#there's nothing to say about a perfectly executed flight.
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@raventhekittycat
hi okay so I've been mulling this one over for the past day or two and I think I have the answer. not to be using hamburger to explain anything to an american but you're my detco mutual so I'm going to try and explain it in detco terms
There's a post going around recently about how if you've read detco and only detco, the first time hakuba shows up you're going to be totally flummoxed, because damn this guy is clearly important, he gets to be even cooler than Shinichi, he's got a half-page shot of him (in such a panel-dense series such as Detective Conan, no less!!) and he's got a fucking hawk. he's CLEARLY important. everything about the narrative is indicating that you need to PAY ATTENTION to hakuba and that he's the coolest guy and he's important!!!! and then he dies in the case lol (not for real. but still.)!! and you're like huh??? what was that. why did aoyama do that.
But with the context of magic kaito this totally makes sense. He's a beloved character that people have been waiting decades to see again. Of course Aoyama is going to hype him up!! It's his big moment after years of being locked in the backrooms!!!
Anyways reading birdmen for me was kind of like that. The author's previous series, Kekkaishi, was pretty one-dimensional at the beginning, and even after the main plot started picking up at around volume 6, it still felt quite understandable. I knew what she was trying to get at, and the spectacular job she did with the anthropocene and climate change metaphor towards the end of that series really made me interested in the rest of her works. That and the way she writes familial relationships is absolutely DEVASTATING. (I mean this with the highest of praise)
But when I read BIRDMEN for the first time, I was probably in... middle school, maybe? And I read it, sure, but I didn't get it. I could see what was literally happening on the page but the narrative choices were absolutely baffling at times. Why skip over the entire part of the plot where they figure out who the birdman that saved them was? She blatantly doesn't care about that. What does she care about then?? I knew I didn't get it, I knew there were parts of it that were important and I couldn't figure out why and THAT'S how it dug its pretty little claws into me. Even after I finished catching up it nagged at me a little bit, not often at all, but enough that every once in a while I go, huh, right, that was a thing, let me go read it again.
For the record this type of story haunting has happened to me twice. First time was the Heart of Thomas, second time was BIRDMEN. I think the thing is that these are both stories which are not what other people say they are and I think I came into both of these stories with a misconception, trying to look too hard for things that weren't important and therefore missing the things that were.
Because sure, BIRDMEN is about mental illness. Yeah, it's about an evil scientific organization growing mutants in a lab. Yeah, it's about what it means to leave your humanity behind. That's all technically correct, on a surface level, and the fandom at large likely agrees with these takes for the most part, but in my opinion none of that really delves into what the thematic messaging of the story is about.
There are cryptic conversations about authority and human extinction and peculiar outfit and ability choices. You can tell these choices weren't made to serve the purpose of "writing exciting shonen manga" because that was what she did for the most part in Kekkaishi and you can tell she wasn't putting her whole pussy into doing that here. So what was she doing? What's like. All of this. Waves my hands at this.
The short answer is that it's really about the interplay between capitalism (represented by humanity) and communism (represented by birdmen), and explores the role institutional white supremacy (EDEN) plays in enforcing capitalism. It is ALSO about queer liberation and the importance of community, but hey, that double-stacks conveniently with the communism metaphor.
But also take this opinion of mine with a grain of salt. As far as I know I'm the only one who really truly deeply believes that it is not only AN interpretation of the work, but one that was fully intended by the author.
So basically, I like it, because I think it says something true and beautiful that I also believe in, even if I didn't have the words for it the first time I read it. But I don't really think that's what people really look for in a media recommendation.
Do I like it? Yes, I love it. Will I recommend it to others? Yeah, sure. But do I think it's deeply flawed? Yeah, absolutely. It's flawed in the same ways as The Witch from Mercury— a rushed ending, too many threads that were opened and never tied together. The pacing and characterization is perfect in the beginning, and too rushed at the end. There are prerequisites you basically HAVE to read in order to understand the story (tempest for G-Witch and the communist manifesto for birdmen). I think a truly good story wouldn't have any of these things so if people don't like it I never blame them.
It's my personal experiences that make birdmen so profound to me. If you are not queer I just don't think Eishi coming out as a birdman to his mom will hit the same, just as an example. Sorry that I wasn't the kid you wanted me to be. I know you love me and you just want the best for me and that's why you're so controlling, because you think I can be saved by conforming to societal expectations. But I can't live like that. I can't be like that. And that's why I must go. etc.
Aesthetically I do love birdmen a lot. If I had to describe it in a few words it would probably be "chilling", "beautiful", and "powerful", which nicely coincides with the type of things I personally like to draw. It's also silly to a small degree but it's so serious and I know Tanabe can be way way way funnier (read kekkaishi for this. kekkaishi and hanazakari no kimitachi he were foundational to my sense of sequential art humor) so that's not really the standout trait of this series.
I can't let it go because I'm chewing this series like a bone. And it's taking me years but I am getting that sweet sweet marrow. By god. We are on year 3 of this shit and I am GOING to understand this series. and I'm going to make 3 video essays about it
#just thinking thoughts...#stray bird thoughts#so it's like... I don't like it because birdmen is good#I think I like it because I am a certain type of person and the author was trying to say something specifically to the type of person I am#OH#I'M THE TARGETED AUDIENCE THATS WHY I LIKE IT.#YEAH THATS REALLY IT!!!#A long time ago I said that birdmen wasn't written for the people who read it at the time it serialized.#it was written for the people they would become.#and I stand by that 100%#if it really stays with you there is going to be a reason even if you can't articulate it yet#and it may APPEAR sloppy to someone who doesn't see the queer or communist metaphor#like 'what is she doing what is she saying here she's not saying anything meaningful and emphasizing the wrong things'#but that sort of presumes she is gunning to make 'the best shonen manga ever'#which she clearly isn't.#I remember when I was reading fma with a bunch of my classmates and I'd lend them a volume or two every day#and a piece of feedback I received that has stuck with me was 'volume 15 was so boring'#(that was the volume recounting the ishval civil war. it was boring because we were middle schoolers and didn't REALLY get it.)#and like. I think to people who are looking for something like kks. the whole thing is going to feel like fma volume 15#like WHAT is she going on about? ? ?#like witch hat and dunmesh I think are similar types of stories but I think these two are just executed way better than bm#but because of that it is just not as compelling to me you know.#like yeah yeah it's well constructed. we all see it's well constructed.#the metaphor is so well constructed that I don't feel the need to point it out. everyone is saying it already you know#but bm is cryptic enough and just slightly missed that execution enough that I feel like I'm pulling the analysis out of a smoking wreckage#recently I've been watching mentourpilot videos about airplane accidents and like. that's exactly it.#there's nothing to say about a perfectly executed flight.#it's the ones that failed. and in particular the ones that just barely failed by a little bit. that compels people the most.#cue my de communism is failure post. bc that bm sure did fail.
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konig and the reader are roommates; best friends with a slight attraction to each other. reader decides to go out clubbing with some girlfriends, showing off her tight dress to konig before leaving— which ultimately arouses him hardly ;))
konig let’s his dick get the best of him and goes through the readers pantie drawer (#pantiekink) and goes back to his room, jerking himself off to the reader’s panties.. and boom reader comes back early and catches him.
(show your post about writers block, though you could execute this idea perfectly)
So sorry this took so long to write. This ask was sent back in November. I got a little carried away while writing this. Love this prompt so much! Thank you for sending it in and hope you enjoy :) (not proofread) PART 2
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After a long week of writing essays, listening while your professors drone on and on and spending every waking second studying or working your part time job. Simply to say you were beat and exhausted. Wanting nothing more than to stay in, catch up on some z's and possible a few episodes of your new favourite show.
But atlas you received a last minute text from your BFF.
I'm picking you up at 8, better look cute.
Throwing yourself back on your bed, letting out a loud huff. Knowing damn well you won't be able to say no to her. A soft knock against the frame of the door brought your attention back to reality.
He was tall, brooding and all to yummy, as your friends say. Your roommate König stood in the doorway, taking up all the space. His head reaching right to the top of the frame.
"Hey, didn't here you come in." you said sitting up. You kicked your shoes off and began typing back your response.
"Got plans?" he inquired. Leaning into the frame, crossing his over his chest. Making every muscle tighten and bulge just how you like it.
"Hmm, Kate's dragging me to some bar most likely." you replied to him. "I better get ready now, knowing her she'll show up early." it wasn't a surprise that your friend group loved to show up at your place. They all loved to sit around and ogle your roommate.
After answering an ad in the university student paper, you found yourself being shown around a decently sized 2 bedroom apartment only a block away from campus. It was too good to be true and too good to pass up. The landlord explaining that the first room was already rented out. You didn't mind sharing with a male, he seemed more than tidy. And you needed away from the awful university dorm rooms.
First meeting König, that was one for the books. After hauling your belongings up the 3 flights of stairs. Of course the elevator would break the day your were moving in. Struggling to get the key in the door, only to be greeted by a 6'7 and 270 lbs man standing bare cheated in the kitchen. You damn nearly fell over. Needing a moment to catch your breath.
Kate went on and on for weeks about him. Telling you if you didn't make a move she will. You had to remind her she had a long term boyfriend and you were seeing someone at the time, which soon fizzled out.
"I don't understand why you never say no to her." he tried to rationalize. You pushed passed him on your way to the shared bathroom.
"It's better today yes than listen to her complain." you told him back. Shutting the door before he could say anymore.
You took a quick shower, making sure to shave every nook and cranny. Layering yourself in body butter and making sure to spritz extra perfume. You choose to leave your hair straight, and simple makeup.
Tapping your foot against the aged wood floor, having a hard time decided between a short tight black dress or to go more casual in shorts and a cute top.
"Go with the dress." König voice reached you from your door. Startling you out of your thought, causing you to drop the dress onto the floor. König walked right in, bending down to the floor and retrieving the skimpy black dress. Still on his knees he held it up for you to grab, his head was so close to your core which was now pulsing with desire. You cheeks were flushed as you snatched it out of his grasp.
"Thanks.." you said hesitantly, turning away from him. He left you in silence, closing the door on his way out. You pulled out matching pair of lace lingerie, the ones you buried deep in your dresser. A gift from Kate, you've never worn them so todays that day you do.
You took a deep breath before stepping out into the shared common area, König's attention was on the football (American soccer) game. The click of your heels drawing his attention away. You stood their, twirling your fingers around. Shrinking under his lustful gaze. König cleared his throat, adjusting himself in his pants.
"How do I look?" you asked bashfully, the heat of your blush rising up from chest and across your face. "You look...." he was lost for words, the way the dress hugged every curve. "You look beautiful." he stood from his seat, the fabric over his crotch pulling tight against his throbbing cock. He knew he shouldn't be having these thoughts about you.
But he couldn't help himself. From the moment he set eyes on you, he was entranced.
"Give me a little spin." he commanded. Taking two long strides, taking your hand into his and giving you a little twirl. The giggle that came out of your mouth went straight to his cock.
Bzzz BZZZZZZ
The apartment buzzer rang through the space, pulling yourself away you rushed to the com system. "I'll be right down." you yelled through it. Hearing a mixture of garble coming from the other end.
"I'll probably be home late, if not I might crash at Kate's. I'll try not to wake you." the words rushed out of you as you ran around grabbing the last minute items before shuffling out the door.
König didn't get a goodbye in, or a have fun. The pit of jealously boiling up in his stomach stopped him. He watched from the livingroom as you bundled into Kate's car, watching the tail lights disappear down the street. He turned his attention back to his football game. But he couldn't focus, the ache of his cock kept plaguing his thoughts.
Usually he reserved himself to either his or the shower. But he couldn't help himself, pulling out his throbbing cock. It was already hard as a rock, the tip angry and leaking just a bit. The first few strokes had him holding his breath. He needed more, abandoning his spot on the couch, dick exposed to the air. He found himself in your room. It was smaller than his, everything was messily thrown around. He made his way right to your panties drawer, digging in the back to find the black lace panties you hid.
He came back empty handed, the thought of you wearing them under the dress had his cock leaking down the front of his pants, making a mess. He settled on a satin pair, purple in color with a small rose in the front.
Seating himself back on the couch, panties wrapped tight around his member. Stroking himself with you panties, using his knuckles to muffle out his wonton moans. He was too focused on the duty at hand. He didn't hear the door unlocking and the soft click of your heals.
You walked down the hall towards the shared living area, seeing König still on the couch. Pulling the straps of your heels off you let the loudly clank to the floor. You were a little iratated but also thankful that the night didn't go as planned.
König's head shot around, eyes wide in horror to seeing you standing behind him. If you didn't know better, it was like you caught him in the middle of something. The closer you got, you understood why.
Konig had your favourite pair of panties in his fist. His leaking tip poking out the top, as fast as it happened he through a pillow over his lap to block your view.
Stumbling backwards you rushed out some apologies. Babbling on about giving him some space.
König didn't want space at all, he wanted you. His hungry eyes watching has the hem of your dress rose up your thighs, just about exposing you ass. He stood quickly, following you into your room.
"I'm so sorry." you kept repeating. The heat of the embrassment flushed on your face. König stood there, cock out as he tried to get you to look at him.
"OMG!" you screamed, quickly averting your eyes. "Doll look at me." he tried to get you to face him but you couldn't. "Can you please put it away at least." he found your question amusing. "Why? Does it scare you?" he asked back. You scoffed at him, but deep down it did just a little.
Yes you've seen a handful of cocks before but none of them compared to König's.
"No." you said quietly.
"Why don't you touch it a bit, it won't bite." he took a small step towards you. Your stained panties still in his hand.
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LMFAO ok he got a little pervy at the end. I kinda want to make a part two now.
#cod mw2#könig#konig#könig mw2#konig mw2#konig cod#könig cod#konig x reader#konig x you#könig x reader#cod konig#cod könig#könig call of duty#könig x you
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Intriguing news
I like to think that in the future Malleus and Yuu will continue in the role of "friends forever until death do them part" so…
Some time after NRC…
Context and warnings: Sebek can transform into a raven with Malleus's magic,who is currently the king, so that he can serve him better. Yuu lives in an exclusive area at nrc, but works as a diplomat in some kingdoms, including Briar Valley and Sunset Savanah.
Hearing the familiar sound of flapping wings, Malleus waited as Sebek, his faithful knight, landed behind him. He quacked.
-What it was? - he asked. Malleus turned his hand and a small spark of green magic projected, transforming Sebek into a human.
Malleus raised an eyebrow. The man looked terrified. Normally he was already nervous and a little agitated - ever since he had known him as a child and even in NRC, his confident posture and the shrill volume of his voice. But now his agitated posture didn't smell of confidence, it smelled of fear and anxiety. Which is unusual.
-WAKASAMA….. - he began -… I, um, bring news. - He stopped and took a few deep breaths. - But, before I tell you this news, my lord needs to promise that will not… execute me.
Malleus smiled sarcastically, revealing perfectly white teeth and the pair of small fangs that made even his most pleasant smile seem menacing.
He knew that many in the lands of Briar Valley believed that he had softened by carrying on a genuine friendship with a simple human without magic, even more so since he had carried this very poetic friendship since the days of NRC. But most knew very well that the truth was different. They knew that even though Malleus loved Yuu, he was still a dark fairy. And no one doubted the damage that Malleus could - and would - inflict on the fools who dared try to threaten her.
-Tell me - he said, losing patience with Sebek - or you will prefer execution.
Swallowing hard, Zigvolt continued:
-It's n-nothing important, my lord, in fact, no reason to overreact. - He paused, realizing that his voice sounded as shaky as he felt, hetried to raise his voice as usual, but failed miserably. He had known Malleus for such a long time. There was no chance he wouldn't react explosively to what he was about to tell. - It's just that Prince Leona just…
Malleus intervened hopefully.
-Contract leprosy? - -No, my lord - said Sebek, shaking his head. He tried again: - Leona has just…
-Contracting the black plague? Yellow fever? - Malleus asked.
-Wakasama - continued Sebek, increasingly exasperated. His next words are hurried: - Prince Leona asked Yuu!… and here is the part where I will remind your majesty not to kill me… he asked if she would become his…
Malleus' face somehow became even paler. There was something that could come between him and Yuu: Leona, the prince of Sunset Savannah. When Malleus raised his head, his green eyes pierced Sebek.
-Don't ruin my morning - he warned. Around them, the wind rose slowly at first, but then faster and faster. The air crackled with electricity. The sky grew darker as Malleus spread his wings. A storm was brewing. Then, without saying anything else, he took flight.
Sebek Zigvolt shuddered as he watched him leave.
Perhaps out of fear, perhaps out of admiration, he himself accepted the mix of emotions.
-YOU ARE DEALING WITH THIS INCREDIBLY WELL WAKASAMAAA- he shouted. A moment later, there was a flash of green as he transformed back into a bird and followed it into the sky.
#twisted wonderland#twst#disney twst#disney twisted wonderland#twst yuu#twist x reader#leona kingscholar x reader#ace trappola#malleus draconia#twst incorrect quotes#yandere twst x reader#twst leona#malleus x reader#twst malleus#twst mc
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Therefore I Am | Russell Adler x Bell! Reader IX
Series: Call of Duty: Black Ops Cold War
Therefore I Am | Russell Adler x Bell! Reader
Word Count: 6500+
[Chapter VIII] [Chapter X]
Summary: After somehow reconciling with Adler, Bell and the team are left to continue their pursuit of bringing down the undercover spy ring, but it proves to be more of a challenge as Bell struggles to move on from their Perseus-affiliated past.
Content Warning: mature content, vulgar language, mention of drugs, straight up agony
Notes: Writing action is so hard.
January 21, 1984
The Pines Mall, New Jersey
Two hours.
That was the slim interval between Stitch's departure from the safehouse to Zenya and Adler's arrival to the mess left behind.
He missed you by two hours.
Thus, with each minute that passed, your chances of survivability lowered.
With these kinds of thoughts wracking around in Adler's brain, the plane ride to New Jersey was becoming more tense than it should have. He couldn't even rest during the flight, and instead just crossed his arms and looked out the window into darkness.
Not only was the lives of innocent people on his shoulders, but you were also part of the mix and taken hostage. If he were to ease up now, there was the chance of a slip up. Adler needed to concentrate, but without you there, it felt like a piece was missing— a big chunk gone from the whole.
He had but a few hours to assemble a team. A part of him didn't want to participate in the mission to the Pines Mall, but he was the one leading the squadron, so there was no other option available.
Thus, Adler dreaded at the thought of finding out what Stitch had in store for him. Simultaneously, though, he was itching for the encounter to release his pent up stress and project the anger. The last interaction he had with his nemesis was taking out his left eye, and the last thing he heard about him was that Kravchenko sent him to prison. But, as it turns out, you broke him out, and let the monster loose.
Did he blame you? No, not entirely, since he himself had a part to play in the end. Everything about you stemmed from him. Like Hudson said back then, if he only killed Perseus in Vietnam, they didn't have to deal with Greenlight. And if he just killed Stitch, you wouldn't be in this situation.
But if those events didn't happen, he would have never met you. It was bothersome to consider that the world worked in such a way.
A meeting was held right as he and Zenya got off the plane, and he had made the call ahead of time to assemble a small team consisting of himself, Zenya, Wyatt “Bulldozer” Jones, and Woods. Mason and Lazar were quick to volunteer the moment he broke the news to them earlier, but he couldn't let them on. Because Hudson wouldn't allow it.
"Bell's not a traitor."
It was taking Adler’s entire willpower not to blow off at him. And yet at the simple suggestion that you went rogue, he went ballistic. How ironic it was to hear someone else tell him the same excuse he told Lazar, Mason, Sims, and Woods after returning alone from the cliff. Even as stupid as it sounded, a lie that fell so easily off of one’s tongue can become a truth to many.
"I know that, Adler. Trust me, I’m not too keen on it either,” Hudson proclaims. “I don’t know what’s going on through Black’s mind. He wasn’t too eager to find out that the asset was taken off radar.”
"The asset you asked Bell to meet was a Perseus agent. How did that fly under the radar? Bell did what should have been done a long time ago."
Adler was seething, trying his utmost best to not storm out of the room.
"The orders are to execute any hostiles. And, unfortunately, that includes Bell. The mission comes first, I hope you remember that. Lives of thousands of civilians are at stake, and I don't need your personal agenda—"
"You made an exception for Mason. They shouldn't be any different."
"Mason is one of our own."
"And Bell isn't? You were at DEFCON 2, and even then you put your trust in Mason. Or are we just playing favorites now?"
Hudson pressed his lips in a thin line, unable to come up with an explanation or excuse. This scenario was too uncanny, almost like a replica of what they went through years ago. In Hudson’s place was Adler, as you were to Mason. As much as he hated to admit it, he had actually taken a liking to you. But, having to balance out the decisions made between him, Adler, and Black was crucial, and this was the best option to tackle the situation at play.
“Bell provided us the information we needed to even have this mission in the first place,” Adler continued to interpose, “We at least owe them the benefit of the doubt.”
“Look, Adler. I had enough trouble as is just trying to convince the higher ups to let you lead the team. This isn’t my call, or your call to make. It’s Black’s,” was all Hudson could respond with. “If you mess this up, then everything is done for.”
“We’ll see about that.”
As if on cue, Lazar, Woods, and Sims pile into the room. “So, what’s the game plan?” Woods inquires, his usual attitude shifting into a more pensive state.
“Priority is the gas and Stitch and his men. It’s up to us to find Bell after that’s taken care of.”
"That's not what I said, Adler," Hudson dictates. All eyes avert to him. "If Bell's considered hostile, then treat them as one."
"This is my team, Hudson, I tell them what I want them to hear. Worry about briefing your own squad." Hudson gives him a hard look before parting. Adler redirects his attention to Sims. "Did you get what I asked?"
His friend nods, plopping down a folder. "Right here." Skimming through the contents, he pulls out an intricate blueprint of the Pines mall, handing it over. "The surveillance cameras were sabotaged just a couple hours before you came back from Berlin, but I managed to restore a couple of them."
Still photos from said film were thrown into the mix of papers, Adler running his fingers down the edges. They had limited lighting, but judging from the context, it was Stitch's henchmen placing canisters around the mall.
No evidence of you.
"Is that all?"
"Just one more. Aerial pics. The canisters seemed to be focused at the middle of the place."
Woods joins in, asking the question Adler had been dying to ask: "Any signs of Bell?"
"One of the security guards reported that a couple of large semi-trucks were seen unloading at the back," Lazar chimes, "There's no camera in the storage area, but I'm guessing that's—"
"Don't worry about Bell. We can find them once we deactivate the bomb."
Lazar trails off as a disgruntled look appears on his face. It was the coldness in Adler's voice that stunned him the most. Considering that you and Adler managed to re-establish a relationship over the past few months was surprising on it's own, and to hear him just brush you off and infer that you were a liability was… shocking. "But—"
"If the bomb goes off, we're done for. And if we're all dead then what's the fucking point?" Adler rubs out the butt of his cigarette. "Eliminate all threats first, then once that's over we can look for [L/N]. That's the best outcome we can achieve."
“So you’re just telling me to ignore the fact that Hudson labeled Bell as an enemy?” Woods
"Black did, not Hudson," Adler corrects. As much as they weren’t seeing eye to eye, there was no reason to hold grudges. They were both in a tight spot, so he had to give some credit to him for sticking through it all. The guy managed to get him to lead the team, and that was all he could have asked for. "Don't heed any attention to it. Bell's going to be fine, so just focus on the mission. That's all I'm going to say on that matter, got it?"
He's met with nods and hushed agreement.
In contrast to his words, Adler felt his gut churn as he listened to himself. It was perfectly within reason to model the mission in such a way, and doing so would ensure the safest route of getting you, and everyone else, alive. He could only place blind trust in you to hold strong on your own while they finish their business. It hurt him enough trying to put the partition in the relationship to avoid clouding his judgement, but he needed everything to work out. For the sake of you and the general public.
With the few hours remaining, he couldn't sleep comfortably leading up to the operation. Adler spent most of the time checking up on equipment, making sure everything was working properly and that nothing was missing. From the attachments down to the amount of bullets in a magazine, he checked it all. How could he rest, knowing the fact that you were out there at the mercy of the enemy?
And he blamed himself for it. He should have brought you along. You were stuck in West Berlin for the majority of the time ever since they found you, and he couldn’t even give you the small opportunity to return to the states. How you were excited to go to Washington, only for him to break the news. The sheer look of disappointment on your face physically hurt. And because of his neglect, you were gone.
“I'm trusting you on this one Adler,” Lazar had told him. “We all are. Probably not the best thing to have on your shoulders, but it's for Bell's sake. I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Despite the positive words, it was easy to detect the nervousness and worry wrapped between them. Everyone who came to know you could only suck up their emotional baggage and lock it up as the time to deploy neared.
So when the helicopter landed on the side of the mall, Adler tried his hardest to set his feelings aside. It was all part of this line of work; there was bound to be sacrifices. Losing teammates and friends was a price to pay. He's been doing this for years, and he should be used to it.
He takes a deep inhale before exhaling silently and exiting the vehicle.
The mission is priority.
Adler, Zenya, and Woods lined up against the wall, letting Bulldozer approach the doors with a sledgehammer. They were covered on the other side with metal platings, screwed in tightly with bolts.
“Oh, before we begin,” Woods speaks. All eyes turn towards him, and he makes sure to look at each of them. “I don't care about what Hudson or Black said. If I find any of our fucking bullets inside Bell, I’ll personally hunt you down and end you.”
He receives a disapproving glare from Adler, who shakes his head to himself. He wanted to side with Woods on this one and switch priorities, but it would only cause conflict and additional worries. And he didn’t need that.
He gives Bulldozer the greenlight. “Do it.”
Bulldozer’s efforts left deep dents in the metal platings as they fell. The interior of the premises was dark, leaving only their flashlights and the neon light strips to illuminate the small area around them. A distance away, a periodic beeping repeated itself. There were no Soviets or anyone to greet them upon their entry, leaving them to push further inside.
Families of cables were thrown about like vines, slithering across the floor and crawling upward on the walls. There was no purpose in trying to sort through it, as it all ran towards the same direction.
“Watch your step,” Zenya advises.
They followed the river of wires and rounded the corner of the arcade, passing by the bright and cheerful stores that were untouched by the supposed chaos the mall harbored. With the thick tension in the air, their footsteps echoed, calling out and resonating in their own ears.
