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parkers-gal · 4 years ago

Note

yay! okay so I was thinking, what I'd the reader and Tom had a fight, could be over anything, but the reader was pregnant and a few years after, they bump into each other and they get back together. Sorry if it doesn't make sense.

this has been sitting in my inbox for a fat couple of months… sorry 😭

wc: 1.7k ! <3

—

“No, because you’re selfish and you can’t handle the fact that my life doesn’t revolve around you and your needs.” Tom spits out the words angrily, viciously, voice harsh and crisp.

You’re both frustrated beyond belief, and the bubble that had been overblown had finally popped, splattering your relationship and all the joyful aspects of it. Right now, you felt as if all that was left was the toxicity of two unbearable people who happened to love each other. You knew, deep down, that you loved each other enough to get through this, but with every passing moment, with every exchanged word, you realized at least one of you wouldn’t survive the damage.

“No, Tom. You’re selfish. You’re conceited and you only care about being a goddamn movie star. What happened to the family man, huh? What happened to staying tied down with me and your brothers?”

“Nothing happened to him! I’m still that person. I am a family guy.”

“Not to me, you aren't.”

“Well you’re not family!” He seethes through his teeth, anger radiating off of his short-tempered demeanor. You don’t even know how to react, so you spend the time soaking in the situation and how you should respond instead of actually doing it.

“You’re a fucking jackass. I asked when I could spend time with you and now you don’t even consider me as part of the family.”

“No,” He’s clear and concise even through the anger. “You asked when I’m going to stop living my life.”

“I said no such thing.”

“You didn’t have to! We both know that’s what you meant.”

“You’re not even on the same page as me anymore,” You scoff, arms crossing. “Seems like all this time in Hollywood made you forget that you’re not always the main character.”

“Fuck that, Y/N! Fuck! That!”

“No, Tom. Fuck. You.” You over-express your emotions, and after two more minutes of unbearable silence and screaming, he’s leaving your apartment just as fast as he arrived. You’re in shock, fingers shaking while you clear your throat, which is frayed and sore from all the yelling.

You sit back, elbows on your knees while your hands smoothen out your forehead. Tear after tear escapes your sobbing body, and eventually, you fall asleep on the couch.

In the weeks to come, you’ve realized the blow-out of a breakup could’ve been handled so much differently, but Tom hasn’t seemed to cool down at all — he’s petty enough to unfollow you on all social media, and you figure it’s time to let the hatred be mutual. You don’t touch your imessages, however, letting the love in those texts linger for a little longer.

Before you know it, you’re throwing up into the toilet boil, coughing violently at the action and spitting the bitter taste as best you can. You clean up, and when you check your phone, a small notification from your period tracker app alerts you that this is the second period in a row that has gone by without a hello.

Worried, you call Aisha, your closest friend and confidant. She’s over in no time, bringing along her girlfriend while you rant on the phone about your worries. They stop at the drugstore on the way.

The cause of your problems is discovered that day, and you collapse on the bathroom floor in agony, hands wiping at your face — through all the anger and fear and worry, you still love Tom. So much that Aisha even attempts to call Tom. But, alas, it’s sent straight to voicemail, and you realize he might’ve gone to extreme extents in blocking everyone.

You’re stuck going to the ultrasound with two lesbians and a frail old cat. Aisha is as supportive as ever, but as the doctor explains the process of each option, you feel sicker and sicker about the idea of getting rid of the fetus. In the end, you choose to keep the child you’re bearing, even if your ex-lover isn’t even in the picture.

Inevitably, the months pass, and as baby Charlie is brought into the wonderful world, you realize life as a single mother isn’t as scary as you thought it would be. In the first few months of your pregnancy, you’d kept tabs on what film Tom was doing and which was coming out next, but after the hormones and cravings, you’d decided to let the past sizzle and fade out in the way it was meant to all along.

It’s been almost three years since that fateful breakup, and Charlie is just reaching two and a half years old. You’re still single, and you’re okay with that. Charlie is all you need, all you’ve ever wanted, and the most important thing in your life. He’s young, and school is still a couple years away, but you enjoy having the toddler by your side, walking hand in hand with you because you’re his guardian, his provider, his only parent. You make him your only priority, because you don’t want him to grow up without anyone to love, or anyone to love him.

It’s hard, though. It’s hard because he’s a constant reminder of what didn’t happen, a constant reminder of what went wrong and of what you no longer have. You miss Tom more than words can express, and Charlie’s mop of brown curls reminds you of all the moments you’d run your fingers through Tom’s hair. You reminisce more than you’d like to, about Tom and your past, and though Charlie is technically half of the Brit, he’s one hundred percent yours. Because you’re the only one here, and that’s alright.

“Mummy,” Charlie tugs on your shirt’s hem while you move the shopping cart forward through the aisle. “Can we get the goldfish with superheroes?”

You jutt your lip out in a smile, nodding happily. “Of course we can, bub.”

As you step forward, you pit stop in the aisle, nearly tripping on the cart. You make direct eye contact with the man you used to love with your entire heart. The man who walked out with your heart and never gave it back. He’s staring right back at you, curls looking as fluffy as ever, face still a soft glow. Your breath hitches, and it’s then that you realize Charlie is still talking.

“Mummy?” He asks, and it’s just loud enough for Tom to hear. Harry, who’s beside Tom with an arm full of crackers and chips. Tom moves forward a few steps, hastily in an attempt to get more information.

“Uh, hi,” His smile is tight lipped as he stands at the other end of your shopping cart. Charlie shies away from strangers, standing behind your leg and holding your shirt with his grubby hands.

“Hi,” you return his awkward, reserved demeanor.

“Mummy who’s this?”

“‘Mummy?’” Tom has a follow up question for everything, and you internally panic, unsure on how to approach this.

You’d spent so long deciding how you should tell Tom that he was a dad. You spent hours debating on if you should pick up the phone or drive over just to tell him a truth you’ve kept inside for so long. You’ve abandoned social media, only sharing aspects of your life you can afford to post. Charlie is only occasionally on your page, but it’s not like Tom would see that, not after all that’s happened.

Your mouth opens and closes while you debate on how to reply. You’re physically incapable of saying your response, and it makes you even more nervous. You’re nervous on how he might react, what he’ll say, but most importantly, if he’ll stay.

“Is this…?

“My kid…” You fill in. “I- I mean our… our kid.” You pull your bottom lip between your rows of teeth, and you watch as Tom’s face undergoes thousands of expressions all at once. He’s surprised, shocked, happy, afraid, uncertain. You want the world to swallow you whole, suck you up so you don’t have to go through any of this again. But you don’t. Instead, you hold Charlie’s hand a little tighter.

“Our kid?” He drops a can of soup and you flinch at the loud noise.

“Mummy, who’s that?”

“That’s…” You don’t know how to answer his question. Instead, you lean down to his level, comfortingly and gently. “He’s a man.”

“Who’s that man?”

“He’s… your daddy.”

“I thought… no daddy?”

You purse your lips and furrow your brows. Tom’s watching the entire encounter from his place, but after a few beats, he steps forward, entering your bubble. Charlie doesn’t cower away this time, but looks up in curiosity.

“Hi, Charlie,” Tom extends his hand, adjusting his jeans so he can lean down just as you are, kneeling beside the young boy.

You look down, avoiding your worries and Tom’s gaze. He’s tearing up, and you want to cry too. You’re in a fucking supermarket, for god’s sake. This wasn’t how you envisioned any of this planning out, and though you’re mentally kicking yourself for letting it happen this way, you can’t help but feel like maybe this was meant to be. Written in the stars or whatever the folks say — you’re just grateful Charlie has at least a sliver of hope for two parents. Not that you can’t handle it, because you can, but you know someone like Tom wouldn’t want to miss something as important as this.

“I’m To- I’m…” He swallows thickly, making brief eye contact with you before looking back at Charlie. “I’m your dad.”

“Do you love my mummy?” He’s not shameless, but he’s still that shy little boy. “My friend says daddy’s love mommy’s so you must love mine, right?”

Tom lets a tear fall while he exhales a chuckle. He swipes the drop with the tips of his fingers, and the hand gripping Charlie’s squeezes it a little tighter. A glance in your direction is all it takes for him to answer Charlie’s question. “Yeah, buddy. I do.”

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9tzuyu · 4 years ago

Text

dissolve (rewrite)

natasha x reader

note: this was just a huge vent fic idk. these type of fics seem to be the only thing im okay at writing. mistakes are mine as always. but i did proofread, yay!

if you want to read the original (as awful as it is) you can read it here!

wanrings: this heavily revolves around eating disorders.

i’m not tagging anyone because the content isn’t really the lightest to read.

words are used everyday, everywhere – whether to describe something or someone. there’s thousands upon thousands of them.

so you were having a hard time figuring out why you were struggling so much to justify your feelings through the basis of words. it was unnerving, draining and very annoying. your emotions should be simple, right? you were either sad or happy, angry or scared. but there was something more, something unexplainable. saying you felt alone only scratched the surface of the wave of emotion that took over. it was excruciatingly painful, far worse than any physical pain you ever had to endure. and for some reason it seemed to come crashing down at night while natasha slept peacefully. you weren't exactly sure how to express your emotions to the extent you felt them. how else was anyone supposed to understand your pain? they couldn't, not unless they could somehow shift into your body and feel your emotions themselves. but that was merely impossible as such powers do not exist. so you were inevitably stuck with words foreign to your lips. over the years you were deemed unsafe, a hazard, "an accident waiting to happen" you recall one doctor say. everyone’s eyes were on you at all times, monitoring every little movement you made. it was suffocating and at times doing more damage than good.

as an adult now you learned how freeing it could be without the fear of gaining weight or eating a bowl full of rainbow marshmallow cereal. your worth was not defined by your weight.

(at least that's what you believed prior to any relapses.) everything was going well in your life. you were a college graduate working as a psychiatric nurse and you had found love, something your teenage self could only dream of. natasha was by your side through everything. and really, the only downfall in the relationship was that she had to travel a lot for her job. but you were secure enough in your relationship not to worry or decide to call things off. in the end natasha always made up for it when she came back, so you couldn't complain too much. things were going well for you, really, they were. until they weren't. (and you didn't know why.) it happened out of nowhere. work was a little more stressful than usual, but it was nothing you couldn't handle. natasha had been away for three months, only stopping by a few times to check in on you. but again, your wife being away for so long wasn't anything new or worrisome. the two of you had followed the routine of her leaving and coming back more than a thousand times; yet somewhere along the way you lost yourself. food became less of a priority, your hunger decreased drastically, and within the first month you'd lost thirteen pounds. it truly was an accident, slipping into a full blown relapse was never part of the plan. but thirteen pounds lighter you wanted more, to feel small again. you didn't have an answer as to why you became so attached to your eating disorder, but it didn't seem like it would be letting go any time soon. the rate at which you were going natasha would most definitely be able to see a difference; not only on your weight, but in the person you once were. she'd ask what happened and why it happened, poking and prodding for an answer, but you didn't have one. so here you stood in the kitchen of your shared home, a cup of sliced fruit in one hand and your cell phone in the other. you poured the fruit into the bottom of a blender along with a spoonful of yogurt and half a cup of soy milk. another half cup of ice followed suit. while the fruit blended, you shamelessly scrolled through your instagram. there was nothing interesting going on in other people's lives, you didn't even know why you had social media in the first place. it was dumb, and quite frankly you didn't give a shit whether or not sharon went to the beach. the sound of your blender coming to a halt brought your attention back to the real world. you poured your smoothie into your water bottle. the green liquid would be your breakfast and lunch for the day - dinner was still up for debate. a soft sigh left your lips. work was beginning to feel more like a chore and less of something you enjoyed. you were quickly growing tired of it. nonetheless, you grabbed your keys and rushed out of the door.

you thought about the irony of working as a psychiatric nurse with an undealt eating disorder telling teenagers how to deal with their own issues. you felt hypocritical to say the least, especially given that all the nasty side effects were starting to make themselves known.

your hair was beginning to thin, small clumps of it already starting to fall out when you tugged a little too hard. bruises could be seen scattered left and right on your body, and you were cold. god you were cold. your fingernails were tinted blue, warmth seemingly too far out of reach. you looked ill, and it didn't go unnoticed by your coworkers.

a few hours into your shift you found yourself sitting behind the nurses station filling out paperwork. lunch had passed and when your coworker, steve, asked if you were going to eat something you lied straight through your teeth, telling him you'd grab something when the patients were eating dinner.

but steve rogers could read you like an open book. he knew you were lying because he already knew what was going on. the signs of an eating disorder were quite obvious when you were a licensed therapist. and despite your futile attempts at hiding it, everyone could tell something wasn't right.

steve played it by ear for weeks until he contacted natasha, but by then you'd already lost a considerable amount of weight. as soon as she heard the news, natasha booked the next flight home. unfortunately for her though, there was only one flight and she would have to wait two and a half weeks before being able to leave.

you didn't know it, but those were the longest two and a half weeks natasha ever had to wait.

– patients were having group therapy, so you could tune them out - not that you should, but it was hard to focus when the only two things you could think about were food and your weight.

the need to lose weight sounded so stereotypical for someone with an eating disorder, but honestly it wasn't about that. it was never about wanting to be thin. you genuinely didn't know why this was happening. the only thing you noticed was how rewarding it felt seeing the number go down, as if for you were good for becoming less. it was addictive. and it didn't help that you based your entire worth on how much you could lose.

the next time you stood up from behind the nurses station steve met you in the the cafeteria. while the patients ate you took occasional sips from your smoothie. the bottle was still full of its contents from the morning. you had completely forgotten to drink it during the day, but you didn't seem to mind it that much.

the surprise touch of steve's hand on your shoulder startled you.

i am gross, you thought. do not do that.

steve caught onto the slight flinch your body produced as a reflex, but he didn't say anything about it.

"you can leave early, boss said so."

he laughed as he saw confusion plaster your face.

"what? no!"

"go home, seriously. we have this handled. you know tony doesn't like being told no."

you bit your lip, puzzled by the sudden request. most people wouldn't mind being sent home early, but all it did for you was give you a level of anxiety reserved for food.

what you didn't know was that natasha was home waiting for your arrival. she came back just short of an hour after you left for work.

while you were gone natasha made a few thorough rounds in the house looking for key signs of your eating disorder. there was bound to be evidence given that you didn't know she was home.

unsurprisingly, natasha found a glass scale beside the counter of the bathroom floor along with empty bottles of laxatives in the trashcan. the food in the fridge had been expired a few days past their date, giving her the indication that you weren't eating as much as you should be. her concern grew even more when she found your food journal on your nightstand. flipping the pages, natasha could see that throughout the moths she'd been gone your calorie intake had decreased significantly.

guilt began to gnaw at the back of her throat.

during the few days natasha stopped by, she hadn't noticed anything wrong with you. but then again she knew most people with eating disorders were very good at hiding them up until the point they were discovered. three days wasn't near enough time for her to catch onto your tricks, not when her mind was still focused on her job.

natasha always listened intently whenever you would talk about your eating disorder, the first time being six months into the relationship on a date you felt like you had ruined.

but talking about it was much different than experiencing it with you, natasha had never done that before up until now. she read nearly every article there was about anorexia, bulimia, binge eating disorder and ednos. sometimes when you were asleep she would watch documentaries on the disorder, always making sure to keep her volume at a low level.

the videos that hurt her the most were the ones teenagers struggling with the simple task of eating food.

(although natasha knew it wasn't that simple.)

it hurt because she knew that was you at some point in time.

upon your arrival, natasha cooked dinner. she wanted to hold onto the one sliver of hope that steve was wrong - that he was just overreacting - but she knew in her heart he was right about his assumption. however, dinner would only confirm what natasha so desperately wanted to deny.

when you walked through the door you were greeted with the overwhelming scent of food. you cringed at the thought of having to eat, but as soon as you looked up to see the redhead who'd been gone for so long your frown was washed away. a wide smile overtook your face and you rushed to jump into natasha's arms.

"i missed you so much," you whispered. "i thought you'd be gone for another few weeks?"

natasha's arms found their way around your waist as your legs wrapped around hers. "what? i can't come home early to surprise my wife?" you giggled in the crook of her neck. she smiled feeling the vibrations against her skin, happy to know that you'd missed her just as much as she missed you.

she sat you down, back facing you, she tended to the food. "you've lost weight," she commented, not missing the sharp inhale of your breath.

"how was work, nat?"

she nodded to herself. yeah, she didn't expect you to be so open on the first try.

"it was fine. dinner's ready, i made your favorite!" natasha threw a smile in your direction as she carried the plates over to the table. she had hoped to see your face light up the way it used to, but seeing the panicked look in your eyes further confirmed your relapse.

if nothing else, natasha wanted you to have a meal before she brought up the conversation.

"great... i love it, thank you nat!" your attempt at being enthusiastic failed miserably and you knew by the look she gave you, she already knew what was going on.

but throughout the meal, and despite the shakiness of your hand as it gripped the metal fork, natasha didn't say anything.

you weren't really sure which was worse; being confronted or knowing the both of you knew what the other was thinking and still not addressing it.

natasha's meal was good, you couldn't lie about that, but each bite you chewed caused the tightening in your chest to constrict further.

now you couldn't be good. or worthy. or deserving.

nat took away your plate when you were halfway through. she knew your limits, and she didn't want to push you too much out of your comfort zone.

"go change, i'll wash our dishes. meet you on the couch?"

you did as you were told, taking as long as you could to do so. except this time was different. you didn't glance in the mirror like you usually did, you chose to fully take in your figure.

what you saw was not what you expected to see. for the first time in months you saw a version of yourself that wasn't twisted and turned to be something you didn't know was real or not.

your skin was dry, hair thinned out beyond your belief, eyes sunken and dark underneath. the revelation gave you an odd feeling – was once again something unexplainable, unjustifiable by words.

good.

that was how you were supposed to feel, right? after all of this time, after the many pounds of protection and warmth lost, you were supposed to feel good.

but you didn't. and you never would.

there was something so surreal about the realization of your own destruction. you were aware now, which meant you had to either take responsibility or choose to lose everything you worked so hard for.

"y/n?"

your wife's voice snapped you out of your gaze and you scrambled to pile your dirty clothes and rush out of the bedroom.

as you made your way into the living room you could feel the intensity of natasha's gaze. any other time you would not mind her green eyes looking at you, but this time around you felt like you were in trouble.

she patted the empty spot next to her, to which you reluctantly joined. but even after everything you still tried to play it cool.

"what's up? is everything okay?"

she gave a low chuckle, "you tell me."

"what do you mean?"

"oh i think you know what i mean."

natasha’s reply was met with the loudest silence you ever had to sit through.

she bit her lip, "you know i got a call from steve a few weeks ago. he's concerned about you, and from what he's told me so am i."

you were quick to respond, automatically knowing what steve’s phone call was about. "i'm fine. so what if i've lost a couple of pounds? that doesn't automatically mean that im relapsing, natasha."

your quick snap reminded natasha that this kind of confrontation was like walking on eggshells.

she tilted her head, licking her lips. "i'm here with you, always." nat put a hand to the side of your face, gently rubbing her thumb at the top of your cheekbone. "i'm here."

it seemed pointless now to try and say anything because your secret was already out.

your mind began racing back and forth.

you wanted to keep what you knew best and natasha understood that. even by reading your body language she knew what you were debating.

"you know, to keep it you have to give it away." your eyes darted to meet hers. "mhm. you can still have that piece of you. mourn it, grieve it, do whatever you need to do to move onto a stage where it doesn't hurt you. and from there you can help other people, share your experience, let yourself heal by helping others."

she paused, “we all have choices. some of those choices are taken from you while others leave you with only one option.”

although what she said seemed to resonate with you, there was one thing still holding you back.

"i just want to be good."

natasha hummed. you had explained it to her in the past, though your words were jumbled together as you tried to describe it.

"you can be good in other ways. you're allowed to live a life outside of the barriers your eating disorder puts in the way."

you swallowed the lump in the back of your throat. "i don't even know how it got to this point. in january i enjoyed ihop and dennys. in february i could have oatmeal and bananas, sometimes half of a sandwhich if i was feeling brave. now it’s march and i only eat one or two things a day. the idea of having a full meal makes me want to cry. and i just- i don't know how to stop."

natasha wouldn't show it, but your words cut through her heart like a knife. her mind wandered briefly to all the teenagers in the documentaries she'd watched, hoping you weren't too far gone into your eating disorder to ever come back. those cases scared her the most.

"you've got my complete support. you've tackled this before, maybe this time you can beat it? i know its easier to abuse your body instead of growing comfortable in it, but i think you’ve got this. i know you do."

"what about your work?" your question caused natasha to frown. "you think i wouldn't set my job aside for you?" you shrugged, it's not like you felt like you were worth being taken care of anyway.

natasha grew hesitant to tell you her news, but did it anyway because she’d rather you hate her than see you dead. "i've already made some appointments for you. the first one is tomorrow morning."

"i figured you would natasha. it's okay."

you spaced yourself out the rest of the day. each time you made the executive decision to recover, whether that be a genuine recovery or not, the process never failed to remind you that even trying to recover from an eating disorder felt like mourning the loss of a friend who was never good for you in the first place.

#natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #avengers x reader #natasha romanov x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff imagine

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alpacaparkaseok · 4 years ago

Text

Lost & Found

Pairing: Park Jimin x soulmate (oc)

Warnings: Insecurity, anxiety, abandonment

Word Count: 1.6k

a/n: *long sigh* finally. This story has been haunting me for months now. I was so tempted to just go crazy and start uploading it because I love it so much. But If I’m uploading this, it means that we’ve made it to the promised day! Yay! You guys, I think this may be one of my favorites. Which, if we’re being honest, all of my works are my favorites. But this is everything.

That is all. Please read and enjoy. Let me know your thoughts, I’d be overjoyed to hear from you.

Chapter 1. Unbreakable Bond

It was easier than I thought it would be; breaking the bond. Perhaps I was just desperate enough. Practically begging on my knees as I stood outside the dingy apartment building, knowing that this was irreversible.

Wanting it to be irreversible.

The woman’s name is Christina, and she gives me a wary look as she explains the cutting process. Her own severed thread is a testament to her underground business. I trust her.

“I need you to be absolutely positive about this,” she warns. “There's no going back once I cut the thread. It will be nearly impossible to find your soulmate.”

That’s the least of my problems. I know that it’ll be all too easy to check in on the whereabouts of my soulmate; after all, he rarely goes anywhere without it being broadcasted to the entire world.

“Burn it.”

Warning me about the impending heat as she pulls out a blowtorch, I hear her sigh. Christina gathers up my thread and places it delicately atop a metal slab.

The little warehouse attached to her apartment offers little distraction; there are a few scattered tools laying about and nothing else but dull gray walls. In a time like this, a distraction would be nice.

“Do you ever regret it?” I ask, an uneasy turn of my stomach pushing the question out. Christina pulls her faceguard down, gesturing for me to look the opposite way. My shadow takes up the entire wall as she fires up the blowtorch.

“Me?” I can feel the heat of the fire, but I refuse to flinch. “Not really. But I do feel a bit bad for my soulmate.”

I frown at the gray wall. “Why?”

Christina shifts to get a more direct angle on the thin red thread that hangs from my finger and extends to disappear under the door. “You’re not the only one who is about to lose a soulmate today. At least it’s your decision.”

Staring at the unforgiving gray wall, I have plenty of time to mull over her response. However, the second I begin to worry or feel sorry for my soulmate, I remember the sweaty palms and crippling anxiety from earlier.

As Christina takes a step back after nearly thirty minutes, turning the blowtorch off, I turn to assess the damage. Frowning at the still intact thread, Christina snorts.

“Don’t move.”

She takes a lofty hammer in her hands, bringing it down hard on the thread. I gasp as sparks fly into the air, my thread tightening around my finger and pulling. Grabbing my hand, I struggled to remain upright on the stool.

“We’re almost there!” Christina huffs, bringing the hammer down again and again. Sparks continue to fly, one landing on my shoulder and burning a small hole in my shirt. My hiss of pain is cut short as the pressure on my finger suddenly loosens, nearly causing me to fly backward since I was straining against it.

My breath comes up short as Christina removes the hammer from atop the thread, and I see what happened.

The formerly vivid red hue fades to a dull color, almost a brown-red like dried blood. I watch as the frayed ends begin to retreat, one end slipping off the table and disappearing under the door.

I push off the stool, ripping the door open just in time to see the red thread glinting under the moonlight, drifting away on a breeze. Retreating to its other half.

