need me to call someone?”

“I told you to fuck off,” Tim said, stepping around her to march towards the man now. Grace wanted to wilt under the mortification of a witness at the same time she felt a deep gratitude that someone had heard and actually stepped in. Who did that? The mailman! Even if her neighbors did hear anything right now, they were probably sipping mimosas by the window to hear what other dirty laundry came out.

“I’m fine, thank you,” she called to the mailman. “My ex-husband was just leaving.”

“Like fuck I am,” Tim said, whirling on her again. “This is my house. I’m not going anywhere. You do some thinking, Grace, and get your head together quick to save this marriage, because you need me more than I need you. You think anyone else is going to deal with your rich bitch attitude?”

“Who says I want someone else? I’m not shopping around, but I deserve not to be treated like this–”

“Yeah it’s all about what you deserve. You have no fucking clue what the world is like because first daddy protected you and now I’ve done the same thing and look where it fucking got me. Wasting our money on a goddamn divorce lawyer. We aren’t getting divorced!”

The mailman was still there and had pulled out his phone. Grace saw it and tried to gesture not to. Tim didn’t notice. He’d said his piece and stomped into the house, fuming. There was no way to slam the sliding door but he tried and his scream of rage almost cut through Grace’s fear to make her laugh.

But she didn’t laugh. She sank to the lounge chair, her legs shaking, her head throbbing. The air felt static in the wake of his fury.

“You ok?” the mailman called to her. “I can still call.”

“No, I’m fine. I’m so sorry you saw that. We’re… getting divorced and he’s not taking it well.” The first person she had told she was getting divorced: the fucking mailman.

“Good for you,” he said, but it sounded sincere. “I hope you leave that bastard high and dry. You sure you’re going to be ok? You have somewhere else to go?”

“I’ll be fine, but thank you.”

He seemed reluctant to go. She couldn’t believe he’d stepped in so much; she’d never traded a word with this man in her life though she did leave him a gift at the holidays. Merry Christmas, to our postal worker, because she didn’t know his name. Did she really seem like such a damsel? His hesitation twisted her emotions and she began to feel genuine anger. Couldn’t he see that this was embarrassing? She’d said he could go! He should go!

He was gone before the angry words rolled off her tongue, for which she was grateful. But then she was alone and that felt bad too. The yard felt eerily quiet and she wondered what Tim was doing inside. It scared her. She still believed he wouldn’t physically hurt her, but was that only because she wanted to believe that? He might be in there finding some other way to vent his rage: destroying her paintings or smashing TVs or who knew what.

She ended the video. It was long. She couldn’t bear to watch it but immediately sent it to her attorney, then called.

“Grace. I haven’t watched the video you just sent. Is there something wrong?” Lidiya asked.

“Tim isn’t handling news of the divorce well,” she admitted, her breath shaking as she blinked back tears. She felt like he was still standing there yelling at her. “I don’t think I can stay in the house with him. I mean, I can… but I don’t want to… but will I lose my stake in the house then? Abandonment?”

“No, not at all. He has made you feel unsafe. As long as you keep paying your part of the bills, it’s fine.”

“Hold on a second.” Grace looked up at the rumble of the garage door. A car door slammed and then Tim’s car peeled out of the garage.

“He left. I can breathe now.”

“Good. Catch your breath and go pack your things. Stay with a friend, family, hotel, it doesn’t matter. The disclosure is hard if the other person doesn’t see it coming. I won’t lie and say this will be the only hard part, but you will get through this and I’ll be right there with you.”

Grace wanted Lidiya to tell her she was doing the right thing, that this divorce was the right step. She knew it was. But it was one thing to know it and another to have Tim standing there yelling, twisting her around, making it sound like she was the cause for failure. And she hated this. She didn’t want to leave the house! She couldn’t pack up all her stuff so quickly so she’d have to leave things behind and hope he didn’t destroy them in his rage. She didn’t want to stay somewhere else. She didn’t want to admit to her friends and family any of this was happening, and staying somewhere else was a concrete step towards admitting this was happening. She loved this house! She hadn’t loved married life to Tim but she could pretend she had, to mourn the things she had thought were good. She wanted to keep lying by the beautiful pool, but Tim had ruined her day just like he had ruined everything else.

September

“So then she grabs my ass,” Jungkook explained, “and laughs. Like, right in my face with her nastyass cigarette breath.”

Yoojin reached around him to pull the cabinet open and search for a sippy cup lid, nearly clocking Jungkook in the head from where he sat on the counter.

“That’s so gross. Did she try to pretend it was an accident?”

“No. She asked me what kind of body oil I use. I was just sweaty! It’s fucking ninety-eight degrees out there today!”

Yoojin crinkled her nose and said, “That’s disgusting.”

“I know!”

“No, I mean you being that sweaty. Have you thought of getting a doctor to look into that?”

“Shut up, asshole,” he laughed, trying to kick the back of her knee as she sauntered away.

“Hey, not in front of my son!”

But Max not only wasn’t in the room, it would be highly unlike him to repeat anything he heard, despite their best efforts. His first birthday had just passed, but he still had only a few words he reliably used, much to Yoojin’s panic. She’d recently implemented a rule that everyone had to only speak English to him, in case speaking two languages at home was slowing him down. Eomma insisted he was clearly smart and just didn’t have anything to say yet, but it was a sore subject, likely to send Yoojin into a shrieking fit, like she had when Jungkook asked if the pediatrician had said anything about it. He still didn’t know if she’d even asked about it. He didn’t think fear or shame were a good reason not to ask the pediatrician though, even if it was them doing something wrong.

“Yeah, how would he feel to hear his mom is victim-blaming, huh?”

“I’m not victim blaming. If you’re so pissed about it… I don’t know. Tell your boss you won’t work at their house anymore or something. I thought you dealt with this all the time?”

“Not all the time. It was worse when I was a cabana boy, and those fuckers didn’t give a shit what we dealt with from guests. The guest is always right.” He shuddered. The tips had been phenomenal but ultimately not worth it. He still started on the defense around older women drinking by a pool or beach, at least that kind of older woman. You could always tell. Just like he’d known Mrs. Abigail Pender was trouble since he’d started working for them. He hadn’t thought she’d actually grab him like that, but he’d never felt comfortable around her. Just tried to be polite when she’d so brazenly flirt with him. Apparently all it took was three margaritas (she’d been bragging) and the encouragement of her friends (they’d been drunk too, watching from the patio.)

Jungkook still felt shaky about the whole thing, even though that was embarrassing too. It wasn’t like he thought Mrs. Pender was going to harm him or anything. But who knew what a pissy white woman was capable of? She’d looked shocked when he’d pried her hand off and said, “Please do not touch me, Mrs. Pender. I’m just here to clean your pool.” Like she’d actually thought he came by to flirt or something?! Now he debated whether to tell Bob about the incident or wait to see if she’d call to file some bullshit complaint. That had happened multiple times, and though Bob had been understanding about the call from Limpdick Birch a couple weeks ago, if this was the second woman complaining about Jungkook, at what point would Bob think Jungkook was doing something to cause it all? He wasn’t! He was just cleaning the fucking pools!

Well, except for the Birchs, where he had involved himself and was no longer cleaning the pool. He’d asked someone else to cover the last month of their cleanings for the summer and worried that was just going to make him look bad in light of any complaints from Mrs. Pender.

“Yeah, but I mean as a pool guy. Maybe you need to wear more clothes or something? Don’t look at me like that, I realize how it sounds but this is how it goes for women all the time. We should be allowed to wear whatever we want and not get assaulted. It doesn't mean we can.”

“It’s hot and I work outside,” Jungkook defended. “At least if a guy grabs you, you can deck him and everyone will agree it’s deserved. If I deck an old lady, I’m getting sued and going to jail.”

“Ooof, it’ll only be worse in prison.”

“Yoojin, that doesn’t help!”

“I’m sorry,” she sighed, screwing on the lid of the sippy cup and sloshing apple juice onto the counter. The sink was piled with dishes even though she and Max had been the only ones home for lunch. “What else do you want me to say? Cougars are gross. Get a different job.”

But Jungkook didn’t want another job. He sighed noisily as she left the kitchen. Yoojin wasn’t usually his first choice to complain to, because she tended to be unsympathetic at best, and usually just found a way to insist her story was worse. Yeah, Jungkook didn’t envy her raising her son alone –but she wasn’t really “alone.” She lived with his parents. Jungkook babysat a lot for free.

“If jobs are so easy to change, why don’t you have one?” he demanded, chasing after her.

“Get off my ass, I’m on round two of an interview!” She slapped at his arm. “Don’t make me sound incompetent in front of Max!”

Max had been reaching for Yoojin but Jungkook scooped him up, hotly defending, “I didn’t make you sound any way. Besides, if I quit my job, I probably can’t babysit for free anymore like this. You want to pay me?”

“You aren’t babysitting,” she immediately complained. “You’re uncling.”

“I’m letting you mooch off my time,” he insisted. But then, afraid she would actually take it as a complaint, he spun Max around and added, “It’s his fault, he’s too stinking cute. It’s hard being the favorite person but ah… a burden I must bear.” Max giggled and squished Jungkook’s cheeks and babbled. “Hey, do you think he just said ‘uncle’?”

“No, I don’t think he just said uncle. I wish! He won’t even say ‘mama’! What the fuck, right? Hey, next time one of the old crones hits on you, why don’t you just play dumb and point out they’re old enough to be your mom?” Yoojin asked. Her eyes sparkled like this sudden idea was the clear and obvious answer to all his problems.

“But they’re into that, that’s the problem,” Jungkook snorted.

“God I wish people thought I was old enough to be someone’s mom. I’m so sick of people asking if Max is my baby brother. Like what the fuck?”

“Language, Yoon. Or ‘fuck’ might be his next word,” Jungkook scolded her just to get a rise out of her. She opened her mouth, probably to let another string of curses out, butEomma and Appa swung the door open, back from grocery shopping. “Not a word about my work thing,” he said quickly to Yoojin. The last thing he needed was Eomma and Appa worrying about his job security or health and happiness. One time they’d found out about a woman harassing him as a cabana boy and they had actually gone to the resort to talk to his boss about employee protection and the next thing he knew, Jungkook was looking for a new job. The resort swore it had nothing to do with that, but Jungkook knew. Even though he couldn’t hate his parents for it, they had just been trying to help when there had been so little they could do for his brother. Not that they’d ever admitted that was a part of it, but honestly, marching into a resort to complain?! We didn’t come here for our children to be treated like this! He didn’t want them to think he needed that kind of help. He could take care of himself.

Besides, it wasn’t like Jungkook didn’t ever flirt to get good tips or reviews. He didn’t do that now, at least not with any women who would take it too far, but back then… eh, he’d hooked up a couple times with guests too, which was technically what he was fired for…

<“Eomma, Appa, I said I’d go shopping with you,>” Jungkook scolded in Korean, carrying Max over.

“Stop talking in Korean around him!” Yoojin cried. She was ignored.

Eomma assured him, <”We don’t need you to go grocery shopping with us. We had the time together.”>

<”You work tonight.”>

”Bye Eomma, Bye Appa, I’m going to my second interview. See? Speak English like that,” Yoojin said, trying to slide past them after she kissed Max on the head.

Appa’s face screwed up as he asked, “An interview dressed like that? What is this company again?”

“It’s a catering company, I told you. I have to look nice.” Now Junkook looked at her outfit and also thought it looked a little off for a job interview with a catering company. Her short black dress was pretty tight, and her heels were nothing like you’d wear to show you knew how to cater food and she had a small purse. Small purses meant date.

“Are you going on a date?!” Jungkook hissed, clamping a hand over one of Max’s ears as if to protect him. Max was far more interested in Jungkook’s shell necklace than in whatever his mom’s secret plans might be. “Am I babysitting for you to go on a date?!”

“No! It’s not a date! It’s an interview, I swear! I just dressed nice!”

Jungkook didn’t want to dig in too hard in case it was true and he made her cry –she could turn it on like a faucet in front of their parents and then he’d look like an ass. But Appa raised his eyebrow, also not convinced, and shuffled past with two bags of food.

Eomma nodded at her, <”Ok, good luck if it’s a job interview.”>

“You’re all bullies,” Yoojin huffed. It was impossible to tell if she was really upset by their doubt. Jungkook thought her lack of shouting might actually mean she really was going on a date and didn’t want to back herself into a corner confirming it. Jungkook bit his tongue, for now, but only because their parents were there, and Max was grunting like he was trying to poop. Jungkook would change the diaper, but he drew the line at holding the kid while he did the deed. He’d save the brotherly lecture for later. The last thing Yoojin needed to be doing while she was unemployed with a one year old was going on dates! Not to mention every guy she went after was just like her ex, and she threw a fit if you pointed that out to her. If she was going to date, at least Jungkook wasn’t going to babysit for free for it.

He wound up trading Eomma, so she got stuck with the diaper while Jungkook carried in the groceries and did his best to help put them away with some guidance from Appa. He’d wanted to help with the shopping so Eomma wouldn’t wear herself out before her shift at the nursing home; she was working nights this week.

<“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”> Jungkook asked Appa, before realizing it was Thursday so Appa had Go night at the community center in K-town. His days were off. He blamed it on not cleaning the Birch’s pool yesterday. He wondered if Mrs. Birch had noticed someone else came by, or if she’d even cared. Probably she was relieved. For all he knew, she’d called to ask for a replacement anyway and Bob just hadn’t mentioned it yet.

<”You and Max can come with me tonight,”> Appa suggested.

<”It’s tempting but uh…”> Jungkook scrambled trying to think of an excuse, before settling on, <”Yoojin told me not to take him there. You know, she just wants him hearing English. Maybe she mentioned that.”>

<”That’s not the problem! He’ll talk when he’s ready, in English or Korean!”>

Jungkook shrugged. At least the excuse worked. He didn’t feel like sitting around listening to Appa and a bunch of old men play games and talk about sports and weather. He had thought about taking Max to the beach to get him used to it early, but diaper bags were almost as much of a hassle as getting sunscreen on a baby, and after his morning, he didn’t feel up for it. Plus it was hot out. Maybe they’d go for a walk later or maybe they’d just play inside.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and it felt like he’d stuck a staple in an outlet. He left Eomma and Appa debating what to eat for dinner since both of them would leave early and carried Max with him back to what had become Max’s room once he moved out. He knew it would be Bob’s name on the screen before he even got his phone out of his pocket.

“Yeah, Bob? What’s up, man?”

“Hey, JK. I just got off the phone with–”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Jungkook blurted out. “I didn’t flirt with her or anything, she was just drunk and gossiping with her friends and then grabbed my ass.”

“Uh… who’s this now?”

“Shit. Uh… who did you get off the phone with?” Jungkook asked. He looked to Max for a shared grimace but Max saw toys now and squirmed to be let down so he could play. Jungkook collapsed onto the rug beside him and began nervously stacking blocks.

“I was just calling about the Breslins, they said they want to keep the pools at their properties open through the winter and it looks like it fits into your schedule now that you dropped the Birch house but what’s this about?”

“Ah, just… an incident with…”

“JK, man, I told you, you gotta tell me if there’s an incident. What house?”

“Pender. She got drunk and grabbed my ass. I told her not to touch me and that I was just there to clean the pool. She said some other things but went back into her house and I finished up and left, that’s it.”

“Pender, Pender…. Oh that’s why that name is familiar. You’re the second poolboy then. I don’t give third chances, I’ll let her know we’re dropping her account.”

“Wait, what?!”

“Good, that frees you up for the other Breslin properties. I’ll email you the new schedule.”

“No, wait, Bob, you can’t just drop a client, can you? Aren’t they going to… I don’t know, sue or review bomb or something?”

Bob’s chuckle over the line reminded Jungkook how much he actually did like this job, as he said, “Sometimes. And then what am I going to do, say she’s got to stop assaulting my pool techs. And then she wants to take me to court to prove it didn’t happen, and everyone’s talking about it now? Nah, she’ll bitch to some friends about what a shitty company we are. These people are petty but they’re lazy, and if it’s a repeat offender, they probably don’t want anyone opening the closet door. A couple people start coming forward, suddenly you’ve got a dozen people saying she’s assaulted them.”

“Bob…. thanks. I thought…”

“I’d fire you? I know I may not look like it now, but I was quite a looker back in the day. You think I never caught any eyes or wandering hands? I don’t have much, but my company and dignity are two things that can’t be bought. Well. Company might be bought if it was a really good offer…” He gave that jolly laugh of his again. “See you Monday, mandatory meeting.” And hung up, just like that, no problem.

Jungkook wanted to weep. He’d had enough overbearing, shitty bosses to know Bob was a real one. Not only was he not fired, he had a new schedule now. No Mrs. Pender. No Mr. Birch. No… Mrs. Birch. Which was for the best. It was. It was for the best that he wouldn’t see her again as she debated whether to stay with her shithead husband or go through probably a messy divorce… Yep. For the best. Not his business. He was just the poolboy, remember?

As relief surged through him, Jungkook took hold of Max, rolled onto his back and propped his nephew on his feet to airplane him. Max shrieked with delight; this had been one of his favorite games since he was little.

“Wait, you didn’t just eat, right? No spitting up on me, ok? Hurray, airplane Max!” Jungkook cheered, doing leg lifts with him because if he couldn’t make it to the gym or beach, might as well get some fitness in before their jaunt around the neighborhood. Jungkook was so relieved, he had the energy for adventure.

“Hey, maybe let’s head to the beach after all. You want to? You want to see your uncles and some crabs? You want to be a surfer baby? Yeah, let’s do it.”

January

Grace let out a sigh of relief when she stepped out of the terminal at LAX and felt warmth finally seep back into her bones. Seeing her family for Christmas had been nice, but she was glad to be away from Missouri’s brutal snow and windchill.

Just about the whole extended family had gathered, which was rare these days. Sure, she would have preferred spending the holiday with only her immediate family in Chicago, but maybe it had been better this way. It had meant more options for distraction every time someone tried to bring up her divorce, and fewer opportunities for one on one time that might lead to inescapable questions. Of course everyone had wanted to talk about it. It wasn’t a thing anyone in their family had done before. Ever. Her extended family’s horrific responses a constant reminder of that fact, everything ranging from aren’t you embarrassed for people to know your marriage failed? To well what was going on at home? Men cheat when something is wrong at home and that’s the wife’s domain to keep happy. She found herself wishing her family would just go back to making subtle digs about her weight and diet like they usually did. Not that they missed an opportunity to warn her to cut back on the stress eating and take up some activity, no need to let herself go.

Her immediate family… well, they seemed to be following her lead in just not talking about it at all. That was for the best. Even if some small part of her was desperate to talk to anyone except her attorney about it because fucking hell it was miserable!

She checked her email as she waited for a cab, fully expecting an email from Lidiya with some new bullshit Tim was trying to pull. Mediation was not going well, despite the ironclad prenup. Tim wanted to fight her on everything, and dragged his feet about the information he was required to share, and kept trying to find bullshit “leads” to chase down like he was a real detective. She couldn’t fathom what his play was: this was only going to end in divorce, and he was going to exhaust his finances long before she did hers. Lidiya had suggested he was hoping to burn through their cash without understanding that the court could require him to pay her legal fees alongside his even if he didn’t have the cash at the moment.

But now that the blinders were off, Grace had a new theory. She thought Tim might just not truly understand how money worked. Just like he hadn’t seemed to understand how their prenup worked, or how a marriage vow worked, or a home security system account, and certainly not how she worked. He’d made clear at every turn that he expected her to change her mind and realize she was making a mistake. Maybe that was truly the reason he was making this so miserable, to “give her time” to realize she was wrong.

No emails had come from Lidiya during her flight. No contact from Tim, either, which she carefully documented. Every text, every phone call, every “drop by” her rental condo to “give her stuff” after he’d somehow found out her new place. It wasn’t illegal to go near her, since she really had no grounds for a restraining order, but it was definitely annoying and stupid, clearly just an excuse to see what she was doing, or maybe as an intimidation tactic.. Grace suspected he was hoping she was having men over so he could try to counter that she had been unfaithful as well.

Part of her wished she had. As she watched the city pass outside the window, buildings spreading further apart and climbing into the multistories of wealthier neighborhoods of Santa Monica, Grace found herself again fantasizing about the petty things she’d rather be doing than fighting Tim in court. How delicious would it have been to be the one who cheated on him? To get her world rocked by someone else and then have Tim discover it and hurt as deeply as she did. Some hot young successful man Tim could never hope to compete with. A guy even came to mind, that art collector, Namjoon Kim. Intelligent, sophisticated, successful, a total hottie, and Tim hated him. He’d be perfect. How beautiful to get some sort of justice.

But there was no real justice to be got and she was not actually going to pursue something with the mild-mannered guy, especially not as vengeance against her ex. Hopefully she’d get the house, that might be a small justice. She loved that house. In fact, her mother had pulled her aside and offered to help buy the house out from Tim if she needed the money for it. It was the only reference to the whole thing her mom had made, and kindly meant, though Grace wasn’t sure that she wanted to co-own her own home with her mother. But it might be the only way…

As tempted as she was to drive by the house now, she worried Tim would be there. Possibly with someone. She didn’t want to let on that she really wanted the house or he’d obviously make it impossible. She tried to make it sound like she intended to stay permanently in the furnished condo she was renting. It was nice! But it felt nothing like a home.

Maybe she should get a pet? The thought struck her as she walked through the door. She could. Her family growing up always had dogs but she’d wanted a cat for as long as she could remember. Tim liked to say he was allergic but really he just didn’t like animals –which in hindsight ought to have been a warning sign. Not for the first time, Grace considered all the warning signs she had ignored. The rosy glasses of love really were more like blinders.

Grace set about unpacking her bags. Unpacking was obviously the worst part of travel and she usually procrastinated it but there was nothing else to take her time right now. She didn’t have a single active real estate client at the moment, no houses to stage or sell, and she enforced a strict “no paperwork” policy during her holidays. There weren’t any tv shows or movies she felt like watching, and she’d just sat on the plane for hours anyway, so not in the mood for reading either. Her fitness classes had already passed for the day and she hadn’t signed up for a general gym membership, though it had been on her to-do list because this condo complex didn’t have its own –one of several compromises she had made just to find somewhere fast.

God, do I really not have any hobbies? Grace collapsed across her bed and stared at the ceiling. That felt like a failure to her. She came from a family of always-doing-somethings. Hunting, riding, jet-setting, painting, hosting, visiting, gambling, taking up whatever club sport or craft struck a fancy and then abandoning it when it no longer served. Grace had ribbons from a half dozen sports lined up like a museum in the bedroom her parents still kept for her at their house but she didn’t fence anymore, no pool, no horse. It had been nice to ride again in Missouri.

She pursed her lips and considered tennis. She’d loved tennis. Hadn’t played it in a while, because she and Tim used to do that together and then he got too busy working –and fucking, probably. A game of tennis actually sounded good right now, without Tim.

But it would require inviting someone, and Grace didn’t even bother to pick up her phone to consider it. She had always thought of herself as adequately social, she had plenty of “friends,” but going through this divorce had made her question everything she’d hinged on that word. After overhearing the gossip about herself at the third party she had attended without her husband, she had decided to take a break from the social scene —which would inevitably lead to more gossip. It felt like letting the rumor mill win, but what was she supposed to do, clink a spoon against a champagne glass and confirm that yes, she was divorcing, because her husband had fucked around and she wasn’t wiling to overlook it? All these adequately-married couples she’d thought were her friends for years only asked after her to try and get the dirt on why her marriage failed. They expected her to be ashamed for the wrong reasons. She didn’t want to admit she hadn’t been enough, hadn’t been right for her husband; they wanted her to realize how stupid she was to let a stable-earner, social-charmer like Tim go. What was she going to do now, be alone? Boys will be boys. Just forgive him!

A few people had reached out in ways that felt sincere. Megan blew her phone up every couple of weeks when she went for brunch with “the girls.” Eva from the club had invited her to check out the new gallery opening she patronized, which seemed thoughtful and not geared towards gossip or lecture. Stephanie, who Grace had known since they were girls and had moved to LA only a couple years before, just sent condolences and suggested a girl spa-weekend/ski trip “without the boys.” Kindly meant, even if it revealed the rumor mill had reached her; Stephanie was a different social circle than the Santa Monica club, but Grace hadn’t told her about the divorce.

Grace had brushed everyone off. As she and Tim warred over who would “keep” which “friend” group, Grace found herself doubting who she could trust. Abigail Pender, after hosting one of the parties Grace attended, apparently reported Grace’s presence to Tim, and afterwards she’d received a scathing voicemail from him saying he had known the Penders longer so she shouldn’t go to their parties anymore. Even though he hadn’t gone! And maybe he’d known them longer, having met Mark Pender on a golf green, but she was the one who’d put forth the effort to build and maintain the friendship –mainly because he thought Mark could be a useful friend for him, business-wise. She’d done that with all of them! Tim had always been happy to carry a case of beer to a cookout, or fire up their own grill, but she was the one who planned the events, bought the meat and beer, made sure everyone was having a good time, followed up for the lunches and fishing trips and whatever else got mentioned to make sure these things actually happened.

All that effort and Grace felt like she’d lost it all. Now she finally began to understand the warning her mother had given when Grace had finally called home to say she was divorcing: “Divorce is like burning the house down and you’re still in it, Grace. Really think about this.”

Would she have done anything differently? She couldn’t say. But she did know it was really fucking lonely now, not knowing who were actually her friends. She missed her house. And she felt pathetic, lying there on her bed, not sure what to do with her time. Tim didn’t own her hobbies, so why couldn’t she think of any? She’d been putting so much energy into her marriage and the social network Tim required to feel secure and connected and successful.

Damn, did that make her as bad as everyone else? But the social networks were just like that. Sometimes you genuinely like the people you invited to dinner and other times it was because there was some business or family connection, or potential, or some unspoken duty to be friends because your distant cousin had married the niece of their best friend.

Now Grace had failed the social contract by leaving her two-timing (well, at least four-timing) husband and she didn’t want to hear about it anymore. She didn’t trust anyone. She didn’t want to risk getting asked about it more, as if it was a news headline that affected them all but not personally or emotionally. She was very personally and emotionally affected! Didn’t anyone want to talk to her about something else? Was poor divorced woman all they saw when they looked at her now? She had been someone before her marriage, and during her marriage, and she would be someone again soon!

Once she figured out what she actually liked without Tim’s opinion weighing on her shoulder.

Once she discovered which foods she actually liked instead of the ones they’d ordered just because he did.

Once she figured out how to reclaim her social life from that thieving new-money bastard.

Once she could find a place to live that didn’t look so cold and generic and neutral. She knew neutral colors were all the rage now. This was what new money thought elegance looked like, she’d heard that plenty of times from her mother.

Ugh, what did Grace like? What did she want to do?

Grace wanted….

Grace liked….

Grace didn’t want to be in bed right now, so she showered and changed clothes to get the smell of travel off. And she walked to get a coffee from down the street just to be among Californians again.

Then, on an impulse she decided to give into, Grace drove to the animal shelter. It was almost shockingly easy to fill out the paperwork. She didn’t know whether her rental allowed pets but didn’t care, she put her address as the house she was determined to move back into once mediation granted it to her. She googled a vet reference on the way, assuming they wouldn’t check –they didn’t– and listed her sister as her personal reference, assuming they wouldn’t call –they didn’t.

“Shouldn’t they make it harder to adopt?” she mused on the way home, carrier wedged into the front seat beside her, back seat packed with a splurge worthy of her sister’s shopping habits.

Foam said nothing, just peered through the mesh with the big eyes that took up an odd amount of his face, one ear flicking. The nub of his other ear swiveled when she turned the car.

“Almost home,” she said. Suddenly Foam let out a high-pitched yeowl and turned a somersault in his carrier, then curled up in the back. “Sh sh sh, almost home.”

The narration wasn’t important; deaf little Foam couldn’t hear her anyway, but that hadn’t stopped her from talking to him at the adoption center and it wouldn’t stop her now as she hauled the carrier and bags into the condo. She would order a cat tree for him, and a better scratching post, and whatever else struck her fancy, but at least for now he had bedding and food and toys and treats to mark this completely new chapter of his life. From kill shelter to rescue agency and now to life with Grace, she hoped this was going to be a better future for both of them.

As soon as he was out of the carrier, he climbed her like a tree; she flinched at the pinpricks of his claws until he’d reached her shoulder, trying to nestle himself onto her chest like he had at the center. That’s when she’d been a goner. He couldn’t hear her but he could feel the vibrations of her speech and had purred and nuzzled beneath her chin and really Grace had almost broken down in the room as she stroked his gray and white fur. The rescue thought he might be a Singapura-American shorthair mix but Grace couldn’t care less what he was. No one wanted this beat up scrawny deaf kitty, and Tim hadn’t wanted her.

“Fuck Tim, you’re all I need,” she beamed, arms around Foam as she swayed.

Apparently he didn’t even need a period to warm up to her, which would have been understandable. She would never know what his life had been like in the five years before he’d got to her, but that didn’t matter either. Suddenly the future looked so much better; already Grace was thrilled to hear the padding of little feet as Foam explored his new home. He shadowed her as she did a pass to make sure there wasn’t anything obviously dangerous for a cat and put on some music and grabbed her laptop to read more about cat ownership. She wondered if Foam would be the kind of cat who’d be happy hiking on a leash or in a backpack…

She’d always wanted a cat and now she had a perfect one. Maybe building the life she wanted, only for herself, wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

March

A lot of people kept their pools open year-round, but there were still enough to closed them for the winter that March always saw a surge in business. Jungkook had spent the winter working mostly on commercial properties, which was stable and all, but he was glad to see his schedule shift back towards more private residences. Not that he liked dealing with snotty rich people, but there were plenty of middle class families too who didn’t treat him like garbage. And hey, maybe his ego could use a little stoking from the non-handsy variety of women, just the ones who admired and flirted a little, because winter had not been kind to him in the dating sphere. Teona had come back into his life for a whole month before deciding he still hadn’t grown up enough. He’d had a string of dates that he shelled out good money for only to find himself ghosted or even blocked afterwards. When he’d drunkenly demanded of Jimin “is it me? Am I a creep?” his friends had taken the shit out of him a little too well. He was still bothered not to know whether they were just teasing or really did think he was a fuckboy.

The tide was out on dating and Jungkook saw spring as a chance to refocus on work and surfing and the band and let the universe steer his dating life for a while. Probably straight into a wall, but if he was going to end up there anyway, he might as well blame it on the universe.

“You’re hot but you don’t have any substance,” he murmured, repeating the words his latest date via an app had provided when he asked if there was any particular reason she didn’t want a second date. He’d liked her. He had thought the question would reflect well on him, and anticipated her answer being something like oh the sparks just weren’t there or you’re great but I realized I just don’t have time for a relationship right now. Maybe even I realized I was going to fall too hard and fast for you, it scared me. Nope. Hot but no substance.

What did that even mean? Jungkook had so much substance! He had hobbies and interests! He cared about his family! He was good with babies! He played the guitar and drums and sang and worked out and he could cook. He had a stable job and only played a reasonable amount of video games and he knew how to listen. Wasn’t that enough?! What else did women want??

He was still grumbling to himself as he parked at the Cool Pool Inc. building to confirm his schedule and grab a company truck for the day. Bob had sent them out the night before, but Jungkook had a few questions. Namely, about the typo on his schedule regarding the Birches.

“Huh? The Birches?” Bob finally said, looking up from his computer on the third repeat. “Oh, you’ve still got the house but it’s not the Birches anymore. Didn’t you look at the addresses?”

“Yeah but it says the Hessers. Did you mix up the address?”