“Any movement?”
“Not yet.”
At the center of the mall should have been a large fountain running on its own cycle. Instead they were met with the sight of exposed blue and white tiles, damp with whatever little remains of water. Placed right on top of it was the centerpiece— a collection of blue barrels, rigged with explosives. Compared to the photos they’ve seen earlier, there were way more than originally presented.
"What the hell?"
Focusing the flashlights on them reveal it to be the rumored Nova Six gas. Adler's nose wrinkled at the faint smell that filled his nose. It was the same one that was present back in Rebirth Island during the raid.
"The bastard's manufacturing Nova Six again."
Before he could investigate further, an enthusiastic chime comes from the elevator a few feet away. Upon arriving, the doors pull open automatically, letting the bright lights flood out into the darkness. Adler squints at the contrast as the white illuminates the silhouette of the person inside.
Within a blink, enemies emerge seemingly out of thin air, revealing themselves behind corners and on top of the balconies. A few bright red dots appear on Adler and the team's clothing as all weapons become trained onto their figures.
"Shit…”
Adler's watches the shadow that emerges from the elevator. Stitch was almost unrecognizable from the last time he saw him, but with recent photographs and that identifying scar, there was no doubt that he was the guy that he captured from Rebirth Island.
"Adler," his nemesis greets with a deep timbre.
Adler pulls his arms upwards, redirecting his focus directly at Stitch, gripping the gun handle with the force of a god as the stock digs into his shoulder. “Where are they?!” He ignores Zenya's plea to simmer down, heart pounding against his chest as he faces uncertainty.
Everything was supposed to go smoothly. Take out the hostiles, disengage the bomb, kill or capture Stitch, then find you. Yet there was already a grave miscalculation— There were way more enemies than they estimated. He already knew the second that elevator dinged that the plan was going to be scrapped. All that meticulous planning gone to shit.
"You'll be joining your beloved soon enough once I'm done with you," Stitch replies coldly. There was no time to react as he flags down his troops with a hand signal, closing his fist into the air as all hell breaks loose.
"Fuck, get down!" Woods instructs as he lets a smoke grenade drop to their feet.
The area became hot with gunfire, bullets ricocheting all over the place. Fumes of grey clouds flowed out from the ground, encasing the team as they dived for cover nearby. His earpiece began to fill with information from the rest of the team.
"What's the next step, Adler?" Zenya demands.
What the fuck could they do? Any subtle movement they made was met with a torrent of bullets. His eyes stung as the smoke continued to pour out, trying his best to make out the outlines of the rest of the team nearby. "Jones! Notify the Bravo team to move already!"
"—ETA about ten minutes!"
"What's the hold up?"
"Police barriers are preventing them from getting in."
"Well, tell them we're fuckin’ outgunned!" He needed to make a decision. Adler presses his lips in a thin line, recalling the layout of the mall. "Team, get to the arcade! We'll just have to hold them off until Hudson and the bomb squad arrives!"
All of them attempt to forge a path to the neon faculty. Woods and Bulldozer hid behind planter islands, providing suppressing fire as more and more enemy troops seemed to flood the entire area. As one body dropped another would soon take its place, much to their frustration. The once polished floor, sparkling clean, was now riddled with holes and covered in soot.
Stitch was nowhere to be found, abruptly disappearing the moment smoke filled the area.
Woods lets out a moan as a bullet grazes his shoulder. "Ugh, damn it! They're not letting up any fucking time soon! You'll guys have to go on ahead!"
Adler gives out a huff, looking in the opposite direction. "Zenya, on me!"
She returns a confirming nod.
"...Go!"
They both jump out from their spots, heading towards the fluorescent lights.
"RPG!"
The projectile shoots their way. All four of them scatter, jumping away from their hiding spots and diving for the closest cover. Adler forges ahead despite the danger, letting his legs carry him to the arcade.
Woods groans as he lands in an uncomfortable position, but pushes himself back up and pulls inward, a bullet narrowly missing his arm. The place he was crouched at moments before was now a gaping hole.
"Well, fuck," he grumbles under his breath. There wasn't even a chance to recover, a grenade lands near him.
He jolts up from his spot, running into the closest store and diving behind the counter. The shrapnel belts against the surface around him. "Give me a fucking break…" He peeks around the corner, taking one enemy out as they attempt to reposition closer to him.
Woods takes a brief second to gaze around the store he was in. Majority of the interior was brown, various electronic items and trinkets placed on the shelves and glass display cases. A stray round punctures a hole into one of them, a couple of shards landing on him. His eyes land on a lone door, just right at the corner.
Bulldozer's inconvenienced voice rings in his ear: "Woods! Need some help over here!"
"Hold on!"
He kicks the door open with brute force, and is met with a lone soldier jumping out from behind a collection of boxes. He whips them in the face, knocking them away before putting a couple of shots into their chest. They collide with the ground, a sickening crack coming from underneath them. "Thought you could sneak up on me, huh?"
"...Frank?"
Woods snaps his head towards the owner of the voice, just right inside the inventory space. There, he was met with a stomach churning sight.
You narrowed your eyes at him, only to ease up within the next instant as you flinch at the sting that came with the contortion of facial muscles. Woods' figure was hard to distinguish, just a blob of muted color, leaving the struggle of refocusing the image to your right eye.
"Holy fuck…" He rushes to your side at breakneck speed, undoing the straps that prevented you from collapsing onto the floor. Woods holds out a aiding arm and catches you as you stumble onto your feet. "What'd he do to you?"
"It's just a flesh wound." You take a few breaths, trying to recuperate your stamina. You didn't know how long you were out, but it was the sound of bullets colliding with the walls that struck you back awake, a wave of nausea hitting you. The gunfire didn't cease on your awakening, and Woods' radio continued to buzz with a multitude of chatter. "What's going on?"
"Tell you later, I just need you to pull yourself together. Can you do that?"
You nod. Woods' voice was full of worry and concern, but given the situation, there was no time to loiter around and lie down to wait for a certified medic. There was no rest for anyone, and peace was only granted where there was no onslaught of danger. Your attention is brought to the cart of red-stained instruments, Stitch's knife placed on top. With your good hand you grasp it and slip it into your belt.
Woods kicks the gun on the floor towards your direction, gesturing at it. "Go get the rifle. We're leaving."
"I… I can't."
Woods was about to inquire the reason for your objections, only to note that your left arm was limp at your side. He sends you a sympathetic look and hands you his sidearm instead, loading it up and preparing it for you. As you readied and stabilized your balance, he quickly wraps a roll of bandages tightly around the left side of your face, and you give him a feeble smile of thanks.
"Something tells me you've done this before."
"An old friend of mine— Weaver."
As he mentions the word friend, you think back to the post it note. "Wait. Mason... How's Mason?!"
Woods hurries out the room with you trailing along behind him. Every move felt sluggish, and you were just waiting for the adrenaline kick to come in. "Mason's not here, he's back home, remember?"
"Yeah, but—"
"Enough chit chat, Bell, there's no time. Save your energy and just concentrate on keeping conscious." He introduces you to the warzone just outside the Eighteen clothing outlet, the sound of turmoil and peril ringing in your ears. "Zenya! Sitrep!"
He pauses, listening to whatever is being relayed back.
“Well get to the fucking arcade already! Adler should be there—"
Bullets cascade in your direction, and Woods pushes down on your shoulder to get you under cover and courteously takes them out in your stead. He reloads his gun, giving out a frustrated groan, and you felt a little guilty, knowing that you were going to become a hindrance. You withheld an apology, knowing that he would just condemn your words.
Once done, Woods nudges you, pointing his chin towards the Galaxy-themed walls just right across from the shop. "Both legs are still working, right?"
You bow your head as confirmation. "Adler's at that arcade?"
"We're sitting ducks until Hudson's forces join us, so we can't stay in one place for too long." Woods adjusts his posture. "On my mark."
Taking a peek over the counter, you plot out a path, already coming to a rash decision. “You got my back, right?”
"Wh—"
He didn't even get a chance to countdown or answer as you break into a sprint with a small burst of energy that arose. Pain shot up your leg as your foot first made hard contact with the floor, but it quickly ceased to a burn as you focused on one thing, and one thing only.
"Bell, wait!"
--------
Adler manages his way to the arcade as a couple of soldiers try to prevent his efforts. Inside, he fights off the both of them, sending an array of rounds into their chest. Another tries to sneak up behind him, but he whips around and delivers a jab to their throat, managing to wrangle the rifle away from their hands and ending them with one to the head.
"Bell, wait!" Woods' voice screeched through the earpiece.
"Bell?" Adler repeats. A wave of relief washed over him momentarily, lowering his stance. He reaches up to his ear, about to confirm if he heard correctly, but wasn't given the opportunity to as Stitch sneaks up behind him and puts him into a choke hold.
His feet left the ground for a split second as Stitch tugged at him, arm tensing up and pulling tighter. Adler could feel his breath leaving him as he clawed at the arm around his neck, trying to pry it away. The rest of the squad were elsewhere, taking cover from gunfire while also taking out the enemy.
Spots danced in Adler's vision as his strength started to fade away. His throat was on the verge of being crushed, face changing into a bluish hue.
Right when he was about to give out, he heard the sound of a bullet ripping through flesh, and for a moment Adler thought he was the one that got shot. However, Stitch seemed to grimace at something, giving out a pained and irritated growl as the hold loosened.
Stitch's eyes narrowed towards the direction of the attack. A distance away, just right underneath the open entrance of the game room, a figure stood. Lighting was scarce, but he could make out your form from neon lights as you leaned against the wall with a pistol in hand aimed at them.
"You-"
Stitch wasn't given the opportunity to finish his sentence. Out of bullets, you dropped the gun and charged towards the both of them, tackling him off of Adler. The guy was a unit, but you managed to use your weight to pull it off. Adler collapsed, coughing violently and massaging his neck as you brought Stitch to the floor. He struggled to call out to you as you gave out a warcry.
"Someone just doesn't know how to listen, do they?"
Bringing out the Stitch's knife from your belt, you plunged it downward over his chest, but he holds out a hand, allowing the blade to pierce through it instead. He lets out a pained growl, but uses his other hand to grab a hold of your arm and push against you. Your expression was scrunched up in agony and animosity as your cut hands gripped the handle, opening them even further.
"I ought to put you down like the damn dog you are," Stitch beseeches.
"If I were to die, it wouldn't be through the likes of you."
The tip pierced through his vest. Just a bit more, you told yourself, putting every effort into it. You could see the cloth peeling away as the metal pierced the area. His grip on you was insanely tight as he tried to fight against you, you couldn't feel both your arms anymore. Left arm useless, you used it as a weight to further press against the hilt. Blood rushed to your head, and your ears were ringing. You only focused on the only objective in front of you— Kill Vikhor Kuzmin.
A surge of strength arises with him, and you could feel him regaining some stamina over you. You were already weakened and struggling to keep awake, adrenaline the only thing letting you move freely. Passing out wasn't an option, so you had to do something.
Even so, it wasn’t enough.
Stitch began to fight back, overwhelming you with strength you couldn't muster. He turns your hand towards yourself, the blade pointing at your front. Yet you glared daggers, refusing to back down. You tighten your jaw in the effort to resist, ignoring the burning sensation in the entire upper left side of your body. It was as if someone had laid a fresh bed of lava underneath.
"Bell!" Adler yells. He reaches out to a fallen rifle close by, aiming right down the iron sights and pulling the trigger.
He was met with the sound of continuous clicking as nothing came out from the end. There wasn't even time to think or breathe. Adler throws it to the side in frustration and pushes himself up, only for his vision to become tilted. His ear was ringing thanks to a busted eardrum from the RPG from earlier, and he struggled to maintain proper balance.
"Hudson's crew just arrived! The heli is right outside!" Bulldozer announces in his ear.
“Agh!”
Adler raises his head, only to see Stitch had sunk the knife into your stomach.
"You ought to choose your words carefully," Stitch leers, towering over your body.
"Bell!"
His voice cracked, and something inside Adler snaps. He zooms forward, giving it his all as he plows through, knocking Stitch off of you. The wind gets knocked out of him as they both fall onto the floor. A fist collides with Stitch’s mask, Adler following up with his knee full force into the stomach. He grasps at the ends of the black hoodie, pulling it towards him as he delivers a brutal headbutt.
Basic close combat training Adler learned through the years was thrown out the window. Rules couldn’t hold him back in this encounter, the only way to win would be to fight dirty. It was a boxing match without a referee. And considering what Stitch had just done, there was no point in following basic etiquette.
You could hear Adler’s cries of distress and efforts with each blow he received. Stitch somehow gets the upper hand, delivering a good jab, throwing him into a daze. Your consciousness was slipping away, pain surging from every part of your body if you even dared to move. Tears brimmed at the corners of your eyes, knowing that you couldn’t do anything.
Their blurred figures fought mere feet away from you, and you could only play the dying casualty as Adler began to get pummeled, Stitch’s driving bringing his knee to his stomach and causing him to double over and gag. A well-timed hook connects to the right side of his jaw, sending him downward.
Adler!
You cursed yourself, balling your hands into fists. Digging your nails into the carpet, you try to roll onto your side in an effort to crawl, only to be met with excruciating pain. You gave out a whine at the sensation.
Why am I so damn weak?!
Darkness swarmed your vision. Adler was on the ground now, rendered useless. His pathetic attempts to get an advantage, whether it be through grabbing of the clothes or wrists, was easily thwarted as Stitch straddled on top of him and beat the living daylights out of him.
Both of you were going to die here, in some random New Jersey mall, both to the hands of a man you once worked alongside with. His vendetta against the both consisted of nothing but vengeance, and he was about to succeed.
You couldn't do shit. Drugged up, left eye slashed and your left arm broken, this was the worst state to be in. And now had an internal bleeding thanks to the metal serrated ends clawing into your insides. You blink slowly, about to let darkness take the remains of your sight. It was useless. Every effort was spent preventing Stitch from further harming Adler, but even then you couldn't prevail.
This is it.
Giving up wasn't easy, and you thought there would never be a day where you actually threw in the towel. Yet, with everything you have just experienced, and what was happening now, you were definitely dealt the short end of the stick. Perseus was going to win, and one of the biggest thorns that continued to prod at them was about to be wiped off the grid. The Nova Six gas was going to be released to the general public.
No.
Not yet.
You still had something to do. Just one thing left.
If someone were to make it out alive from this mess, it had to be Adler.
After all, you had a job to do.
Brows knit and vision filled with red, you grasped the handle of the knife protruding from your stomach. You grinded your molars together, taking a sharp intake of breath as you proceeded to pull it out.
Pain erupted without hesitation, and it took everything within your mental capacity to keep awake. It was a horrid feeling, and you whimpered with every miniscule movement. You could feel the metal lifting out, and blood began to splurt, staining your shirt. It hurt. Everything did. Death seemed like a great option.
Your mind was warning you, demanding you to stop. You wanted to, but you refused to yield.
If you were going to die, then so be it. You'll even take Death's damn hand if it means that Stitch would be coming along with you.
You held back a cry as the knife came free. It glistened underneath the neon lights of the arcade, stained with your own fresh blood. You took short, little breaths in an attempt to lessen the pain, only to no avail.
With a trembling hand, you flip the blade around, holding it from the tip. It was warm. You couldn't even see your own skin underneath the mass of blood that caked your fingers. Just how much did you lose for the sake of this man?
Not that it mattered. If Adler trusted his life to you, then you'll do whatever it takes to make sure he lived to see another day.
Pulling your arm back, your fingertips pressed against the metal as you readied yourself.
Mustering all remaining strength, you swing full force, chucking the weapon towards the duo's direction.
It cut through the air without a second thought, going into a nice arch.
You could see Stitch look up during the final moments as the knife struck him, embedding itself right in the middle of his forehead.
He didn't make a noise as his eyes rolled into the back of his head.
Time seemed to slow down as you watched the Russian fall onto his back, not even groaning as he collapsed.
It's over.
You let out a difficult exhale after holding your breath for so long, and set your head back down, staring up at the ceiling. Your arms fall to the side, eagle spread.
The lights of the arcade machines flickered and bounced around without a care in the world. Beeping and 16-bit noises played along in an attempt to veil the sounds of warfare just outside the doorway. There was a soothing vaporwave-like rhythm, luring you into a sense of numbness and peace.
The purplish blue was a nice shade, and it made you drowsy. A wave of tranquility washed over you as you watched the light show, and with each blink you took, your eyelids felt heavier and heavier. Sleep was calling out to you.
How many near-death experiences did you have? Trabzon Airport, Cuba, Solovetsky, the cliffside… The list went on.
Adler heaved violently nearby, using the back of his hand to wipe away the crimson that ran down his nose. The effort was useless, as more of it continued to streak downward over his lips and chin. It had taken a moment for him to register that Stitch ceased all movement, lying uselessly with arms splayed out. Horror-struck, his expression held itself frozen as his own knife stuck out from his forehead.
Bell.
Adler’s arms shook as he held himself up into a crawling position. He saw you lying there with a pool of red that was about to expand underneath you. He pushes himself to you with his elbows, holding out a hand to you. “[L/N]!” his voice quivers.
He was calling you.
Turning your head, you see Adler struggle to make his way over to you. You manage a shaky smile as he enters your view.
“Is that you, Russ?” you gurgle weakly, squinting trying to focus. The metallic taste in your mouth only seemed to strengthen, lathering your taste buds.
“Don’t talk!” His eyes darted from place to place trying to figure out where he should prioritize first aid, but his thoughts were racing and he couldn't concentrate, head rolling from the thorough beating Stitch had given him. "Shit, I–"
“Ah, it is." You gave him a soft smile. Albeit your altered vision, Adler's face managed to detail itself. The hat he had on previously lied on the floor a couple paces away, his hair instead ruffled and a mess. "I couldn’t recognize you. Stitch really did a number on you… And me."
The mere sight of you made Adler's stomach drop. A mix of black and red resided where your left eye should have been, covered with soiled bandages that felt like it didn't do much to help. You had several bruises as well, cuts decorating your skin. Old scars that you had were now covered with new wounds. Your shirt had dark stains on it as it clung to your body.
Adler's hands went towards your stomach, applying pressure and you winced underneath him. “You’re going to be okay Bell."
You try to laugh at his attempt to comfort you, only to choke up some blood. "C'mon, be truthful. How do I look?"
He couldn't respond, and with one hand he reached behind, shoving his hands forcibly underneath the covers of his satchel, trying to look for any medical supplies.
"I told Vikhor that… if he even touched you.. I'd kill him." Your eyes lingered on his. "C'mon don't make that face. Aren't you proud of me?"
He looked pitiful. Adler was biting the insides of his cheeks, just trying to keep himself together amongst this hell hole he was thrown into. But he couldn't hide it. He wasn't fucking proud— he was broken. Whether it was the mere image of your mutilated body, or the thought that you practically sacrificed yourself for him, he knew that he was the reason you did the shit you just did.
Adler didn't ask you to do it. So why, why, why, did you commit to such a selfless act? That valor he admired now became the reason for your recklessness and gave you reason to act so blindly. Why were you so fucking loyal? A month without your presence nearby and the first thing he sees upon contact was you bleeding out in front of him. It was like God, or whatever higher being up there, was testing his integrity of how much shit he can take before breaking.
The instant he felt his fingers rub against something inside his pack, he pulled the object out.
A flare.
No. No. Nonono—
Where was his medkit?
You placed a hand on his cheek, wiping away a tear that escaped the corner of his eye. The gesture stings as he feels your finger brush against his puffed and bruised skin. He sees you shake your head slightly at the effort of his search for treatment, and his own heart just drops.
Stop.
Don't look at me like that. Why are you shaking your head?
"You need to leave me."
Don't say that! he yells internally. Adler feels his chest constrict at the thought he conjured up.
He gives out a shaky breath as he places his own hand over yours, ignoring the blood smearing against his scar. "Bell, I'm not going to leave you," he says slowly, trying to control his emotions. "We're getting out together."
"'Crying doesn't suit you',” you reiterate to him, but at that point you couldn't even interpret his own face out. Your eyes were half lidded, beginning to lose its shine as they trailed away from his face to focus on something above him. Terrified, Adler cups your cheek and makes you look back at him.
"Stay with me, [L/N]."
"I think… I need a rain check on that date of ours."
This wasn't happening.
Fuck, fuck!
“Of course. I'll take you wherever you want. Just… Just stay awake until we get to the hospital?” Adler clammers, clutching your hand tighter. "Can you do that for me?"
"Yeah. I'll try."
"You can sleep when we get th—"
"Mhm..."
No.
"Bell?"
Your eyes were closed, and despite everything you must have gone through, you gave off a serene expression, the corners of your mouth upturned slightly.
Adler feels your hand become heavy, losing its strength. He wasn't ready for this.
"Bell?" his voice cracks. "No, you can't— You can't fucking die on me Bell!"
He expected you to flinch at his tone, like you used to, but didn't budge. His heart dropped, desperation clawing at him. If there was one thing he feared the most, it was this.
What the fuck am I doing?
"Come on, c'mon…"
Adler swears profusely as he unbuckles his equipment in a rush, letting the orange scarf around his neck free. He rips it off and bundles it, pressing the mass against your stomach. You didn't even grimace. The bright orange turned dark as it absorbed whatever substance it could.
"Ossou!" Adler screams into his earpiece. "Where's the fucking medic?!"
They had to get you out. Away from the mall, into the hospital. They'll treat you there. You can get a blood transfusion. Fucking take his own blood if they had to— just ANYTHING to keep you alive.
There was still time...
Right?
#wow bell you really pulled a soap huh#i would have written the knife going to stitch's eye but then there's too much eye shit as is so that was just pushing it#call of duty x reader#russell adler x reader#adler x reader#russell adler x bell#bo:cw#cod black ops cold war#black ops cold war#call of duty#fanfic#bell#russell adler#abcd briefing#anyways this chapter took so fucking long to finish cause uhh yeah so much crap happened#text
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Strawberries, Sunflowers, and Lemon Pie
Summary: Draco smells you, a Hufflepuff student’s, scent in Amortentia and realizes he’s in love with you. But not before he freaks out a little bit.
Word Count: 1.9k
Warnings: Swearing, OOC (soft boi Draco), mentions of food, and fluff
A/N: Thank you @brokengirl13002 for requesting this! I hope you like it and it’s super fluffy and cute and everything you could ever hope for lol xx.
Third Person POV
Draco huffed as he continued to stir his potion. He wasn’t sure if it was coming together perfectly, but as he added the next ingredient, his mouth turned up at the corners, feeling confident. ’Amortentia’ he scoffed to himself, ‘What a stupid potion. Who needs a love potion to make someone fall in love with them? Pathetic.’ As Draco continued to stir his potion evenly, he looked up to see his best friend Y/N, very obviously struggling with her potion. Whenever he saw Y/N, he felt his facial features soften, her clumsy tendencies lightening his mood – he supposed that’s why they were such good friends. His sharp personality was balanced out by her soft one, making a very cohesive relationship where each person was what the other wasn’t.
Once Draco added the very last ingredient and finished stirring his potion, he knew he’d executed the recipe perfectly. The mother-of-pearl sheen described in Advanced Potion Making was present in his potion, and the tendrils of steam rising from it were exactly as they should be. Suddenly a scent hit his nose. ‘Strawberries, sunflowers, and lemon pie’ he thought to himself. ‘Where do I recognize that scent from?’ He couldn’t put his finger on the smell – right up until he looked at Y/N again. ‘Shit…Y/N loves lemon pie…’ Draco opened his mouth to say something, then realized that would be a terrible idea. He had almost just inadvertently revealed what he smelled in the love potion. Draco slammed his potion book shut, grabbing Snape’s attention. Snape swished over towards his table, looking into his cauldron, and nodding appreciatively.
After taking a sample of the potion, Snape brusquely says “10 points to Slytherin. You may go, Mr. Malfoy.” Draco nods his head, relieved that he could escape to his dormitory for a few minutes to process the information he just discovered. Y/N tries to catch his eye while he quickly gathers up his supplies, but Draco studiously avoids her gaze, making Y/N feel a bit concerned. He rushes out of the dungeon, walking swiftly to the Slytherin common room before anybody can stop him. ‘When did I start feeling like this about Y/N?’ he wondered to himself, panic rising in his system. ‘What if she doesn’t feel the same? What if I ruin the friendship somehow?’ Draco could feel his blood pressure rising just thinking about the time the two of you spend together. He specifically remembers one perfect memory.
The two of you sitting by the black lake, studying together. Y/N was leaning against a tree, and Draco had his head in her lap. Y/N was running her fingers through Draco’s platinum blonde hair, massaging his scalp gently. Draco had felt his eyes get heavy, the sun shining in his face and warming his whole body. ‘No’ he thought to himself, interrupting himself mid-memory. ‘It wasn’t the sun that made me feel warm. It was Y/N’s smile. I know it. That’s when I fell in love with her, I suppose. In that moment.’ After thinking about the one perfect memory, Draco’s resolve hardened. He knew exactly what he was going to do, a confident smirk growing on his angular face. He continued walking through the castle, completely unaware that Y/N was about to crash into him.
Y/N’s POV
Watching Draco walk away from me, my heart sank a little bit. My best friend in the whole world had just walked away from me, clearly upset, and didn’t seem like he wanted anything to do to me. I swiftly dumped out my cauldron full of potion, too preoccupied to notice the faint scent of mint and green apples. As I packed up my supplies, finally having finished my potion about ten minutes after Draco, I hastily fled the dungeon and made my way towards the Hufflepuff common room. I was looking down at my feet, feeling self-conscious, when suddenly, I ran into something solid. I looked up and the first thing I saw were those beautiful light grey eyes. Draco. My breath hitched in my throat, confused as to why I would be so nervous around him all of a sudden. The smile on his face when he sees me makes my heart melt, my cheeks heating up, and then heating up even more once I realize I’m blushing at the thought of my best friend. ‘Oh my Merlin, I like him. Why did I have to realize this now? Ugh why does he look so cute?’