Glancing down at my hand, I hold up my finger where the other frayed end stops just a few centimeters away from the base of my finger.

“Yeah, it’ll stay like that,” Christina says as she comes to stand beside me. “Unless you want me to burn your finger off…?”

I give her a dry chuckle. “No, thanks. It’s alright like this.” I tilt my head, marveling at the fact that I’m looking out into the world without my thread obscuring my view. “So...will his thread just disappear?”

Christina shakes her head. “Your threads, while cut, still mirror each other. So his will look like yours in a few minutes when it catches up to him.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

She invites me back inside, offering me a salve for my aching shoulder that was burned, frowning as she tells me that it will most likely scar.

“I’ll just consider it a souvenir,” I mumble. Christina laughs.

“That’s the spirit.” She passes me a mug of apple cider, sitting across from me at the same metal slab she calls a table where my thread was severed. “So, do you know who your soulmate is, then? Is that why?”

I take a long sip of the cider, my mind instantly replaying the scene from hours earlier. “I know who he is. Although, I wouldn’t say that I cut it because of who he is. He’s a great guy, actually. Top notch.”

Christina raises her brows at me. “Really? What makes you say that?”

I pause to look at my frayed thread, the string of fate loved by the world over. The thread that I always thought would bring me joy beyond belief, but made me realize that it would be better to let go.

For him.

“Do you know BTS?”

Christina sets her mug down with a loud bang. “Do I - of course I know who they are. Why?” Her expression turns to horror. “Why?”

I wince, taking another sip of my cider. Holding my hand up to display my severed thread, I wiggle my finger. “Park Jimin.”

✂

Jimin is in the middle of his dinner when he feels a sharp tug on his red thread. Chuckling at it, he holds his hand up for the thousands of fans watching his live to see.

“My soulmate is acting up, I think.” He watches as the comments flood in, most everyone mourning the fact that they are not his soulmate. A few people tease him about it being them on the other side of the thread, and while he knows that they’re simply joking with him, he can’t help the increase in his heart rate.

If only.

The thread tightens around his finger, making him hiss in pain. “Ouch,” he mutters, pulling back against the thread in order to sit still. “Sorry, everyone. What were we talking about? Oh, right. The concert today -”

Jimin whines as the thread pulls even harder, nearly causing him to spill his drink. Pulling back as hard as he can, he gives the camera an apologetic smile.

Then, his eyes widen as an idea strikes him. “Do you think I should follow it?” He asks excitedly. He hasn’t ever heard about people’s threads pulling them in the direction of their soulmate when they’re not even in the same room, but maybe she’s here, staying at the same hotel-

“I’ve gotta go!” Jimin shouts, blowing a kiss with his free hand before promising to visit everyone again soon. “Thanks guys!” Ending the live, Jimin shoots out of his chair, barely remembering to grab his room key before bursting out of his room and into the hallway.

Following the pull of the thread, he grins as he follows it to the elevator. Punching the button as hard as he can, he jumps from one foot to another as he waits for the doors to open.

“C’mon, c- bingo!” Sliding into the elevator with a gleeful shriek, he ponders for a moment before deciding to hit the ground floor.

Jimin’s cheeks are red with excitement by the time he reaches the lobby of the hotel, not even noticing when a couple of the bodyguards that escorted them to the concert venue today see him and immediately start following him.

“Mr. Park!” One of them calls. “Mr. Park! You can’t just leave without some form of security!”

Jimin hardly spares him a glance as he bolts for the exit where his thread continues to pull him. “Then follow me!”

The bodyguards chase after him into the night, exchanging concerned glances as Jimin follows after his thread like a convict on the run.

They nearly tackle him as they round a corner he just turned a few seconds prior, stumbling to a stop as they see Jimin standing still in the middle of the empty road.

“Mr. Park,” one of them pants. “Where are you going?”

Jimin stays completely still, the sudden lack of tension from his thread causing his heart to stop. Glancing down at where it’s wrapped around his finger, he feels the exact moment his heart stumbles to a stop.

Floating on a breeze, he sees the other end of his thread. Skimming along the ground like a plastic bag tossed about by the wind.

“What is it?” Jimin breathes out, the question leaving his lips without his consent. “What is it?”

There’s a chill that settles over him as the thread comes closer and closer, making Jimin retreat almost as though he could stop it from reaching him.

“No!” He yells, taking another step back as the end of the thread now arrives at his foot. “No! Not like this!”

The bodyguards watch on with disbelief as the thread works its way up to Jimin’s hand, slowing to a stop just below his finger. They’re continually glancing down at their own threads, making sure that they aren’t about to stumble upon the same ugly fate.

But it’s just Jimin with the cut thread. It’s just Jimin, who falls to his knees with a dull thump. Staring down at the thread, raising his shaking hand and grasping the frayed edge.

“Are they…?” One young bodyguard asks. His senior shakes his head.

“No. The thread turns gray when they die, remember?”

“Then what happened?” He asks again, eyes wide.

His senior sighs heavily, heart breaking at the sight he’s only ever heard stories about. “They must have found someone to cut it.”

The young bodyguard gasps. “Cut it? Is that even possible?”

Jimin’s sobs answer the question for him, the sound echoing off the buildings. One by one, lights turn on in the surrounding apartment buildings as people wonder what the commotion is all about.

Jumping into action, the bodyguards swarm Jimin, picking him up and supporting him between the two of them. Jimin’s body is weak and limp as he shouts and sobs.

“C-come back to me.”

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nicknellie · 4 years ago

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@millie-andrews-rose requested: Alex gets put with a bully on a paired project, so Willie goes with him when they work on it to help him stay calm. Willie and the boy bond over skateboarding and Alex gets jealous, causing an argument between them. The boy then apologises to Alex for being so awful. Alex and Willie make up and it ends with their first “I love you”s. (This was edited/simplified just to make it shorter.)

This is the longest oneshot I’ve ever written and I absolutely love it. I really hope I’ve done you proud, especially since this was such a great prompt! Thanks!

And It’s Not My Fault

Alex adored projects. He loved having something big to focus on, a goal to work towards, something to keep him preoccupied. Any big time-consuming task was a lot of fun for him whether it was a five-thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle or work for school worth a large part of his grade. There was, however, a single word that could be placed before the ‘project’ that would instantly transform it from Alex’s dream to his worst nightmare.

The word wasn’t ‘group’ as it would be for a lot of people. Alex liked group projects almost as much as he liked solo projects. Group projects were what he did with Julie, Luke, and Reggie almost every day, jamming in the studio and working towards having a complete set list in time for an upcoming gig. Group projects were what he occasionally did with Carrie and the girls of Dirty Candi when he would assist them with some choreography. Group projects were even tolerable with people Alex didn’t know well because he knew how they were supposed to work and usually he could convince everyone to do their fair share. So group projects were fine.

The word the ruined any chance of Alex having fun was ‘paired’.

Paired projects were the worst type of project. They always spelled trouble and Alex had never got a decent grade on one in his whole school career. It never felt like his fault, but when he thought about it he was the common denominator in every nightmare paired project scenario, so he had long ago decided that there must be something about paired projects that he was simply doing wrong.

Maybe it was that he wasn’t good one-on-one. Alex had always functioned better in groups (albeit small ones that couldn’t be overwhelming) and being face to face with just one person could be stressful. It was fine if it was a friend, and more than fine if it was his boyfriend, but when alone with a stranger Alex found himself running out of things to say and having nowhere to turn when the awkward silences set in. Or if he didn’t run out of things to say he would eventually say the wrong thing and that would start an entirely new alarm bell ringing in his mind as he panicked about accidentally being offensive. Overall, conversations without his emotional support band could be frustrating at best and somewhat dangerous at worst.

Perhaps it was true that Alex was the link in all these situations, but what he had always failed to consider was the fact that he had never been paired in a project with somebody who was actually willing to try and do well, which perhaps was a more prominent reason he’d never received a decent grade.

Alex had been having a good day. He was feeling bright for no reason in particular – needlessly optimistic days like this were his favourite, even though they usually were followed by needlessly pessimistic days as all those bad feelings caught up with him at once. Still, by now Alex had learnt to clutch that senseless joy while it was there and relish it before it was gone.

The joy was gone by noon.

“Alright, class,” Ms Osbourne said, clapping her hands to gain the class’s attention.

Alex hated his English classes. While he was good at English and rather enjoyed the subject itself, his class was rowdy and unruly and made it difficult to concentrate, while Ms Osbourne was a teacher so strict that if someone so much as thought about breaking a rule she would be able to sniff it out like a dog – but her bark was worse than her bite, and while she would shout an unnatural amount she rarely doled out punishments. The combination made for a lesson that was purely people shouting and no work being done.

The class quieted to a steady hum of chatter which was usually as silent as Ms Osbourne could get it. She smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes, and continued. “Seeing as the end of the semester is coming up, I’m going to be setting you a project that will be worth forty percent of your grade. Essentially, it’s your final exam on our study of Macbeth.”

Alex perked up a little. He had been assigned projects for a lot of classes, but English projects were always the most enjoyable – they involved a lot of writing, which most people hated, but Alex found therapeutic; the only downside was that the source material was usually dreadfully dull. Still, Alex suddenly found himself looking forward to it.

And then she had to go and ruin it.

“I will tell you your assigned partners at the end of the lesson.”

Alex felt himself deflate and heaved a sigh. It had been too good to be true. Now he was going to be stuck on some boring project with a random student from his awful English class because he had no friends in this lesson and it was going to be horrible. It was all he could do to not let his head fall onto the table and scream in furious defeat.

It was on his mind all lesson. Who he was going to be with, what specific things the project would be on, how he could get out of it. His mind was buzzing with questions, building up energy that released itself by making his leg bounce up and down. Several times he found himself tapping out a rhythm on the table like it was his drumkit, his bouncing leg acting as if it was pounding the bass drum, and he had to force himself to stop and actually pay attention to the lesson.

The end came painfully slowly. The school bell rang and most of the students were up out of their seats immediately, ready to leave.

“Hang on,” Ms Osbourne yelled. “Everyone sit back down! I need to tell you your partners for the upcoming project.”

Alex listened attentively as she reeled off a list of names. Most people let out an annoyed groan when they found out they weren’t with a friend, and there was the occasional excited, “Yay!”

Alex knew he wouldn’t be one of the ones celebrating.

“Alex Mercer,” Ms Osbourne said eventually, pushing her glasses further up her tiny nose. “Your partner is Harry Reynolds.”

“Oh god,” Alex murmured. He felt his stomach squirm just as somebody kicked the back of his chair so hard that he jolted forward and nearly whacked his face on the table. The person laughed a moment later, obnoxiously loud, begging for retaliation – Alex didn’t dare turn around to look at them.

He knew already that it was Harry Reynolds sat behind him who had kicked his chair. His project partner, and possibly the worst person in the class that it could have been. For reasons unknown to Alex, Harry had always had it out for him. In middle school he had pushed Alex down a flight of stairs and he had landed unceremoniously in a trash can – Harry had started calling him Bin Boy and the nickname had stuck for a year afterwards; Harry was the only one who used it anymore though. Since then, Harry had just been a general jerk towards him, and upon hearing that they were going to be partners, Alex’s whole body told him to run.

Run where? Alex thought. This wasn’t a problem he could run from. Besides, Harry could probably run faster.

“Looks like it’s you and me, Bin Boy,” came Harry’s voice from behind. “I’m sure we’ll have loads of fun.”

Ms Osbourne finally finished listing pairs and then announced, “These partners are non-negotiable. I will not indulge any requests to switch for any reason. Life isn’t fair, sometimes we have to work with people we don’t like. Get used to it. Now go on, you’re already late for your next class.”

Alex wasn’t usually one to ignore instructions, but as the rest of the class filed out into the hallway he remained behind. He didn’t know what he was planning to say to Ms Osbourne, but he desperately needed to find a way out of the project, or at least switch partners.

“Go on, Alex,” Ms Osbourne said, “you’re going to be late.”

He swallowed thickly and said, “Miss, I was just wondering about the proj–”

“You’re not swapping partners,” she returned sternly. “I’ve already said this. I won’t make any allowances.”

“But, Miss, I can’t work with him,” Alex protested. She raised her eyebrows and started walking around the room, putting sheets on each table for her next class. Alex followed her as she went. “He hates me! It’s going to be awful.”

“Well, maybe the two of you can use this as a way to bond and get to know each other better, hm?”

“Miss, please,” Alex said, his desperation finally rearing its ugly head in his voice. He could feel his legs shaking and his hands wringing themselves together and his head tingling in a way he couldn’t describe, and finally he broke. “He has it out for me and I don’t even know why! He’s been awful to me ever since we were kids, he tries to pick fights with me, he calls me names. Last year he chased me around the field with a baseball bat for a whole PE lesson! If I have to work with him I’ll just end up panicking – or dead, that’s also a possibility – and the project will go terribly and I’ll fail the class. Please can I just work by myself?”

Ms Osbourne’s expression softened as she look at Alex over her glasses. For a moment, Alex’s hopes were raised just that tiny bit – maybe he had got through to her, maybe she would see sense.

But then her face turned to stone again.

“No,” she spat. “What you can do is figure out with Harry when the two of you are going to work on this project and how you’re going to go about it. And you can get to your next class.” She turned away with a cold air of finality. Alex could have sworn he actually felt chills.

Without a word, Alex heaved his bag onto his shoulder and made his way out of the classroom, crushed and dejected. He stared down at his feet as he walked and tried not to think about what the next few weeks could have in store for him.

Lunch couldn’t have come sooner. After what felt like an eternity, Alex finally made his way down to the cafeteria to meet up with his friends. If there was any one thing that was guaranteed to cheer Alex up when he was in a bad mood, it was the good company of his band and his boyfriend.

The rest of the group was already sat at their usual table when Alex arrived in the cafeteria; just seeing them laughing and joking together put the tiniest hint of a smile of his face. He headed over to them, but was stopped in his tracks by somebody stood in front of him – it was Harry Reynolds.

The boy had his arms crossed over his massive chest and was leering down at Alex with an expression of disgust. Alex tried to look past him at his friends, to get their attention, to ask for help, but they hadn’t seen him. Instead, he forced himself to look up into Harry’s brutish face and try not to squirm.

“Partners, huh?” Harry grunted. “I’m failing English so you’ll need to get us a good grade.”

“That’s the plan,” Alex said, willing his voice not to shake. It wasn’t that he was too frightened or intimidated by Harry, it was just the fact that he really didn’t feel like getting chucked in a bin today. One wrong move and he could consider that a real possibility.

“Be at my place on Saturday at one. Bring all your notes – I don’t have any.”

“I can’t do Saturday,” Alex told him, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I have band practise.”

Harry took a step closer. Alex couldn’t move back – his feet were rooted to the spot. “You think I care about your dopey little band practise? You’ll be there. That’s that.”

Alex swallowed, nodded hurriedly, and finally forced himself to take a step back so that he wasn’t chest to chest with Harry. “I’ll be there,” he echoed, still nodding.

Harry snarled, condescendingly patted Alex on the head, and walked off. Alex took a moment to collect himself, to breathe, to remind himself that he was okay and he wasn’t hurt, that Harry hadn’t done anything. He steadied himself and kept walking towards his friends, trying to mask the worry on his face.

Of course, he failed miserably.

The moment Alex sat down in his usual space between Willie and Luke, Willie took his hand, watching him with concern. “Hey,” Willie said gently, “what’s up?”

Julie, Luke, and Reggie immediately stopped their conversation, turning to face Alex and Willie. Alex hated the way they were looking at him, like he’d break if they dropped him, but it wasn’t like he could ask them to stop caring – instead, he looked at each of them, trying and failing to give them a reassuring smile before he spoke.

“Nothing,” Alex said, “nothing, it’s just… just this project for English.”

Luke sighed dramatically. “Has your class got that stupid Shakespeare assignment too? I get it, bro, it’s totally pointless–”

“No,” Alex interrupted quietly. “No, that’s not it. Well, kind of. Yeah, we’ve got the Shakespeare assignment but that’s not… not the problem.”

“What is it?” Willie prompted gently when Alex didn’t continue.

Alex shrugged. “It’s stupid.”

Julie leaned over the table and grasped Alex’s other hand. “Alex, your feelings are not stupid.”

She smiled warmly. Funny things happened when Julie smiled – when she did it to Luke, it wasn’t uncommon for him to literally trip over himself; when she did it to Reggie, it made him smile in return for hours on end; and when she did it to Alex, it gave him such overwhelming confidence that for a moment or two he could truly do anything.

“It’s just that we were assigned partners and I got stuck with Harry Reynolds,” he admitted, clutching Willie and Julie’s hands tighter. “It’s nothing and I shouldn’t be worried but–”

“It’s not nothing,” Willie said. Alex couldn’t quite read his expression – it looked to be something between sympathy and outrage. “That guy is the worst. Did you talk to your teacher about it?”

Alex nodded gravely. “She wouldn’t let me switch.”

“How much did you tell her?” Willie asked.

“What I thought would have been enough,” he replied, shrugging like it was nothing. “But it wasn’t.”

“She should be fired for that,” Reggie interjected. Everyone turned to look at him. “I’m just saying – if by ‘enough’ you mean that you told her what a jerk he’s been to you then she should follow that up and treat it like an issue instead of making you work with him.”

What would have been wise words were ruined slightly by the fact that Reggie spoke them around a mouthful of pizza.

“Reggie’s right,” Julie said, “she’s definitely in the wrong here.”

“I know that,” Alex told them, because he did, that much was obvious. “But it’s a little late for that now. I’m stuck with him.”

Willie clutched his hand tighter, threaded their fingers together. Alex leaned to the side, rested his head on Willie’s shoulder. Julie let go of his hand and Willie immediately picked it up – he smiled a little at both of them.

“I know saying it’s all going to be okay won’t help,” Willie whispered to him, “but you’ve got to try and believe that it will. And if it isn’t, I am just one call away. If you need anything – I mean anything – you call me and I will be there. Okay?”

Alex’s tense muscles relaxed the tiniest bit. “Okay,” he muttered back. “That’s okay.”

Willie kissed the top of his head and a fraction of Alex’s anxiety lifted. Willie would be there when he needed him no matter what. That was something he could always count on.

Luke hadn’t been happy when Alex had called him early on Saturday morning to tell him he wouldn’t be coming to band practise that day. He had given Alex a half-hour-long earful about how they had a gig coming up in a few days’ time and they needed to be rehearsing like crazy. It hadn’t been pleasant for Alex in the slightest, but at least it had been a welcome distraction from the other thing on his mind, the reason he had had to cancel band practise in the first place.

It was the day he was supposed to go to Harry’s house to work on their project. Alex had hardly slept the night before – he had lay awake in bed for hours, tossing and turning, trying to empty his mind and relax, but sleep just wouldn’t come. At half past two he had crept downstairs and made a batch of brownies using a recipe of his grandmother’s. At the time he’d thought that maybe he could use them to placate Harry once he got to his house, but he’d accidentally ended up stress-eating the entire batch instead.

He felt sick, but couldn’t tell if it was the brownies or the anxiety. Probably an unhealthy mix of both, he decided.

But he had passed the first hurdle and he told himself to be proud of that – he had arrived outside Harry’s house. It was a small bungalow on a road that led nowhere and Alex was struck by how normal it looked. It didn’t look like the sort of place somebody like Harry Reynolds should have lived; Harry was larger than life, tall and brooding, moody and mean – this house looked as if its occupants sold flowers and rescued kittens in their spare time.

Despite the outward appearances of the house, Alex was almost certain that he was in the right place. The front window seemed to show Harry’s bedroom because through it Alex could see innumerable trophies, all for different sporting events; a large stack of magazines (Alex was sure he could already guess what each contained); and a small enclosure that looked to Alex unbearably similar to a tank that might house a snake or a spider or any other creature that Alex would have preferred stayed thousands of miles away from him where it belonged.

He could not make himself walk into the house.

He had been trying for almost fifteen minutes and had walked past the house almost thirty times. He had counted his steps and was somewhere near eight thousand. His mind was racing, shooting through a hundred anxieties before Alex had the chance to dwell on any of them – maybe that was for the best. But it didn’t help the fact that he could not force his legs to walk in the direction of the door.

The worries stopping him weren’t even big ones like ‘What if he tries to hurt me?’ which Alex stressed over every time he interacted with Harry. It was the little things and the impossible things pricking the back of his mind like needles: What if he doesn’t answer the door? What if nobody’s home? What if I’m at the wrong house? What if he’s changed his mind? What if I got the wrong day? What if I got the wrong time? What if he’s not actually my project partner? What if… What if… What if…

What if I call Willie?

Alex blessed his brain for having its first sensible thought that day. He fished his phone out his pocket and called Willie, who picked up after one ring.

“Hey,” Willie said, “what’s up, hotdog?”

“I, um… I’m at Harry’s house. I can’t go inside.”

“Why not?” Willie asked. “Is the door locked? Are they out?”

Alex shook his head although Willie couldn’t see him. “No. I don’t think so. It’s just… I… I can’t do it.”

“What do you mean you can’t do it?” Willie asked patiently.

“I can’t go inside,” Alex repeated. With his free hand, he tugged at the strap of his fanny pack, fiddling with the buckle where it lay over his chest. “I can’t go up to the door. I’ve been trying for, like, twenty minutes and every time I try my head starts buzzing and my legs go numb and I’m starting to feel really sick now because I ate an entire batch of brownies meant for at least ten people and I can’t do this–”

“Okay,” Willie interrupted. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Breathe, Alex. Remember the breathing exercises we went over? Breathe in for four and out for six. Come on, hotdog, you’ve got this.”

Alex did as he said, taking great shuddering breaths of bitter air and releasing them slowly. Willie kept talking him through it, slowly, softly, kindly, and after about ten minutes Alex felt refreshed. Not necessarily worry-free, but his mind had cleared a little bit.

“Okay,” Willie said. “That was great, well done. Can you give me this guy’s address?”

Alex gave it to him.

“Luckily for you, that’s just down the road from where I am right now,” Willie said, chipper. Alex could hear the smile in his voice and it almost made him smile himself. Almost. “I’ll be there in a minute. I’ll go inside with you, if that’s what you want?”

Alex breathed a haggard, relieved sigh. “Yes. Please. If you don’t mind. Thank you, Willie.”

Willie gave a small chuckle. “Any time, hotdog. You know I’d do anything for you. I’ll see you in a minute.”

And he hung up.

Alex waited, still doing his breathing exercises, but didn’t need to wait long. Hardly five minutes later, Willie rolled up (literally – he was on his skateboard) and gave him a bright smile. Alex didn’t hesitate before lurching forward and pulling him into a hug.

“Thank you, Willie,” he whispered. “I really appreciate it.”

Willie’s response was simply to hug him tighter.

Together, hands clasped tightly between them, Willie with his board tucked under his arm, they made their way up to the bungalow’s front door. Alex swallowed, steeled himself, and then firmly knocked on the door. When nobody answered it in the first five seconds, Alex told Willie, “This is a bad idea,” and tried to turn away to leave.

However, Willie just pulled him back and a moment later the door opened. On the threshold of the house was Harry, staring down at Alex and Willie. Something about him wasn’t quite as nightmarish as it was at school, yet at the same time Alex was much more afraid. He held Willie’s hand tighter.

Harry nodded in Willie’s direction. “Who’s this, Bin Boy? You brought your boyfriend?”

“Actually, yeah,” Willie said, speaking for Alex. He was glad – his throat felt thick and he didn’t think he could have summoned up any words if he tried. “I’m Willie. I’ve heard about you.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? What?”

“Just a few things,” Willie said nonchalantly. “Nothing important. Anyway, I was in the neighbourhood and Alex and I are set to hang out when he’s done here anyway so I thought I’d come along. Is that alright with you?”

“It’s fine,” Harry returned with a shrug. Then his eyes landed on something and his entire expression changed. Alex didn’t think he’d ever seen Harry look like this before. Could it have been what he thought it was: excitement? “Bro! You skate?”

Willie lifted his board half-heartedly. “This isn’t just for decoration.”

Harry grinned, clapping Willie on the shoulder so hard that his hand dropped from Alex’s. “Dude, that’s sick, I do too. Come on, get inside, man.”

Harry headed back into the house and Willie followed him. Alex took a moment to wonder what the hell that had been, then took a deep breath and hurried after them. When he caught up with Willie he grabbed his hand again. Willie just smiled bemusedly up at him.

Harry led them to his bedroom and beckoned them towards his desk.

“Come look at this,” Harry said. “I had a photo taken with Tony Hawk last year!”

