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kyberphilosopher · 3 years

Text

Reverse Flash

A backwards version of your favorite speedster comes searching for Barry, only to find you instead.

Word Count: 2403 Warnings: Crude Humor. Not proof read yet because I’m too tired.

As per my latest fics, the gender of the reader is not specified.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Barry was always nice to you.

Well, Barry was nice to everyone. I mean, his parents named him Barry. He was set up for a life of cheekiness before he was even born. But Barry was nice to you even after ‘the incident’. Barry was nice to you when everyone else stopped. On top of that, Barry was being nicer to you than usual lately.

Probably because he and Iris were having a rough spot.

That was the only annoying thing. Barry liked you, and he was interested in you, but you were still second place. He was just using you. He wouldn’t marry you, or feel a deep longing for you. He’d just take you on ice skating rink dates in the winter and give you the best Valentine’s day of your life every year. Which is everyone’s dream, you guess, but it wouldn’t have been genuine, no matter what Barry managed to convince himself.

Barry’s little support team seemed to be on the same page as you (which was a first), which both added to and subdued your aggravation. All of them were in agreement of the simple fact: you were no good for Barry. Mr. Flash was the only one who didn’t seem to get the memo.

In the very beginning, things weren’t like how they were now. Team Flash or whatever the name was considered you good colleague, and they trusted you because Allen trusted you. You had been friends with Barry longer than anyone else there. And of course you were smart, and you handled annoying journalists and incriminating footage like it was nothing. But then you’d suggested using lethal force to subdue one of the Flash’s biggest problems. That’s when the air changed. That’s when people decided you should not now, not ever go on a date with him. It would throw off the whole rhythm of the team, probably Barry’s morals and possible the timeline. Lucky you.

Though flat out rejecting Barry might make it worse. You had been irritable lately. Maybe a little more sarcastic than normal. What if you snap, and then the team snaps too? And sweet little Barry is too kind to tell you off? God, you knew you were the worst, but the thought alone seemed like more than just ‘the worst’. It was like a tornado of stinky shit just barreling toward you, somehow simultaneously faster than the speed of light and slower than a turtle filled with rocks for organs.

And it was all definitely Barry Allen’s fault.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

So, that’s why you’re here now. Stuck with watching Headquarters while all the speedsters go out and... speed. Who knows. You’re out of the loop with the whole... speed demon thing. You’re pretty sure they have a group chat without you. Fuckin’ nerds.

Your legs are stretched out to the desk in front of you. They cross over each other at the ankles, to the left of the big computer monitor that’s supposed to display the heartbeats of the team but is instead displaying something from cartoon network. A near empty bag of Chinese food sits at your side, it’s contents littered across the table.

As you chew, you look around the room. Several suits in display cases curve against the wall in a half circle, illuminated by blue light. Some are burgundy, some are silver, and some are golden. And you could smash every single one of them right now.

But you won’t, and you don’t. Not to say it isn’t tempting- it is. You still don’t touch the suits.

God, what’s been wrong with you recently? Barry was your friend, and yet you’d been so annoyed with him. His flirting had only made it worse. Wally wasn’t any better. He got even more annoying once thinking about how childish, yet powerful he was. All the Kid Flash’s were just temporary brats that never stayed, whether you liked them or not. And Iris wasn’t a fan of you. That was fine, because you weren’t exactly a friend of Iris’s either. So the most important part of your life that literally depended on superhuman existence and stopping crime was teetering because of pure social discomfort. Typical.

You’re watching the screen that serves as the closest light in the room as you shovel the next bite of rice between your lips. Neon colors make the shadows across your face feel alive and electric. It makes the glow in your eyes more prominent, encouraged by the childish nature of the media. You’ve just finished a snarky personal comment and given yourself another bite of rice when he appears to you.

He looks like Barry. The only difference is that he’s the complete opposite.

Instead of scarlet, his speed suit is yellow with red and dark grey accents. They remind you of blood lightning at the seams. Even under his half mask, he seems so familiar but so much more defined than your friend. As he exits the slice of colorful air and thunder, the heels of his shoes skidding across the floor, the red glow in his eyes settles into a calmer thrum.

And you’re still frozen in place, eyes wide as you still yourself mid chew.

The yellow speedster settles his orbs on you. They’re intelligent, and in the reflection of the little light in the room you can see they’re not red, but blue. And you? You’re just a deer in the headlights.

“Aw, you’re not Barry,” he groans in disappointment, standing straighter as his arms cross over his chest.

You finally continue your chewing, keeping your wide eyes on the intruder. Then you swallow it down. In your chest, your heart thump, thump, thumps with something. Fear? Not quite. Anxiety? Almost. It’s something else. Something more... intuitive. And the way this man looks at you makes you think that he can hear it, even from where he stands. That he knows.

“Uh... no?”

The man responds not a millisecond after you’ve gotten the words out. “Where is he? Where’s Barry Allen?”

Woof. His voice is throaty and laced with sarcasm, even though he’s clearly deathly serious. But the vibrations send a funny spasm straight to that little place between your legs, making the nerves in your spine dance with alertness. Arousal. Barry was never able to do that, let alone with just the sound of his voice.

“Doing something?” you decide. “I don’t know.”

The golden man cocks his head to the side, almost smirks, and takes a step forward. “Hey, I know you.” His arms uncross. One raises and bends to point at you. “You’re Barry’s tech support. I remember reading about you in his museum.”

Your brows furrow. Hurriedly, you clear the take-out box from your lap and begin wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You drop your legs from their position on the desk to their normal position on the floor, knees bent. “Uh... I beg your pardon?”