Draco takes a breath, obviously about to say something, his hands fidgeting with his tie. Merlin, he looked so attractive. His white-blonde hair was slightly tousled, like he’d run his hands through it absentmindedly, and his pale face had a beautiful flush to it, like he’d sprinted up a flight of stairs. My gaze dropped to his lips, pink and slightly parted as he searched for the right words. His face began to get more flushed, his hand rising up to his face as his tongue darted out between his lips, which were begging for moisture. You waited for him to speak, intrigued by what could possibly have him so flustered. Had you been talking out loud to yourself about how cute you thought he was? There was no way, he would’ve had some snarky comment to say to you.
“Draco, what is it?” you ask impatiently. You could see him getting more flustered by the minute, and you had to be honest, you were kind of enjoying it. Were you the reason he was getting flustered? Suddenly, the puzzle pieces clicked in your head. Draco smelled me in the Amortentia. You blushed, realizing he was trying to ask you on a date.
“I was…just going to ask how you think that potion went for you?” Draco finally asked, lamely. Clearly that had not been what he intended to ask. You smirked in response.
“Dray, you know I’m terrible at potions. I’ll be lucky if I pass the class. I’m going to go drop my books in my room and then we’ll go down to dinner, okay?” Draco nodded, looking relieved that he could have a moment alone with his thoughts.
Draco’s POV
‘Merlin, I’m such an idiot. What happened to my charm, my wit…? That could not have gone worse. Potions? Ugh.’ I continued walking towards my dormitory, intent on putting my bags down like Y/N had suggested. I had just placed my hand on the door of my dormitory when a thought struck me. I knew exactly how to ask out Y/N. But in order to put my plan into action, I had to hurry.
Y/N’s POV
Draco and I had just finished dinner and I decided to head up to my common room. I waved goodbye to him and started to walk away from the Great Hall. I felt myself get lost in thought about the homework I had to complete that night, and then suddenly, I was in front of my common room. I let myself into the common room and headed up toward my dormitory. As I stepped into the room, I noticed something laying on my bed. A single sunflower and a small lemon pie. There was a note beside them. It read Meet my in the kitchens at midnight. -D.M. I knew immediately from the slanting handwriting that it was from Draco. My heart skipped a beat and my face flushed. What did he have planned?
I moved the flower and the pie before flopping down onto my bed, a wide grin on my face. ‘How am I going to pass the time when all I can think about is Draco?’ I grabbed my potions notebook, attempting to get started on the homework Snape had assigned, and surprisingly getting lost in the chore. Before I knew it, midnight had rolled around. I stopped in the bathroom before leaving my dormitory to fix my hair, knowing I’d be embarrassed if I looked weird. I then set off towards the kitchen, making sure that I didn’t encounter anyone along the way. I got to the painting of the fruit bowl, and tickled the pear – it giggled back at me and turned into a door handle. I grasped the handle and pushed open the door, not knowing what to expect inside.
I gasped at the sight that met my eyes once I was inside the kitchen. Draco was sitting on the floor of the kitchen, on top of a beautiful pastel yellow and green checked blanket. ‘Our house colors,’ I thought to myself. He was leaning back against a stack of pillows he’d obviously transported down here, ignorant to my arrival. Around him were mugs of hot chocolate, filled to the brim with marshmallows and whipped cream, with tiny chocolate kisses dropped on top. My mouth watered at the sight, but I was more interested in the boy sitting next to the drink.
“Dray,” I whispered lightly, not wanting to scare him with my sudden appearance. He whipped his head around, and I watched as his mouth immediately shot into a smile.
“Y/N, you came. I wasn’t sure you would.”
“Of course, I would silly, you’re my best friend.” His smile faltered slightly at my response, his pride taking a small beating at the use of the word ‘friend.’ “Is all of this for me...?” You ask shyly, hoping he says yes. He nods, the grin back on his face.
“I wanted to ask you a question,” he says, now looking as confident as ever, nothing like earlier today. You sit down next to him and nod your head, silently urging him to keep talking. “I was wondering,” he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, “if you wanted to go on a date with me.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he let his breath out and his eyes popped open and looked directly at me. I had known he was trying to ask me on a date earlier, but nothing could have prepared me for the explosion of butterflies I got in my stomach when it actually happened. I reached a hand up to touch his cheek softly, in awe of the beautiful boy in front of me. I traced my hand down his cheek and across his lips, eyes following my fingers. I looked into his eyes after a moment, a cheeky grin flitting across my face.
“I thought you’d never ask,” I joked, laying my head down in his lap, hands reaching up towards his hair and running through it. He let out a breath I didn’t even realize he was holding and I took in his dazzling smile. He swooped down to my level, his hands on either side of my face, and his lips met mine. My stomach flipped in excitement, elated at the fact that Draco was finally mine. He pulled away slowly, relishing in the fact that he was kissing me, and placed a small peck on my nose.
“You smell like strawberries, my love. I think that’s my new favourite smell.”
#draco malfoy#draco malfoy x reader#draco malfoy fanfiction#harry potter fandom#harry potter fanfic#hufflepuff#hufflepuff reader#slytherin#slytherin prince#draco malfoy x hufflepuff reader#gred-and-fe0rge
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Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven. ~ eight.
Wordcount: 2.7k
Summary: Being with Miya Atsumu is like chasing a storm - equal parts exhilaration and danger. After all, it’s impossible to tame a storm.
Masterlist here
AO3 Link here
Playing volleyball in Milan is everything Atsumu dreamed of and more - the lights are brighter, the crowds are bigger, there are no distractions, no nagging to ignore, no pending errands to run - nothing to detract from the rush of exhilaration when he executes yet another perfect set. His teammates introduce him to the joy of soaking in the sunset over aperitivo by the Navigli canals, and he develops a liking for cheese and cured meat - prosciutto, salami, bresola, sending pictures of the street markets to Osamu even though he receives no reply.
But it’s not long before the novelty of living alone in a foreign land fades. He’s never been particularly good with languages, so he’s unable to get across the language barrier preventing him from socialising outside of his teammates. So Atsumu finds himself falling back into habits he learnt at home - buying take-out pizza on Friday nights from the pizzeria down the street, ordering extra because the pizza in Milan is thinner, crisper and infinitely less filling. There are no aquariums in Milan, no museums with dinosaur bones, so he measures his steps on cobblestone streets to the park every Sunday to sit on a bench too large for him alone, watching the birds and clouds in the sky.
He tells himself to be content with watching his baby grow through the frame of an eleven inch screen, recording every one of her babbled words and chuckles onto his phone until it runs out of space and has to call Suna for technical support. He becomes a regular at the post office, mailing packages of dolls and nutcrackers, chocolates from his favourite sweetshop and handmade baby dresses from wizened oba-chan he learns to air kiss on both cheeks.
‘Home, Oto-san?’ Shino asks during one of their calls. His voice breaks when he has to tell his baby ‘sorry, darlin’, not yet’. It’s the only time he opens up the webpage to check if he can book a flight back home.
He starts rushing to the locker room right after matches end to avoid seeing his teammates’ faces light up when their families congratulate them with kisses and warm embraces after every match. When his teammates ask about his family (he drives away the thought that they’re asking out of pity), he whips out his phone to show them his favourite picture of Shino, her little face screwed up in confusion when they loaded her back with the giant mochi for her first birthday- ‘such a trooper, didn’t even cry when she fell down’ he tells them proudly. He’s quick to swipe past any photos of her.
He doesn't need the memories, he really doesn’t.
Well - he might not need the memories, but it’s not as if they disappear. He wakes up to find himself on the other side of bed. ‘Sorry, darlin’ he mumbles sleepily (because he knows he tends to invade her space, and she’s likely to kick him bodily off the bed if he doesn’t apologise quickly enough) - before snapping awake with a thin sheen of cold sweat on his forehead remembering he’s five thousand, nine hundred and sixty miles from home.
Not that he’s counting. He really isn’t.
He’s ashamed to admit that he heads to the club that night to pick up someone - anyone to warm his bed, but he’s not sure if it’s the burn of alcohol or the flashing lights (or that prick of something in his chest - it can’t be his conscience, he’s pretty sure only Osamu has that) because his stomach churns whenever pigs with their painted faces and false smiles approach him, and soon gives up, returning to his apartment cold and alone. He’s pretty sure it’s the alcohol because he pukes his guts out in the morning and swears off from ever going to a club again.
“MIYA !’
He only has time for a brief flash of shock between hearing his coach shout his name and feeling the impact of his teammate’s full weight against his shoulder that sends him sprawling across the floor. There’s a collective gasp from the crowd, but it’s not loud enough to drown out the sickening snap of bone ringing in his ears as he’s lying on the ground.
The sharp burst of pain stabbing his shoulder is enough for him to know what the doctors later confirm - a shattered collarbone. Complete rest for at least eight weeks is prescribed for a full recovery.
‘What were you thinking, Miya?’ his coach asks him exasperatedly when he’s discharged from the hospital.
‘I goofed’, he replies lamely. ‘Sorry, sir’.
It wouldn’t do to tell anyone that for a split second, he was distracted by the sight of a dark haired woman with bright eyes cheering at the top of the stands, a plump toddler balanced on her hip.
It’s close enough to the end of the competition season that his coach figures it’d be better for him to just cut his stay in Milan short and return to Japan early to recover properly. So he lands in the Osaka airport amidst a haze of rain, arm tucked in a sling. The airport staff are kind enough to help him wheel his bags out to the arrivals gate where he’s surprised to find Osamu waiting with a bored expression on his face.
‘I thought ya weren’t talkin’ to me’, Atsumu says.
Osamu snorts, taking hold of his bags. ‘Mum made me come and get ya, since you're useless with that busted collarbone of yours.’ Then he turns on his heel and matter of factly adds as he walks off - ‘Besides, you’ll end up stayin’ with me anyway - it’s not like you have a home of yer own.’
Atsumu opens his mouth to retort but shuts it with a snap.
‘You better hide in the kitchen if ya don’t have the guts to show yer ugly mug around her’, Osamu tells him at half past six in the evening, not even looking up from the tuna and spring onion onigiri he’s forming in his hands.
But Atsumu doesn’t. He tells himself it’s because he can’t bring himself to leave Shino’s side for a second more than he has to, not when he’s still drinking in the sight of her grown so, so big in the span of just a few months. The little girl had been confused at first, when both he and Osamu turned up at the childcare centre to pick her up, but after several minutes of coaxing her to recognise which one of them was Oto-san and Oji-san (the hair colour probably helped) and the bribe of a very elaborate doll (probably the main reason), she’d warmed up to him and refused to let go of his hand.
She pushes open the door to Onigiri Miya with a gentle smile on her face when Shino shrieks ‘Mama!’ at the top of her little lungs and rushes over to her, though it vanishes the instant she notices that it’s not Osamu playing with the little girl. He tries his best to ignore the stab of guilt in his chest when she takes an instinctive step back to yank Shino behind her legs.
‘You’re back’, she finally says, glancing at his arm resting in its sling.
‘Yeah…’ he responds, starting to sweat like he’s standing under the hottest stadium lights. ‘Ya look good’.
‘I know when you’re lying, Atsumu’, she sighs - and if he's being honest, she’s right. To the untrained eye, she looks perfectly put together, dressed in a pencil skirt and heels with her hair neatly tied back, but he knows her too well to be fooled. He can spot the pallor of her skin beneath her makeup, the droop of her shoulders, the downward tilt of her lips. But before he can formulate a response, she grabs Shino’s hand and turns to go, the little girl waving goodbye at him until they’re out of sight.
‘Wow. That was awkward.’ Osamu quips from over the counter. Atsumu can’t even find it in him to respond.
Osamu makes him work at his store in between his sessions of physiotherapy. ‘To keep ya out of trouble’ he says, and Atsumu doesn’t really mind, it still leaves him plenty of time to pick up Shino from childcare every day, and it certainly gives him the excuse to hang around Onigiri Miya when she stops by in the evenings.
He tries to make conversation with her - ‘That’s a new dress you’re wearing’, but is always rebuffed - ‘I bought this old thing years ago’, to Osamu’s endless amusement. She’d always enter the store with a fond smile on her face for Osamu (it makes him want to puke), and would immediately drop it the moment she meets his eyes.
He tells himself it’s normal, she used to be cold and standoffish to him before they started dating, that she’d come around after a while. But even when he tries a different tack (perhaps compliments don’t work on her like they used to before), asking her ‘how’s yer day’, she shoots him a look of distrust that cuts right through his smile - ‘Just tell me what you want, Atsumu. You’ve never bothered asking me that before’.
Osamu actually roars with laughter at that. Traitor.
‘Need help with that?’ Osamu comments after watching Atsumu struggle to reach the exercise tape on his back with his one good hand, stepping in after Atsumu gives a reluctant nod. But he immediately yelps in pain when Osamu decides to abandon all pretense of being gentle and yanks on the exercise tape viciously.
‘Just take off my skin while you're at it, why don't ya’ Atsumu whines. ‘It never used to hurt that much when she would help me after physiotherapy’.
‘She’s always been nicer to ya than ya deserve, fuckin’ scrub’. Osamu retorts, pulling at the remaining tape with increased vigour.
Atsumu bites his tongue through the pain, picking apart his brother’s words before replying - ‘Hey ‘Samu. She’s still really mad with me, isn’t she? D'you think she’ll ever forgive me?’
‘Have ya tried apologising to her, for starters?’
‘What?’ Atsumu asks, bewildered, before yelping - 'Wait - ouch!! What the hell that bloody hurt!?!?!'
‘You know - saying sorry? Owning up to your mistakes? Asking for forgiveness? You abandoned your wife and child for months - but I suppose that concept must be alien to you, shit stain.’
Osamu doesn’t give him a chance to respond, shaking his head as he walks away.
His pride is an ugly, misshapen lump in his throat that's so inflamed it's almost impossible to be swallowed, but he does so anyway, asking her if they can speak for a short while in the alley behind the shop, away from Osamu’s eavesdropping ears. She furrows her brows at his request, but follows him out without complaint.
It’s only when she’s standing before him in the dimly lit alleyway, the dying light of the setting sun reflecting a halo above her head that it hits him like a blow to the back of his head that he’s a fuckin’ idiot - how did he manage to convince himself to blame her for trying to get in his way of chasing his dreams. This is what he missed when he was living alone in his cold studio apartment in Milan - being able to return after trainings and matches to a cosy flat overflowing with her cheeky banter and his baby’s laughter.
Gods, he wants his family. He wants to come home.
But before he can pour out the apology he’d been preparing with Osamu’s help, she interrupts him by slapping a brown envelope into his chest.
‘Look, I’m not sure what you have to say to me, but frankly, I’m not sure we have much to say to each other anymore,’ she tells him impatiently, as he opens the envelope, a tidal surge of dread overwhelming him.
‘What's this’, he says blankly, even though the title on the very first page of the stack of papers trembling in his hands sets it out clearly - Rikon-Todoke. i.e. Divorce papers.
It spells out in clinical, cold words the terms of the proposed separation - dissolution of marriage by mutual consent, no request for alimony or compensation, legal custody to be granted to her with ample visitation rights for him. He would think it fair, if it were to apply to anyone but him.
‘But why?’ he rasps, chest burning from the knife that pierces him right through his heart.
She shifts forward, and the neon lights from the buildings surrounding them melding together to throw her face into sharp focus, her mouth curving upwards into something much harsher than a smile. It’s as if his departure acted as a whetstone, sharpening her edges, shaping her into a woman with hard eyes he can’t recognise.
‘You and both know it’s been a long time coming, hasn’t it Atsumu? You’ve made it quite clear that this marriage isn’t what you want out of life. In any case neither of us have really been happy even before you left, so we might as well be free from each other.’
At this, he shakes his head, parting his lips to object but she continues ruthlessly, her words slicing past his tissue thin excuses.
‘If anything, my time with you has taught me that it's impossible to stop the storm from destroying everything in its path. You can only try your best to outrun it, and this' - ’ she stabs a finger at the stack of papers shaking in his hands - ‘this is my attempt at outrunning you.’
It feels as if his world has somehow shifted, tilted upside down, turned inside out, his assumption that her taking him back would be an inevitable conclusion now disproven by the papers burning in his hands. He knows he’s hurt her beyond measure, but he never thought that his choice to chase what he thought were his dreams would leave him without the ground beneath his feet.
‘You don’t need to do anything else - just sign it and give it back to me soon. I think it’s better for all of us - you, me and Shino, if we divorce formally and lead our own separate lives’, he hears her say, turning to go.
Acting on instinct, his hand shoots out to grab her wrist and she flinches, the steel in her eyes crumbling to leave only frozen terror behind.
I could never hurt you, he wants to say, but doesn't - because he knows it's a lie.
Numbly, he releases his grip, letting his hand drop to his side.
He hears the door close behind him.
Osamu finds him hours later, crouched on the back steps to the shop, papers clenched in his hands. He takes the papers from him and mouths to himself while scanning through it, but there is no spark of surprise in his eyes.
‘Did ya know she planned on divorcing me, ‘Samu?’, Atsumu asks, swiping his eyes with the back of his hand.
‘I had a pretty good guess it was coming’, Osamu replies heavily.
‘Fuck’, Atsumu groans, dropping his head between his legs.
Osamu prods his side with the tip of his shoe. ‘It’s not that I want to kick a guy when he’s down, but she's your wife, not a toy you can toss aside and come back to after a few months, shit for brains. And if I’m being honest, it looks like you’re acting like a brat who only wants his toy back when someone else picks it up’.
Osamu’s response lights a fire in his chest, and he whirls to his feet, grabbing his twin by the front of his apron growling - ‘Whose side are ya on anyway?!’
Osamu looks at him calmly, uncharacteristically refusing to take his bait. ‘Well, it's not as if ya don't deserve it. You walked out on her and Shino for almost a year, Atsumu. I’ve been the one cleaning up yer mess like I’ve been doing my whole life - I’ve been the one picking Shino up from childcare, I had to accompany yer wife to the hospital when yer kid was down with a high fever - d'you still have to ask whose side I’m on?’
‘D'you love her, ‘Samu?’ Atsumu asks after a pause.
The twins stare at each other.
‘I love her like a sister, you asshole. And I hate that it’s my own brother causing her pain.’ Osamu eventually says, pushing him away.
The door slams behind him again.
The dark clouds above him rumble ominously. It starts to pour.
#hq#haikyuu#haikyuu!!#haikyuu writing#hq writing#haikyuu angst#hq angst#haikyuu imagines#hq imagines#haikyuu x reader#hq x reader#haikyuu x y/n#miya atsumu#miya atsumu x reader#atsumu x reader#atsumu x y/n#hq atsumu#miya osamu#inarizaki#haikyuucreations#haikyuu romance#haikyuu fluff
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Sparks - Spencer Reid x Reader
Request: Could you do a spencer Reid x SSA fem!reader where you guys are on a case and he sees the cops flirting with you and gets jealous and reveals his feelings?
A/N: WOW I’m really sorry this was out so much later than I predicted. Life is hard sometimes, y’all! My stressors are gone now so hopefully I’ll be cranking out a whole lot more of these.
Also, I never understood how writers could just start a story they thought would be short and end up with 6K words. Now I know! Whoops.
Please leave feedback if you have any! Lots and lots and LOTS of love, as always.
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Your favorite part of any given case was closing it.
There was no rush or relief quite like the feeling of taking someone dangerous off the streets. No sensation could match handcuffing an unsub and watching officers escort them to police cars, never to wreak havoc again. Those days were undoubtedly the best part of being a profiler at the BAU. Those beautiful days took away the pain and anguish you so often faced as an agent, even if only momentarily.
Today was one of those days.
The resolution of this case provided the small town a chance to take a deep breath of relief. The killer was locked away, there were minimal casualties, and several hostages had been rescued and reunited with their families. All in all, it was a success.
Normally the team would fly back to Virginia right away, but a large, dangerous, looming electrical storm prevented a safe flight. Hotch made the executive decision to stay another night at the motel, and no one complained. After all, this case had been exhausting and draining for all of you.
It wasn’t until Morgan suggested a trip to the bar next door that the night got interesting.
Classic.
So, there you and Emily were, taking a trek across the street in the pouring rain, clutching your shared umbrella as if your lives depended on it.
“You know; I think I might be getting too old for this.” Emily nearly yelled over the roar of the weather. You laughed.
“Never! Who would be my off-duty partner in crime if not you?”
She shook her head and smiled at you. Strands of lightning lit up the sky and reflected in the many puddles at your feet. As beautiful as it was, you were not particularly comfortable holding a large piece of metal in a barren landscape during an electrical storm. As soon as the next inevitable clap of thunder shook the earth, both of you silently agreed to walk even faster to get to the bar and out of the rain.
“All I’m saying is you’d better start looking for my replacement.” Emily fired back, clutching the umbrella even harder as the wind blew the raindrops straight into your faces.
“As if I could ever replace the best wing woman I’ve ever had.” You shouted back to her. At that, Emily laughed out loud.
“Wing woman? Yeah, right.”
You didn’t have time to question her cheeky comment before the two of you finally reached the door to the bar. Emily immediately sighed in relief and you chuckled, stepping inside to relish in the warmth and shelter from the aggressive storm. Both of you stood in the doorway and took off your rain jackets, thankful to be dry and safe again.
“So, you’re telling me that if I found you someone at this bar…” Emily started to tease you, elbowing your ribs in jest. However, her eyes held an underlying mystery that frightened you. It was as if she was looking directly into your heart, reading your every move, discovering your deepest secrets.
Emily was one of your closest friends, but there was one secret in your heart that you could barely admit to yourself, much less another person. That was not something you wanted to dive into at the moment. It had been such a good day. There was no need to tarnish it with rambling thoughts and uncomfortable feelings.
Did that secret involve romantic feelings for a team member? Maybe.
She couldn’t know. There was no possible way she could know.
“I mean… I don’t know.” You bashfully tripped over your words, knowing she was kidding, but not doubting her willingness to embarrass you.
“Really? A gorgeous, smart, single woman like you, not wanting to find any company?” You blushed at the compliments, but shook your head in denial.
“Nice try, but I am perfectly happy being all alone.” You playfully nudged her shoulder. She let out a big laugh, hooking your arm in hers and starting to head toward the rest of the team at the back of the bar.
“Oh, come on. Don’t feed me that. We all know about you and Reid.” She subtly whispered in your ear.
And there it was.
She knew. Of course she knew. You felt your face begin to drain its color.
“We…” you attempted to launch into your heavily used “just friends” speech, but Emily put a finger up to your lips.
“Don’t even try that excuse with me. Just, don’t. Your self-appointed wing woman knows better.” She smirked and gave you a wink before releasing your arm and taking a seat between Morgan and JJ.
Rolling your eyes at her, you sat down in the only remaining seat, conveniently next to none other than Dr. Spencer Reid. You glared at Emily and she wiggled her eyebrows at you, fully aware of what she had done.
Oh boy. This was going to be a long night.
It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be around him. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Plopping down next to Spencer was the most comforting thing you had done all day. Though he was deep in conversation with Morgan, he grabbed one of the drinks in front of him and handed it to you without looking. You smiled, taking the glass as you watched his face contort while arguing with his friend. This was undoubtedly a conversation you did not want to interrupt.
You took a sip from the glass, and your heart skipped a beat. He had ordered you your favorite drink without even asking if you were in the mood.
Then again, he’s a professional profiler and one of your closest friends. Of course he knew you needed it.
That’s the whole problem, though. Why fix something that isn’t broken? Why go out on a limb for something that could destroy an already perfect relationship, both personally and professionally? The costs outweighed the benefits in every single sense. It just wasn’t worth it.
But all the rationality in the world couldn’t stop your heart from longing for the fairy tale.
“Hey!” Spencer’s soft, warm voice cut through all of the noise and broke you right out of your thoughts. He had turned to face you, cheeks slightly tinted red, probably from the heat of the bar and the alcohol. His ever-shining smile lit up his face. You couldn’t help but return it.
As always, you were amazed at how one shared moment with him could make every insecurity and anxious thought feel so small.
“Are you feeling better?” He asked, the furrow in his brow reflecting his genuine concern.
“Oh, yeah! Just a couple of bumps and bruises. Nothing too serious.” You assured him.
Earlier that day you had been shot by the unsub. Thankfully, all of the bullets hit your vest and not your unprotected body. It wasn’t the first time you had been in a shooting match with a perpetrator, but for some reason this one had really rattled you.
He nodded, taking another sip of his drink before proceeding.
“I looked at your vest. If that last bullet had been just 2 centimeters to the left, it could’ve dissected your subclavian artery, and that could’ve been deadly. Arterial rupture can cause life-threatening hemorrhages, pseudoaneurysm formation, and compression of brachial plexus.” His eyes lit up with excitement as he continued to talk about your circulatory luck of the day, blissfully unaware of how intensely it had scared you.
That was one of your very favorite things about him. He took any moment, any situation, any scare, and turned it into a statistic. He put all your irrational fears into rational numbers and ideologies. No matter what happened to you, or anyone on your team, he was right there to make sure you all knew you weren’t alone, even if that meant spouting off facts about arterial dissection in a bar at midnight.
This man was something else.
“Hey, pretty boy!” This time the voice breaking you out of your thoughts was Morgan’s. Spencer’s many statistics halted abruptly as he turned to face the summoning voice.
“What ever happened to that lovely lady you were going to ask out for coffee last week?”
His body immediately tensed next to you. Your stupid, irrational, unforgiving heart dropped into your stomach.
“Um, I mean… I didn’t end up asking her.” His answer was surprisingly short. You had never seen Spencer so flustered and lost for words. You looked up at Emily and saw the delicate look of annoyance in her eyes.
“It’s really hard to date in this line of work…” Emily attempted to defend his decision, JJ nodding and offering noises of agreeance while taking sips of her drink, but Morgan cut them off to press him further.
“Oh come on Reid, you haven’t shut up about her for months!”
“Yes, thank you Emily.” Spencer replied, letting some of the tension go. “I’m not sure I want to take any of my focus away from this job right now.”
“Oh whatever…” Morgan started, but before he could go any further you saw Emily subtly kick him under the table.
She looked up at you, eyes faintly conveying her apologies and intent to knock some sense into the oblivious man. He gave her a confused look, but immediately dropped the subject after meeting her fiery gaze.
“Anyway… are you seeing anyone?” This time Morgan’s question was directed at you.
Nope. Not happening. Where was the alcohol?
“On that note, I’m going to go get a drink. Anyone want anything?” You asked, grabbing your glass and standing up quickly.