Alex perched himself right on the edge of the bed awkwardly as Willie went over to inspect the framed photo.

“Are you sure that’s Tony Hawk?” Willie asked. “Doesn’t look like him.”

Harry shook his head. “You’ve got to imagine he’s holding a skateboard, then you’ll see it.”

Alex watched Willie squint at the photo for a moment or two longer, then he gasped and, to Alex’s horror, began to smile. “Oh, wait… yeah, kinda. That’s awesome, dude!”

“Yeah! Anyway, how long have you been skating for?”

As Willie answered, Alex zoned out of the conversation. Ordinarily, he loved listening to Willie talk about skating – he lit up whenever he explained a new trick he’d learnt, and seeing him flush with pride after he demonstrated it perfectly to Alex always made him feel giddy – but it just wasn’t the same listening to him chat with Harry Reynolds of all people. Alex didn’t even know who that Tony Hawk guy was and it didn’t seem like anyone was about to bother explaining it to him. He would never have admitted it, but listening to Willie talk to Harry was almost annoying.

He busied himself by looking around the room, getting a glimpse at what the real Harry Reynolds was like. At school, Harry was the classic, early-2000s movie jock, on every sports team the school had to offer, constantly bragging about his luck with girls, and picking on people smaller than him (which, because Harry was built like a tree trunk, was pretty much everyone). His room reflected it too; there were even more trophies than Alex had seen through the window, most for football or, unexpectedly, karate, and the walls were plastered in posters displaying buff men and weirdly specific motivational quotes. Only now did Alex notice the skateboards stuck on the wall and the stack of helmets by his bed, as well as several skating posters directly above them.

He turned back to Willie and Harry just in time to hear Willie laugh. Properly laugh, loud and genuine. Willie only laughed like that with his friends and it hearing it in Harry’s room stirred an uneasy feeling in the pit of Alex’s stomach.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, trying to smile.

Willie waved him off. “Don’t worry, hotdog, just a skating joke.”

Harry snickered, shaking his head. “Pretty freaking funny though.”

“Oh,” Alex said. He tried for a laugh but it was the least genuine noise he had ever made – judging by the look Harry sent him, it had been obvious how fake it was to him too. Alex cleared his throat awkwardly. “Shouldn’t we get on with our work? We’re already running behind schedule.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Shut it, Bin Boy, we’re having a conversation here. You start if you want, I’ll join you whenever.”

Alex sent a look to Willie, eyes wide and pleading. Willie frowned, looking conflicted, but then shrugged.

Willie and Alex didn’t fight often, but Alex wouldn’t have minded giving Willie a piece of his mind right then and there.

He didn’t though. He sighed, shuffled back on the bed so that he could have more room and lean on the mattress, and he started working on the project. It wasn’t too difficult, just an analysis on the themes of Macbeth, something they had gone over in class a hundred times; still, Alex would have appreciated some help, seeing as this was a paired project and he didn’t exactly want to do the whole thing alone.

But it was fine. He kept telling himself that it was completely and utterly fine. But every so often Willie or Harry would laugh or suddenly shout, and the abrupt noise would startle Alex. The third time that happened he accidentally jogged his highlighter so it zigzagged all over his painstakingly neat paragraph on King James I. He gripped his pen so hard that the plastic almost cracked, and set about writing the whole thing again on a new piece of paper.

Alex didn’t know how long he had been working for, but he did know that it had been a hell of a long time and Harry still hadn’t made any effort to help him. He had copied up all his notes on the supernatural, women, ambition, and the Great Chain of Being, all the while Harry had sat there with Willie, not doing anything.

The strange thing was, Alex found himself more angry at Willie than he was at Harry.

Eventually, he checked the time, his hand aching. It was almost five o’clock, which meant he had been working alone for about four hours solidly. He had done pretty much half of the project in that time and was nearing his breaking point – he thought that if he left now he could catch the tail end of band practise and take his frustration out on his drumkit.

Gathering his notes and all his work, Alex said, “I’m going to head out.”

Willie checked the clock on Harry’s desk and then set about clipping his helmet on. “Yeah, we should get going. This was fun, though, man. It was nice to talk to a fellow skater for once.”

“I hear you, dude,” Harry returned. They fist-bumped and Alex physically cringed. “Catch you later.”

Alex didn’t say goodbye, just saw himself out. He didn’t wait for Willie. He simply walked, trying to get out of the house and as far away as possible in as little time as he could. Alex could hear Willie shouting for him to wait up but he didn’t stop.

He felt Willie grab his hand and pull him to a halt, but pulled his hand from Willie’s grasp.

“What’s up with you?” Willie asked, seeming truly bewildered. “I thought that was alright back there, it was relaxed, not stressful. Are you still feeling anxious?”

Alex didn’t answer his question and instead he said with much more venom than he had intended, “What the hell was that?”

Willie looked taken aback. Alex almost felt bad. Almost.

“What was what?”

“In there!” Alex yelled, pointing in the direction of Harry’s house. “You talking to him like you’re best friends! That guy is a jerk, you know that, Willie, so why were you laughing and joking with him as if he’s the nicest guy in the world?”

Willie didn’t look impressed. “Sorry, I was under the impression you wanted me there. I was talking to him to distract from you. That’s what you wanted, right? You were nervous about going so you wanted my help to take the pressure off you. I was helping you, Alex, because that was what you asked me to do!”

“Not like that,” Alex protested. “You weren’t supposed to bond with him, leave me out completely so that I had to do all the work by myself and listen to you two talk about skateboards and… Toby Eagle, or whoever that guy was!”

“It was Tony Hawk. And it’s not my fault that Harry likes skateboarding,” Willie shot back. “It’s also not my fault that I enjoyed talking to someone who shares that interest for once. You listen and you pretend to know what I’m talking about, but it isn’t the same.”

“It didn’t have to be him!”

“Actually, given the circumstances, it did. And like I said – it got the attention off you, so I don’t see why you’re complaining.”

Alex felt his temper rising with each sentence. He never got this upset at Willie, this was a complete first. Sure, they had argued like any couple would, but he had never felt any real anger towards his boyfriend. It frightened him, and that fright stopped him from seeing any sense, taking a step back, calming himself down.

“I didn’t want you to do it like that,” he said, as if it was obvious. It was obvious to Alex – why wasn’t it obvious to Willie?

“I can’t read your mind, Alex,” Willie shouted, pointing at himself. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head!”

“You should know!”

“I don’t! It could be anything! I don’t think you realise that when it comes to you and your anxiety, I’m pretty much flying as blind as you are. Sure, I’ve done my research and I can handle it, but I never know what’s going to trigger you and set you off like earlier today. I may seem prepared, but I don’t know what you’re thinking and I don’t know what you’re going to worry about most. It is not my fault that sometimes I might not handle it in the best way. I’m trying my hardest, Alex.”

“You aren’t the one who has to go through the panic attacks and the constant worry, are you?” Alex seethed.

Willie shrugged. “No, I’m not. But I still worry about you all the time because I don’t know what’s going to set you off.”

“It’s not my fault I have anxiety,” Alex yelled.

“I never said it was! But it’s not my fault either – I dropped everything just to come and help you today and all you’re doing is throwing it right back in my face and arguing with me for helping you out! It’s not my fault that you can’t do these easy things and that you need me to hold your hand all the time!”

Alex froze. Willie did too. The words were out there, they’d been spoken without hesitation. They hung between the two of them like a toxic cloud, as both of them slowly realised the weight those words had held.

Willie broke the silence, reaching out his hand to Alex, trying to bridge that gap between them that had widened impossibly in the last ten seconds. “Alex, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean t–”

Alex stepped back, out of reach from Willie. Willie flinched and he withdrew his hand, instead crossing his arms and rubbing circles by his elbow with his thumb. It was a nervous tick Alex only ever saw when Willie was really stressed out. Normally he would have tried to soothe him, calm him down, but all he could hear were Willie’s words echoing back and forth through his mind.

It’s not my fault that you can’t do these easy things and that you need me to hold your hand all the time!

Alex schooled his features to careful neutrality, not betraying any emotion. It wasn’t hard, seeing as he wasn’t feeling much at that moment anyway, just a cold detachment.

“I heard you,” Alex said quietly. He couldn’t look Willie in the eye. “I heard exactly what you said. I know what you meant.”

“Then you’ve got to know that I wasn’t trying to–”

“I know what you meant,” he repeated. “I’m going back to band practise. I don’t think you should come and watch today.”

He shook his head and, turning on his heel, walked away. He didn’t hear Willie’s footsteps following him this time.

Band practise had helped calm Alex down with a mixture of wrestling his drumkit and talking things out with Julie, Luke, and Reggie. They had all seemed utterly shocked that Willie would say anything like that, but Alex wasn’t so surprised. After all, things like this were what he worried about – being left alone, being disliked by the people he cared for most, being a nuisance, being abandoned. Deep down in the pit of his worst anxieties, he had been worried that something like this could have happened.

He just had never thought it would have come from Willie.

While band helped him calm down, it didn’t help cheer him up. He regretted even bringing the argument up in the first place – if he had ignored his feelings (which Julie had bluntly explained to him were jealousy) then he could have avoided the whole argument. Instead of lying in his cold bed, unable to sleep that night, he could have been curled up with Willie on the couch in the studio, warm and cosy because Willie was like a human radiator.

He knew that neither of them had been fair on each other. He could see Willie’s side of the argument once he had calmed down. But he knew that what he had said was equally valid and he couldn’t get past the scorn in Willie’s voice when he’d said those damning words.

He didn’t hear from Willie all throughout Sunday and didn’t make any moves to contact him himself either. If he did, he had no clue where he would have even begun. Perhaps an apology – but where was he supposed to take the conversation from there?

So Sunday was silent.

Alex was slightly dreading school on Monday, but he wasn’t about to ruin his high grades by not showing up, especially this close to the end of the semester. Grudgingly, he headed to school and went straight to his first lesson, which just so happened to be the lesson from Hell: English.

He arrived there before the rest of the class, including Ms Osbourne, which meant he had time to dwell on his thoughts alone. He probably wasn’t going to fail this class – despite Saturday having been a nightmare, he had managed to get a lot of good work done on the project and it would be of a very high quality when he finally got it finished. But he still had more work to do and he knew that he really ought to do it with Harry. Absently, he pondered whether or not to bring Willie next time he needed to go to Harry’s house.

Talk of the devil, Alex thought as the classroom door swung open and none other than Harry himself sauntered in. He looked at Alex sat there alone, the only other person in the room, and grunted, coming to sit beside him.

Alex didn’t have the energy to be scared of Harry Reynolds today.

“I’ve been looking for you, Mercer,” Harry said conversationally.

“Oh, joy,” Alex deadpanned. Harry looked surprised, probably because Alex wasn’t cowering in fear, but he shrugged it off.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he continued. “I just wanted to say that your boyfriend, that Willie guy, he’s really cool. I mean, the way he was talking about skating the other day – I don’t know if you realise it, man, but he has a real shot at going pro.”

“I know,” Alex spat. “He’s my boyfriend, of course I know. Maybe I don’t skate but I still listen to him. And I know him better than you do.”

Harry held up a hand. “Woah, calm down, Bin B– uh. Alex. I’m just trying to say the guy is really cool and you’re really lucky to have him. And also… talking to him the other day, he said– well, you weren’t listening, were you?”

Alex shook his head.

“We did stop talking about skating at some point, you know,” Harry told him. “Willie was telling me how awesome you are and, you know, explaining why he likes you so much. And I guess it made me realise that I’ve kind of been a jerk to you for a long time – I mean, he literally told me so. He told me to stop being such a douchebag to you.”

Alex grunted. “He’s right. You should stop. It sucks.”

Harry nodded. “I wanted to apologise for it, I guess. I’m sorry for being so nasty to you. I think it’s just because I was young and dumb and I didn’t realise it was hurting you at first, then it just stuck. I kind of always thought it was friendly too – I didn’t think you minded. I thought it was banter.”

“It wasn’t,” Alex said, meeting his eyes. “It never was. I’m terrified of you, you’ve made my life a misery. Thanks for the apology, but it’s no excuse.”

“I know that,” he admitted. “But I just wanted to explain why. I’m going to try my best to be a better guy from now on. It won’t make up for everything I’ve done in the past, but can you give me a chance to get this right?”

Alex considered. Somehow, Harry seemed completely serious. His expression was slightly pleading and he looked a little awkward and uncomfortable to be asking this of Alex, but it seemed real.

So he nodded.

“Fine. Thank you.”

Harry clapped him on the back. “No worries, dude. And, uh… this might not be my place to ask, but are you okay? You look down.”

Alex shrugged. “I had an argument with Willie after we left your place the other day. I’ve not spoken to him since.”

“Was it my fault?” Harry asked.

“Kinda,” Alex told him, shrugging again. “I just… I didn’t like how friendly you two seemed. After everything you’ve done to me in the past, watching him get along with you like it was nothing made me a little mad.”

“Sorry, bro,” Harry said, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m not into him or anything, so you’ve got nothing to worry about there – plus, he’s crazy about you, so even if someone else did like him they’d be out of luck. I just wanted to talk with someone about skating for once, none of my friends are into it.”

“Willie said the same thing,” Alex admitted.

Harry nodded awkwardly. “I don’t have any say in your relationship, but honestly I’m kind of invested in it now and I think you guys should talk it out. I’d hate to think I played some part if you ended up breaking up over this.”

“I don’t want to break up with him,” Alex objected, horrified. The thought of breaking up with Willie, losing him forever, made him feel sick to the stomach.

The rest of the class began filing into the classroom. Harry stood up, shrugged, and then clapped Alex on the shoulder.

“Go talk to him, then.”

Alex, for the first time in his life, took the advice Harry had given him and decided to take that first, absolutely terrifying step towards fixing the break between himself and Willie. If he knew his boyfriend (and he did) then Willie would have gone to the skatepark straight after school, so that was where Alex headed too.

Sure enough, Alex found Willie at the skatepark, sat at the top of the highest ramp. Every now and then, someone on a board would do a trick nail-bitingly close to Willie’s face, but he didn’t flinch even once. He was staring off into the peachy sunset, seemingly lost in his thoughts. Alex climbed up there and sat himself down next to him.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked uneasily.

Willie startled and turned to Alex, caught unawares. “Alex! I thought you–”

Willie didn’t get to finish his sentence because Alex pulled him into a tight, bone-crushing, fierce hug, pouring every last ounce of love and regret into it. He felt Willie hug back with equal force and buried his face into Willie’s long hair. This, he knew, was how it was supposed to be – Alex and Willie, boyfriends who care far too much about each other, not Alex and Willie, boyfriends on the edge of a break-up.

Eventually, Alex withdrew himself and let Willie go mostly, still keeping a tight clutch on his upper arms.

“I am so sorry,” he said, breathless. “I’m sorry for everything I said and for starting the argument and for everything that happened that day.”

Willie shook his head. “Don’t. I’m sorry, I should have realised how talking to Harry like that would have made you feel. It was dumb of me, and I shouldn’t have said such hurtful things to you, and–”

“I get it,” Alex said breezily, “I’m a lot to deal with.”

Desperately, Willie said, “But that’s not what I meant! I can’t explain what I was trying to say, but I wouldn’t change anything about you or our relationship for the world. You mean the everything to me, Alex, and I never want to do something to jeopardise what we have ever again. I’d do anything to take back what I said to you that day.”

Alex pulled him back into the hug, needing to be close to him. “It wasn’t just you. It was both of us. And Harry. But we’ve all apologised now, even him, so we can put this whole thing behind us.”

Willie pulled back, surprised. “He apologised?”

“Yeah,” Alex said, nodding. “Because of you. He said you were going on about how amazing I am and he realised he’d been a jerk.”

Willie blushed the tiniest bit, and playfully punched Alex’s arm. “Well, you are amazing. You’re more than amazing. You’re a miracle and I’m lucky to have you.”

Smiling, Alex cupped Willie’s cheek and gently pulled him in for a kiss. It was soft, slow, and Alex felt like they were glowing, bright and warm and happy. They kissed until every unspoken word had been said, until the last of the orange sunset had ebbed away into night-time blue, until streetlights cast an amber glow across the skatepark, in which they were the only ones left. Alex felt like he was finally at peace, with himself and with Willie.

He pulled back and rested his forehead against Willie’s. “I’m lucky to have you too. I can’t even begin to understand what good luck brought you to me.”

Willie moved back slightly, shuffled further away until he was only holding Alex’s hands, until that was the only point where they touched. Alex missed his warmth.

“Sorry,” Willie giggled, smile bright. “I wanted to be able to look you in the eyes for this.”

“For what?” Alex asked.

Willie’s smile softened. “I love you, Alex. And I’m pretty sure I always will.”

Alex’s heart stopped. It was the first time he’d ever heard those words out loud. Sure, he had felt them in every little action from Willie in all the time they’d been together – he had felt his love in the way he cared for him when he was sick, in the way he bundled himself up in Alex’s hoodies, in the way he played with Alex’s hair, in the way he brought him back from the edge when he was anxious, in the way he devoted every part of himself to Alex.

He had loved Willie in return too, in the little ways – how he listened to Willie talk about skating and watched him practise, how he brushed and braided Willie’s hair to relax them both, how he danced with Willie whenever he wanted because he simply couldn’t say no, how he wrote songs that only Willie would ever hear, how he listened to Willie talk nonsense in his sleep on those nights they slept at the studio together.

But he too had never said the words out loud.

He pulled Willie in for another kiss, brief but burning, and then held his hands again. Willie was right – this was something Alex wanted to look in his eyes for.

“I love you, too, Willie. I’ll never stop.”

131 notes · View notes

051093 · 4 years ago

Text

longing | v

wc: 2852

pairing: jihyun “v” kim x reader

genre: canon compliant, angst w/ an actual happy ending bc the game’s version wasn’t enough for me, reunions! yay, platonic jumin x reader

description: it’s been two years since you last saw v, but he reappears where you least expect it — at the r.f.a. party. and his feelings haven’t changed. not one bit.

my masterlist.

The party is so full of love and light that you can’t help but go the entire night with the biggest smile on your face.

Initially, you were nervous, and so were the other members. Two years ago was the catastrophe with Rika; it’d taken so long for the group to heal, and you weren’t sure if they were emotionally recovered enough to hold a successful party.

But everyone did their part as diligently as they could, from Jumin using his massive network to publicize the fundraiser, Luciel layering the building and guest information with cybersecurity, and Jaehee’s decorations and catering and other party logistics. Yoosung and Zen’s moral support and guest suggestions gave you plenty of work to do as well. As a result of your combined efforts, the party is positively glistening on this beautiful night, containing a record-breaking number of guests and an atmosphere filled with camaraderie.

You’re so busy that you seem to be in three different places at once, but you don’t mind. This is the happiest you and the members have been in a while. You can feel it, and you love it.

When you finally get the chance to catch your breath, you come across a group of five familiar figures standing together near the stage, and you beam at the sight of them.

“Hey, you guys!” You call, heading towards them.

They turn and smile at the sight of you. “Hey, you,” Zen says warmly, draping a fond arm over your shoulder. “I feel like I haven’t seen you all night. How’re things going?”

“Great,” you return with a relieved sigh. “It’s an amazing party. Everyone seems so happy.”

“All thanks to you!” Yoosung chirps. “You invited so many great guests.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Luciel so happy,” Jaehee says with an exasperated smile. “Although I can’t help but continue to qustion whether or not longcat’s upbringing was ethical.”

“Of course it was!” Seven assures with a bright grin. “I would never condone animal abuse.”

“Questionable,” Jumin mutters into his champagne.

“Hey, hey, we’re getting off topic,” Yoosung cuts in. “We were giving Y/N our congratulations for putting the party together.”

A chorus of gratitude ensues. You laugh, embarrassed. “Ah, I only did my job.”

“Humble as always,” Zen tsks. “Take more pride for an accomplishment like this, babe.”

“I am proud! But I can’t possibly take all the credit,” you say, smiling. “We couldn’t have done it without each other.”

“That’s right.” Jumin tips his champagne glass your way. “Congratulations, Y/N. And congratulations to all of us as well.”

“Congratulations to all of us,” Zen repeats, holding up his glass. “First and last time I’ll ever quote that pompous ass.”

Six glasses clink merrily. Amiable conversation continues for a few minutes before Yoosung nearly drops his champagne in remembering that he left an entire table undecorated. He and Saeyoung hurry off to handle it. Zen later spots a group of women in the corner practically drooling over him and makes a flamboyant stroll their way, charm in full force. Jumin receives word that his father’s arrived, and Jaehee nearly sprints to meet the chairman at the door — but Jumin lingers behind after she’s gone.

“Y/N.” He turns to you with a thoughtful gaze. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

The expression on his face says it all. You can’t help but sigh. “I think I already know what it is.”

He chuckles. “I apologize. It feels like I’m nagging. I’m just worrying about you, you know that.”

You do know that, and it’s been that way for all of the last two years. Jumin and you formed a close bond after V left, and you’ve leaned on him for everything from advice to support or just a listening ear. You found solace in his wisdom and honesty, and V’s departure would’ve been all the more painful to you if Jumin hadn’t been around.

“Go on, then,” you say.

“Exactly two years ago today, the first party you organized was cancelled because of V’s injury. Anniversaries tend to bring back memories, wanted or not,” Jumin says. “You seem to be doing well tonight, but you also hide your feelings quite well. So, if the truth is different from how it looks…tell me.”

You fall silent, thinking.

Every time you close your eyes, the ghost of V’s face is painted against the inside of your eyelids, his warm smile, kind eyes, loving gaze and all, and there’s no denying the poignant sadness that’s existed within you since he left. You miss him; your worry grows more and more every day not knowing when he’ll come back, if ever.

But, at the same time, you’ve been met with so much support from the RFA that you’ve been able to fall back into routine. You’ve learned to coexist with the emptiness that V left behind. You’ve found it in you to smile again.

You don’t verbalize any of this to Jumin, but you know he already knows.

“It is how it looks,” you say, a small smile appearing on your face. “I’m doing well.”

His voice softens. “You’re sure?”

You meet his eyes steadily. “I’m sure.”

“Good.” He straightens, satisfied. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Thank you for checking on me, though.” You reach over to touch his hand. “Thank you for everything, Jumin.”

“On the first day you entered our chatroom, I had an inkling that you had a strong resolve and an even stronger heart. You’ve done nothing but prove me right since.” Jumin gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. “So I should be thanking you, Y/N. For your will power and friendship.”

The two of you exchange smiles before Jumin glances at the entrance. “I should go greet my father.”

“Yes, of course.”

“You’ll be okay on your own?” He gives you a nod of farewell. “Right, then. I’ll see you later.”

He strides into the crowd, and you’re alone once again.

You meant what you told Jumin about being okay. Nevertheless, the conversation leaves you in a bit of a weird mood, and you want to get some space from the crowd. You remember that Jaehee mentioned a storage room behind the stage and make your way towards it.

. . . .

Jumin is about to respond to something his father said when an unfamiliar man steps through the door.

The stranger has cream-colored hair, striking mint eyes, a baby pink suit, lanky proportions. He’s unlike anyone Jumin’s ever seen, but familiar in ways he can’t lay a finger on, as if he’s met a different version of him. The stranger looks around nervously, then turns to speak to a second man who follows him in shortly after — and Jumin’s eyes widen.

This second man he knows.

This second man he knows better than anyone.

“Father,” he says, cutting off the older man in the middle of his sentence. “I — there’s something urgent I must tend to.”

Jumin sees Jaehee’s concerned expression from the corner of his eye. “Assistant Kang, introduce my father to the owner of the winery, if you will. I remember my father saying he was interested in purchasing a vineyard.”

“Yes, Mr. Han,” Jaehee says. Jumin knows Jaehee doesn’t like being alone with his father, but desperate measures. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes.” Jumin looks away without giving them a second glance. “Forgive me.”

He can’t take his eyes off the man as he walks towards him. Same unmistakable aqua hair, same tall frame and lean build, same air of elegance.

Something comes undone inside him when he realizes that his best friend is back, something he didn’t realize had been coiled up all this time. He lets out a shuddering breath. His Adam’s apple trembles.

Jumin doesn’t say a word, just clasps a hand to the taller man’s shoulder. Striking, colorful eyes meet his.

“V,” he says. “It’s about damn time.”

V smiles at the sight of him. “Jumin. It’s wonderful to see you again.”

“And you,” Jumin returns, his hand dropping back to his side. “It’s been exactly two years. You always were timely.”

“You’ve been keeping track.”

“I’m not the only one.”