“Yeah... Y/N L/N. Now I see it.” The man leans back on his heels and looks around the room. The red glow in his orbs burn away completely so it’s just him. “Ah, so this must be before you defected, huh? Interesting.”

“Pardon?!” you call again. Now you’re sitting forward, disbelief across your face.

Golden speedster smiles. It looks evilly distorted, even though it’s just a normal smile. It curves his face sarcastically. His hands fly upwards as if in surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger, Y/N. You know actually, you’re kind of a villain in my time. This is nice for me.”

“Great, I’ll tell Barry when I see him,” you bite.

“Thank you, sweetheart. Now how about you tell me where Barry is before I erase you from existence.”

“I don’t know,” you repeat as the quick bolt of fear fizzles from your system. Your eyes trail down to his chest for just a quick second, but it’s quick enough to observe yet another difference between your familiar scarlet speedster and him. The circle surrounding the lightning bolt on his chest is facing the opposite direction, red, and that circle is filled with black. It’s as if he were the complete opposite of Barry. A reverse Barry.

“Yeah you do. Come on.”

You blink once, still in your roll-y chair.

You’re not sure what to do here. On one hand, this guy radiates pure evil. You should really alert Barry or one of the other members of Team Flash. But for one reason or another you’ve made no attempt to. You’ve got no clue who this dude is other than the fact that he seems more inclined to rip the fabric of time apart than anyone else. There’s no doubt in your mind he really will erase you from existence if you make one wrong move. But what’s the wrong move?

On the other hand, Team Flash has been a bunch of dickhead’s to you. Barry has been ironically slow to the whole thing. Would it be so bad if you did make a wrong move? Not for you, but for your friends? They’d all die, wouldn’t they? This yellow one would end them, and then what? Would it really be so horrible for you? You can’t imagine mourning much.

“I don’t,” you say again, slowly. “They’re in the city. I don’t know where.”

The man seems to think for a moment, cocking his head back so the light behind the glass cases catches his sharpened features. “Hmm.”

Without even blinking, now he’s in front of you. So close, you can smell him. It’s not terribly strong, it’s just masculine. But it’s also flowery, with a dash of sweat from running. And then there’s something more. Something... metallic?

Both his hands clutch the arms of the chair beside you, trapping you as you lean back reflexively. “Did you know that I killed Barry’s childhood best friend before he was born?” the man says lowly.

On instinct, you prepare yourself to say, ‘Barry doesn’t have a childhood best friend’. Then you realize why.

He continues. “Would you tell me where Barry was if you did know?”

You don’t even think about it. You’re true to your nature. “I don’t know, would I?”

Blip! You wait to burst into a cloud of nothingness. To never have been born or even get to be a ghost. But fifteen seconds later you’re still alive. And from the way Barry talks about being a Flash, fifteen seconds is a long time for someone of that caliber.

The man is back by the cases of suits now. You can see his muscles through his suit. They’re more defined than Barry’s, thank God.

“I think you would. But it’s gonna be hard to do that when you’ve got my fingers vibrating into your skull.”

“What?”

“It’s going to be hard to speak when my fingers are inside you.”

You cup a hand against your ear. “Huh?”

“I said-” The man stops. His eyes narrow, arms crossing over his chest once more. “Oh, I see.” A short, dry- but genuine- laugh falls from his throat. “Very funny. Very, very funny.”

Suddenly, your eyebrows crease together in confusion. You place both palms on the arms of the chair for leverage as you push yourself into a stand, as if stirred by some great, important purpose. “Wait. Did you say you were going to stick your fingers inside me?”

“I knew you and I were the same,” he drawls. He sounds entertained. As if in his eyes, missing Barry and meeting you instead was the best outcome he could’ve hoped for.

“Can’t you just...” Your shoulders slump as you glance around. “Just kill Barry and get on with it?”

“Aw, no. This is far more interesting.”

“Fingers in my skull...?” you whisper, half to yourself. Then you look up to him with a snap. “You are so weird,” you tell Reverse Barry, emphasizing it with a low point. “So weird.”

“Want me to tell your future?”

Again with the voice and the nerves in that special place.

“I gotta say, it’s kind of disturbing,” the man smirks. “You’ll love it.”

“Weird.”

Across the base, just two hallways away, something clicks. It’s a familiar click. It’s the click of the door opening.

Quickly, you glance backwards, then lean down to pause the show on the computer. You hadn’t even realized it was still going. Once that’s done, the man is still standing in front of you. That sinister and yet innocent grin is still dancing across his face, though his steely eyes are totally locked on you.

“What, weirdo? You know where he is now. Aren’t you gonna go get him?”

“You want me to so badly, don’t you?” Reverse Barry whispers. You just give him a look.

“I’ll be back for you.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

And then the speedster is gone. Right on time, too, cause Barry jogs into the room not a second later.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?” you turn around.

“Did I just... see someone here?” Barry points towards your end of the room in his scarlet suit. Huh. Reverse Barry was taller too.

“What are you on about?” you throw casually. “Nobody’s been here but me since you left.”

“Are you sure?” the Flash keeps pushing. You hate it. Pushing.

“Yes, Barry,” you roll your eyes. “I’m sure. Oh, by the way, Barry. Did you have a childhood best friend?”

Barry frowns. “No, why?”

You smile to yourself as you turn back away from him. The other speedster’s footsteps are coming closer and closer. You can hear them echo off the walls.

“No reason,” you answer with a smirk just as one of them enters the room, probably to give you crap again.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Fun fact, Reverse Flash is actually my favorite villain in DC comics. Bro is vicious in the comics. I just hate all the live action versions of him we get. Lego DC Villains Reverse Flash and Injustice 2 are the best versions. Injustice 2 is my personal preference. I’d like to do more with this but, who knows. Depends how this is received. #lol

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cheelduh · 3 years

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hi!! can i request childe fluff with a reader who has a very strong fear of heights? like, they want to confront it and fail, and are down about it? sorry if i missed anything!