“No. They bought the place, Birches don’t live there anymore and wherever they moved, I dunno, they aren’t using us anymore.”

Jungkook’s brow lowered in thought. That couldn’t be right. Granted, maybe there weren’t Birches anymore if Mrs. Birch-or-whatever-her-name-was-now had gotten her head on straight and left that twichy-dicked corn chip. He looked at his list of names again but didn’t see her name listed anywhere.

“Maybe they changed their name,” Jungkook suggested. “Or I mean, she did. Did we get any new customers from another address with the first name… Cornelia?” It was just a name, but he felt wrong to say it, like he wasn’t supposed to know, even though it had always been written on his schedule. Hers had been the primary name on the account: Cornelia Birch, even though she had introduced herself to him as “Grace” that first time he’d cleaned for them. It had made sense to him, in a way, that she wouldn’t give her real name to be used casually by a contractor. And ‘Mrs. Birch’ had felt like the proper way to call her anyway –in the beginning because that’s just a thing he did, to charm the rich white ladies with his manners, but later because calling her by her name would have felt intimate or wrong. They weren’t on the same level. She was older and rich and he would just have felt weird about it, ok? Calling her by her first name or a nickname, like they were casual friends. Besides, was she really called Cornelia? That was such an old lady name… He kind of liked that about her though. She had a weird name, and people always thought his name was weird too.

Bob’s eyebrows lifted. He smacked his lips and glanced at the computer as if going to check but then answered without checking,

“Nope, no new Cornelia anything. Why, you looking for her?”

“No,” Jungkook quickly assured him. “Just… you know, she’s the one who was so serious about their pool, just wanted to know if she closed the account or just moved to a new house–”

“And changed her name?”

Jungkook shrugged, “I dunno, divorces happen…”

“Or you want to know if Timothy Birch’s calls complaining about you cost us an account?” Bob countered, like he could see it all before him.

“It wasn’t my fault he complained about me, he was just like that. I hope for her sake, she did leave his ass, he was an asshole.”

Bob chuckled at this show of passion and shook his head, lecturing, “Marriages are a complicated thing, son. Maybe you’ll get it someday. But no, no Timothys, Cornelias, or Graces, Birch or otherwise.” He was already feeling nervous that Bob would think he’d been involved as much as he had been though and didn’t want to dig in more.

“Ok,” Jungkook shrugged. “I got my schedule then. See ya, boss.”

“Keep it fresh, JK,” Bob said, one of the phrases the younger employees had taught him. He was a good one, that Bob. Jungkook waved over his shoulder as he grabbed the keys to his truck to head out.

And yet, he couldn’t shake the suspicion from his mind. So… did that mean Mrs. Birch and Slim-Jim Dick had divorced? Or just moved somewhere else? He decided to hit up the new owners of that residence first, but still half expected it to be one of the Birches up until he knocked on the front door to introduce himself.

“Great,” the man, Adam Hesser, greeted him with a firm handshake. “We were told by the previous owners your company had been managing the pool so I take it you know what to do? We’re going to keep it open year-round so just keep it nice, our kids will use it a lot. Let me know if you need anything.”

Jungkook nodded, “Yeah yeah, for sure, man. Hey, so you spoke to the previous owners? Which one? Did they say where they were moving?”

“No, I didn’t really, they just had a list of previous contractors.”

“Ah, ok. I’m glad they recommended us. I’ll keep it looking good, head on back on there now. Nice to meet you, Mr. Hesser.”

Gone. That made Jungkook think they’d divorced although he couldn’t be sure. Maybe the Birches were the kind of people who’d decide they had to do everything and anything to save their marriage and they’d moved to Spain or something. Even if they’d divorced, Mrs. Birch might have moved somewhere else. Maybe she wasn’t even in the area anymore, or maybe she didn’t have a pool, which he’d feel sad for her about since she seemed to like it.

Or maybe she did and had just decided to use a different pool cleaning service.

“Wouldn’t that be fucked up?” Jungkook demanded, leaning in close to make sure his buddies heard him over the noisy bar. Taehyung, Jimin, Hoseok, and Soyoon circled the high-top. Taro was here somewhere too, probably networking. Yoongi had already bailed, claiming he had work early but probably just to get away from the place. He only really hung out at bars if there was music he wanted to catch, and even then bounced the second the bands were done.

“Uh… yeah,” Jimin nodded, but he had a look like he didn’t understand why.

“Because I was great at what I did,” Jungkook insisted. “I kept the pool looking great so if she –if they have a new pool and decided to use someone else instead, it would be personal, right? Because I was the best professionally.”

“Didn’t you have a fight with her in her backyard about whether she ought to divorce her husband?” Soyoon asked. Jungkook glared. Hard. He had told her that in drunken confidence and of course she had then casually mentioned it to everyone else without a second thought.

“Yeah, kinda weird,” Taehyung grimaced. “Almost as weird as giving her a video of her husband fucking another woman that you filmed through their window…”

“Hey!”

Jimin came to his defense, insisting, “It’s because he was emotionally compromised.” Wait, that wasn’t the defense Jungkook had hoped for.

“The fuck does that even mean?” Jungkook scowled.

“Aw, it’s because you always had a crush on her, right?” Hoseok asked, his gaze sliding to Jimin as if to confirm this, or make sure it was ok to say. It wasn’t!

“Not in a real way,” Jungkook defended. “Just in like a… a Stacy’s Mom kind of way.”

“That song is fucked up,” Soyoon huffed. “If you reversed the genders, that would be a felony.”

“Sex with a minor is still a felony but they didn’t have sex,” Taehyung countered. “He was just creeping.”

Jimin made a face and admitted, “Really, you think it was just the guy being horny for her? I mean she came out in a towel while he was mowing the lawn, right? No one is surprised by a lawnmower. She knew he was out there.”

“Do you ever see people do things like that when you’re working?” Hoseok asked Jungkook with open curiosity. “Like in just a towel or–”

“Or fucking someone else in the kitchen?” Jimin laughed and threw his arm around Hoseok’s shoulder. “Yeah, he sees it all!”

Jungkook made a face and admitted, “Yeah, I see the towel thing happen.”

“Yeah and is it ever an accident?” Soyoon demanded.

Mrs. Birch didn’t mean to see me when she came up from the home gym in her sports bra. He kept that memory to himself, since these fuckers couldn’t hold anything sacred.

“Eh, sometimes,” he decided. “Sometimes it’s on purpose, but other times it’s just because they just don’t give a shit about you. Like, you’re not even a real human so what do they care if you see them in their towel? But other times yeah it’s on purpose.”

“What’s that show… Desperate Housewives? Wasn’t someone fucking a poolboy in that? It probably gave all the old ladies ideas.”

“Is that show even still on? That’s really old. My mom watched that.”

They looked at Jungkook, who had to explain, “Uh… I don’t… know? I don’t watch that shit.”

“Oh, you know what show I just saw that was great…” Taehyung said, changing the subject further away from what Jungkook had wanted to do: complain about his lack of closure on the Birches.

He grabbed another beer and pretended to follow along, but mostly he was just thinking about how he regretted bailing on those final two weeks of cleaning at the Birches. If he’d gone, maybe he would know what was going on with them, or where they’d gone. It wasn’t like he expected anyone to leave him a note, but it felt wrong for them to just disappear. It felt… bad. He felt bad. He was the one who had sent the tape and while he was sure it had been the right thing to do, he would like to know that was true from Mrs. Birch-called-something-else telling him how grateful she was. Cornelia. Fucking Cornelia. Maybe that was another reason he always called her Mrs. Birch, he just couldn’t bring himself to call her Cornelia. Or Grace, a nickname, which felt even more intimate?! Cornelia wasn’t a name you could say as you fucked a woman slowly against the side of the pool, and Grace was so short… Gracie might make for a good–

Fuck! Abort! Too much beer! Fuck, he was horny, that was all. It wasn’t about her, he’d just crossed the streams of two different thoughts. Never cross streams.

Besides, now he’d never call her anything. She hadn’t had the opportunity to tell him she was grateful or even just reassure her by her happiness that he’d done the right thing. Which he had. Even if she had not seemed grateful when they’d fought about it.

Damnit, couldn’t a guy get closure about anything? Sure he’d had a fantasy crush about her but he was a good guy, he also just wanted to know that she was happy and doing well. Maybe he could google her…

He pulled out his phone and wandered off, mumbling about getting another beer so no one would see his phone screen as he typed in Cornelia Birch.

A shocking number of results came back. He leaned against the bar and scrolled in disbelief, but the links were all to dense text webpages and he had drunk enough that the letters looked blurry and he didn’t feel like reading a lot right now. Besides, he couldn’t tell if the Cornelia Birch who sat on art boards and was a part of some trust or whatever was her or if it was a common rich white lady name. There were no pictures. Except for a table sold by Wayfair, the “Cornelia,” part of the Birch Lane furniture line. That was kinda funny. White ladies and high end furniture lines, that made sense. He started to type in Grace Birch to see if that got different results, just in case she actually did use that as more than a name to give poor peasants so they wouldn’t sully her proper dignified name when–

“Excuse me, are you ordering or…?” He looked up at the hand on his arm, and the owner of the hand: a pretty blond, tanned and green-eyed.

“Oh, yeah sorry, am I in your way?” He scooted to the side and she pressed in. The bartenders had ignored him but came right over for her. She surprised him by motioning for him to tell his order to.

“Can’t believe they make you wait here,” she said to him.

“You waited ten seconds…”

“No, I mean you. If you can’t get a drink then I don’t get it.”

Jungkook was tipsy and confused. But he nodded and didn’t point out he’d been on his phone and also that he wasn’t sure he’d wanted another beer anyway. But one was brought, and on a whim, he told the bartender to put hers on his tab too.

“You don’t have a tab open,” the bartender pointed out. Which was annoying because they knew him here and that he was good for it. It embarrassed him in front of the girl. He slid his card over and pretended to be smooth about it.

“Thanks for the drink,” she beamed at him. “I’m Mary.”

“Another old lady name…”

“What?”

“Nothing, so, you new around here? Don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“You know everyone who comes here?” she teased.

“Just about. Except the tourists. You wouldn’t happen to be one of those, would you?”

“No. I live here, I just never come to this part of town.”

He nudged her closer, away from someone trying to get by, as he pressed, “Then what made you come tonight?”

“My girl friend had a date and wanted a backup, you know? But apparently that went well because she already left.”

“Wait… so your girl space friend, right? Not your girlfriend?”

“What?”

Jungkook decided she must not have a girlfriend, he was just confusing them both.

“So… are you leaving then?”

“No. Why, you want me to go?” she laughed.

“Nah. Just checking.” He chugged half his beer to find some liquid courage. He couldn’t believe his luck. A random girl hitting on him in the bar? Great. Perfect thing to distract him from the fact he’d never know what happened to Mrs. Birch. Besides, so what? It didn’t matter. She was just some lady he cleaned pools for.

“So what do you do?” Mary asked him.

“I’m a pool technician,” he answered. “And I also teach surf and work as a lifeguard sometimes.”

“Ah, that explains the muscles. I can tell you’re fit.”

“I drum too. It’s a pretty good workout, no one ever realizes that.”

“Yeah, full body. I don’t play but I mean, I’ve seen people drum.”

He grinned. Yeah, she was into him.

“What about you?”

“Oh, I’m a senior at USC.”

Jungkook swallowed hard and drank more beer to give himself time to count. Senior… so she was twenty? Twenty one? Twenty two at most probably. He was twenty-six, that wasn’t… too bad…

“What’s that look?” she laughed.

“You’re young.”

“What?! How old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

“What? I thought you were like, my age,” she laughed. “I’m twenty one.”

He tsked and shook his head, trying not to smile and ruin the joke as he teased, “A baby.”

“Hey, you’re the one with the baby face.” Ah, he kinda hated it when girls said that, even if he knew it was true.

“Because I’m Asian?”

“What?!” she gasped. “Oh my god! I would never say that! I didn’t mean it like that!”

“I’m kidding. I know.”

“Oh my god, I am not like that. I don’t care who or what someone is, if they’re hot, they’re hot.” She was clearly really offended by his joke, or maybe too drunk to be calm about anything.

He nudged her and prompted, “So you think I’m hot?”

Within an hour he knew she did. She’d said it enough times, her nails digging into his chest and abs as she bounced on his dick, the springs of his mattress screaming beneath them. He grabbed her hips and pulled her down, eyes slitted so he could just make out the circles of her nipples and the pink folds of her pussy around his girth. She was thin and perky and had an absurd bikini tan despite admitting she never went to the beach. Total California girl in the purchased, store-bought way.

Which was fine by him. She could be from California or New York or Florida or Timbuktu for all he cared right now. Her energy was great; his drunk brain felt like a tornado of pleasure touched down where her body stroked his.

“We’re going to break your bed,” she giggled.

“Nah, I would have broken it by now.”

“Oh my god, you’re a dick,” she giggled, and slapped him on the face. He didn’t love that but it wasn’t hard enough to hurt. It wasn’t like a dealbreaker or anything. He definitely wasn’t going to pull out for that. It just seemed wrong for this younger girl to do something like that in sex. If someone was going to slap him… ah, Mrs. Birch could slap him. He thought about it with a grin, sinking into the alcohol-logged fantasy he was drunk enough not to stop this time. He let his hands flop out and spread his legs and surrendered. Mrs. Birch could do whatever she wanted to him. She had that fit body but with way more curves than Mary. Small tits were fine but Mrs. Birch’s were bigger, they’d bounce. She had some jiggle to her thighs. If he grabbed her by the ass, he’d get at least a handful. Mary’s assbones were pulverizing his thighs. But Mrs. Birch in that white swimsuit, maybe a size smaller so her body started busting out of it…

Jungkook grabbed Mary’s hips and nutted pretty quickly after that, wordless at the rush of pleasure as a mental image of Mrs. Birch with swollen nipples straining against a white wet suit filled his head in the moments before it all went blank. He rolled Mary onto her back and got in a final stroke and gasped for breath back into his lungs. When she pushed against his chest to get him to sit up, he sat there just gasping while her eyes and hand roamed his stomach, her other hand rubbing herself furiously. He watched with the kind of fascination he always had for a woman cumming: it was a beautiful thing no matter who the woman was. This fake-beach babe looked hot as hell spasming around his spent dick and he made sure to tell her so as he gripped the condom and eased himself out of her.

“You think so?” she taunted. “Because your eyes were closed a lot.”

“Nah, just hard to keep ‘em open when it felt so good,” he assured her. “Trust me, I was looking.” She’d rolled onto her side and he smacked her ass.

“Ouch, too hard,” she complained with a giggle. And reached behind him for the blunt she’d pulled out earlier but abandoned when he’d pulled her shirt off.

He padded to the bathroom to rinse off and toss the condom, then accepted the blunt when she handed it to him, one arm crooked behind his head in absolute relaxation. Balls empty, brain empty, best night.

She was just nice to him, that’s why he wanted to know whatever happened to Mrs. Birch. Not enough he’d actually look through those google search results or anything. He was just curious. He just wanted closure because she’d been nice to him before and he didn’t feel great that the last time he’d ever see her, they’d had a fight. Hopefully by now she had realized he was right.

“Hey,” he said after blowing smoke towards the ceiling. “If you were married and your husband cheated on you, you’d fucking divorce him, right?”

“Geez, proposing to me already?” she giggled and took the blunt back.

“No, I’m just saying, that’s what you do, right?”

Mary nodded emphatically, “Yeah, this is the 21st century, no woman should stay with a cheating piece of shit.”

“That’s what I’m saying. You get it.”

“Oh my god… you aren’t married or anything, right?”

Jungkook laughed loud and gestured, crying, “You saw my house! I live with a bunch of dudes!”

“Oh. Right. I wasn’t really thinking about anything like that.”

“Just thinking about my dick?” he grinned.

“Yeah, and how bad I wanted it,” she agreed, rolling against his arm. “And it did not disappoint.”

“See? That’s what I’m saying,” he said again. “You get it.”

“Yeah, I got it good.” Just as Jungkook started to gloat, she asked, “Hey, you got anything harder than this?”

“Than… what?”

“Than pot.”

“No. Take it from your elders, don’t do anything harder than pot,” he snorted. Just like that, warm cozy fantasy of success with Mary started to crumble. Ugh. What was he even doing with a college-age girl he picked up in a bar? One clearly surfing for dick and apparently coke too?

No. No regrets. Not while his dick was still twitching with satisfaction.

“You’re not my dad,” she snickered, before whispering into his ear, “Unless you want me to call you ‘daddy.’”

“You call me daddy, I’m going to spank you a lot harder than that,” he warned. Honestly, he wasn’t really into the name but he also didn’t want to chase her off with a denial. Not when he felt this good. Whatever, he could play along. He could stomach being daddy for another round…

She handed him the blunt and watched him; he felt her gaze even with his eyes closed in the low light.

“Are you thinking about someone else?” she asked. “Who were you talking about? Someone cheated on who? Your sister or something?”

He nearly choked as he sat up and insisted, “Yeah I am not thinking about my sisters while I’m fucking.” That made her laugh harder. She choked too, coughing hard as she took the blunt back to set in the bowl on his nightstand.

“Then who?”

“Nobody. I just knew you’d understand.”

“Yeah, I’m great like that. Hey, can you spot me money for a lyft back home?”

“Just spend the night, I don’t mind.”

“.... no thanks. You’ve got like a lot of laundry in here…”

“Yeah, tomorrow is laundry day,” he lied, but her criticism made him run a little colder.

“Yeah it was just an observation. I have class early though I gotta go.”

He sighed and pushed himself out of bed to see what cash he had. Only a twenty, which she gladly took before ordering a car that would go on her card anyway. Damn college girls. He got her a glass of water and made sure she got in the car ok before returning to his room. There wasn’t that much laundry in his room. Maybe he’d been in a hurry changing between surfing and work and going out but so what? He hadn’t expected to bring someone back tonight. If she was so particular they could have gone to her place. She probably had laundry everywhere too.

Dizzy now between the pot and alcohol, Jungkook realized with regret there was no way he’d drag himself out of bed in time to catch the morning surf. He had lifeguard duty and family stuff this weekend too, and band practice Sunday, so tomorrow morning was his only chance. And now Mrs. Birch was gone and he had missed the last two cleanings at her place because he’d been too sulky about her being mad at him. He’d fucked, that was great, his balls were drained, but at what cost? Was it really worth it? Was something wrong with Jungkook to wonder if maybe other things in life were even better than sex–

Wait, Mary had early classes on a Saturday!?

Chapter Two | Masterlist | Chapter Three

#jungkook ff #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x oc #jeon jungkook x oc #over the falls #jeon jungkook ff #jungkook smut #jungkook series #jungkook au #poolboy jk #jungkook domestic fluff

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sitp-recs · 1 year ago

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hi liv hope you’re well!!! i was wondering if you had a reclist for like wound healing / physical h/c ?? i looked through your masterlists and maybe i just couldn’t see it but ohhh i would love it if you have any recs for me :))) thank you so much have a lovely day xx

Hi anon! Ahh yes some good old whump 👨‍🍳 💋 it’s crazy to think I haven’t done a list for it yet bc this used to be my favourite Starker trope! My memory is not great (especially with long fics) but I think these might work. Oh and if you enjoy Dronarry I highly recommend Let Be, Let Be by @tackytigerfic :)

Operative by @shealwaysreads (M, 3.4k)

After the war, Draco finds himself in the familiar position of not getting what he wanted. But sometimes, what you need finds its own way to you.

A Noir Cliche by @shiftylinguini (T, 4k)

Draco is not a Healer. Harry doesn’t get hurt on purpose. They really have to stop meeting like this.

Case File #742 by @nametheshadows (M, 6k)

When Draco is thrown into the cell, he’s furious. When Potter gets thrown in behind him, he’s pissed.

Vale Sanare by RurouniHime (M, 23k)

Draco’s world gains a new component just when he thought he’d sorted everything out.

On One's Knees by pir8fancier (E, 34k)

The war is over and to the victors go the spoils. If you are triggered by infidelity, this is not the fic for you.

If an Injury Is to Be Inflicted by @shealwaysreads (E, 45k)

Harry Potter disappeared a year after the Battle of Hogwarts, and with him went all hope for true change in magical Britain. Three years later, Draco indulges himself and attends his first Dog Fight—the infamous underground fights with no rules, no referee, and no points system bar blood on the floor. The game was simple: you win, or you die.

The Boy Who Only Lived Twice by lettered (E, 54k)

Harry Potter is an Unspeakable. Draco Malfoy is the wizard who shagged him. Adventure! Intrigue! Secret identities, celebrities, spies! It's all right here, folks.

Balance, Imperfect by @bixgirl1 (E, 91k)

When Harry sustains an injury in the line of work, he no longer knows how to navigate the life he loved, and finds help and solace from the most unexpected source.

Any Instrument by @dictacontrion (E, 131k)

Draco Malfoy wouldn't go back to England for anything less than an exceptional case. Being asked to figure out why Harry Potter can't control his magic might be exceptional enough to qualify.

From Ashes by Caedes12 (E, 150k)

When Draco comes back for eighth year, he starts an unexpected friendship with Hermione Granger. Between his new friendship and his parents kicking him out of the house, Draco's life starts down a new path.

There Is Always the Moon by @firethesound (T, 159k)

Draco's life after the war is everything he wanted it to be: it's simple, and quiet, and predictable, and safe. But when a mysterious curse shatters the peace he'd worked so hard to build, there's only one person he can trust to help him. After all, Harry Potter has saved his life before. Now Draco has to believe that Potter will be able to do it one more time.

Bonus: art!

Sometimes it’s Now or Never by @bluebutter-art (T)

The aftermath of a messy Auror raid finds one Harry Potter at the doorstep of Draco Malfoy’s home. Who knew that a brush with death is exactly the push he needs to finally tell Draco how he really feels?

#asks #anon #drarry whump #physical h/c

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heliads · 1 year ago

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everything is blue • conrisa space au • Chapter One: Some Run

Risa Ward escaped a shuttle destined for her certain, painful death. Connor Lassiter ran away from home before it was too late. Lev Calder was kidnapped. All of them were supposed to be dissected for parts, used to advance a declining galaxy, but as of right now, all of them are whole. Life will not stay the same way forever.

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Connor Lassiter has only existed in these worlds for sixteen turns around his system’s sun, and yet his time is already over. It’s funny, really. If he was going to be taken apart, he was really hoping that he’d be able to make it to seventeen. It always seemed like a good year. Or maybe that’s just because seventeen is when you can start the training process to get your cosmic license, and although Connor never breathed a word of it to anyone, he’s always been angling to make it past the atmosphere, even just once.

Now, it looks like he’ll get his wish to leave his birth planet behind, but that’s the only good part about all of this. Connor will never be able to explore deep space, he’ll never chase down settlements on rogue moons, and he’ll never so much as see a binary sunrise, because Connor Lassiter is going to die, and worst of all, no one in this system or any other will fight it.

Even Connor can’t believe it’s really happening. Sure, he’s had this sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that his home has stopped being his for quite some time now, but he always assumed he could do something to pull himself out of it. Yeah, he mouthed off in class, and only ever turned up at home after curfew, long past when he was supposed to, but none of those are grounds for this, right? Right?

Not according to his parents, because they’re the ones who have gone and signed away his grounds license. Horrific. Connor found the proof of it by accident, aimlessly scrolling through his parents’ hololibrary in search of something interesting to read or watch. Instead of a new show, though, Connor had accidentally clicked on the tab for his parents’ private work files.

Connor usually never bothers checking that stuff– who cares about interplanetary taxes and star system loans, anyway– but just as he’d been about to go back to the entertainment folder, he’d spotted his name on a file that read: Destined for Distribution, and then he’d known.

There’s an old saying about how it takes a lunar colony to raise a child, but sometimes even the proverbial interstellar village isn’t enough. Sometimes you can’t force your offspring to be what you want. The governments of the worlds puzzled over such a dilemma for a long time– if you can’t shape the young generation, after all, you risk losing control of all of humanity forever– and after a series of Heartland Wars and internal disputes, they came up with a solution: distribution.

Space travel is a relatively new problem in the history of humanity, but they’ve already managed to mess it up. Those in charge at the start of it all wanted new flights, new discoveries, to take over every planet they saw regardless of who lived there and the downfalls of having to carry on a society in every direction.

After sinking their claws into every star system they could reach, the tension of frenetic interstellar improvement slackened, and what was left was a hastily constructed dystopia, prone to falling apart under the slightest of scuffles. We’re kind of a terrible species, humans, all things considered. We don’t wait until we’ve solved world peace before we take our problems to other planetary systems. Instead, we spread out our grievances until everyone in all the worlds has to suffer as much as we did.

The problem with fast-paced space exploration is that the early adventurers burned through resources just as quickly as they did back on planet Earth, which is now barely more than a clod of ash and dust. To make up for the demands without having to change their tactics, the centralized government sent out a mandate to all its territories: why not solve two problems in one? Get rid of the teenage crisis by using their resources in a better way. Distribute what the ferals would take up to those who could actually use it.

There’s no way the idea of distribution should have taken on as strongly as it did. Maybe it wasn’t as inhumane in the beginning as they did now, maybe it literally was just about giving away food and clothing and shelter. Now, though? Distribution doesn’t just represent physical objects. It means that the actual bits and pieces of you, the bloody matter and bleached bones that are currently in the body of a child marked for distribution, will be spun apart into individual fragments and given away.

There’s the idea that there’s only so much space left in space, so to speak, so if you’re no longer needed, your pieces will get distributed to those who need it more. That’s how our glorious society keeps growing, no longer out but in.

Every bit of you will be gone, destined for some better purpose. Some would say that’s poetic. Connor, who is slated to be killed in just this fashion, would call it gruesome. However, no one really cares about the thoughts of someone marked for distribution, and they’re certainly not going to start now. Hell, they haven’t been listening to him for years. Why change?

As Connor swiped through the distribution forms signed in triplicate according to some tradition from a long dead planet, he was chillingly reminded of how easy it was to get rid of him. Every person born on any planet within the Collective’s reach is given a grounds license when they draw their first breath. When it’s decided that they no longer deserve the air in their lungs, the Collective takes back the air and lungs both. Your grounds license is revoked, and from that moment forward, you cease to exist in any way that matters.

After that, you’re sent for distribution. By turning in the forms to confiscate your grounds license, your parents essentially send the Juvey-cops after you. Most kids don’t find out they’re going to get distributed until the Juveys show up at their house and take them away. They’ll have just enough time for a few cries of outrage before getting packaged into a shuttle and spirited to a nearby lunar colony so the doctors can cut you to ribbons. Delightful.

If, on the off chance, you actually do manage to find out that you’re going to get torn to pieces in the name of an equal and fair government, such as Connor, you have a chance to run. He’ll try, of course, but even as he makes his final preparations to kick-AWOL, some disheartening voice in the back of his head tells him that he probably isn’t going to make it very far. You can’t do anything without a grounds license. Not easily, of course. In all honesty, it’s probably just a matter of time until the Juvey-cops catch up to him.

Of course he’s going to run, though. Connor Lassiter is not the type to sit around and wait for his death to come to him. He’ll run until they strip away his very legs. Until then, he can grab a go bag, walk around his house one last time, and then leave in the dead of night before anyone thinks to catch him.

Connor hovers one last second over the threshold of his open door. After this, his fate is up in the air. He could get caught within moments, or he could somehow find a way to stick it out until his eighteenth birthday and survive to tell the tale. The only way he’ll know the answer to that story is if he leaves now.

Connor pushes the air from his lungs and goes. The door shuts quietly behind him, and Connor Lassiter officially disappears. From now on, it’s all up to him. His best plan is to head towards a nearby interstellar transport depot, hope he can find some absentminded pilot who won’t notice some kid sneaking into the back of his starlight frigate, and take him away from this planet. Once he’s offworld, he’ll be able to breathe a little easier. There’s no way they’ll be able to find one kid in a trillion if he finds a far enough system, right?

Until then, Connor will have to keep his head low. Juvey-cops aren’t the only thugs with guns who can cause him trouble. A crop of creeps called parts pirates have sprung up, and if it wasn’t terrible enough to have your limbs hacked off by trained professionals, imagine all that happening by the hands of black market dealers. At that point, Connor would rather just turn himself in, even though that’s a possibility more remote than anything. They say it’s within their rights to take the groundsless off the streets, so whatever the parts pirates do along the way is just another obstacle he’ll have to avoid.

As if he’s got a ton of great choices, though. Connor’s going to be unwound. That term’s been discouraged by the Collective ever since the idea of distribution picked up steam– it’s discourteous to the victims of distribution, apparently, and casts a pall on the whole process– but, like, they’re taking Connor’s organs, so he feels like he can call it whatever he wants. Fuck. He’s an Unwind. Why should they care what gory words he uses to describe it? They can dry their tears with his skin grafts.

Connor makes it to the transport depot by foot about an hour and a half later. Not a bad time, all things considered, but his veins are still thrumming with an unearthly need to get away by the time the rows of landing zones come into view. It takes some difficulty to hop the fence on the back end, but it’s old and no one really bothers checking here anyway. No one turns up to a depot like this unless you’re low on fuel or maglev boots before your next trip out of the star system.

Or, of course, unless you’re Connor Lassiter and you’re going to die. Connor hits the ground and nearly takes a spill before managing to right himself just in time. It would not do to break an ankle or something before he can even get onto a ship. Injuries would only slow him down, and the Juveys would have plenty of time to wait for his unwinding while the bone mended.

Connor slinks between rows of sleeping cruisers. He’ll have to pick his ticket to freedom carefully. A lot of the old interstellar war vets took to transportation jobs once they were out of the line of duty, apparently they like having a low-stress profession while still getting to see the stars, but they’ll aim at any unwanted visitors with the same reflexes as back in their soldier days.

No, Connor’s better off hitching a ride with a newbie or someone else who’s checked out enough to forget to do a once-over of their cargo bay. He finds the perfect place down a few rows– an old cargo boat, HBY-300s class. Old as anything, and, judging by the pervasive rust stains, not well looked after. Connor can’t see any lights on in the pilot’s seat, so he hurries up the landing ramp and immediately trips the security system.

He doesn’t even see it coming, which is not great for his chances, obviously. He should have assumed there would be something like this, but Connor has been jittery for days now, and at some point his guard, already low, just gave up on him. Lights flash on and the beeping voice of a security AI announces him as ConNor LasSiter, AWOL.

Too late, Connor spots the notice of registration fastened on the side of the ship, how it’s under the ownership of a former Juvey-cop. Probably one still missing the old glory days of hunting down kids who kicked-AWOL, judging by the overeager defense mechanisms. The guy spends his days ferrying shipments from one corner of the galaxy to another, and in his downtime, he picks up escaped Unwinds. How patriotic of him to fulfill such an important civic duty.

Connor swears under his breath, immediately turning tail and sprinting out of the ship. Lights start to click on across the depot’s hangar bay, and the telltale siren of things gone badly begins to echo across the empty space. Connor can hear the sounds of people starting to rush towards the ships, and he cuts an increasingly narrow diagonal across the shipyard, trying to stay out of the path of search beams.

After hauling ass back over the fence, which seems twice as difficult to climb now that he’s in danger, Connor hurtles across plain cement, aiming for the untamed forest across the road. It’s so wild in there that it would be impossible for low flying craft to find him which, judging by the increasing din of engines coming his way, is a necessity right now.

He didn’t think they’d be able to find him so fast, but maybe one of his parents stopped by his room already and figured out he was gone. They could have called the Juvey-cops and had them here by now, especially with Mr. Reliving the Glory Days of Police Work back there already getting a facial scan on him. Connor thought he had been smart by ditching any tech so they couldn’t track him, but he’s forgotten one crucial thing about the life of an AWOL: you don’t just have to be smart, you have to be lucky. Looks like Connor’s days of finding four leaf synth-clovers are behind him.