The effect his words have on V is immediate: his face changes, his eyes taking on something Jumin can only describe as longing. He knows only because the same look appeared on your face when he asked you about V.

Two years, Jumin realizes, and neither of your feelings have budged an inch. Two years, and you and V still yearn for each other like it’s still day one.

It took his friend a hell of a lot of pain and loss to get here, but he’s finally found love. Not the kind that’s all-consuming and toxic but radiant and happy, the kind you both deserve. The kind you both have.

“She did all this?” V asks, looking over his shoulder towards the main hall.

Jumin nods, then follows his gaze. It was your idea to ask the art organization you invited to help you rent out a museum for the night, and the result is magnificent. Glimmering. Grandiose. Everything that the members could’ve dreamed the RFA party to become. And it really was all thanks to you.

“I last saw her near the stage,” he says, sparing V the trouble of asking. “She won’t have wandered far.”

A few moments of silence pass. V looks for something to say, anything that could accurately convey everything he’s feeling. He settles with drawing Jumin in for a tight embrace.

That says more than any words could.

They part. V turns and steps into the crowd, a head of mint hair walking through the throng of partygoers.

After his friend has left, Jumin turns to the weirdly familiar younger boy with the odd hair and anxious face.

“And who are you?”

. . . .

The “storage room” turns out to be an intricately decorated space with a dazzling chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It looks looks a ballroom more than a closet, but it’s stacked high with boxes and the air smells of dust when you walk in. Though you’re disappointed the room wasn’t put to use for the party, you’re glad you can use its emptiness to gather your thoughts.

For the thousandth time, you find yourself looking back how things were two years ago — how you and V met. Eleven days was all the two of you had, eleven days of chaos and danger and confusion, but just that short period alone was enough. He fell for your unmoving kindness and care towards him, and his consideration and sincerity rendered you deeply infatuated with him in return.

But you found a love that couldn’t yet take flight, one that consisted of things you left unsaid and emotions you swept under the rug. Neither of you were ready. The situation was far too volatile.

Sometimes, you find yourself wondering if there really was anything there. Maybe the two of you just latched onto each other because the circumstances forced your hands. Maybe it was never love, just dependence.

Then, you remember the way his entire demeanor softened when he looked at you, the tenderness in his voice whenever he said your name, the feelings of his arms around you, secure, safe. You remember the sparks and the unspoken yearning that crackled whenever you were in his proximity. You remember his promise that he’d return to you. That he’d love again. And it’s due to this collection of memories you still have faith in what you once had.

“V,” you say with a sad smile. “I hope you’re somewhere safe and sound. And I hope you’re learning to love yourself little by little, wherever you are.

“Take all the time you need. Just…come back to me when you’re ready, okay?”

Silence.

“I’ll be waiting,” you finish weakly.

The room is now heavy and melancholy. You take a deep breath, trying to get a hold of yourself.

Behind you, there’s the sound of cloth shifting against cloth.

Shit! You nearly jump out of your skin. Did someone come in? The room wasn’t empty? Your face flushes crimson at the idea of one of the members or, worse, one of the party guests overhearing your dramatic soliloquy. Someone walks towards you, slow footsteps gradually getting louder. Zen? Jumin? They both walk with that slow saunter. You squeeze your eyes shut in an embarrassed flinch, your mouth opening to say something —

“You won’t need to anymore,” the stranger says.

You’re ripped from present day and brought back to two years ago. Your mind floods with memories you weren’t prepared to relive, all triggered by that achingly familiar voice.

You turn around, your breath hitched in your throat.

So many little things about him have changed. His hair is a few shades paler than before, the sunlight bleaching his his locks from his previous turquoise to a pale periwinkle; the definition of his jawline has sharpened from two years of travel; he wears a beige overcoat and a collared white shirt, an outfit that’s usually too formal for his liking.

Most notably, however, you notice that his entire aura is different.

You see none of the anguish and burden that used to fill his stare. Instead, there’s something you can only describe as radiance , so pure and warm that it reminds you of the morning sun’s rays spilling through a cracked window. Of holding frozen hands close to a crackling campfire. He’s the same in many ways, but brighter and calmer, more confident in his own skin.

Whatever he left to accomplish, he succeeded.

He comes closer, taking tentative steps until you can smell his familiar cologne; you’ve forgotten tall he is, and you have to lift your chin to maintain eye contact. The toes of his dress shoes touch the tips of your kitten heels.

“You’re back,” you whisper.

He nods. “I am.”

There are so many things you want to say to him, but you can’t think of a single one right now. It’s like his presence is driving you into sensory overload, and you’re only acutely aware of the rate at which your heart hammers against your ribcage, so loudly you swear he’s close enough to hear it. The two of you spend a few moments standing in silence, taking in the sight and sound of each other without a word.

Then, unable to stand it any longer, you move towards him. The last thing V hears is your sigh of relief against the shell of his ear before you wrap your arms around his neck.

The first time you hugged him, he’d stood in shocked silence, his arms staying frozen by his side. At the time, he was unable to accept his affections for you when Rika was still so prominent in his heart and mind.

But he readily holds you now, his arms circling around your waist, pulling you close with so much fervor that it feels more like a promise than a hug.

You stay entwined for as long as you see fit and then pull away, but V doesn’t let you go far; he hooks a slender finger beneath your chin and leans in close, finally lowering his mouth to yours.

It’s a wonderful blur that you barely remember. The pressure of his lips on your own causes your back to dip slightly, but he’s quick to steady you with an hand against the small of your back. He kisses you gently, deeply, as if the ground’s disappeared beneath his feet and you’re the only thing keeping him afloat; his knuckles turn pale where he grips your waist and your jaw, his lips flushed pink where they touch yours. You bring your hands to the sides of his neck, rising up on your tippy toes, thinking to yourself, this is entirely worth the wait.

Your pulse continues to pound a dizzying rhythm long after his lips have left yours. He nuzzles his forehead against your own, his lashes splayed softly against your skin.

“You have completely,” he says, “completely enamored me, Y/N. I’ve fallen for your kindness and purity, your stability and courage — I’ve fallen for you. And I’m so sorry that it took me this long to realize it.

“Even when I was thousands of miles away, you were with me. I heard your voice in the wind. I saw your face when I closed my eyes. I dreamt of you when I fell asleep.” His eyes swim. “I’ve longed for you for as long as I’ve known you, all two years and eleven days.”

You don’t even notice you’re crying until he brushes your tears away with caring hands.

“I love you, my angel. I’ve missed you so much.” His fingers tremble, but his voice remains steady. “And I’m ready to spend the rest of my life proving it to you, if only you’ll let me.”

You taste salt on your tongue where his tears have fallen, but you don’t care, tangling a hand in his hair and kissing him until he knows your answer.

Yes, yes, yes.

#jihyun x reader #jihyun x mc #jihyun kim x reader #v x reader #v x mc #mystic messenger #mystic messenger oneshots #mystic messenger imagines #mine

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chelsfic · 4 years ago

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I Think We Could Do It if We Tried - Guillermo x Nandor Fluffy One-shot

Summary: Guillermo comforts Nandor on his saddest night and revelations are made during bath time. (Takes place during S2 E2, Ghosts)

A/N: Some recovery fluff. P.S. I always associate this song with Nandermo thanks to this really sweet fancam.

Warnings: Fluff, Crack, First kiss, Yearning, Soft hours, Guillermo being compared to a horse, Nudity but no smut

---

"You know I'll do anything you ask me to But oh my God, I think I'm in love with you Standing here alone now, think that we can drive around I just wanna say how I love you with your hair down Baby, you don't got to fight, I'll be here til the end of time Wishing that you were mine, pull you in, it's alright" --"Sofia" by Clairo

Guillermo stands frozen in place, the phantom image of ghost Nandor and his steed still hangs in his field of vision like the imprint of a camera’s flash. His master looks stricken and utterly alone. He’s never seen him so vulnerable.

He approaches cautiously, ready for the cold rebuke that always comes whenever he attempts to connect with Nandor. Honestly, Guillermo doesn’t know why he keeps trying. He supposes it’s because every now and then, tonight for instance, the curtain parts and his master reveals a bit of the tender soul that he keeps so well guarded by bravado and arrogance.

“They’re at peace now, Master,” Guillermo says quietly, reaching out to pat Nandor’s arm.

Nandor is silent for a beat, his face tensed with emotion and anxiety. Finally, he turns to his familiar and speaks in a lost, trembling voice.

“Hug?”

Guillermo feels the breath rush out of his lungs and his lips curl into a quick, here-and-gone grin. He darts his eyes to the camera crew before looking back at Nandor and schooling his features into bland subservience.

“Of course, master,” he answers, opening his arms and calmly wrapping them around the hulking vampire, as if this isn’t a partial fulfillment of his most dearly held wish. “It’s alright, master.”

Eleven years of service. Nearly eleven years of pining and secretly loving his master. And this is the first time they’ve ever hugged. Nandor holds Guillermo tight to his chest, as if clinging to a life preserver. He buries his face into his familiar’s soft, sweater-clad shoulder and his breath hitches silently, tugging at the human’s heart strings. Guillermo’s face is squished into Nandor’s broad chest, his glasses are askew and a wide, blissed out smile spreads over his lips. He locks his hands together at the small of Nandor’s back and breathes in the earthy...slightly off scent of his master. Oh, right...the ectoplasm.

Guillermo doesn’t even care that his face is currently pressed up against dried ghost gloop. This is the best night of his life.

“Guillermo?” Nandor’s voice is still so small and fragile.

“Yes, master?”

“I’m covered in gunk. Will you draw me a bath?”

Oh.

Guillermo sits on the stool by the massive, claw foot tub, dipping a hand into the water to test the temperature. Hot but not scalding, just right for his sensitive master. He drops the glittery lavender bath bomb into the water and watches it fizz, releasing a pleasant, soothing aroma.

“Ready?” Nandor asks from the doorway. Guillermo turns to see his master standing there in his long, red silk robe. His hair is down, falling around his face in natural waves and drawing Guillermo’s eyes downward to the triangle of exposed chest hair at the robe’s open collar.

He takes a deep, steadying breath before answering, “Yes, master. I used the glitter bath bomb so you can look like Twilight after.”

Nandor grins and does a little happy two-step, “Yay! Good job, Guillermo!”

Guillermo’s heart swells at the praise and...just how adorable Nandor can be sometimes. This is how it happens. This is why he stays and cares for this man after years of neglect and disrespect.

Nandor steps forward and waits expectantly. No matter how many times they do this, Guillermo will never be immune to seeing his master entirely nude. His hands shake slightly as he reaches to untie the loose knot holding the robe in place. Nandor shrugs the thin material off his shoulders and Guillermo’s heart hammers as it falls into his hands. He turns away with a brilliant blush, folding the robe and setting it on top of the toilet, completely missing the way Nandor’s eyes follow him with a glint of amusement.

Nandor is still waiting next to the tub when Guillermo turns back around. His traitorous eyes roam up and down his master’s form. Nandor is impossibly tall and regal looking, even in the nude. His body is covered in a layer of soft, dark hair... his chest, his arms, his legs. If Guillermo looks close enough-- which, he has --there’s even a light layer of hair over the round globes of Nandor’s buttocks. Guillermo loves his master’s body. He loves that Nandor’s belly is soft and covered in a healthy layer of fat. He loves his thick, powerful thighs. He loves the broad expanse of his back and shoulders. Looking at Nandor, it’s easy to see him as the fierce, deadly warrior of his human life. Next to him Guillermo feels small and dull.

He walks over and takes Nandor’s hand, helping him balance as he steps into the water. Guillermo keeps his eyes carefully trained above the waist as Nandor sinks down into the steaming water. The vampire lets out a pleased sigh at the touch of the hot water on his cold skin.

“Shall I wash your hair first, master?” Guillermo asks, rolling up the sleeves of his white button down. His sweater is neatly folded with Nandor’s robe.

“That would be nice,” Nandor hums, his eyes closed in relaxation. He grimaces as he adds, “It’s all...sticky.”

Guillermo drags the stool over and picks up a bottle of shampoo.

“Do you wanna dunk for me?” He suggests. He watches as Nandor takes an unnecessary breath before dipping beneath the surface of the water, coming up a second later with his hair plastered to his head and his lips sputtering as he releases the air from his lungs.

Guillermo pours shampoo into his palm, lathering it up before sinking his fingers into Nandor’s hair and beginning the process of carefully massaging it through the long strands. Nandor groans and relaxes his neck, letting his familiar support his head in an act of casual trust that sends a tiny quiver through Guillermo’s soft heart. These quiet, intimate moments with his master are some of his most cherished memories. He purposely ignores how pathetic that makes him.

“Mmm,” Nandor groans, the sound doing uncomfortably fluttery things to Guillermo’s stomach. “That is very nice, Guillermo. You’re so gentle.”

Guillermo bites his lip and murmurs, “Thank you, master.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, Guillermo losing himself in the task of cleaning his master’s hair and Nandor falling into a trance under his human’s soft touch. The silence stretches until Nandor is disturbed by the sound of Guillermo trying to muffle a laugh.

“What’s so funny, Guillermo?” he prods, turning slightly and dumping water over the side of the tub and into Guillermo’s lap.

Guillermo’s used to being in the splash zone during Nandor’s baths and he barely reacts. Instead he gives in to his mirth and lets go of a clear little laugh that echoes oddly through the bathroom.

“Here, I’ll show you,” Guillermo answers, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone.

He opens the camera app and flips it to selfie mode, leaning down until his face is next to Nandor’s and holding the phone at arm’s length to snap a picture. He shows it to Nandor and the vampire guffaws. On the screen Guillermo’s thousand watt smile is contrasted with Nandor’s look of blank confusion. His soapy hair is sculpted into a loose, goopy mohawk on top of his head.

“You have given me the punk hawk hair!” Nandor crows, reaching up and gingerly feeling his hair. He lets his hands drop back down beneath the surface of the water and he doesn’t look at Guillermo as he continues, “Thank you for that, Guillermo. I...needed to laugh tonight.”

Guillermo’s chest constricts but before he can answer, Nandor plunges down under the water, rinsing the shampoo from his hair before resurfacing. He turns to face Guillermo, his skin and hair glinting from the glitter bath bomb, “Do I look like Twilight , Guillermo?”

Guillermo nods with a fond smile and Nandor misquotes, “ Say it, Guillermo. Loudly .”

Guillermo laughs, “ Vampire! ”

Nandor giggles as his familiar moves on to conditioning his hair.

“After all these years, a moving picture that finally is worthy of telling the tale of the vampires,” Nandor muses.

Guillermo’s hands pause in Nandor’s hair and he squints his eyes in profound confusion before deciding to let that one go. It’s silent again for a few moments before Nandor suddenly addresses him in a more formal tone, “Guillermo...I want to say something to you. To put you on your ease…”

“...Yes, master?” Guillermo asks with a healthy dose of trepidation lacing his voice.

“I do not wish for you to be concerned after hearing the tale of my horse, John, and his demise. You know...because I ate him? Just because I ate John does not mean that I will eat you, Guillermo. I’ve grown ...I’ve changed ...I’m not the same maniac who used to go around lighting peasants on fire for fun.”

“I know that--” Guillermo starts to say and then a record scratch sounds in his brain, “--wait, are you comparing me to your horse?”

Nandor shrugs and casts a disbelieving glare over his shoulder, “Yes? You should take it as a compliment, Guillermo! I loved John--”

Nandor’s mouth snaps shut at once but the words are already out there, lingering in the humid air between them. Guillermo’s hands go still in Nandor’s hair for a split second as his mind stutters and reboots. He can see Nandor’s shoulders tightening up and can just imagine the anxious grimace he’s most likely wearing as he awaits Guillermo’s reaction.

Guillermo starts working his fingers through his master’s hair once more, giving himself a moment to compose a response. He knows, by now, that Nandor will withdraw ten steps after moving forward one if Guillermo makes too big a deal out of this...almost confession.

He finishes lathering the conditioner and dips his hands into the water at his master’s back, rinsing them and coming away with glitter dusting his skin. He laughs, holding his hands up to Nandor and joking, “Look, master! I’m a vampire!”

Nandor’s shoulders relax and he grins in delight, “It is funny because, of course, you aren’t!”

Guillermo rolls his eyes, but the light fluttery feeling in his chest is there to stay. His master loves him. Maybe it’s not the same kind of love that Guillermo feels. Maybe Guillermo should really take a hard look at the fact that he’s gushing over being compared to a horse. But for now he’s going to hold onto this moment like a candle flame glowing in his chest. His master loves him .

Later, while Guillermo is helping him to towel dry, Nandor makes a seemingly off handed comment that causes Guillermo’s mouth to go dry.

“Guillermo,” Nandor’s gaze is caught on his familiar’s cheek and the streak of ectoplasm drying on his skin. “The bath is still warm. Why don’t you wash as well. It’s been a long night…”

“I…” the idea of bathing in the same water that has so recently engulfed his beloved master is...an overwhelming powerful thought. “Th-thank you, master. I will…”

Nandor nods, “Good...good. And, thank you, Guillermo. For helping me on my saddest night.”

Guillermo blushes, smiling up at Nandor with devotion shining from his brown eyes, “Of course, master. I’m always...I’ll always be here for you.”

A shadow passes over Nandor’s eyes at Guillermo’s words but he simply nods and turns to leave.

Once the door closes shut behind him Guillermo takes a huge breath, turning to look at the murky water in the bath with a thrill that feels absolutely filthy. He’s going to bathe in Nandor’s...essence. Maybe he’ll smell like him afterwards? He turns the tap, adding some hot water to warm the bath back up and discarding his clothes in a little heap in the corner. Once he’s undressed, he turns off the water and steps cautiously over the rim of the tub, mindful of the pools of water on the tile floor from Nandor’s splashing. He’s just sinking down with a contented sigh when the door flies open and Nandor reappears.

“I have forgotten my...nail trimmers!” Nandor announces loudly, grabbing the first item he lays eyes on from the vanity.

“Oh, um…” Guillermo’s face is red hot and he slips down even further into the water, somehow incredibly shy about his nakedness despite having just spent an hour carefully cleaning his naked master.

Nandor lingers in the doorway, letting cold air creep into the room and causing Guillermo to shiver.

“Could you--um--shut the door, please? You’re letting in a draft…” Guillermo mutters.

Nandor jumps and quickly slams the door shut with him still inside the bathroom. They stare at each other in dumb silence for a moment before Nandor finally clears his throat, his eyes darting all over the place but always returning to land on the little bit of his familiar’s exposed flesh he can see above the water line.

“Would you...I could...help you. With your hair. If you like…” the words are halting and awkward.

Guillermo is frozen, he dares not even take a breath lest he somehow shatter the moment. His mind supplies him with the line, Keep absolutely still...its vision’s based on movement…

“Sure,” he answers, his eyes sparkling with barely restrained glee. “That would be very nice of you, master.”

“Of course it would be,” Nandor scoffs, rolling his eyes and striding forward with purpose. “I’m being nice to you on purpose so you don’t worry about the whole me eating you thing, remember?”

Nandor plops down behind him and squirts about half the bottle of shampoo into his hand.

“Oh, right. Thank you, master. I’m glad you’re not going to eat me,” Guillermo barely registers his own words, he’s too overwrought with the way this evening is going. Never in his wildest--

“You’re welcome,” Nandor answers and then places his hand atop Guillermo’s head, dunking him unceremoniously under the water.

Guillermo emerges a couple seconds later, gasping and sputtering, grabbing his glasses off his face and wiping at his eyes.

“Could you, uh--?” Guillermo hands his dripping spectacles to Nandor and the vampire takes them with his free hand and lovingly deposits them onto the side of the sink.

Nandor begins to paw his hands over Guillermo’s head, roughly lathering the shampoo into his short curls and privately delighting in the feel of his familiar’s hair under his fingers. Guillermo holds still, nervous about how much the cloudy water is actually hiding from the vampire’s eyes. Nandor jerks his head roughly, scrubbing behind Guillermo’s ears and down the back of his neck as well.

“Uh--master? Could you try to be a little more gentle?”

Nandor’s hands freeze, hovering in the air over Guillermo’s head, “I have hurt you? I will be more careful…”

The fingers return to Guillermo’s hair, softly and slowly massaging his scalp. Guillermo sighs, “That’s much better, thank you.

Nandor hums in acknowledgment before remarking, “I think I was still thinking about my sweet John. I used to wash him like this. Of course...I could be much rougher with him. Because he was a horse…”

“Of course…” Guillermo murmurs, his eyes falling shut as he leans his head back into his master’s palms. “This is so nice…”

“Good, I’m glad,” Nandor replies. “You deserve it! So loyal. Making me feel better about eating my dead horse friend… You’re a good familiar, Guillermo…”

Nandor lapses into silence, but there’s a new quality to it. As if he’s leaving something unsaid. Guillermo doesn’t know how, but he senses Nandor’s hesitance as the vampire continues stroking his fingers carefully, lovingly through his hair.

“Master?” Guillermo ventures, heart in his throat. “Is there something else?”

Nandor sighs, “Only that...John died without ever knowing how I felt...I mean, he was a horse so probably he would not have understood, but still.”

“Oh…” Guillermo’s eyes drift up the ceiling and he compresses his lips into a thin line before asking, “What would you have said to him?”

“I’m going to dunk you again, Guillermo,” Nandor gives him a second’s warning this time before pressing down on his head. Once Guillermo comes back up for air, the vampire answers the question, “Well...I suppose I would have said...you know, something along the lines of how he was the very best horse in all of the land. And that I really appreciated everything he did for me even though sometimes it was hard for me to show it… And how… how sad I sometimes felt thinking about yo--John ever leaving me to go and let some other warrior ride around on him… And...you know, the stuff about loving him…”

Guillermo clears his throat, tears misting his eyes as he speaks, “W-wow, master. I’m sure--I’m sure John would have been very happy to hear you say those things. And...if he could talk he’d tell you that you never have to feel sad about him leaving you because he--he loves you, too.”

Nandor scrubs conditioner through Guillermo’s hair and is quiet for a while before sniffing loudly and scoffing, “Well...pretty stupid, if you think about it, Guillermo. If John could have talked he would have said something about how much he loved oats and maybe about wanting to make sex with the fillys.”

Guillermo sighs, and forces a laugh, “You’re right, master.”

When it comes time to drain the tub, Guillermo finds himself nervously reluctant.

“You don’t have to help me dry off, master. I can handle it,” he blushes awfully and hugs his legs to his chest as Nandor stands to grab a fresh towel from the rack.

“Please stand up, Guillermo. I am making a gesture, here,” Nandor answers, unperturbed.

That is, until his familiar finally stands. Guillermo’s skin is hot and flushed from the bath. He’s studded liberally with sparkles from the bath bomb and Nandor’s eyes are drawn in at once. The familiar wraps his arms around himself, awkwardly trying to hide from his master’s seeking gaze. But Nandor steps forward and grabs Guillermo’s arms, pulling them out and away from his body so that he can look. Guillermo is perfectly soft, his body is all curves from the slope of his shoulders to his round belly and the wide, generous width of his hips. Nandor, feeling none of Guillermo’s shyness or reluctance, greedily drinks in the sight of the nest of curls between Guillermo’s legs and the soft, smooth length of his penis. His lips part to bare his fangs and his eyes light with hunger.

“Um...I’ll just…” Guillermo starts to scramble up and out of the tub and Nandor’s stupor is interrupted.

He tightens his hold on his familiar’s arms to stabilize him.

“Watch out for the slippy bits, Guillermo!” Nandor cautions. “Colin Robinson says most human deaths in your age range are due to accidents. I don’t want you to slip and snap your neck on the floor. Very inconvenient for me.”

Guillermo is silent, he doesn’t really have the brain function to answer at this point. He’s never been so exposed in front of Nandor before and while part of him recognizes the obvious interest on his master’s face, another part of him is deeply self-conscious and pretty certain that Nandor is just thinking about biting him.

Nandor begins toweling him off, and Guillermo tells himself that his master is certainly not letting his touch linger longer than necessary. This is just...a gesture. Once Guillermo is adequately dry, he takes the towel from Nandor and ties it around his waist with a sigh of relief. This is all...a lot.

“Thank you, master,” Guillermo finally says, preparing himself to be dismissed now that the moment is ending.

Nandor reaches over to the sink, plucking up Guillermo’s glasses and unfolding the arms, gently placing them on his familiar’s face with a little smile.

“You’re welcome, Guillermo. And… what I said about John?” Nandor sounds uncertain, hesitant. “About appreciating him and...other things...”