The Fall

Pairing: Childe x gn!reader

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: A shitton of typos prolly. Pls ignore any mistakes

Synopsis: You've been afraid of heights for as long as you can remember, avoiding dangerous mountainsides completely. However, you can't quite stifle the yearning for wind gliding, wishing to experience the enjoyment of it yourself.

Note: Thank you so much for the request. Sorry I took so long, I hope you enjoy it! :)

It starts as a mellow gnawing, the fear, sometime around your early teen-hood when your adventurous cousin lugs you around mountaintops, away from the safety of your village that you're accustomed to. Then it matures, slowly but surely condemning every crevice in your body to the same paralyzingly fate.

"Isn't it beautiful?" She says in awe, clamping hand around your wrist, ensnaring you towards the edge. Her eyes are widened in amazement, brimming with wonder.

Your anxiety blinds your from said beauty. All you can see is the fall, the danger, how all it takes is one uncoordinated step or a joking push from someone to fall to your impeding doom. You don't see the beauty at all, because it's corrupted by dread.

The longer you look down, the deeper the fear manifests, deep within the pit of your stomach, becoming a never-ending inferno that threatens to consume you whole.

You scramble away from the mountainside, your cousin, staggering back until your back hits the grass beneath you, and you're trembling, shaking, unable to breath.

After that day, you never venture too close to the edge of cliffs, preferring to stay grounded, safe, away from the risk. And it works out for you, for a while.

You follow designated pathways up mountains to gather flowers and ore you need, forgoing the climbing part completely in dangerous areas. If there's no way to get somewhere without climbing too high, you just move on to another area, avoiding it completely. It works. Your system may not be the best, but it isn't supposed to be. It gets the job done, and that's all you really care about.

Although every time you catch someone wind gliding from afar, or couples enjoying the view from higher altitudes, you can't help but feel a twinge of envy, a deep rooted dejection.

Your boyfriend, Childe, doesn't really let you sulk in the misery that stems from your fear of heights, finding much more fun date ideas that involve your feet safely on the ground.

His creativity never once ceases to amaze you, every single outing with him being far more enthralling than the last.

He doesn't ask. He doesn't really need to. Being the eleventh harbinger, he has a knack for observing things that people won't admit. He's patient, caring, and loving, has all the best qualities in a person (except for his penchant for violence, which you easily bypass). To be frank, he's the best boyfriend you could ever ask for.

One day, in the midst of your cuddling session, you confess that you'd like to get over your deathly fear of heights.

Childe reassures you, peppering your cheeks with his loud kisses. "You don't have to if you don't want to. I'm perfectly fine with enjoying everything Liyue Harbor has to offer."

"But I want to." You pout, nuzzling your head deeper into the side his neck. "I want to appreciate more viewpoints and scenery. I want to be able to wind glide, like super super high."

He chuckles at that, finally agreeing and setting a date, but lets you know that if you wish to back out he has a number of other activities planned.

The morning comes in minutes it seems like, your jumpy nerves not allowing you a wink of sleep. You don't mourn much for the lost hours, because it gives you more than enough time to observe the adorable way your boyfriend snores.

It's not like you have a choice either, because Childe refuses to let you go—that too subconsciously. He's trapped you in a fixed position, front to front, legs tangled for the entirety of the night.

When Childe wakes up, he isn't an idiot to know you've been up all night, but doesn't seem to push it. He has a penchant for sniffing out haywire-nerves, oftentimes pointing them out in himself or his soldiers before an upcoming battle.

After you two finish with your morning routine, he takes you out. Specifically, you're headed towards Luhua pool, and it takes half the day to get there from your home back at the harbour. Once you finally reach the location, you realize why he chose it. Luhua pool is an easy place to glide, closer to shallow waters, and all the while breathtaking to behold.

"Come on," Childe outstretches a gloved hand, gently easing you in close proximity to the border of the ruin you two have climbed. "I got you."

Getting up here wasn't so bad, not when Childe was behind you, telling you to focus on each step and to take your time.

Side stepping the scattered paint brushes and random sketches that someone was in the middle of prior to this day, you clasp his hand tightly, and he weaves his fingers within your own. With a guiding tug, your face meets his chest.

"Turn around," He brushes your hair away gently. "Come on, you don't want to miss this."

Apprehensively, you peek an eye out from the safety of your boyfriend's hold, moving around so you're semi-facing the breathtaking view in front of you. When your eyes are blessed with the delicate hues of the scenery beyond you, your jaw begins to hang. Seeing everything from a distance, from high up, even if you aren't as high up as you'd one day like to be, makes everything look all the more breathtaking.

Childe's right, you don't want to miss this. You don't want to miss this ever again.

But then you look down, the intrusive rhythms of your brain forcing you to peer at the drop, the fall, inches away from where your feet are standing.

The fall. It's always the fall. You aren't even too far up, but the agitation that overtakes your entire body, numbing you completely, branching off in your heart, makes it seem as though you're hundreds of feet away from the ground.

You turn to him, to tell him about your seconds thoughts. The I'm not ready weighs down on your tongue, but the stars in his eyes as he basks in the warm casts of the setting sun terminate the words before they are even born.

So when he finally snaps out of his momentary daze, shrugging off the remaining inertia to grin at you, you doubtlessly agree to what he says next.

"Ready to try the wind glider?"

—

You failed with the wind glider. Panicked last second like a complete moron, caught your leg on the edge of a rock and then fell to your death.