Out of the depot’s floodlights, the ground under Connor’s feet quickly transitions from concrete to grass. The sudden softness making him stumble. As Connor straightens back up, he has to fling an arm in front of his face to protect himself from a sudden, powerful wind coursing down around him. The grass, illuminated out of nowhere by twin blinding beams, is bent flat to the ground from the force of an engine. The engine of a small shuttle, as it turns out. A Juvey-cop’s shuttle, which has found him.

Connor can see the reflection of his eyes, wide as dinner plates, on the shiny surface of the shuttle. He looks terrified, and a bit insane, which all things considered isn’t the least realistic depiction of him. Connor’s brain is a mess. He thought he’d have a little more time until the law enforcement found him. Looks like his period of staying undercover has come and gone.

The shuttle jerks to a landing in front of him, and a man begins to come down the landing ramp, tranq gun in his hands. Connor freezes for a moment, then drags himself to attention as the man gets closer. Once he’s far enough down that Connor can read the name stitched into the pocket of his uniform– Officer J.T. Nelson– Connor gets himself together and runs, rolling under the nose of the craft to the small space underneath the belly of the ship. This clearly disorients the Juvey-cop, whose footsteps abruptly come to a halt on the metal walkway before continuing again, albeit this time slower.

“Come on out, kid,” the guy shouts, “There’s nowhere you can go.”

Connor’s not about to just turn himself in after everything, though, so he creeps further underneath the ship and around the back. The cop follows him, tucking the tranq gun into his belt so he can use his hands to help himself crouch under the lower parts of the ship in search of Connor.

“You can’t hide under here,” Officer Nelson calls, voice echoing off of the metal curves of the shuttle, “I’ll just crush you when I take off again.”

This is probably true but, as Nelson starts to stalk further around the perimeter of the shuttle, Connor gets an idea as to how he might be able to escape this little encounter. It’s a terrible idea, to be sure, and will probably get him killed if he does it wrong, but it’s not like he has any other options at the moment.

So, Connor stays deathly quiet, heart hammering in his chest as he stays pressed flat to the lower wing of the shuttle, and he waits for Nelson to walk closer. The officer indulges, drawing nearby, and Connor reaches out a trembling hand and pulls the tranq gun from the officer’s belt, just like that. Easy. The guy doesn’t even notice.

Connor eases himself out of his hiding place once Nelson has doubled back the other way, then sprints towards the landing ramp of the ship. He makes it halfway up before Nelson reacts to the sound of his heels thundering up the metal incline and bolts back towards the entrance of the shuttle.

“Get back here!” Nelson makes it to the base of the ramp just as Connor reaches the top.

As the Juvey-cop starts to race up the landing ramp, Connor looks around wildly. His eyes land on a button near the ramp entry and he slams his palm onto it. Thankfully, the button does what Connor had hoped for and the ramp begins to fold up towards the shuttle again, unfortunately with Nelson still scrambling for purchase on the surface. Connor can’t risk the guy getting close enough for Connor to shove him off, so he looks at the tranq gun in his hands and figures out the next best thing.

Nelson reaches the same conclusion as Connor at about the same time. “Don’t you dare, kid,” he begins to shout, but Connor’s finger is already on the trigger.

The Juvey-cop jerks back with the impact of the tranquilizing dart, and he has enough time to snarl out a swear before his limp body falls backwards off of the ramp and into the grassy dirt a few feet below. The landing ramp fastens to the wall of the shuttle with a dull click, and Connor rocks back onto his heels, unable to believe what he’s just done.

He can’t stay in here forever. At some point, that cop is going to wake up, probably with reinforcements, and they’ll smoke him out or something. Then again, as the background roar of the engine reminds Connor of its presence, he realizes that he might not have to leave after all. The Juvey-cop was stupid enough to leave his ship on when he left to pursue Connor, so maybe– maybe he could just stay here after all.

Stars, maybe he could go. Up to space. Juvey-cop shuttles were designed with both ground and space capabilities in mind. He might not be able to set record hyperspace flights in this thing, but he’ll at least be able to crawl to a neighboring planet and ditch the shuttle before hitching a ride on a cruiser like his original plan.

Connor shuffles towards the pilot’s seat in the cockpit and is greeted by the sight of dozens of glowing switches and buttons, all beeping and blinking up at him. He takes a seat, staring, and then tentatively pulls up on the yoke. The shuttle lunges forward and up a little bit, sending Connor sprawling to the side until he manages to fall into the pilot’s chair once more and strap himself in.

After managing to stabilize himself and the shuttle, Connor regards the instrument panel with renewed focus. He’s never been able to get his cosmic license, and that’s damn near out of the question now that he doesn’t even have a grounds license, but he’d had a friend of a friend once who’d known a thing or two about how to fly a spacecraft.

There was this older guy named Carson Shepherd who used to hang around the parking lot after school got out for the day. He’d sit and swap drinks with some of Connor’s friends. The guy had graduated a year or two ago, and it was anyone’s guess how he’d managed to make it to eighteen without getting his grounds license revoked. Carson had flung himself into the life of a military boeuf and wouldn’t let anyone forget it, either. He wouldn’t stop talking about how he was going to run air strafe runs on distant planets, which Connor only listened to because he’d occasionally talk about how to fly a ship.

Stuff like that was mainly brought up as a bragging point, of course, but Connor was starstruck-crazy for anything space related, so he’d tuned in as much as he could bear. Now, Connor wracks his mind for any tidbit of information Carson had given away. He needs to disengage the landing gear, he needs to get himself airborne before people start looking.

He flips a few switches and is rewarded with a grinding sound somewhere below him. A red light flickers off, and is replaced with a green one when Connor shifts the engine into a mode for takeoff. Pulling on the yoke again, this time slower, Connor is able to drag the shuttle up and up until the tops of the trees are waving below him.

He shouts once in triumph, then again, more loudly, when a readout on the dashboard offers to turn on automatic steering. Connor presses ‘accept’ as quickly as he can, then inputs a destination. Odds are, there’s a tracking beacon somewhere on this ship, so he can’t take it anywhere in the worlds, but if he swaps to another planet in the system, he can transfer to another ship that can take him far away from here.

The nav readout offers him a few choices within the same sector, OH-10, as Connor. He’s on Akron-C right now, home planet that will be home no longer, but Connor presses the button for the small moon just one orbit over, OH-10-XXIII. It’s a small lunar body, hardly anything there at all except for a State Home and some religious communities. No one would look for him there, and by the time they did, he’d be long gone.

Connor hovers by the pilot seat for a few moments longer, just in case something goes wrong, but when no warning lights flash and the air remains devoid of sirens, he accepts that he might actually have made a good decision and sinks back into his own skin, tension finally starting to melt away.

Connor watches the ship carry him up and away from the planet that had once been his own. He has no idea if he’ll ever return; if he’ll even want to, for that matter. Instead, he fixes his eyes on the ever broadening expanse of space, and lets the bright pinpricks of stars take over his mind.

Connor Lassiter is finally offworld.

unwind tag list: @schroedingers-kater, @locke-writes

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ellewritesfix05 · 3 years ago

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Lost & Found

Characters: Soldier Boy x Reader, Billy Butcher, Hughie

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, Minors DNI. Slight fluff, if your squint. Some angst.

A/N: It’s been a while since I’ve been able to get any writing done but have been keeping up with The Boys and am completely obsessed with Soldier Boy so… yeah, this just happened 🤷🏻‍♀️

📸 cred: to rightful owners

Elle’s Library/Main Masterlist

“Hey, Y/N, someone’s looking for you.”

You sigh in frustration for the thousandth time today. What should have been a routine day turned into hell when the idiots at Vought decided to rush the release of merchandise for their latest egocentrically-fueled, completely-cheesy film starring the Seven. As manager of one of the most visited shops in the city, you’re used to chaos but, for whatever reason, today the chaos just seems never ending; running out of merchandise, dealing with annoying customers, resetting all systems due to an unexplainable loss of power halfway through the biggest rush of the day. Just one thing after another, and now… now someone is asking for you. Probably another disgruntled customer losing his shit because you’re all out of Starlight posters for him to jerk off to.

“I’m busy, Joe. If it’s just another asshole whining about us not having something, just send them away.”

“Not just any other asshole, luv,” says a voice with a thick Cockney accent.

Fuck.

“Butcher.” You turn in your chair to face the Londoner leaning against the frame of the doorway with a shit-eating grin that told you he was here to ask you for yet another favor. “You know you’re not supposed to show your mug around here. If anyone at Vought finds out we know each other-”

“I know, I know,” he interrupts. “But, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have a good fuckin’ reason now, would I?”

You glare up at him, waiting for him to state said reason while he just stands there, looking at you expectantly. Rolling your eyes, you stand up and grab your jacket. He wants you to follow him, and while you’re not always so willing to do as he asks, you know he must have a very good reason for coming all the way into the Vought tower merch shop instead of calling you. Whatever it is, it’s good enough to risk your job and possibly both your lives.

You follow him out the back after telling your assistant manager, Joe, to take over for the rest of the day since you had a family emergency. Butcher says nothing as he climbs into his car, and even as he drives out to fuck-knows-where.

After about ten minutes of silence, you can’t stand the suspense anymore, “Okay, out with it.”

He chuckles, “you are an impatient one, ain’t ya?”

“Butcher,” you warn. “I’ve heard nothing from you, or Hughie, or even Frenchie since y’all went legit and now all of a sudden you’re here being all mysterious? Forgive me for being a little impatient with your sorry ass.”

“Alright, fair enough.” Butcher reaches behind you and pulls a file from the backseat of the car, “it’s a long story but, we ain’t legit anymore, turns out Neuman’s a bloody supe, Kimiko’s in the hospital, and we just got back from a little field trip to the former Soviet Union that tore the group apart.”

As he flops the folder down on your lap, you can’t help but be shocked by the information Butcher just dropped on you. True, you’d been through some serious shit with the boys ever since you joined their cause after some asshole C-list supe had decimated your best friend, Ashe, for just being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but after everything, you’d really thought things had turned a corner.

Butcher had found you after you exacted your revenge on Ashe’s murderer and convinced you to join the team. You were apprehensive at first but after thinking about it all - the deaths, the lack of accountability, all the collateral damage that kept getting covered up - you decided to help the cause. It wasn’t a great arrangement; to be honest, everything was shit considering the fact that it took a long time for the boys to warm up to the idea of working with a Supe, even one as half-decent as you, but each time you were able to rid the world of yet another asshole Supe with Butcher’s help, you knew at least you were saving some lives. Which, apart from avenging Ashe, helped you remember why you agreed to be injected with Compound V all those years ago. Though you were gifted with the ability to shoot literal fireballs through your hands, you somehow managed to stay under the radar enough with the morons at Vought that they never really knew of your existence. Or if they did, they didn’t find you threatening in any way. So much so that you’d been able to go nearly 40 years jumping from one job to another within the conglomerate without detection, always using different names and changing certain aspects of your appearance just enough to not raise suspicion. It was this ability to have access to Vought property that had brought you to Bucher’s attention, that and your thirst for vengeance. After years of running with him though, when the Stormfront scandal hit and the group disbanded, you went back to your old ways, having thought that finally things would be better.

You did keep your job with Vought because even as a lowly shop manager, you still had access to certain individuals who could provide invaluable information but over the past few months, having heard nothing but silence from everyone but M.M., you were nearly convinced that the worst was over. Oh well, you should’ve known better.

Still, none of the events that Butcher has just relayed to you explain why he’s come to you only just now. You figure the answer lays in the folder on your lap and when you open it, you understand.

“What is this…” you look through the entire file in disbelief.

The car stops and you look up to find yourself in a motel parking lot, far from the center of the city where Butcher picked you up. You look at him, puzzled, wide eyes silently asking for an answer to the question you’re terrified to ask.

“He’s alive,” Butcher answers and you feel time freeze. There’s a ringing in your ears.

He’s alive. The words dance in front of your tunnel visioned eyes and you feel sick to your stomach. Soldier Boy. Soldier Boy is alive.

No one else knows your connection to the famous superhero - America’s former sweetheart and defender. No one but Butcher.

New York City, 1980

Pain. Spreading throughout your entire body, like an unforgiving wildfire, burning everything in its path. You writhe on the floor, crying out for help, holding on to Ben’s hand for dear life. Though your vision is blurred, you can see him next to you, a smile on his lips as you struggle to breathe. He’d told you, warned you how much it would hurt, but you didn’t care at the time, and even now you try to convince yourself that it’s the right thing. Because it’s the only way to be with him, the only way to stay with him… forever.

Present Day

“But how…? No,” you shake your head, “this can’t be. He was gone, he died, that’s what they all said… the twins, a-and Gunpowder. They grieved him, even Crimson Countess…”

You feel your chest tighten as the air becomes too thick around you, making it hard to breathe. Butcher places a hand on your back, an awkward attempt to soothe the anxiety creeping up on you.

“They lied. There was a plan, they wanted to get rid of’im. He didn’t die, he was taken by the Ivans.” With every word coming out of his mouth, Butcher only makes your world spin more. It doesn’t make any sense, you’d talked to them, all of the Payback team were there at the memorial service, they mourned the loss of their captain. You knew, of course, that they didn’t always get along, especially with Countess since she’d been forced to fake a relationship with Soldier Boy, but they wouldn’t dare try to hurt him. He was too strong, they couldn’t have…

You look down at the picture in the file, and somehow find a way to ground yourself. Anger replaces anxiety, a seething rage simmering under your skin. Those bastards; ungrateful, talentless, useless. They were always jealous of Soldier Boy, it’s no wonder they stooped so low as to team up with the Soviets to bring him down.

“Did you find him?” you ask.

“Y’know, he ain’t no angel neither,” Butcher comments and you look at him angrily.

You do know that, of course you do. It was one of the reasons you’d struggled so much working with the boys. Especially M.M. You knew what happened to his family, you knew what Soldier Boy did to him, and yet you couldn’t help but excuse him in your mind. Yes, Soldier Boy had a dark side to him, but nobody before, and certainly nobody after, loved you the way he did. No one made you feel like you were on top of the world with just one look, no one made your body tremble and your soul reach heaven the way he did. But that wasn’t Soldier Boy, that was Ben; your soulmate, your lover, your everything.

“You don’t know him like I do, Butcher. I know, okay? I know what he’s done but… he’s my Ben and I- I can’t turn my back on him. Just please, tell me you found him.” You know begging is pathetic but if there’s a chance to see him again, you have to try.

Butcher says nothing but nods at one of the rooms in the motel. He takes his phone out and sends a text, and not thirty seconds later you see Hughie come out of the same room. Gathering all your strength, you force your body to get out of the car and go towards the door. Your legs are like lead, each heavy step taking you closer and closer to a moment you never thought would come.

You reach out and grab the doorknob, taking a big breath before turning it and opening the door.

Though he has his back to you, you immediately recognize him. Those broad shoulders, that silky, dirty blonde hair, his laughter as he mocks one of the commercials playing on the small TV. He doesn’t even bother looking back at the door to see who’s come into the room.

You close the door behind you and take a couple more steps, but stop just a few feet short. You can’t get any closer and though you know it's been only seconds, it feels like decades that you stand there before you finally get the courage to speak.

“B-Ben?” you whisper, barely audible but that doesn’t matter because he can hear you. His body tenses up and he stands up immediately, the chair he’d been sitting on falling to the ground. He turns around and you swear he’s gotten even more beautiful than you remember. He hasn’t aged a day, and while you haven’t either, it’s striking; he looks amazing, standing in front of you in a Giants jersey and sweatpants. Looking so normal, so innocent, so… Ben.

If he’s shocked to see you, he doesn’t show it because almost immediately he smiles and crosses the short distance between you. Before you know it, you feel his lips against yours and you can’t help but melt in his embrace. The kiss is rough, bruising, filled with pent-up need. In a flash, he lifts you up and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist. Your movements are swift and expertly, your hands tearing at his clothes as he carries you to the creaky motel bed. He practically throws you onto it, you land unceremoniously but waste no time in removing your own clothes as he lifts his shirt over his head. You sit up and reach out, your fingers dancing across his perfect skin. He looks down at you, lust-blown pupils staring as your fingers dip under the elastic of his sweatpants, pulling them down along with his boxers, allowing his impressive erection to spring up against his abdomen. Without hesitation, you lick your lips in anticipation, practically drooling at the sight in front of you.

As his pants hit the floor, you wrap your hand around his shaft, guiding it to your open mouth. Pre-cum leaking from the tip paints your lips, and you feel the weight of his throbbing cock against your tongue. Soldier Boy groans at the sight, but patience has never been his forte and he quickly snakes his fingers through your hair, pulling at the strands as he pushes your head towards him, forcing you to nearly swallow him whole.

He holds you in place, moving his own hips against you, each thrust allowing him to hit the back of your throat, making you gag around him. Your eyes meet his beautifully green ones and you can feel tears beginning to form as he makes it hard for you to breathe. Saliva seeps out the sides of your mouth and Ben groans, this is the sight he missed most. You moan and the vibrations are nearly enough to make him undone but you know he’s only just beginning, your body responds to him on its own accord, as if no time had passed at all since the last time you found yourself in this position. As he finally pulls out of your mouth fully, you gasp, catching your breath while guiding his manhood downwards, slowly making its way down your neck and stopping in the valley between your breasts. He lets go of your hair, his hand sliding down the side of your face, thumb resting against your bottom lip as you push your breasts together, rolling your nipples between your fingertips as he begins thrusting up and down, his cock sliding easily between your tits. His thumb makes its way into your mouth and you suck slightly, all the while looking straight up at him, admiring his features, basking in the glory of the groans of pleasure escaping those perfectly parted, kiss-swollen lips of his.

While he loves the sight and feeling, he can’t wait any longer. He needs to feel your heat around him, needs it more than anything in the world. Before you can react, his hand leaves your face and he grabs your wrists, pulling you upwards so he can push you down on the bed. His body covers yours, his chest against your own, his mouth on your neck leaving angry, visible marks as his hand travels down to your core. Thick fingers slide down your wet center making you moan loudly as he inserts one, then two digits into your dripping pussy.

“Fuck, babygirl,” he groans in your ear, “so fucking tight and wet for me.”

You nod incoherently as he adds yet another finger and begins moving them in and out of you. It’s been so long since you’ve been touched in any way like this. After Soldier Boy’s “death”, it had taken you a while to start dating and when you did, it was always a disaster. No one compared to him, no one even came close; he ruined you for every other man on Earth. And now he’s back in your arms, the one man that knows what makes you tick, how to turn you into a blubbering mess underneath him using only his fingers. Fingers that curl directly against your most sensitive spot with just the right pressure that sends you unexpectedly crashing against your first orgam. It hits like a freight train, just waves of unimaginable pressure washing over your entire being; your eyes roll back against your head and you loudly scream his name. So loudly, you wouldn’t be surprised if they heard you all the way to Vought Tower.

He continues finger-fucking you through your orgasm, never quite letting you come down. Oh how he's missed this, how many times he dreamt of you in this position, beneath him, writhing and screaming his name in pleasure. Sometimes it was the only thought that kept him from going insane every time the Soviets devised a brand new plan to try and break him.

Without missing a beat, he pulls his fingers out of you and presses them against your lips, groaning as you suck your own juices from them, lapping at them like you were starved. He can’t wait anymore, he needs to be inside you. Kneeling on the bed now, Soldier Boy grabs you by the hips, your legs on either side of him and pulls you towards him. He uses your wetness to coat his painfully hard cock and the moment you feel him enter you, you swear you see stars dancing across your vision. He’s big, thick and delicious as he stretches you out.

Soldier Boy throws his head back as he pushes his way inside you, your velvet heat wrapping around him perfectly, like you were specially made for his cock. He takes a moment to revel in the feeling, yet soon his body demands more and he begins thrusting. His hips expertly move against you as he holds one of your legs against his front while the other fondles at your breast. It doesn’t take long for your second orgasm to hit, and when it does your entire body convulses, your hands holding on to the bedsheets for dear life, your back arched and your head thrown back. He loves to watch you cum, loves to see you come completely undone because of him. He loves the feeling of your cunt pulsing around him even more, it's intoxicating really and it’s been so long he knows he won’t be able to last much longer. He needs to cum inside of you, to coat your walls with his seed and make you unconditionally his again.

As wildfire-like pleasure continues to spread throughout your entire body, he keeps thrusting in and out of you, now desperately chasing his own release. He needs it, you can see it in his eyes. And you need it too, you need to feel him let go inside you.

As best you can, you move your hips against his, egging him on until his thrusts are erratic and unforgiving. You can feel him in places you never thought you would again. The bed creaks loudly beneath you, but it’s barely audible in comparison to your combined moans and groans. He’s close now, you can feel his cock throbbing inside you as he nears release when you suddenly hear the sound of wood breaking and feel the bed dip beneath the two of you, the frame being no match for the strength of Soldier Boy’s final push that feels as though he may split you into two, and he growls as he lets go; a deep, guttural sound that fills the air as he fills your insides completely. But that’s not all, the room suddenly becomes a thousand times brighter and you feel an intense heat all around you as his chest illuminates and sends what seems like a supernova against the windowed wall of the cheap motel room. You cover your eyes, nearly blinded by this light and uncover them as you feel him collapse against you.

Perplexed, you look around you and find yourself in full display of the parking lot. Whatever it was that just happened, Soldier Boy destroyed the hotel and what seems like a few cars parked out front. You hear hysterical screams before you see Butcher and Hughie run into your field of sight. Concern is etched in Hughie’s features as he takes in the damage, while Butcher…

Well, fuck. Butcher is definitely going to kill you.

Forever Loves Taglist 🖤

@deanwanddamons / @hobby27 / @spnchick1996 / @briagallen / @evergreencowboy / @vicmc624 / @justanotherblonde23 / @foxyjwls007 / @tatted-trina6 / @mlovesstories / @winchest09 / @pink-sparkly-witch / @mariaenchanted / @flashxspn / @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan / @swearingsolemnly / @happyt0exist / @spngi / @flamencodiva / @drakelover78 / @spnbaby-67

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy x you #the boys fanfic #soldier boy smut #soldier boy fanfiction

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talesmaniac89 · 2 years ago

Text

Charity Heist 4 - aka. The Arm Candy Conundrum

A Supernatural Heist AU - Masterlist

Pairing: Hitter!Dean x Thief!Reader

Summary: The Singer & Winchester Retrieval Agency is the best group of con artists in the world. But even though Y/N can crack safes, scale buildings and infiltrate even the most secure locations, she still can't find a way to deal with her all consuming feelings for the group's greek god of a hitter; Dean Winchester. How will she handle their next big heist, when she's forced to get up close and personal with the man of her dreams?

Warnings: Idiots in love, smutty thoughts, a lot of swearing and a ton of bad jokes.

Watch the trailer here

A/N: This story is 50% jokes and 50% dirty thoughts. No deep angst, just fun and action! Inspired by the series Leverage.

Y/N = Your Name | Y/E/C = Your Eye Colour

Start Here - Last - Next

Unfortunately, there wasn’t a setting for ice cubes on your shower head.

So, you made a mental note to yourself to ask Charlie for one and settled for plain old cold water to wash away the sweat and dirty thoughts. Which was still plenty cold in the underground bunker. Leaving you shivering as you quickly towel dried your hair and pulled on your most comfortable sweats.

Smoothing down your still wet and tangled hair, in an effort to tame it at least a little, you hurried down the long hallway of the bunker and into Charlie’s tech dungeon in room 28. Your Network Operations Center, or as you liked to call it ‘Brainiac HQ’, was the true heart of your operation. Littered with files, screens and enough high tech systems to make NASA jealous; it was what nerdy dreams were made of.

Or at least Charlie’s dreams, and your heists.

This was where your very own resident wonder child hacked her way into databases, followed along on cameras and made all your fake identities believable. Though, calling it only Char’s was slightly wrong. Since Sammy spent most of his time there as well. Both of the team’s two teacher’s pets had their own areas in the operations room. With a separate space set up to accommodate the rest of your band of merry men when you were needed for in-depth planning and pre-con briefing past Bobby’s introductory preamble.

You didn’t get your own desks. Since Dean, yourself and… Well, you couldn’t be fully certain about Cas, but none of you seemed like the teacher’s pet type.

Hell, you’d never even gone to school, and you definitely didn’t play well with authority figures. You pictured yourself as a little more class clown than star pupil. Unless of course that teacher was Dean, and you were indulging in some more… Scholastic fantasies alone in your room at night.

Then you’d be a really good girl.

This time, every screen was filled with multiple angles of the same overly bourgeois house. The whole place screamed old money in new hands, with its mix of good taste and trashy attempts at ‘modernizing’ it. Clearly Charlie and Sam had been hard at work while you were working out, or at least attempting to work out, with Dean. That was definitely the CCTV of the mafia boss’ home. Or at least the ground floor of it.

Luckily, that was exactly where the party would be happening. And, according to your man on the inside, the ground floor also housed the safe you were after.

“Right, so now that we’re all here,” Sam cleared his throat, a tried and tested bitch glare in place as he looked over your shoulder to where Dean was slowly sauntering into the room, a shiteating grin plastered on his face. His hair was damp and messy, and he’d changed into a new pair of black jeans and a very fitting AC/DC t-shirt to match his cover’s name. Clearly, if the slight flush to the skin on his neck was anything to go by, he hadn’t followed your example of keeping the shower short and cold.

He looked hot, in more ways than one.

“We’ve managed to hack into the CCTV already installed in the house. There’s only cameras on the ground floor, and only in strategic locations, at least from what’s tied to the CCTV setup. But we can use that to our advantage,” Sam said, dropping down into one of the chairs next to the literal wall of screens, as you moved to lean against Charlie’s desk. Careful to hide your small smile when Dean leaned against the desk next to you.

“You’ll need to memorize the blind spots. We want to be caught on camera as little as physically possible. We’ll erase what they have and loop the minutes before and after over it, but just in case they spot us swiping cards or scoping the place live on the night, it’s better if we keep out of the cameras’ line of sight,” He continued, nodding towards the screens just as Charlie’s fingers danced across her keyboard to focus in on one of the rooms.

“From the intel we have, the host likes to show off his wealth, so he'd be unlikely to limit the party space to just a few rooms. But this is probably where most of the people will be mingling,” Charlie shot in, nodding towards the large living room, littered with art pieces and small couches pushed against every wall. By the looks of it, they could fit a damned rock concert in there if they wanted to.

“But…”

Charlie cut off her own words as she furiously typed in a command on the computer. Splitting the view into multiple screens again, before refocusing the central screens on another room, much smaller, yet no less overly bougie.

“This is the space we’re clocking as the most likely location for the safe,” Sam jumped right back in. The two of them worked together like the geekiest tag team the world had ever seen. If they were wrestlers, their stage names would be in binary.

“Other than the clearly forged Rembrandt, I can’t see anything that stands out from this angle, but I wasn’t expecting to either,” You mused, eyes locked on the screen in front of you and all business, even as your body reacted to the slight brush of Dean’s arm against yours next to you.

“Bobby’s inside man wasn’t really forthcoming with all the details. He said the safe was in the house, and on the ground floor based on what he knew, but that’s it. We’ll need to scout for it when we’re there and confirm its location,” Sam nodded, hazel eyes focused on the screen for only a second before he turned in his chair to take in the rest of you.

Each member of your little team was tense in anticipation and focused on the end goal now that you could see the finish line on the screens in front of you.

These guys were going down.

“We don’t have enough details to plan for extraction yet. So on the night of the party we’ll have to; find the safe, plot the exit points and get an eye on the guards, plus whatever weapons they’re packing. That’s on top of Cas rubbing shoulders with the worst of ‘em in case we need the turnabout strategy and getting our hands on as many IDs as possible,” Sam was counting off each point on his fingers as Charlie continued to work her magic across the screen, bringing up new images over the still running video feeds.

Yeah, you had your work cut out for you…

And that was only the main plan. You knew there’d be extra little goodies to keep an eye out for as well. There always was. And as Sam fished out yet another pile of folders, you knew you were about to hear all about them…

Yay….

Fucking folders.

---

“We still haven’t managed to get hold of the full guest list, but I got snippets through some other, less secure, databases where some of the guests where a little too talkative about their invitations,” Charlie spoke up. Taking over again once Sam finished running through a laundry list of weapon types to look out for, people of interest that could be possible targets if they were there. As well as wiretap and camera placements that could help you collect more intel in the time between the party and the heist.

With a quick tap of her index finger, the screen changed, pulling up a few very familiar faces, with some new ones thrown into the mix. You could feel the mood in the room sour as your shoulders tensed. Next to you, Dean’s body shifted, as if readying for a fight, as some of the most evil sons of bitches you knew popped up on the screen. If you hadn’t been sure that the party was a cover before, you sure as hell were now. With what was basically a who’s who of the biggest bastards the world knew littering the screens.

Luckily none of your own former enemies from previous cons were up there… You were just too good at your job for any of those bastards to still be walking free. These guys however… These were the ones you’d yet to get enough on to warrant a heist. A slippery bunch. Each and every one of ‘em.

Including one of the slimiest men you knew...

“Dick Roman…” You muttered under your breath, (Y/E/C) eyes locked with the dead, nearly black eyes of the billionaire businessman and all around bad guy. Roman was a man all of you knew, hell… Most people did. As the owner of Roman Enterprises and one of the fifty most powerful men in America he was pretty much a household name.

What most people didn’t know was that he was also big on biowarfare. One of the main players in the invention and sale of gasses, viruses and other forms of microscopic lethality. You’d yet to get a lead that allowed you to take him down, but you were itching to get the chance to.

Especially Charlie, who’d once upon a time worked as a whitehat hacker for one of the bastard’s more legal businesses. The guy was scum… No… That was unfair to scum. He was like sludge sticking to the bottom of your sneaker. Black, viscous and annoyingly persistent.

“Of course that dick’s gonna be there. We’ll have to play it carefully. He’s evil, but he ain’t stupid. If he makes any of us, he’s sure to make our lives a living hell,” Dean groaned next to you, one big hand going up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he shivered at the thought of the slimy bastard.

“And he’s not the only one…” Charlie’s voice was trembling slightly as she looked at the image of a smartly dressed man next to Roman’s headshot. Jacob Styne… The Styne family was another big player in the American criminal underworld. Clearly this party was set to be filled with the worst of the worst.

The Stynes were, on the surface, a political family. With Jacob Styne being a front runner for future governor. Under the surface however, the Styne family didn’t make their money campaigning. Instead it came from generations in the organ trade.

Politics cost an arm and a leg after all…

The Styne family just chose to have others pay the entry fee for them.

Unfortunately, they were currently untouchable. The many generations of Stynes had built safety nets upon safety nets around themselves. Including some untraceable accounts and a boat load of identities. Though you knew Bobby was hard at work trying to find a way you could take them down.

“We’re really walking into hell here aren’t we,” You groaned, keeping your eyes on a nondescript woman in a grey suit; her brown hair up in a migraine inducingly tight bun. She looked like a librarian. A librarian you could tackle. At least that way you could avoid looking at the other, more familiar faces on the screen. The Bishops, The Thule cult, hell, even Astor, the crooked art dealer, was up on the list. And next to her, a man you really didn’t want to party with...

Alastair.

That man was a monster. There wasn’t anyone in the underground that didn’t know his name. Serial-killer and main mafia torturer, he was pretty much just a killer for hire whose loyalty was only with his own wallet and the pleasure he found in pain. Also… He was yet another example of mobsters deciding to just, not have surnames. Like, wasn’t that supposed to be a Madonna thing? When did the big bad jump on the bandwagon?