“Yes?” Guillermo asks, slightly breathless.

“I really meant it.”

Nandor steps forward and all at once he’s pulling Guillermo into his arms, stooping down and pressing his cool lips to his familiar’s warm, soft mouth. Guillermo squeaks in surprise, snapping his eyes shut and grabbing the flimsy silk fabric of Nandor’s robe as the vampire moves his lips over his, licking and suckling until Guillermo’s lips finally part, admitting his probing tongue. Nandor growls low in his chest, reaching one hand up to bury his fingers in Guillermo’s wet curls and letting the other rest over the small of his back.

Kissing. Guillermo is kissing Nandor. Nandor is kissing Guillermo! In one night he’s gone from hugging for the very first time to being held in his master’s arms and thoroughly, passionately, deliciously kissed. When Nandor’s lips fall away from his, Guillermo takes the opportunity to gulp air into his lungs. His master leans his forehead against his, holding him in place for a moment as they breathe each other’s air.

Finally, Nandor draws back, letting his hands fall away and asking, in a small voice, “Will you come tuck me into my coffin, Guillermo?”

Guillermo blinks, swallowing down the thousand and one questions currently crowding his brain. One step forward...please please please...no more steps back.

“Of course, master,” Guillermo answers. “I’ll always tuck you in at night. You know that.”

Nandor smiles, shyly locking eyes with Guillermo as he places his larger hand in his, pulling him along behind him on the way to his crypt.

Yeah... Guillermo muses with a dopey grin on his face as they pass by a gawping Laszlo in the hallway. Best night of my life.

#nandor x guillermo #guillermo x nandor #nandermo #wwdits fanfic #wwdits #fluff

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thewalkingfanfictions · 5 years ago

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Impromptu Cuddles

"Imagine having to share a bed with Spencer during a case, only to wake up in his arms."

~IMPROMPTU CUDDLES~

Part One // Part Two // Part Three

Description: During a case, Spencer and the reader are forced to share a room with only one bed. Cute fluffy shit happens.

⚠Warning⚠: Mentions of a really bloody case, probably some cuss words. Unless repressed romantic feelings are a problem for you, then nothing else, I don't think.

Genre: fluffy fluff with a tiny bit of angst if you squint your eyes and tilt your head exactly fourteen degrees to the left.

Pairing: Dr. Spencer Reid (Criminal Minds) x non gender specific Reader

A/N: guys, this was supposed to be a one shot, and somehow it turned into nearly seven thousand words. How. I don't even know where I was three quarters of the time, but I love it anyway. I'm breaking it into two or three parts so it'll be easier to read, enjoy! (Also, not my picture, credit to whoever made it :))

Words without A/N: 2006

Masterlist

<—————————————>

"Alright, team, let's head back and get some shut eye," Agent Hotchner sighed in defeat.

We had just found the fifth body. This one just a little boy, barely five years old. The unsub had been on a non-stop murder spree for the last week and a half, and he didn't seem to have a preference point for his victims.

Nobody was safe from this monster. His first victim had been an elderly Nigerian lady, and his second was a body builder from California. He was just killing whoever, or whatever he could get his hands on. Not just humans was he after. We'd found carcasses of dogs and cats, all the way up to cows decorating his path like some messed up Hansel and Grettle bread trail. All with the same or similar COD.

We had been following his path of carnage all around North America and we still couldn't get a lead. Most of us hadn't slept in over forty-eight hours and none of us were in any position to keep working. So Hotch finally decided to step in and get us one night to rest so we could be in tip top shape for the next days of continued hunting. Or, closer to that than we were now, at least.

Right now we were in some little rag-tag town called Prairie, or something of the like. We'd been to so many places in the last week they had all started to blend together.

"The only Hotel I could find on such short notice is a little place called the 'Budget 8 Motel', they've got eight rooms currently open each with either a medium or a twin sized bed. They've got a point six five star rating and do not provide breakfasts, but do have small kitchenettes in the rooms themselves. Oh– fascinating, did you know that the origin of the star rating scale didn't come into prospect by motel owners until well into the-"

"Spence... we got it."

"Oh yeah, yeah, sorry..." Why do people always cut him off like that? Personally I find his rambling to be absolutely adorable. So what he has verbal diarrhea at times, it was better than swallowing all of his feelings and thoughts and letting them eat him from the inside like the rest of the team did. And I almost always learned something new every time. It was good information to know none the less.

I swear the entire ride I could feel his eyes on me. Every once in a while I would glance up at him out of the corner of my eye and catch him quickly looking in some other random direction.

All of us (except Rossi, who would be meeting us at the hotel) had been crammed into one of the suburbans, and with seven people, it was a squeeze.

Hotch was in the drivers seat with a pregnant JJ in the passengers, which meant that the other four of us had to squish ourselves into the three seated back seat. Morgan was up against the window on the right side with Emily pushed so hard up against him that she was practically in his lap. Then was poor Spencer who, despite his dislike of touching people, was trying his hardest not to be shoving Emily any harder into Morgan, which in turn meant he was heavily pushed against me. He was trying so hard not to squish either of us that he was practically folding himself into a profiler taco.

We soon pulled into the car park of the little Inn. If the inside looked anything like it did on the out, we were in for some fun. Heavy sarcasm intended.

It was already dark out and the one street light that decorated the car park was incredibly dull, and flickering dangerously. There were four other vehicles parked around the place, each more menacing looking than the last. The large rectangle garbage bin was overflowing onto the cement and the smell was absolutely rancid. We hadn't even gotten out of the vehicle yet. We all just sat there for a moment staring at it. Tonight was going to be fun...

"Alright," Derek clapped his hands, "I'll go in and get us our keys. Be back in a sec." He opened the door and spilled out of it rather unceremoniously, pausing before walking stiff legged towards the door.

"Finally, some room to breath!" Cooed Emily as she scooted over into Morgans previous sitting space, giving some wiggle room to Spencer and I.

I sighed heavily and flopped back against the seat, closing my eyes and counting the seconds until I could go curl up in a ball and sleep. What I hadn't realized, was that I had fallen asleep right there.

I was awoken by a quiet voice speaking in my fac, and soft warmth across my top.

"Hey, (name), come on its time to get up, you can sleep once we get to the room," a soft voice hushed.

Sighing, I opened my eyes to find Spencer's face above mine, one of his hands on my shoulder gently shaking me back to life. Glancing down i noticed a jacket layed over me like a blanket, how had that gotten there? I grumbled slightly but didn't object as he helped me from the back seat and to the ground. He helped me gain my bearings as we walked towards the office, filling me in that everybody else was already in there talking to the guy behind the desk, Rossi had shown up, and there had been some complication with the rooms that he had only just caught wind of as he was leaving to come wake me up.

It was unbelievably cold, I watched out of the corner of my eye as Spencer shivered slightly, but when I tried to hand him back what I quickly realized to be his jacket, he waved a dismissive hand and laid the jacket over my shoulders. I sent him a thankful smile and listened to him talk, just kind of humming along, not really paying attention to his words, just listening to the sound of his voice.

We entered the office and we both automatically went quiet, listening to what was transpiring between the office manager and the team.

"And you're sure there's no other rooms? Or at least some with double beds?" Came the deeper voice of Morgan

"Nope, sorry, all full," this voice was higher pitched, but still distinctly masculine. It held boredom and irritation.

"I don't think you realize, we are federal agents, we've been chasing a psycotic serial killer for the last week and a half, and we are all very tired. So I'll ask you again. Are you absolutely certain that there are no more rooms available?" That had to be JJ. And she sounded homicidal.

"I... I'm so-rry miss but... there.. There's no ex-tra rooms, I'm sorry..." She scared him into stuttering! If I didn't feel like I was about to pass out I probably would have laughed!

"You guys'll just have to... have to double up?"

Spencer and I looked at each other over their conversation questionably. Finally walking into the room, we were greeted by the sight of a very angry looking JJ, an Emily who looked like she could pass out right then and there, three agitated and exasperated BAU operatives and a tall chubby kid who couldn't have been more than fifteen, who looked like he was about to piss himself.

"What's going on?" I asked in a groggy voice that honestly didn't even sound like mine to me.

"Turns out there is only half as many rooms as we thought were open so, yay, we all get to bunk up!" Morgan said sarcastically in a very humorless tone.

''But there was eight. Who gets to be partnerless?" Asked Spencer, who hadn't left my side since we came into the place.

Of course, we all already knew the answer to that one.

Hotch was the boss, and he had been working quadruple time trying to catch this prick, I'm positive that he hadn't slept in at least three days, if not more, and by the look of his disheveled state—one of which he rarely ever showed—he probably hadn't.

Nobody bothered to say any of it, though, all silently agreeing on it.

At some point during our telepathic conversation I had started leaning on Spencer, needing all the help I could get to keep from falling over. And, to my surprise, he didn't get all awkward and huffy. He actually turned slightly so that I was leaning more against his side than his shoulder, trying to make everything a bit more comfortable. Once I actually realized what I was doing I straightened up some and mumbled slightly through a yawn,

"Mmsorrymmm," when I looked back over at him to see if I had made him uncomfortable, he almost looked upset. Oh, I had been making him uncomfortable, but he is so warm I kinda wanted to lean into him again. I bit the inside of my cheek slightly, trying to keep from doing exactly that.

I barely had the energy to lift my head up from staring at the floor. When I heard the tail end of Rossi and the kid behind the counters conversation, I internally groaned. Our rooms were on the second floor, and they didn't have an elevator. I sighed and slowly began trudging after the waddling JJ. Slowly we climbed up the stairs, the thought of a warm bed gave me a bit of a second wind after a while though. Climbing a bit faster Morgan and I were the first to reach our doors.

We both stood there a moment looking at our surroundings. Everything, and I mean everything was decorated with an unhealthy layer of graffiti, dulled slightly by the thick layer of dust that coated it all too. The smell of mold and the other dark things that hid in the crevices of the walls was almost suffocating. This was really the only place open?

Hotch and Rossi and the rest arrived at the top whilst we were looking. They seemed almost as disturbed as Morgan and I were. While the others stopped in front if us, Aaron kept walking, picking a seemingly random room and calling out a half hearted "g'night" over his shoulder as he closed the door behind him.

"Let's decide this now so I can go to sleep," Morgan spoke. His voice groggy with sleep and sounding almost irritated. "Who's sleeping where and in what room." His question had sounded more like a demand, and when Spencer stepped forward, obviously thinking it would be he to stay with in the room with Morgan, Derek quickly looked over to Rossi who was leaned up against the wall. "I call you," he demanded and headed off to a random room.

Spencer almost looked hurt. But when JJ and Emily went off to their room and it was just us two left, his features lifted slightly. Then tightened down into nervousness.

"Guess its us then," I mumbled, already aiming for the door to the room that Spence and I would be sharing. I heard him mumble something inaudible back and follow after me.

I twisted the key in the doors lock and shoved against the door with my shoulder. I stumbled inside and went straight towards the little bed in the corner of the room. The room was one of those two room things that had the living room, bedroom, and kitchen all in one and the bathroom out to the side somewhere.

The bed was an oddity in itself. It looked to be something like a hybrid between a twin size and the next size up. Just a bit bigger that a twin, and it looked older than I am. I was right. The inside of the building did match nearly perfectly with our first view of the place from the car park.

#Spencer Reid #Spencer x Reader #Bed Sharing AU #Fluff #Spencer being the adorable bean he is #Cuddling #Spencer Reid x Reader fluff #Spencer Reid x Reader Cuddling #Spencer Reid x Reader Bed Sharing AU #I swear #This was supposed to be a oneshot guys #Its over seven thousand words now #What happened #Impromptu cuddles #impromptu cuddles part one

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imastrangeone98 · 4 years ago

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Chapter 1: The Commission

(A/N: yay here we are! Off to the canon races! Here's hoping I don't die like I usually do XD)

I honestly don't know if this gonna become a shitty series (I'm working on one rn and it is backbreaking work XD) but just in case I'm calling it chapters instead of one shots like before. Depending on how long it goes (not that long hopefully) I might make a separate masterlist for it

"I can bring you in warm... or I can bring you in cold."

[The Desert Planet of Nevarro]

"That Mythrol was overkill," Kyla murmured to the Mandalorian, watching his hands grip the controls tightly.

"Just business," he replied matter-of-factly. His helmet tilted towards her, a clear indication that he was listening.

A small huff escaped her nose, but she decided to let it slide. "Once we reach Nevarro, I'm going to check out the market. We need more supplies."

"No. Come with me."

"To meet Karga?" she asked in disbelief. "I thought you made it clear that only you interacted with him."

"Not today," he responded, his gloved fingers pressing on buttons as the Crest prepared to land. "I have a hunch."

"Ah, yes. You and your hunches," she teased, patting the top of his helmet. "Alright. Let me get ready, and we'll go."

"Don't take too long."

"I know."

She was unaware that as she descended to the cargo hold, Din's eyes followed her every movement.

[...]

The cantina was filthy, and so were its many patrons. Their eyes lingered on the Mandalorian, briefly studying the small medic that walked behind him only to look away after a sharp helmet turn in their direction.

Hatred. Annoyance. Jealousy. All of these and more were the only words that could really describe the members of the Bounty Hunters Guild.

Except Greef Karga, who watched the duo with a sense of grudging respect. "Ah. That was fast. Did you catch them all?"

He wordlessly set the many tracking fobs on the table.

"Good. I'll begin the offload." After giving out a quick order in Huttese and Kyla a quick- and slightly confusing- once-over, he gestured for them to sit.

Mando motioned for his partner to sit first, then mechanically unclipped his pulse rifle from his shoulder and sat.

"Well, now. Who's this fine lady you brought here today, my friend?" the agent asked, eyeing her once more with heightened interest. "A new recruit, perhaps? Or are you just showing off a plaything?"

The Mandalorian said nothing, but the way his hand sneakily crept onto her thigh and squeezed it tight was all she needed to know his feelings on the matter.

"...Well, seeing that you aren't responding, I'll just assume you brought her for reasons I cannot comprehend." And with that topic officially tabled, he slid a small pile of credits over to them.

Kyla was about to reach for them when he gave her thigh another harsh squeeze. No.

"These are Imperial Credits," her partner said coldly.

"They still spend," the agent replied.

"I don't know if you heard, but the Empire is gone."

He shrugged. "It's all I've got."

Mando made to grab the tracking fobs, but was quickly stopped by the agent's hand.

"Save the theatrics," he muttered before releasing a harsh sigh. "Fine, I'll..." Reaching into his pocket, he brought out another small handful of units. "I can do Calamari Flan, but I can only pay half."

Kyla could see the gears turning in the bounty hunter's mind. Finally, his head tilted- he came to a decision. "Fine."

He placed the fobs back on the table and scooped up the payment, passing it over to the medic, who began her usual process of counting.

"Now. I imagine you'll be asking about your next job." He pulled out a few pucks from his bag with a hum. "I have a bail jumper..."

A small tap at her inner thigh nearly forced a gasp from her throat. Nearly.

"A bail jumper..."

Mando was bored. She could tell by the way his taps turned into small, affectionate rubs over her pulse.

"Another bail jumper... a wanted smuggler-"

"I'll take them all." Mando reached for the discs, only to get suddenly cut off.

"Now, hold on. There are other members of the Guild, and this is all I have."

"Why so slow?" he asked, with a hint of annoyance lacing his already icy tone.

"It's not slow at all, actually. Very busy. They just don't want to pay Guild rates." With a roll of his eyes, he added, "They don't mind if things get sloppy."

After briefly getting distracted in stroking Kyla's leg a pause, Mando asked, "What's your highest bounty?"

He sighed. "Not much. Five thousand."

"That won't even cover fuel, these days."

"Or medicine," the female muttered under her breath. "Bacta prices keep going up."

Karga hummed once more, before slowly leaning towards them. "There is one job."

Kyla shivered. Her gut told her that something was about to go down.

Mando seemed to have noticed it too. "Let's see the puck."

"No puck," the agent replied. "Face to face. Direct commission. Deep pocket."

She looked at the man with a slight frown. "Is it underworld?"

"All I know is, no chain code." Out of his pocket, he pulled out a chit card and offered it to the bounty hunter. "Do you want the chit or not?"

[...]

"I don't like this," Kyla finally said as they stepped out of the cantina. "I can tell that it's underworld. Maker knows if it's..." A shiver ran down her spine. "Former Empire."

Mando watched his partner through the visor of his helmet. He had enough sense to trust in her instincts. "Should we turn it down, then?"

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Normally, I would be selfish and say yes. But..." She patted her pockets for the credit bag she always carried, and showed it to him. "We're running low. On medicine, food, and money."

"Then I'll head there on my own." He raised his hand as if to touch her, then quickly lowered it. They were in public. "Will you be at the markets, then?"

Another sigh escaped her chest. "Yes. Hopefully I can still bargain with some of them."

"Okay." His helmet was trained on her. For some reason, he seemed very... hyper focused. "I'll be going down later today. Meet me there."

Her eyes widened. "You want me to... Are you sure? From what you told me, an outsider doesn't belong there."

"You're with me. I trust you."

Her cheeks flared with heat; she hoped that he didn't notice. He did. "Okay."

Once again, his hand was raised, only for it to drop to his side. "Good." And with a nod, he slipped into the crowd.

She watched his helmet until the familiar shine flickered out of sight, his words still bouncing around inside her mind.

I trust you.

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

A/N: thank god no one reads my Mando works anymore cuz then they would have to deal with my bullshit XD

Edit: read chapter 2! ^^

#the mandalorian #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x oc #din djarin x reader #din djarin x oc #bebeh yoda is coming soon!

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ladylillianrose · 4 years ago

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Sorry, I Was Staring At Your Coconuts a Max Richman/Zoey Clarke Fanfiction

Summary: Things heat up at the SPRQ Point Summer Luau!

A/N: Yay Summer Gift Exchange!! The prompt I chose was "If you think I’m going to talk to you while you're dressed like that, you're wrong." GHOST_IN_A_GIRLS_BODY I hope you enjoy this bit of humorous fluff for our favorite couple!

As always a huge thank you to my beta AubreyRichman, without whom there would be significantly fewer commas!

Oh, and the song used is "Kiss the Girl" from The Little Mermaid (Watch here https://youtu.be/TrRbB-qUJfY) y'all can thank TheAuthor44 for getting it stuck in my head and therefore working its way into the fic!

AO3

Zoey got out of the car and glanced at Danny Michael Davis' large beach house. It sounded like the party was in full swing already if the loud music and number of cars parked in the driveway were any indication. She reached the door just as it was flung open to reveal Tobin wearing one of the most garish Hawaiian shirts she had ever seen and….was that a hula skirt?

"Yo, Z Dog! You made it!" Tobin gestured for her to follow him inside.

Zoey nodded at his attire, "Nice outfit."

Tobin grinned, "Hey, just getting into the luau spirit. Speaking of," he grabbed a lei from a nearby table and put it over her head. "Hmmm still missing something…." He snapped his fingers, "Got it!" He plucked a hibiscus flower from a vase and placed it behind her ear. "Now you're ready to party!"

Zoey chuckled, Tobin's enthusiasm was infectious. "Have you seen Max around?" she asked, as they walked further into the house.

"He was hanging out by the bar outside, last time I saw him."

She nodded her thanks and headed towards the backyard. It seemed like outside was where most everyone had congregated. She nodded in greeting as she recognized a few people from around the office. She walked over to the bar but didn't see Max anywhere nearby.

"What can I get you?" the bartender asked.

"She'll have a pina colada. Oh and make sure it gets one of those little umbrella thingies," a voice said from behind her. Zoey glanced over her shoulder to see Max.

"I was wondering where you were," Zoey nodded her thanks as the bartender handed her the drink, little umbrella, and all.

She turned to fully face Max and nearly choked on her drink. "What on earth are you wearing?!"

Max was dressed in a grass skirt over his swim trunks, a coconut bra sans shirt, and a flower crown perched on his head.

"If you think I’m going to talk to you while you're dressed like that, you're wrong," Zoey laughed as she took another drink.

"It's the flower crown, isn't it? I thought it might be a tad too much," he admitted.

Zoey snorted, "Yeah Max, the flower crown is what tips it over the edge."

"Well, I know it's not the rest of the outfit cause I am rocking it!" Max exclaimed.

Zoey felt her gaze slide down to his chest, distracted by the muscles she saw behind the coconuts. She had to admit Max did look rather hot…. Wait what? Shut up brain!

"Um, Zo, you okay?"

"Huh? Sorry, I was staring at your....coconuts...." Zoey turned bright red and quickly downed the rest of her drink. What is wrong with you? That's it, no more pina coladas for you!

Max laughed, "Come on, let's go check out the bonfire." He grabbed her hand and eagerly pulled Zoey towards the beach.

"Oh cause alcohol and fire are always a great combination, " Zoey mumbled as she followed him.

________________________________________________________________

Zoey had to admit she was having more fun than she had expected. Though most of that was due to the man next to her who was tipsily attempting to fix his coconut bra that had somehow gotten untied.

"Zoey….help…." Max pouted. Shaking her head she moved behind him and tied the strings for him.

"All good?" he turned around and she saw that it was slightly askew. Without thinking she reached out to fix it, her fingers brushing along his chest as she did. His breath hitched as her fingers stilled. She swallowed, resisting the urge to run her hands along the rest of his chest.

Clearing her throat, she stepped back slightly, "All good." Her fingers still tingled from the heat of his bare skin against hers.

Max opened his mouth to respond when they were interrupted by Tobin.

"There you guys are!"

"You were looking for us?" Zoey raised her eyebrows at him.

"Obviously! We're all taking team pictures at the photo booth. Joan said something about proving to Ava that she has the better team," he shrugged.

"And somehow a picture is going to prove that?" she asked.

"Dude, don't ask me, I'm just following orders."

Zoey looked at Max and they both shrugged, Joan could be a puzzle sometimes. They followed Tobin back towards the house.

"Found the lovebirds," he loudly announced.

Zoey and Max flushed and glared at him.

"Okay, let's get this over with people. And remember we're having fun, so everyone had better smile. Glenn, I'm looking at you, don't screw this up," Joan ordered.

After a few tries, they managed to get enough decent shots to please Joan.

"Alright people, go back to whatever it was you were doing before," she dismissed them with a wave and they all quickly scattered.

"We should take some pictures," Max suggested with a grin.

Zoey laughed, "Sure, why not. I'm sure Mom will get a kick out of them."

They did a few silly poses, laughing the whole time as they each tried to look more ridiculous than the other.

"Okay, now just one serious one," Max said, his eyes shining with laughter.

Zoey nodded and moved to stand next to him.

"Wait," Max said, turning her towards him. He reached to adjust her flower that had come loose with their antics. Zoey held her breath as she felt his fingers lightly brushed through her hair. She unconsciously leaned her body towards him as her eyes fluttered closed.

The flash of the camera went off, shattering the moment. Zoey quickly opened her eyes and moved to where their photos were printing. She felt Max come up behind her. "I hope they don't turn out blurry….I hate when they are blurry or my eyes are closed….then it just seems like a waste of a picture…" she nervously rambled, trying to distract herself from how close she had come to almost kissing Max.

"Zoey…" Max started.

"Oh look, they're done!" she grabbed the prints over eagerly.

Her eyes drifted to the last picture, afraid of what she might see. If a picture was usually worth a thousand words this was worth at least ten thousand. Picture Zoey had her eyes closed and was leaning towards Max, who's hand was hovering next to her cheek as he too leaned forward.

Her eyes darted to his and back to the photo. Had he also wanted to kiss her?

"Max, I…."

She was interrupted as Tobin began loudly singing to them.

Sha-la-la-la-la-la

Don’t be scared

You got the mood prepared

Go on and kiss the girl

Sha-la-la-la-la-la

A few people turned to stare at Tobin as he sang to the couple.

Don’t stop now

Don’t try to hide it how

You wanna kiss the girl

Sha-la-la-la-la-la

Float along

Listen to the song

The song say kiss the girl

Sha-la-la-la-la-la

Music play

Do what the music say

You wanna kiss the girl

You’ve got to kiss the girl

Why don’t you kiss the girl

You gotta kiss the girl

Go on and kiss the girl

Zoey glared at him and started to walk towards him when Max pulled her into his arms capturing her lips in a kiss.

All thoughts of anger disappeared as she lost herself in the feel of Max's lips against hers.

They broke apart panting heavily, as Tobin and everyone nearby began cheering.

Zoey rolled her eyes, "How about we take this somewhere without an audience?"