Before they could answer, you were on your way to the bar. The first drink was strong, but not strong enough to numb the stupid, unreasonable pain and excruciating awkwardness of what had just happened.
“I’ll have another of these, please.” You asked the bartender, sitting at one of the chairs to help calm your shaking knees.
Breathe.
There was literally no reason for you to be upset. He was allowed to see people. Both of you were single, for crying out loud! There was nothing you were willing to do to make the fairy tale in your head a reality, so why was this weighing on you so heavily?
Breathe. For the love of everything, breathe.
He deserved every happiness in the world, and more. There was no reason for you to be so self-centered and deny him that. Who’s to say he even thought of you as anything more than a colleague anyway?
“Agent?” You slightly jumped and turned to face the familiar voice, recognizing the man sitting next to you instantly.
“Sergeant Jones. Hi.” You presented the best smile you could muster in the moment at the sight of one of the local deputies.
“Please, call me Michael. It’s so nice to see you outside of the unfortunate situations our jobs bring.” His smile was warm, and the hand he reached out to shake was soft.
“It’s nice to see you too, Michael.” You smiled, angling yourself to face him more directly.
Breathe. Distractions are good, especially when they are this handsome. Breathe.
His short blonde hair was combed perfectly, and his blue flannel shirt subtly brought out his eyes. No wedding ring. You could feel your heart ever so slowly begin to rise at the prospect of feeling valued, wanted, especially by a handsome stranger.
Did it take your mind off Spencer? No.
Could anything at this point? Who knows.
“Are you okay?” He asked, the true concern evident in his pretty blue eyes.
No, Michael. You seem wonderful but this is the worst timing.
“Yeah! Yeah, it’s just been a long day.” You lied straight through your teeth like a pro. However, you were captivated by his seemingly genuine integrity.
“You can say that again.” He chuckled. “This town hasn’t seen action like this in the last century, at least.”
Spencer could probably pinpoint the exact date of the last time this tiny town had a historic day like this…
NOPE. Breathe.
“How often does your team handle cases like these?” Michael’s deep voice snapped you out of your racing thoughts.
Okay, this was good. You were good at talking about work. It was basically your whole life.
“Well, we mostly handle serial killer cases. Sometimes abductions, things of that nature.”
Michael was a good listener, and the way his body angled toward yours indicated he actually enjoyed listening to you talk about your gruesome job.
“Cases involving children are the hardest for me, but it’s different for everyone.” You added.
“Yeah, I understand. I know our jobs are of different caliber, but I struggle with those too.”
You were enamored with Michael’s honesty and emotional depth in your short conversation. Compassionate, good at listening, and handsome? The other shoe was sure to drop soon…
The bartender set your drink down in front of you, but before you could pay her Michael handed her some cash.
“Oh no…” You started to argue.
“Please, I insist. It’s been a hard day for all of us.” Michael softly smiled at you. You smiled back, immediately taking a big gulp of the strong drink. Bring on the numbness.
“So, do you have any kids?” His surprising question caused you to choke and begin coughing profusely. He immediately looked alarmed, placing a hand on your arm to steady you.
“I’m so sorry, I just meant because those cases affect you so much… I didn’t mean…”
“No! No, it's okay!” You choked out between coughs. Could this night get any more awkward? You took a deep breath and drink of water before continuing, noticing his strong, soft hand was still on your arm.
“No, I don’t have any kids yet. It’s hard to find time to date in this line of work.”
“Cheers to that.” He smiled, lifting his drink to tap yours.
Feeling the alcohol start to kick in, you closed your eyes and smiled. Finally.
“Hey, I never got a chance to thank you for what you did today.” You opened your eyes to meet his, slightly confused as to what he meant, but he continued. “You jumped in front of one of my men and took those bullets.”
Ah, transference. He’s only interested because he thinks you’re a hero.
“Oh, that’s just part of the job.” You brushed it off.
“No. That was true bravery and sacrifice.” Michael turned completely toward you. “I don’t know many people who would’ve done that. Truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.”
...or maybe he’s just incredibly kind?
“Of course.” You laid your free hand on top of his. Thankful for the recognition, but far more thankful that no one had been harmed that day.
“Man if you didn’t have to leave, I would absolutely be asking you on a date right now.” Michael’s undying honesty once again caught you by surprise.
“You’re just saying that because I took a successful risk today.”
“No, I’m saying it because in the last five minutes I’ve realized that you’re smart, along with brave and clearly beautiful.”
All you could do was smile and squeeze Michael’s hand, for though the flattery was lovely, both of you knew full well that was all it could be.
Out of nowhere, you felt the air tense. Michael looked past you in confusion, and all at once you knew who was there. You could feel Spencer’s presence before he spoke a single word. Somehow you could tell he had been there for a short while, and could feel the inevitable speech coming.
“Actually that’s called transference, which happens when material from our unconscious mind is propelled into our conscious mind as we try to deal with the usually painful psychological trauma that we are experiencing. The brain unconsciously re-surfaces and re-enacts conflict-ridden experiences as if the past were the present and one setting were another. We transfer thoughts, feelings, and attitudes, especially about people who resemble others. We assign them roles once played by others. We take on old roles ourselves. All unconsciously.”
Both you and Michael were stunned into silence, staring at Spencer as if he were from another planet.
What the hell was he doing?
You sighed, giving up any hope for a single shred of happiness to come from this night.
“Michael, you remember Dr. Reid.”
“Of course, good to see you again.” Michael nodded toward Spencer, which he awkwardly returned.
“Sorry to interrupt. I came over to see if you were alright after that coughing spell and couldn’t help but overhear…”
“It’s fine, Spencer.” You coolly cut him off, begging him with your eyes to go back to the table and let you make a connection, for once.
He saw the look, understood, and promptly ignored it.
“We should probably get back to the motel. The others left when I got up to check on you.”
“I’m a big girl, Spencer. I’ll be okay.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes at him.
“I can walk her back.” Michael looked up at Spencer, attempting to analyze him, to no avail.
“That won’t be necessary.” Spencer looked him dead in the eye, challenging him. A sudden look of realization dawned on Michael’s face. He immediately stood up, grabbing his jacket.
“Wow, I’m really sorry for the misunderstanding. I assumed you were single.”
God fucking dammit, Spencer.
“Oh I am! I am. It’s not like that. Spencer is just a good friend.”
Spencer stood there, unmoving, arms crossed, stoic as he could be. Michael gave up the silent fight, putting on his jacket and turning to leave.
“Listen, it was really nice to see you again, agent. Thank you again, truly, for all you did for my team today. Best wishes.” He shook your hand, far more awkward this time, and nodded to Spencer before bolting toward the door.
The prior sadness couldn’t hold a flame to the anger bubbling inside you at that moment. You whipped around to face the ever stoic Spencer, who didn’t seem to care about the fact that you were pissed as all hell about what he had just done. Before he could say another word, you took your coat from his outstretched arm and stormed toward the door, not caring if he followed or not.
Thankfully, the rain had stopped, but the beautiful lightning illuminated the sky as you furiously stomped back across the street to the motel. Normally you would attempt to walk softly in your heeled boots so as to not draw attention, but you couldn’t care less in this moment. You wanted Spencer to know just how royally pissed off you were, and you could tell he was right behind you.
Who did he think he was? Swooping in at the last second to sever the one human connection you’d made all night? Breaking the newfound bond you started with someone to distract from what he had caused?
The anger coursing through your veins seemed to dissolve the alcohol all on its own. You were no longer drunk, you were furious.
Breathe. Assault of a federal agent will put your ass in jail. Breathe.
It wasn’t until the two of you were alone in the elevator that you’d finally calmed down enough to form a sentence.
“What the fuck, Spencer?”
He didn’t answer. You took a deep breath, trying to expel the burning desire to scream. It didn’t work.
Of course, the one time you truly needed his explanation, he refused to offer it.
When the elevator reached your floor, he silently followed you to your room. You fished in your pocket for the key, but before you could swipe it Spencer grabbed your wrist, turning you toward him.
“I’m sorry.” He flatly stated.
Sure. Nice try.
“For what?” You challenged, not breaking his eye contact.
“For not getting you out of that situation sooner.”
You laughed right in his face. Pitiful, loud, uncontrollable laughter.
“Are you kidding me? Seriously? Oh my God.” You laughed so hard you thought you were going to throw up, clutching your stomach and leaning forward. His arms attempted to steady you but you eagerly batted them away.
“What is so funny about that?” You could tell he was getting frustrated.
Were you really about to start this?
You were really about to start this.
“Guess what? Men are allowed to flirt with me, Spencer. Believe it or not some people actually find me desirable.” He was surprised, but not as much as you thought he might be.
He didn’t deny that this was what had struck the nerve and prompted him to get you out of the bar.
“Those cops are bad news.” He broke eye contact, further proving your point.
“Michael was kind to me.”
“He was putting up a front.”
“Why is it so difficult for you to believe someone could actually be attracted to me?”
“He doesn’t even know you!”
“And if he did he wouldn’t want me?”
Spencer opened his mouth to fight back, but immediately closed it, eyes darting between the patterns on the carpet. Your heart cracked.
“I didn’t realize you thought so little of me, Spencer.”
“That’s not what I…” He cut himself off with a deep sigh, putting his hands behind his head and looking up to the ceiling.
“Then what the hell is it, because I don’t have time for this.” You spat, trying to use your keycard once more. Spencer grabbed your wrist again, holding tightly even as you tried to squirm away.
“What is your problem?” You nearly yelled in his face. “I don’t understand why it is SUCH a stretch in your mind that a man could want to spend time with me. Why can’t you fucking accept that?”
This time, as you tried to push him off of you, he grabbed your other arm and pinned both behind your back, pulling you close to him so you couldn’t escape.
“Because no matter who it is, I can guarantee they don’t want you as badly as I do.”
Your entire, sober brain shut down. All at once, the world was spinning, and not from alcohol.
You pushed him away, and this time he let you go, standing at a respectful distance, allowing you to soak in his confession. The wheels in your head weren’t turning fast enough for this.
“But… that girl Morgan was talking about…”
“Yeah. That’s you.”
Wait… what?
You let your hands fall to your knees as you leaned forward. It was too late in the night for this, too wrong a moment for such a bold confession.
So… he wanted to ask you out… but didn’t? When did that happen? When have you ever given him an indication you weren’t interested? But had you ever given him an indication you were interested?
The madness in your swirling thoughts was interrupted by Spencer taking a step toward you. Oh no. Oh dear God no.
Your brain screamed at you to move, take a step, run away, anything. But your heart held its own. In your deepest desires, you had been waiting for this moment since the day you met him.
Now it was your turn to observe the patterns on the carpet. Each and every flower seemed far more interesting now that you were confused out of your mind and your heart was beating at twice its normal rate.
All of the sudden, the toes of his converse lined up with your own, and you felt his hand lift your chin to look him in the eyes. In the low light of the hallway, they almost looked golden.
He moved painfully slowly, as if you would bolt at any moment. Which, to be fair, if your rational brain had anything to say about this moment, you’d be halfway down the street by now.
But, it didn’t. His hands slowly made their way to your waist, delicately touching to make sure you were okay before settling firmly. Your own hands worked their way up his arms and around his neck, feeling every tense, trembling move he made the whole way.
It was as if the entire world was paused, as if everything was in slow motion except for you and him. For the first time since you joined the bureau, you allowed your guard to drop for a moment.
And in that brief moment, his lips met yours.
Alarm bells sounded in your mind as soon as it happened, and you pulled your head away, ending the kiss almost as quickly as it began. You frantically looked into his eyes, still clutching onto him, allowing yourself to let it sink in.
Spencer Reid had just kissed you. Okay, sure.
The part that really scared you was how much you enjoyed it.
Breathe, dear God, fucking breathe.
He held your gaze with a surprising intensity, letting his eyes tell you all the truths he was afraid to say out loud.
You were afraid too. Terrified.
Yet, somehow, standing in that musty motel hallway holding onto your best friend for dear life after just locking lips for the first time felt like the most natural, perfect thing in the world.
Were you really about to continue this?
You bet your ass you were about to continue this.
You grabbed his face and pulled his head back down to yours to kiss him again. Your lips met just as softly, but this time settled into an intimate rhythm. One of your hands made its way into his hair, lightly pulling, causing him to let out a deep moan.
Oh, no. No, no, no. You really liked that.
His hands splayed out over your back, attempting to bring you even closer as your bodies moved together.
So this was what you had been running from all this time, the scariest possible scenario you’d tried so hard to bury.
That fear seemed minuscule compared to the overwhelming feeling of goodness that came from being this close to him, feeling his soft hair in your hands and his beating heart against your chest.
The edge of the abyss grew closer with every soft movement and crash of your lips. The point of no return loomed, begging you to hold him closer, bring him into your room, and cross all of the lines your paranoid mind had set long ago. After all, rules were made to be broken and lines were meant to be crossed, right? By the way he hungrily pressed your body against the door to your room, you knew he was thinking the exact same thing.
But, in true agent fashion, your rational brain caught up to you before you could make the dream a reality.
You pulled away harshly, and he immediately removed his hands and stepped back. Your heart was beating so fast you thought it might burst right out of your chest.
He looked so beautiful like this, hair all disheveled, lips big, full, and thoroughly kissed. His eyes held the horror you had grown to know so well, the fear of ruining one of the very best things in your lives. You were positive your own eyes reflected the very same idea.
“Spencer…”
“I know.” He cut you off, closing his eyes.
“We can’t ruin this. We can’t go down that road.”
“I know.”
The charged silence that followed was most unwelcome.
“Why would you say that. Why would you act on that?” Your accusation against his confession was less of an attack and more of a whimper, trying so hard to bury the longing feelings again.
He shrugged, analyzing the carpet once more. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.
“Spencer.” You let his name roll off your tongue softly, gently, longing to somehow take it all back, to push what you had done into some secret place, never to be seen or spoken of again.
He looked up at you, the same emotions swirling through his eyes. He understood.
“I didn’t want to live any longer not knowing, I guess.” He softly admitted.
You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. There was no way to take it back, no way to fix this, no rational comfort you could offer.
There was nothing more either of you could say.
So, with that, he turned on his heel and walked back to his own room, never looking back.
You stood there in the hallway for a long while, completely stunned. It wasn’t until the subtle bell of the elevator broke your trance that you finally swiped your keycard and retreated to the solace of your room.
Somehow, in the midst of the war going on in your head, you managed to pack all of your things. You wouldn’t remember going through with your night routine or climbing into the soft motel bed, but somehow your unconscious mind led you there.
The tears of frustration didn’t start until about 20 minutes into blankly staring at the ceiling. They rolled down your cheeks and pooled in your hair, but you barely noticed. Every so often, you lifted your hand to your lips, unbelievingly, wishing for some reminder of what it felt like to be connected with him.
How had your pride been so dominating that it thrust you into the very situation you worked tirelessly to avoid? What prompted him to act so impulsively? Why did you just stand there and let him leave?
Most importantly, how in the world were you going to resolve this?
To say it was going to be a sleepless night would be the understatement of the century.
-------------
As you got on the plane the next morning, Emily was the first one to meet your exhausted gaze. She got up from her seat and walked over to you, enveloping you in her arms.
“I heard the yelling from my room. I’m sorry.” She whispered. You sighed, hugging her back as hard as you could.
So, they all knew. Of fucking course they all knew. Even Hotch and Rossi shot you a look of understanding sympathy as you moved to take the seat next to Emily. JJ patted your knee knowingly, and you gave her hand a squeeze before laying your head on Emily’s shoulder. Maybe now, surrounded by your girls, you would finally be able to get some sleep.
Thankfully, your hope became a reality. The next time you opened your eyes, everyone around you had drifted off as well. You gingerly lifted your head, making sure not to disturb Emily’s fragile sleep.
The plane was peacefully silent, and as you scanned the cabin, your heart ached with gratitude for your team, your family. Getting shot was less than ideal, but the love and appreciation it prompted was most welcome.
You felt Spencer’s eyes on you before you even noticed he was awake.
Turning your head toward the couch he was sprawled out on, your eyes locked with his. He made no move to look away, and neither did you.
Fixing this was a necessity, and you both knew it. There was no space for awkwardness or personal feelings getting in the way of this line of work.
As always, even despite the awkwardness and confusion of the past 24 hours, plopping down next to Spencer was still the most comforting feeling. Looking into his equally-tired eyes provided some comfort. At least you knew you weren’t the only one that lost sleep over the incident.
His eyes were always a home to you, no matter what state your friendship was in. This was uncharted territory for both of you. Simply sitting next to each other, enjoying the presence and absorbing the moment, seemed to kickstart the healing that was sure to follow.
Before you knew it, your arms were reaching out for him, and his enveloped you. Your head immediately fell to his shoulder, letting out a deep breath you didn’t remember taking.
“I’m sorry.” You offered, chuckling at the whole situation. He joined in your slight laughter, squeezing you a little bit tighter as you felt the glorious sound reverberating in his chest.
“I’m sorry too.” He whispered.
You pulled away to look at him, offering a small smile that he quickly returned. It already felt as if 1,000 pounds had been lifted from the air around you.
“It’s just, I would never forgive myself if I ruined this friendship, you know?” You admitted, ashamedly.
“I do. I promise, I do.” He insisted. You knew it was the truth.
The plane jolted from sudden turbulence, and you quickly scanned the cabin to make sure no one had woken up. When you were certain the whole team was still in a deep sleep, you turned back to Spencer, finally voicing the question that had been hovering for hours.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“Probably for the same reason you didn’t tell me.” He replied, smirking at you.
Fair enough. You relaxed at the reemergence of his straightforward attitude, refreshed to know that his brutal honesty was unceasing.
The silence that followed held far more meaning than more words could.
There was no easy fix here, even though both of your feelings were now out in the open. Romantic attachment was a recipe for disaster for anyone at the BAU, much less two of its own agents. You both knew that all too well.
So… what now? Logically, you were at a dead end.
Then, in true Spencer Reid fashion, he genuinely surprised you.
“Would you like to get coffee with me sometime?” He unceremoniously blurted. You looked up at him in surprise. Suddenly, it felt as if every logical answer to that question had left your brain.
“I…”
“Don’t think too hard, just reply.” He quickly added, desperate for an answer, longing for a means to an end of whatever this night had started.
“Spencer Reid… are you asking me on a date?”
“Yes, I am.” His golden brown eyes met yours. No hesitation, no jokes.
It’s amazing how the moments you spend so long running from can sneak up on you in a single instant. You knew that every fear you had about taking this path with him was rational. Attachment was a death sentence for one or both of you, in its own way.
Was your heart really worth that risk? Running away from your feelings for so long was exhausting. How much longer would you really want to push it all away?
Well… you were both inevitably going to die anyway. Might as well do it with some love in your heart.
“I’m not asking for forever, I swear. Just for a couple hours of your time. I just think…” He started, but you held up a hand, hoping he would ease up for long enough to let you answer.
Were you really about to take this leap?
“I would love to.”
Damn right you were.
His surprised smile was blinding, and you couldn’t help but match it.
This time, you barely noticed the turbulence when the cabin fell silent. Both of you sunk back into your seats, relief flooding the air. The million thoughts constantly circling in your head all stopped for a single moment, allowing you to finally, blissfully, breathe.
“You know, for two profilers, we really should have caught this sooner.” Your tired eyes began to fall closed again, finally feeling the full weight of the night lift from your shoulders.
“Yes, but as two emotional repressors, I think we did a pretty great job.” Spencer’s sweet, beautiful voice brought you back, and you couldn’t help but let out a joyful laugh at his sassy retort.
Touché, Reid.
You silently scooted closer to him on the couch, laying your head on his shoulder and letting sleep overtake you once more.
“I’m not asking for forever.”
His words, meant for comfort and persuasion in the moment, replayed in your mind as his arms encircled you.
“I’m not asking for forever.”
No, love. Not just yet.
#spencer reid#Criminal Minds#Criminal Minds Fanfiction#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#criminal minds fluff#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds x reader#angst#spencer reid angst
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winter break pt I
Summary: You come home for winter break and pick things up with your neighbor. Continuation of farewell.
Pairing: AU Negan x reader (female, named Eddie)
Tags: AU Negan, Negan smut, Negan x reader, rough-ish smut
A/N: no proof read. we die like men.
“Jesus fuck” you quickly shuffled inside your front door escaping the cold air outside. You had hands cupped over your mouth, blowing warm air into them.
You’re father tossed your bag by the staircase as you turned the corner to the kitchen.
“Ayyy she’s back!” Negan said with a mouthful of chip and guac that he preparing.
“Hey” you waved at him before your mom swooped in to give you a tight hug.
You embraced her, “Hi mom! Missed you.”
“You have no idea!” She replied before releasing you and holding both your cold hands.
“Hey, Frankie this the one?” You heard a fimilar voice coming from the steps.
It was Diana, holding the velvet green table cloth your family used every year around this time.
She gave your hands a squeeze, before attending to Diana.
“Yes, that’s the one” your mom answered, reaching to take it from her.
“Diana this is Eddie, you’ve always just missed her”
“Diana is Negan’s girlfriend” your mom added.
“Very Nice to meet you honey” she said smiling and giving you a soft handshake “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
I’m sure you have
“Nice to meet you too” your cheeks flushed red. Luckily that could easily be explained by the weather.
You glanced over at Negan who was sipping on his mug to cover his smirk.
“What time is this game on?” Your dad indirectly asked Negan flipping through the channels.
“Uh, I think 7” he responded
“Oh, we got a good two hours then.”
“Alright, I’m gonna go get cleaned up. I’ll be back” you announced.
“Need help with your bag?” Your mom asked not wanting you to do a thing while you were here home.
“Nah, I got it”
“I’ll help you Eddie” Diana offered
“No no no it’s okay” you tried to deflect her help
Your words had to effect as he picked up your duffle and gestured with her arm for you to go up the steps first.
You walked up the steps, heart pumping extra hard, in sync with your steps.
On the last step the tip of your shoe caught the edge of the step and you tripped. Your quick successive steps prevented you from falling.
“Whoa, watch it!” Diana laughed trailing behind you, duffle over her shoulder.
“This is my room here” you walked in first
Diana set your bag down on your bed looking around the room, at your drawings pinned to your wall.
You began taking off your winter coat.
“I got you” Diana snuck up behind you, helping slip your arms through the sleeves
Feeling her close behind sent tingles from your neck to your toes.
“Thanks” you responded while she reached in you closet to put it on a hanger.
You shuffled through your closet looking for a clean shirt. You landed on a thick black tee.
You stared at it momentarily and turned to Diana.
“I’m gonna change...” you hinted that you needed some privacy
She reached for the hanger in your hand, “So, change...”
You reluctantly gave up the article of clothing.
It felt like an eternity reaching for the hem of your shirt before pulling it through your head and shoulders. You immediately had goosebumps, partly due to the change in temperature, partly because you were in front of Diana for the first time in months and already topless.
In the time you undressed your upper half Diana was standing behind you again. You became aware of her presence when she pulled your hips back into hers, lightly grinding.
She gently bit your upper trap as she nibbled towards your neck. You turned your face towards her. Once your lips met her tongue slipped into your mouth.
It was far too short. You sighed through your nostrils as Diana removed herself from the kiss, leaving you hot and bothered.
“Get dressed” she said handing you your un-hung shirt. She softly patted your hip before stepping out.
Fuck. Fuck Diana. Fuck Negan. Fuck Christmas.
You hated how they could cleverly peel back your layers until you were nothing but nerves, reacting to any stimulus, seeking pleasure. In less than 5min with them you were already pent up, release on your mind.
I’ll be quick - no there’s not enough time, you began debating with yourself, just do it. You’re wasting time. They’ll know - no they won’t.
Fuck it.
You locked the door and took care of yourself.
You headed back down right in time, as the table was now set up for dinner.
Negan and Diana were seated together across from your parents, your father in front of Negan and your mother across Diana. You sat the head of the table. Between your mom and Diana.
Dinner felt normal despite the secret affair.
You updated everyone on your semester and future plans. Negan cracked jokes with your dad, you added zingers to them. Diana asked questions about you, her attempt to get to know you was executed perfectly. She knew how to work a conversation.
Diana occasionally brushed her leg onto yours. Turning you on, you to shifted in your seat every time. Amusing her.
“You alright honey” your mom asked, noticing your movements.
“Uh, yeah, my back just a little locked up from the flight”
“Maybe Diana can help you out. She’s a PT y’know” your mom offered Diane’s services.
“No no wouldn’t want to mooch of her. I’ll be alright” you responded
“It’s no problem Eddie. I can loosen you up just say the word” she said before taking a bite of her food.
“I’ll be fine” you kindly reassured them.
Conversations on conversation led to Negan and Diana making an announcement.
“With Eddie graduating this year, you fine folks celebrating 25 years of marriage, we want to add to the good” Negan started.
“You’re pregnant?” Your mom jumped to conclusions excited for her friends.
“Your are outside your mind” Diana laughed chugging the remainder of her wine.
“No not that” Negan led to the announcement, “We’re getting hitched”
“Yay!” Your mom hopped of her seat give Diana and Negan a hug, almost putting both of them into a choke hold.
“Congrats man” Your dad shook Negan’s hand across the table and raised his glass to Diana before taking a sip
“Congratulations guys” you smiled, genuinely happy for them
“Thanks Eddie” the couple said together
“So what do you say Klause, plan my Bacholeor party?”
“Fuck yes” your dad grinned happy for his buddy
“Wait does this mean I’m your best man too?”
“I wouldn’t do that do you haha! My brother is, but he can’t plan for shit”
Diane and your mom having a conversation of their own.
“Frankie, it would mean so much if you were one of my bridesmaids?”
“Of course” she accepted.
“You guys decided on a date?” Your mom asked
“We’re thinking in late May of next year”
__________
After dinner you all were scattered in the living room watching the game.
“You said you’re studying graphic design right Eddie?” Diana asked during halftime
“That is correct”
“Do you mind if consult with you regarding invitations?”
“Yeah, no problem. Do you have some ideas in mind?” you asked
“We do. Let me get your number before I forget”
She handed you her phone.
__________
Later that night you were about to crawl into bed when your phone buzzed on your night stand.
It was an unsaved number. Diana’s surely.
It was 2 short clips.