What was next? Pointy bras and too much hairspray?

“So… We’re walking into a damned pit of vipers. What’s new?” Dean finally spoke up, breaking the heavy tension in the room as he signaled silently to his brother to keep the show moving, and preferably remove the pictures of pure evil from the screen.

“True, but they do mean we have to be more careful. Try to avoid anyone making you, and if possible stay far away from the worst of ‘em, unless we see an opening that could help us take ‘em down later on,” Sam sighed, leaning over Charlie, where her eyes were still looked on the Styne family heir and hit a button to change the images on the screen to a new group of faces.

This group was much more welcome and familiar. Well, with the exception of one, that was.

The faces of your own little group, sans Sammy, were smiling back down at you, fake names and all. And of course, there was Crowley. Luckily, if you squinted just right, you could crop him out of the picture, and better yet, focus in on Dean’s headshot.

He always looked damned good in a suit.

“You’re all caught up on your covers right?” Sam asked as he turned away from the keyboard and looked over at the rest of you. Not missing your annoyed little huff as you rolled your eyes.

“You mean Alicia? I’ve seen deeper background stories for nameless stormtroopers Sammy. Fucking Stormtroopers,” You didn’t bother hiding the bitteness in your voice, even as Dean tried to disguise his laughter behind an overly fake cough.

“It’s…”

“Yeah yeah… Spare me the excuses. I know, the mafia’s terrified of a pair of tits,” You grumbled, looking up at the short bullet points next to each of your characters. Yours was just as short as Charlie’s. Neither of you needed much time to prepare your cover stories, even though you’d probably spend triple the time getting ready to go to the party.

It was unfair.

This time Dean didn’t even try to disguise his laughter, And the pure, brilliant sound of it sent the butterflies in your stomach into overdrive. Scratch that, these weren’t butterflies, they were damn attack helicopters. Yeah, you really loved making him laugh. It made you all tingly and warm. Even when faced with the mafia's particularly pungent brand of misogyny.

“Alright then,” Sam cleared his throat in a weak attempt to hide his own surprised laugh, before he gestured up at the screen behind him, eyes still on your group.

“Cover wise, Castiel is the only one who should need to properly reveal his character’s background. Since Crowley will be introducing him to people as a possible investor. That way he’ll have easy access to get a full read of them, and hopefully tease some information out of ‘em as well,” As Sam spoke, Castiel nodded along. His normally stiff back relaxed and a slightly cocky smirk in place.

Your grifter always fell right into character the moment it was assigned. You’d be dealing with a strange mix of Cas and stranger danger from now until the party was over. And by the looks of the bullet points, his character was definitely ready to rub elbows with the big bad on the guestlist; weapon development, human trafficking, drugs… The full enchilada.

“Charlie and (Y/N)... Your characters should stay as hidden as possible. I know you used to work for Roman Enterprises Char, but from what you’ve told me I don’t think we need to worry about Roman recognizing you. Try to avoid engaging in conversation and keep moving if someone tries to talk to you. You’ll be there as plus ones, so you should be able to rely on Cas and Dean for backup as far as covers go,” Sam continued, rolling his eyes at your childish frown.

“Thank God… I don’t like talking to people,” The way Charlie whispered the word ‘people’ made it sound like the filthiest word known to man. The wash your mouth with soap type of filthy that was... Nothing like the filth in your own mind where you were still acutely aware of Dean next to you.

Sam only chuckled at Charlie’s words before finishing up the cover connection with Dean’s role. “And Dean… Your cover is as Cas’ business partner, but mainly in the way of ‘products’ and muscle, so you should be free to walk around. If anyone catches you eyeing up the firepower carried by the security at the party, you can lean into your arms dealer persona to get out of it,”

On the screen, each new tap of Charlie’s finger brough new lines, tying the team and plan together. Easily mapping out the human ties needed to make your little group work within the confines of the party without standing out too much as individuals. All attention should be on Castiel, the rest of you should just appear as garnish to the untrained eye.

“Sounds good Sam. I’ll scout the guards with (Y/N), so she can scope out our exit paths, and...” Dean started, but before he could continue Sam raised a quick hand to stop him. Brown hair falling into his eyes as he shook his head.

“(Y/N)’s going as Castiel’s date. She’s the better pickpocket, and won’t need to move around as much past checking the exit paths and confirming the safe is where it’s supposed to be. Charlie needs to place cameras and wiretaps, so it makes sense for her to go with you Dean, since you’ll be on the move,” Sam said, nodding to Charlie who easily pressed a few keys and showed your approximate planned paths around the party, and the pairs you’d be in. Your smiling face looked back at you from the screen, sandwiched between Cas’ and Crowley’s...

Damn it, you’d have to hang around the United Kingdom of Sass all night. You’d go crazy.

“Don’t worry Alicia, I’ll watch your back, and make sure to keep the main focus on myself. That way you can scout and free the marks of their wallets,” Cas was, as always, a true gentleman. Even if he insisted on calling you by your damned cover name already.

You’d teamed up with the grifter a few times before, and you worked pretty well together. He always knew when to give you the space you needed to do your job without crowding you. And you knew he could control Crowley. The Scotsman seemed nearly subdued when Cas was around.

The plan made sense, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t at least get one snarky dating remark in there… Maybe two if you were lucky.

“Alicia would want dinner first,” You smirked, raising an eyebrow at the trenchcoat enigma across the room from you. Happy when you managed to tease an exasperated eyeroll out of him, momentarily breaking his cover.

“I’ll buy you a burger after we’re done with the case,” He conceded, which only helped brighten your smile. You never said no to free burgers. Yet, before you could speak up again to push for some fries with that burger, Dean interrupted you.

“No, that doesn’t work,”

His voice was deep and dark. So very different from your light teasing tone and even Castiel’s annoyed one. His lowered voice easily pulled your eyes off of Castiel and over to where he had pushed himself away from the desk, though he remained standing right next to you.

“She needs to scope the exits, get eyes on the safe… We can’t just trust Bobby’s inside man,” His clenched jaw made the words come out clipped and short. Back straight and shoulders tense as he stared down the image of Crowley on the screen next to yours. The ice freezing up his green eyes barely visible under his long lashes as he kept his full attention on the screen, ignoring your questioning look.

As always, Dean took your heists seriously, and you knew he felt responsible if any one of your little ragtag group got as much as a broken nail on his watch. Which was why he was always quick to react if he didn’t agree with a plan.

“We need the IDs and…” Sam started, clearly not seeing the challenge in his brother’s clenched jaw. Dean’s lips were pressed tightly together as he shook his head at Sam, taking a step towards him.

“Castiel’s a great pickpocket. He can hand the cards to Charlie, who’ll strip the info and hand ‘em back. Easy... And it makes more sense. He can pull off getting close to ‘em better than (Y/N) can if she’s just his plus one,”

Dean’s voice was like rolling thunder as he cut his brother off. His hands curled into slightly trembling fists at his sides as he opened his mouth to say more. Before clearly thinking better of it and swallowing the words down, hard. Choosing instead to tear his eyes off of the screen to stare down Sam instead.

“Charlie needs to plant cameras…” Sam wasn’t giving up on his plan either. When the two brothers butted heads it could often end up carrying on for a while. Clearly stubbornness ran in the family. No matter how infuriating it was for the rest of you.

“Yeah, but we’ve already marked where we want ‘em. Just choreograph her wandering the party, getting new drinks, whatever. Just like you’d have to make (Y/N) move to scout exits,” Dean nodded at the screen, still showing carefully plotted paths from room to room. The dotted lines made sure you’d all cover the ground you needed too, without the hosts or security catching onto you casing the joint.

“Dean…” Sam’s eyes followed Dean’s to the screen, hand pushing the cursor over one path to highlight it as he got ready to lawyer up and make his rebuttal.

But Dean wasn’t letting the younger man speak. His deep voice was all business, and when the former mercenary meant business, you really didn’t want to stand in his way. Even if they were talking about you as if you weren’t there. Which pissed you off, big time.

“Sammy... She should go with me. It makes the most sense,” Dean cut in again, arms folding across his chest as he kept his eyes on his brother and jaw clenched tight.

“She’s right here you know! Stop treating me like I’m fucking invisible, ‘cause if I was I’d be a damn superhero by now,” You shot in, throwing your hat in the ring for the title of the most stubborn bastard of the bunker.

You wouldn’t just stand around listening to them using you as an excuse for another fucking pissing contest. They both had good heads on their shoulders as far as planning went, but that didn’t mean they always knew how to use them. And that definitely didn’t give them the right to drag you into it like you were the last damned good toy on the playground.

“I know (Y/N), but this is the best way. The safe’s our priority,” Dean’s voice was warmer and calmer as he glanced away from his brother and flinched at the quiet anger building in your (Y/E/C) eyes.

You really didn’t like it when someone tried to run your life for you. You’d had enough of that with the organization controlling every aspect of your childhood and early teen years. After all, you were a big girl, and you were fucking amazing at your job.

No matter whose arm you had to hang off of during it. All because of the goddamn patriarchy.

“I can…” You started, though you didn’t really know where you were going with it past some ‘I am woman, hear me roar’ lines to knock their testosterone levels down a few pegs.

Yet, unfortunately, your bravado was short lived, as a gruff voice you hadn’t been expecting boomed over yours. Nearly making you bite your fucking tongue in surprise as you jumped away from the desk. Though you personally thought you did a damned good job at hiding your shock as you gracefully let yourself thud back against the desk with a sigh and an eye roll.

“Boys! Stop actin’ like idjits. Sammy, your plan is good, but Dean makes a good point about the safe. Let’s switch the pairs,” Bobby’s voice came from out of nowhere. Drawing every set of eyes towards the phone on the table next to Sam. Your big boss hadn’t spoken up once during the whole briefing, but clearly he’d been listening in.

Damn it, he was a ninja. A sneaky, stealthy phone ninja.

“(Y/N), you’re goin’ with Dean. Watch his back, case the exits and get eyes on the safe. That final one’s your main priority, got that? Dean, weapons and security, as planned. Charlie, you back Cas up and place your gadget eyes and ears along the way, Cas, you know what to do, you get our girl the cards she needs and she’ll strip ‘em,”

Bobby didn’t give any of you a chance to even protest or, hell, agree to his plan. Shooting off rapidfire orders from the speakerphone on Sam’s desk as your little band of not so merry men nodded along like a bunch of scolded school children.

“In the meantime… Sam, you’ll be running point on this one from outside the party. I’ll be busy on the turnabout angle, in case it comes to that, and greasin’ up the right legal wheels so we’re ready to throw the boss right into a jail cell if we can. Is that understood?”

Once more your little group was left simply nodding at a phone as if it could see you. However, as the silence dragged on, it seemed your gruff leader needed a bit more of a verbal confirmation this time.

“Yes boss,”

Your voice mixed with those of the rest of your group, all groans, strict professionalism and tense nerves blending into a chorus. Each and every aspect of those many verbal emotions were just as present in you. Anger at Sam and Dean’s stubbornness, readiness to kick ass and forget about the names (you were never good at remembering ‘em anyway) and nerves…

Fuck, there were so many nerves.

Ok... So, deep breaths.

Now you’d have to act like Dean’s date. Damn it… You really should’ve practiced your cover better. You barely even remembered your fake name whenever he was around. If his hand had to be on your lower back, leading you around the room, you might just forget your actual name as well.

Sam was a brilliant strategist, and he knew that having you at your best, meant also not having you at your damn horniest. So, your cover being any form of romantically entangled with Dean’s was a pairing that had been silently nixed for every other heist. EVER.

Both Sam and Char knew you needed all your brain power for the cons. And with Dean around… Well, half of your brain went into maintenance mode; as your body had to remember how to breathe again and your heart beat its way out of your chest and into your throat.

Plus, with his icy eyes and tense shoulders from moments earlier still fresh in your mind, you couldn’t even manage another weak attempt at date snark to get another burger out of it. Which meant you’d lost your burger too...

Everything about this con was just unfair.

You did, for just a moment, consider warning him that you didn’t put out on the first date, as an attempt at your normal fake date snark. The same you’d normally pull with anyone you had to pretend to have given your heart to for a heist. This time though, that would just make you a liar. And though you were many things; a thief, a con artist, a spy and a damned good infiltrator, your mother didn’t raise no liar.

Well… Your mother didn’t raise you at all, but that was beside the point.

There was no way you could pull off something as horrendously untrue as a snarky fib about first dates and your perceived archaic stance to them. Not with Dean. If it was him asking you on a date, then you’d have definitely invited him to your room to look at your pokemon card collection after just a cup of shitty bunker coffee. No need to wine and dine when the man himself was a fucking five star meal.

Sure… You’d technically been paired with Dean on certain cases before. But your role wasn’t ever as his date.

You were usually a secretary, or an art expert or something. Some form of cover that allowed at least a bit of breathing space between you, and didn’t involve hanging off his arm. But Alicia had no such background. Which meant you had to act as Dean’s girlfriend, or side piece, for the night.

Shit...

Was the world out to kill you? What had you done for Mother Earth herself to put out a hit on you? Was it the art theft in France? Or the time you might have, sort of, maybe, snuck into the Vatican? Or… Damn it. There were just too many items on your naughty list. Karma was a bitch, and one you’d been ghosting for a very, very long time.

It seemed you were long overdue a death by heavy heart beats, frantic butterflies and dirty, downright filthy thoughts. And, as you glanced in Dean’s direction, you couldn’t help but think it’d be a hell of a way to go. Especially when your eyes locked with bright forest green as he beamed down at you from his victory over his brother. Looking absolutely freaking adorable.

Yeah, the world was definitely out to kill you.

Start Here - Last - Next

Charity Heist: @foxyjwls007 @seppys-return-to-madness @stoneyggirl2 @ladysparkles78 @twinkleinadiamondsky @tmb510 @mimaria420

Dean Winchester Tags: @ria132love @woodworthti666 @defenderrosetyler @akshi8278 @justanotherwinchester @lyarr24 @torn-and-frayed @all-will-be-well-love @wearesuchstuff1 @thefridgeismybestie @adoptdontshoppets @starsandmidnightblue @screechingartisancashbailiff @septixtrash @punof-agun @deandreamernp @justagirlinafandomworld @sexyvixen7 @justrealizedimmascifygurl @globetrotter28 @siospins2 @iprobablyshipit91 @mrsjenniferwinchester @leigh70 @roseblue373 @djs8891

#dean winchester fic #au!spn #dean au #au!dean winchester #tales89writes #hitter!dean #thief!reader #supernatural heist au #supernatural leverage au #spn heist au #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural dean #dean winchester heist au #mercenary!dean winchester

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rafescoke · 3 years ago

Text

New Girl ; Rafe Cameron

masterlist

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: Just as Rafe thought his life couldn’t get any worse, a new girl moved into town.

Warnings: Straight smut! Mentions of trauma, extreme love-hate relationship, fluff

A/N: thank you so much for 600+ followers wtf ily <33

p.s; you know the drill. . . send requests!

One thing that Rafe was sure of; he was no tour guide, or anything of the sort.

Sure, he got himself into trouble; vandalising the principal’s office and destroying school’s properties, but that was it. He didn’t try to include the part where he goes to parties to get high and wake up the next evening with a painful headache, that was more to his personal life and he believed no one in the education system could have the advantage to be mad at him for it.

“I simply just won’t do it,” Rafe shrugged, sighing against the chair. “Look, why don’t you ask Topper to help this new kid? He’s good in class.”

“You answered yourself, Mr. Cameron,” the counsellor sighed, placing a file on top of the table lightly. “He’s good at school work, and you’re not. That’s why we’re going with you.”

So that was the core reason as to why Rafe was waiting impatiently for the arrival of the new student, whom he didn’t even care about to know the gender. All he wanted was to sit at the back of the school and light some joints.

“Mr. Cameron, this is Ms. (Y/L/N).”

Rafe took a look at her. He bit the insides of his cheeks, thinking how she didn’t even make an effort to dress properly for her first day in a new schoolz

An oversized tee and denim shorts. Really?

“Hi,” she smiled, extending her hands. “I’m (Y/N).”

“Rafe,” was all he said, before handing her her timetable for the semester.

She scanned the paper, nodding slightly and pointed at a word. When she realised how Rafe wasn’t listening, she cleared her throat.

“What?”

“I got Biology with Mr Garcia. Where’s Room 3?”

Rafe scooted closer next to her, and the smell of strawberry cheesecake wafted into his nostrils. He took a step back, seething.

Who would even wear a cakey perfume?

“Uh, that’s like, at the end of the hall?” He answered, but it was more like a question. He looked at the direction he was noting, and nodded again. “Definitely the one at the end of the hall.”

“You really don’t care, do you?” She asked, crossing her arms. “Where’s my locker?”

Rafe took another look at her timetable, searching for her locker number.

372.

He turned to look at his own locker, finding the number, and letting out an ��oh’. “Yours just 4 lockers away from mine.”

“Thanks.” She muttered, and Rafe sighed before fixing the left side of his bag strap dangling from his left shoulder. “Is that it? Can I go?”

“Not so fast, Rafe,” the counsellor sighed, stopping him by his chest. “You’re supposed to stay with her for the week. Help her get around. And you’re supposed to show her around the school compound now.”

Rafe looked up to the counsellor with a pained expression and then back to (Y/N), his chest heavy. “Fine. Let’s go. What do you call yourself again?”

Right before lunch, Rafe stayed over in his class for a few minutes before going out to the hall. He didn’t want to see the new girl, and he didn’t feel like being her assistant anymore.

But the world wasn’t that fair.

(Y/N) grinned, walking towards him. “Can you show me the cafeteria?”

“How do you even know my class?” He muttered, keeping a distance between them. The last thing he ever wanted was to let the news of him being with the new girls circulating around the school, or worse, the whole island.

“My class is directly in front of yours. We parted just now.”

Of course she would remember that.

. . .

A week went by quickly, and before Rafe would know it, he didn’t see (Y/N) anymore, and he was content with it.

Until her family decided to become neighbours with his.

“What do you mean the (Y/L/N) bought the house next to us?” He groaned, watching as Rose and Ward prepared to greet themselves to the new family.

The last thing he wanted was to show her around the fucking island like he was some kind of a hotel worker.

She was in a yellow sundress, and Rafe couldn’t help but notice the way her (H/C) glowed under the sunlight. She looked similar to her mother, both bringing pastries as a way to introduce themselves.

“Hi, we just moved next door,” Mrs (Y/L/N) said, showing the Camerons her pearly white teeth. Rafe wondered if she ever got them done, because it’s not possible for a human to have such white assets.

“Hi, welcome to Obx,” Ward gushed, accepting the pastries happily. “Rafe, take the other cake.”

(Y/N) looked up at the sound of his name, and to Rafe’s amusement, began gritting her teeth. He took the cake with a smirk, happy that he got her all worked up.

He would definitely have the best time of his life taunting the shit out of this girl.

. . .

“Hey, wanna ride a boat?”

“Topper, leave her alone,” Rafe sighed, fixing his cap so it was facing backwards. “She’s not interested.”

(Y/N) perked up at this invitation, never actually riding a boat alone if it wasn’t during a holiday since she was originally from the city. She walked towards her neighbour’s deck, her skin illuminating the golden sunrays.

“Sure.”

Rafe mentally groaned, having to deal with the girl now, but he wasn’t sure if he was angry or jealous. It wasn’t him to be jealous easily, but after a week of becoming her tour guide, he guessed he deserves some kind of a credit from her. Topper didn’t do anything, but she was gladly accepting his invitation.

Their usual stroll along the stream of the island was not like usual, since the air was now filled with the annoying chatter between (Y/N) and Topper. Rafe could never relate with them, only wanting to relax his mind and sleep it off.

“So you’re a city girl? That’s great!”

“Sure Tops,” Rafe wondered, smiling delightly. Anything to get into a girl’s pants. . .

“You know what, (Y/N)?” He called from the place he was resting, and he waited a few seconds before continuing his speech. “If you’re looking for a boyfriend, Topper’s not the guy. He hasn’t moved on from his ex-girlfriend.”

Sure, he would get a lot of shit from Topper for saying that, but he was done with the pointless flirting between them.

“What about you?”

Rafe opened his eyes, watching her from behind his sunglasses. He shifted his position, “What about me?”

“Have you moved on from your ex-girlfriend?”

Has he moved on from Kie? He wasn’t entirely sure. Their relationship was brief, but she was all Rafe had. When she decided to go all full-pogue, he knew there was nothing left of them.

“I don’t date.”

“I can see why,” she said, and Rafe swore he heard some kind of mirth behind her tone.

“Have you?”

“Moved on from an ex?”

Rafe nodded, opening his eyes slightly.

“I guess.”

“Good for him.”

“Excuse me?” She gasped, pushing him lightly. “You’re an asshole.”

She leaned closer onto him, and for a second Rafe thought about letting her in his bubble, but he quickly shoved her away. “Watch it.”

“I’m just trying to tell you about that fucking fly on your face.”

“Yeah? Liar.”

(Y/N) huffed, stomping back to Topper, and Rafe laughed silently.

1-0.

. . .

Fuck.

If he would’ve known about the police raid in Topper’s party, he wouldn’t have come to his house at all. But here he was; all pushed up against the metal chair of the police station, his hair messy and his eyes bloodshot.

“We’re taking a urine test, son,” Shoupe said, sighing. “There’s always something wrong with you.”

Rafe thought about (Y/N) suddenly, and how she was probably back home and watching some kind of a rom-com. That’s totally her; all cuddled up with a pink teddy bear probably named ‘Bear-bear’, constantly wiping the tears off her face over the sad breakup scene of a movie.

Rafe was forced to strip out of his shirt and jeans before entering the small cubicle, and having to go through this same procedure for quite a few times now, he didn’t mind giving a show to the workers.

He quickly zipped his jeans bag, handing a female worker a cup filled to the end with his urine. He yawned, already knowing the results, so there was no use being nervous about it.

He was picked up by an angry Ward an hour later. He groaned, getting in the car to prepare himself for the same lecture about his future and how he shouldn’t jeopardise it, but he was shocked when Ward didn’t utter a word at all.

It was very uncomfortable, but he guessed he was just tired.

“Good morning.”

Rafe rubbed his eyes against the bright sunlight, feeling the pain from his head slowly soaring throughout his body. He squinted his eyes at the figure in front of him again, trying to blink the blurriness away.

“What the fuck?”

“Your mom told me to call for you,” (Y/N) said, looking away from him. Rafe looked down to his body, seeing his shirtless self, and laughed.

Of fucking course she would be uncomfortable with him being shirtless.

“She’s not my mom,” he grunted, removing the covers off of him and checking his phone for the time.

12.43p.m.

“Fuck,” he muttered, and his eyes turned to her again. “What are you doing here again? Leave.”

“Waiting for you.”

“I’ll be downstairs in a few seconds,” he muttered. He didn’t need her to be some kind of maid for him.

(Y/N) muttered some curse word, hoping that riled him up, but she would be stupid if she thought a random curse word would make him Rafe Cameron angry.

It would take a lot more to raise an expression from Rafe Cameron, and a curse word definitely wouldn’t.

. . .

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

His boat was not working, but he had just filled her up the night before. This was the newest model too, and he couldn’t afford asking Ward to fix his boat again. Not when he was caught with being on drugs from his urine test last week, and the only reason he got out of the trouble was because of Ward again.

“Is it not working, Rafey?”

Rafe looked up to the sound. (Y/N) was watching him with a sly grin, shielding her eyes with her hands from the sun like she was some goddamn queen that would melt from the heat.

“What did you do to my boat?” He groaned, trying to turn the ignition again.

“What did I do? Come on, why do you always think so bad of me? That’s kinda ru—”

Before she could continue her taunt, Rafe climbed the deck, inching closer towards her and smeling that goddamn cake smell again.

Hell, he’ll buy her a new perfume to stop breathing in that fucking smell.

“That’s kinda what?” He whispered. He was so close to her now, and he could hear her breath hitching. He smirked, his heart soaring.

“You’re kinda dumb for a kook, Rafe,” she sighed. She dangled a familiar key in front of him, and when Rafe took a closer look, he noticed it was the key to his boat.

She threw the key into the water and Rafe watched it plopped, moving straight towards the deep end. His eyes flared at her again, his chest heaving.

“Hope you have a spare key.”

1-1.

. . .

That should be good, he guessed, for being in a tie with (Y/N). But he doesn’t like someone being in the same league as him, so it must be 2-1.

And the 2 from him.

But that was for another day, because Kiara Carrera was in front of him. He fixed his cap so it was facing backwards again, and then putting his hands into his pockets for good measure.

“Hey,” he greeted her. She smiled at him grimly before looking back at the menu, clearly uninterested. “How’re you?”

“I’m. . . great,” she breathed. “Why?”

“Just asking,” he shrugged, “Do you wanna go out for some drinks sometimes? Like the old times?”

Rafe curled his toes, waiting nervously.

“Um, I have to check with my parents first,” she replied. “But, Rafe, you know, it’s been. . . a year.”

“Of course,” he laughed, trying to hide the sudden emotion inside him. “I meant hanging out as a friend.”

“Of course!” She suddenly exclaimed, “If you would bring (Y/N) with us.”

“Oh, I don’t-”

“You don’t?”

“I- fine. I’ll bring her with me. Is tomorrow okay?” He sighed, already foreseeing the future.

And it’s full of shit.

“Tomorrow.”

. . .

“Wow, I am not going to third wheel you and someone, Rafe,” (Y/N) laughed, resting her back against her chair.

“Please,” Rafe begged, sighing. He didn’t know how much begging he could do anymore, not when he had so many things to do. He took a deep breath again, “I’ll do anything for you back.”

“Including hooking me up with JJ?”

“Yes- no. No. What the fuck? Where did you even know this guy?” He expressed, his eyebrows furrowing. He was not going to let her a pull a Kie, though they weren’t dating.

“He helps mower the lawn.”

Of course. JJ Maybank would never pass the chance to get some money while checking out girls.

“I’m not helping you to get together with JJ,” he sighed. “Can we go for a better option? Like Landon? He’s rich.”

“I’m richer,” she yawned. “Okay. Fine. Topper.”

“No,” he shook his head. “Not going to happen.”

If she ever thought about him allowing her to date his best friend, she has to be a lot smarter than that.

He didn’t know why he wouldn’t allow it. Maybe he was scared of Topper hurting her.

Or maybe he just couldn’t imagine her with someone else.

“Then we have no deal,” she replied simply, gazing at her newly painted nails. She gazed at Rafe who seemed to be thinking hard from the top of her sunglasses.

He groaned. “Fine. I’ll help you with Topper. But I’m warning you; he. Has. Not. Moved. On.”

“Oh, he will.”

. . .

Kie was all up on Rafe.

He didn’t know what had gotten into her, because she was never this. . . strong-willed.

Kie had her hands placed against Rafe’s chest, kissing him tenderly and sometimes running her fingers through his hair.

Rafe sucked in a breath, watching as she part. Her mouth formed into a grin, and Rafe couldn’t help but grin back.

“Wanna do it?”

Did he? Of course he wanted to “do it”. He had been wanting to do so since forever. He would be crazy to say no to that invitation, and he was definitely sane.

He looked at (Y/N), who was awkwardly perched up on the sofa, tucking her legs under her and watching some kind of a movie on her phone. Her eyes looked up to Rafe, and she quickly looked away.

“In one of the rooms?”

Kie seemed to look around the boat for a while, like he was looking for someone, but there were only two of them. And (Y/N).

“Fine,” she huffed, and pulled him towards one of the rooms by his wrist.

Kie pushed him onto the bed, and Rafe wondered how she got this side of her. Throughout their 6 months of dating, she never showed him this, so this was a bit of a shock to him.

“Hey, hey,” Rafe gripped her wrists, holding her still. “We don’t have to rush.”

“I want to,” she said, and leaned closer. “I thought you wanted this?”

They began making out, his hand slipping down her back to grab her ass, only to be met with her vibrating phone in her back pocket.

“I’ll get it,” he mumbled against the kiss, and pulled her phone out.

A picture of JJ Maybank’s smiling face right next to Kie greeted him, and his name was perched on top of the screen, signalling his call.

Of course. She never wanted to fuck him. It was always to make someone jealous. That explained the gritted teeth Kie would make when he mentioned JJ earlier.

He sighed, pushing her away so she ended up by his side. “I gotta go.”

“Huh?” Kie sat up straight, looking from Rafe to her phone. She saw the caller, cleared her throat, and held up a finger to tell him to wait.

He should’ve known.

. . .

Rafe never liked the annual Obx’s drive-in movie theatre, because he really didn’t get the hype of watching a mainstream movie that he had watched with Wheezie a lot of times before in his car.

This year, it was way worse; they decided to have some kind of a horror themed drive-in movie theatre, and the best part of all; (Y/N) was going with Topper.

Rafe groaned for the thousandth time at the rapping of a clown against his car window. He gave the clown his middle finger, telling him ‘watch it, you’re scratching my car’, and moving his attention back to the screen.

Annabelle had disappeared from the room the two nurses had placed her in, and the volume quietened before booming again when the doll had appeared in the living room, perching on top of the sofa.

He rolled his eyes, and took a look at (Y/N) and his best friend laying in the back part of his jeep from the rearview window.

They were cuddling.

“Fuck off,” he grunted, throwing his hands into the air. A human-sized Annabelle pulled on the shotgun’s door now, and Rafe gave the actor another middle finger before yelling a ‘fuck you’.

“This is ridiculous,” he said to no one in particular. He stepped out of the vehicle, knowing damn well he would be the target of the ghosts now, but he couldn’t care less. All he wanted was to step away from all of this and maybe refill his soda.

He made his way to the back of the lot, getting his money out beforehand. Some type of a wannabe Michael Myers came up, to which he quickly put a hand up to stop him.

“Don’t. I’m not in the mood.”

Michael Myers seemed to get him, because he left to scare someone else.

“Refill,” he sighed, giving the worker his cup. “Coke.”

“You mean like literal coke?”

Rafe looked behind him, surprised to see a red-faced (Y/N) holding a popcorn bucket. He licked his teeth. “Why? Have you tried it before?”

(Y/N) went up beside him, muttering about putting more caramel in her popcorn to the worker before looking at him. “You seem mad.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“That’s because you’re all up in my business,” he scoffed. He turned to look at his coke, but the worker was still filling the cup up.

Good. Did the machine break or something?

“Where’s the girlfriend?” She asked. She was clearly amused by his sudden tightness, but he quickly softened, as to not rile her up.

“Where’s the fuckbud- I mean boyfriend? Sorry. It just slipped.”

(Y/N) nodded, her mouth forming into a grin. “If you’re jealous, you can just say that.”

“Wait, wait, of what, exactly?”

She shrugged.

“Yeah, exactly. No. For all I care, you guys can get married and move to fucking Antartica and have mini (Y/N)s and Christophers running around.”

The worker placed the newly refilled coke and caramelised popcorn on the counter, and Rafe wondered why she would receive her food at the same time as his when had come here first.

He rolled his eyes, grabbing the drink and walking back towards the car.

(Y/N) jogged to catch up with him, her popcorn bouncing against her chest. “You’re rude, do you know that?”

“Jesus Christ, we’re still on this?” He mumbled. He was still walking, but he wanted her to catch up so he slowed down. He guessed it would be the perfect ending to his night to taunt her until she’s all worked up.

“I just can’t think of a reason why you’re acting so fucking rude to me.”

“Yeah? Think again.” Rafe sipped on his coke, feeling the carbonated drink sloshing down his throat. He felt content, but he wasn’t sure if it was from the coke or from the girl beside him.