Max grinned and nodded. "Oh wait," he reached to take off the grass skirt when Zoey's hand stopped him.

"Bring it with us," she murmured.

Max chuckled, "And you said you wouldn't talk to me while I was wearing this."

Zoey's eyes gleamed wickedly, "Who said anything about talking?"

#clarkeman #clarkeman fanfiction #max x zoey #Zoey x Max #max x zoey fanfiction #zoey x max fanfiction #max richman #zoey clarke #Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist #zoey's extraordinary playlist fanfiction #ZoeysPlaylist #Zoeysplaylist fanfiction #Zoeys playlist fanfiction #zoeys playlist #fanfiction #Sorry I Was Staring At Your Coconuts

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adverb-slut · 4 years ago

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To Be Human (Fanfiction) Part 5/?

This took ... way longer than expected due to my sheer laziness. Thank you for your patience! Also, here is the link to this chapter on AO3. (Also yay, I finally remembered to include a Michael and Lucifer Celestial Realm flashback!)

Title:

To Be Human

Summary:

When a mysterious force attacks the Devildom and destroys it, the brothers are forced to turn to their Father in the Celestial Realm for answers and assistance. However, the Almighty is still miffed at the seven due to their involvement in the Great Celestial War, and sends them to seek asylum in the one place they have yet to make their mark—the Human World.

Without the help of their beloved MC, the brothers must learn to assimilate into this strange new world, all while trying to figure out who is responsible for the destruction of the Devildom and take back their home.

Rating:

Word Count:

4195

Previous Chapter:

Read Chapter 4 here!

Lucifer adjusted his halo, which floated almost ominously over his head. Halos were considered part of the angels’ “formal attire,” but considering Lucifer was constantly in the presence of Father, wearing something so ceremonial for his work attire seemed appropriate.

“Michael, are you nearly ready?” he called, his voice reverberating through the House of Great Elation. “You know Father doesn’t like it if I’m late.”

He checked the ornate gold grandfather clock that was situated at the edge of one of the many parlors in their home.

It was almost fifteen minutes until eight, and in that time, he and Michael had to walk to Simeon and Uriel’s home—Perfection Hall—and drop off the infant Luke on their way to their Father’s Palace, where Lucifer worked. After that, Michael would meander his way to the Celestial Realm barracks, where he led Father’s legions as their Major General.

“I’m here, I’m here,” Michael panted, running down the grand staircase which connected to his wing of the house. He supported Luke, who was thrown over his shoulder with one hand, and in the other, he held his Sword of the Spirit.

Lucifer cringed when he noticed that the rest of the Angel of Destruction’s Armor of God had been strapped on haphazardly — tightened and loosened at ill-fitting places, but he sighed when he remembered that all the soldiers under him were far too terrified of their Major General to ever point it out.

He nodded at Michael. “Let’s go, then. Step lively—we’ll be late, otherwise.”

The pair walked silently down the bustling streets of the Celestial Realm, which, sad to say, became infinitely less bustling when they saw Michael. In fact, sometimes Lucifer wondered if his Father had gotten His idea of parting the Red Sea for the Israelites from seeing the wide berth that the other angels gave toward the Angel of Destruction.

Lucifer hated to say that he—and Michael—were used to this. Used to the stares, the whispers, the glares, the hushed scathing remarks.

Even Luke cooed uneasily.

“He destroys everything he touches!”

“Love the guy, but you can’t keep him around. The man carries an aura of destruction.”

“So powerful, but at what cost?”

“Who does he think he’s fooling with that puppy-dog attitude?”

“Why do we even need an Angel of Destruction, anyway? He’s just a menace.”

The words were a dagger, dull but piercing, toward the happy-go-lucky Michael, who had but nothing but love and friendship to offer his fellow celestial beings.

Lucifer heaved a sour breath as he and Michael made their way toward Perfection Hall.

If it wasn’t for him and the Archangels, Michael would’ve been all alone.

Or worse—ran out of the Celestial Realm.

Mammon bit his lip as the static-laden voice boomed through the landline base. He hadn’t been asked to study the Bible or any ancient history regarding it since his stint at the Celestial Realm. The only thing about King Solomon that he remembered from back then was that he was incredibly wealthy, and Mammon had always reveled in calculating how much the king’s possessions were worth—the sheer magnitude of the value never ceased to amaze him.

However, he also did remember something about King Solomon being the “wisest man to ever live.” His heralded wisdom, supposedly, had come to him through a dream from God, Who had promised Solomon anything in the world. Instead of choosing riches and wealth, the king had chosen wisdom. Pleased with his request, God granted him not only the wisdom that he had requested but worldly pleasures as well, such as insurmountable wealth and power.

… Why in the world would such a blessed and influential man pose as a menial exchange student and interact with demons thousands of years later?

Mammon lost his train of thought when Lucifer walked closer to the speakerphone and bellowed, “It is us.”

There was silence on the other end and the other five brothers exchanged glances—partially due to Lucifer’s vague response and partially because of the aforementioned quietness.

Suddenly, a crackle came through the speaker and Solomon said, “Ah, I see; unfortunately, that doesn’t aid me in discerning your identity, and as I’ve a great deal of powerful enemies, I think I will have to say goodb—”

“Solomon, it’s me! Asmo!” the fifthborn chirped. He raised an eyebrow at Lucifer, who sighed in surrender and stepped away from the phone.

From the speaker came an audible gasp. “Asmo! It’s been a long time.” Another crackle. “I suppose that that was Lucifer just now?”

Mammon snickered and called, “That was him, alright.”

“I see! Pardon me for asking, but why are you calling from this unknown number? I believe I have your D.D.D contact saved still.”

“Long story,” chimed in Leviathan. “We’re in the Human World now ‘cause we think someone’s out to get us in the Devildom.”

Satan nodded. “And we’re using this primitive human technology called a ‘landline’ to reach you, as we’ve yet to be provided with mobile devices.”

Something crashed on Solomon’s end, and Mammon wagered that he must have dropped his phone in shock. A moment later, the sorcerer’s voice returned. “Did I hear that right? You seven are in the Human World?”

“Yes, we are. We called you because we have some questions.” Beel walked forward so that he was standing directly in front of the speaker. “What are the best restaurants up here?”

A confused mumble came from Solomon, before he answered, “Uh, well—”

“You can hold off on answering that one, for now, Solomon,” interrupted Lucifer, shaking his head at Beel. “Rather, we figure you can help us solve a different problem of ours.”

“And that would be?”

Lucifer took a deep breath, and Mammon had to admit that he’d never seen his elder brother look so stressed. He was surprised that Asmo hadn’t scolded him over the wrinkle that was beginning to form between his brows. “Diavolo and the Devildom are in trouble, and someone has stolen information regarding the culprit behind this entire ordeal from my Father’s omniscience. Without it, we cannot find Diavolo or discern who is behind this. You have ties to many demons, not to mention are a sorcerer—”

“And the primordial King of Israel! Did you ever plan on telling me that? I think I should know if I have a pact with someone as glamorous as royalty!” huffed Asmodeus.

Solomon let out an amused hum. “Oh, so you figured that out, did you? Did Simeon tell you?”

“Apparently he’s the one who set your contact into our phone under the name ‘his Imperial Majesty, King Solomon of Israel,’ so kinda, yeah,” Mammon said.

“Mind explaining how you’re some kind of immortal king?” demanded Belphie. “Last time I checked, humans don’t live for very long.”

The sorcerer laughed. “I suppose you know that I once asked God for wisdom in a dream, and as soon as I had it, all kinds of arcane knowledge regarding sorcery and magic, demons and angels, was opened up to me, and from there I learned about demon pacts. One time I pledged my life to a demon—my soul for immortality.”

Satan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “If I’m following you correctly, wouldn’t that have to mean that you sold your soul rather early in your life to look as youthful as you do now? Unless … you also managed to change your appearance entirely?”

“Nice catch, Satan,” mused Solomon. “Actually, yes, it was quite early in my reign that I began to dabble in the dark arts and sell my soul, and yes, my immortality does prevent me from physically aging. Ah, wait, that’s not entirely true—my hair is the only thing that continues to age, which is the reason as to why it’s as white as it is.”

“I really feel as if I ought to have been made aware of this!” grumbled Asmo.

Mammon put a hand to his cheek pensively, as the fifthborn continued to bemoan the massive injustice that had been done to him through this secret. Something didn’t seem right about Solomon’s story. As far as he was concerned, his Father wasn’t a fan of demons—that much He had made very clear—and there was no way that a person who consorted with them to the degree that Solomon supposedly had in the past would be remembered honorably in the Bible.

But that wasn’t the case. If he was remembering correctly, God had nothing but praises to sing of Solomon, and save for his singular mistake of having his heart led astray by his unholy number of wives, the king was revered and respected in biblical history. He even had penned several books of the Bible, displaying his wisdom and knowledge.

That certainly didn’t line up with the current Solomon’s tale of occult dealings.

Mammon shot Lucifer a look, and the firstborn nodded. It appeared that he had made the same observation. He stepped forward.

“Solomon, do you really expect us to believe that someone as perverse as you claim to be could be remembered so admirably in the Bible? The words written in there echo Father’s thoughts verbatim, and there is no way that someone as obsessed with purity and light as He is could approve of your dark actions,” inquired Lucifer with a raised eyebrow.

Solomon chuckled in amusement but gave no reply.

Lucky for them, he didn’t have to, for Satan’s eyes lit up as he pieced the two shards of information together. “You wanted to be remembered as a proper and perfect king for millennia to come, so you went in and removed all traces of your dealings with the occult from Father’s omniscience. Because it’s all that Father knows, your memory in history now consists only of your good deeds.”

“And one bad one for realism,” added Solomon. “Everyone makes mistakes, you know. I can’t have humanity believing that living a perfect life is attainable, no matter what your Father says.”

Mammon felt as if his head was starting to spin with all this new information.

He realized … if Solomon revealed that the process of removing information from their Father’s omniscience was easy, then perhaps he could use it as an excellent business opportunity. Who wouldn’t pay gobs of money to have their past mistakes wiped completely from the Almighty’s knowledge?

But maybe that was going too far …

Nevertheless, Mammon still had to ask, “So how’d ya do it, anyway? Remove stuff from Father’s memory ‘n’ all?”

He could hear the irritating smile on the sorcerer’s face as he replied, “I’m not sure if I should tell you.”

To his surprise, it was Asmo who yanked the phone upward and yelled, “Solomon, don’t make me spank you—and not in the fun way, either! That kind of information is the kind we need to go back home to the Devildom. I can’t stay here in this stupid Human World for much longer! We’re poor, and I have to share a bathroom—a bathroom—with these barbarians!”

Solomon sighed. “Calm down, Asmo. Fine, I’ll explain, but I doubt it’ll help you as much as you think.”

Lucifer gestured for the other five brothers to inch closer to the speaker, and Satan whipped out a notepad and pen from his pocket to write notes, as Solomon began, “Your Father is only as powerful as He is because He possesses three things that make Him so—His omnipotence, which means He has the power to do anything; His omnipresence, which means He can be anywhere at any time, and finally, His omniscience, which means He knows all. Your Father has access to these three attributes of Himself at all times, but that doesn’t mean He uses them constantly—”

“Because He thinks that it takes the fun out of things—yes, we know that, Solomon,” interrupted Lucifer impatiently.

Solomon coughed. “Er—well, okay, then. Anyway, these three attributes are considered separate from God Himself, as in, they have a separate location in His mind than His regular thoughts. All you have to do is find a way to transport yourself directly into God’s mind where the three attributes are located, find the omniscience attribute, and then alter the information found within it.”

The seven brothers stared at each other in disbelief, before Levi moaned, “Oh, that’s all? You just have to teleport yourself into the mind of an OP deity? Piece of cake.”

Satan snapped his fingers. “Wait, since this feat appears to be so difficult to achieve, that should help us, since I’m assuming only a few people could execute it. With such a small pool of potential suspects, we should easily be able to discern who was the one who removed the information regarding the Devildom’s destruction and Diavolo’s whereabouts from Father’s memory.”

“You’re right—but I wasn’t finished,” said Solomon, eliciting a chorus of groans from the demons. “Teleporting into your Father’s mind is difficult enough, and even if you do, you’d instantly be marked as an intruder, because since everyone’s power pales in comparison to your Father’s, His mind can instantly recognize when something weaker enters it. Imagine you have a soft lump of clay and somehow a stone gets mixed into it. When you touch the clay, it’s easy to distinguish the stone because it feels so different from the malleable clay that surrounds it—that’s how it’s like in God’s mind. Anyone that enters it immediately stands out because everything else in His mind is so powerful.”

Belphegor yawned. “Do you have a point?”

“Yes. The only way to blend into His mind undetected is if you yourself are powerful and combine your power with others who are just as powerful; that way you generate enough power so that you can not only cast a spell to enter God’s mind but also so that you remain unexposed in it. I find the best combination of beings to combine powers with are angels and demons—at least one of each. Somehow the potency of this combination is unprecedented.” Solomon cleared his throat. “Does that answer all your questions?”

Mammon scratched his head. Powerful angels and demons were in abundance in both the Celestial Realm and the Devildom … that didn’t necessarily narrow down their number of suspects. “Was it s'posed to?”

Solomon laughed. “I guess not. I told you me telling you things wouldn’t help as much as you think.”

The brothers exchanged irritated glances, before Lucifer, massaging his forehead, grumbled, “I suppose it’s better than nothing. You’re dismissed, Solomon—” He ignored the protesting sorcerer as he clicked off the landline and turned toward Satan. “Start making a list of all the powerful angels and demons back home and in the Celestial Realm.”

Satan grumbled very loudly, but obeyed without any other protest, as Mammon asked, “How’s that gonna help? It’s not like we got a gauge that tells us what a powerful angel or demon is.”

“Yeah, calling Solomon was one of the most useless side quests I’ve ever done,” said Leviathan.

“Hush, you two,” scolded Lucifer, staring intently at Satan, who was voraciously making his list. “I can already see the gears turning in his head. If any one of us can figure this out, it’s Satan.”

Satan’s head whipped up at his words, a fire in his eyes. “I see how it is—stick all the work on the middle child .”

Before anyone could retaliate, a sound echoed through the house. It sounded strange, like someone had rung a bell, and Mammon had to stop himself from instinctively leaping into Levi’s arms—which he considered to be very proactive of himself, for the thirdborn had a nasty habit of hurling Mammon into the ground whenever he did so.

The brothers, who had fallen silent at the sound, shrugged as a unit when they couldn’t discern where the noise was coming from, before Lucifer put his hand on his forehead and addressed Satan again, saying, “If that’s how you wish to see it, then—” He was interrupted once more by the ringing sound. “What in Father’s name is that?”

“Almost sounds like a cowbell,” mumbled Belphie.

Leviathan’s eyes lit up. “Wait—I’ve got it! I’ve heard this sound about a thousand times in What To Do When A Big-Tiddy Anime Girl Is At Your Door But You’re Too Afraid to Let Her In Because She’s Glowing The Colors of the Entire Electromagnetic Spectrum. It’s one of those Human World doorbells!”

“Doesn’t sound like any doorbell I’ve ever heard,” Mammon said. Didn’t all doorbells sound like the screaming of ten thousand souls trapped in a burning abyss? Their doorbell in the House of Lamentation certainly had.

Lucifer gestured toward the fifthborn. “Asmo, you go check the door.”

“Me? Are you crazy? What if it’s a murderer or something? They’ll take one look at me and be so jealous of my beauty that they’ll kill me on sight!”

“In that case, you definitely should go. Take Mammon with you, too.”

“The Great Mammon resents ya, Lucifer, for that!” Mammon replied, glaring daggers at his elder brother as he walked toward the door, a sulking Asmo in tow.

As they neared the door, the bell sound rang through the house again, and the sheer volume there led Mammon to conclude that Levi was right—the sound definitely was the doorbell. He yanked open the door, and immediately upon seeing who was behind it, slammed it closed.

He ignored the injured “Hey!” that came from the other side as he yelled toward his brothers, “Call Animal Control!”

Asmo laughed. “Don’t call Animal Control on the cute little chihuahua.” He turned toward the door and opened it, greeting the guest with a “Hello there, Luke.”

The young angel let out a very offended sniff, before walking through the threshold, pulling behind him a droll little white wagon. “Don’t expect me to entertain the company of demons for very long, but Simeon said I should deliver these things to you.” He gestured toward the parcels that almost overflowed out of the wagon bed.

Mammon’s eyes lit up at the packages. “Whaddaya got for me?”

Luke, who seemed to not have forgiven the secondborn for slamming the door in his face said, “Your box is at the bottom.” Quietly, he muttered, “Hopefully, it’s all smushed by now.”

Before Mammon could snark a reply, his other brothers walked into the hall.

“Ah, welcome, Luke,” greeted Satan, nodding at the angel. “I take it that those packages are for us?”

“Please tell me there’s a gaming console or some manga in there,” begged Leviathan, yanking a hand through his hair. “The laptop we’ve got now can barely stream any anime and forget downloading any games—the thing’s way too slow.”

Luke’s eyes widened in disgust at Levi’s suggestion. “O—of course, there isn’t! The stuff Simeon gave me is all useful stuff.” He began to unload the boxes off of the wagon, handing each brother a package with their name on it. “I know Simeon said everything would arrive later in the week, but things went faster than expected, so.”

Mammon grumbled when his parcel, indeed, was all scrunched and squished at the edges. Inside the bundle was a driving license, a mobile device that was creatively called “iPhone,” and various boring papers that were supposed to be bank statements (he almost vomited at the sight of them) and other official documents.

Mammon gulped as he shuffled the contents together; seeing them made him realize that this was all real. His brothers and he were really going to be living in the Human World, posed as humans, for Father-knows-how-long.

He could feel the bile rise in his throat, but he choked it down and shook his head. What kind of demon was nervous about living with humans? After all, one of his most favorite beings in all three worlds was a human, weren’t they?

Before he could ponder anymore, Beel gestured toward the last box in the wagon. It was plain and unmarked and smelled of sweetness and love and joy and other generally unpleasant things for demons. Nevertheless, it made all of their mouths water. “What’s that?”

Luke blushed as he gently picked up the box and held it out. “It’s—it’s not like I—I baked Heavenly Peace Petit Fours for you demons as a housewarming gift or anything! I just happened to be making them for Michael and had some extra!”

Beel snatched the box out of his hands and immediately began chowing down on the delicate confections. He pat Luke on the head gently mid-bite. “Good doggy.”

Mammon could barely contain his laughter as Luke’s face turned a shade akin to the strawberry jam he’d layered between the petit fours and sputtered, “I—I am not a dog!”

“Shh, now, don’t tease him so much,” Lucifer chided, although a small smirk had formed on his lips, as well. “We need him to answer a few questions, now, don’t we?”

Mammon raised an eyebrow. “We do?”

He didn’t like the look on Lucifer’s face as the eldest bent low to reach eye level with the young angel, whose eyes widened in something that seemed to be a cross between indignation and terror.

“Tell me, Luke,” demanded Lucifer, his voice low and as smooth as honey, “what you and Father and the other angels have to say about the Celestial Realm Cellular Service and Internet Provider?” His eyes flashed red and Luke stumbled backward, dropping the handle on his wagon.

“I—I’m not supposed to tell you,” gulped Luke. The obstinacy drained out of his eyes and was replaced with pure, unadulterated fear as the eldest bared down on him. “Anyone who’s not an angel isn't supposed to know that.”

Lucifer laughed, a menacing sound. He inched closer, “Ah, but you’ll tell us, right?”

Mammon normally didn’t mind when Lucifer went full-demon on people, but … come on, Luke couldn’t have been more than ten in angel years … he was just a kid. He put a hand gingerly on his brother’s shoulder. “Yo, calm down.”

Lucifer whirled toward him, and Mammon’s heart sank in pity. Beneath the glowing vermillion eyes, he could see it all.

Fatigue.

Desperation.

Disappointment.

Shame.

He understood.

In just a short period of time, Lucifer had lost his home and his beloved friend, was forced to bow to the aid of a realm that had abandoned him and so he despised, and was made to live in a place that was far inferior from what he was used to. Solomon had been their only lead, and he had proven to not be much help. Their only respite at this point was to get this little angel to divulge the only other information that they could hope to have.

Mammon sighed and pushed Lucifer aside—a dangerous move, he knew. “Let me do it.”

Lucky for him, Beel and Asmo were already restraining their elder brother as they tried to calm him down. He turned to Luke. “Look, chihuahua, ya really think we’re gonna feel comfortable knowin’ the Celestial Realm is spyin’ on us with that little phone company of theirs?”

Luke wrinkled his nose. “Spying on you? Why would anyone want to spy on a bunch of demons?”

“Why else would the Celestial Realm immediately make us use their cell service and internet provider?” argued Levi.

“Well, I guess you demons wouldn’t know this, since it was implemented after you guys left," explained Luke, "but the Celestial Realm Cellular Service and Internet Provider—we call it CRCSIP, by the way—is one of the many Celestial Realm-owned companies throughout the world—”

“So I was right,” Mammon interrupted, “the Celestial Realm is goin’ capitalist.”

Luke fervently shook his head. “No, it’s not. All companies owned by the Celestial Realm are there for angels and angels only. They’re to be used free of charge for any celestial being since angels who are residing down on Earth are usually Guardian Angels who still need to purchase things for themselves but don’t work human jobs and therefore don’t have any human money.” He kicked the ground. “Father put you guys on one of the CRCSIP’s plans just as another way to help you out.”

Lucifer, who had calmed down a bit and now was flushed with embarrassment at his actions, coughed and said, “Unacceptable. We never asked for this.”

“We’ll be takin’ the free stuff, though!” Mammon chirped.

Leviathan ran a hand through his hair. “All that doesn’t necessarily mean we still can’t be spied on.”

The angel grit his teeth. “For the last time, who the heck would wanna spy on a bunch of demons?”

“The same person who’d destroy the Devildom with Hellfire and possibly abduct Diavolo and remove information from Father's omniscience,” Satan shot back. He drew out his notepad and pointed to the column where he had been printing powerful angel names. “Do any of these angels have access to any of the inner workings of the CRCSIP?”

Luke peered at the list for a moment. “I’m just a Junior Guardian, so I don’t know much, but I’m guessing that the only one with clearance to the records and information like that would be … oh yes, he’s on the list—Michael.”

Lucifer blanched. “Michael?”

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imhereforbvcky · 5 years ago

Text

Team Re-Building - Part 1

Summary: (Sam Wilson x reader, FalconCap humor/fluff) After the events of EndGame, the remaining Avengers head out on a mandatory team building exercise at your cattle ranch. The week turns out as unexpected for you as the idea was for them.

Prompt/Request: “Is that a horse?! Do I look like a cowboy to you?” For mine and @justsomebucky’s Cap² Challenge. I separated the prompt a little for flow, but I think I kept the spirit of it.

Warnings: None. Probably swearing. I’ve got a mouth and I can’t control it.

Word Count: 2061

A/N: This is just a little 2 part series. Part 2 is totally done. I’m planning to queue it to post in just 2 days! yay! 2 in 2 days, that’s easy to remember.

“Are you sure this is it?” Bucky muttered. His eyes followed the wrought iron banner propped between two enormous raw logs rising to form the arched entry. Dead center, the flying K brand stood dark and resolute against the bright afternoon sun.

“No,” Rhodes grumbled, “I haven’t seen a road sign for at least fifteen miles. Just dirt and tumbleweeds.”

The group held a collective breath when the modified jeep rattled over the cattle grate beneath the arch. The all-terrain vehicle had been waiting for them at the tiny regional airport when they’d landed. Now it made sense. The road went from grated dirt to a rugged two-wheel cut path over hill and stone.

Sam tried to convince himself it was all part of the experience, but frankly, the kinds of experiences he preferred usually involved a cold beer on his patio or a jog along a beach. The mountains were, admittedly, something to see. Jagged stone fingers clawed out of the hills, reaching unknowable heights into the unending blue sky. The photos on the brochure hadn’t done it justice.

Still, he just wished he wasn’t seeing them with clenched teeth and fists tight around the roll bar of the jeep as it hauled them all further and further from civilization.

“Why are we doing this, again, Sam?” Wanda asked, her arm darting out to his shoulder to brace against the jostling.

“Team building?”

“And there’s no ‘team building’ in New York?” Bucky complained, leaning past Wanda to glare at Sam.

“Couldn’t we have done a trust fall or something?” Rhodes agreed with a smirk on his lips at his own joke.

“How long’re you gonna hold that over my head?” Sam complained.

“'Til that face you make stops being funny.”