The first clip was Negan’s legs splayed on his bed, Diana between them sucking his dick.
Good thing your volume was on the lower end because the next clip was the backside of Diana with Negan plunging in and out of her from behind. This clip was a little longer with Negan slowing down to show is entire member exit her and shoved himself back inside.
That was the last of it. Until you saw three little dots.
The next message was an image of Negan’s cum dripping out Diana’s entrance.
You could feel wetness beginning to pool between your legs.
Three little dots
- You could’ve been here if you didn’t take care of yourself earlier
- Goodnight sweat heart
How the fuck did they know?
__________
The next morning, once your folks left for work you barged into Negan’s back door.
“What the fuck!” he yelled from the kitchen, “You scared the shit outta me kid!”
“YOU what the fuck!” You were frustrated, emotionally and sexually.
“Hahaha, didn’t enjoy the show last night?” He asked nonchalantly as he continued prepping steak in a type of sauce.
“You can’t do that! What if I opened it in front of my parents?”
“What are you really mad at? That we sent it? Or that you weren’t invited?”
Shit. I don’t know. You thought to yourself.
“That’s what I thought” Negan responded to your silence.
“Well, I’m here now” your impulse taking over. You walked to him and palmed him through his black jeans.
“Woah, Eddie...” he said softly moving his hips away from your touch, hands still in the bowl, drenched.
“I’m— I’m cooki—“ he stopped, removed his hands from the bowl and rested his wrists against the counter as you pecked your lips over the rough fabric of his pants.
“Fuck. You really wanna do this right now?”
Your eyes staring up at him, you nodded.
You stood up and pulled him by his waistband toward the living room, Negan tried to stop at the sink first to wash his hands but you yanked him away.
“Ed-“
You plopped him in the couch and got between his knees.
“Diana won’t be happy if I dirty this couch” he gestured at his sauce covered hands “she picked it out”
“Then don’t” you challenged his self-control
“And you better not touch me with those dirty hands either”
You undid his belt buckle followed by his button and zipper. Negan helped you by lifting his hips of the couch while you slid his pants to his ankles. His hands slightly in the air, careful not to stain anything.
His semi-hard member rested against his thigh. You started at his inner knee, licking and kissing your way up. You could feel his quads tense up. Once you were a peck away from his shaft your mouth went to his other inner thigh, pressing your soft lips against his hairy skin.
“Oh Eddie, you don’t want continue what you’re doing” he warned you.
“Or what? You won’t fuck me again? You won’t have your wife eat me out again?” you retaliated, in hopes to get him to realize he can’t resist you either.
You took the head of dick on your mouth. Swirling you tongue around it.
Negan’s head leaned back, finally having enough stimulation, “agh! fuck!”
You eventually started sucking him mid-way, stopping at his tip every so often. He would frequently lift his hips trying to get more of himself in your mouth.
“You want me to go deeper?” You popped off him and pumped him slowly.
Negan looked at you with some rage but also desperation.
“Yes” he said reluctantly.
You slowly put his member entirely in your mouth. Having good control on your gag reflex. Negan taking notice.
“Not gagging I see. Did your little whore ass get some practice this semester? How many guys did you ask to suck off? How many got to come in that pretty little mouth?”
You continued to take him all the way. Then you deep throated him and held yourself there.
“Oh fuck, mhmm” Negan’s orgasm building.
You slipped off him all the way. Viscous saliva linking his dick to your lips.
You brought yourself to the brink again. Holding that position.
“I’m close” Negan breathed out quietly “and you’re gonna swallow all of it.”
You removed yourself.
“Actually” you said wiping your mouth “I think you can take it from here. Or I can text your wife to finish for me.”
Negan took a frustrated breath trough his nose.
Still on your knees, hips resting on your ankles, you stared at him briefly, giving him a in a what-now-? look
He swiftly took his shirt off, staining it with his hands, but he used it as a barrier between his sauce-covered hands and your hair.
He sloppily guided your head and mouth to his member. You didn’t expect this to take this turn, but it turned you on.
You felt the urge to gag as his dick was entirely in your mouth. You tried to control it.
“Breathe” His words helped you control it a little longer.
A few gags slipped out as he continued to hold you in place. He began talking dirty to you.
“Not so experienced now are we”
“Choke on it you little slut”
“You never know your limit do you? Or do love crossing lines?”
His comments built your own arousal.
Negan was on the brink of orgasm.
“I’m gonna cum, baby” He held your head in place while his hips began thrusting upwards.
His depth became more shallow the faster he thrusted, and you appreciated the decrease in restraint he had on your head.
On his last thrust he pushed deeply and firmly brought your head down. You felt his pubic hair brush your nose.
“ughhh!” he gritted as he came.
“Swallow.” He ordered as his orgasm subsided
He slowly released the pressure he had on your head, letting you come off him. Simultaneously gulping the warm liquid.
“You swallowed it all?”
“Yes”
“Say ‘I swallowed all your cum Negan’” he firmly cupped your chin.
“I swallowed all your come Negan” you spoke through your restricted jaw.
“That’s a good girl” he released his grip.
“Now go upstairs and shower. Diana will be home any minute now, and she’ll want you clean” he said before pulling his pants up and walking to the kitchen to wash his hands.
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make a wish
resonance series one:
investmentbanker!xiaojun x reader
genre: fluff, smut, tiny weeny angst
words: 5.4k
warnings: swearing, explicit sexual content, mentions of drug use
investment banking was a high stakes game, even for the interns. you and him were in constant competition, living the high life, stressed out of your minds, unwilling to let the other know that. “i could do this all day”.
******************
He looked so smug as your supervisor named him intern of the week for the fourth week running. Once again you were just a few thousand won behind him. You could have beaten him… you just suffered an unlucky loss seconds before closing.
You typed furiously into your computer, nonsensical words appearing one by one in your spreadsheet. If you looked like you were working, you figured he would be less like to disturb you with his gloating.
Yet your bad luck seemed to be continuing as you were so focused on your angry typing, you didn’t notice Xiaojun standing behind you causing you to jump slightly when you heard his voice whisper in your ear,
“It must be hard always losing to me, but if it makes you feel better, no one ever does beat me, at anything,” he boasted.
You swivelled your chair round to face his grin. You wanted to strangle him with that stupid striped tie he wore. You stared into his eyes refusing to drop his gaze, that would be admitting some sort of strange defeat and you couldn’t face to losses in one day.
Xiaojun backed down first by deciding to wink at you, a glimmer of chaos in his eyes.
“Do you get off on being a dick?” you asked him, hastily closing the nonsensical spreadsheet even though you were very sure he had already seen it.
“It’s just friendly competition,” he said with a grin and you rolled your eyes at him. The competition was anything but friendly, it was far too much like bloodthirsty roman gladiatorial games to be considered as such. Every person for themselves.
That’s why you always pushed back your attraction to Xiaojun and replaced it with shallow hate. The only time you would sleep with Xiaojun would be to use it against him, to win. Yet that standpoint was so hard to keep when the breath of his whispered fanned your neck.
“Better luck next time babe.”
You didn’t want to kiss him, you reminded yourself, you wanted to throw him down a flight of stairs.
“Fuck you,” you replied, turning back to your computer, ignoring how you missed the warmth of him standing by you as he walked away, ignoring the irony of your statement.
He had totally interrupted your focus, you wanted to get back to work but instead, you couldn’t help but keep glancing over to look at him. He had aimed to throw you off and he had achieved that goal.
What would be anywhere else be seen as casual flirtation, in this world was a dangerous game.
You pinched yourself slightly under the table, forcing yourself to focus on the stock market and not Xiaojun’s stupid face.
You had so much work to finish before the drinks party that evening, especially now you had come second place again. You had spreadsheets to prepare, articles to read and a plan to set out for the following week. All you wanted to do after completing that was sleep but schmoozing with the higher ups, the investors, the CEOs, it was all part of the job.
You loved your job to a certain extent, the thrill, the high stakes, the money to be made. You hated your job to a certain extent because it made you stressed out of your mind.
One wrong move and you could lose the company ten million dollars in ten seconds. That kind of mistake would put a mark on your name forever and all you had worked would be for nothing.
So, when Xiaojun was winning, his face may have been good looking, but all you wanted to do was smack it.
That evening was the fourth party in as many days and you were tired, you weren’t sure that even the expensive layers of concealer you were wearing could cover that fact.
The lights of the club were bright through the darkness as you smiled at older men, damning sexism that this was the easiest way for you to gain favour. You drank one cocktail after the next, hoping it would dull the sensations of the world, just for a few hours, just so the stress of the job would go away and only the thrills would remain.
You shook the hands of some executives in the VIP section, conversing perfectly about market changes and ideas despite the fact you could barely stand. If investment banking didn’t work out, you were pretty sure you could become a professional actor.
It was half-past midnight when you noticed Xiaojun staring at you. He was sitting alone on a sofa in the VIP section, arm draped lazily over the back of it as he sipped some expensive liquor. His eyes were dilated, and you couldn’t tell whether he was attracted to you or had just taken far too many drugs.
You weren’t sure what possessed you to stumble over to where he was sitting, and half sit, half fall down next to him. Talking to Xiaojun presented no value your job, it wasn’t going to get you a promotion or a favour.
“Are you okay?” he asked, he gaze fixed on yours. You rolled your eyes. You were ninety-percent sure he was looking for you to admit any sign of weakness he could use to take you down; you were his strongest competition after all.
“I’m fucking peachy,” you replied, taking another sip of your drink, the world around you just a blurry collection of lights.
In fairness your aggression towards him was unwarranted, it wasn’t his fault you had a bad week, but you were drunk, and he was easy to project your emotions onto.
Xiaojun sat forward slightly, leaning towards you, his face not close enough yet for to discern his intentions due to your drunken state.
“You seem like you could use some water,” he said, pushing a glass towards you. With this action you could just make out his face through the blurring and the lights, it wasn’t as smug as usual, yet you refused to believe he didn’t have an ulterior motive.
You ignored the water, childishly. Instead you sat back, far enough away to frame his face through your fingers,
“Why are you so perfect?” you asked him out of nowhere but perhaps out of jealously and curiosity. Xiaojun stared at you for a second but never answered your question.
“Just drink the water, y/n, you have to work this weekend to catch up with me, I don’t want my greatest rival to be taken out of the race by a hangover.”
You frowned slightly but took the water and sipped, the cool taste pleasant against your dry throat.
“And for the record, I’m far from perfect,” he added.
You did still make it to work the next morning but with a hangover indeed. You felt like you had been runover by ten buses as you teetered into the lift in your high heeled shoes and tailored dress.
Not everyone worked weekends, just interns with something to prove, the stock market wasn’t open on weekends, so you just did grunt work, hoping to please some executive and climb one rung up the ladder to hell.
You sat down at your desk and began to run the numbers, pushing your headache out of mind. You were so focused you didn’t see who had left some extra strength paracetamol on your desk, but took it anyway, grateful to dull the sensation.
This was your reality, no matter how you felt, you still had to give your top level of performance. Your ability to do this was almost the sole reason for your success to that point.
Every so often, when you stopped to drink water or check the time, you noticed Xiaojun glancing at you. It was both flattering and unnerving, you couldn’t decide which.
His eyes were a deep brown, mesmerising – distracting. He was throwing you off and deep down you hoped that throwing you off wasn’t the reason he was staring.
The next week for the first time in a month you won intern of the week. Xiaojun was no longer smug, on the intern ranking he had dropped to seven. You didn’t see him glance at you that week, you didn’t see him smile.
Xiaojun had never been below five up to that point, he had tainted his record far more than you had ever tainted yours with just one really miscalculated risk.
Winning had spurred you on to work late, to continue what you had achieved. You worked after the market closed on until 2am and when you finished Xiaojun was still there, his eyes bloodshot, his fingers typing away.
He was chewing his lip anxiously as he backspaced about fifty-times, beginning to look slightly unhinged.
You had seen Xiaojun like this before, everyone in the company had weeks like this, but for the first time seeing in him this state somewhat upset you.
You didn’t know why it upset you, Xiaojun wasn’t your friend. Maybe, despite everything you hated that he endured the same struggle you did, perhaps because you fully understood how awful the pressure could be. It was the true embodiment of “you wouldn’t wish it on your worst enemy”.
The next night you woke up at your desk at four in the morning after drifting off. The keyboard had imprinted into your face and the lights in the office were off. The only light still illuminating the office was one computer, even the night cleaner was long gone. Yet Xiaojun was still there, typing away.
You chucked your shoes off onto the floor, sighing at the comfort of it, before wandering over to his desk, settling down into the chair next to him and spinning to face him.
“You will make yourself sick, you know,” you told him.
Xiaojun looked up in surprise, he hadn’t noticed you sit down. Despite his somnolence he still managed a witty reply,
“From staying up late or the drugs I take to do it?” he said, making a joke but not joking, dangerously nonchalant about the gravity of his remark. You didn’t know what to say back, there wasn’t a lot you could say.
“I don’t want my greatest rival to be taken out of the race by hospitalisation,” you finally decided on, copying his own words.
Hearing this, Xiaojun’s faced curved slightly into what was almost a smile and he stopped typing.
“I’m afraid we face mutual destruction, neither one of us will stop until we win,” he said, his eyes searching your face, his eyebrows contorting into an expression you couldn’t fully understand.
“Maybe we shouldn’t be so competitive,” you joked, but your face wasn’t smiling. Your face was tired and grey, yet Xiaojun still looked beautiful, his eyes shining in the computer light, even if they were fucked up and red, “sometimes I’m not sure what we are competing for,” you told him.
“We both love the competition though, you can’t deny that, if there was nothing to compete for, we wouldn’t work as hard. We compete for the thrill and the money; we both know that.”
“Maybe you could finish work before the early hours if you stopped staring at me all day,” you pointed out, changing the subject slightly. Xiaojun grinned but his face tinged slightly red.
“So, you caught that? I have to have some bright points in my day, the rush of success and looking at you.”
You laughed softly, pushing him and his chair away slightly and taking control of his computer. You saved his document and logged off.
“Go home Xiaojun, I would prefer if you survived, and for that you need sleep. I can’t win if your dead.” This time it was your turn to joke and yet not be joking.
You stood up together to leave the building, Xiaojun muttering something about this being a tactic for you to be the weeks winner. He didn’t notice that when you were walking along the empty street with him in the cold air, you, for one short moment, really didn’t care if he beat you or not.
That when you got to the subway station that ran all night and parted to get on trains in opposite directions, it took everything in your body not to kiss him.
Xiaojun won that following week and you wanted to throw him out a tenth-floor window. But when you saw his smug smile and his eyes a normal colour, you didn’t quite hate him as much. You would settle for throwing him out a third-floor window.
It wasn’t all bad either, not just because Xiaojun had moved away from the knife edge but because you made a record trade. You through your arms in the air and shrieked with happiness.
Everyone in the office looked at you, some clapped, others glared. Xiaojun settled for a soft smile and a text of congratulations – you never knew he had your number.
Both of you were celebrating at the office ‘party’ that night. Schmoozing CEO’s was off your mind for one night only. You thought you had made enough of an impression that week.
You did more shots than you could remember and hit the dance floor. Numerous guys tried to hit on you, but you weren’t interested. Only one man played on your mind and you wanted him out of there.
You drank more to forget him, but you couldn’t ignore him when he was standing in front of you, face flushed red with alcohol and a stupid grin on his face.
“I don’t know what is sexier, your intelligence or your ass,” he said, coming to dance next to you.
You hit his shoulder lightly,
“Oh, you’re such a gentleman, Xiaojun,” you replied sarcastically.
“I stopped taking drugs these last few weeks,” he continued, slipping his arms around your waist as he continued to dance, “you’ve become my natural high.”
You thought he was making a joke, some vague attempt at a pickup line. Yet even though he was smiling, you saw a sense of earnest in his eyes.
“I hope that’s true,” you said, “about the drugs at least.”
“I think I would do about anything to make you happy at this point… except losing to you,” he whispered back, his lips dangerously close you yours.
“As they say in our business, how about you put your money where your mouth is?”
His hand pushed your hair behind your ear gently,
“And just what do you mean by that?” he enquired. Yet before you could reply his arms released from around your waist and he grabbed your hand, leading you off the dance floor and towards the bar.
“A cosmopolitan for the lovely lady and a whiskey for me please,” you heard Xiaojun ask the bartender.
Xiaojun pulled out a barstool for you and sat down on the one next to it.
“We always sit in private rooms, how about a change, mix with everyone else for once,” he said smiling.
“At least there are no creepy CEO’s here,” you conceded, “how did you know my favourite drink?”
“I know you better than you think… and I’m accustomed to taking calculated risks, I seem cooler if I guess right than if I have to ask you, but if I guess wrong, I just wasted some money. Yet I figured money spent on you couldn’t be a waste.”
You decided that he was definitely hitting on you and while you hadn’t expected it, you equally weren’t surprised. You and Xiaojun were close by investment banking competitor standards.
“Why have you decided to start flirting with me?” you asked in a drunk moment of directness.
“Liquid confidence mixed with the fact you’re very beautiful.”
The bartender placed the drink down in front of you and you took a sip as Xiaojun handed him a 50,000 won note,
“Keep the change,” he added, nodding at the waiter before picking up his drink and turning back to face you.
He said something but the music in the club was so loud you couldn’t hear him.
You leaned in and talked somewhat loudly,
“It’s loud in here, I didn’t hear what you said sorry,” you told him.
“I really wish I didn’t have to compete against you,” he said, leaning in to close the distance, his whisky touched breath fanning your face.
“Because you think you’re going to lose?” you joked. Xiaojun shook his head, placing his whisky back down on the bar.
“Because I really don’t want to have to take you down to win.”
In that moment you really just wanted him to kiss you… but he never seemed to make the move. Once he had stopped talking, he leaned away again and sipped his whiskey, something which confused you.
You really thought he had been flirting with you but now you had doubts, what if he only had a friendly concern for your welfare.
You drank your cocktail contemplating this, analysing what he did, trying to calculate which side of the equation his brain was on. He was as unpredictable as the stock market, yet unlike with work, here you didn’t know what to guess.
Even if he was flirting there was the chance that he didn’t actually have an interest with you, but instead he was trying to emotionally fuck with you.
You downed your drink and placed it down on the side. Xiaojun looked like he was thinking himself. You couldn’t guess his emotions, but unlike with work you reckoned you could figure it out.
“It’s nice to talk to you for once, outside of the work setting, well… almost,” you said, casually placing your hand on his thigh as you leaned in. That was your plan. Judge his reaction but Xiaojun just smirked. While you decided that probably got rid of the friendly concern option and confirmed his - romantic intent – it didn’t solve the question of how noble his intentions were.
“You could make a wish, y/n, I would give you anything you wanted,” he whispered, this time his lips physically brushing his ear.
“Except winning the internship competition,” you confirmed.
You laughed without humour. It was like a wall between the both of you.
“Not that I would ever ask you to give that up,” you added, “wishes are for genies and birthdays anyway.”
“Well, I’m not a genie but you could always make a birthday wish.”
“My birthday is in five months, so a bit of a wait. Another drink though, that I can make happen now… What do you want?” you asked him.
“I can buy you one,” he protested. You rolled your eyes.
“Gender equality Xiaojun, I can buy a guy a drink.”
“Then I will except anything you give me,” he relented.
“A sex on the beach and a whiskey please,” you said to the bartender. It was slightly dark, but you almost thought you could see Xiaojun blush slightly when you mentioned sex, even just in the context of a drink.
Then again, it could have just been the whiskey.
You only got halfway through that next drink before you realised simple conversation and suggestive gestures wouldn’t be able to discern what you wished to know.
You didn’t know whether to give up or give in.
“I think I should go home,” you said standing up. Xiaojun’s face fell slightly before he managed to put his smile back in place.
“I’ll call you a cab,” he replied standing up next to you, it was lucky he did as the first step you took almost sent you to the ground. Xiaojun managed to get a hold of you and stop you from falling.
“Aha thank you,” said, unable to stop yourself from grinning at him brightly. Xiaojun put his arm around your waist as you both walked along the side of the crowd dancing and out of the club.
The air outside was cold but Xiaojun was warm. He instinctively took off his jacket and placed it around your shoulders.
“You must have good intentions,” you mused, not realising you had thought aloud.
“Why would I not?” Xiaojun asked, looking slightly confused but unfazed.
“I’ve been trying to work out all night if you are genuinely into me or if this is all some part of a masterplan to take me down,” you answered, no idea why you were suddenly being so truthful.”
“This job really does fuck up one’s mentality,” Xiaojun said, looking ever so slightly forlorn.
“Maybe so… but I think you are a good guy Xiaojun, you have fooled me if you’re not. If this a lie, then I lost to you. I want to make my wish now,” you wrapped your arms around your waist.
“And what would your wish be?” he replied, his eyes gazing at yours. But you didn’t tell him your wish, you simply actualised it as you brought your lips to his.
The warm taste of whiskey against the cold was mesmerising. Now you both had your bloodshot eyes closed you almost seemed like you could be a normal couple.
Xiaojun pulled away slightly, his thumb pressed lightly on your lower lip.
“I just want to remember how beautiful you are,” he explained. You were speechless at the sight off him.
The taxi Xiaojun had called pulled up in front of you. Xiaojun let go of you so you could get in the taxi.
“Goodnight,” he said, pressing a kiss to your cheek, opening the door for you to get in.
“You can come too, back to my place I mean, if you want to, that is?” you propositioned, feeling oddly nervous, scared you weren’t quite on the same page. You shuffled over to the opposite side of the taxi so that he had the choice.
When he got in beside you and closed the door, you felt your heart begin to race slightly. Your heart leaping – literally.
“322 Sinsa-Dong, Gangnam,” you said to the driver and the car started to move. Xiaojun moved his hand so his pinkie was touching yours across the seat between you and you couldn’t help but chuckle.
“You’re really cute you know?” you said to him. Xiaojun made a sad face,
“Surely if you invited me back to your apartment you must think I’m attractive, sexy, enthralling…” he said, quietly enough only you could hear him.
“You are all of those things too, but you really are cute Xiaojun, especially when you wear your glasses at work and your face concentrates on something hard.”
“You watch me at work? I never caught you staring at me once and I stare at you pretty often so I thought I would have noticed.”
“Always got to keep an eye on the competition.”
“I never knew you liked me back, that’s why I always kept my feeling hidden until now… I didn’t want to complicate anything, life is already hard enough,” Xiaojun explained.
“I didn’t realise I liked you either, I was too focused on winning, but at some point, I started to realise, I didn’t like winning if it meant you lost… that’s caring about someone I suppose. The passion… we already had that, enemies or lovers, the passion always existed.”
The car ride wasn’t much longer and neither of you said much, you simply paid the taxi driver and got out of the taxi, holding Xiaojun’s hand instinctively when you led him up the staircase to your flat.
It wasn’t an instant thing. You both spent your lives making split second decisions. You knew how important every second was and that’s perhaps why you took it slow.
When Xiaojun came in you hung his jacket up and asked him if he wanted anything to eat, he politely declined.
You settled for watching Netflix together in a drunken haze, your head resting against his shoulder, his arm around your shoulder.
It wasn’t until the two actors kissed, an hour into the movie that you began to refocus on why Xiaojun really was here.
His arm around you, suddenly seemed different to just moments before. Xiaojun’s blush matched yours as you turned to face each other. Unable to ignore the building tension any longer.
Neither of you were exactly pros, you spent far too much of your time working. When you thought back you hadn’t had sex in over a year. Now, sitting so close to Xiaojun, you wondered how it was possible that you had managed that.
“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” Xiaojun began, “we can just continue watching TV and then go to bed, I can even go home if you want me too.”
Once again you didn’t respond with words but by kissing him. You sat up and moved so you were kneeling over his lap and leaned downwards, pushing him into your sofa cushions, until your lips met his.
His lips were slightly chapped from the cold, but you didn’t care, melting into his touch as his hands moved to grab your waist.
He sat up slightly to move closer to you, his hands pushing you down against his hips as he began to press kisses to your jaw and down your neck.
You jolted slightly with pleasure causing the friction between you to increase as your hands messed up his hair.
Beneath your thigh you could already feel Xiaojun starting to harden as your hips rolled back and forth against his.
“How comfortable is your bed?” Xiaojun asked, pressing his forehead against his, his breathing already affected.
You moved off him to stand up, grabbing his hand before you had time to miss his touch.
“You can be the judge,” you told him.
Xiaojun sat on the edge of your bed, taking the time to look at you as you tossed your dress to the floor, revealing your black lingerie.
“Did I tell you, you are beautiful,” he uttered, his gazed fixed on you, mesmerised.
You notice him readjust his trousers slightly, the bulge forming, starting to appear uncomfortable.
You walked over to stand between his legs as he pulled his shirt over his head.
“Would you like me to help?” you laughed slightly, getting down onto your knees in front of him.
“Are you sure?” he asked, “I can move so you can be more comfortable?” he offered. You shook your head and smiled.
“I assure you, I’m anything but uncomfortable,” you said, reaching to unbuckle his belt, before tossing it away as well. You unzipped his trousers carefully, Xiaojun sighed at the slight relief of pressure.
You pulled his jeans off his legs until he was just left in his boxers. You didn’t remove them immediately, you instead began to touch him through the underwear, causing Xiaojun to bite his lip slightly.
When the precum started to stain, you decided to put him out of his misery, pulling on his waistband until his cock sprung free.
For the first time you didn’t waste any time. You placed your hand carefully around his shaft as you ran your tongue over his tip slightly.
When you finally took him into your mouth it caused Xiaojun to elicit a moan so sweet you felt your core weaken.
Xiaojun’s leaned back as you started to move faster, the salty taste of his precum leaking into your mouth.
“Can you look at me?” he asked, “I want to look into your eyes as you suck me off.”
If that was his wish you were happy to oblige. You gazed up at him as his cock hit the back of your throat. Xiaojun let out a low moan.
“Your so fucking perfect,” he praised as he came, his cum leaking down your cheek as you tried to swallow it, “I’m sorry,” was all he said.
Once again you shook your head, wiping his cum from your face.
“Stop apologising Xiaojun, it’s making you cute again, not sexy,” you joked causing Xiaojun to chuckle.
Once you were on the bed next to him, he pushed you back into the cushions, propping himself over you.