“This is—”

A nurse with a bloody front suddenly appeared before them, using some kind of a spray to maximise the size of the fire from a lighter. (Y/N) screamed, turning away from the heat, and Rafe quickly caught her before she could end up on the floor.

“Fuck, fucking move,” he yelled to the nurse, who seemed to be satisfied with her work. Rafe turned to (Y/N), trying to check on her state.

“Yo, yo, you good? Why are you shaking?”

She was trembling really hard against him. She had her arms around Rafe’s neck, her popcorn splattered on the ground. She jolted when a scream came from the speaker.

“Come on, let’s get you to the car,” he mumbled, helping her walk. She kept her face hidden in the crook of his neck, and Rafe had to try his best to balance both of the girl and the Coke in his hands back to the vehicle.

Topper was no longer in the back seat, perhaps looking for Sarah (Rafe wasn’t a bit surprised at this). He was glad his best friend wasn’t there, because the last thinf he needed was two people freaking out on him.

“Okay, chill, I got you,” Rafe grunted, placing the Coke in the cup holder before seating the girl beside the driver’s seat. He sighed before climbing into the driver’s seat and locked the door in case some kind of a crazy maniac tried to freak her out again.

“What’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer, not that Rafe expected her to. She looked like she was reminded by some kind of memory, but Rafe didn’t want to dwell so much on it.

If he could, he would reverse his car out of this lot back to their homes, but he was one of the first cars to arrive at the drive-in theatre, so it was impossible to get out.

He sighed, placing his hands against his lap. “You can tell me, you know.”

She finally looked up to him, and Rafe’s breath hitched from the sight of her red eyes. He softened.

Whatever it was with that fire, it had triggered some kind of a memory in her.

He placed a hand against her lap, but not moving so; just a splat of his hand against her soft skin. He had meant for that as comfort, but he realised how creepy the situation was. He pulled away, clearing his throat.

So they stayed until the end of the movie, just the two of them, and Rafe was sure she wasn’t even watching the remaining parts of the movie. He pretended to watch, but he was really just staring at her the whole time.

Will she ever let her hair down like this again? Because he liked it.

When the movie ended and the cars were starting to move, Rafe slowly reversed the car so as to not shake her awake. But she was a light sleeper, and she woke up as soon as he hit the brakes.

She rubbed her eyes, “Where are we going?”

“Home,” he answered. “You’re okay?”

She didn’t answer, and Rafe knew she wasn’t.

. . .

Two weeks after the incident, they never spoke of it again.

Rafe tried to get an answer out, but to no avail. He didn’t get why he was trying his best to help her, because he, too, needed help.

“Nah. I won’t invite her. If you want (Y/N) to come, then you’ll have to invite her yourself.”

Wheezie’s shoulders slumped, “But you’re close to her!”

“I’m not, and she hates my guts,” Rafe replied honestly. Because that was the truth, right? She didn’t even want to tell him about why she was so scared of fire.

“Invite me to what?”

“(Y/N)!” Wheezie ran to hug her, to which (Y/N) laughed before patting her on the crown of her head. “Tell her, Rafe!”

Is she fucking serious?

“Tell me what?” (Y/N) looked up to Rafe strangely.

“Wheezie wants to have a movie night, and she wants you to watch with us.” Rafe sighed, hating how he couldn’t just ignore Wheezie. She was definitely Rafe’s favourite, being so close to her brother ever since she was born.

“Oh, is that true?” She smiled, looking at Wheezie. “Should I come and wear my best pajamas?”

“You’re not sleeping over, your house is literally 5 minutes away. 2 if you run.” Rafe rolled his eyes. He went up to the counter to pick up a sandwich before biting into it, tasting the creamy eggs and ham. He licked his lips.

“She can sleep with Sarah, right, (Y/N)?”

“If she wants me too. . .”

Rafe rolled his eyes again, “Sarah won’t be with us for tonight’s movie night. She’s starting to hang out with the pogues.”

“Why are you so against the pogues?” (Y/N) asked, when Wheezie left to write a reminder of tonight’s event in her diary.

“Why can’t you just shut your mouth?” He sighed. “It’s all bla bla bla bla. Can’t you see you’ll be happier without having to open your mouth every few seconds?”

(Y/N) bit her lips, and for a second, Rafe had to look away from the look she was giving him.

Shit. Why was he even looking away?

She turned to go away, but was halted by Rafe’s fingers around her wrist. She groaned, turning her attention back to him. “What?”

“You still haven’t told me about the night of the drive-in theatre.”

“Good,” was all she said, before she went back by the sliding door to her home.

. . .

“Rafe would be mad if he saw me watching this.”

“It’s rom-com! And it’s totally PG-13. Trust me on this, okay? Anne Hathaway, yeah, that girl, yes, she’s going to get prettier throughout the movie.” (Y/N) smiled, popping popcorn into her mouth.

Wheezie sighed, placing her head against (Y/N)’s shoulders and yawned. “Like what? Princess Diaries?”

“Yes, but this is The Devil Wears Prada. You’ll love it!”

A beam of light filled the mini movie theatre of The Camerons, signalling the late arrival of Rafe Cameron. He brought two chocolate bars, a Coke (again) and some chicken nuggets.

“Move,” he said, motioning to Wheezie.

“There are more seats around here!” Wheezie hissed, crossing her arms. “I’m not leaving (Y/N).”

“You’re not leaving her, silly, you’re just scooting more to the right.”

“What’s in it for me?” She raised a brow.

“Nuggets?”

She scooted to the side, giving more space for Rafe to place himself beside an annoyed (Y/N).

Out of all 7 medium-sized sofas in the theatre, he decided to pick the one the two girls were sitting on.

Rafe handed Wheezie the plate full of chicken nuggets, looking at (Y/N) before watching the screen. He groaned, “What’s this? Trash?”

“A masterpiece, so shut up,” (Y/N) replied. Rafe huffed, amused, and unwrapped the chocolate bar.

“Want some?”

“No.”

“Come on,” he cooed, placing the chocolate before her eyes. She grunted, pushing his hands away.

Rafe took that as his final warning. He didn’t want to annoy her even more, knowing that she will probably not talk to him anymore. He decided to wait until half an hour later, just to taunt her again.

“I’m going to get more popcorn,” Wheezie suddenly said after an hour into the movie. She excused herself to the kitchen, leaving the two of them alone.

(Y/N) sighed. Great, just like how she wanted.

“What do you want from me?” Anne Hathaway’s voice blared from the speaker, and Rafe looked at (Y/N).

“What do you want from me?” He asked, repeating the dialogue. (Y/N) watched him from the corners of her eyes, not getting any delight from this.

“For you to shut up.”

“Really? That’s boring,” he sighed. “Do you want to know what I want from you?”

“Sure.”

“I’m thinking of a few things. Maybe you, on my lap.”

(Y/N)’s breath hitched, but she tried her best not to look disturb. She shifted in her seating position.

Rafe leaned closer, feeling her heat. “Your turn.”

You know what? Fuck it.

(Y/N) turned to look at him fully in his face, leaning even closer that a part of her was practically on top of him. “Do you know what I think of you, Rafe?”

His eyes dropped to her lips, and he swore his heartbeat quit beating.

“I think about you, Rafe,” she whispered. “All pressed up against me in my bed, whim-”

“More popcorn!”

(Y/N) returned to her previous position, bewildered. She fixed her hair, and her eyes were back to the screen.

If Wheezie were to hang out with a pogue right now, Rafe wouldn’t give a fuck.

“Well, the ending’s shitty,” Rafe exclaimed, clapping his hands. He watched as the end credits rolled, and took a look at Wheezie.

He nudged her, sighing. “Wake up, Wheeze. Go to your room.”

She groaned, searching for her fallen glasses. Rafe helped her to put them on, and gave her another poke.

“I want to watch the movie.”

“The movie’s finished. It’s time to sleep. Go.”

Wheezie groaned, muttering how it’s not fair that her brother could stay up with (Y/N) to watch more movies, but she guessed she was too tired for another round of movie anyways.

“What’s the next pick?”

“Horror.”

“Nah.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause you’re going to freak out on me again.”

“I won’t,” she assured him. “Let’s go with Hereditary.”

Rafe’s fingers and (Y/N)’s were almost touching. He was still bothered by her comment before Wheezie came barging in, and he was still desperate to hear her reply.

“(Y/N)?”

“Hm?”

“What were you trying to say?”

(Y/N) stopped watching, and looked at him. “What?”

“About you thinking of me.”

She blushed. “Nah.”

“Come on,” he nudged. When she didn’t move, he tried placing his hand against her thigh.

(Y/N) stood up suddenly, and for a second, Rafe thought he had fucked up. He watched as she went to the door, locked it, and went back to their place.

“You locked the door.”

“Yeah.”

Rafe licked his lips, smirking slightly. “Ah, I see the game you’re playing.”

“What game?” She raised a brow, only turning to the screen when a scream blared from the speaker.

“Hey, look at me.” Rafe tugged on her chin, forcing her to look at him, and his eyes actually looked into hers. He noticed the (E/C) colour of her eyes now, and he swore he had never looked at something more appealing. “Tell me.”

She stayed quiet, not moving a muscle.

Rafe sighed, getting impatient. He leaned closer now, this time his lips merely an inch away from her cheeks. He could feel the heat radiating from her.

“Tell me, baby.”

“You getting all close to me isn’t helping, Cameron,” she sighed, laying her head against the sofa.

“Still playing hard to get?”

“I’m not playing anything.”

Rafe slowly placed a kiss against her temple before trailing down to her cheeks. She sucked in a breath, and Rafe smiled.

“Still playing?”

She nodded.

Rafe’s lips touched hers by a bit, and she let out a moan she had been trying her very best to contain. Rafe chuckled, pulling away.

“Still playing?”

“Shut up.”

“That’s a yes? Or a no?”

“That’s a fuck you.”

“Oh,” Rafe smiled. “Thought you never asked.”

His kiss was gentle. So soft, and (Y/N) had never felt something like that before. The kiss deepened when she let out a soft moan, riling Rafe even more.

He pulled her up onto his chest, letting her hands rest against his chest before pulling her away. Her lips were red, and there was a string of their saliva hanging from both of their lips.

“What do you want, (Y/N)?”

“You.”

“Huh?”

“You.”

He smiled, tugging on her shirt. “Off.”

She wasted no time to remove her shirt, exposing her new black bra she ordered online a few days before. Rafe sat back, his eyes dark.

“Jesus Christ.”

He kissed her neck, trailing down to her collar bones before stopping directly on her chest. His fingers fiddled with the bra clip, being so used with this already, and removed the piece of clothing with ease.

(Y/N) instinctively covered her chest, her chest heaving.

Rafe looked up to her, his eyes softening. “What’s wrong?”

“Am not comfortable.”

“Oh, that’s alright, we don’t have to do—”

“No, Rafe, I want this. I just don’t think I’m perfect enough for you.”

Rafe let out a breath, placing a soft kiss against her stomach. She closed her eyes, throwing her head back. He guided her hands away, exposing her perky breast to the entire theatre to see.

Rafe was glad he was the only guy present.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

“Shut up.”

He looked up into her eyes, wetting his lips. “I’ll do anything to fuck you right now.”

(Y/N) grinded against him, causing a groan to escape from his throat. He held her waist in place, not wanting to trigger his release.

“Do it,” she whispered.

The movie became a background noise as he fumbled with her shorts, grunting when he couldn’t figure out the knot.

He positioned himself before her, and looked up into her eyes again. Her chest was heaving, and she looked nervous.

“You’re okay?”

“I’m a virgin.”

Oh fuck.

Why would she even say that? He couldn’t even contain himself anymore.

He pushed himself into her, letting her get used to the feeling. He waited for her nod, signaling that she was okay and hadn’t changed her mind, and thrusted into her again.

His hands stayed around her waist to guide her, watching as her mouth slightly parted as he deepened inside her. She bit her lips, her nails clawing onto his shoulders.

“Oh my god.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, feeling his own forehead clammy. He didn’t notice her hands that had left his shoulder. She cupped his face, placing wet kisses against his cheeks.

“You’re so good for me, baby,” he whimpered, allowing her hands to guide his. She placed them around her breast as she rode him, and Rafe had never felt better.

If he has to taunt and annoy her more to get into this level again, he’ll do it again. Without any hesitation.

“I’m so close, baby, fuck,” he groaned. He gave her another longing kiss, looking down to where their bodies connect, and moaned loudly.

Just before he reached his end, he pulled her away, not wanting to plant himself into her. (Y/N) tried to wrap her fingers around his penis to which Rafe jerked at for being so sensitive. He pulled her hands away, his chest heaving.

“Don’t,” he grunted. His load shot out of his member, wetting the sofa underneath them, and Rafe quickly slapped his shaft against her core to get her to reach her end.

“Rafe, I-”

“Let it,” he whispered, watching as she tilted her head back, exposing her neck. “Let go, baby.”

She trembled slightly, finally reaching her high, and collapsed on top of the heaving boy. Rafe stroked her hair, pulling her into a lying position, and planted another soft kiss against the back of her head.

“The movie’s still on.”

“Watch the next part, it’s amazing,” Rafe whispered, still holding her close. They were both naked, still coming down from their highs, but Rafe had never felt better.

(Y/N) turned to look at him. “You’re still an asshole.”

He placed a soft kiss against her lips. “Your asshole.”

@okayshoto @joselyn001 @onceuponateenagetrash @dyingsleeping @iwannabeapogue @meaganjm @rafesobxs @flossy2929 @unfortunatekiwitrash @scottybitch @asimpwriter @amaya124 @tommy-tommo @thatshithurted8 @fallincindy @marvelwhor3 @rafeswh0ree @kookap @supernaturallydc-blog @blank-velvet @alaniskauany @kiiim8 @witchywrter @kaitlyn2907 @heyimflo @overcookedpastasause @tsukkiswifeey @spidey-d00d @anonymousobxfan @gotmeinloveagain @chicagoblackhawkslover96 @lexi-writes @classydragonthingknight @belongtoyou-u @badbussylol @savannah-elliott @angelreyesgirl100 @haterpenny @beehappyyy @alwaysclassyeagle @maybankslut @kayleea122 @clearbolts @lovelyxtom @christianaevans @jemimah-b99 @opierdalacz @dangerdolns @wildflowerliv @classygirlything21 @pogueslandia

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron smuts #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron x reader #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey imagines #drew starkey smuts #outerbanks #outerbanks imagines #outerbanks x reader #outerbanks smut

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iwasntstable · 6 months ago

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☰ 𝗦𝗬𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗠 𝗡𝗔𝗩𝗜𝗚𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡

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　my name is ava! i’m 26, from the UK, she/her. i'm a creative fiction writer specialising in self insert, self indulgent fics, one shots, blurbs and headcannons for all the delusional individuals that need a little escape from reality ✶

　— feel free to send requests, suggestions, prompts, and ramble in my inbox! 　　　i'll answer everything (within reason) when i get time so remember to be patient.

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🗀 C:/PROJECTS/SEARCH/TAG ⌕ search by; tag RESULT |　#fluff　#angst　#emotional-hurt/comfort　#smut

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chloe-skywalker · 3 years ago

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Like Or Bond - Bruce Banner ft. Natasha Romanoff

(Part 3/4)

Bruce x daughter reader

Natasha x fem!reader

Peter x fem!Reader

Warnings: none

Word count: 743

Summary: Bruce and the team talk about the reader’s living situation and how her mother is dead.

Requested: Hi I was wondering if I could request a Bruce Banner daughter reader fic where she is a teenager and he didn’t know about her and when they meet eachother him and Nat like her but she ends up bonding with Nat and they become like a family? Sorry if thats long or too complicated. Thank you! - @Anon

Authors Note: this is a mini-series 4 parter. Thank you for requesting. In this chapter you get to meet a VERY protective Tony. And Nat discusses with Bruce how she feels about the situation.

Masterlist

Avengers Masterlist

Like Or Bond Masterlist

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

“So her mom’s gone?” Wanda spoke sadly with a saddened look across her face.

“That’s what she said. Why wasn’t it in her file, Tony?” Bruce looked towards Stark in question. Tony wasn’t shocked by the news so he must of known.

Tony shrugged. “Peter said it’s a sore subject and that she likes to keep it to herself.”

“You did her a favor without even knowing her?” Steve looked shocked towards Tony.

Stark rolled his eyes. “I can do nice things for people believe it or not.”

“Who does she live with them?” Nat asked concerned about the teen girl she had come very close with.

“Yeah because if her mom passed and your names on the birth certificate. Shouldn’t the system have found you and handed you custody?” Clint wondered out loud looking towards Bruce.

Tony sighed, he knew more than any of them about her. He had Peter who never stopped talking about the Y/h/c-ed girl. “Appernalty her mother left a letter. She was sick for a long time and hid it for as long as she could. In the letter, she stated who she wanted Y/n to live with.”

That made sense to all of them. She passed not long after they had fought Ultron. Which would mean the Avengers had come together in 2 big televised battles. With the fact that Bruce also didn’t know about her not going with him was safer. She would’ve become a target.

“Who?” Banner asked wanting to know who his daughter is living with.

“May.” Happy spoke up from beside Tony. He had met her many times since he started dating May.

Clint held up his hand. “Wait-”

“As in Peter’s Aunt May?” Steve asked with a shocked expression.

“Yup. They’ve known eachother since they were very little. Y/n’s lived next to May for years, way before Peter’s parents died and he moved in with her. They would always play together when he came over to visit his Aunt. May would babysit her when she was younger. So naturally, y/n’s mother put her guardianship in May’s hands.” Happy elaborated, telling them more details about the situation.

“And now that two teens she’s in custody of are dating?” Steve questioned. Still in shock of that particular situation.

“They have separate rooms.” Tony rolled his eyes at how innocent Steve’s mind still is. Stark turned his attention toward Banner. “Look I don’t want to tell you how to parent your kid. But I do need to say, I’ve seen that relationship between her and Peter, and her and May. Don’t split that up. Get to know her, she can stay over here anytime. I’ll give her a room to call her own. But just don’t split up that makeshift little family apart.”

After Tony stated all that he left with Happy to go do some business. The other’s sensing the mood change left Bruce to his thoughts. Nat stayed behind for emotional support and he’d probably need to talk.

“Tony’s right. I shouldn’t come into her life and separate her from what she knows. What she’s comfortable and fam with.” Bruce said as he ran a hand down his face. This was a complicated situation.

“As much as I hate to say it, I agree. Tony’s right.” Natasha nodded agreeing with Bruce and Tony. Nat raised her hands up to rub at Bruce’s shoulders. “It wouldn’t be right to rip her from what she knows. It definitely wouldn’t help the two of you’s growing relationship.”

Bruce nodded coming to the same conclusion. “I won’t pull her from what she knows. Tony said he’d give her a room of her own so she can visit.”

“Then that’s what you’ll do.” Natasha smiled at him.

“That’s what we’ll do. You said you were in this with me, no backing out now.” Bruce smiled turning to look her in the eyes.

“Oh, no way am I missing out on this.” Nat smiled happily. There was no way she would miss out on this, plus Bruce needed someone to talk to and probably need some help. Nat shifted in her spot to face him completely. “Look Bruce, you know what happened to me in the RedRoom. I can’t have children no matter how much I want to. I by no means want to try and take her mother’s place. But I do want to bond with her as close as I possibly can.”

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hellsenthero · 4 years ago

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Below Zero

Written by: hellsenthero

Bucky X FemReader

After a mission gone wrong Y/N’s left hypothermic and injured. With no jet to get them back to the Avengers Compound safely Bucky works to save his partner, all while hoping he’ll get the chance to tell the girl about his feelings for her.

Warnings/Themes: Angst, fluff. (1.5K Words.)

Masterlist and Bucky Bingo.

**********

It was a coldness that Y/N had never known before. She could barely move, barely speak, barely think.

“Come on doll, not much farther.” Bucky rasped. Trudging through the snow he carried her, his body giving off a delicate warmth that she curled into. If she had the energy to speak, she’d hassle him about how the hell he stayed warm despite the freezing temperature, but alas, all that came out of her was a muffled groan. “Keep your eyes open.” Bucky commanded. Giving her a sudden jostle her eyes peaked open, looking up onto Bucky’s baby blues that softened as he gazed back down at her.

The two silently vowed to themselves that the next time they saw Tony, they’d give him a piece of their mind for the fun little mission he sent them on. His words, not theirs.

It was supposed to be a clean, easy sweep of an abandoned Hydra hideout for any left behind files they could get their hands on. And it was certainly not supposed to blow up the second they entered the five digit pin code to unlock the steel front door.

They were lucky they were alive, and relatively unharmed. All thanks to Y/N’s quick thinking and the heavy steel door that protected them from most of the blast. Survive a bomb only to be killed by the cold. Just their luck.

With the building ruined and bits of shrapnel protruding from Y/N’s thigh, the two Avengers were forced back to their jet, only to find the electronics system damaged. Meaning that they were stuck, stranded in the middle of nowhere and the damn door to the jet wouldn’t even close for them to hide away in until help arrived. And with an injured partner and freezing temperatures Bucky immediately made the decision to begin hiking towards a nearby safe house.

A safehouse that Y/N had no idea about until Bucky told her. She couldn’t even remember where they were exactly, and she didn’t particularly care at the moment. The only thought racing through her mind then was warmth. Warmth, I need warth. Give me warmth. So cold. Too cold. I need warmth.

“Buck…” Y/N groaned out, an attempt at telling the man how freezing she was.

“I know.” Bucky soothed. And he did know, he knew just how cold the girl in his arms was, how hypothermia was taking over, how death hung above her, dark and ominous like the grim reaper’s scythe. “We’re almost there.” He told her honestly. Bucky could see it, in the near distance the safehouse appeared as a brown blur through the snow fall.

Inside he could start a fire, get Y/N warm, use the backup radio’s to call for extraction after his and Y/N’s were ruined and patch up her thigh. Hopefully he could even get some food and water into the girl. He just needed to get to the safe house first.

“Y/N,” he called, jostling her once more when he realized her eyes had slipped back shut, “Y/N.” Y/N’s eyes remained shut and Bucky cursed to himself knowing that the girl was now in an even greater danger of not waking back up. “Come on doll, stay with me.”

Racing through the last few yards of snow Bucky finally got into the safehouse. The door opened up into a living room. There was a couch laden with blankets and pillows set before a fireplace and Bucky sighed in relief at the sight of it. He set Y/N down gently on the couch before doing a quick scan around the safehouse, ensuring that the two really were safe.

“Okay, doll. Time to wake up.” Bucky said once he came back to the couch, content in knowing the property was safe and a new radio in hand. “Bucky Barnes to Avengers Compound.” Bucky said into the radio, praying he remembered the channel Tony had set up properly.Setting down the radio Bucky went to undoing the zipper of Y/N’s coat, taking off the snow covered puffer he threw it to the floor haphazardly before slipping a pillow under her head. His flesh hand came up to her cheek, gently patting her in hopes of waking her up, but it was no use. With a worried grunt he layered the girl with all four blankets before going to start up a warm fire in the fireplace.

“Bucky, Tony and Steve here, what’s going on?” Steve’s voice cracks through the radio. With the fire now crackling away in the fireplace Bucky picks the radio back up.

“Steve, Y/N’s down and we’re stranded. I got us to a nearby safe house West of the base but it’s not looking good. We need to be extracted ASAP.”

“We’re searching for your coordinates now.” Steve answers. Bucky breathes a sigh of relief knowing the team will get to them as soon as possible. Setting down the radio he races across the room to the first aid kit hanging from the wall, bringing it back to where Y/N lays on the couch he pulls out the equipment he needs to tend to her thigh. “We found you, leaving now.” Steve radio’s in. “How bad is Y/N?”

“She’s hypothermic, unconscious and has shrapnel protruding from her thigh, so I’d say she’s fucking bad, Steve.” Unable to control his temper Bucky growls into the radio, uncaring about what Steve will say to him on the matter later on. The only thing Bucky cares about now is Y/N and getting her to the compound where she can be treated and safe. Steve’s voice comes through the radio once more but Bucky doesn’t care, instead he begins talking to his partner as he rips open her pant leg, allowing him to treat her thigh.

“Hey doll, I need you to wake up. Please Y/N, I’m beggin’ here,” with the fire started and cracking away Bucky prays the heat will soon be enough to wake the girl up, “it’s not often that a super soldier begs, doll. Do me a favour and open those pretty eyes for me.”

It takes a while, but as Bucky takes out the last piece of metal from your leg he finally gets a response from you. It’s only a murmur, but it’s like music to Bucky’s ears.

“That’s it doll, wake up. I need you to wake up and show those pretty Y/E/C eyes of yours.” As you slowly peel open your eyes Bucky can’t help but think it’s the best thing he’s ever seen in his long life. “That’s it,” he says gently, with your leg now all bandaged up and cleaned of blood he brings up his flesh hand to your cheek, feeding you as much warmth as he can through the touch, “good girl, keep those eyes open.”

“Bu...Buck…” The girl croaks out. Her hand twitches in an effort to hold onto Bucky as she opens her eyes. The sight of him kneeling over her filling her with a sudden need to press up against the super soldier, a need to feel him against her so she can be assured that this isn’t all a fever dream. “Buck...hold...me.” Speaking is still too difficult for Y/N but her whispered words are heard by the soldier. He wastes no time in getting under the blankets with Y/N as he too has a need to hold onto his partner, a need to be assured that she’s going to be okay, that if her eyes do fall shut once more that they won’t be shut for good.

“Don’t worry doll, I’m right here. You’re safe.” Bucky murmurs to the girl. Pulling her tightly against his chest he’s careful of her injury as he wraps his arms around her.

It doesn’t take long for Bucky to realize the buildup of emotion in him. Yes, he already knew long before this mission that he had feelings for Y/N. He already knew that he’d do anything she’d ask of him in a heartbeat and yet the realization of his love for her hadn’t fully hit him. At least, it hadn’t hit him until now, as he holds her in his arms.

He’s also shocked by the realization that his knack for self-hating thoughts around her is all but gone. For once he’s not thinking, I wish I could have her but I don’t deserve her. Or the other common one, she’s too pure for a monster like me. Instead, his thinking, when we get out of here I’m going to tell her I love her. And if she lets me I’m going to spend the rest of my days showing her why I deserve her and why she deserves me.

With these thoughts in mind the door to the safehouse opens, the rest of the team bursting in to get their two team members to safety.

It was safe to say that when Y/N woke up in the infirmary with Bucky sitting at her side, he told her about his feelings for her.

It was safe to say that with a smile of her own, Y/N admitted her feelings towards him too.

It was safe to say that together, they proved to each other for the rest of their days why they deserved each other.

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nanaminsonyfans · 4 years ago

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✨Birds of a Feather✨

Masterlist ✨ Requesting Rules

Request; Could I request a YJs1 Dick x reader with the reader being new to the team and a protege of black canary? He’s my favourite 🥰

A/N; honestly, if one robin is AT LEAST one of your favorites, if they aren’t in the top three, i don’t trust you. also, i really like the way i wrote this a stuff, if anyone wants i can make this a thing. I fucking grew up on young justice i love these characters. rock and roll buckeroo!

Pairing; Dick Grayson(Robin) x Fem!Reader

Warnings; fluff, slight cursing

Your upbringing wasn’t pleasant, for a short backstory, Black Canary found you when she did a raid on an illegal Meta-Human fighting ring. Your parents sold you to the leader of the ring. Your power was similar to Canary’s, in which your voice was a power. You could mimic sounds around you like a mockingbird, but you had similarities with an owl in the fact that your neck could turn all the way around and you had night vision. Black Canary found you when you were ten, taking you in as her own. She took you under her wing. *dad jokehehuheh*

She had taken care of you for four years, you ever really made you debut as a hero, until Batman started the underground team of sidekicks. Robin of course knew of you, as did Batman because, duh. Well, Roy did too but that was mainly because Green Arrow was dating Canary. He was like a big brother, and he deeply cared for you.

“And this is Black Canary’s protégé, Mockingbird.” You walked out from the shadows, a black hoodie and red jeans on. Your hoodie had your favorite band one it, whatever it may be. “Sup.” You nod your head at the boys, your hood covered your face since it was dark but you also had glasses on, kinda like Robin’s but they were reading glasses. The glasses could profile anyone and bring up their history, if it’s in the web or files on the cloud, you gotem.

Kid Flash was easy, he didn’t both with covering his face, everyone else was open with you, but not Robin. You glasses always got glitched out when you tried to activate them while looking at him. He knew this and did it on purpose. He didn’t know much about you, only you hero name, you also did that on purpose, it was a fun little battle. You were closer to Robin anyways, being close in age but that didn’t stop Wally from flirting. “Hey babe~ Wanna spar~?” The redhead would ask, before you could speak he would go pale. “Nevermind.” Then he’d run away, you guessed it was Robin, he had mastered the infamous bat-glare.

When Artemis joined the team, you were happy. Another human girl on the team, no offense to M’gann but you felt more comfortable with another human female around. Plus, she was funny. You lived in Star City with Diane and Oliver, and you met her first, it was awesome when you came with her to the Cave and saw all of them shocked.

“What’s up, birdy?” You smile as you trotted over to Robin, you didn’t really have a superhero suit, you kinda took after Black Canary, civilian clothes were your hero clothes. It was usually blood stained black leggings, a navy blue crop top hoodie and black paint around your eyes and bridge of your nose rather than a regular mask because those were itchy. “Do NOT call me that.” Boy Wonder grumbled and elbowed you playfully. You gave him a smirk and batted you eyelashes at him. “You love me.” “No I don’t.” He snorted.

“The Wallman is here!” A redhead yelled through the zeta-tubes as he entered, the loud noise made you yelp and grab onto the nearest person, which was Robin. When you both realized that you both turned red. “Yeesh...stay whelmed Mockingbird.” He finally got out after being frozen. You both had completely ignored the situation going on around you, until...

“Recognize: Speedy, B06.” The computer spoke, making you grinning like an idiot and turn towards the tubes. “Well for starters, he doesn’t go by speedy anymore. Call me Red Arrow.” Your eyes lit up at your brother, well not really brother but you both looked at each other as such. “Roy-” Oliver started but you cut him off. “Roy!” You yelled happily and ran towards your redhead. “Wa to ruin his moment...” Wally grumbled but you flipped him off as you hugged Roy. “Why don’t you call anymore? I’ve been worried. So was Olly, and I guess Robin, Kaldur, and Wally, but I’m your sister!” You whined and teared up, your tears mixing with the paint you used as a mask causing black tears.

“Oh birdie...you know why.” Roy soothed causing you to sniffle and rub your tears away. “Right, sorry.” You mumble and pull away, “Sorry.” You mumbled again and walked back to your spot by Robin, the taller boy put a hand on your shoulder. “Roy, you look-” Oliver started, “Replaceable.” Roy hissed and walked over. “You know it’s not like that.” “Then why bother with a sub? Can she even use that bow?” He gestured angrily to the blonde archer. “Yes she can.” Artemis hissed back. “Who are you?!” Wally whined. “I’m his niece.” “She’s his niece.” “She’s my niece.” Artemis, you, and Green Arrow stated in a matter-of-fact like tone. “Another niece?” Robin snorted, earning an elbow from you.

“But he’s not your replacement!” You chimed in, walking over to the arrows. “We have always wanted you on the team.” Aqualad said, walking over to the now, Red Arrow. “And we have no quota on archers.” The leader continued. “And if we did, you know who we’d pick!” Wally chimed, glaring over at Artemis. “Whatever Baywatch,” Artemis glared, “I’m here to stay.” You stifled a chuckle and looked away. “Baywatch...” You snorted. “But you came here for a reason, right Roy?” You asked when you finally calmed down. “Yeah, a reason named Dr. Sterling Roquette.”