Thankfully your impeccably-adept-at-flying fatui boyfriend launched himself into a free fall not even a millisecond later. With expertise like no other, he dodged your flailing hands and seized your body close to his, swiftly opening up his gliders with an experienced motion.

Even when Childe's feet landed on the ground, arms around you, safe, secure, you couldn't stop screaming, clinging onto him like you'd die if you let go. Took him a solid five minutes to calm you down, wiping at your tears and soothing you with loving words of consolation.

"Hey, are you still thinking about today?" Childe's voice draws you out of your momentary trance. "You haven't even touched your crystal shrimp yet."

"Oh," You blink, pushing them around with the chopsticks. Poking, but not eating. "Thanks."

The harbinger sighs, neatly placing his chopsticks down—not like he was using them right anyways. His hand snakes across the table, finding yours with the sole intention to relieve your unpleasant brooding.

"I'm sorry," You squeeze his hand, unable to meet his eyes yet. "It's so stupid. I'm so stupid. I shouldn't have wasted our day—"

"Stop it." For the first time, he's provoked in your presence, words holding more weight in them than they usually do on his end. "You're not stupid. It's perfectly valid to want to get over your fears, in fact, I think it's admirable. I just—I don't understand why you can't see that, why you can't see how much progress you've made today. Just because you had one slip up doesn't mean anything, it doesn't erase the fact that you faced another challenge and came out of it stronger."

"What if I..." You murmur, timid when you look up to meet his piercing gaze. "What if I don't want to anymore?"

Childe smiles at that, thumb circling around your knuckle, familiar in motion. "Then that's that. Perfectly fine. We don't talk about it ever again unless you bring it up. But if you decide you want to continue, then I'll be there to catch you. Always."

"Thank you." Your beam is small, but doesn't go unnoticed by the other.

"Of course," He lets go, scooting his chair so that it's right next to yours. "And as for compensation, you can feed me. Better feed me dessert too, us fatui are clear-cut with our dealings. To the T."

You roll your eyes, soaking a jade parcel in the broth before picking it up with your chopsticks. "Fatui scum, so hellbent on collecting debts."

#childe tartaglia #genshin impact oneshot #childe x reader #childe #tartagalia genshin impact #tartaglia #tartagalia x reader #childe genshin impact #childe x gn!reader #genshin impact #genshin oneshot

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neutron-stars-collision · 3 years

Text

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 23 - So Far From Who I Was

Masterlist; Chapter 22

Summary: As plans for operation in Stalsk-12 are underway, you and Neil can’t seem to find a common ground. His selfish plans overturn everything...

Warnings: Even more angst (sorry!!! swear it will be over very soon); swearing; some slightly dubious thoughts appearing in the reader’s minds but it’s nothing too serious.

Author’s Notes: Okay, I’m really sorry for the 10.8k, but it once again shows that I’m incapable of writing short things. This one is a wild ride and it was fun to write even if painful at times... I hope you’ll ‘enjoy’! Let me know how you liked it... and I promise... fun is near :)))

From that morning, when the precious intel magically appeared for you all to use, the metaphorical dice were cast. The last stage of the plan was officially on, and there was not much time to waste. After two days of chaotic talks, interrupted by training and trying to make sense of living aboard the icebreaker, you were told to meet with everyone else on the bridge for the official confab. Your war council consisted of TP, Neil, Ives, Wheeler, and yourself. And you were the first to admit that you had no clue what your job was supposed to be there. However, ignoring the deepening sleep deprivation, pounding headache, and weariness that has made home in your heart, you made it to the destination with time to spare. That morning the sky over the Barents Sea was overcast with heavy, grey clouds, increasing your internal melancholia and tiredness. Basically, life was hard. And you still contemplated joining the seals. Probably more often than any sane person should. But then you never really considered yourself rational. Sighing, for the umpteenth time this morning, you sat down on the sofa and relished in the solitude. In moments like this, without the oxygen mask making you feel close to suffocation, or the looming danger of losing your control around certain individuals, you were almost at peace. They never lasted long.

“Morning sunshine,” Ives marched into the room with a grin on his face.

He was one of the people you could tolerate. Still.

“Hi,” you cracked a smile of your own in his direction.

He took off the mask and opened up the laptop, preparing for the meeting. After a few minutes of companionable silence, Ives groaned, stretching his limbs exaggeratedly.

“The bloody bunkbeds are a pain in the arse,” you snickered at the comment.

“My condolences,” offering him a mournful expression, you stood up.

Wandering over to the panoramic windows, you took a moment to stare at a seagull diving on the horizon. Well, technically it was springing up from the sea, but you preferred to imagine the traditional way of things. Just to maintain a functioning brain.

“Not everyone is lucky enough to have a Prince Charming looking out for their comfort you know” the casual remark made you look up at Ives.

Sure as hell, he was grinning smugly, satisfied by how he has managed to catch you off guard. But that was not the most outraging bit…

“Prince Charming?” you repeated with a deepening frown, “Spare me please, I’d rather forget he exists” conversation was ruined.

Prince Charming, my ass. Unless those tended to be lying bastards that never knew what they wanted. Or terrifyingly beautiful idiots that should never be trusted. Well… fuck.

“Good luck with that” Ives patted you on the shoulder.

You knew that despite the nonchalance, he was someone you could count on. For a second, you contemplated asking him to punch Neil next time he shows up. However, all train of thought disappeared when the man himself walked into the room the very next minute. That same neutral smile on his face, blocking off any attempts to read his mood. His gaze slipped over you. A shadow of a frown as though your presence was not a pleasant discovery. Just brilliant.

“Good morning” Neil nodded in your direction.

You could see Ives hesitate as though wondering how much could have been overheard. You found that you did not care. Ever since your blunder in the kitchen, you came to a decision that you need not hold back. Neil never did, after all.