“Well, that’s exactly why we’re here.”

“I still don’t see why we had to be here,” Bucky insisted.

“Look, if any of you have figured out how to skip out on Maria Hill’s orders, you let me know the magic words and I’ll get us out of shit like this next time.”

Before too much longer the little caravan had made its way over the foothills and pulled up to a large cabin. It looked old, like the stones had been there as long as the mountains themselves, but the logs were freshly sealed and the chairs on the sprawling porch looked deep and inviting with soft leather cushions and bright red pillows.

“Hi there!” The voice that greeted them sounded like it was made there in those hills. It rolled gently and warmed like the sun on the breeze. “Welcome to Kestrel Point.”

“Thanks for accommodating our crew,” Sam stepped forward, offering his hand. “Sam Wilson.”

A laugh tumbled out. “I think we know who you are. All of you.” Your smiling eyes darted to the group behind him, still righting themselves after climbing down out of the jeep.

Sam wasn’t quite used to that yet. Sure, he’d been an Avenger for years now, had worn the armor of a hero. But after the Decimation… after the fight in upstate New York… after he picked up that shield… Being known had a different weight to it; sat just a little heavier on his shoulders.

“Right,” he shook his head and glanced back at what was left of the team, at those who’d survived, who hadn’t been left too worn to continue the fight. It was his team to lead now, his to rebuild and hold together.

You watched the struggle dance across his features and saw it echo in the furtive glances among the others. But you didn’t remark on it, nor did you hesitate. It was your job to help them find their rhythm and rebuild their strength, not to dwell on the present cracks in the armor.

Offering the same wide smile, you introduced yourself and a few of your staff before clapping your hands together, brows leaping with excitement. “Well let’s get started! My guys will take your bags to your rooms, and if y’all will follow me, we’ll get you matched up and get you started.”

When you turned toward the barn, nodding for them to follow, there was no argument. At least not that you saw. Mainly because you didn’t wait for one. That didn’t mean there weren’t protests. There was a flurry of wide-eyed glances exchanged from everyone but Clint.

For once, Clint felt right at home. He’d made a beeline for the stables and perched up on the split-rail fence with all the ease of familiarity. They might be thick western saddles here instead of the sleek black tack of his memory but the sound of twisting leather and long swooshing tails took him right back. With a distinct brand of nostalgia, he recalled rows of agile white Lipizzans, practically glowing under the circus tent lights. Visions of children gawking at larger-than-life Percherons filled his head and a slow grin eased over his face.

While your ranch hands tied the last of the horses in a row before him along the fence, ready and waiting, you lead the rest group inside. They weren’t quite ready.

“Is that a horse?!” Sam balked as he approached. It suddenly all clicked for him what Hill had been planning and he was not a fan. He liked the smirk on Barton’s face even less as watching him stroke a hand down the nose of a particularly antsy Quarter Horse. “No. I think there’s been a fundamental misunderstanding on our end.”

You laughed as he backed away. “Miss Hill warned us this was not the most uh… experienced group,” you tucked your worn leather utility gloves in your back pocket and gently slipped your fingers around his bicep, easing him forward. “You have nothing to worry about Mr. Wilson. We’ll take it slow.”

You were meant to be comforting him, but the moment he felt your contact and looked down at you with the softest, deepest umber gaze you’d even laid eyes on and it was your breath that caught in your chest. The words suddenly vanished on your tongue and it was all you could do to mimic the slow pull of his smile at your playful word choice.

“Do I look like a cowboy to you?” he asked, teeth flashing that smile.

You coughed on a laugh and looked at your feet. Boots. That’s right. They needed boots, that’s what you had been doing before. Before Sam Wilson and his damn smile.

“Not yet,” you agreed, shrugging one shoulder. “But we’ll take care of that.”

It took three full days to get everyone sufficiently steady on horseback. By the morning of day four, you’d decided it was sink or swim. The herd had nearly eaten through the winter pasture and before long the creek cutting across the valley would be swollen and racing with snowmelt. If you didn’t drive the cattle up to the newly sprouting summer lands soon, it would be too late.

A little instruction on the trail, couched softly in teasing and laughter might get the team where they needed to be skill-wise. If not, your own team flanked the Avengers, just in case. They might fight aliens and save half the galaxy, but they had never chased a scared new calf down a ravine.

Well, maybe Clint had.

He was, of course, a natural. Animals were his thing. Particularly large gentle ones whose affection could be bought with food. He’d spent his down time near the stables, figuring out what Apollo’s favorite snacks were and had stuffed his pockets with broken carrots.

The others… well they were lucky if they’d encountered a horse at a petting zoo before that week.

Bucky hadn’t seen a whole hell of a lot of cattle in Brooklyn between 1917 and 1943. And after that, war and survival had pretty much been his sole priorities until very recently.

Rhodes had no interest. He was a modern military man with his own Iron Man suit. Let’s face it; he had a better ride and more pressing matters anyway.

Wanda spent most of her life in a concrete cell. You weren’t sure if she had ever even seen a horse in person before climbing out of that jeep on your ranch. But she took to it pretty well. Those with a gentle demeanor usually did. You’d paired her with a sweet old mare that didn’t spook easily. Eventually the slow sureness of the horse seemed to have a calming effect for Wanda. She found herself enjoying her time away from so many people, away from their thoughts and fears. You could imagine her leasing out a ride now and again when she went home.

Bruce was… well half Bruce and half green and far too big to sit a horse. Didn’t stop him watching and teasing, though.

And Sam. Sam was maybe the most fun for you. He was all city, all soldier. Stiff but determined.

“I know you’re not laughing at me!” he hollered as you circled back and eased to a trot beside him. He looked so stiff and uncomfortable; you just couldn’t help but snicker. “Not again.”

“I’m sorry,” you managed, wiping tears from the corners of your eyes, grin so wide it hurt. “Just… You’ve gotta relax.”

“There’s a thousand pound animal between my legs!”

“And you think clenching up is gonna keep him from throwin’ you?” you teased.

It didn’t help. Logic flew out the window when fear came knocking. Sam only glared in your general direction, too anxious to look away for long. But you saw him fighting back a smile.

“Alright, well I think Ranger’s been a smooth ride and it’s high time you return the favor,” you tried again, reaching over and untying the lead you’d left on Sam’s horse.

Sam glanced down at his steel grip on the pommel. “What do you mean?” he asked, eyeing Ranger as if there was some lever that would make this all easier.

“You’re ex-military, right? I assume you had to carry a person at some point in your training?”

“Para-rescue. Carried injured friendlies out all the time. How’s that supposed to help?”

“Was it easier if the payload was stiff as a board or if they moved with you?”

“Alright, alright,” he chuckled. “I see your point.”

“It’s a ride not a beating. Treat it like a lady,” you joked, encouraging him to push again into a trot and offering advice as you continued alongside. “Move with him. ‘ll be easier on your ass and his back. Relax and let your hips roll.”

“Do you talk to all your clients like this, or am I just lucky?” He was smiling now, still looking down at his horse.

You, however, laughed beside him, relishing in his flirtatious nature. His easy smiles and quick wit had captured you early on. It had been a while since you’d enjoyed someone’s company this much. “You’re definitely somethin’.”

“That didn’t sound like a good thing.” He pouted, but with that little shine in his eyes, that extra roundness to his cheeks that betrayed the grin beneath. Like it was just waiting to erupt and brighten his whole face. The longer you spent near him, the greater the pang deep in your gut at the thought of what that full smile might look like. Would it be better than these secret hidden ones? Would it warm you head to toe? Ignite this heat that seemed to spark from something as small as a little grin?

You needed to breathe, get your head back on your shoulders. With a swift squeeze of your knees your horse notched forward.

The more Sam had talked with you, joked, and flirted, the less he had time to worry about his horse. He relaxed, consciously or not, he and his horse settled into a rhythm.

Satisfied with his ability and desperately needing the distance, you led the way out onto the soft green acres that sprawled beneath the rough granite peaks. Fresh spring leaves quivered in the breeze and blankets of snow still dominated most of the mountaintop.

You pushed ahead into a canter, resuming your duties checking in on the other guests – the other Avengers. But not before turning over your shoulder with a grin just for him, just for Captain goddamn America.

“I think I’m the lucky one this time.”

Part 2 >>

#sam wilson x reader #sam x reader #cap2challenge #samcap x reader #falconcap x reader #sam wilson fanfic #sam wilson imagine #avengers fanfic #avengers imagine #team rebuilding #team rebuilding part 1 #team rebuilding 1

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lady-divine-writes · 5 years ago

Text

Truth in Advertising (Rated T)

(P. S. I’m reeeaaalllllyyyyy tired XD)

“Wut’s that?” Crowley asks, falling beside Aziraphale on the bookshop sofa as the angel begins to slice open a box – a large, square box delivered by the International Express Man. They haven’t heard from him in a while seeing as Heaven doesn’t send Aziraphale too many assignments anymore, so of course, this one caught Crowley’s attention immediately.

“It is yet one of another ways in which Gabriel has decided to bog me down with trivialities in an attempt to punish me for helping thwart the end of the world.”

A fire-red eyebrow arches up to Crowley’s hairline. “Come again?”

“He’s become a nitpicky bastard and he’s sending me busy work,” Aziraphale explains, handing Crowley a letter that came with the delivery.

“Gotcha.” Crowley gives the letter a quick once over, scowling when he comes to the golden seal at the bottom, the one that reads ‘Gabriel – Archangel’. “And what is he crusading against now?”

“Truth in advertising, of all things …” Aziraphale yanks open the flaps, flattening them down against the sides “… and whether or not it defies the core tenets of the ninth commandment.”

“Ah - thou shalt not lie. A personal fave.”

“He claims he’s chosen areas that speak to my expertise.” Aziraphale removes a mound of packing peanuts from the box and miracles them away. “Plus he wants an essay.”

“And what are you supposed to do to the offending?”

“Don’t know, but honestly, if this isn’t the most asinine assignment in the history of asinine assignments!”

“What’s all in there?”

“Let’s take a look.” Aziraphale pulls out a neatly printed document more than a thousand pages deep, held together by a single staple in the corner, and reads the top page. “Okay, well, now this is just stupid. And insulting.”

“What?” Crowley peeks over the angel’s shoulder.

“It’s a list of all the delis that claim their coffee is the best coffee in town.”

“In London?”

“No – the world! Ugh! Does he expect me to try all of these?”

“I suspect so.” Crowley takes the block of pages from Aziraphale and flips through them, scanning rows and rows of names compiled in alphabetical order like a telephone directory. He makes his way through four hundred pages at least before he gets past the a’s, then closes it with a loud ca-thunk! and sets it on the floor. “Let’s just cut to the chase, shall we?” He snaps his fingers. “There. They’re all the best coffee in town. There is truth in advertising! Yay!”

“Wouldn’t that be lying? I mean, they can’t all be the best.”

“Possibly. But it’s not a big lie. Not one of the important ones. Besides, what’s he going to do? Check? Remember what you told me? He would not lower himself to soil his celestial temple.”

“True. All right then!” Aziraphale agrees brightly. “Moving on.” He digs into the box, ecstatic when he pulls out the next offering. “It’s a pile of books!” His eyes light up, but then go dull when he gets a look at the covers. “Written by Nicholas Sparks.”

“Yikes.”

“There’s a Post It …” Aziraphale slips his glasses onto his nose and reads: “Principality Aziraphale – please read the books enclosed and assess if the following is true: Nicholas Sparks is one of the world’s most beloved storytellers; the voice of small-town, wholesome romance; an icon for those yearning to return to simpler times and simpler people - who writes this drivel?”

“Don’t matter.” Crowley takes the books from Aziraphale’s lap and peruses the covers. “He’s ours in less than a decade.”

“Is he now?”

“Yup.”

“Fascinating.” Aziraphale peeks over his wire rims, curious what the story is there. But he’ll need to leave it for another time if he’s to get all this work done. “Welp.” He snaps his fingers, sending off a formal letter to Gabriel, which clearly expresses his personal opinions on the literature they sent as well as his nugget of secret intel. “There’s that then.”

“What else you got?”

“We’ve got a list of names, mortals who’ve been flagged as scammers for me to verify – Donald Trump, Dr. Oz, Susan Ormond … all of these people can’t possibly be Nigerian princes, can they?”

“Ooo, hand that over. I’ll help you with those.”

“Thank you, my dear.” Aziraphale passes the hefty list to Crowley and dives back into the box. “We have a few odd products …” He pulls out a spray can and reads the label. “Here’s something called FlexSeal ...”

“I’m not touching that one,” Crowley says, checking off names in red with his fingernail.

“This index card that just says chiropractic medicine …”

“Yeah, that’s complete bollocks.”

“Noted.” Aziraphale pulls out a jar of rancid, chunky, brownish-purple water labeled: “Jilly Juice?”

“Oh – she’s one of ours. Five years.”

“Excellent! This is going swimmingly! At this rate, we should be done before dinner.” Aziraphale reaches back into the box, straight to the bottom, fishing around for whatever is down there that might be small and easy to manage. He pulls out a number of bizarre trinkets and talismans, different little sprays and ointments, along with a strange, thin black compact which, in its utter simplicity, seems to him the oddest of them all. “What in the world …?”

Crowley glances over at the question, only paying attention by half. “What is that?”

“I don’t know.” Aziraphale examines it closely, looking for a way to open it, see if there’s anything inside. He finds a small indent and pushes his thumbnail into it. The thing pops open, revealing a pan of peachy-pink powder pressed inside. “It looks like …” He runs a finger through it, bringing it closer to his eyes for further examination “… makeup?” Aziraphale turns the compact over again, catching sight of a label underneath, one that blended seamlessly with the surface. He reads the writing on it – grey on black of all things - and tuts. “Good Lord.”

“What?”

“I was right – it is makeup. It says it’s blush. But the color is called … orgasm.”

Crowley’s head snaps up and he chokes on air. “Wha---?”

“Why in the world would they send me this?” Aziraphale goes searching through the box for an explanation. He finds another Post It, which must have dislodged during shipping. He reads it and his eyes pop.

“What does it say?” Crowley asks, nearly tottering off the edge of his seat.

“It says – Please evaluate the validity of this color name. Now how in the world am I supposed to do that?”

Crowley grins. “Uh … I think I can help you with this one.” He pushes the list he’s been working through aside and grabs Aziraphale’s hand.

“What … what do you mean you can help me? Where are you taking me?”

“My place.” Crowley drags Aziraphale through the shop, snapping his fingers to open the front door and switch the open sign to closed. “We’re gonna want the space.”

#Good Omens #Good Omens Fanfic #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #frankie writes

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niqhtlord01 · 5 years ago

Text

Humans are weird: Mercenaries, the odd crazy soldiers

"Heard we’re getting some reinforcements today.” Yeah? Alive or dead this time round?”

The squad shared a hearty laugh and Yalop looked disgruntled at being mocked. Harrok was just poking fun at the youngster. He had gained a strange habit over the last several years of the trench wars on Tarlik Prime. He would always find out from his brother in high command when reinforcements were inbound. Then a few hours later the word would come over the transmitters that they were inbound and then an hour later we’d get the report that the reinforcements had been shot down by the defenders air defense network.

Harrok’s people, the Kliptec who were known for their snake like bodies, had been fighting a grueling trench war on this cursed planet now for several years. All started over trade rights or some shite like that and before he knew it the military was being called in. Now, here he was, sitting with his squad in a muddy trench waiting for the next orders to go over the top.

“No mates, this is different.” Yalop said over the dying laughter. “I heard they hired some human mercenaries this time.” “Oooooooh, human mercenaries you say?” a squad member said mockingly. “Well why didn’t you say so? Might as well pack up and leave then shall we?” Another round of laughter came as Yalop looked crest fallen.

They’d never seen humans before but they’d heard stories. The galaxy was alive with stories and ever since humanity was discovered many were about those strange little flesh sacks. How they could survive on death worlds, how they could perform feats defying logic and reason when pressed, how they made games out of carrying dead animal skin from one side of a field to another. Harrok didn’t believe half of them and lately hadn’t cared enough to even care. All he was thinking about was making it out alive one day at a time.

“And who might be these would be saviors?” Harrok asked as he coiled himself to retain what warmth he could. Yalop looked up with renewed vigor. “I heard from someone-” “Why do you never just say you heard it from your brother? We all know it’s him you know.” Harrok interrupted. Yalop flushed for a moment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! Now do you want me to finish or not?” Harrok smiled and shrugged for the lad to continue.

“They’re called “The Devil’s Wardens”.” “What the fuck is a devil and why does it need wardens?” Yalop looked at Blist, still half asleep yet still able to sound mildly interested. “The devil is humanities embodiment of evil who rules over hell, the place bad people go when they die. The wardens keep him locked down there so he doesn’t ever escape.” Blist scoffed. “So they’re jailers of a fictional being are they? They could’ve sent us politicians and we’d have the same combat effectiveness.”

“You’ll see!” Yalop pointed a finger around the laughing squad. “When they come tomorrow you’ll see you were wrong.” “If they can make it down to the surface I’ll kiss their feet. If not, I call dibs on whatever bits survive the fall from their shot down ships.”

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

The main problem on Tarlik Prime wasn’t that their enemy had huddled around their dome cities behind layers of trenches, weapon dugouts, heavy artillery emplacements, reinforced bunkers, and fields of anti personnel wire; no, the real problem came from their anti air defenses.

Only 1/3 of the shuttles made it to the surface intact while the rest were being shot down by roaming weapon satellites. Normally the pilots could just shot them down, but the damn things were cloaked so well that no sensors could pick them up until they start firing, at which point it was too late. Some of the larger cloaked ones could even do damage to the orbiting fleet so the general order was to keep clear of the planet unless making a supply drop or delivering fresh troops.

Harrok woke and slithered up to the parapet. The enemy had not launched a night time raid for once which allowed his men to get so decent sleep for once. He gazed at them still coiled up in their corners but noticed Yalop was missing.

Harrok quietly looked around the trench for him and spotted his tail in the trench behind theirs. He slithered over to find him staring up at the sky. “Your supposed heroes about to come in?” he asked while pulling out a tankal stick and lighting it, the smoke calming his worn nerves and sending a shudder down his spine that woke him fully. Yalop didn’t answer him but pointed towards the sky.

A black dot was descending from the sky. Harrok squinted but couldn’t make out the details. “So this is where the party is.” Harrok turned to see Blist behind him. He offered him a inhale of his tankal stick but he passed, instead following Yalop’s line of sight skywards. “Ah, our noble heroes come to save us I see. I wager they’ve got about ten ticks before they get shot down.”

Yalop turned and was about to say something when a loud discharge silenced them. “Called it. Yay me, I win again.” Blist said as he turned to leave. “The thing is Blist,” Harrok said as he placed a hand on his shoulder, “is that ship is still flying impressively well for something that just dodged a hit.”

Blist turned to see the black dot still airborne, the trail of smoke behind it not from damage but from engines being pushed to their max. As all three watched a dazzling stream of light shot out from nowhere once more at the black dot.

The black dot twirled to the side and the shot missed again. Blist whistled in surprise. “I’ll give them this, they’ve got one hell of a pilot.” The black dot was getting closer by the second now and Harrok could make out some more details. The ship was a troop transport that had been painted jet black with a white skull on the nose of the ship, its mouth wide open and flames pouring from it.

Moments later two beams of light fired at once from different cloaked locations. Yalop gasped as the ship killed its engines and dropped like a rock to avoid the shots before reigniting them. “They’re not going to make it at this rate.” Yalop shushed Blist as more cloaked positions began firing on the ship. Each shot just missing the troop transport or grazing it.

While the light show was impressive, Harrok noticed something. “Is it just me or is that ship not heading to the landing fields?” The other two looked closely. “It kinda looks like they’re headed our way, right?” “Must be mistaken, you’d have to be crazy to try landing here.”

The ship was now skimming above the surface of the treeline. From behind Harrok the enemy weapon emplacements began firing with ever increasing ferocity. Streams of solid round ammunition and trails of energy weapons lit up the sky for a moment forcing all three of the Kliptec’s to reflex duck down.

“EVERYONE UP NOW!” Harrok shouted as he slithered back to his squad. “GET UP YOU LAZY FUCKS! GET UP NOW!!!” Harrok’s squad rapidly uncoiled and grabbed their weapons, their heads peering into no man’s land waiting for the enemy to attack.

“No contact!” Blist shouted as he looked out. Harrok was confused until he followed the line of fire from the enemy. It was too high to hit them, but was instead all focusing on the troop transport. The pilot was still trying their best to evade the incoming fire but the sheer volume was beginning to take its toll. Dents and scorch marks were appearing on the nose, paint and panels chipping and flying off. With a roar of engines the ship sped even faster to the enemy, like a comet plowing through a field of asteroids.

As it passed overhead Harrok caught a glimpse of the troop doors opening and an armored figures standing inside looking out. Then the moment was gone as the ship continued speeding into no man’s land.

Without warning the ship’s engines reversed and all forward momentum stopped leaving it hovering in the middle of the killzone that had stopped Harrok’s men from advancing for months now.

A massive form leaped from the ship and landed heavily. Harrok glanced over the parapet and could make out more details. The figure had two arms and legs, was slightly larger than Harrok, and was covered in head to toe in heavy armor. A pair of red eye lenses from a thick helmet in the form of some strange snarling creature looked back at him.

Heavy weapons fire began switching targets from the ship to the figure and pouring it on from nearly every direction. Harrok was sure the figure would be ripped to shreds but as he watched the figure hefted a massive weapon that was mounted to a chassis built around his waist.

As a thousand thousand rounds of ammunition bounced off their armor the figure brought their weapon to bare and returned fire with what sounded like a heavy machine gun and began marching forward towards the enemy.

Yalop turned to Blist, both of them peering over the parapet. “I think you said something about wanting to kiss their shoes if they made it planetside.” he said smiling. “Not fucking now Yalop!” was all Blist could manage in reply as a round impacted close to his head forcing him back into the trench on reflex.

“We need to help them!” came a shout from down the line. Harrok agreed. What he assumed was the human mercenary was focusing all of the enemy’s attention on themselves. He was about to order a charge when he saw the armored human suddenly tumble forward. Harrok couldn’t make it out exactly but it looked like a round had gotten through the armor around the right leg of the human.

He watched in disbelief as the human stopped for only a second before rising to their feet once more and continue their advance into overwhelming fire. Their gun seemed to roar even louder as they limped closer to the enemy, the spent shell casings falling like rain from their gun.

The human was just about to reach the enemy when a heavy launcher was brought up and fired at point blank range by cowering enemy soldiers. The rocket impacted the human head on and enveloped them in a explosion. When the smoke finally cleared the human figure was still standing, but their head had been blown clean off leaving only a bloody stump. Despite this, the no deceased humans hands were still firmly clenched on the firing trigger.

To the sheer surprise of everyone in Harrok’s trench the decapitated figure continued standing for at least a minute continuing to return fire as the enemy continued unloading everything into them. Eventually though the body began to rock and then fell backwards. But instead of falling to the lifeless cold dirt of no man’s land it was caught by another pair of armored humans.

So focused had Harrok been on the initial humans advance he had missed the full company of similarly armed humans that had deployed from the same ship. Each donned in the same armor with the exception of their helmets. Everyone one bore the face of a different snarling creature with red glaring eyes.

As they laid the dead human to the ground the tallest of the armed giants waved their hand forward and in perfect unison all of the armed humans fired their mounted guns. The only thing Harrok could compare it to was as if he was watching a line of battletanks firing everything they had.

“OVER THE TOP!” Yalop shouted. Harrok turned ins urprise att he lads sudden voice and saw him shooting over the top with his weapon in hand. “FOLLOW THE WARDENS!” At first everyone just watched the mad lad charging after his new heroes in surprise. Then another soldier slithered over, then another, then another, and then the entire company was rushing over no man’s land.

Harrok followed after Yalop as the two charged ever closer to the enemy. The line of humans still stood as one firing into the enemy while soaking up the return fire. He could see one by one humans were being injured but still kept fighting. The tall figure Harrok had saw before gave another arm gesture and as one the line began marching forward once more. As they neared the enemy they pulled black boxes from their backs and hurled them into the enemy trenches followed shortly by explosions.

Yalop and Harrok reached the humans just as they hopped down into the enemy trenches and began clearing them one by one, their massive bodies taking up the entire trench with their size as they methodically moved and cleared every section in their advance.

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

About three hours later the trenches had been completely cleared and the enemy in full rout. Harrok found his squad and was thankful that no one had died in the fighting. They were battered and tired as hell, but alive.