He kissed down your neck and to your collar bone, reaching back to undo your bra clasp. It was his turn to toss your clothes away as he revealed your breasts, his eyes dilating.
He clasped your breast as he kissed you, pinching your nipple slightly causing you to cry out in pleasure.
“I think I am sexy now, am I not?” he said, not waiting for an answer as he continued down your body, kissing your chest, down to your stomach until finally be pressed a kiss at your waistband.
“Are you ready babe?” he asked you, his eyes soft but his grin devious. You nodded, slightly lost for words as Xiaojun moved your panties to the side, not bothering to remove them before he dragged one finger across your wet opening.
You moaned loudly as he slipped his finger in, quickly adding a second as he pumped in and out. It was the best thing you had felt in ages, but it just wasn’t enough, you knew what you wanted.
“Please can you just fuck me already?” you asked him. Xiaojun bit his lip again grinning.
“Your wish is my command baby,” he said, finally dragging your panties down and leaving them to the side. He was already hard again from the sight of you in front of him.
He placed his cock against your wet folds but before he could enter you had another wish,
“Can I ride you?” you asked him. Xiaojun smiled slightly, pressing a soft kiss against your lips.
“You can have anything you want y/n,” he said, sitting back so you could get up. You positioned yourself above him, his hands on your hips as you finally started to lower.
Xiaojun hissed softly as his length slowly entered you. You didn’t stop until you had taken all of him inside of you. You placed your arms around his neck and kissed him softly as you started to move, up and down him at a tortuous pace.
You didn’t want the moment to be over too quickly.
Xiaojun had other ideas, after a minute or so he started to push up into you, getting the message you speeded up, fucking him as quickly as you could.
“Fuck y/n,” Xiaojun cried out as he came closer to coming. You grinned slightly before moving off him completely. Xiaojun swore again at the loss,
“Are you punishing me for all the times I teased you?” he asked. You just chuckled.
“No, my legs are just tired, we can have sex whatever way you want to make up for it,” you said, stroking his hair lightly.
“On your hands and knees then babe,” he ordered, and you obliged.
Xiaojun began to fuck you again, but with him in control it much faster, much more needy. You whined his name as he fucked you relentlessly, his grip on your hips now strong enough to leave some sort of bruise.
“Please come in me,” you pleaded as you felt your high coming.
“So many demands baby,” Xiaojun remarked, tutting in mock dissatisfaction but really, he was happy that he was able to make you feel so good.
“Xiaojun!” You called out as you met your high, the feeling of your walls clenching around him causing, Xiaojun to cum too, just seconds later, filling you up until he pulled out.
You collapsed down on the bed beside each other, exhausted, glistening with sweat.
“You’re the best thing that job ever gave me,” Xiaojun said, pulling you in towards him, so your head laid on his chest.
“I think I would even lose the competition for you if you wanted,” he said, his finger tracing your cheekbone.
“I would never ask you to do that,” you replied, “also you really think I need you to lose, I can beat you Xiaojun, mark my words.”
“No chance,” he laughed, “Okay maybe some chance, but still, I will be the winner.”
You hit his chest lightly in jest.
“You’re overconfident.”
“No, I just know I’m already the winner, I have you as my girlfriend?” he half said, half asked with a raised eyebrow. You nodded in agreement.
“I have you as my girlfriend,” he confirmed to himself, “then my wish has come true.”
“You’re cute Xiaojun,” you smiled, kissing his nose, “and very sexy,” you added.
From then on, every time you needed to make a wish; you knew Xiaojun would grant it.
#xiaojun#nct2020#nct smut#xiaojun smut#wayv smut#xiaojun scenarios#nct scenarios#nct fluff#nct2020smut#wayv#wayv scenarios#xiao dejun#nct resonance#nct#nct imagines
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So. This was a.. detailed dream I had a week or more ago? the one I referenced in an ask... and I feel like writing out that scene because hoo... so many thoughts
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It was dark.
Night had fallen. It was late, most people have gone back into their humble homes and gone to sleep.
That wasn’t the case with the castle. Guards stood... well, guarded near the front gates, and near all other entrances on the ground. Not to mention, the ones making regular rounds inside the castle itself. All to keep the royals safe from anyone who wanted to get in for one reason or another. Theft, murder, sabotage....
...kidnapping...
Anyone would have a hard time just attempting to get in.
...
A raven watches from the distance, tilting its head this way and that, surveying the castle.
It flies, with its feathers as black as the night sky, no one sees it. And who would take another glance at a bird flying around?
It perches on the railing of a balcony on the second floor of the castle, looking down at the guards that stood vigilant at their stations. Inside, there was nary a soul passing by.
The raven hops down from its rest- suddenly becoming enveloped in shadows and darkness. Its form warps, and where the raven was now stood a tall imposing figure as the shadow’s creep away from him.
A grin would be first to come to attention if anyone was there to witness it. A cloak covered most of his body, apart from his hands and face, where you could see that this man was a skeleton. His hands weren’t made of flesh but instead finger-like phalanges, with “palm” made entirely of bone that resembled a human’s, with tendon-like shapes connecting the fingers to the base of the hand. His head was not a head as you knew it, but instead a skull. It wasn’t shaped in how you’d expect a skull to be either, more rounded with less edges.
But if you thought that’d make him look less scary, think again. His sockets were empty, empty of emotion. The grin he wore was nothing short of uncanny, as he approached the doors to the inside of the castle.
The door shuts with a quiet “clack” and he looks around. When he doesn’t see any guards he runs quietly from one hall to the other.
He’s silent, his footsteps not making so much as a whisper, a thud, against the floor.
Every time a guard or more comes by he slides into the corners and walls, hidden in the shadow, covered by the darkness. He smiles to himself. He could kill these guards if he wanted to, but that’d be such a mess... when others find the body, more would come, and that would make his little trip so much more difficult than it needs to be.
He bounds across the carpeted floors, where he didn’t have to be so careful about the sounds he’s making. Sliding by hallways like the wind, taking detours into various rooms whenever he needed to; a clear map of the castle in his head, heading towards his destination.
were there always so many guards walking the halls? Sans, the skeleton in black, thought to himself as he sweeps to the right, near a support. then again... i never had to worry about being spotted by them before.
Ah yes... old memories of when he still lived in this place. Even after all these years, he still remembers where everything is, just like he remembers all the little scars that litter his phalanges.
And it’s come especially useful now... as he ascends a flight of stairs, passing by unsuspecting men who were supposed to be protecting something... someone very important... he finally spots a familiar wooden door.
He doesn’t waste time, only making quick looks here and there before he darts to it from the landing, opening the door and quickly making his way inside.
He would’ve closed the door immediately if he didn’t also the one he’s been after for so long now.
The light of the torches outside, coming in through the crack of the door falls almost perfectly on your face, highlighting it. You had your hands under your cheek, your eyes shut, a small smile on your face. You seemed to be in such a peaceful sleep... your eyelids fluttered a little and your brows knitted from the sudden light of the outside.
Sans slowly, brought his hand back to find the door and quietly pushed it close, unwilling to glance away from the fair maiden his eyesockets had fallen on.
“oh... (y/n)...” He sighed lovingly, his grin turning just a little bit warmer, making his way towards your bed; his cloak brushing the floor.
He bends his knees so his chest was to your bedside- to take a closer look at you.
it’s been so long since i’ve seen you, love... He reaches out to touch your face, but thought better of it, his phalanges flinching. He might wake you up with contact... he didn’t want to alarm you.
Instead, he brought his hands down to the thick blankets that covered you. Of course, you were still so... fragile. Unlike him. You couldn’t stand the cold... not as much as him.
His turned his head, seeing how the blankets were draped over your body, he could see just a little bit of how you were shaped. His eyesockets trailed up, and settled on your hair. They reflected a bit of the moonlight that was quietly glowing through the windows. It looked somewhat shiny... like silk.
He looked down to your face. The tips of his phalanges sank a little into the bedcovers, seeing just how soft your skin looked. It’s always looked soft to him, but now? Now it looked almost ethereal under the pale light. Your brows had relaxed and with the little, innocent smile on your face... oh, it’s like he was falling in love all over again. His grin widens dreamily, and his sockets go down to your hands. They were under your head, but one had moved to the pillow, giving him a look. They looked so soft too... so soft and delicate compared to his hands of bone. So small too... he wanted to brush the tips of his fingers against the back of your hand, he wanted to kiss your knuckles, he wanted to-
...
His grin falls.
He’s... always wanted to hold your hands.
Back when he was still a proper member of this castle... when he was still one of the king’s mages, often times advising him in anything magic related. Whenever he thought of the perfect partner to spend the rest of his life with, it had always been you. He wasn’t really sure what started it. Maybe it was seeing you walk around the mezzanine so often as he was discussing with the other mages around the table below. Maybe it’s because of how sweet your smile looked. Maybe it was the way you were always so friendly to everyone, including the servants. He’s not sure. He’s always found himself staring at you whenever he saw you. Watching how your dress flows around you, the little movements your hands made when you were talking, listening to the sound of your laugh. He’s only talked to you once or twice, and he’s sure you’d forget about him...
There were plans. When the mages were looking to be betrothed, some had already known how taken he was with you (though they didn’t know to what extent). The lord had seemed interested too, as having such a powerful magic-user in the main bloodline would be ideal.
And... and then...
“YOU AREN’T WORTHY OF HER!” A voice booms through his skull, echoing from the past.
He found out how to use dark magic, and found himself to be quite skilled in it. He always thought light magic was fleeting... they had this way of slipping away from him whenever he used it. It never felt... powerful enough. But when he used dark magic... it was exhilarating. He’s never felt so much before. He knew it was taboo... he knew it was feared... but what is fear but something people don’t understand?
He saw potential in something everyone has always had an aversion to. Dark magic is dangerous if it’s let out of hand, if the user doesn’t know what to do with it. But he was learning. It came to him easier than it did with light magic. He was trying to use it to the benefit of everyone. And how did they repay him?
“Sans of Snowdin! Is it true you have been dabbling in the arts of dark magic?”
“y... yes... but! i swear to you brother! i only have the kingdom’s best interest in soul! i-i-”
“SILENCE mage! how can you say such a thing when you have been using such vile magic?””
“i... i’ve learnt how to use it, to control it! dark magic has aspects light magic doesn’t h-have, i could use it for good! i wasn’t trying to do anything treasonous!”
“That would sound honorable if we could believe you, Sans. Dark magic cannot be good. It’s in its nature. Normally we would try to purify the being corrupted by it but... you knew what it is, Sans. It is so sad to see the king’s finest mage turn out like this in the end.”
“n... no! you can’t... you can’t exi-!”
“Sans.” The lord stood. “I hereby exile you. Think of it as mercy, you could have been executed.”
The only thing on his mind was you... you were going to be his, he was so so patient... he waited for his bride, he was going to be happy with you, please...
“And to think I thought you worthy to marry my darling (Y/n)...”
“no... no!!”
They denied him your hand. They denied him you. He wasn’t trying to turn against them... he was loyal to the king..! And they cast him aside for using forbidden magic...
Your gentle hands... your warm embrace... your sweet smile...
Everything he was denied.
Tendrils of shadow danced across the ground as Sans bared his teeth to those who betrayed him. People he once called brothers... all turning against him when they found out he used dark magic in his lonesome.
“they could never keep me away from you, love...” He murmured, as he stood to his full height, and reached towards you. A hand took the blanket from his side and brought it under you while the other cupped you from the other side, picking you up, cradling you. He made sure the blanket was tucked around you properly, so you wouldn’t be cold.
“my sweet beloved (y/n)...” His hands shook, as he finally allowed himself to brush your hair away from your face, shivering as he felt your skin under his fingers. “you’ve always belonged to me. always... and i’ll love you with all of me. you’ll be safe with me, love...”
It’s apparent Sans got lost in the way your body settled in his arms, the sleepy sounds you made as you got comfortable. Turning your face to the warmth, cheek against his cloak, one hand gripping onto the cloth.
Because he didn’t notice the approaching footsteps, jolting when he heard the sound of a knock.
“My lady....” came the voice of your maid. “Is there something the matter? I hear voices in your room.”
Sans didn’t know what to expect- but in hindsight he should’ve guessed the maid would open the door without your answer. You’ve always been much more open with the workers in the castle, openly casual and making friends with all of them; though he didn’t know you saw your maid as more of your caretaker, and told her to come in your room if she thought something was wrong.
The door creaked open and light flooded the room, before settling on Sans. She made a gasp and Sans could see the color drain from her face when she saw the monstrous figure cradling you in its arms.
She saw him grin, not saying a word. Nor did she, as the next thing she did was to turn around and all but scream for the guards.
Many came running- but they were too late. When they came back, with the door still ajar, no one was inside. Not a trace of the monster or the lady was left, except for the way the bedsheets were messier than usual and that it lacked blankets. All was almost too quiet, apart from the almost silent wind blowing in through the now open window, the curtains lightly waving in it.
#dream post#sinister thoughts#...?#is it???#its just me writing a detailed version of a dream though kdsjhf#i dreamt the part where sans got into my room while i was sleeping#and got mad about thinking about being denied 'my hand'#i'll be honest i did minimal research for this... as this mostly came to me in a dream#so please dont be mad if there are some/a lot of inaccuracies when it comes to european/english(??) royalty kingdom stuff dsfkj
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On the edge... (Charlie Gillespie) part 1
A/N : So sorry guys, I’m posting it again here, anyway enjoy. Don’t hesitate to point out any mistakes.
Bonne lecture ❤️
Summary : It’s not that you are insecure but seing Charlie and the onscreen chemistry he has with Madison is making you uncomfortable. And it obviously lead to a fight.
Word count : 2,1 k
Somehow you had passed your exam with a flying hand and you were ready to rest during your vacations. Vacations that were obviously well deserved. Charlie, your boyfriend, was currently shooting with Kenny Ortega in Vancouver. Living quite far from there you could not go see Charlie every other weekend. However you decided to go on set with everyone during your vacations.
You have already met the whole crew, they were really nice to you, and immediately you felt included in there tight knit group.
You were just so excited to see Charlie after months of separation. You had missed him just as much as he had missed you.
He did not know you were coming to surprise him, it was supposed to be, well, a surprise. You took an uber to Charlie and Owen’s apartment. Those boys really hide their key under their doormat. Do they know that this is dangerous ?
You enter the flat and were met with silence, the boys might still be at the studio or filming or whatever actors do. You took time to take a long shower to wash off the sweat from the flight. You even took a small nap to regenerate.
You heard loud voices in the hall and you just knew that one of the voices belonged to your boyfriend. A bright smile already on your lips as you waited for him to enter his house. Owen was the first one to acknowledge you.
« Y/N ! How are you doing ! What are you doing here ? We are so happy to see you ! » he embraced you in a hug, not for too long because Charlie pulled him off of you.
He did not say anything he just took you in his arms, for a long time, kissing the top of your head again and again. When he released you just a bit, he tilted his head and kissed you like it has been a long time you havent seen him. But he has been a long time and oh how you craved his soft and rosy lips. The others were doing anything but looking at you, it wasn’t that they were embarrassed it’s just that this was an intimate moment that the two of you hadn’t since a long time and they wanted to respect at least a bit of your privacy. Only Charlie and you were standing in the hall anymore, the others were already on the couch or on the floor, ready for movie night.
« I missed you so much, I am so happy you are here, you can’t even imagine » Charlie said whispering in your ear, sending chills down your spine.
« I missed you too, that’s why I’m here after all. » you chuckled in the crook of his neck.
He led you to the living room with all the others, never leaving you. He always had a hand on the small of your back, or on your thigh. It has been such a long time since you have seen each other that he didn’t want to miss a single thing about you.
You said hello to everyone, happy those familiar faces again. You were just ready to chill with everyone.
You were about to sit on the couch next Owen and Jeremy, when you felt a pair of hands grabbing your hips and making you sit on Charlie’s lap.
« Where do you think you’re going » you giggled at his act.
They were something about Charlie that always make you giggle or blush and more generally acting like a schoolgirl. You swear sometimes you think his goal is to make you blush so much that you were as red as a tomato. But you loved your goofy, cute man.
« Thank you Y/N for being here ! Really, we can’t hear Charlie complaining about not seeing you or how much he misses you. » Jeremy said and Charlie has a deep shade of red on his cheeks.
You thought he was really cute to go and talk about how much he misses you. You know that he wasn’t just on your part that those months of being apart were hard. The night goes on and the smile you had never left your lips. Charlie had his arms wrapped around your waist the whole time, and he was always making quiet comments about the movie you were watching or just kissing you under the ear and so on. `
Everyone fell asleep in uncomfortable positions and the next morning all of them has knots in their back.
« Ok guys, you need to leave or you’re going to be late on set ! » you exclaimed trying to wake all of those people but no one moved. « C’mon guys, you need to get moving » as you were trying to shake them all up, your arm was pulled by Charlie and you fell on him. He had still his eyes closed even though he was smirking.
« Do you want to come with us on set ? » Charlie asked with a groggy voice.
« Yes ! »
« You just waited for me to ask you right ? » you blushed at his words. You didn’t want to impose your presence to the staff and all the actors.
The day you decided to join all of your friends on set, they had to film the scene between Charlie and Madi where they sang perfect harmony. You knew that supposedly nothing was going on between them, but it was just the way Luke looked at Julie. You tried to convince yourself that this was nothing, it was just on-screen chemistry nothing more. But they both looked so pretty and handsome and you couldn’t not feel bad about yourself.
At the end of the scene everyone clapped and congratulated the both actors who executed perfectly the routine. Charlie made Madi spin, both giggling. You heart broke a little but you tried to not let it shows. Everyone was so cheerful and happy.
You put on a fake smile and got on with the day. You hung around makeup and costumes and tried to help as much as you could, from setting the buffet for everyone to painting some decors.
————————————
Everyday for a week, you accompanied the band to the studio, but as the days goes by you couldn’t not notice the constant banter between Charlie and Madi. It wasn’t that you were jealous or anything, of course he was « allowed » to speak to other girls. It’s just that they seemed to understand each other on a deeper level. On a music level that you could never understand. You could sing under the shower but you didn’t knew how to play any instruments or writing any lyrics.
« Don’t you think that this song is such a killer song ?! » asked Owen, excited, almost crushing you on the couch where you rested.
« Hum ? Which one ? Even though they’re all amazing! »
« Well the one Charlie and Madi wrote together » you looked at him in disbelief. « Yeah, perfect harmony ! »
A whirlwind of thoughts came into your mind and made your insecurities come back at full speed.
« Oh… no I did not know that. » you said quietly, like if you spoke too loud you would break down in tears. And Owen saw right through you.
« Are you okay ? You know that it is just a song ? »
« Yeah, yes I know, it’s just since this morning I’m not feeling good. I think I’m going to head back to the house. If Charlie asks … » you topped mid-sentence, was he really going to ask ?
You couldn't answered that question being a hundred percent sure.
You took your stuff and left the studio.
Charlie just ended another scene and went to look for you. « hey Owen ? Have you seen Y/N ? » he asked a bit worried and with a small frown on his forehead.
« She went back, said she didn’t felt well »
Well that’s weird, thought Charlie. She would've told him if she wasn’t feeling well. He shook his head and focus on the next scene he had to play before heading back home.
You were laying on your guys bed, crying your eyes out not really knowing why they were so much waterfalls.
You heard the front door open and you recognized the voices of the three boys that played the ghosts. You quickly shut your eyes, trying to make Charlie believe you were asleep.
Charlie entered the room and saw the girl he loved with her head buried in a pillow, she seemed asleep. He sighed and closed the door on his way out. He didn’t understand why all of a sudden you were so cold to him. He didn’t remember having done something bad or wrong. He tried to replay in his mind everything that happened that week without founding anything.
« Are you alright ? » asked Jeremy concerned at the face his friend was making.
« Yeah, it’s just I don’t know why Y/N is giving me the cold shoulder. » he sighed, his head between his hands.
After a few hours of hiding in the room, you decided to fix yourself, make somehow your eyes a little less puffy. You tried to pass by the living room without noise, not ready to confront the boys or anyone for that matter.
You thought you had made it to the kitchen without making your presence known. But as you closed the fridge’s door and turned towards the table you were faced with Charlie’s hazel eyes.
« How are you ? » he asked softly, you felt your throat tightened. « Fine » you croaked.
He knew they were something wrong.
« You know you can talk to me, I’m here babe » Charlie mumbled. You tried avoiding his gaze. He stepped softly towards you, almost chest to chest.
« I don’t want to talk about it » you muttered. « well I think we have to. You have that sad look in your eyes and it saddens me ! »
« I don’t want to do this now, the boys are just in the living room ! »
« But I want to help you, let me help you! » his voice was raising higher and higher.
« Ne fais pas ça maintenant s’il te plait » (don’t do this now) you exclaimed in French so that the boys wouldn’t understand what was happening, even if the knew that you were fighting, no need to be a genius to realize that.
« Oh so now we are talking French ?! Why ?! You don’t want our friends to know that we are not this perfect little couple they think we are ! » Charlie snapped.
« Ne m’humilie pas de la sorte ! Je pense que tu l’as déjà assez fait cette semaine! » (don’t humiliate me like that, you already did it enough all week) you seeped. Your head was beginning to spin from all the crying and the shouting didn’t help.
« Mais qu’est ce que tu racontes bon sang! » (what are you talking about for god’s sakes) Charlie spat, his Canadian accent resurrecting strongly.
« Okay, you want to know what I’m talking about ? I’m talking about you and Madison, I know that I should not be jealous but you are so close to her via music and filming and so close to her as well as in not far away. How do you expect for me to not see that. To not see the chemistry you two has on screen ?! » You were between yelling and sobbing uncontrollably. Charlie stayed silent for a moment not knowing what to answer to this.
« You know, and I’ve told you countless of times that we are nothing more than friends ! She is young » Charlie exclaimed
« Oh because if she was older, you would definitely take her on a date ?! » you exclaimed, hurt by his words. The both of you stayed silent for a bit of time. A heavy silence.
« Of course not, you’re the one I like. The only one I love. Yes, we are not together 24/7, but I love you Y/N. No one else but you, why can’t you see that ? » Charlie insisted, his hair tugging at his now shorter hair.
« I think I should go back for a bit. I’ll see you later » you said in a breath.
« Dont do this to me, don't do this to me Y/N! I’m begging you » he pleaded.
You knew you had to get away for a bit of time, you didn’t knew if your relationship could hold after this full blown out but you’ll live. At least you hoped. You ran straight into Charlie’s room and packed your bags not meeting the boys gazed. They heard everything, and it pained you to have them involved in such a fight.
As soon as you slammed the door of the bedroom, the boys ran straight into the kitchen, they found Charlie on the barstool looking down at his hands, a single tear running down his cheek.
They didn’t knew what to say, are you okay seemed a bit insensitive after what they all heard. They took a sit next to him and pat his back. Sometimes a small gesture is worth a million words. Charlie knew that he will always has his friends, they were like family, but so was Y/N. But apparently not anymore.
#charlie gillespie#charlie gillespie angst#charlie imagine#jatp fanfic#jatp imagine#julie and the phantoms#angst#fluff#charlie gillespie imagine
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WWD2020: Peteinosaurus zambellii
Next up from Episode 1: New Blood, we have Peteinosaurus, one of the earliest-known pterosaurs!
General:
Peteinosaurus was poorly known when WWD was made, and it’s poorly known now, so there’s not much to say about Peteinosaurus specifically, but our understanding of pterosaurs as a whole has changed a lot since 1999, particularly with how upright and agile they were on the ground. However, the WWD Peteinosaurus is pretty good for its time, and mostly holds up today in terms of its posture and energetic behaviour.
Anatomy
The WWD Peteinosaurus is pretty good from what I can tell! While most of the head of the fossil is missing, it’s likely a dimorphodontid, which makes the rounded head of the WWD version fairly likely. One interesting anatomical detail that all WWD pterosaurs share is that way that the wings fold up.
In WWD, the pterosaurs’ wings fold outwards, away from the body, which makes this awkward fold in the wing membrane parallel to the surface they’re walking on. Turns out, this was actually mechanically impossible for pterosaur wings, since the joint of the wing finger bends backwards, the same as a knee joint. This allowed the wings to be tucked much closer to the body, and also got rid of that awkward fold in the membrane, freeing the legs up to be more efficient on the ground.
Skin/Colouration
One of the other big differences in the redesign is that my version is fully floofed out. Pterosaurs were known to have filamentous integument, known as ‘pycnofibres’, at the time that WWD was made, and you can actually see some very short fuzz on the Peteinosaurus head puppet! (Not sure what those head bumps are but no reason it couldn’t have them I guess)
I, on the other hand, have made the executive decision to AMP UP THE FLOOF because it’s a small, warm-blooded, probably highly active animal, and those things need energy conservation.
I think this is the first WWD animal so far that I haven’t been a huge fan of in terms of colours and patterns? Nothing against them really, I just don’t find them as interesting or exciting as the previous few, but I still kept them as faithful in the redesign as I could!
Geographical/Temporal Weirdness Alert!
Just like Plateosaurus before it, Peteinosaurus is another European animal slapped into America where it doesn’t belong, this time from Italy. It’s at the right time, just a very, very long way away, especially for a small thing not adapted to long-distance flight. In 1999, however, there were no known pterosaur fossils from Triassic North America, so Peteinosaurus got yoinked instead.
However, unlike in the case of Plateosaurus, there is a recently-discovered pterosaur that would fit perfectly, Caelestiventus hanseni!
Described in 2018, Caelestiventus is about twice the size of the very small Peteinosaurus, and more closely related to Dimorphodon. It has a rather unusual set of teeth, and may not have been the insect-eater that Peteinosaurus is shown as, but it would make a very nice replacement in a more geologically-accurate WWD. (Art by Scott Reid @drawingwithdinosaurs, map modified from the Palaeobiology Database)
#wwd2020#walking with dinosaurs#pterosaur#peteinosaurus#palaeontology#paleontology#palaeoart#paleoart#digital art#triassic
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Legacy: Chapter 4
Summary: A time when Sami gets a movie made about him and his career, and Rami plays the role of his twin brother. “Emotional” doesn’t begin to quite cover it.