“Morning mate” Ives squeezed his shoulder in a greeting.

Before either of you were forced to initiate small talk, TP marched in, with Wheeler following at his heels. With the whole team on board, you could skip the awkwardness and begin. You took your seat on the side of the table and placed the dossier with plans right in front. That way, you could have an easy escape should it be needed. These days you could never know for sure. The first surprise of the meeting took place when you heard a scrape of the chair on your side, followed by someone sitting down. One look was needed to ascertain that it was the blonde bastard. Fab. You refused to give him any satisfaction of being caught staring and so you focused on the documents, reading the same set of instructions for the hundredth time.

“Do you want coffee?” his question took you by surprise.

Looking up into his blue eyes always felt too startling. Especially considering your history. But that did not seem to matter whenever your gazes met. That same jolt of electricity heightening your senses. Until you would look away again, Neil was everything you could focus on. On the periphery of your attention, you could see Wheeler prepare cups of the beverage in the small kitchenette. Right…

“Yes, please,” perplexed by his helpfulness, you gave him the tiniest of smiles.

In response, Neil only nodded and got up, joining Wheeler at the counter. That was surprising. Somehow you assumed that he would do everything not to interact with you like that. And yet he was willing to get you coffee, knowing full well how dependent on it you were. When Neil sat down again five minutes later and handed you the mug, you muttered:

“Thanks” your hands brushed for a millisecond, causing a minor heart palpitation.

Nothing new. He met your gaze again, smiling lightly. It was in the moments like this that you felt completely at a loss for words. The tenderness and attention felt like the old days, as though nothing happened. But it did. And it made no sense.

“Hope I got it right” breaking the silence, Neil gestured towards the coffee steaming underneath your nose.

He used to know your coffee order well. Unable to deny yourself the curiosity, you took a sip of the beverage under his watchful gaze. Of course, it was perfect, a spark igniting your body with energy. Ignoring the idiocy of the situation, you grinned at Neil over the brim of the mug. Conveying gratitude more than any words could. Judging by the glimmer in his eyes, he understood.

“Attention, please,” Ives’s annoyed voice brought you back to reality “You’ll flirt later,” you blushed furiously at the comment.

Shooting daggers at the squad leader, you focused all of the attention on the dossier again. Yeah…no.

The next hour was spent trying to make sense of the plans you all had been weaving since the intel came. The obvious parts were the facts: a deserted city in the middle of the Siberian steppe, the dead-drop in the cavern underneath the ridge, three ways in, and a lock, that was the crux of it all. The instructions from TP were ominous enough: no guaranteed way out for whoever would open the door. And that fact was the needed spark that day…

“So, temporal pincer” Ives summarized the last few minutes of the discussion, writing the words on the whiteboard “One team normal, the other inverted and they deal with the mercs. A splinter unit goes into the dead-drop and extracts the algorithm before the timer goes off” he added.

That was the obvious bit. You finished the coffee in one swig, feeling Neil’s knee bump into yours under the table. It was like this for the past hour. Sudden touches, making you wonder whether it was all intentional. Another form of elaborate torture. Or whether it was just Neil unable to control his long limbs as per usual.

“Kat is the backstop?” you asked the question, distracting yourself from the mess in your head.

“Yep,” jotting down the note, listening in to the squad leader, “That’s the simple stuff. What we need to figure out is how do we deal with that lock, and what about the splinter unit”

Fun. You skipped through the information again, hoping to find any source of inspiration in the materials.

“What do you mean?” TP asked, and you glanced up at him.

With the arms folded on the table and face frozen in a permanent frown, you could feel the tension radiating from him.

“They shouldn’t leave the field” Ives shrugged upon an inquisitive glare from the boss “It’s safer that way” the cold steel look in his eyes was foreign.

It was a terrifying realization that he was right. If you were to succeed, you had to make sure that it could not happen again. At least not in the linear sense. Looking around the people sat at the table, your heart sank. It could as well be that you were not coming out of this alive. Not all of you. TP had to survive if the story was to follow as it should. But for the rest of you, nothing was guaranteed. Enough to make the anxiety worse.

“Right,” TP’s sombre nod made you focus back on the moment “I don’t think we need to decide on who that will be this early,” he added, his gaze slipping over all of your faces.

Looking at the companions, you could see that everyone else was deep in thought. Mortality was never something you paid much attention to, preferring to stay sane by taking every day as it is and then moving onto the next. When you finished the university and started getting used to the idea that your future will be spent behind the desk of one of the governmental buildings in Whitehall, you stopped giving it much thought. Death would come when it had to, and that was it. But apparently not. Perks of choosing an unusual occupation. Feeling the stress levels elevate, you got hold of the passing thought. The damned lock that has been at the forefront of your mind since the news first came. Maybe now was time to voice the vague plans…

“When it comes to the lock… I’ve been thinking-”

“It’s rather obvious, isn’t it?” Neil’s interruption made you look up at him sharply.

What? You did not like the enigmatic smile gracing his features. As though you have missed something glaringly self-evident, and he was waiting for you to catch up. Impatiently, at that.

“Neil… elaborate please,” TP’s plea was dripping with tiredness.

Relatable.

“I’m the best locksmith out there” he shrugged smugly, ignoring your stare.

You did not like where this was going. Before you could find any words of response, Ives’s dry chuckle pierced the silence.

“Smooth, mate,” he added when Neil turned to stare at him.

“It should be me,” the blonde man pressed, annoyance seeping into his words, “Ives, you know that. Stop looking at me like that” he waved his hand at the squad leader.