As they coiled around each other and held each other a trio of armored humans came over being led by the tallest one Harrok had seen earlier giving orders.

The tallest one looked down at them as the rest flanked behind them. “Is one of you called...” the tallest spoke before stopping, as if trying to find the words. One of the armored humans standing behind the tallest stepped forward and handed them a datapad. They took it and read from it. “Y...Yal..Yalop..Yalop.. am I saying that right?” They turned to the one who handed them the pad who simply shrugged.

The tallest one gazed over the surrounding soldiers. “Yalop. Yeah, I was right the first time. Are any of you called Yalop or know where they are? I’d settle for pointing out their corpse at this point.” Yalop slithered over in front of them. “I am Yalop.” he spoke, a slight tremble in his voice.

“Wonderful!” Shouted the tallest as they tossed away the pad and placed both hands on his shoulders. “Your brother sends his regards and wishes you good fortune.” Yalop stood in silence for a moment. “You came all this way just to say that?”

The tall human laughed. “Hardly. I honestly don’t care who you are but we were offered a bonus if we made sure you were alive.’ They turned back to the trio and shouted “We got drinking money!!!” A rousing cheer rose from not only the trio but the other humans who were still armored and walking the battlefield scavenging from the dead or reclaiming their fallen.

Harrok coughed and moved forward. “I want to thank you for what you did here, even if it was only for money. We’ve never seen a unit like yours before.” The tallest turned back from the cheers and looked down at Harrok. “We’re called “Grenadiers”. Hard armored crazy sons of bitches who don’t mind that incoming fire has right of way.” They laughed at their own joke even though Harrok couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

As they laughed Harrok saw the humans behind them carrying off the one armored human that had lost their head earlier in the battle. “I must know something. If there are a company of you, why did you let that one march alone? Surely you could have saved them if you had fought as one.” The tall one stopped laughing and got very quiet, the others looking at the ground suddenly.

“The man had cancer. A deadly disease on our planet.” They spoke. “He knew he was living on borrowed time but still wanted to have one last fight before kicking the bucket. It’s true we could have saved him if we had marched as one...” Harrok was shocked that the humans would allow one of their own to die, but stopped short of saying such words as the body of the fallen passed them and the tallest gently placed their hand on the dead warriors chest. “We could’ve saved him, but we knew this was how he wanted to go out. Facing overwhelming odds and leading the charge on an alien battlefield, not withering away on some hospital bed in endless pain for months if not years.”

“He was the crazy one among us.” one of the trio humans spoke as the body continued on its way. The tallest laughed. “We’re all crazy boy’o. Who in their right minds decides to put on a suit of armor and walk into gun fire for a living?”

“Police officers?” “Airport security?” “New York City Hot dog vendors?” the trio chimed in one by one. “You’re all stupid as well it seems.” the tall one said to their humorous remarks.

“What will you do now?” Harrok asked. The tall one looked back in surprise, as if just remembering Harrok was there. “Win your war. We’re paid by the conflict, not by the minute.” The turned and left Harrok behind as they began rounding every human back onboard their transport to leave.

“Hold up!” Yalop shouted. “One moment please!” The tallest and the trio stopped and turned back around. Yalop looked over and Blist and motioned for him to go forward. It was a bit of back and forth as Yalop motioned Blist up but Blist subtly motioned he didn’t want to until Blist finally caved and slithered up to the tallest.

“Can I help you tiny snake man?” they asked. Blist looked up at them for a moment before sighing. He hunched down and kissed their feet. “A wager is a wager.” he mumbled under his breath. The humans just stood in silence and stared at Blist.

“So....... are you going to fuck now?” asked one of the humans. “What the fuck?!” the tallest said, turning around. The human that spoke before raised their hands into the air. “It’s a legitimate question.” they said as they backed away slightly. “Maybe it’s a cultural thing?” “Well in my culture that remark gets you a boot up the ass!” The tallest began chasing after the other human who was making a speedy escape despite their size while the other just put their hands to their faces and sighed before marching after them.

One of them stopped and went back to Blist and handed them a piece of paper. “Call me after the wars over.” they said before running after the tallest who had now grabbed the offender and was attempting to indeed wedge their boot up their ass.

Blist remained still as Yalop and Harrok came over to join him and watch the humans leave.

“Humans are fucking weird.” they said as the ship took off and left them behind for another battlefield.

#HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #scifi #story

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cleocat246 · 4 years ago

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Star Trek Chapter 3

Summary: Hailey Pike, a Starfleet officer and daughter goes through Life and Space while trying to help as many people as she can. With species and events trying to destroy mankind and everything in existence. She has to save the people she loves and also the universe with the help of new friends and crew members.

==========================================

"Without transporters, we can't beam off the ship, can't assist Vulcan, and can't do our job. Mister Kirk, Mister Sulu, and Engineer Olson will space-jump from the shuttle. You will land on that machine they lowered into the atmosphere that's scrambling our gear. You'll get inside. You'll disable it, then you'll beam back to the ship. Mister Spock, I'm leaving you in command of the Enterprise," My father says to us as we all speed down a corridor to a shuttle, "Once we have transport capabilities and communications back up, you'll contact Starfleet and report what the hell's going on here. And if all else fails, fall back, rendezvous with the fleet in the Laurentian system. Kirk, I'm promoting you to First Officer."

"What?" Jim responds in surprise.

"Captain, please, I apologize. The complexities of Human pranks escape me." Spock says, slightly perplexed and hurt.

"It's not a prank, Spock. And I'm not the Captain, you are. Let's go." Before going into the elevator, my father reassures, "Hailey, you take over Sulu's position, please." making me nod in understanding.

"Sir, after we knock out that drill, what happens to you?" Jim asks, also getting on next to my father as well as Sulu.

"Oh, I guess you'll have to come and get me," My father replied before turning to Spock and me, "Careful with the ship, Spock. She's brand new. Oh, and my daughter too. Hailey, don't rip anyone's heads off." The door then closes, and I shake my head as Spock starts back for the Bridge.

(3rd person)

Once back on the Bridge, Spock takes the Captain's chair as Hailey takes the pilot's chair. Spock then starts talking on the comm, "Doctor Puri, report."

A different voice that wasn't Doctor Puri came on, "It's McCoy. Doctor Puri was on deck six. He's dead."

"Then, you have just inherited his responsibility as Chief Medical Officer," Spock replies.

"Yeah, tell me something I don't know."

Hailey was getting everything ready on her console when the info for the three men of the away team came up on the screen. The three sensors popped up, making both Chekov and the girl get ready.

"Away team is entering the atmosphere, sir. Twenty thousand meters." Chekov says, working on his console some more.

"Approaching the platform at fifty-eight hundred meters," Hailey said, looking up at the screen.

"Kirk to Enterprise." Jim announces over the comm while hurling through the air, "Distance to target, five thousand meters."

"Forty-six hundred meters from the platform," Chekov says.

"Forty-two hundred meters to target," Sulu says, also hurling down through the atmosphere.

"Four thousand meters," Jim says.

"Three thousand meters," Sulu says.

"Three thousand meters."

"Two thousand meters."

"Pull your chute," Sulu says while pulling his chute along with Jim, but Olson doesn't pull his.

"Two thousand meters!" The engineer says, still hurtling toward his destination.

"C'mon, pull your chute, Olson!" Jim yells frantically.

"Not yet! Fifteen hundred meters!" Olson shouts while laughing.

"Open your chute!"

"Yeah!" Olson cheers as he gets closer and closer to the drill.

"Olson, pull your chute!" Jim yells again, trying to get Olson to cooperate.

"One thousand meters," Olson yells, pulling his chute and cheering. But instead of landing, he slams into the platform and gets sucked into the energy beam.

"OLSON!" Jim shouts.

"O-Olson is gone, sir," Chekov says, not knowing what to do. Hailey looks down on her console, messing with a few things before looking back up on the screen.

Jim lands and nearly does the same as Olson as the wind drags him close to the edge. Before making it over, he grabs on to a metal opening and retracts his parachute.

"Ji-Kirk has landed, sir," Hailey stutters a little, unable to take her eyes off the screen.

Jim starts fighting some Romulans that made their way onto the drill to stop them. After fighting and Sulu joining with a sword, they were able to disable the platform with the Romulans' disruptor.

"The jamming signal is gone. Transport abilities are reestablished." Uhuru says, working on her console. "Transporter control is reengaged, sir," Hailey says, making Spock look over to Chekov and order him to run gravitational sensors to know what they are doing to the planet. "Aye Commander, ack, Captain. Sorry, Captain." Chekov stutters but does what he was told.

Jim then comes in over the communicator, "Kirk to Enterprise. They just launched something at the planet, through the hole they just drilled." But no one replied as everyone was busy, "Do you copy Enterprise?"

"Yes, sorry, Jim!" Hailey says while working on a couple things at once and trying to see what the Romulans shot down to the planet.

"Captain, gravitational sensors are off the scale. If my calculations are correct, they're creating a singularity that will consume the planet." Chekov states as he works more on his console.

"They're creating a black hole at the center of Vulcan?" Spock asks, and you can tell that he was worried - well, most wouldn't, but he was concerned.

"Yes, sir."

"How long does the planet have?" Spock asks, staring at the Russian kid. "Minutes, sir. Minutes." Spock then gets out of his chair and walks over to Uhura to alert the Vulcan command center to signal a planetwide evacuation. Then, the Vulcan makes his way to the door, making Hailey follow suit, "Where are you going?"

"To evacuate the Vulcan High Council. They are tasked with protecting our cultural history, and my parents will be among them." Spock states, making Uhura jump in, "Can't you beam them out?"

"It is impossible. They will be in the katric ark. I must get them myself." Spock says before turning to Checkov, "Chekov, you have the comm."

"Aye. Uh, yay." He sighs.

==============================

(Hailey's POV)

I was running after Spock down the hallway while he was getting everything he needed. He put his belt on and was grabbing a gun and strapped it on. We made our way to the transporter room and walked in, seeing Jim and Sulu getting up off the ground.

"Clear the pad. I'm beaming to the surface." Spock demands getting on the pad. "The surface of what? What, are you going down there? Are you nuts? Spock, you can't do that?!" Jim shouts towards the Vulcan, who wasn't listening.

Before he can leave, I walk up to him and grab his shirt, "Spock, Cyrus was staying with your parents on Vulcan, so he should be with them. Please, please bring back my brother!"

"I will do everything to bring him back alive with the rest," Spock states, putting his hand on my shoulder and nodding. "Thank you and be careful, please," I say while walking backward toward Jim and Sulu.

"Energize." Spock was then transported to Vulcan to get his parents, Vulcan High Council, and my brother. Please let him be safe! Please bring my brother back to me! Please!

After a while of waiting and panicking, Spock finally comes through the comm, "Spock to Enterprise. Get us out now!"

"Locking on you," Checkov says, getting their location, "Don't move. Stay right where you are."

"Transport in five... four... three... two...," Alarms start blaring, "I'm losing her. I'm losing her, I'm losing her! No, I've lost her."

The Vulcan High Council and Spock are transported into the room. Spock had his arm out, reaching for someone - it was his mother. They start to get off, and I see Cyrus right behind Spock. We run to each other and hug, tears were falling down my face as I didn't let go of him.

"I thought I lost you," I whisper to my brother, making him hug me tighter. "You won't lose me, sister, don't worry," he reassures while I sniffle.

=============================

We were all in sickbay as everyone gets checked for their injuries. The Romulans disappeared, and the Vulcan planet was now gone. The Vulcan council was getting looked over, and Jim was getting his handed wrapped. I was sitting next to my brother, who was also getting checked over.

The Romulan ship, the Narada, was nowhere near us and my father was still on that ship. He is now officially classified as a hostage by the war criminal, Nero. Not knowing what's happening to him hurts, he's alone with those people, and he could either be hurt or dead... please don't be dead.

I get pulled from my thoughts when a hand landed on my shoulder, "Are you okay, Hails?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay, Cy," I say, grabbing his hands and looking down, "The Romulans have dad." He stays silent, just rubbing my hands, trying to soothe me.

"At least you are safe," I say, smiling up at the Vulcan, which makes him smile back, "I love you, brother."

"I love you too, sister."

'I wonder how Spock is.'

Me too, me too.

================================

"Have you confirmed that Nero is headed for Earth?" Spock asks while walking across the Bridge. We were all on the Bridge trying to figure out what Nero's next move is and what we should do.

"Their trajectory suggests no other destination, Captain." Uhura answers.

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

"Earth may be his next stop, but we have to assume every Federation planet's a target," Jim says while seated in the Captain's chair.

"Out of the chair," Spock says, making Jim roll his eyes but get up.

"Well, if the Federation is a target, why didn't they destroy us?" Chekov asks, making me shake my head and look at every one. "Why would they? Why waste the weapons? You know... we obviously weren't a threat." Sulu answers from his seat.

"That is not it. He said he wanted me to see something. The destruction of my home planet." Spock states in concentration. "How the hell did they do that, by the way? Where did the Romulans get that kind of weaponry?" Bones asks, looking at all of us.

"The engineering comprehension necessary to artificially create a black hole may suggest an answer. Such technology could theoretically be manipulated to create a tunnel through space-time." I say, rubbing my chin in thought. Everyone was looking at me in surprise, "What?"

"Dammit, Hailey, I'm a doctor, not a physicist. Are you actually suggesting they're from the future?!" Bones grumbles out.

"If you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth," I answer Bones, making Spock nod in agreement. "How poetic." Bones states.

"Then, what would an angry future Romulan want with Captain Pike?" Jim asks, making Sulu answer, "As Captain, he does know details of Starfleet's defenses."

"What we need to do is catch up to that ship. Disable it, take it over, and get Pike back." Jim says, making Spock look at him. "We are technologically outmatched in every way. A rescue attempt would be illogical." Jim sighs and rubs his face.

"Nero's ship would have to drop out of warp for us to overtake him," Chekov says.

"Then, what about assigning engineering crews to try and boost our warp gear?" Jim asks

"Remaining power and crew are being used to repair radiation leaks on the lower decks..." Spock says.

"Okay, alright. There's got to be some way..." Jim started, but Spock talks over him. "...We must gather with the rest of Starfleet to balance the terms of the next engagement."

"There won't be a next engagement. By the time we've gathered, it'll be too late. But you say he's from the future, knows what's going to happen, then the logical thing is to be unpredictable." Jim states, getting frustrated

"You are assuming that Nero knows how events are predicted to unfold," Spock says.

"On the contrary, Nero's very presence has altered the flow of history. Beginning with the attack on the USS Kelvin, culminating in the events of today, thereby creating an entire new chain of incidents that cannot be anticipated by either party," I say, leaning against the Captain's chair.

"An alternate reality?" Uhura asks in disbelief

"Precisely. Whatever our lives might have been, if the time continuum was disrupted, our destinies have changed. Mr. Sulu, plot a course to the Laurentian system warp factor three." Spock commands.

"Spock, don't do that. Running back to the rest of the fleet for a-a-a confab is a massive waste of time-" Jim says.

"Orders issued by Captain Pike when he left-" Spock speaks over him.

"He also ordered us to go back and get him. Spock, you are captain now! You have to be-," Jim tries but gets cut off again.

"I am aware of my responsibilities, Mister-" Spock walks closer to Jim.

Jim then cuts off Spock, "Every second we waste, Nero's getting closer to his next target."

"That is correct, and why I am instructing you to accept the fact that I alone-" Spock says.

"I will not allow us to go backward-" Jim growls.

"Jim!" Bones yells but doesn't get acknowledged.

"-instead of hunting Nero down!" Jim yells at Spock, making the Vulcan call for security to escort him out. Two security officers grab Jim and pull him, but then he starts fighting them off. I stand up and make my way over to the shouting men, but Spock beats me to it and does his Vulcan nerve pinch. Jim falls to the ground unconscious before the officers pick him up again.

"Get him off this ship," Spock commands as the officers take him to an escape pod and shoot him out onto Delta Vega.

Well, that's probably not the best idea.

'Yeah, that's a stupid idea.'

But he still did it. We will come back for you, Jim. Please stay safe.

=================================

Spock charted the course to the Laurentian system, which we were currently warping too. It had been a couple hours since Jim was shot off the ship. I had to get off the Bridge and clear my head, but it wasn't working that well.

Walking into engineering, there was barely anyone around, so it made it easy to relax. I closed my eyes and sigh, but of course, it was ruined by a body slamming into my own.

"Seriously," I grunt while rubbing my head. Hands grab my cheeks, making me look up at the damn person who ran into me.

"Hey, sorry, sweetheart," It was Jim. But how?

"How... what?" I start but muffled yelling, and banging got my attention. I look up and see a man in the water pipes, "Holy shit!" I yell, jumping up.

"Help me!" Jim yells, running after the man. I follow until we see the pipes take him directly to the spinning turbines. I start frantically looking around until I see the release valve and a computer. I run over and start typing to open the release valve, which I open in the end, and the man falls to the floor.

"You alright? You alright?!" Jim runs up and helps him sit. I run over and make sure that nothing is broken. "My heads buzzing, and I'm soaked, but otherwise, I'm fine!" The man says in a Scottish accent after coughing up some water.

"Okay." I start, taking a breath, "Who are you, and how did you both get on the ship? We're in warp!"

"Montgomery Scott or Scotty, at your service, lass!" He says, smiling and holds out his hand, to which I smile back and shake his hand. "Hailey Pike!"

I then shake my head, remembering they didn't answer one of my questions, "But how did you get onto the ship during warp?"

"Mr. Scott here has a theory of transwarp beaming," Jim answers, making my eyes widen. "You figured out how to beam aboard a ship during warp? So cool!" I exclaim. I was going to keep talking about his theory, but a thought passed my mind, "Jim, Spock is going to be pissed once he realizes you are here."

"That's why I have a plan."

"A plan?" My face then falls, and I put my hands up, "Actually, I don't want to know... the less I know, the better."

We then began running through engineering to get to the Bridge when security officers surrounded us on a walkway. "Halt!" He yelled at us, making us stop. It was the man that beat Jim up those years ago at the bar. I was behind Jim, so I don't think they saw me, "Come with me, Cupcake!"

Frustrated, I walk in front of Jim, making the officers tense up, "Commander!"

"What seems to be going on here?" I ask sternly, making everyone flinch.

"We were ordered to bring the trespassers to the Bridge to Commander Spock," He says after taking a breath.

"Okay."

"Okay, Commander?" He asks, confused.

"Escort us to the Bridge." This made the men nod, and we start our way to the Bridge once again.

Once on the Bridge, we were presented in front of Spock, "Who are you?" turning to Scotty. "I'm with him." He says at the same time, Jim says, "He's with me."

Spock then looks at me, making me shake my head and shrug. He nods and looks back at the two men next to me, "We're traveling at warp speed. How did you manage to beam aboard this ship?"

"You're the genius; you figure it out," Jim says, making Spock irritated.

"As Acting Captain of this vessel, I order you to answer the question."

"Well, I'm not telling, Acting Captain. What di... What, now, that doesn't frustrate you, does it? My lack of cooperation. That, that doesn't make you angry." Jim says, but Spock doesn't give him the time of day.

"Are you a member of Starfleet?" Spock asks Scotty. "I.. um.. yes. Can I get a towel, please?"

"Under penalty of court-martial, I order you to explain to me how you were able to beam aboard this ship while moving at warp," Spock demands, making Scotty fidget and stutter.

"Well..."

"Don't answer him."

"You will answer me."

"I'd rather not take sides," Scotty laughs nervously, which makes Spock look over at me.

"Hailey!"

"I know as much as you!"

'Liar!'

Shut the hell up!

"What is it with you, Spock? Hmm? Your planet was just destroyed, your mother murdered, and you're not even upset." Jim says, testing the waters.

"If you're presuming that these experiences in any way impede my ability to command this ship, you are mistaken," Spock replies to the man.

"And yet you were the one who said fear was necessary for command. Did you see his ship? Do you see what he did?" Jim asks.

"Yes, of course, I did," Spock answered.

"So, are you afraid, or aren't you?" Jim asks, getting closer to Spock, who wasn't moving.

"I will not allow you to lecture me about the merits of emotion," Spock replies with a straight face trying to calm down.

"Then, why don't you stop me." Jim taunted at the Vulcan

"Jim, you are dancing on dangerous waters right now," I state, but he keeps going.

"Step away from me, Mister-" Spock starts but gets talked over by Jim, "What is it like not to feel anger or heartbreak or the need to stop at nothing to avenge the death of the woman who gave birth to you?"

"Back away from me-" But Jim keeps going, "You feel nothing! It must not even compute for you! You never loved her!"

Spock then lunges at Jim grabbing his throat and punching him several times. I yell at them, but they don't listen to me. They then end up at the helm console, and Spock was holding Jim down, strangling him. I run over and try pulling Spock off of Jim, but it doesn't work that well.

"Spock!" The said man then stops and looks behind him at his father. I pull him some more away from Jim and jump in between them. A look of realization took over his face before breathing in, "I am no longer fit for duty. I hereby relinquish my command, based on the fact that I have been emotionally compromised. Please note the time and date in the ship's log." He then leaves the Bridge with his father in tow.

"I like this ship! You know, it's exciting." Scotty then says with a smile, making me lightly shake my head. I grabbed Jim by the hand and helped him up off the console before checking his red throat.

"Well, congratulations, Jim. Now we've got no Captain and no goddamn first officer to replace him." Bones says, frustrated.

"Yeah, we do." Jim coughs before taking the Captain's chair.

"What?" Bones asks, which Sulu answers, "Pike made him first officer."

"You've got to be kidding me." Bones grumbles, shaking his head. "Thanks for the support," Jim says sarcastically.

"I sure hope you know what you're doing, Captain," Uhura says with a glare while walking next to the chair.

"So do I." Jim says lowly before talking over the comm, "Attention crew of the Enterprise, this is James Kirk. Mister Spock has resigned commission and advanced me to Acting Captain. I know you were all expecting to regroup with the fleet, but I'm ordering a pursuit course of the enemy ship to Earth. I want all departments at battle stations and ready in ten minutes. Either we're going down, or they are. Kirk out."

I walk up to the man in the Captain's chair and squeeze his shoulder, making him look up at me. I give him a small smile, which he returns and grabs my hand, squeezing it.

================================

Standing on the Bridge, we contemplated how to get on the Narada to stop Nero and save my father. But every idea got squished. Chekov was doing calculations on a board; Bones was grumbling while I rubbed my face.

"Whatever the case, we need to get aboard Nero's ship undetected," Jim says after another idea was shot down.

"And just go in there guns blazing, Jim. No..." Bones states as Sulu chimes in. "I'm telling you the math doesn't support..."

"Captain Kirk, Captain Kirk!" Chekov yells in his thick accent, getting the Captain's attention. "Yes, Chekov. What is it?"

"Based on the fastest course from Vulcan, I have projected that

Nero will travel past Saturn. Like you said, we need to stay invisible to Nero, or he'll destroy us. If Mister Scott can get us to warp factor four, and if we drop out of warp behind one of Saturn's moons, say, Titan, the magnetic distortion from the planet's rings will make us invisible to Nero's sensors. From there, as long as the drill is not activated, we can beam aboard the enemy ship." Checkov states, making me nod while going through all the calculations in my head.

"Aye, that might work," Scotty says.

"Wait a minute, kid, how old are you?" Bones asks while his arms are crossed.

"Seventeen, sir."

"Oh, oh good, he's seventeen."

"Doctor, Mister Chekov is correct," Spock says, coming onto the Bridge through the door. "I can confirm his telemetry. If Mister Sulu is able to maneuver us into position, I can beam aboard Nero's ship, steal back the black hole device, and, if possible, bring back Captain Pike.

"I won't allow you to do that, Mister Spock," Jim says, standing up and walking over to him, making me go over too.

"Romulans and Vulcans share a common ancestry. Our cultural similarities will make it easier for me to access the ship's computer to locate the device. Also, my mother was Human, which makes Earth the only home I have left." Spock replies to the blue-eyed Captain.

"I'm coming with you." Jim states making Spock raise an eyebrow, "I would cite regulation, but I know you will simply ignore it." Spock answers.

"See, we are getting to know each other." Jim pats Spock's shoulder, making Spock blink in surprise.

"Well, let's turn this duo into a trio because I'm coming with." I state, smiling at the two men, "And DO NOT try to stop me because my father is on that ship, and you both are weak as hell and can't physically stop me." Smiling, I walk past the boys who are just staring.

"Well, are you coming or not!" I yell, making them flinch and run after me.

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