Both yours and Robin’s eyes widened before you both pulled up a file with the holographic computer. “Nano-robotics genius-” Robin started as he began typing. “And claytronics expert at Royal University in Star City! I love her!” You finished and gushed the last part. “Vanished two weeks ago.” Robin continued, earning a frown on your face. “Abducted two weeks ago, by the League of Shadows.” “Woah, you want us to rescue her from The Shadows?” Boy wonder said in a hopeful tone. “Hardcore.” Wally said in awe and fist bumped the other boy. “Dumbasses.” You scoffed and hit them both in the back of the neck. “Roy probably already did that.” You pointed out and walked over to him with a big smile. Roy smiled back and ruffled your hair. “She’s right, I already rescued her. There’s only one problem, the shadows already got her to make a weapon, ‘Doc call it the Fog.” Roy pulled up an image of a dark cylinder looking object with red buttons.

“It’s comprised of millions of microscopic robots, nanotech infiltrators, capable of disintegrating anything in their path- concrete, steel, flesh, bone.- but it’s true purpose isn’t mere destruction. It’s theft. The infiltrators eat and story raw data from any computer system and deliver the stolen data to the Shadows. Providing them access to weapons, strategic defense, cutting edge science and tech.” “Perfect for extortion, manipulation, and power broking.” Artemis starts, earning a groan from Wally, an admiring look from you, and a knowing look from Robin. “Yep. Sounds like The Shadows.” She finishes. “Oh like you know anything about The Shadows.” Wally groans and glares at the blonde, who just smirks. “Who ARE you?!” Wally yells obviously irritated, both you and Robin chuckled a little.

“Roquette’s working on a virus to render the Fog inert.” Roy says, ignoring the childish behavior. “But if The Shadows know she can do that...” Robin started quietly, you gasped softly. “They’ll target her.” You whisper in shock. “It’s okay, right now she’s off the grid. I stashed her in a local highschool computer lab.” Roy shrugs, opening his mouth to speak again. “You left her alone?” Green Arrow asks in shock and mild disappointment. ‘Oh great, here we go again.’ You think as you roll you eyes. “She’s safe enough for now.” Roy spits and glares at Oliver. “Then let’s you and I take care of that together.” “You and I? Don’t you want to take your new protogé.” The redhead spits again, earning a groan from you. “Roy, you brought this to the team, we’ll talk care of it okay?” You say softly, putting your hand on his shoulder. “And she is part of the team. I promise nothing bad will happen. Trust me, big bro.” You smile, a child like glint in you e/c eyes. “Fine, Y/n. I trust you.” Roy whispered, kissing your forehead before leaving. “Speedy-” The computer started, “Change that to Red Arrow.” You spoke up before Roy could, you winked at him before he left.

Robin knew it was a platonic gesture, you both looked at each other like siblings, he knew that. He fucking knew but a piece of him was jealous. He didn’t know why, maybe he like you? No, he wouldn’t, doesn’t matter anyways. The team had a mission to do. But god damnit he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He wished he could be the one kissing your forehead, holding you, knowing your actual name like Roy did. Damn, being a teenager with feelings fucking SUCKS.

All of a sudden you all were linked up by Miss Martian telepathy. “Everyone online?” Her voice rung inside your head, causing a giggle. “Mhm.” You hummed in your head while you sat on a table between Kid Flash and Robin. “Woah, this is weird.” Artemis said, in her head of course, and you just giggled in response. “I know right? Prepare for a killer headache when Megan cuts it off!” You giggled more as you popped some of Wally’s fruit snacks in your mouth. Then the doctor started complaining. “Lady, I’m not really diggin your attitude right now.” You say while rolling your eyes. “You literally look like some random kid they got from the street!” The doctor replied earning a huff from you as you sat up straight.

“You literally look like some random kid they got from the street.” You said, using your mocking power, you spoke in her exact voice, earning a shocked look from her. “Now shut the fuck up.” You hissed in your normal voice, earning a stern look from Aqualad. “Oh don’t judge my language fish boy.” You grumbled and crossed your arms, looking through a blind. “Do you always act like this when people try to help you?” Wally’s voice rung in your head. “Pot, kettle, you’ve met?” Artemis replied, you snickered slightly. “Great, now I want kettle corn. Thanks Art.” You whined and then ignored them arguing until Robin spoke. “You should give her some more credit. It was /her/ arrow that saved you from Amazo.” Robin said with a smirk, in which you practically swooned. “No, it was Spee-Red Arrow’s arrow, right?” “Not so much.” Robin snickered and you did as well.

“God I love his voice.” You thought and then you realized that everyone was connected, SHIT. Your eyes widened and your face turned red. “I mean haha, I was thinking of something else.” You got up. “I’ll...I’ll go an patrol the halls...hall monitor duties.” You got up. “Oh god oh god. This is so embarrassing.” You though as you messed with your fingerless gloves. “Should we tell her?” Wally’s voice rang in your head, you could feel him smirking. “THEN DON’T LISTEN!” You screamed from the hallway and you could hear his laughs. Everyone basically knew you had a crush on Robin, it was obvious to everyone but him. He felt the same, it was also obvious to everyone but you. This was not the TIME.

You were walking down the hall, until you heard footsteps behind you. You turned around, punching the figure and wrapping you legs around the person’s waist as you pinned them down. “Woah woah, stay whelmed, Mockingbird.” You squeezes you legs tighter when you realized it was Robin. “What do you want?” You whisper-shouted. “You seemed to be distraught. You really should get traught.” He gave you a smirk that you always melted over. “Mind not squeezing me to death?” He asked and you flushed as you let him go from you thighs crushing him.

“Your wordplay is so stupid...” You smiled softly and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “So what? You said you love my voice.” Robin teased. “I do.” You sighed and then covered your mouth in shock. “I-I mean...shut up!” Robin bit his lip and rubbed the back of his neck. “I have to head out with Superboy.” He mumbled in which you sighed and grabbed his wrist before he could leave. “Be safe okay?” You whisper softly, getting closer to him. His lips were inches away from your. Robin smiled and kissed your forehead. “I’ll try.” He smiled in which you turned so red you were sure you would’ve been glowing. “It’s Y/n...Y/n L/n.” You spoke up as he started to walk away. “That’s my name.” You mumble. He turned around, wide eyed.

“Y/n L/n eh? That’s a pretty name.” Robin teased before running off.

#young justice #young justice x reader #young justice robin #robin x reader #dick grayson x reader #wally west x reader #superboy x reader #aqualad x reader #roy harper x reader #red arrow x reader #young justice robin x reader #robin x reader fluff #fluff #young justice fluff

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hops-hunny · 4 years ago

Text

Distance Makes the Heart Grow

CHAPTER 7.5

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Mafia Boss!Neville Longbottom x Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: (Y/n) lives a normal life. But that’s the issue, it’s normal, it’s plain, and it’s growing boring. Everyday she wishes for something, anything to spice up her life. But, when her old school friend (and crush) shows up at her bakery with a new look (and what looks like a new life), what will it bring for her? Will their puppy love grow? Will his big secret lead to the end of them or will it spark a new beginning?

Warnings: illegal shit, guns, mentions of murder, violence,

A/N: this chapter is dedicated to puff and s0up, ily guys so much <3

“Ah I can’t believe it! It’s finally here, the big day.” Seamus said, pumping his fist in the air as they all sat in the various seats of the van. Although no one had said anything verbally, all of them agreed with the excitement Seamus possessed. Hands itching, palms sweaty, and the determination of one thousand men, they were ready. All the hours spent scoping the place out, training relentlessly with Ginny, and the what if scenarios were finally being put to use. However the one scared the most wasn’t any of the men involved with the mission, it was the timid (Y/n) going along to see her boyfriend- er friend?- off.

Wiping her hands along her pants, she let out another shaky breath as she continued to look out the window. (Y/n) had tried looking at Neville, even holding his hand but she found that she couldn’t. Fear was consuming her. She knew she had no reason to be scared, her life wasn’t in danger and from the looks of their previous work, Neville’s wasn’t either. She had even been caught in one of their missions before and had escaped without a scratch! But there was a difference between being ambushed unexpectedly versus willingly sending someone you care for deeply straight into the jaws of potential danger. The van came to a jolting stop which pulled her from her thoughts, watching as the men filed out of the car. Climbing out, she placed herself into Neville’s awaiting arms. He leaned down, pressing his lips to hers in a soft but passionate kiss.

“I’ll be fine darling, trust me. I’ve done this dozens of times.” she nodded, half assured as he stroked her cheek. ‘Adorable.’ he thought to himself. “Worst case scenario I come out with a few bullets in me which wouldn’t be the first time.” her eyes widened at that, giving him a shocked expression. He laughed some, ruffling her hair. He placed another peck on her soft lips before sighing happily. “That date of ours later is the perfect reward to a job well done. Until then, be good for me.” he winked at her before turning around, walking into the museum. She watched until his figure disappeared before climbing back into the car with Harrison and Twyla.

“Hey! Good news!” she said, turning around to look at the girl in the backseat. “Harrison said we can watch the mission from the cams. I feel like that would be good for you because you’re such a nervous wreck.” she said, patting the girl’s knee with a smile. (Y/n) nodded, smiling back at her weakly. Twyla bit the inside of her cheek as she picked at her own thoughts, looking for something. She checked the clock, eyes lighting up as she turned back to the girl. “We’ve got a bit before they initiate everything so how about we make some snacks to watch it with? I know you haven’t seen the kitchen yet and trust me, you’re gonna love it.” (Y/n) bounced her leg in excitement at the thought of the new kitchen that she had yet to see. “And who knows? Maybe if we have time you can even make something for the boys!”

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

Harrison glared at the blonde agitated at the crumbs falling from her mouth and onto his shoulder. She let out another dramatic moan, licking her fingers clean of the chocolate from the brownies they had made. “Are you done yet? The mission will be commencing soon.” he said, irritation clear in his tone. She shrugged some, plopping down in the cushiony chair on the other side of him.

“Yeah, yeah. I mean if you had one of (Y/n)’s brownies, you’d be the same way.” he eyed her carefully, eye flickering from the plate of frosted brownies back to the girl. Twyla held the plate out to him, nudging him some. Harrison sighed before grabbing one, biting into it. His eyes widened as he made a noise of approval, both of them nodding in agreement as they laughed.

“ ‘S not fair you guys get to eat some of mini bosses treats while we risk our lives, but then you have to rub it in our faces? How cruel! Right George?” Fred’s voice sounded from the monitor.

“Right, how cruel!” he chimed, causing the (h/c) haired girl to giggle. Even on the monitor, their expressions matched the tone of what they were saying. Now that she had saw Harrison’s set up, a lot of the nerves had fled from her. There were numerous computer monitors along with flatscreens along the walls that had many different angles of the boys in their various different positions. The images on the screen were clear as day and in full color, live in action. Her eyes wandered to the monitor that had Neville on it who was with Ron, speaking of something she couldn’t quite hear. She gasped as his head turned, sending a wink into the camera. He lifted a finger to his ear, his voice sounding out as he did so.

“Hi petal, can you see me?” she nodded before realizing he couldn’t see her, pressing the unmute button on her own mic.

“Y-yes! I can see you, hi Nev.” she smiled some as his own smile grew, causing her chest to tighten. He waved some, sending a finger gun her way as they both began to giggle. Twyla watched fondly, smiling at the sight before her own eyes grew wide at the sight of a familiar lean blond man. She practically slammed the unmute button.

“Drayyy!” she screamed, causing the man to jump slightly at the loud noise in his ear. He muttered something before unmuting his ear piece.

“Ever heard of an inside voice, Dundee?” he hissed, causing the girl to cackle some. Even though his words said one thing, the small smile on his face said another. They were practically made for each other despite being total opposites.

“Where’s the fun in that? Anyways! I just wanted to wish you good luck. You guys have got this!” she cheered, causing the man to chuckle some as he shook his head, continuing to keep watch.

“I don’t need much luck today, I have the easiest job. All I have to do is sit and analyze, make sure no one is on our trail.” he replied, continuing to look around. Twyla rolled her eyes at his lack of enthusiasm about his job.

“You know Draco,” (Y/n) started, catching his attention, “Your job could be seen as the most important, if not the most important. If someone were to be onto you guys the whole thing could be ruined! Without you the mission would be a lot harder for everyone involved.” she encouraged, watching as he stood a bit straighter, dusting off his shoulders. Twyla giggled, muting her own mic once more.

“That little egocentric bastard. Of course that’d work!” she said, continuing to laugh before a bell sounded, causing her to give Harrison a confused look.

“It's time. The bell is signaling the start of the action.” the pair watched in awe as all the men straightened up, getting in formation. Although a lot of them were in different rooms, they were all pretty much in sync already. Right as Seamus opened the back door, Harry disabled the security system, causing a set of cameras in the room to fill with static. “Museum security cameras. I hacked them to make sure Harry had disabled them correctly. Harry, grab the tapes from the past few days we’ve been there and bring them to the back door. Seamus will be waiting to receive them to put them in one of the getaway vans out back. After that, return to the security room and disengage the power.” Harry nodded before grabbing the tapes, putting them in a sack beside him before making a brisk walk towards the back entrance. As the last of the men had snuck in, Seamus grabbed the sack from Harry before tossing it to the driver in the van.

“Excellent.” Harrison praised, looking down at the notes and plans Neville had given him to follow. Although Neville formed and created all of the plans, it was up to Harrison to make sure they flowed correctly and could work in the real world, not just paper. “George, Fred, begin trying to get people to clear the exhibit in the most subtle way possible.” he directed. They both nodded before turning to each other, smirking.

“Fire! Evacuate immediately! Everyone get out” they began to scream causing the visitors to scream as well, running and fleaing the building in hopes to escape the supposed fire.

“So much for subtle.” (Y/n) giggled out as the gingers high fived each other. As the last of people slid out, the lights in all of the museum went off, causing concern. However when the mob of people started to run screaming of a fire no one questioned the lights, joining the people and running. However, the museum curators knew something was up, sending security to be sent throughout the building. Many of Neville’s men began to appear from different corners of the museum, engaging in a fight with the museum staff, some of his men getting shot but mainly the museum staff dropping like flies.

“I’d hate to not join in on any of the fun. Ron? Let’s go.” Neville said, chuckling softly as he stomped his cigarette into the ground. They began to run, making their way to the exhibit in which the twins were waiting, already loading the objects they had marked into different cases and bags before handing them off to the cronies to take them to one of the awaiting vans. Neville high fived them before beginning to help.

Meanwhile in Draco’s hall, he was currently fighting off men. He kicked a man in the torso before lifting him, using him as a shield for oncoming bullets. Dropping the man to the ground he jumped into a split, kicking two men in the head before dusting himself off with a smirk. Blaise’s eyes widened from the vents as a man was currently sneaking up on the blond. Without another thought he hopped from the vent sending a kick to the back of the man’s head as he pulled out his dual guns, shooting two men on opposite sides.

“I could’ve gotten that.” Draco said, causing the taller man to roll his eyes.

“Right. Come on we’re done, let’s get to the van. Boss’s orders.” they both began to run, causing Twyla to cheer.

“This is awesome! Look at them go, amazing isn’t it?” she sighed dreamily, watching as they made their way into the van. Harry came out shortly after along with Seamus, leaving the three gingers and Neville in the building to finish things off. (Y/n) turned her eyes to the monitor with Neville on it as he growled, punching a man in the jaw angrily, turning around just in time to shoot the man on his oncoming left. Fred and George were trigger happy, as per usual. They were having a competition between each other to see who could do the coolest trick shot as Ron gathered the remaining things. However Neville started to walk a direction that hadn’t been in the game plan. She looked in confusion as he stopped in front of the necklace set she had been staring at the other day.

“You didn’t think I’d forget, did you? I said you’d look gorgeous in it and I fucking meant it.” and before she could unmute to respond he punched the case, glass shards surrounding his feet as he reached in yanking out not only the necklace and earrings, but the tiara as well. “I know you didn’t ask but this is more so for my own pleasure. I wanna see my princess in a crown.” he tucked the objects into his suit jacket before running out, not even noticing the bleeding in his hand.

“Nev! Your hand is all bloody, you’ve gotta get home soon before it gets infected!” she wailed out, rubbing at her face nervously. The van door slammed as he climbed in, chuckling softly as he relaxed in his seat.

“Don’t worry love. As long as we’re going on that date, I don’t give a shit about my bloody hand.”

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

As the boys made their way through the door, they all were panting, breathing hard from the heavy activity they had just done. However, despite their tired expressions, none of them seemed to be upset. In fact, they all were ecstatic at the success of the mission. Besides a few scratches, cuts, and wounds, everyone had made it out safely. All of them looked up, gasping at the sight in front of them.

All along the table and counters were various different baked goods of all sorts. Pies, four layer cakes, cupcakes, tarts, cheesecakes, anything they could’ve possibly thought of, all in front of them. Blaise chuckled at the large pitcher of butterfly pea tea, happy that the woman had remembered his deep enjoyment of it. (Y/n) made her way in front of them, smiling as she rubbed her arm sheepishly.

“I thought you guys might enjoy a little snack after your mission but I couldn’t decide what to make, so I just decided to make a bit of everything. I..I hope that’s okay.” she trailed off, noticing their silence. As many pairs of arms made their way around her, she stumbled trying to maintain her up right position, giggling at the many praises and thank yous. Out the corner of her eye she spotted a familiar figure trying to sneak off for a plate. “Not so fast! I’ve gotta take care of that hand!” (Y/n) grabbed Neville by his good hand, dragging him off towards the restroom. Once they got there she looked at his hand, examining the damage.

“I know you’re going to hate me for it but, that was worth it. I’d do it again if it was something that would make you happy.” he said, chuckling to hide the wince as she turned his wrist. A lot of the wounds were still open, bits of glass in them. Sighing she shook her head, grabbing a pair of tweezers from the cabinet.

“Hold still.” she huffed out, beginning to pick out the shards as gently as she could. He winced, swearing under his breath as he tried to keep a cool composure. It was less of it hurting, and more of the feeling of his hand pulsating combined with the quick movements of the tweezers. She looked at him before back at his hand, biting his lip. “I..I’m going to do something. Don’t mention this to anyone, okay?” he nodded, curious of what she was going to do. WIthout another word her (e/c) eyes fixated on his hand, squinting at it as if she was focusing hard. Before he could ask what she was doing, his own eyes widened as his cuts began to disappear, closing as if they had never been there.

“How did- you- what the hell was that?!” he asked, a mix of freaked out and amazed. Sure he was a wizard, he had seen many unbelievable things throughout his lifetime. But nothing even close to that. She grabbed his now healed hand, tangling their fingers together.

“It’s a gene that runs in my family. They thought it had died out with my grandmother but it got passed down to me, it just blossomed later in life than it should’ve. I’m still not too sure of what it is or the extent to it, but it’s a different form of magic that I can control with my eyes.” she leaned forward into him, yawning softly. “I don’t use it often though. Only when I really see fit.” he hummed, nodding along to her words. She never failed to make him amazed by her existence and yet just when he thought she couldn’t get any cooler once again was she proving him wrong. They sat in silence, holding one another before he remembered the crown in his coat pocket. Pulling it out, he placed it on top of her head before turning her to the mirror. Although she was only in sweats, he thought she looked like absolute royalty.

Placing a kiss to the top of her head where the crown was cut out he smiled. He bowed, kneeling before her as he grabbed her hand raising it to his lips.

“Your majesty.”

“You’re such a geek, Nev!”

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TAGSLIST: @vayeya11 @pink-hufflepuff @clancyscookies @elemental-of-magic @beewitchedlou @simpforremuslupin @mottergirl99 @nevillelongbottomsgirlfriend @redpanda-poetry @vibingaesthetically @de4d-s0up

#neville x you #neville longbottom x you #neville x reader #neville longbottom x reader #Neville Longbottom #Harry Potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader #mafia!neville #mafia!au

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 4 years ago

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I’m Always Curious Part Seventeen

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist Notes: Not beta-read. Also messages with the dash and italics indicate Reader's messages/responses Merry Christmas Eve to those of you that partake! To those of you that do not, happy Thursday! I hope everyone is having a wonderful week! 💝 Warnings: Some fluff? Seems like not much of a warning but here we are. Summary: Given the day’s events, I was more than a little scatterbrained.

Hearing a communicator go off was like throwing a bucket of ice water over the two of us. Chris and I separated with soft, frustrated groans. “Whose?” He mumbled. “Mine,” I was already disentangling myself to retrieve it from where he’d set it down on the table by the door. I flicked it open, and before I could even speak, Una was asking, “Where are you?” My eyes darted to Chris, who was sitting up a little bit. “I’m fine.” “That’s an emotional state and not a physical location.”

“Una,” I sighed, scrubbing my hand over my face, “I just… Need some time to process some stuff, alright?” “... You’re sure you’re fine?” “Yes. Are you?” “The tea had no effect on me, of course I’m fine.” I lowered my hand from my face, rolling my eyes a little. “Thanks for checking in.” “I’ll see you at your station tomorrow,” Una added before closing the channel. I shook my head a little, clicking my communicator shut. Neither Chris or I spoke for a moment. Just like that, the bubble had been popped - the world had been let in. We’d known, of course, that we had jobs to return to, ranks that we’d have to adhere to, but it had been nice to bask in one another for just a little while. “I should get back to my quarters and get some real rest,” I finally said. Chris didn’t fight me on it, just nodded and stood. I turned, collecting my water bottle as well. “We should talk about some things,” He said, “Not now, but…” I held my communicator up, giving it a wave, and he chuckled. “Yes, things like that.” “We’ll talk about it,” I agreed. Chris’ hands rested on my shoulders, and he kissed my cheek. “Do I get one more kiss before you go?” He murmured. I smiled a little, turning to face him and leaning up. I sighed at the feeling of him cupping my cheek, the now familiar (but still exciting) press of his lips against mine. I pecked his lips once more, and he sighed. “You’re sure you can’t stay a few more minutes?” He murmured, resting his forehead against mine. “I shouldn’t,” I mumbled. I didn’t leave for another hour. -- When I finally returned to my quarters, I was sleepy. The time I’d spent in the gym, followed by the couple of hours of lazing around with Chris, letting the tea burn out of our system, had worn me out. I’d more than earned myself a Klingon poem. Maybe a cup of tea-- No. No tea. Hot cocoa? I settled down at my desk with my PADD and a notebook and pulled up an audio file of the latest poem I’d been working through. My grasp of the language was getting better. What had initially started as a pursuit to keep my mind off of the Captain was turning into a legitimate skill. I worked through significantly less of a poem than I typically would’ve in one sitting. Given the day’s events, I was more than a little scatterbrained. I found myself spacing out, my mind drifting to the conversations I’d had with Chris; to the way Chris had touched me; to the way Chris had kissed me. I was a little giddy with it, but I was also a little worried. He hadn’t seemed upset by the way I’d handled Una’s questions, and I’d known that we’d have to talk about how we’d handle being discreet sooner rather than later. The fact that he wanted to discuss it rather than working it out as we went had to be a vote of confidence, right? It meant that this was more than a fling to him. At least, I hoped. I pushed the thought away, setting my pen aside and rolling my wrist. I turned my head at the sound of the door opening and smiled when I saw Thira. “Hey! How was your shift?” I asked. She waved me off. “Oh, you know, the usual. Tell me how Koutov was!” Thira said, coming to lean against my desk. “It was… Fine. Barely used me, I kinda just stood there.” “Did you get to try any of that tea Spock was talking about?” I nodded slowly, “You know… I did and uh… Not rushing to try it again.” -- Thaleh was back on board by the time we were on our way to our next destination. We had a short debrief, discussing the planets that we had visited while she was off of the ship. She had very few questions about Koutov, which was a relief (but apparently she’d already spoken to the Captain about it). I spent most of my shift working with Ensign Paledore, helping him get ready to beam down at our next stop. -- “You got my message, then.” “I did.” I settled on an armchair in the lounge across from Una’s. She’d sent me a message on my PADD shortly before the end of my shift. “I would’ve answered, but Pal was kinda panicking,” I added, giving her a small smile. Una nodded a little, looking me over. I waited for her to break the ice, and as usual, I didn’t have to wait for long. “Have you spoken to the Captain?” “Yes, we had a… A chance to speak.” “And?” “We’re fine. I don’t have to transfer to the Hiawatha.” Una’s brow furrowed, her head tipping to the side. “Was that an option?” “Only briefly, and, uh, only to myself.” Una quirked a brow before she leaned back in her seat, arms settling on the arm rests. “Slush-os and Koutovian tea. What will you swear off next?” “Time will tell,” I chuckled. “...Why the Hiawatha?” “I have a friend in engineering on the Hiawatha.” “How is it you always make friends with people in Engineering?” “You’re not in Engineering, I managed to make friends with you, right?” “Barely.”

“That hurt me.”

I grinned as I saw Una fight back a smile. --

C. Pike: Busy? I glanced down at the message that popped up on my PADD, obscuring the Klingon dictionary I’d been looking through. I smiled a bit. - Terribly. C. Pike: Kidding? - Mostly. Translation exercise. C. Pike: I thought your shift was over. - It is. C. Pike: ?? - Personal translation exercise. It’s like counting sheep for me. C. Pike: Nerd. I snorted, shaking my head. - Good shift? C. Pike: Fine. Yours? - Also fine. Still up for a rematch tomorrow?

C. Pike: If you think you can handle it. I laughed, shaking my head. - You’re so going down. I’m not going to pull my punches again. C. Pike: Understood. Looking forward to it, lieutenant. - Me, too, Captain. Tag list: @angels-pie ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta

#I'm Always Curious #captain pike #captain pike x reader #Captain Pike/Reader #Captain Pike Imagine #Captain Pike/You #Captain Pike x You #Christopher Pike #Chris Pike #christopher pike/reader #christopher pike x reader #christopher pike imagine #christopher pike x you #Christopher Pike/You

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starryeyes2000 · 3 years ago

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Retribution: A Very Bad Plan

Previous Chapter | Masterlist

Pairing: Christopher Pike x OC

Rating: Mature

Warning: This story contains references to a bioengineered virus. It is not contagious and can only infect one person.

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: Years ago, Lieutenant Christopher Pike and his team’s classified mission failed changing the course of two peoples – the Estess whose planet was strategically important to the Federation and the deeply spiritual Gileseians whose out of the way home was location and resource poor. The price for his involvment will be steep and the debt is about to be called in.

This story takes place after the Season 2 finale. Control was defeated and all the events of Season 2 occurred except for Discovery travelling into the future.

ooooo

A Very Bad Plan

The Next Morning

The lieutenant scanned the morning’s news over breakfast. Every major service carried some version of the same story – the sentencing for those charged with murdering the ambassador. The Andorian justice systems moves swiftly, the officer assigned to Enterprise mused. Subsequently the same individuals would face another trial in a Federation court for attempted hijacking.

Wait. There it is. A column titled A New Day Dawns. There was no need to read the accompanying article about insignificant changes to a little-known government program.

The signal was late, but that was of no matter, the reasons for the delay were unimportant. It was time to execute Plan C.

ooooo

“I want to go on record one more time … I think this a bad idea.” Keyla repeated emphatically. “It’s a line you shouldn’t cross and one you may not be able to come back from.”

“It’s foolproof,” Tilly confidently assured her friend. “I want to solve the mystery. And something’s wrong, I’m sure of it. I mean to try and help if I can.”

ooooo

Keyla Detmer looked away from the file she was reviewing and rubbed her tired eyes. I should take a break, she thought but then discarded the notion. Later, we may be running out of time.

This was the most surreal assignment of her career.

A week ago, Enterprise’s XO passed her a handwritten note while they were alone in the flight simulator. It read – Meet me for dinner, 20:00, be discrete. Deck three, 8-A. At the time, the young helmsman thought, the command deck, is it possible Commander Una shares my attraction? The delicious anticipation of that possibility sent a chill down Detmer’s spine. Two hours later the anticipation morphed into apprehension as Keyla conceded the potential difficulties of a physical relationship with a superior officer, and not just any superior officer but the woman who was second in command of the flagship and rapidly becoming a mentor. Repeatedly she asked herself, Oh, I do want to make love to her but am I ready for this?

Detmer had arrived at the requested time and was perplexed, unsure and, yes, she admitted to herself, a bit intrigued on upon finding the Captain’s Yeoman present as well. Not that I have ever participated in or even, for that matter, contemplated something like this before, but maybe I should be open to experimentation; as Captain Pike says, be bold, yada, yada, yada.

Number One’s greeting was blunt, “This is code word classified and may not be discussed outside of this room.

Classified sex? OK, that’s hot, Keyla thought. Slow down, you don’t know if Una, or Mia, enjoy being with women … Mia is really cute in a soft delicate way …

Una continued, “Captain Pike trusts you …”

Why would the Captain’s trust matter? Keyla asked herself.

“… and has granted you clearance.”

The evening turned out quite different than she was imagining, and Keyla was eternally grateful neither Commander Una nor Mia Colt possessed the Betazed gift for reading thoughts.

Una had succinctly explained the situation with Mia offering additional details here and there. “The hijacking was not a fortunate random choice by a disorganized team. It was carefully planned, and the hostage was specifically targeted in a way that suggests, no, required conspirators. One or more of whom are likely aboard Enterprise.”

“What?” Keyla muttered, stunned. “A member of Starfleet deliberately hurt a fellow crewmember? And betrayed Captain Pike? It’s … it’s just not possible.”

Una continued brusquely. “We don’t know what they wanted. The Captain believes they will try again. Soon. We have little time to find and stop them.”

“But, the press, the ship, the gossip, everyone believes it happened very differently. That the resulting the injuries were minor,” Detmer protested.

“A fiction that is being carefully nurtured. Our only advantage at the moment is allowing them to think they got away with it,” Una responded.

“Does that mean?” Detmer asked quietly.

Mia nodded. “Her … injuries are serious, perhaps grave.” Then she added, “Your role in thwarting the hijacking and your previous posting to Discovery rather than Enterprise clears you. And there is an enormous amount of data to comb through in order to find those involved.”

“I know you have the maturity to push your feelings aside and get on with things. The Captain and I both have confidence you are ready to handle such a sensitive assignment. You will work with Mia, here in her quarters, reviewing personnel data. Pass anything suspicious to me.” Una’s expression was stern. “No one outside of Enterprise’s senior staff is briefed on this, not even Command. At this point we don’t know whom to trust.”

“So we are alone against an unknown number of hostiles. With no backup. We don’t know who the enemy is. And we cannot trust those we serve with,” Detmer summed up.

“Yes,” was Una’s sad confirmation.

ooooo

With the constant stream of senior officers, as well as Matt and Tracy, coming and going from their quarters over the past two weeks, Aalin had stopped asking who was at the door and in response to this chime simply called, “Come.”

Smoothing her uniform, Tilly took a deep breath and walked into Captain Pike’s quarters.

“Ensign? I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.” Aalin said in greeting as she self-consciously pulled the sleeves of her sweater over her bruised and still healing wrists.

“Tilly, ma’am. I never had a chance to apologize for the things I said on the transport. They were wildly inappropriate.”

“Thank you, but an apology isn’t necessary.” Aalin smiled but Tilly noticed the smile didn’t reach her eyes, “It will be our secret, both what you said and that I agree with you.” Having a confidence shared with her assured Tilly her apology was truly accepted.

Aalin waited as Tilly continued to stand and stare. “Is there anything else?”

“I noticed …” Tilly drifted off, surprised at the difference in the woman standing in front of her from when they met on the transport before the hijacking. Then Aalin’s eyes were lively, her mannerisms were warm and friendly, and she smiled easily. Now she was thinner, and the spark was gone.