The pieces clicked in your head. Fuck. He sounded too sure. As though he has already made up his mind. But…

“The person who opens the lock doesn’t have a guaranteed way out” Wheeler looked weary, as though she was scared about the direction of the conversation.

Exactly. The heart was hammering in your chest, slowly absorbing the reality. Figuring out the implications. No. You could not allow that. Even the mere idea was enough to make you nauseous. It was one thing to wish you did not have to deal with Neil, the other to consider that he would volunteer for something like that.

“So?” the nonchalance in his voice was terrifying.

He was still refusing to meet your gaze, but you persistently kept your eyes fixed on him. Urging him to give in. To be able to check this was actually happening. Because once Neil would lock his eyes with yours, you had a chance of getting to him. Until he said it to your face, you did not want to believe it.

“That could be a one-way trip,” TP voiced your thoughts, eyeing Neil warily.

You could see that he was surprised and concerned. Ever since they were stuck in the container for a week, a comradery has formed. Finally resembling what you were used to from them. But now Neil was willing to destroy it all. One-way trip. The ultimate sacrifice. No.

“Evidently,” another shrug.

That was the needed signal for your brain to kick back into action. To fight. Point out the insanity of the situation.

“Surely there’s a different way of dealing with this. We could send the locksmith before the splinter unit and-” your rant got interrupted with a sudden creak of chair to your right. Impatience.

“Why complicate something simple? I go in and open the door. That’s it” Neil flayed his hands around as though compensating for the tension permeating the room.

Wishing to dissolve it by fake excitement. Not on your watch. Urging your body to stop trembling, you garnered the strength to voice the obvious question. The one everyone seemed to skirt around for the past ten minutes.

“You don’t want to come back?” your voice wavered, betraying the nerves.

That was exactly what Neil needed to finally look you in the eye. With reluctance, he turned to you. When your gazes met, he flinched. Barely perceptible and yet there. Great.

“This isn’t about what I want or don’t want” you could tell Neil was just about keeping himself cool.

This could go either way. You found yourself on the tipping point, tiptoeing the edge. The fall never seemed so inviting. Almost as good as letting yourself drown in his eyes. Anything to ignore the reality.

“As if you knew what you want,” you muttered, aware he will catch on to the implications.

Neil clenched his jaw as his hand gripping the mug tightened. You have hit the mark. Top job. It took him a moment to respond. You could feel the gazes of everyone else fixed on you two. Their breaths were held as though afraid anything could set off the explosion. They were probably right.

“…Maybe you haven’t gotten the memo yet, but this isn’t about us anymore. If the task requires sacrifice, then be it” Neil finished the sentence with a hard look in his eyes.

Us? The emphasis he placed on the word made you blink in shock. On its own accord, your mind drifted back to the conversation in Tallinn. We’re just us. Me and you, was what he said back then. Only now, it was not that simple. Ignoring the ache in your heart, you swallowed hard, trying to find any traces of reason.

“But-” it was not meant to be.

Before you could add another word, Neil took hold of your hand, making you shut up. Shocked, you met his eyes, only to be paralyzed by the harshness of his expression. Your protests were not welcome. He has made up his mind.

“Darling, I appreciate the concern. However-” his tone was dripping with condescension.

The nickname felt like a slap. You tugged at the hand he still had in his grasp, cutting in sharply:

“How very patronizing of you” giving him the fakest of smiles, you added, “I had the illusion that you’re better than this… but well, as with most things I was wrong” a shrug to complete the insult “I still think there must be a way around it. There’s a reason why we got this warning” ending the torture of prolonged eye contact, you glanced around the table.

A silent cry for help. TP met your gaze, rapidly catching on to the desperation pouring out of your eyes. If anyone should get it, it’s him.

“Okay, hold on. Let’s suppose we do it as you say-” the boss interjected, putting all of the charisma into the sentence.

For nothing.

“Maybe the reason was that you need time to get used to the idea. Clearly, you’re the only one who opposes it this strongly” Neil was still looking at you only.

Cold blue eyes and lips twisted into a cruel smirk. That was the same man that fought with you on the highway in Tallinn. Terrible beauty. And yet, you could not look away, drawn by the gravitational pull that kept you tied to his side.

“What are you trying to say?” your voice sounded small.

The confidence was gone. The gloves were off. That was it. The explosion everyone feared. Judging by the way Neil leaned in closer, it was all part of the plan. Calculated and measured for the greatest impact. His knee bumped into your thigh. You froze as his nose brushed over your ear. Too close.

“That you lied to me a few days back. That you still l-” blood froze in your veins as you took in the meaning.

Before he could say the word, you hissed and lurched back.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” the curse ripped apart the tense silence.

The pain was unimaginable. You felt close to screaming. Helpless. Alone. Desperate. In love. All for nothing.

“As I said, sometimes feelings need to be put aside. Whatever they might be,” you heard his voice as though from afar.

Enough. Releasing a long exhale, you closed the folder and stood up. That was enough. He did not deserve the sight of your tears.

“Now, let’s assume I go, open the door for the splinter unit, and… What are you doing?” Neil noticed your movement a second too late.

The confusion on his face was almost laughable. Pity.

“What does it look like?” you scoffed, pushing the chair back onto its place “I’ve had enough of this sacrificial bullshit and personal insults” addressing the room at large, you added, “If anyone needs me, I’ll be at the range”

You noticed Wheeler’s sympathetic nod breaking in through the concern on her face. Ives looked pissed off, and you could not blame him for it. You have made quite the show. Again. TP just glanced at you, utterly perplexed. There was no logical explanation for any of this.

“You can’t just-” attempting protest, Neil took hold of your hand again.

You knew the purpose behind that. If everything else failed, he was well aware that touch was your weakest point. That previously it always worked. Not anymore. You met his eyes, encountering nothing but annoyance and frustration.