Previous Chapter
Tags: @the-real-ramimalekpeen @xmxisxforxmaybe @killerqueengigi @laminy @hah0106 @ramilicious @ramimedley @edteche2 @txmel @its-just-me-sadiya�� @sassystrawberryk @safinsscar
Chapter 4:
Sami and Rami meet with Sam as he joins the fold, and things get put in motion. After months of Rami leading Sami through the world of filmmaking, Sami introduces Rami to his world of teaching.
---
Sam signed on as executive producer within a day of reading the script, meeting Rami and Sami for lunch the following week when he took a flight to LA, insisting they talk in person.
“First of all,” Sam said, glancing at Rami as they sat outside a cafe, perusing menus. “How dare you not tell me about this. What the fuck?”
Rami smiled in amusement. “It wasn’t mine to tell.”
“Oh, piss off.” Rami and Sami laughed in unison, and Sam grinned, shaking his head. “It’s a great script. I don’t see the need for changes, and if I were to change anything it would probably happen on set, not with the script.”
“That’s fine,” Sami said, and then added on dryly, “as long as you don’t go adding any school shootings.”
“Right, that asshole.” Sam scoffed, glancing at his menu. “Ridiculous. Why is everything so expensive here?”
“Sam, you live in New Jersey. That’s not much better.”
“You get better food.”
“Yes, we know all about your hatred for LA,” Rami said tiredly. “Just pick something so we can start.”
Over paninis and ice teas, they bounced ideas back and forth, discussing possible shooting dates and locations, potential casting, and who else Sami had in mind.
“You mentioned Damian Chazelle,” Sam said. “Is he in the running?”
Sami nodded. “We reached out, he hasn’t responded yet. But if you’re interested...”
“I am. I was just wondering if you were looking for someone specific, because I’m perfectly fine producing this as well. It all depends on the schedule and dates, honestly.”
Sami sipped at his Arnold Palmer. “I’ll let you know what he says, if anything. He might not even respond.”
“That’s also plausible. Sometimes the answer is no answer.”
Sami grimaced. That was all too true.
“There’s also the possibility,” Rami folded his hands together, tucking them under his chin. “That he might not be interested because he likes to write his own screenplays. I’ve yet to a see a film of his where he’s not the main screenwriter.”
“That’s also true,” Sami murmured. “I didn’t think of that.”
“Well, we’ll give it a few weeks, and if nothing happens, let me know,” Sam said, and Sami nodded. “I’ll start lining up other producers we might want attached to this. And additionally, aside from Rami of course, who else do you want for casting?”
Sami blinked. He hadn’t thought of that, and said as much, smiling too when Sam chuckled.
“Start looking for that too, and if you can send me a list of who you like, I can reach out to their agents.”
“Anyone?” Sami asked, curiosity peaking. “At all?”
“Anyone,” Sam nodded. “A dream cast, if you were to have one, send it to me. Often times our dream casts are more reachable than you think. But just in case, send another, of backup, your second and third choices.”
“I’ll help,” Rami said quickly, seeing Sami’s look of surprise, and he reached over to squeeze Sami’s knee.
Sami cleared his throat, mind already racing with possibilities. “When do you want it by?”
“Anytime, but the sooner the better. Getting these people can be the issue of why it takes so long for things to get made. So really, maybe in the next...let’s say two weeks?”
Sami nodded. That seemed doable enough. “Fine by me.”
“Great,” Sam smiled. “Now, moving on. Have you found a line producer for the budget?”
---
“What do you think about Jennifer Lopez for Carmen?”
Sami choked, glancing at Rami with wide eyes. “What?”
Rami leaned back in his chair, glancing out the window at the view of the valley outside his window. “Jennifer Lopez,” he repeated. “For the role of Carmen.”
It was the following week, and Sami and Rami had taken to holing up in Sami’s living room that Saturday, perusing lists of actors on IMDb, with Sami grading papers on the side. He still had a full time job, after all.
Sami stared, pen going slack in his hand. “I..yeah, why not?”
“I’m just thinking she fits the bill,” Rami shrugged. “Mid 40s, Puerto Rican-” he winced. “I know how that sounds, I know Carmen is Spanish-”
“No, no, I know what you mean. Put her down, that’s a good choice. Plus...I know the actual Carmen would get a kick out of JLo portraying her. She’d be extremely flattered.”
Rami laughed. “I’m sure. It’s just a suggestion, I”ll keep looking.”
“I like that,” Sami grinned. “I could see her as a school principal.”
“Me too. I’ve a few others, but I keep coming back to her. I was wondering if...you wanted to hold an open casting call for this. For any of the actors. We don’t have to go with A-listers.”
“Rami, you are an A-lister.”
“Yeah, but I look like you, that’s different,” Rami chuckled. “I’m just saying. I know for the students it’ll be an open call. But what about the rest of the faculty?”
Sami mulled it over, thinking of the student faculty at his own workplace. None of the teachers played a major role in the script, aside from Carmen, hence the need for top talent for her role. And Carmen wasn’t even her real name, it was a change Sami had made within the first initial drafts of the script, deciding in order to protect his colleagues, he would change everyone’s name.
With a start, he realized Rami was watching him silently, waiting for an answer, and he glanced down at a student’s paper that he was halfway through grading. “I like the open call,” he finally said. “Yeah, I like it a lot. We would put a breakdown out, and then someone like your agent would go look at it, right?”
“Pretty much,” Rami nodded. “Sam’s team would put the breakdown out, then as part of their job, Hollywood agents read those breakdowns and send the roles to their clients, who if they like the breakdown, decide whether they want to audition or not. Most of the time, they will audition, because they need the job.”
“Right,” Sami murmured. “I remember you told me about it. How hard it was.”
Rami nodded. “it’s still hard. Most people will tell you acting is a cutthroat gig, and it is. But they don’t tell you exactly how bad it is until you’re in it. And a lot people can’t cope with it, and I don’t blame them when they quit.”
Sami knew that all too well, having seen it all from the sidelines of when Rami was coming up, and how he had spent the better part of a year debating to quit almost everyday, and the only reason he hadn’t was that he’d felt it would be a waste of his degree. Sami had been there, had seen the way Rami’s shoulders would slump as he got another rejection, had seen the long hours Rami would pour into just for an audition, only to get told they’d already picked someone else before he even got a chance to enter the room. He’d been there as the light slowly died from Rami’s eyes, a little more each day, and he’d worried, silently, knowing he couldn’t fight the demons in Rami’s head, even if he wanted to.
“The more I hear about actors, the more I’m convinced they’re masochists.”
“Yeah,” Rami laughed. “That’s a good word.” He went back to searching, and Sami back to the essay he was grading, shaking his head in exasperation at student’s comment, underlining it with red ink before he added a comment in the margins. He finished it, going to place it in the pile of completed papers, when he looked up and caught Rami watching him.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Rami said, and cleared his throat. “Just...observing.”
Sami’s lips quirked up as he reached for another paper to grade. “Preparing early?”
“For this, yes.”
“I hardly think you’d need to prepare for someone like me. You know me.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I know your career. How you act at school and work is different from how you act with me.”
Sami didn’t look up, correcting a grammatical error on the paper. “I’m not at work now.”
Rami rolled his eyes. “It’s plenty telling, though, just watching. You do your work, and I’ll do mine, cool?”
“If your work includes staring at me-”
“Sami, I swear to god-”
“Kidding, kidding,” Sami grinned, and then dug around his bag for a spare red pen. Finding one, he tossed it to Rami, who caught it with ease. “Here.”
“You’re not seriously suggesting I help grade your papers, are you?” Rami asked with an incredulous expression. “Because I’m not.”
“I mean, you can. We have similar enough handwriting.”
“Dude, no.”
Sami chuckled, and then frowned when he saw another error on the page, sighing to himself. He worked halfway down before he remembered the quizzes from the day before in his bag too, and he paused. “What if it’s not a paper?”
“What do you mean?”
“I have quizzes in my bag, and the answer key. Literally all you have to do is grade them, it’s a quiz on The Great Gatsby. It’s not something you have to actively think about, since you have the answer key. It’s twenty questions. And for what’s worth,” Sami bit his lip. “It would actually be a major help as I go through these.”
Rami tilted his head. “You trust me that much?”
“Yeah, I know you won’t fuck it up. So...”
Rami crossed the room, taking the seat across from him as an answer, and Sami gave him a grateful smile as he dug into his bag, pulling out the stack of papers. “There’s about 90 of them, you don’t have to do them all.”
Rami stared. “Jesus.”
Sami smirked. “If you’re not regretting this yet, you will.”
“I’m sure,” Rami said, taking the first quiz from the stack, accepting the answer key Sami slid across to him. “But it’s part of the job, isn’t it?”
“It is. For both of us. Let me know if you’re not sure about something.”
“Got it,” Rami looked over the answer key, settling back into his chair as he started on this first quiz. They worked in compatible silence and after about twenty minutes, Sami glanced up, eyeing the stack of quizzes Rami had graded so far.
“You good?”
“Mhmm,” Rami murmured, checking off another answer. “How many classes do you teach?”
“Three. AP English and AP literature. AP English is generally tenth grade, AP Lit is eleventh, mostly. And then I also teach an Ethics class once a semester, for seniors.”
“Ethics?”
“Mhmm. I actually think you’d really enjoy it. We go through ethical problems, the more basic, trolley problems, to the difference between ethics and morals. It’s my favorite class to teach, mostly because I’m the only one that does.”
“Why just you?”
Sami shrugged, crossing out a paragraph in a student’s paper, adding a quick “unnecessary” note. “It’s only for half the year. And it’s only for seniors, so the class size isn’t that big. But it is popular, it fills up pretty quickly every year. Which I like, because it means I’m doing something right.”
“I’m sure you’re doing more than just that right,” Rami smiled at him quickly as he took another quiz off the stack, staring at it. “What is this handwriting?”
Sami smiled wryly. “Welcome to teaching.”
“It’s...”
“Yep. Welcome to teaching. Regret it yet?”
“Not yet,” Rami squinted at the paper and then at the answer key. “This-the prep work, the research, this is the fun part. But it’s just...tedious more so than anything else.”
“It can be,” Sami said as finished off the paper he was working on. He set aside his own stack, before reaching for one of the quizzes Rami was steadily working through before he began to grade it himself, flying through and checking off answers at lightning speed.
Rami stared in amazement. “Holy shit. You’re so fast.”
Sami grinned, finishing the quiz and circling a 100% at the top with a flourish before reaching for his next one. “You forget, I made the quiz. So I already know the answers, I know what to look for. Also, when you’ve been doing it for so long, you know not to take too long with grading. Otherwise I could be here all night, and I have been, plenty of times.”
“Wow,” Rami murmured, working through his own quiz before getting another one. He remember all the times it had been late and Sami had still been working through his grading, and on the weekends as well, when everyone else was out.
“Yeah, you’ll catch on if you stick around doing this long enough.” And Rami laughed, shaking his head minutely.
“I’m sure I will. I’ve already signed on, can’t back out now.”
“Well, you can-”
“I won’t. I want to do this, I want us to do this.” Rami propped his feet up, crossing out a wrong answer and circling the right one.
Sami smiled absentmindedly, reaching for another quiz. “Me too.”
“When it gets closer, and we have a date set, would it be cool if I shadowed you? At school? I’ll need to know how you operate on a daily basis.”
“Sure,” Sami shrugged. “It’s fine by me, as long as you don’t tell the kids we’re making a movie about me.”
“No, I’ll just say it’s preparation for an upcoming role. Which is true.”
Sami chuckled. “Fair enough. Yeah man, we’ll figure something out. No problem.” He watched as Rami scribbled on sheet off to the side, the pen clearly out of ink. Sami watched for a moment, purely out of amusement at Rami’s face of frustration, before he found another one, handing it over. “Here.”
“Thanks,” Rami muttered, chucking the empty pen in the trash. “What do you say we get through these and grab an early dinner?”
“Works for me,” Sami finished the quiz he was on, taking another one, and then he grinned. “Just try to keep up.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
---
“We sent out the breakdown to JLo,” Sam said over the phone. “And we have the budget locked. Now what we need are dates. How soon can you meet? There’s a lot to talk about.”
“Anytime,” Sami said, glancing at the clock. “Are you free today?”
“Anytime,” Sam echoed.
“Come over.”
Sam did, with a bag of Lebanese food in tow, kebabs galore.
Sami’s mouth watered. “You’re the best.”
“I know,” Sam laughed. “Sit, let’s talk.”
“You don’t want to wait for Rami?”
“He’ll come. He mentioned an interview. Now, ready for some sticker shock?”
Sami nodded, and sat, watching as Sam pulled out the sheets from their line producer, going through the pages until he got to the very last line of the budget, which he flipped over to show Sami, pointing to it. Sami’s eyes bulged, choking on his own spit.
Grand Total= $29,789,500.00
“30 million dollars?!”
“And that’s small,” Sam said, “in terms of budgets for movies like this.”
“Holy fuck.”
“That’s not all,” Sam said, flipping to an earlier page, to above the line credits. He pointed out the producer’s fee and story credits. “You make 30 grand just for writing the story. The screenwriter does too. And as producers, me and Rami, but we’re including you in this too, we get 50 grand each. So that’s $80,000 for you right there, accommodated into the budget.”
Sami stared, leaning back in his chair. “That’s more than I make in three years,” he croaked. “Shit.”
Sam smiled wryly. “Get a drink, and get your head straight. There’s more.”
Sami did, reaching for two beers from the fridge, handing one to Sam. Over kebabs and eggplant, they went through the whole list together, starting from production team members down to actors and locations, union fees, hair and makeup departments, crew, production design, to post production, editing, and distribution. Rami joined them halfway through, lighting up at seeing the budget, and pulling up a chair almost immediately, reaching for food.
“How you feeling?” He asked Sami once they were through, lounging back in the chairs with more beers.
“Like my head is going to explode,” Sami said tiredly. “I had no idea this much went into it.”
Rami nodded. “It takes a village. Truly.”
“Jesus. How do you finance all this?”
“This is what production companies are for, studios,” Sam said. “Ones that aren’t New Regency anyway. But I’ve already spoken to Chad, he’s busy so he can’t do this. Sami, I’m assuming a summer shoot would be best?”
Sami blinked as it registered why Sam was asking in the first place. “You want me on set?”
“Of course,” Sam said. “Not all the time, if you don’t want. But yes, I’d love it if you decided to come and freak Rami out a little.” And Rami scoffed, shaking his head with a grin.
“Shut up.”
“Then I’ll definitely be there,” Sami said, smirking in Rami’s direction. “How long-”
“Two, two and a half months?” Sam said. “I don’t see it going much longer than that. It’s February now, if we do this right, it’s entirely possible to shoot this in the coming summer. But it depends if we get the money for it in time. Otherwise, next summer. But if we hear back from Jen, and she says yes, you’ve got two big names attached to a script that studios will want. Their whole purpose is to make back their money.”
“Right.”
“If JLo says no,” Sam dug around on his laptop for a moment. “I took the liberty of sending the breakdown to Rosario Dawson.” He smiled when Sami and Rami both perked up. “I know her, I’ve worked with her before, she’s phenomenal.”
“She’s awesome,” Rami said enthusiastically. “Huge fan of hers.”
“She is. And so now, it’s just sort of a waiting game. We’ve got our tentative dates, and we’ll lock those down one we hear back from a studio. We’ll tweak the budget if needed, but that’s about it.”
“Speaking of the budget,” Sami interjected, pulling it closer to him. “Can I keep this?”
“Absolutely,” Sam nodded. “That’s your copy, but I’ll also email you everything we’ve talked about. Rami, send me your fee. I just put down an arbitrary number because I couldn’t remember it.”
“Five productions together and he still doesn’t remember,” Rami muttered, rolling his eyes, snickering when Sam shoved him. “Kidding! Let me see?” Sami slid the budget towards him and he flipped it to the second page, to the actors fee, before he nodded. “Yeah, that’s more than plenty. If some of that has to come out to go towards the production, I’d rather-”
“No,” Sam said firmly. “This is why you accommodate for everything. It’s better to go to a company with a higher number in mind, before you start compromising. You can’t compromise up, but you can always compromise down. You keep that number of what you’ll be getting, that goes for you both of you.” He glanced at Sami too. “You should know your worth.”
Sami ducked his head, taking another swig of his beer, feeling Rami’s hand on his shoulder and he smiled. “Okay. Thanks.”
“That’s what I keep telling him,” Rami said, and Sami smiled again.
“In the meantime,” Sam leaned back in his chair. “If this is a summer shoot, say for this June, Rami, that gives you four, maybe five, months to prepare. Get on it.”
Rami nodded, hiding a yawn. “I’ve already started. That’s plenty of time, I’ve had much worse.”
“Good, good,” Sam stood up, donning on his jacket. “In that case...I think we’re done here. Nice job, guys.”
Sami shot him a grateful look. “Thanks, man.”
“No problem,” Sam pointed to him as he opened the door, and Rami slumped in his chair, half asleep. “We’re going to do you justice, Sami Malek. Our fearless leader.”
Sami laughed, looking between Sam and Rami with a fond expression. “Damn straight.”
---
Next Chapter
#rami malek#sami malek#twin tuesday#the malek twins#malek twin appreciation#twin tuesday fic#legacy#this is a longer chapter today#enjoy#also who wants to find my favorite paragraph#in case anyone is curious#Rami's fee that isn't mentioned is 10 million#It's not important but it's a little tidbit for fun#this takes place a few years into the future#so have fun with that
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Would you consider writing something short and sweet about Obi with a fellow jedi? Like maybe he comes back to the temple exhausted after a tiring mission and thinks about confronting his partner about what they're doing not being ok but then the moment they're alone she's like "I made you tea! And food! Let's cuddle!" And he thinks 'Nope, I'm definitely not ready to give this comfort up yet'
Thank you for the request! I’ve never written an obi-centric fic before but I actually really loved doing this. I hope you like it! ❤️
Masterlist
It’s You- Obi-Wan x gn Reader
Obi-Wan walked down the ramp of his ship behind the rest of his clones. It felt good to be back on stable ground, the safety promised by the Republic’s capital where the Jedi Temple was swarming with military personnel. However, an overwhelming sense of dread had slowly been building during his flight home, replacing the pride of his victory on Won’kito with anxiety and disappointment.
He had almost blown the mission.
The bomb had been set, and the droids were booking it out of the city. There were 60 seconds left before the 212th battalion realized the city would soon be dust and rubble, and Obi-Wan was the only one who could reach through the ray shield with the force in order to disarm the bomb.
By the time he reached it, there were 15 seconds left. Citizens were being rushed out of the city as fast as possible, but there was just no way they’d make it. They had been blindsided, set up, distracted, and now they were too late.
When Obi-Wan got the code, there were 10 seconds left. He couldn’t get through the ray shield. No matter how hard he pushed and prodded and willed the force through, he kept hitting a wall.
9...8...7...
He almost left.
As the bomb flashed red with every second it counted down, his mind flashed to you. How devastated you’d be when you found out he didn’t return from his mission. How miserable you’d look in all black, standing at his funeral and trying to hide your soul-crushing grief. How you’d never forgive him for leaving so suddenly, and how much he didn’t want to say goodbye.
As the numbers flashed 6, then 5, then 4, Obi-Wan considered jumping through that broken window and scaling the building rooftops to get as far away from the blast as he could. To save himself, but doom everyone else. The thought was gone in a blink, but his bones were shaking, muscles tensing, ready to carry out his selfish plan.
It was wrong.
3...2...1...
By some otherworldly blessing, he had finally managed to push through the barrier and enter the code. The bomb screamed as the explosion circuits began, then choked off once they had been broken. Obi-Wan felt his head rush with oxygen-deprivation— he’d been holding his breath for too long, but he couldn’t move. He was shaking too much.
It was only when the ray shield died and the bomb went dark did he dare to breathe again. He clutched at his chest, gasping, feeling for his heartbeat as if surprised it was still there. Then Cody’s voice came over his com, congratulating him on a job well done.
Now, he was back on Coruscant and his legs were just starting to stop trembling. It was easy to put on his brave mask for his soldiers, to pretend like he had everything under control all along. He was good at putting up masks, at hiding his feelings. He had hidden his feelings for you from the Council for so long, after all.
But deep down, he knew that had to change. Jedi weren’t supposed to feel, they were supposed to let go. How could he preach this to Anakin at every turn if he could not do so himself?
His attachment to you had gotten the best of him, and had almost caused the destruction and death of an entire city. He had almost succumbed to the pressure of your love, almost doomed thousands of people just so that he could live. Why him? Out of everyone, why should he have gotten out alive?
He knew what he had to do, but it didn’t stop him from dreading every second of it. Each step toward the room you two shared in the Jedi temple was like a step toward the execution block. His limbs felt numb, but his chest was burning. He cursed himself for getting into this mess in the first place, knowing how wrong it was yet being unable to ignore his undying attachment to you.
Feel it, and let it go, Obi-Wan chanted to himself over and over again. His heart was already breaking for you. Your face when he’d tell you you had to stop this thing you had going. How devestated you would be, his precious little fawn, broken and crying and hurting all over. All because of him.
He opened the door slowly, swallowing the lump in his throat when he glanced around the corner and caught sight of you. You were in the kitchen, hair tied up in a sloppy bun, pouring over something on the stove with the utmost concentration. Your tongue was sticking out in that adorable way it always did when you were thinking hard, and you were wearing one of his shirts.
He leaned against the doorway, watching you for a moment. The last few seconds of peace and happiness on your face... oh, how it would kill him to see you crumble.
“Obi-Wan?” You suddenly looked up, peering around the corner at the door. Your face brightened when you saw him. “You’re back!”
His heart dropped to his feet. You came bounding up to him, a mug of tea in your hands, face beaming with excitement. “I missed you so much! Come in, you must be so tired and hungry. I’ve been making your favorite dinner all day, oh and here’s some tea...”
He let you drag him to a chair on the island where he sat before a bubbling pot. The smell was heavenly, and the mug of tea warmed his stiff hands. He was so used to coming home to a dark, empty apartment before you... he hated the thought of going back to that after he let you go.
“Are you okay?” You asked him, face falling when you noticed his silence. Obi-Wan took a deep breath, inhaling the steam from the mug to try and clear his mind, to think of the words he had to say, to force them out of his mouth—
“I’m okay.” He finally managed, chest aching. He brought his hand up to tuck some flyaway hairs behind your ear, lingering there to cup your cheek.
“You’re just very quiet. And... you look sad. Did the mission go well? I should have asked when you arrived. I apologize.”
“It’s alright, the mission was a success,” Obi-Wan said. But I need to talk to you about something... about us.
He couldn’t get the words past his lips. Not when your cheeks were flushed that perfectly pretty pink, your heart beating with a languid bliss, so happy to see him, so enamored with his presence, so in love. It would be a crime in itself to rip that away from you.
“I’m so glad you made it back unharmed,” you covered his hand on your cheek with your own, fingers dwarfed in comparison to his. His heart melted at the sight. “Now sit back and drink your tea. The food will be done in a moment— you must be starving— and then we can go lie down and rest because you look so exhausted, and I’ve already got the bed all made up and the fluffy pillows are on your side this time...”
Obi-Wan leaned forward and pressed his lips against your own. So warm. So sweet. So his. He wanted nothing more than to hold you, nothing more than to keep tasting you like this.
His mind was screaming at him to let you go, to break away and tell you that you needed to stop seeing each other. To break off this love before it became unbreakable. But it was too late. His heart soared for you, and the kiss sealed his commitment to you.
He did not want to give this up.
Not just the tea, and the food, and the warm welcome home after a long, hard mission. It was you. Every atom in his body reached out for you, called for you, and he was weak. A true Jedi would not have fallen victim to his feelings so easily, but he had never been the perfect Jedi to begin with, had he? No matter how hard he tried, no matter what mask he put on, he could not deny the hold you had over him. There was simply no way he could follow through with it, no way he could turn you away now.
“Thank you, darling,” Obi-Wan whispered against your lips. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him, and he basked in the soft, warm feeling of your body against his. No, he would never give this up. “I love you.”
#obi wan kenobi#obi wan x reader#obi wan fic#obi wan angst#obi wan fluff#obi wan x you#obi wan x y/n#star wars fic
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WIP #47
(Send me a number 1-60 [or a fandom/character I guess] for the corresponding wip) because I’m bored and brain-fried and have too many wips that’ll otherwise never see the light of day.
For @misssquidtracy who asked for “Number 47 - Thunderbirds (specifically da Gords)”. Luckily, this happens to be a Gordon PoV wip, so it’s all Gordon!
It’s also a Scott!whump, because it’s me and I’m terrible and I have way too many of these lying around, so watch out for that. There’s also a lot of this. Nearly 6k words, so enjoy :D
Gordon hated it when his squid sense started to tingle for no discernible reason. On a rescue, his squid sense was invaluable, warning him just in time that a building was about to topple, or that an aftershock was on its way. Lives had been saved by his mysterious power – hardly a power, more an instinct honed by too many years of military precision combined with a predisposition for pranks whilst living in a house with three older brothers. Alan joked about him being bitten by a squid, like that old superhero story about the guy and the spider.
It was easier to laugh it off than get into a debate with the astronaut about the biting habits – or lack thereof – of aquatic creatures his younger brother knew nothing more than the required basics about.
However, joking aside, Gordon’s sixth sense was particularly active, and while usually it was a life-saving boon, this time it was just a nuisance. He was at home, safe and comfortable in the clean water of the pool. He’d opted for lazy backstrokes, taking his time to reach from one end of the pool to the other before executing a neat flip to repeat the stroke back the way he’d come. None of his brothers were on missions, either. John was as ever up in Thunderbird Five, but from the far end of the pool he could see the holographic form of his brother just visible in the den. Alan was, last checked, also in the den – the two space mad brothers had decided to watch a documentary on, surprise, surprise, space, during what downtime they had – while Virgil had decided to do some maintenance on Thunderbird Two with Brains.
Scott was away on boring business, a stuffy CEO meeting that he couldn’t palm off onto the board of directors that were supposed to be handling that sort of thing for him, or even attend via hologram. They had insisted on a personal touch – literally – and as it was, apparently, a big deal, that meant Scott had to ditch the blues, send one last longing look at Thunderbird One, and let Kayo escort him in Tracy One to the meeting place.