“You noticed what?” Aalin prompted a bit impatiently.

“An anomalous power reading.” Tilly quickly blurted out and then continued with more confidence, “A power spike. It’s probably nothing, but I came to check it out.”

“Oh, OK. I’ll get out of your way.” Aalin retreated to the sleeping area.

Now that you are here, what are you looking for?Tilly asked herself, starting to doubt her plan for going to the source in order to investigate the odd feeling on the ship and unraveling the mystery. She looked around the neat room that was bathed in soft light and decorated in the neutral colors of a desert night. It was fascinating to get a glimpse into this personal side of their Captain.

There were few knickknacks in the room, aside from a couple of framed pictures, a row of cactuses in ceramic pots on the long coffee table, and a few books lying on side tables. Without thinking Tilly picked up one of the pictures and examined it. Unposed, at night under fairy lights, it appeared as if the Captain had just draped his jacket around Aalin; his hands rested on her upper arms and she was looking up at him with a faint smile. Tilly quickly put it down, feeling guilty for invading their privacy. Maybe Keyla is right, and this is a bad idea, she thought.

Tilly was about to make an excuse and a hasty exit when the door chimed again and Aalin walked through to answer it. Instead Tilly quickly aimed her tricorder at the wall and busily studied its readings. She caught a glimpse of dark hair and a neat beard when the door opened before hearing Aalin exclaim happily, “Spock!”

Oh no, Tilly thought, what should I do?Michael’s foster brother had, from the moment they met, and still did, intimidate her. Keeping scanning, maybe you will find something. At this close distance, it was impossible not to overhear their conversation.

“We didn’t expect you back from leave until next month. I ought to say you should be with your family, but it is so very good to see you.” Aalin put her hands out, palms up in the ritual Vulcan greeting for close friends and family. Spock returned the gesture with a very human embrace.

Wait, did Spock just hug her? Tilly thought. I thought Vulcans avoided intimate touch.

“When I learned what happened I immediately started back.” Spock replied. His eye caught movement in the corner of the room and he stepped to the side to investigate. “Ensign Tilly?” he called, “what is the purpose of your presence here?”

“There was an odd power reading,” she responded timidly, hoping to sell her cover story.

“Given the location of this so-called reading was the Chief Engineer informed?” He asked.

“Ummm, I was going to call him as soon as I gathered more information?” Tilly ventured, heart sinking and thinking, I am in so much trouble.

Spock crossed to the intercom, “Louvier, please come to the Captain’s quarters.” Turning his attention back to Tilly, Spock admonished, “This is a serious breach of protocol. Remain here to deliver your report to your superior.”

Phil Boyce decided if he had been blessed with a granddaughter, he would want her to be exactly like Sylvia Tilly – energetic, brilliant, vivacious, blunt, and with that endearingly unique perspective she brought to everything. In the short time since Commander Una asked him to take on ‘giving the Ensign a little extra supervision’, the young officer had enchanted him. And he had already experienced her talent for unintentionally getting into scrapes.

He exited the turbolift on deck three planning to check on Aalin before meeting Tilly for an afternoon expresso. And was surprised to see Louvier, Spock, and Tilly standing outside Pike’s quarters having an animated quarrel while Aalin tried to mediate. Well maybe I’m not surprised.Sighing he walked over to join the fray.

“Ensign, explain again, this time using concise sentences, your reason for being here.” Louvier said through gritted teeth.

“I … sir … I mean … yes sir.” Tilly stammered. “I was walking by …”

“You were taking a stroll on the command deck?” Spock queried with a raised eyebrow.

Tilly looked unsure, “Oh, I wasn’t aware of that sir. That this is the command deck I mean.”

“Perhaps we should call Number One.” Spock suggested.

“There’s no need for that, she’s busy and this was a simple misunderstanding.” Aalin said soothingly as she jerked the sleeves of her sweater over her injured wrists.

The chief engineer glared, “Continue Ensign, what were you doing here?”

“I …” Tilly started again.

“Rene, I noticed something off about the replicator and Ensign Tilly happened to be walking by. I asked her to take a look,” Aalin explained while shooting the CMO a meaningful glance and tilting her head towards the lift.

Boyce leaned in and whispered to Tilly, “Let’s go.”

“But …” She started.

“Later,” he said firmly as he guided her down the hallway. In the background they could hear Aalin finish, “I’m sorry for violating procedure and worrying you. I just didn’t think it through.”

Rene Louvier crossed his arms and stared. When Aalin didn’t look away he gave in. “OK, Spock stay here until Scotty comes.” He waved a finger at Aalin. “Scotty’s going to check every inch of your quarters until I am satisfied nothing is wrong.”

“Of course, thank you,” she replied serenely.

ooooo

Tracy Pollard looked up when she heard a familiar voice in Sickbay.

“Hugh?”

Her former colleague from Discovery flashed his brilliant smile. “I just arrived, with Spock. I thought I could be of more help here than working remotely on Vulcan. Paul’s here too. He’s looking for Reno, I think he misses baiting her.”

“Your presence and help are very welcome.” Tracy responded with a tired smile.

“Any progress on beating the virus?”

She shook her head sadly. “On a cure? None.”

“Have the symptoms changed?”

“Changed, no. Settled is a better word. Into a cycle. Similar to malaria. There is a period of remission for a day or two. Then her fever climbs to 102 or 103 degrees for twelve to twenty-four hours. After that breaks overwhelming fatigue is the primary symptom while the virus cannibalizes her body to produce the drug. Within six hours the heighted emotional responses begin. Remission returns in a couple of days. I expect the fever will set in later this evening. And …”

“It gets worse?”

“She gets weaker with each cycle. There isn’t enough time to build her body back up in between flare-ups.” Tracy finished.

“Prognosis?” Hugh asked.

“Not good. We’ve changed our efforts from developing a cure to finding a way to lengthen the remission period. If we could stabilize her, boost her strength between bouts, well, it would be chronic but at least manageable.”

“I’ve had some success unraveling the genetic code of the virus. That will help us retroactively sort through the process that created it. And Paul has ideas about using his spore farm to grow a counteragent for the drug.”

“Reducing or even perhaps eliminating the intense fear she experiences?”

Hugh nodded. “That will help us better manage the physical and emotional toll the virus is taking.”

“Have you spoken with the Captain yet?” Tracy asked.

“No. We were briefed by the XO and understand the need for the ongoing secrecy. It’s mind bending, the possibility of one or more enemy agents among the crew of the flagship.”

ooooo

The ride in the turbolift to the deck housing Phil’s sickbay office felt interminable to Tilly. The kindly doctor’s expression was stern. And his eyes look tired, Tilly thought. Once in the office, he opaqued the windows, turned to her and asked quietly, “What were you thinking?”

“I don’t know.” Tilly replied.

“That is a little girl’s answer. Do you realize how close you came today to losing your posting on this ship? Spock and Louvier on their own could ensure you never serve on a ship or even a Starbase again.”

“I thought I found a problem,” she winced inwardly at the white lie, “and I didn’t think it through.”

“I can’t speak to the routine on Discovery. But Enterprise is not a science vessel. She’s a heavy cruiser and military vessel charged with a deep space exploration mission.”

“I get it,” she answered, this time defensively.

“I don’t think you do. A junior officer reports any problems she discovers to her supervisor. She doesn’t investigate them on her own. The Chief Engineer dispatches repair teams to the Captain’s quarters, not the Ensign who joined the ship ten days ago. Especially now.”

“Sometimes I act rashly,” Tilly admitted.

Phil sat down in the chair beside her. “Yes, and if you don’t learn to curb that tendency, there will come a time you act and then can’t talk, finesse, or save your way out of it. You are too talented to throw away your career so thoughtlessly. Impulse control is vital for a commander.”

“How do you think Captain Pike will react?”

He rubbed his chin. “He will never know about it. You appear to have the luck of the Irish, or a guardian angel. Today, that was Aalin. She covered for you. Neither Spock nor Louvier will challenge her explanation and they will respect her request to drop the matter. If Una had been called, I don’t know, she may have given you a second chance or you might be packing your bags right now.”

“That’s the second time Aalin, sorry, the Lieutenant has covered for me.” Tilly admitted.

“Oh?”

“It’s not important right now.”

Phil narrowed his eyes, a niggling doubt pushed him to demand an explanation, another cautioned him to let it go. Before he could decide Tilly asked, “You said ‘especially now.’ What does that mean? Because things seem off. That was why I … I wanted to find out …”

“Go on.”

Tilly decided it was time to change the subject. “That’s not important right now either.”

“Very well.” Phil sighed. “Promise me the next time you think, ‘Eureka! That’s a great idea’, you will come ask me before acting on it.”

“Eureka? Really” Tilly laughed. “What an old-fashioned word.”

“I’m an old man. This crew has turned my hair grey, you are rapidly turning it white. And you are attempting to wiggle out of the promise, hoping I will forget. Believe me young lady, I’ve dealt with others more head-strong and stubborn than you.”

“You’re referring to Captain Pike and Number One, aren’t you?”

“A CMO never tells. About that promise?”

“Yes, I will.”

Phil shooed her out of his office. “Go then and let me have some peace. Try and stay out of trouble for the rest of the day.”

“I always try,” Tilly remarked as she left.

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greenninjagal-blog · 5 years ago

Text

The Space Between Us

Alien au? Alien au! I have no self control! Please accept this one shot that quickly spiraled into 23 pages of Virgil being a disaster in space. (If you guys enjoy it, let me know because I’m considering making it a series.)

Summary: The cosmos is a Gigantic place and somehow Virgil’s past still catches up to him.

Words: 11400

TW: Human trafficking, Human experimentation, dehumanization, fighting rings,

Quick taglist: @chelsvans @dante-reblogs @dwbh888 @glitchybina @faithfulcat111 @felicianoromano @harrypotternerdprincess @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @mrbubbajones @musical-nerd18 @nonasficcollection @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @the-sunshine-dims @themagicheartmailman @themultishipperchild @thenaiads @treasureofpriam @vianadraws @welovelogansanders

Read on Ao3 || General Writing Masterlist

“Tell me again why this is absolutely necessary?” Virgil asked, watching Logan’s hands dance across the console. On any other day the sight would be comforting. Every time his digits landed on a key, his nerves glowed with sparks of multicolored light through his transparent crystal skin, creating a beautiful firework show right in front of them all. Logan had told him once it was called Lightdancing, an evolutionary adaptation of the Tenkarie people: their bodies were near invisible in dim light, and they could control the pulses of light just enough to attract other cave dwelling creatures to them before striking the killing blow.

Now, though, the sight made Virgil’s stomach churn. Logan’s lights were a calculated system that he had trained to hone better than most of his race: he could make any part of his body glow at a brightness ranging from a flickering candle light to a flood light, he could make his whole body radiate or he could make just the tip of one of his sixteen fingers, he could even change the color of the light with just a thought. Virgil had always been glad that Logan was the only Tenkarie that dared venture from their caves on L0-G1C; Logan’s kind had perfected the use lights and dancing which made all other creatures become so nauseated they couldn’t fight back or become so mesmerized by the swirling motions that they didn’t see the attacks.

(Of course, because Virgil was rather distinctly human, it took longer for either of the effects of Logan’s fighting to work, which had saved both their lives more than once.)

However, in contrast to the usual focus of Logan’s fingertips on the control panel, lights were flickering all over his body, up and down each of his four arms and burning from the notches around his neck. The lack of control was enough to make Virgil’s stomach churn.

“Because its Remus,” Roman replied, although it didn’t help that he said his brother's name the same way he might have said puppy kicker.

“And we care about Remus because....?” Virgil prompted, running his fingers over his satchel again, checking the latches to make sure they were still there, still closed, still containing the supplies within. “If my memory serves me correctly, Remus was the one that set us up to be ambushed by those space pirates the other week. You know, the ones that nearly killed Patton?”

“We care because, in Erefrenian customs, blood bonds are the most sacred of bonds.” Logan supplied distractedly. “And Remus invoked the Oath of Brothers, which means that if Roman were to ignore his call for aid, Roman’s honor would be forever stained which would prevent him from crossing to the planes of heroes after his death according to the religion of his people.”

“Yeah that,” Roman says, even less excited than Logan at the idea. The bone spikes along his spine had been secreting that red poison that usually only happened when he got annoyed or anxious. Virgil had learned quickly to stay away from him when he was like that: touching it merely made Virgil’s limbs feel pins and needles, but the Orlun thief had screamed until unconsciousness.

It was one of the (very) few perks of being a Deathworlder, Virgil supposed. Most of the things that hurt the other species out here usually had a looser effect on humans because humans rarely made it this far. In fact, it was illegal for humans to get this far by at least sixty doctrines (all of which Logan had filed away in his room).

Humans were juggernauts-- the alien versions of the boogie man told to children to keep them from acting out. Virgil had seen some of the written documents about his kind, and the tales of bloodshed and terror invoked by merely existing were pretty horrifying. Graphic depictions of humans tearing aliens limb from limb, scientific studies on the amounts of chemicals that humans had absorbed and withstood against, an interview with a survivor of a human rampage who revealed the bite marks left by the so-called beast.

Almost every species out here was just as scared of him as he was of them.

The problem came from the ones that weren’t scared.

Which, of course, was how Virgil had ended up hundreds of literal light-years from Earth, on a ship with three aliens whom he was pretty certain he would end up dying for sometime very soon. Yurinks were crafty, shameless, bold, creatures, and they were notorious for visiting Earth and abducting humans for individual sale. Weslors ran fighting rings and humans were almost always the safest bets for some quick cash. Quitans were a fan of skinwearing, which was not something that Virgil ever wanted to see, based on the name alone. And Pol’turs loved learning how things worked and paid very handsome prices for human subjects on the space black market.

Virgil, himself, had sold for 300 griot. (Which was apparently a lot, based on the way that Patton’s eyes had quite literally bugged out. Virgil was still trying to figure out the conversation ratio of American dollars to griot and getting nowhere with it.)

“I hate him,” Roman said under his breath as he threaded through the spare armored uniforms in the storage, trying to find one to fit over the rigid bone plates along his back. His tail squirmed behind him as he searched, dragging the spikes through the air. “I hate him so much.” His bone claws cut through the fabric and he growled as he tossed the ruined clothes to the floor. “We’re gonna save him and then I’m going to toss him off into space, myself.”

Logan made an affirming noise, using his lower left arm to nudge his visor back up his nose. Virgil had only caught sight of Logan’s eyes once or twice, as most light strained his sensitive eyes. They had paid a pretty griot for a repair and a spare of his light blocking visor after the first time some space smugglers had surprised them and managed to break the lens. Logan’s pained scream was the worst thing that Virgil had ever heard and he had sworn he’d do anything to avoid ever having to hear it again.

(That had been the first time that Roman and him had truly worked together on something, Virgil noted absently. Between Virgil’s uncharacteristic bloodlust and Roman’s furious wrath they had taken out the smugglers in less than five minutes and they hadn't been very nice about it.)

Looking from the back, Roman resembled a stegosaurus to Virgil. If, like....stegosauruses ran around on two legs, flourished a sword, and were prone to acting like every minor occurrence was a slight against them personally. His red-ish skin had the appearance of leather but was twice as thick, his bone plates were slimmer rounded triangles than Virgil remembered from his kindergarten picture books but they ran from the based of his neck all the way down his back and to the tips of his tail which he liked to use as a spike-ball-and-chain attack along with his ridiculous sword. Virgil couldn’t count the number of times that Roman had nearly taken him out along with the enemy. His claws were only a few inches long but Roman whined like a baby when they broke-- which was ridiculous because his bone plates literally grew back overnight, and the ones on his forearms were made to be taken off and thrown. (Logan had indeed informed Virgil that Erefren grow new bones every moon cycle and proceeded to lose the old ones which Virgil had then mentioned that humans did that too sorta! With their baby teeth! And Roman and Logan had both looked unnerved by that information.)

“I’ve got it!” A voice sang from the ceiling, which was about all the warning Virgil got before a child sized figure vaulted down from the rafters of the teleportation deck right onto his shoulders.

“Jesus! Pat!” Virgil yelled as he stumbled swaying to accommodate the new weight that had stuck itself to Virgil’s back and then wrapped around to hug his chest. “Give a guy a warning, will you?”

Patton giggled, hooking his legs around Virgil’s waist so that he could sit comfortably, swinging the two other satchels he had been sent to fetch from his hands. Roman accepted one of them readily.

“What's a Jeeezus?” Patton asked, stressing the syllables as English terms never really fit right in his tongue. As far as Virgil was aware no species were equipped to speak human languages, although Roman’s Erefren dialect involved some rolling syllables. He probably could have picked up Spanish, if Virgil hadn’t barely passed Spanish III with a C minus.

To be fair though, that year had been bad. Janus had been in his class, and then he hadn’t. And it was hard to focus on conjugation of verbs when the golden student of the entire school who had sat next to him had been declared dead and Virgil had been the prime suspect of it.

That, and Virgil was pretty terrible at picking up new languages. He had only managed to figure out how to communicate with Logan by luck: hands raised with the fingers spread was a symbol of innocence and fear for the Tenkarie, while a sign of rage and fury for Yurink. This, of course, had also been in the middle of an illegal Weslor fighting ring which Logan had been dragged into and essentially sentenced to die in after being separated from Roman and Patton.

(Virgil tried not to think too much about those days. Alien blood was still blood and it was very not-good to feel dripping from his hands, even if it was him or them, even if it had been his life on the line, even if it wasn’t another human with heterochromic eyes and smug smirk. Virgil had fought nearly six times before Logan had been his opponent, and that was six times too many.)

Regardless, Virgil was lucky that when Roman and Patton had come for Logan, Logan had remembered his reluctance to fight and insisted that Virgil come with them in an escape. Roman and Patton had their hesitations but Logan wouldn’t take no for an answer.

(And Virgil who did not understand Common, had honestly thought that Logan had come back to kill him officially. Not a good first impression.)

Logan had made him flashcards to study from and taught him common in the sitting area of their ship. The endless hours of memorization, the drills, the sentences, all of which helped him more than he thought the others knew. They were something to do with his mind and Virgil had been in desperate need of something to do with his mind those first few months that wasn’t thinking about Earth or home or boys who were dead.

“We could go to Earth,” Logan had offered once during one of their sessions.

Virgil had blinked looking up to from the practice reading he had been studying with a bewildered look. “What?” It had taken a moment for him to realize that he had spoken in English rather than Common, but Logan must have picked up on the meaning of the foreign word anyway.

“You were… badly, ah, stolen,” Logan had said, pointing at the flashcards. “We could give you back.” He had used his lower two arms to mimic the motion of handing something off.

It had been so touching, the way that he had scaled down his speech to match Virgil’s progress, had offered despite Earth being the infamous Deathworld, had been looking at Virgil like he was living being and not just some animal. Virgil had cried.

He should have wanted to go back to Earth, should have wanted to go home, but instead he had begged in his broken, garbled Common for Logan to let him stay in space with them. And Logan had glowed nearly blindingly with purple light, a relief light, a content light, a happy light and promised that he wouldn’t have to go back if he didn’t want to.

Perhaps that had been the day the Virgil had realized he’d die for Logan.

And once Virgil had decided that for Logan it wasn’t hard to decide it for Patton too. The Reytin was just so nice. Even back in those first months when Virgil didn’t know how to talk to them and Patton had been so obviously terrified of him, the alien had made sure that Virgil was eating, that he was sleeping, that he had space when he needed it. Though, Virgil really suspected that their friendship had blossomed so quickly because of Patton's rare Reytin ability to see emotions with his frog-like eyes. Once he realized that Virgil was actually terrified of everything, and it wasn’t just ploy to kill them (or maybe despite that….Virgil hadn’t gotten a straight answer from him), Patton had done his best to befriend him back to good health.

And Virgil liked being on the ship. He liked his room, which was filled with stupid alien plants he had managed to collect and the weird shapes of the bed. He liked being right down the hall from the kitchen so he could smell when Patton was cooking something, and the way that he could always hear Roman singing in his room. He liked slipping out to the observation deck and just seeing Space the way no other human really had.

(Its stupid really, that sometimes he forgot it had been three years. Its stupid really, that sometimes he still turned to ask a question of someone who was never going to be there. Its stupid really that he could be so happy and still feel the gaping hole where someone used to be.)

“Oh this is so exciting!” Patton said happily, shaking his hands in the air to show his excitement. “Isn’t this exciting, guys?”

“Exciting isn’t the word I would use,” Virgil said hoisting the smaller creature from around his waist to settle him on the floor carefully.

“More like Vexing! Or perhaps burdensome! Irksome! Problematic!” Roman snarled, finally finding the armor that would fit around his plates and slipping it on. “You know what? Let’s forget it! Remus got himself into this mess and he can get himself out!”

“Now kiddo…” Patton warned, and wow, Virgil sometimes forgot that the alien who was half Virgil's height and twice as lively, was also older than all of them combined. Reytin lifespans were literally off the chart. Patton had been around way back when humans were first declared illegal on this side of the cosmos. “You know that we can’t do that! He invoked the Oath of Brothers so we have to!”

“We don’t have to do anything,” Roman griped. “Worse case, my soul just becomes eternally damned and I’m shamed by the rest of my race until I die a lonely, lonely death on some distant planet!”

“Must you be so dramatic?” Logan asked.

“You won't die alone!” Patton said, “We’ll be right there with you! Probably even die right next to you as well!”

“No offense Pat,” Roman said glumly, “But that makes me feel like I’m gonna be the cause of your death.”

“It’ll be fun!”

Thankfully before Roman could explain exactly there was nothing fun about making all his friends die, Logan cleared his throat and made his upper two palms glow with a soft blue light. Green and pink bulbs flashed up and down his neck. “I have mapped out the perceived trajectory of the enemy ship so we should be able to beam directly into the hold. However because of possible miscalculations I believe that I should be--”

“--The first to beam aboard as I am the only one who is not affected by the lack of gaseous properties and the extreme temperatures of the expanse of space.” Roman, Patton, and Virgil chorused together.

“Must you all?” Logan asked, with just enough fondness in his tone for Virgil to know that he wasn’t actually bothered.

“Change up your speech sometime, Teach,” Roman suggested, and then he sighed dropping his head. “You guys are really willing to do this for me? These are mercenaries, you know. If this doesn’t go well they’ll likely sell us for parts.”

Virgil really didn’t need the reminder. Just the thought of once again having his arms restrained, having his clothes striped away, being reduced from a person to a thing used for entertainment, was enough to have Virgil eyeing the door back to the rest of the ship. Even on the off chance that they didn’t try to take him apart to see how he ticked, they would still sell him for griot. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, survive being thrust back into the fighting rings. He’d shake himself apart before they managed to drag him into that dust riddled death trap.

Patton reached up and tugged the edge of Virgil’s under armor tunic, drawing his eyes away from the door and down to his friend. Patton, of course, was smiling, imitating the human action of bearing his teeth (something that Logan had explained was incredibly threatening to all other species and you may want to avoid participating in that activity with Roman in the vicinity, Virgil).

It was silly things like that that make Virgil hopelessly certain that he would do anything to protect his friends. He didn’t need to worry about being caught and sold off because the others wouldn’t let that happen again, and in turn, he wouldn’t allow them to be taken away either. They were a family, for better or worse.

(He wasn’t going to lose someone again. Not like before. Not without a fight, a trace-- not without Virgil doing every single thing he could to get them back first.)

“We’ll be fine!” Patton told Roman brightly.

“Yeah, cheer up, Princey,” Virgil added, hooking his satchel over his shoulder, “Worse case scenarios are my thing.” He offered out a folded fist, palm up and Roman dutifully knocked his own knuckles against it, as an upside down fistbump (a signal of friendship in Erefrenian).

Patton let out a chittering and jumped up to knock his own knuckles with them. And Logan’s left forearms flickered pastel pink from the wrist up to his neck and he begrudgingly added his own to the pile.

“Everyone remembers their part of the plan, correct?” Logan asked, letting his two lower arms finish typing a final sequence into the control panel.

Patton sprung in the air, jumping Virgil’s entire height, and shook his palms. “I’ve got the emergency pods and the armory, using Virgil’s thingies to shut down the access to the lower rooms and blocking off escapes as I make my way to the medic bay!”

“I’ve got the crew quarters to where I’ll use Virgil’s thingies--”

“Can we not call them thingies?” Virgil grumbled. “They’re just EMPs. Barely enough to take out the door locks. And it's likely they won’t do much of anything if this group has an emergency system reboot in case of an electrical surge. It’ll buy us five minutes, max.”

“--Virgil’s thingies,” Roman repeated with his tail rattling in that way that said he took pleasure in Virgil’s annoyance. “To lock as many of the doors as I can, before travelling to the cell blocks to get my brother and his crew and move them to the medic bay where Patton will have the necessary supplies ready incase of injuries.”

“I will take the Bridge,” Logan said, “and act as the major distraction, as Tenkarie are very rare and it is likely that they will have never encountered nor have preemptive measures against my Lightdancing. Once I have control of the bridge I will cut off the communications to other ships in the area and start inputting the redirection course. Once I have the new coordinates I will send them to Virgil for him to implement.”

“I’ve got the engineering deck,” Virgil said, finally, “To make sure they don’t try to blow us all up with the warp core and whatever. Then I’ll redirect the teleporting course and get us home while the rest of you take out the bad guys. Piece of cake.”

Logan’s neck notches glowed red, “There should be no stopping for cake--.”

“Idiom,” Virgil interrupted quickly, “Human saying. Means it should be easy.”

Logan hummed musically, which sent a vibration of multicolored lights off his shoulders and down under his clothes. “Ah, interesting. This should indeed then be a piece of cake.” He picked up one of the teleportation bracelets from their charging pads and fixed it on his upper right wrist. “I’ve already added in the coordinates to the watches, so merely wait for my signal and press the button.”

Virgil would be lying if he said he didn’t have a little bit of anxiety over their plan. It was pretty slapshot compared to the things that they had put together before, but Remus’s transmission had been shoddy, even after Roman and his combined efforts to clean it up. It was hard to remember that Remus was every bit a ship captain as Roman was with how he had appeared in the picture dressed in ripped and tattered clothes, oozing green poison from his forearm plates, and bleeding profusely from a wound on his forehead. He had been leaning heavily on the communication panel, gritting his teeth through the pain, but his tail had been dancing in the air behind him in the same motions that Roman’s did when he saw a new sword to add to his collection.

Remus had invoked the Oath of Brothers, spit up blood on the console, and then relayed as much information as he could about the attacking ship. They were lucky, in that way. Most of the Pol’tur ships followed the same base model, which meant that the Bridge was always going to be at the bottom, the engines would be at the top and the engine core center would be between them.

If it was possible Virgil was sure they all would have wanted more time to make a better plan, but they all knew that Pol’turs loved to work quickly. They had already lost three days chasing after the ship, and in that time, Pol’turs could cut apart fifty Reytins like Patton.

They were working mostly on the assumption that the Pol’turs would save Remus for near last, and they were going to be absolutely fucked if they had chosen to chop up the other Erefren first.

In addition, their plan had Virgil avoiding most of the fighting. well, as much as he could while being on an enemy ship. Virgil himself wasn’t sure how he would do in a lot of combat, but they had seen what happened when one of the others were in danger (when Logan’s glasses had broken, when the space pirates had almost shot Patton through both his hearts, when the spikes had been pulled from Roman’s spine by the Quitans before the new ones had grown in--). He could fight, and he could fight well, but the cost was a little bit of Virgil’s sanity and his ability to sleep through the night.

Patton plucked his own teleportation watch from the pad and hooked it on, before offering Virgil his. Well it wasn’t really his, the same way that the red one wasn’t Roman’s and Patton didn’t own the blue one. They were all Logan’s pet projects, but he had tailored them to their favorite colors. It felt a bit like coming home when Virgil clicked the locking mechanism into place and the screen lit up with the digital alien symbols.

“I shall see you all soon,” Logan said matter-of-factly, as if he couldn’t see all the ways that their plan could go wrong. Then with barely more than a breath he clicked the activation button and his form flickered out of existence.

Roman made a nervous noise with the back of his throat, which ended up sounding a bit like the first bars of a Disney song Virgil had forgotten. Virgil gently tapped his tail with the toe of his boot, avoiding the glisten poison spikes. Roman startled just enough to laugh.

“Its funny, you know?” He said, glancing towards Virgil. “A year ago Remus told me he had taken in a Deathworlder, and I thought he was crazy. A Deathworlder? But now that I know you guys I can’t believe I didn’t get my own sooner.”

“Remus has a human on his crew?” Virgil asked.

“Oh, I wonder if you know each other!” Patton added.

Virgil bit back his original comment, and let the weight settle in his stomach. If Remus had a human in his crew there was even more of a chance that Remus was dead, because the Pol’turs had chosen to save the mysterious human for last.

“Earth is a big place,” Virgil said instead. “Like really big. They’d probably be from like Russia or something.”

At the blank stares he got, Virgil tried rewording, “We probably never have met before. Or speak the same language.”

"There's more than one human language?"

Virgil breathed through his nose, warding off a memory of rolling Rs and failed pop quizzes. "Yeah," he said, "Humans can't agree on anything."

Roman thoughtfully crossed his arms, but Patton made a chittering again and bounced, “Oh well! Now you guys are gonna meet! All the way out in space! How cool is that?!”

Virgil hid a smile in his shoulder. Trust the Reytin to find the bright side to everything.

Roman looked like he had more questions (questions that Virgil wasn't exactly enthusiastic to answer; Earth was a sore topic for him) but mercifully each of their watches let out several musical bars from Patton’s favorite song. The alien shook his palms one last time, beaming at each of them.

“Oh this is gonna be so much fun, guys!” He said right before pressing the activation button and disappearing.

“I’m so going to kill Remus for this,” Roman grumbled, one hand on his sword hilt.

And, really, Virgil agreed with him on that. Tossing Remus into the airlock and ejecting him directly into the void sounded like an excellent plan for when they got back to their ship alive and whole and safe.

“Let’s do this,” Virgil said and jabbed his thumb into the activation button.

***

Predictably, their flimsy plan fell apart within seconds of them appearing on the ship. Starting with, exactly, Virgil did not appear in or near the engineering deck. Instead he had landed approximately two feet above a box in the Cargo hold of the Pol’turian ship, which likely meant he was somewhere left of where he needed to be.

It also meant that the Pol’turs in the Cargo Hold had a grand view of his body blitzing into existence, landing on a crate, and then tumbling off it with a lot of English cursing. It was a mere matter of luck that Virgil was able to roll his body to the side just before the first BZZZTTRRRT of their blasters went off.

(There was an actual name for the guns that most aliens used, and Virgil was pretty sure that it started with a hard K sound but he had never been able to remember it. He stuck to calling them blasters in his head, and hoped somewhere back on Earth George Lucas was proud of himself.)

The Polyfurnish of the crate hissed and sizzled as it took the brunt of the attack meant to vaporize Virgil, and the human hissed another curse as his hands dug through his satchel.

One of the Pol’turs-- the deep purple one although Virgil hadn’t truly been able to catch sight of how many there were-- shouted something in its language. Probably something along the lines of “Stop”, “Surrender”, or “Kill him”. Virgil wasn’t exactly a fan of any of those options.

He had heard them before-- too many times. The hundreds of variations of the terms spat and yelled and cheered down at him, and he scrambled away from the edge of a sword, as he tasted nothing by dust and dirt as he dodged another attempt on his life, as he desperately backed away from an opponent who couldn’t understand that Virgil didn’t want to fight, please, stop, please, I’m sorry, please I don’t want to hurt anyone--

Virgil curled up as another gold blast ricocheted off the top of the crate he was cowering behind. The air was cooler here, he told himself, the air was cooler and the floor was slicker, and he was surrounded by shelves of goods. He was not in a colosseum and he was not in a fighting ring and he was not alone.