“Neil” Wheeler’s warning was a welcomed addition “Let her go,”

That was all he needed. Letting go of your hand, he gave you a final look. Something shifted for a split second. But you found that you did not care. Without a second thought, you bolted out of the room. The very last thing you heard felt like the final blow:

“She’s being ridiculous,” Neil muttered dejectedly.

She. Just that. With shaking hands, you closed the zip lock.

“And you’re stupid. Sit the fuck down,” Ives’s command rung out in the air behind your back.

Tears were streaming down your cheeks as you ran down the corridor. Fuck.

*** That day you have successfully managed to hide from everyone. Wheeler came to check up on you in the evening to, as she put it, make sure you have not taken the shooting practice a little too seriously. You could only offer her your tear-streaked cheeks and reddened eyes as you assured her that this would be the worst state she was likely to see you in. Was that a lie? Maybe. To put it bluntly, after the morning nightmare of a confab, death sounded like an interesting option. Certainly better than another week of Neil offering to get himself killed just because. You chose 2 am that night to finally emerge from the cabin in the search of food. Without bothering to touch up your bedraggled appearance, you tiptoed down the corridor, taking one extra look at the door of Neil’s room. Why? Fuck knows. The silence was encouraging. However, that confidence was to be your ultimate downfall.

The moment you dealt with the airlock leading to the galley, you knew that you were not alone. Neil was there, chatting to one of the squad members you vaguely remembered from the days spent in inversion. Dominic, or something. Briefly, you considered turning back around and leaving as though you were never even there. But when the men turned, and your eyes met, it was too late. Luck was never on your side.

“Hi,” you gave them both a nod and opened the fridge before either could take a longer look at you.

“Evening” Neil cleared his throat awkwardly.

After a pause, the men picked up their conversation in hushed tones while finishing sandwiches. Mindlessly you stared at the contains of the fridge, hoping to appear occupied. To be forgotten. But to no avail. You could feel someone’s gaze burning into the side of your head. Somehow you knew that if you dared look up, the blue eyes would be there. Ready to analyze you. To find weaknesses and strike when appropriate. You could only hope he would not do it with Dominic present.

Fridge held no answers. You closed it quietly and took hold of the granola bar from the cupboard. Only tea left now… easy. They were still talking. From what you could hear, it had something to do with the inverted weaponry and the training you were all forced to recap before Stalsk. You thanked the gods for the presence of the buffer, as you not so patiently waited for the water to boil. The false sense of security shattered seconds later:

“Thanks, mate. See you in the morning, yeah?” Dominic rinsed the plate quickly and started to put on the mask.

What is worse, Neil was not doing the same. Instead, he was still sitting at the table, smiling at the colleague.

“Yep. Can’t wait,” the fake enthusiasm radiating from him in waves.

But it seemed like only you could see it. Another observation for nothing. Your pulse quickened as you realised that it was only a matter of seconds till you were alone again. And the fucking water was still boiling.

“Goodnight, Y/N” Dominic smiled at you before moving to open the airlock.

“Night night,” your response came out too breathlessly.

Crap. Just like that, he was gone. It was you and Neil, staring at each other like two animals locked up in a cage. He quickly assessed your appearance, taking in the puffed-up eyes, tangled hair, and shaking hands. You wanted to ask him whether he was satisfied with his work. But that would mean admitting how much it hurt. And your pride was in the way. The kettle switched off. Neil’s taxing gaze stopped as his eyes widened.

“Is that-” that is when you realised.

Fuck. When leaving the cabin, you have not changed. That meant you were still wearing the only article of clothing that brought some comfort. Neil’s burgundy sweater. And he most certainly recognized it.

“Neil I-” his name was the only answer as you struggled for words.

Neil stood up and pounced, closing the distance. The malicious look in his eyes was terrifying. And inspiring.

“Why do you have my sweater?” to emphasize the point, he took hold of the material, drawing you near in progress, “I didn’t take you for a thief,�� delivered with a cruel smirk.

With Neil that close and acting ridiculously, you realised that above all, you were tired. And had enough of this. Of him.

“I used the opportunity and went into your apartment,” a tight-lipped smile thrown in before he could interject, “Yes, I know, don’t worry, I haven’t stolen anything else,” you added, enjoying the surprise flashing in his eyes.

He forgot about the keys. Or did not think you would use them after everything. And now, when he realised how much you knew, it was hard to accept. That was encouraging. You waited for Neil to bite back, letting yourself stare at him without shame. His eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes lit up. There we go…

“You know that you’re not making any sense?” he blurted out the question and tugged at the sweater “You just- You’re telling me that it’s all over and yet here you are, wearing my clothes” another tug, bringing you just as close as the last time “I mean that’s one way of confusing me further” he finished on a whisper.

It took you a moment to recover. To realise that once again, you were too close. When that clicked, you took a step back and met Neil’s gaze. Too satisfied. His pupils were darker than usual, and that was worryingly enticing. Focus. Anger was the answer.

“Confusing you?” a sudden idea struck, “Fucking hell, you know what?” another step back, “Just take it, and let’s end this discussion” you started taking the garment over your head.

“What- Why are you...” much to Neil’s shock.

Good. The cold air hit your body as you took off the sweater and threw it in his face. You were eternally grateful to your morning self for putting on that tank top. Not much, but still preventing you from the walk back in only the bra. As Neil scrambled to pick up the garment that fell onto the floor, you added:

“I’ll give you back the keys tomorrow” you met his wide-eyed stare with pleasure, “There’s no need to stare. You’ve seen it before,”

Yet, the way his gaze roamed over your body was fascinating. There was nothing to see there, but still, he seemed transfixed. You took that as your chance to strike.