The meeting had been due to start about an hour ago, if Gordon was getting his timezone calculations correct. Why Tracy Industries still had its headquarters in America, far too many hours behind Tracy Island, when there was a perfectly respectable landmass or two closer to home, he couldn’t quite fathom, but when he’d raised the point Scott and John had both fixed him with tired, don’t be an idiot looks, with just a hint of be glad you don’t have to deal with this nonsense to stop him from pestering further.
Kayo herself was who-knew-where, sneaking around in her sneaky Kayo way. He’d seen Tracy One return several hours ago, Kayo’s taxi service duties over until Scott called for her. Apparently, head of IR security did not equal anything in terms of Tracy Industries security, a fact that he knew grated on her. Still, she and Lady Penelope had run multiple background checks on all the men and women that made up Scott’s official security, and were as assured as they could be with Kayo not amongst their number that he was in good hands.
So if his squid sense could stop tingling randomly, that’d be great, thanks.
It didn’t, and annoyance turned to dread when the emergency signal went off, summoning them all to the lounge. A tingling squid sense, and an emergency? Gordon had a really bad feeling about that.
He made it to the den in record time, more damp than not with a beautiful trail of drips across the carpet that Grandma was going to murder him for later, and still in nothing but his swimming trunks. Alan made a face of disgust as he threw himself down onto the sofa next to him to face John. The documentary that the two astronauts had been watching was paused on what his old school lessons told him was a supernova eruption. The imagery of an explosion did nothing to help his jittery squid sense.
Virgil was last to join them, grease streaking up one sleeve and smearing onto the sofa he chose to sit on – at least he wasn’t the only one that would be facing the wrath of Grandma later.
“What have you got, John?” his eldest currently-home brother asked, looking far too laid back for Gordon’s liking. Not that there was anything wrong with it – Virgil still was far from relaxed, alert and ready for the briefing before launching himself down the slide of death – but Gordon found himself tense in comparison.
“A plane’s gone down in America,” John told them. “I intercepted a mayday call from the pilot; the GDF have already responded but it’s a bad one and they don’t have enough resources to get everyone out. Gear up; I’ll give you the details on the way.”
One of those, huh? Gordon flew towards the fish tank that housed his launch tube, slapping his palm against the hidden sensor and feeling the familiar downwards rush towards the hangars, splitting off from the route to Four and instead making a beeline for Two. He met Alan on the platform, his youngest brother jittering excitedly as always, just in time for Virgil to retract it, bringing them up into the cockpit.
Co-pilot was his chair, and the only person annoying enough to turf him out of it on ‘superiority’ grounds was Scott. Even Kayo knew better than to steal his chair, so Alan settled happily enough into the navigation chair behind Virgil, pulling up the screens ready for John to transmit the data straight though.
“You alright?” Virgil asked him as the hangar door rolled down, revealing rows of palm trees ready to bow in homage to the green beast.
“My squid sense is going haywire,” he admitted, no point in lying. Not on a mission. He expected John to scoff – his second eldest brother always slightly more dismissive of it than the rest of them. After all, there was no scientific explanation. All joking about fish and gills aside, Gordon was one hundred percent human. John didn’t scoff, and that made his squid sense reach an uncomfortable level. In fact, John didn’t say anything at all, his hologram not paying them any attention at all as he fiddled with something invisible up on Five.
“Well, it’s a plane crash,” Alan pointed out, his voice somewhat subdued. Virgil made a noise of agreement as Two’s engines roared to life behind them, punching them into the air. She was no rocket, but Thunderbird Two could still produce a decent amount of Gs. Gordon wished that was it, but the tingle had started before John briefed them.
“Guys,” John finally said, once Two was cruising at full speed towards America. “I’ve got hold of the flight details for the plane. It wasn’t easy; turns out it was a top-secret flight even the GDF didn’t know about.”
“That sounds ominous,” Virgil observed.
“It gets worse.” John’s face was grim. Really grim. Bearer of terrible news grim. “It was a private flight chartered for a top secret business meeting between the biggest aerospace companies in the world. Four CEOs were on board, including-” his voice broke in a very un-John-like manner, and Gordon’s stomach dropped.
“Don’t say it,” Alan begged. In front of him, Virgil’s knuckles were white on the yoke, Thunderbird Two’s engines whining as they went just that little bit faster.
“Including Scott,” John finished, visibly pulling himself back together. “In total there were thirty people on board, including the pilots. The reports from the GDF so far say that the rear of the plane is trashed but the cause isn’t yet clear. Two bodies have been recovered so far – neither of them Scott – but they can’t get into the main body of the plane. Scans suggest that approximately half of them survived the initial crash. I’m picking up fourteen life signs; two of them in the cockpit area so they’re most likely the pilots.”
“Scott’s communicator?” Virgil asked as sea gave way to land beneath them, the American coast looking unfairly beautiful.
“I’m not getting a response,” John admitted. “I’ll keep trying.”
“Anything from the telemetry?” Alan was tapping away at the screen by his chair, clearly manipulating the data John was sending him. Gordon envied him the distraction.
“It’s offline,” John sighed, rubbing his face tiredly. “Seems like it was damaged in the crash. EOS is attempting to reconnect but no luck so far.”
“Do you have any good news for us, Johnny?” Gordon asked hopefully.
“Colonel Casey is one of the GDF officers at the scene,” John offered, notably not rising to the bait. Well, Gordon supposed that was better than random officers, or worse, the ones that weren’t overly fond of International Rescue and didn’t fully co-operate. “Kayo’s just launched in Thunderbird Shadow for the airport they took off from. Lady Penelope is also on the way; she and Parker are already making enquiries to find out what happened.”
“They think sabotage?” Virgil asked.
“The CEOs of the four most powerful aerospace industries in the world were on that plane,” John pointed out. “It’s suspicious, at least.”
“Do you think it’s the Hood?” Gordon sent Alan a withering look. Not everything was the Hood’s fault, even if it felt like it.
“I don’t know, Alan,” John said. “Kayo thinks it isn’t his style. He’d have been looking to get money from them, not kill them.”
“He killed Dad.”
Gordon flinched. He wasn’t the only one.
“No-one said Scott’s dead,” Virgil said, voice steady even though Gordon couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked so tense.
“He’ll be okay, right?” Alan asked. “I mean, it’s Scott. If anyone can walk away from a plane crash, it’d be Scott, right?”
“Let’s hope,” John replied.
The co-ordinates John had programmed into Thunderbird Two’s navigation system flashed up, warning that they were on final approach. Slowed to subsonic, they came to a hover alongside a GDF flier and got their first glimpse of the downed plane. It wasn’t pretty.
The final third of the plane no longer resembled the tail of anything remotely flight-worthy. Twisted and warped metal was crumpled and torn ragged. Men and women in GDF uniforms were hovering around the area, large lasers deployed to slice their way in. Gordon knew instantly that no-one who had been in that part of the plane could possibly have survived.
At the other end of the plane, the nose was also crumpled but not as far back as the cockpit windows. It looked as though whatever had downed the plane had occurred at the back, with the damage to the nose only made by the impact of the crash. More GDF were swarming the cockpit windows, cutting their way in with infinite more care than their counterparts were cleaving the rear.
The area of most interest to them was the middle third. While not the complete write-off of the rear, massive dents and warps in the metal warned of a serious crash. Any survivors would be in that area, but the condition of said survivors was unknown. All of the emergency exits were untouched; from a distance, Gordon couldn’t tell if they were wedged shut by warped metal, or if there was another reason that none of them had been opened.
“International Rescue!” Colonel Casey flagged them down, guiding them towards a space just large enough for Thunderbird Two to land. “You boys are a sight for sore eyes,” she greeted. “The fuselage is too thick for our lasers to get through without endangering the survivors inside. We’ve got the pilots under control, but we haven’t been able to make contact with any of the passengers.”
“F.A.B.,” Virgil answered her. “We’ll get them out. John said fourteen life signs?”
“Affirmative,” she said. “We have visual on both pilots. The other twelve are randomly positioned within the front half of the plane.”
“We’ll get them out,” Virgil assured her, and ended the call. “Gordon, Alan, get as much cutting gear and first aid supplies as you can carry.”
“You didn’t mention Scott,” Gordon observed, and he sighed.
“No point worrying her. You two know we have to treat him the same as the rest?”
Alan frowned.
“But couldn’t he help us?”
“If he’s fit to help, then that’s one thing,” Virgil told them. “But I don’t like that none of the doors are open. Don’t get your hopes up; this is a nasty crash.”
“Come on,” Gordon muttered, grabbing Alan’s arm and tugging him towards the module. “Faster we get in there, the faster we’ll find him.”
“I know that much!” Alan grumbled, yanking his arm back. “I can walk by myself, Gordon!” He stalked off ahead. Gordon let him, hearing Virgil catch up with him from behind.
“You don’t think Scott’s okay,” he said, quietly. It wasn’t a question.
“If he was, he’d have got word out somehow by now,” Virgil replied. “Even if his communicator’s broken, there are GDF swarming the place. He’d only need to catch their attention through a window.” He made a beeline straight for his exosuit, pulling on the heavy gear with the ease of practice and charging out of the lowering module door. Gordon collected their last hand-held cutter and shouldered a medical pack before following alongside Alan, who was kitted out the same.
Virgil’s shoulder laser was powerful and made short work of the fuselage that the GDF had been too reluctant to touch. A wrench with the claw arm and a thick wodge of metal slammed down on the ground in front of him. The opening wasn’t huge, too small for Virgil with his suit to fit through comfortably, but it was the largest they’d been willing to risk with the unknown structural integrity of the fuselage. Gordon slipped through first, hand laser in hand for any further obstacles, and let out a shaky breath.
“Woah,” he muttered, pulling his helmet on. The air was murky, dust kicked up and swarming around from the warped metal. None of the seats were upright; sheered metal struts protruded from where they should have been, in a circle around what was once a table. That had broken in two, the far end buried under the start of the truly warped area. “Hello? International Rescue!”
Silence.
Alongside personal effects and broken pieces of aircraft, the floor was strewn with bodies. Some were obviously dead, impaled by shrapnel made from the very plane that should have been protecting them. One in particular was grotesque, a metal strut that had once supported a chair stuck straight through his chest from where he’d been thrown on top of it. Gordon recognised him as part of Scott’s security detail and had to fight to hold back the bile.
Scott. Where was Scott?
Despite Virgil’s words, he wasted a moment looking around the scene, but there was no sign of his eldest brother. Unable to justify hunting for him before checking for signs of life in those immediately visible, he crouched down by the nearest person not obviously dead and checked their pulse. It was weak but there.
“Woah!” Alan mimicked his own reaction upon entering. “What a mess.”
“Alan, I’ve got a survivor here!” Gordon called him over immediately. “Mind your step.” His youngest brother picked his way over to him. “Find a way to get him out. I’ll look for more.”
“Have you found Scott yet?” he asked, kneeling down and opening his med kit. Gordon shook his head.
“No sign. I’ll let you know as soon as I do.” Alan nodded, and Gordon continued his search. It was a grim one. He’d suspected as such when no-one had responded to his call, but even when he found a warm body, they were unconscious. Virgil joined him, exosuit stripped off and replaced with more medical kits and a small group of GDF personnel courtesy of Colonel Casey. Between them, it was a far more manageable task to carefully remove the survivors from the wreckage. Those pronounced as dead were left for the moment as John’s countdown of life signs inside the remains of the plane slowly ticked down.
All in all, they’d so far found eighteen of the twenty eight passengers, including the dead pulled from the ruined tail section. Ten to go, two of which were still alive according to Thunderbird Five’s scans. One of the ten was Scott. Gordon felt cruel when he found another breathing body and mentally cursed her for not being Scott. It wasn’t her fault; she was lucky to be alive herself, torso contorted in a way he knew meant a broken back. He should be relieved to find any survivors at all, not cursing them for not being the one he wanted to be alive.
He flagged her up to one of the closest medics and moved on. It was almost too dark to see at the back of the plane, up against the crushed wreckage. His toe snapped on something soft and he tripped. Landing in a crouch, he turned around to face the obstruction. A dead body. He didn’t even need to check the young man’s pulse; the poor guy had been caught in the mangled metal and torn in half. His face was twisted in pain and terror, blue eyes wide and glassy with death. It wasn’t Scott, but Gordon knew he’d be seeing those eyes in his nightmares nonetheless.
Turning back around, he moved to stand before realising he was by part of the fallen table. Various limbs had been protruding from beneath the large slab at intervals during Gordon’s search, but here there was a gap. A seat, wedged beneath it, had left part of the table at an angle. It was too dark to see into it, so Gordon palmed a glowstick and snapped it, illuminating the area in an eerie green. Immediately the silhouette of a body greeted his eyes. Mindful of additional shrapnel, he reached in carefully, fumbling until he found their wrist.
Thump… thump…
Slow, but there. At the same time, a GDF woman called in another survivor. One more than expected.
“Virgil!” he called. “I’ve got someone under the table with a pulse. Going to need some heavy lifting to get them out!”
“F.A.B.” his brother replied. He raised the glowstick above his head with the hand not measuring the pulse and waved it around. “I see you.” A moment later, Virgil and a trio of GDF officers appeared. “How much of this are we going to need to shift?” he asked. Gordon shrugged.
“I can’t see. Got a silhouette but not much more. Give me your torch.” He dropped the glowstick and kept his hand open for Virgil’s gear. It landed in his hand and he carefully manoeuvred it down before turning it on.
A once sharp grey suit was covered in dust, but that wasn’t what caught Gordon’s breath in his throat. It was the dark brown hair, and the broken but unmistakable International Rescue communicator on his forearm, less than an inch from Gordon’s fingers on the slow pulse, that made him gasp.
“Gord-?”
“It’s Scott.” He cut Virgil’s query off. Behind him, the GDF murmured in surprise.
Virgil didn’t ask anything more. Gordon stayed where he was, watching the limp form of his eldest brother with a lump in his throat as they moved around him. His fingers didn’t budge from the pulse, a fear gripping him that if he stopped measuring it, it would stop altogether. Orders barked and a concert of groans resulted in a large part of the broken table slab being cut up and lifted, letting what pitiful light had reached so far back into the cabin illuminate Scott’s body.
It wasn’t good. Blood matted his hair, a mark of something striking him in the crash. One leg was twisted almost completely around, a dislocated hip at best, and more blood stained his arm.
Virgil took charge, nudging Gordon out of the way. He went willingly only because out of everyone in the world, he only trusted Virgil or Grandma to handle his brother in such a broken state. He tapped his communicator.
“John, Alan?”
Both answered immediately, eager for news. Inwardly he was glad not to be the bearer of tragic news, not sure he could have managed it.
“Found him; he’s alive.”
“How is he?” Alan demanded over John’s sigh of relief. Gordon winced.
“Alive,” he repeated. “Virgil’s got him. It’s too dark back here to tell past that.” That was a bare faced lie; even as he spoke he could see Virgil attaching the medical scanner to him, still glowing glow stick highlighting the frown on his face. Neither brother called him out on it.
“I’ll update the others,” John said instead. “Keep looking for survivors; you’re on one more than our scans showed. There might be more.”
“F.A.B.” He ended the call. “Virgil?”
“All in hand,” his older brother said shortly. “Keep looking.”
“Yessir.”
Seven dead bodies later, all thirty crew and passengers were accounted for. He exited the craft, removing his now filthy helmet, only to almost collide with Colonel Casey.
“You knew Scott was on board the flight,” she said without greeting. Her face was displeased, and he figured he was the first Tracy she’d managed to collar.
“Of course we did,” he confirmed. “But that didn’t change how we operated.”
“I can see that,” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He glanced back at the corpse of the plane, where Virgil was still inside with Scott, carefully transferring him to a hoverstretcher, last Gordon had seen.
“Because it didn’t change anything,” he repeated. “Excuse me, Colonel, but my job isn’t over yet.”
He didn’t wait to be dismissed, heading towards Thunderbird Two’s open module to prep it for Scott’s transport. The GDF might be taking the other injured to hospitals, but there was only one craft their brother would be travelling in, and that was their own. He wasn’t naïve; Scott’s injuries were bad, beyond anything Grandma and Virgil could handle at home. John and Kayo were already working to locate a hospital both capable of treating him, and with enough security that he would be safe from ill-wishers during his recovery.
None of them were convinced this was a simple accident. Not with so many high profile individuals on board. The Hood aside, there were many people that stood to gain from the deaths of the four CEOs. Lady Penelope was already digging into the employees from the other three companies who stood to benefit from the deaths. Regretfully, the only CEO still with a pulse was Scott. All four of them had been towards the back of the cabin, all bar Scott caught up in the twisted metal that was the final third of the plane.
Scott had been lucky, for all that he wasn’t out of the woods yet. Gordon wasn’t a medical professional, but Virgil’s face told him that much.
“The medical carrier is ready to leave,” Colonel Casey told him. He assumed she’d followed him to Thunderbird Two, although had at least refrained from entering uninvited. “As soon as Scott is on board, they’ll be on their way.”
“They can leave now,” Gordon retorted. “We’ll handle Scott.”
“I know you are concerned, but this crash is a GDF investigation,” she told him. “All casualties fall under GDF jurisdiction.”
Gordon was shorter than her – the only one of his brothers bar the still-growing Alan with that distinction – but inside the module bay he could still look down at her.
“Scott is International Rescue jurisdiction,” he corrected her. “And as the CEO of the family business, also Tracy jurisdiction. He’ll be treated at a location approved by us, not the GDF, and if the GDF have an issue with that, they can take that up with our head of security.”
“And your other employees?” she challenged. Gordon pushed away the memory of a man impaled by a seat strut.
“None of them survived.” He turned his back on her, readying the finishing touches.
“I’m sorry for your losses,” she said, and he heard her walk away. He’d barely known them, the six men and women wearing Tracy Industries logos, but Scott had. John, too, and Kayo had hand-picked the four members of security.
Alan appeared beside him, putting away what remained of the medical supplies he’d taken out earlier and locking the hand-held laser back where it belonged.
“Is he going to be okay?” he asked, and Gordon shrugged, putting an arm around his shoulders.
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
“Do you think this was sabotage?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why would anyone do this?”
Gordon sighed.
“It might have just been an accident,” he reminded him, even if he doubted his own words. Alan looked equally unconvinced. “Come on, let’s get her ready to go.”
“F.A.B.,” Alan said quietly, and they headed out towards the loading platform, only to be brought up short at the sight of Virgil approaching them, hoverstretcher alongside. Immediately they got out of the way, letting their older brother brush past and secure the stretcher to the wall.
“Gordon, pilot,” he said. “John and Kayo found us a New Zealand hospital. It’s a fair distance, but it’s secure. Scott should hold on long enough to get there as long as you don’t dawdle.”
“F.A.B.” Gordon wasn’t a fan of the implication that Scott might not, but had no choice but to trust Virgil as he jabbed the button to raise the platform. Alan stayed behind – understandable, as he hadn’t seen yet seen their eldest brother – but Gordon didn’t say anything. He could pilot Two solo.
There were many words that could be used to describe the speed they left the crash site and headed for the other side of the world at, but ‘dawdle’ was not one of them. She was no rocket like One or Three, but Two was still one of the fastest planes in the world, and Gordon was determined to get as much speed out of her as he dared. Virgil could take her faster, another Mach at least, but he wasn’t Virgil and didn’t trust himself to keep her flight smooth at top speed. He just hoped it would be fast enough.
About halfway there, somewhere over the large expanse of water that Gordon would much rather be in than over, Virgil contacted him, a hologram flickering into life in his periphery.
“If I send Alan up, will you go faster?” he asked. Gordon’s heart sank.
“Is he getting worse?” Please no, please not Scott.
“I’ve got him stable,” Virgil reassured him. “But he’s still critical. The sooner we get him to the hospital the happier I’ll be.”
“More speed coming up,” he confirmed, reaching for the throttle. “Uh, yeah, send Alan up, would you?” He could probably do with a co-pilot if he went any faster.
“Sure thing,” Virgil agreed. “He’s on his way.”
Sure enough, no sooner than his older brother ended the connection, the door opened and Alan stumbled through it, all but collapsing into the co-pilot’s chair.
“He hasn’t woken up,” the astronaut offered as he reached forwards to power up the co-pilot controls. As soon as the second set of lights lit up, Gordon accelerated the craft towards top speed. “Virgil’s worried about the head injury.”
Gordon grit his teeth, remembering the red matted into the brown under the powerful beam of Virgil’s torch.
“Head injuries are tricky,” he agreed. “But Virgil knows what he’s going, and John’s found a hospital that specialises in them.”
“I know,” Alan replied quietly. “That’s what worries me. They’re not telling us something.”
“The hazards of being the youngest,” Gordon groaned, unsurprised but as annoyed as Alan about it. Scott was their brother too, dammit. “So, what are they not telling us?”
“Have you seen the results of the scan?” Alan asked him. Gordon shook his head.
“Nah, had to leave to look for other survivors once Virgil was dealing with him, and haven’t seen him since.” Five seconds of hoverstretcher rushing past didn’t really count. “What came up?”
“No idea,” Alan sulked. “Virgil’s been keeping it out of my sight all journey. But I know John knows.”
Gordon growled and slammed the comm button.
“John, Virgil, I want the result of those scans,” he demanded.
“You’re piloting,” Virgil responded immediately. “No reading while you’re controlling my ‘bird.”
“Then summarise for me,” he retorted. “Starting with that head injury.”
“Just get us to the hospital,” Virgil ordered.
“Already doing that,” he ground out, hackles rising. “Stop trying to keep us in the dark! He’s our brother too!” Thunderbird Two lurched under his grip before Alan hastily stabilised them.
“What are you doing up there?” Virgil demanded. “Be careful!”
“Letting my imagination fill in the blanks,” he lied – he was, in fact, keeping his imagination carefully blank.
“Is it that bad?” Alan interrupted before Virgil could find a fresh retort. “Is he dying?”
Silence filled the cabin, and Gordon’s temper flared.
“You said he was stable!” he yelled. “Dammit, Virgil, don’t lie to me about that!”
“I said critical but stable,” Virgil corrected. “He is stable, Gordo, but…” He trailed off, and Gordon glanced over at Alan to see his own growing panic mirrored back at him in blue eyes.
“He’s comatose,” John said quietly.
“What?” Alan yelped. Gordon stiffened, hands threatening to crush the yoke in his hands before he forcibly relaxed them.
“You didn’t think I might like to know that?” he growled, flashes of hospitals and white coats and bodiless voices stirring in the back of his mind before he trampled them down ruthlessly. Not now. Silence answered him. Clearly both his conscious older brothers knew they were in the wrong, and that whatever nonsense they fed him about not wanting to distract him while he was piloting wouldn’t pacify him in the slightest.
Alan’s face had gone white, big blue eyes focused on him, and he knew his younger brother was remembering the last time he’d had a family member in a coma – him. He forced a smile for his benefit, which had about as much of an effect as any pacifying words John or Virgil might have tried to use.
“Why?” Alan asked, voice shaking. “Who would do that?”
“Kayo and Lady Penelope are looking into it,” John told them. “Whatever happened, they’ll find out. I’ve got EOS doing some digging of her own, too.”
“But… is Scott going to be okay?” Alan pleaded, looking back at Gordon, who was clearly the resident expert on comas. He remembered the fight for consciousness, pleading voices turning to resigned ones as they talked about their day yet again. He remembered wanting to respond so badly but being trapped by his own body.
The idea of Scott going through that filled him with dread – if he even did. Comas were different for different people, he’d found out later, when he’d torn through everything he could get his hands on in a desperate attempt to understand what had happened to him. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone, except maybe the Hood but then even only in his blackest moods. Scott had done nothing to deserve that.
“He’s a fighter,” was all he could say.
The hospital staff were ready and waiting for them when they finally arrived, a two hour flight that had felt far longer. No sooner had he touched down and opened the module than they were swarming, hurrying Scott inside with Virgil hot on their heels, presumably talking doctor-speak and filling in anything they hadn’t already been briefed about.
Gordon and Alan were left in Thunderbird Two’s cockpit, watching out of the windows as their elder brothers vanished into the maw of the hospital.
“Do we follow them?” Alan asked after a moment. Gordon looked at the doors with no small amount of dread, and shook his head.
“They won’t be allowing visitors just yet,” he said. “Virgil will have a fight to stay with him, and he’s our medic. We’ll just get shoved in a waiting room with sympathetic looks and no news.”
At least, that was the stories he’d heard from his brothers, regarding his own accident. International Rescue might have more weight than merely the Tracy name had back then, but a patient was a patient.
“Come home,” John said, popping up from the dashboard and looking them both over. He looked tired, too, and Gordon wondered how much worse it was for him, stuck up in space and fully reliant on holograms to see Scott. At least the rest of them had been able to see – and touch – him. It didn’t take much for Gordon to recall the thump-thump of a faint pulse beneath his fingers as he clung to the sign that he hadn’t lost anyone else.
Not yet, a nasty voice whispered in the back of his mind. He silenced it sharply.
“But-” Alan protested, clinging to the edges of his seat as though it was the hoverstretcher carrying Scott’s limp body.
“Come home and get cleaned up,” John said firmly, reminding Gordon that he’d spent several hours in a wrecked plane with dead bodies. It was hidden slightly better on Alan’s uniform, but a glance at his own showed red drying into brown on his yellow baldric. “By the time we get back there, they might have news for us.”
“We?” Gordon locked onto, and John crossed his arms.
“I’m not staying up here waiting for news to trickle in,” he snapped, and Gordon raised his hands in surrender.
“Never said you were, big bro,” he soothed.
“What about the investigation?” Alan asked, even as he started flicking switches and preparing the massive craft for lift off once more.
“I’ve got EOS on that,” John replied. Following Alan’s lead, Gordon took control of the massive Thunderbird again, her VTOLs roaring as they peeled away from their landing spot back into the sky. “I’ll let Virgil know where you are once he gets in contact.”
“F.A.B.,” Gordon acknowledged.
He pretended it didn’t hurt to turn their back on the hospital where Scott lay comatose, but even if it fooled his brothers (doubtful), he couldn’t fool himself.
...tbc..?
#thunderbirds are go#thunderbirds are go fanfiction#tsari writes fanfiction#wip excerpt#gordon tracy#scott tracy#john tracy#virgil tracy#alan tracy#colonel casey#thunderwhump#thunderangst
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