He had the others to regroup with and no time to panic over the past here and now. Virgil gritted his teeth, remembering the feel of Roman’s knuckles bumping his, the sight of Logan’s excited lights, the sound of Patton’s laughter, and then his hand wrapped around the homemade smoke bombs in his satchel.

He yanked the pins from their sockets, wound back, and launched them over the crate into the mass of where all the shooting was coming from. Almost immediately the shoots veered off course, and the cavernous room echoed with high pitched screams. Virgil ripped his turtleneck up and over his nose and then he grabbed the edges of the nearest shelf and hoisted himself to a higher area, out of the range of the low hanging gas.

It was a pale red, near pink thing: a concoction formed by Logan out of Roman’s poison that had taken them literal years to perfect. Virgil was mostly immune to it, the same way he was mostly immune to most poisons that horrified the other species. Inhaling it made his head dizzy and his limbs a little numb, which was just unpleasant enough that he tried to avoid inhaling anything when he had the chance. Other species though...they weren’t so lucky. According to Logan, inhaling it allowed it directly into the bloodstream where it would swiftly ignite all the pain sensors in the body and could make one feel like they were being stabbed everywhere at once.

(He knew this, Logan admitted, because it had taken him many times to get it right. His scientific journals recorded experiments #1 through #357 as “unpleasant” and “ill-advised” and Virgil had nearly throttled him when he discovered that Logan had used himself as a test subject.)

Using the shelves he boosted himself another level until his head was parallel with a box of what he thought were floating Welsor hearts, before he scanned the ground under him. There were three Pol’turs on the ground writhing in pain, blasters discarded, and pale smoke floating ominous above them. Their usually languid tentacles flopped up and down on the floor like a bunch of fish out of water.

The glass container next to his hip exploded, missing him by mere millimeters. Virgil cursed as he scrambled up another level, eyes darting around to find where the hell that shot came from. His armor took much of the hit but it was sizzling with heat in a way that was decidedly not-comforting.

“Up there!” Something shouted.

Another blast missed his ear and a container of Sblorp fangs shattered and sent the teeth spilling to the floor. Virgil kicked his feet through the lower shelf pushing through a crate and a dozen jars of various indeterminable body parts and squeezed his body in the place of them. The crashes on the next isle were rather satisfying.

He ripped the pin from another smoke bomb with his teeth, and felt his tongue buzz slightly as the proximity to the toxin before he launched it out at the direction of the other shooter. There was another scream and Virgil took the time to roll into the next isle and leap back down to the floor.

The gas still hadn’t cleared around the original three Pol’turs, but they had gone unconscious from the pain, with a few seizing tentacles here and there. Virgil would feel bad about it, really he would, but the last time he had been in a room of Pol’turs they had been discussing how nicely his skull would look in the centerpieces of their tables and tried to buy him for 270 griot.

His skin tingled the same way he thought it might right before he would get struck by lightning back on Earth. Virgil ignored the feeling in honor of sliding across the polished flooring to the nearest fallen mercenary and hoisting it up as a shield, while he grabbed its blaster from the floor.

Two blaster shots sunk into his Pol’tur shield and it dissolved into ashes in his hand. Virgil cursed again, raising the blaster with his other arm and using his ash coated hand to slide the trigger, because this blaster-- like all other blasters-- were not made for human anatomy at all.

The last Pol’tur was a sickly orange color, like some type of invasive evil moss with long arms. Virgil grinned as the blast exploded forth in a dangerous golden ray of death. The heat singed the edge of his fingers, although the mild numbness prevented him from feeling much more than the slight pressure he assumed was warmth. The shot went wide, and the kickback sent Virgil to the floor, but it was enough.

The blast shattered though several items on the shelves and Pol’tur scrambled back to avoid the avalanche of perishables-- scrambled back right into the pink fog of Virgil's last smoke bomb. It was screaming before Virgil could even sit back up.

Virgil inhaled heavily, sucking as much oxygen into his lung as he could afford and breathing it out through his nose. He squeezed his hand around the handle of the blaster, and tried to pretend like his skin didn’t feel too small. His empty hand-- the one that had held the Pol’tur-- was trembling, shaking, burning.

“I just think you’d be better off spending time with someone else.”

“You’re not fooling anyone, Storm!”

“What was it like, Virgil? When you killed him?”

His hand was covered in soot, tingling from nerves and poison and the heat of the blast that had annihilated all evidence of the living, breathing alien.

“It wasn’t….” Virgil breathed heavily, “I didn’t….”

He sucked in another breath, two, three, seven breaths, until he could feel the masquerading gas in the air turn his face numb, and the voices in his head went back to threatening buzzing.

“Fuck,” he whispered softly, and pushed himself off the ground.

Virgil took the blaster with him, and made a private note to ask Logan to look into building communicators for times like this. There were an untold number of things that could have happened to get them mixed up: the Pol’tur ship could have barrel rolled at the time of, or before the final teleportation codes were in, it could have slowed or sped up, it could have marginally changed direction. All of which just proved that only stupid people like Virgil, Logan, Roman, and Patton would dare attempt a teleportation on a moving ship. Virgil tried not to think about what would have happened if his coordinates had been a little lower in space, a little closer to the box he had landed on, a little more personal and prompted whatever was inside of the crate merged with whatever was inside of Virgil.

It took him a moment to realize that the lights had started flashing an interspaced red and yellow series: a visual alarm to the crew.

“Fun,” Virgil mumbled, hugging the wall next to the exit, with one last breath, and then punching the exit lock. The hydraulics took a moment to work (probably due to excessive use of the doors and wear on the components), but it opened to reveal a brightly lit, completely empty hallway. Virgil raised his blaster, checking both the direction before he stepped out and punched the door closed behind him. Then he lined the blaster up with the door controls and fired.

You know, for safekeeping. The last thing they needed was the Pol’turs inside to wake up with a vengeance and come after them before they were off the ship.

(If he was still on the ship by the time that they woke up, Virgil was pretty sure he’d be dead. But hey! Surprising things happened all the time when one lived in fucking space.)

The floor was springy under his feet, some mixture of carpet and flooring that Virgil didn’t know the name of, just that it was weird and he didn’t want it in his Sims House. He could feel the fibers through his shoes as he hugged the wall and sprinted towards where he thought the Engine room would be located.

He could hear the sound of more blasters echoing from the depths of the ship, some yelling, some cursing: all lovely signs that Roman was doing his best to be the most annoying moving target anyone had ever seen. Virgil found his lips curling into a smile as he faintly at the noise.

“Oh come on!” Roman taunted, “I’m a big guy! Surely, you can’t be that bad of a shot!”

There was deafening BZZZTTRRRT, a clamorous crashing, and an ear splitting series of screams.

Virgil flung around the last corner but in time to see Roman stand up from a kneeling position over a clump of bodies that had probably been more alive a few seconds ago. There were blaster marks all along the walls, and several had blown through a wall revealing a cozy living quarters with giant sword slices in the beddings and floors.

“Oooh, so close!” Roman said with faux-empathy bordering on smugness which at this point should just be his default to the mass. “Maybe next time you’ll think more before attacking an Erefren!” He spun at the sight of Virgil coming around the corner, pointing his sword and then shaking his tail in a greeting.

“Roman,” Virgil sighed in relief. “You okay?”

“Virgil! It seems like I got a little off course! Checked the prisoner cells but they were all empty. And then a few new friends of mine had some fun things to say about Remus.” Roman looked feral as he bared his teeth. He jabbed his sword down into the corpses and something wheezed painfully. Virgil didn’t look at them, didn’t look at them, didn’t look.

“Do you know where he is?” Virgil asked.

Roman used the edge of his shirt to wipe the blue grey blood from the tip of his blade. “Not yet, but if you give me a few more minutes with these lovely fellows of mine I will!”

It did not take “a few more minutes”. Roman hoisted on still gasping Pol’tur up by its gangly neck and it had already started blubbering in a mix of languages. Virgil watched the halls while Roman took notes from their new best friend.

Half a minute later Roman dropped their captive to the ground with a fire in his eyes and turned to Virgil with his bone plates clinking, and dripping poison.

“He was on the Bridge.” He said, coldly, “He didn’t know if they had finished with Re or not, but he was up there”

“Okay,” Virgil said.

“The rest of his crew, Virgil,” Roman growled, squeezing the hilt of his sword. “His friends! His family!” He stared down at the shaking cowering alien life. “They..!”

The back of Virgil’s throat tasted like his stomach acids.

Remus had tried to have them killed, he had sold them out, he had been a thorn in their side since before Virgil had become part of the team. Between the harrowing escapes and the near deaths, it wasn’t hard for Virgil to absolutely despise him.

But his crew? His entire crew? In three days?

Just….gone?

Condensed into the memories with a snap, removed from the future in just a blink. The initial attack on them must have been bad and bloody for Remus to call them for help, a surprise ambush type of attack. And for all Virgil hated Remus, he couldn’t help but wonder if Remus had had plans with them-- had they been discussing visiting the bars on L3-012 or shopping on K5-369 or relaxing on C2-276? Had Remus made plans with the people he had been close with and now those plans were meaningless because the people he had made them with were dead and gone and never coming ba--

The Pol’tur on the ground giggled something hysterically, one last brave blubbering comment, and Roman took the toe of his boot right into the creature's soft flesh. Its tentacles flopped on the floor with a plu-plat.

“Virgil,” Roman hissed, without looking up.

Virgil blinked and swallowed hard, “Right, Engines,” He said, turning to go back to his task but Roman reached out and hooked his claws on Virgil’s shoulder, stopping him there.

“Change of plans,” The Erefren said, “You’re coming with me to the Bridge to get my idiot brother.”

Logan was on the Bridge too. Roman didn’t need to have Virgil come with him-- in fact, Virgil shouldn’t come with him. Too many people, too close to fighting, and Virgil couldn’t wipe away the feeling of grit on his hand.

His entire crew. In just three days.

Roman didn’t mention anything about how Virgil was shaking from head to toe, and Virgil didn’t point out the way that Roman’s voice wobbled with silent pleading. He just nodded at the alien and let him lead the way towards where they suspected the examination rooms would be.

Two heads are better than one, and all that.

It was less of a guessing game when the halls and doors were labeled and Roman was very fluent in Pol’turian. Roman was quick to move, quick to sort his way through the poorly designed areas, quick to move. Virgil kept the pace as well as he could, watching the halls behind them for stragglers attempting to get the drop on them and Roman cut down anything in his way.

Blue grey blood splattered across their shoes, filling the air with a sickly sour smell that made Virgil want to gag. He settled for squeezing the handle of the balster and counting out his breaths again as he avoided Roman’s tail striking forward at astonishing speeds and squeezing his eyes shut when he thought he saw a pair of mismatching eyes in the reflection of the lights.

There was no way for them to go quietly through the halls, not with Roman stomping hard enough to shake the entire ship and his poison attacks turning every enemy into a screaming, begging, crying puddle.

“Roman!” Virgil yelled as heat billowed around them, and the taller alien stumbled back, hit the wall and fell to his knees.

Virgil snarled at one of the mercenaries and fired three times at them. Between the near misses and the scattered yells of “Deathworlder!” they retreated into nearby rooms and locked the doors after them. Virgil tore one of his EMPs from Roman’s belt and sent it flying down the hall to keep them trapped there for a little bit, before he turned to check on Roman.

His shirt was smoldering, and one of his bone plates were cracked, but he just looked out of breath and angry, “I’m fine.” His claws scraped the floor as he stood up. “Armor took most of it.”

Virgil checked the hallway again. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat, like a cancerous lump that he couldn’t get rid off no matter how much he swallowed or coughed. It pulsed to a beat that he wasn’t sure he could replicate: too fast and yet the space between each thud had felt like forever. It was so loud he almost was afraid of missing the sounds of another attack.

(An attack where Roman’s armor wouldn’t be enough, where he wouldn’t be able to wheeze off the pain, where he’d hit the wall then the floor and he wouldn’t be able to get back up and it would be all Virgil’s faul--)

Roman’s claws pricked his shoulder as he looked. With a slightly trembling hand he pointed in the direction they needed to go and Virgil did his best not to let his churning stomach get the better of him.

“Virgil! Roman!” They both spun at the voice; Roman in particular struck out with his tail, and just narrowly avoided impaling Logan’s crystalline chest on spikes.

Logan didn’t even flinch, not that he could really. His lower arms spread with palms out to signal innocence but his upper arms were busy holding up the profusely bleeding Erefren that was leaning mostly on him. Logan’s arms were flickering with so many colors Virgil couldn’t keep track of them. (Vaguely it reminded him of a disco ball, of party lights, of something so Earthly it would have made him laugh if he wasn’t so busy trying to hold back a panic attack.)

“Remus,” Roman breathed, reaching forward, impossibly gently.

“Ro’mn,” Remus slurred, shifting his head ever so slightly. His blood was pooling down the left half of his face, his eyes were partially glassy, but other than that he looked remarkably like Roman: they shared the same face with a strong jawline, the same dark dark hair curled the same way, and the same long tail with dozens of bone plates. The only real difference was the tinge of white in Remus’s hair, the oozing green poison leaking from his bone structures in place of Roman’s red, and the gaps where someone had torn out his bone plates before Remus had grown new ones in.

“Didn’t think…” Remus’s head lulled to the side, showing off the smile he was desperately forcing on his face, “didn’t think… you were comin’.”

“I’m throwing you out of the airlock,” Roman told him.

“‘ounds fun…” Remus murmured, dropping his head back to Logan’s back, and wincing like each inhale was a battle.

“They had him on the Bridge,” Logan explained, “When I arrived, they were attempting to retrieve information from him through barbaric methods. I may have gone overboard with my retaliation.” Logan shifted Remus’s weight slightly, drawing a groan from the other alien. “I am by no means a medical examiner, however, I suspect that he may have several rib fractures, and a few wounds that need to be looked at and well bandaged.”

Roman nodded, although Virgil didn’t think he actually heard anything. Virgil was an only child himself, but he could guess that even if Remus had been the biggest asshole in the entire cosmos seeing him reduced to this weakened, bloody, broken mess was terrifying. From the stories of their childhood, Virgil had always guessed that Remus was as lively as they came. But this version of him couldn’t even stand by himself.

Roman’s head shot up, “Patton. Where’s Pat? We’ve got Re, now its time to get out of here and get him help--”

“NO!” Remus shouted lunging forward suddenly. Logan stumbled at the change of weight, nearly dropping him to the floor, but it seemed that the movement had taken most of the rest of his power. “I can’t… They have…Jay… I prom’sed…”

Virgil checked the hall for enemies because that was easier than looking at the desperation in Remus’s eyes. His voice was scratched and grated like a glass under the assault of a diamond. He coughed so violently it dragged out a glob of purple blood from him.

“Remus, you can’t--” Roman said.

And despite Remus looking like a simple breeze could end his life, he grabbed at Roman’s outreached arm, above the danger of the forearm spikes.“Me and... my crew,” Remus coughed, weakly. “The oath…”

“I talked to one of those bastards,” Roman countered, forcibly soft, forcibly strained. “Re, your crew is--”

“Ro…” He pleaded, “Please.”

Roman made a noise like something in him was physically shredding him apart. Virgil suspected it was his hero complex, which usually manifested the urge to save every living being he saw. Lost wasn’t a good look on Erefrens, Virgil decided right then and there. Hopeless and terrified and sad-- all of them made Roman look wrong.

“What's wrong, Vee? You look like you want to say something.”

“....It’s nothing.”

“What? Not even a joke? Come on, I know you--”

“Let it go, Ekans.”

Virgil blinked away the unwanted memory. He sighed out of his nose and reached up to hook on the back of Roman’s armor collar. “Let’s go.”

“Virge…” Roman murmured.

“If we don’t do this now,” Virgil said, “We’ll regret it.”

He didn’t wait for the others to catch up with his train of thought, or maybe he wasn’t waiting for his own train of thought to catch up. He tugged Roman back a step and nodded at Logan. “We’ll double back and find any crew that’s left and get Pat. You take Remus to the engine room room and get the codes ready for us to get back.”

“For real?” Roman said.

“Understood, Virgil.” Logan nodded back. He glowed purple softly, around his neck notches as if he had expected this after all. “Don’t be late.”

“Time is a construct.”

Remus laughed like he was choking on a handful of rusted nails. Roman tensed at the sound, gritted his teeth, and then tightened his grip on his sword. Resolved hardened in his eyes, burning through the lost expression like a lighthouse in the middle of a storm.

“Right,” Roman said, “Let’s go.” Roman grabbed Virgil’s hand and took off in the direction they had come from. “Any guesses where the guy’s gonna be? Or where Pat is?”

Virgil felt his stomach churn. He closed his eyes and let Roman pull him along as he tried to remember the 3D diagram of a Pol’turian ship. “Well if I was in cargo, you landed near the prisoner blocks, while Logan was on the Bridge...that means that while Logan was doing the calculations the ship probably did a half roll on the longitudinal axis, which he couldn’t have accounted for. Since this ship appears to be the same as the other makes and models of Pol’turs that means that Patton probably ended up in the medical bay. And if I had to guess that’s where any last member of the crew would be as well. Take this left here.”

Roman nearly stumbled over his own feet. “How in the name of the Great God, Disney-- have you memorized all the maps?”

Virgil furrowed his brow at the alien, “Haven’t you?”

“Well yes, but--” Roman’s face flushed with a bit of his purple blood, “Nevermind, Deathworlder.”

The medical wing of the ship was easy to get to compared to the other places. It seemed that either the Pol’turs had wisened up for an ambush or they had fled when they had the chance. Either way they only came across two mercenaries and Roman made quick work of them.

He knew they had arrived by the buzzing of air, the tingle of his skin that made him feel too big and too small at the same time. The walls were bare and there were four rooms lining them, each with a number engraved in the door and the lock panels glowing red with what Virgil guessed was the Pol’turian symbol for “closed” or “locked” or “dangerous chemical inside do not release”. Virgil reached for another EMP, but his bag was empty. There were scents around them, faint scents: something metallic, something sour, something clean, something, something, something--

Something that smelled like blood. So many different kinds of blood.

Virgil swallowed hard. He hadn’t known a lot about Remus’s crew, but he knew that Remus had had a dozen different species with him. A dozen different species that hadn’t survived the encounter.

“Pat!” Roman yelled down the hall, brandishing his sword.

“Roman! In here! Help--” A voice that was most definitely Patton’s yelled out.

Roman didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward to the room the voice had come from, almost feverishly, desperately, and he didn’t bother with the password. With a swift violent motion he jabbed his sword into the locking panel and then pried open the door with his claws and his hands.

Virgil thought that it would have been one hell of a sight: if he had been strapped to a table, a knife jab from death’s door, begging, pleading, crying and knowing that all his friends had been taking to the room before him and had not come back out intact? If Virgil had been bleeding out and clinging to the slippery bit of hope that was a miracle, and then he saw his captain’s brother literally prying open the door with his bare claws to get to him---

Virgil thought it would have been pretty awesome.

Not something that should have warranted a knife being thrown at them.

Roman let out a curse in Erefren and it was one of those don’t-repeat-this-don’t-tell-Patton curses that Roman specialized in. He staggered back, clutching his shoulder where the knife had sunk in all the way to the hilt, Jesus! What the hell! Virgil kicked the rest of the door open, dropping low as scalpel skirted by where his body should have been, and then he sprung back up with his blaster set on that asshole.

Except.

“Virgil!”

The room was small, almost claustrophobically small. Just standing in the doorway made Virgil’s breath shorten (his cell back at the Welsor fighting rings had been bigger than this--). And it was lit with cold harsh white light, nearly blinding, if it weren’t for the greyed walls and the splashes-- the splashes of faded pink and blue and other colors that Virgil recognized all too well as blood. The table took up most of the room, leaving just enough space for a Pol’tur to sweep around and a small hand tray of twisted instruments.

In fact there was a Pol’tur on the ground right there. Limp and unmoving with an eye scoop so far in it’s skull there was no way it was coming back out.

But Virgil wasn’t staring at the body.

“Don’t you get tired of being everyone’s favorite person?”

It couldn’t--

“Just shut up and help me with these conjugations, will you?”

This wasn’t--

“What do you mean no one can find him?”

He hadn’t--

The detective had looked at him with such a pity that it had made Virgil’s entire body flinch. He squeezed the plastic cup in his hand, crushing it, letting the fragments cut into his skin. He couldn’t feel it, couldn’t feel anything. The man was still talking to him, talking softly like anything louder would shatter the fragile reality around them, talking so quietly Virgil couldn’t hear a single thing he was saying at all over the sound of his own heartbeat.

“You’re wrong,” Virgil had croaked. “He’s not dead.”

But he had been.

He had been for nearly two years now.

And everyone had thought that Virgil had done something to him, had thought that Virgil was the last to see him, had thought that his dark clothes and his eye shadow and a few sneers in the hall had meant that Virgil was suddenly capable of killing Janus Ekans in cold blood.

Except.

Except that Virgil was staring at Janus --fucking-- Ekans right now.

It was unmistakable, the shape of his face, the curve of his lips, the slimness of his nose. The wispy brown hair that turned golden under the summer sun, the mischievous eyes danced with different colors, the flick of his tongue that moved so freely when he let it, the tattoo of two theater masks on his chest that no one was supposed to know about-- Virgil could have spent days naming things, committing them to memory, staring in disbelief at him. This was the same boy who had sat next to him in Spanish. The same Janus who had been convinced he was so completely untouchable up until Virgil had dragged him off his stupid, golden pedastal.

It was the same Janus who was currently wrapped around Patton like a boa constrictor cutting off the alien’s ability to move and had a knife perched ever so closely to one of Patton’s eyes.

“What the hell?” Virgil had said because-- because--

Because Virgil had asked Logan once if there was a race that could pick through minds, pull memories from heads, change the way someone thought. And Logan didn’t, wouldn’t, couldn’t lie to him. There were no alien types that could break into a mind and drag illusions into reality and there were no races that could bring ghosts back from oblivion.

“Virgil,” Janus said barely a whisper, barely enough to be heard, barely enough to mean anything. The knife was tilting in his hand, tipped like he wasn’t sure what he was saying, wasn’t sure what he was doing. “What-?”

Partially drugged, Virgil thought with absolutely no room to breathe in his chest. Partially drugged, holding a knife to Patton’s weakest point, and alive.

“Janus,” Virgil said, ”Put down the knife.”

He’s still partially strapped to the table, bound by his left ankle and sporting a lovely series of cuts on the side of his face as if someone had started carving scales into his cheek for funsies. If Virgil had to hazard a guess he would have assumed that Patton had dropped in literally as the Pol’tur was taking Janus-- Janus, alive, breathing, real-- apart one centimeter at a time, then proceeded to win a very cramped fight in the room. Virgil would even say that Patton had started taking the restraints off of Janus when he had gained enough consciousness to realize that he needed to defend himself.

(The fact that they found something capable of drugging a human, a Deathworlder, was concerning, so concerning, terrifying--)

“Virgil….You are not real,” Janus said, slowly, blood dripping down his neck. “You cannot be real. None of this is real.”

“I’m the one thats not real?” Virgil muttered. “You’re the one that was declared dead.”

He laughed. Virgil’s stomach swooped.

For a second, a brief fleeting second, he could have sworn that this was all a dream. A fever dream in which Virgil would blink himself awake from and find himself on the floor of Janus’s stupid, giant ass room surrounded by a dozen cans of off-brand energy drinks, a half eaten bucket of popcorn, and the credits for a horror movie scrolling on the screen. For a second it felt like he would roll over and bump elbows with Janus who had woken up an hour previously to study for that stupid Spanish test that wasn’t until Monday. For a second it was like he was seventeen again and his biggest worry was figuring out if it was too weird to ask to run his hands through Janus’s silky hair.

“Of course, I was declared fucking dead!” Janus said, like it was the obvious thing that would happen, “I am dead. I have to be, because there’s no other way that the kid who's afraid of going outside made it this far into space.”

“Janus, put down the knife.” Virgil took a step forward, a half a step, but Janus just squeezed the knife tighter.

“Why don’t you come and make me?” Janus smiled at him, smiled, smiled, smiled.

Smiled like he knew that this was a dream and nothing he did was going to matter. Smiled like they were back on that balcony of his room with their feet swinging between the bars and two Seagrams gone each and they were going to get in a shit ton of trouble for it. Smiled like he had never been dead and Virgil hadn’t had to bury the thought of him.

Patton made a noise, a small whimper, and Virgil felt it in his chest. The near silence of the room, the soft muted buzzing in his head, the fuzzy dream like quality of reality-- it all shattered at the sound. Shattered like glass, like a mirror, like the concept of “forever”. It shattered and Virgil was suddenly hyperaware of how small the room was, how cold he felt, how metallic the air smelt.

“Hm, just as I thought,” Janus said softly, smile dropping into something wistful and disappointed, “I really am just seeing thin--”

Virgil didn’t give him the satisfaction of finishing; he surged forward, throwing his blaster to the side, and using his left hand to catch Janus’s wrist millimeters from putting that knife in Patton. He twisted his hand, pining his fingers into the soft flesh of Janus’s nerves until his hand jerked open on reflex and the knife fell into the open air.

Janus froze, inhaling so sharply Virgil was certain that he took all the oxygen in the room away.

He was warm, Virgil realized absently. He was warm and had a pulse and for some reason both those things made Virgil’s chest hurt. His skin was soft and his breath was sweet and Virgil had gotten punch-drunk stupid on less.

Which probably explained why, how, when, Virgil’s lips ended up on his, pressing firmly, and tasting like something from a past Virgil had thought he had given up on. Virgil had always been stupid, but this was another level of stupid. This was incredibly dumb, unbelievable, ridiculous.

Janus’s mouth was on his, and Virgil’s hand was tipping his head back ever so slightly, and Patton had managed to scramble out of Janus’s absolutely shocked slacked hold.

“You’ve always been so annoying,” Virgil gasped between breaths, “Always thinking you know everything. Have you ever considered you might be wrong before?”

“You’re--” Janus whispered, “Real? For real?” Then, “Don’t you know what the fuck consent is?”

“Fuck you,” Virgil told him.

Janus grabbed him by his collar and yanked him forward again. “Since you asked so nicely.”

“Don’t be cute.”

“Don’t be coy.” Janus shot back because he was still the same asshole who needed to have the last word. He bit at Virgil’s lip, and then pulled back to show off a wolfish grin.

Virgil was stuck somewhere between wanting to smash his stupid smug face in and wanting to kiss him until he lost all sense of direction. Janus was like that, Virgil remembered suddenly, even when they were kids, when Janus was trapped on that pedestal everyone had put him on, when Virgil couldn’t have cared less about him and somehow had ended up unsure how to live without him.

“Not that this isn’t the fucking cutest shit I’ve ever seen--“ A voice behind them called and Virgil stiffened.

“Language!” Patton interrupted, as Roman grunted through the pain of still having a surgical knife in his shoulder.

“--But can the two of you save your weird-ass….human…. greeting custom…. for some other time?” The Erefren snarled with one hand clutching the hilt and then yanking it out with a wheeze that Virgil felt physically. His purple blood spouted out from the wound but Roman didn’t seem to care, beyond tossing the knife to the floor.

“That’s an Erefren,” Janus said because he’s just as good at stating the obvious as he is at kissing. “That is not Remus.”

Roman snapped out something in his native tongue, which by the stress on the syllables was probably not nice and definitely not Patton approved. The Reytin even puffed up, shaking his head in a way that normally prefaced an hour long lecture on manners and the reintroduction of a swear jar.

However, Janus just laughed that pretty stupid little laugh of his but when he opened his mouth the words were all forgein. It took Virgil a moment to catch up, a moment to realize that he hadn’t even fumbled, that Janus had actually spoken Erefrenian and it had been grammatically correct enough that stunned Roman for a whole half second.

“You speak Erefrenian?” Virgil asked.

Janus blinked up at him a smug looking expression on his face. “You don’t?”

Virgil had a good response, he did. It was a response that had been some-three years in the making and Virgil had been ready to wipe that prideful expression of his face. But before they could do anything the entire ship lurched to the side, taking gravity with it. Virgil let out a yelp and grabbed for Janus and clung for stability.

(Space had done wonders for Janus’s abs, Virgil thought distantly.)

Roman slammed into the door frame and stumbled out into the hall, with all the grace a drunken ballerina, and cursed again when Patton landed on top of him.

“That’s our cue to leave!” Roman growled.

“Ya think?” Virgil shot back. He lunged for the end of the table where Janus’s bare foot was still strapped to the table. He didn’t look at the rusted color on the buckle, at the stiffness of the leather strap, at the rawness of Janus’s skin where it was biting into his ankle. He didn’t, didn’t, didn’t--

His hands shook. Janus reached over and clasped his forearms, the fabric of his tunic, him.

“Virgil--” Janus said, softly, unsuredly, with no trace of that previous pompous expression on him. “I--”

There was blood on his face, trailing all the way down his neck in scarlet silvers from the cuts. His hair was sweat matted, pressed and tousled in a way that made Virgil feel a certain rage in his chest, like someone had been running fingers through his curls while they sliced him apart. His eyes were still slightly glassy from whatever they put in him. There was an unspoken question on his lips, in his eyes, through his fingers as he clung to Virgil.

“I’ve got you,” Virgil told him, practically scooping him up. Janus heaved a breath as his feet touched the ground again. “Us humans have to stick together, right?”

Janus Ekans was alive.

It sounded surreal even in the moment, because Virgil had been mourning him since they were seventeen and stupid. Everyone else had moved on, had buried his memory, had forgotten about him. But he was not dead, and Virgil had not killed him. Somehow he had ended up in space, ended up with Remus, ended up here on this ship in the several billions of lightyears from anything they had known previously.

There would be no more late-nights-turned-early-mornings study sessions, no more sneaking over the gated walls of the Ekans mansion, and no more scaling the lattice underneath Janus’s balcony. They were never going to go stargazing on the hills outside of town again, never going to ruthlessly text each other under the desk during History class, never going to skip prom together to go trespassing in the woods somewhere to find Mothman. He was never going to butcher Spanish past participles in the cozy corner of the school library after hours and he was never going to get to listen to Janus brag about obtaining his Seal of Biliteracy finally despite his proficiency in about three languages.

Janus had disappeared right before senior year. And Virgil, who had been the biggest thorn in his side, the biggest instigator of all their fights, the wild and unruly punk kid that lived in detention-- Virgil had stopped looking for him. Because everyone said he had died. Because everyone said that Virgil had killed him.

But Virgil could feel Janus’s pulse, could hear his heartbeat, could see the way his chest moved as they stumbled out of the room.

Part of him was afraid that if he let go now, later, ever, Janus would disappear again. Shimmer and fade like a mirage in the desert.

“Careful Virgil,” Janus said breathily. “I almost think you missed me.”

“I hate you so much,” Virgil said back, as Roman and Patton led the way toward the engine rooms by blade and alien jujutsu and well-placed pun.

“Somehow, I don’t think you mean that, at all.” Janus said, grinning.

And then he closed that last little bit of space between them again.

[Next installment: Stars Die (But We Don’t)]

#Sanders sides #Virgil Sanders #Janus Sanders #Patton Sanders #Roman Sanders #Remus Sanders #Logan Sanders #Alien Au #Sympathetic Deceit #Sympathetic Remus #23 pages of Virgil in space #humans are space orcs #blood #Anxceit #background intrulogical #Probably will end up as part of series if you guys want more

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