“Hell, you’ve even had your hand down my pants. Twice” Neil flinched, and you smirked, “Talking about wrong life choices and all that” it was nice to see him hurt.

For once. Even if it was another lie. He looked lost, unable to find a response to something like that.

“I-” a pathetic attempt at god knows what.

You took a final glance at him there. Clutching the cashmere sweater in his hand. Hair falling into his eyes. Shoulder sagged. Defeated. Confused. Finally.

“Goodbye,” you grabbed the mug and left before Neil had a chance of recovery.

The walk back to the room was cold. But probably worth the pain.

*** Sighing with happiness for the first time that day, you closed the door to the cabin and collapsed onto the bed. For the past three hours, you have been occupied with training that Ives made mandatory for all the mission participants, and you were exhausted. The only encouragement was the fact that the squad leader made sure your shift was different from that of Neil. What was even better, he did that without you needing to ask first. Just like that. And you were very grateful. Moments like those last two encounters in the kitchen were best avoided at all costs. Any contact was ideally off the books. Even when it hurt.

With the sweater gone, you had no more things to hold on to. Well, apart from all those memories and the ability to read him like an open book. Utterly useless skills like algebra or functions at this point. You have changed into the comfiest set of sweatpants and a hoodie, hoping to spend the next few hours marinating in your misery. But long before you could even think of the first reason to cry, a knock made you jump up. Who the hell…. Grudgingly, you got up and opened the door.

“Hey…” you did not expect him.

Despite everything, your heart was naive enough to stumble upon the sight of Neil. And his stupid hair. And the repentant look in his eyes. What even.

“What do you want?” you decided to cut the bullshit, meeting his gaze coldly.

The visit was certainly unexpected. As was the fact that he seemed apologetic. Meek, even. Neil shifted nervously before answering:

“Here’s the sweater. You can keep it” he handed you the garment with a tiny smile, “It smells more like you than me now, but…” trailing off, he shrugged.

The implications of that statement were too much to handle. As was the fact that he gave you back the sweater. You gaped at him, speechless. It made no sense. But the silence stretched too long, and Neil looked even more uncomfortable.

“Okay…” you accepted the gift, making sure your hands have not brushed.

“I’m sorry about how I reacted yesterday it wasn’t reasonable,” he added, with that contrite tone you were not used to.

Unreasonable? That was one way of describing what happened the previous night. You did not know whether it was the glaring lack of confidence radiating from him or as something as simple as the fact that you missed him. But you could feel the resolve crumble.

“I’d say nothing you do is reasonable… thanks though” mustering a weak smile, you stepped away from the door, “You can come in if you want,”

Risky. And something Neil did not expect either, judging by the way he hesitated before entering the cabin and closing the door. You sat down on the edge of the bed and observed his awkward movement. A look around the small space. His eyes slipping over the few personal items you had. The sparring gear you have carelessly thrown onto the floor. And the bin full of used tissues. How humiliating. Then he perched on the chair and met your gaze wearily. Without you even needing to ask the question, he answered:

“I guess it surprised me to see that you’re using something of mine after everything” the honesty was strangely comforting.

For the first time since the disastrous mission in Tallinn, you could tell that he was genuine. Open for you to read and interpret however you fancy. That was intriguing. Enjoying the way his eyes roamed over your features, you leaned back on the bed. Relaxed. Sincere. You could try that.

“It surprises me too,” shrugging, you pursed your lips, staring thoughtfully at the window.

You did not have to look at him to imagine the expression on his face. A little concerned, extremely curious.

“How do you mean?” the soft tone made you glance back.

Sure enough, the furrowed eyebrows and sparkling eyes were there. Neil crossed his legs, studying you intently. You could tell that he wanted to know. That this was probably the closest you would ever come to a normal conversation with him. Might as well use it.

“Well, the heart knows best,” offering him a sad smile, you laced your hands in your lap.

Here’s to hoping he won’t turn it on you. But when you dared look up at Neil again, you were surprised to see him stunned by what you revealed. After a beat, he found the words:

“I thought you don’t-”

Of course. Unable to stop the irritation gnawing at your heart, you scoffed, preventing him from saying something so wrong.

“I never said that,” you explained upon his wide-eyed stare, “But that’s beyond the point, isn’t it?” you sighed, hoping to make him drop the topic before it would drift somewhere dangerous “Why are you here?”

You took a longer look at him then. Taking in the denial painted on his face. He wanted to press on, to get you to explain things. Not today. Then, returning your taxing gaze, Neil offered you his wistful smile.

“I suppose I’ve missed you” the sincerity of the statement was terrifying.

You felt a painful pang in your chest, as though the heart itself was awaiting the tragic end to this conversation. Courage. For a second, you wanted to cross that meter of space. To… Yeah, what exactly? One memory of what he said in the kitchen a few nights back was enough to sober up. You had to be careful.

“...right” the next words were a result of annoyance, pure and simple “Are you sure there isn’t anyone better? Because I bet there are at least five people aboard this ship who would give you everything. Without questions asked. Maybe you should talk to them” once you were done with the rant, you faced Neil again.

He was gaping, speechless. It seemed like his sharp wit was missing. That was only good news for you. A myriad of feelings passed in his eyes. You could discern shock, offense, heartbreak, and most surprisingly, something darker. Contradicting the very next thing he said:

“If I was looking for that, I’d never come to you. Because I value you more. But I don’t expect you to believe me” the defeat in Neil’s eyes was confusing.

But not any less than you were at that moment. More than what? A cheap fuck? One could hope so. But at the same time, considering the multitude of instances when he seemed desperate to get too close, it felt like a lie.

“I don’t, so you got something right,” you admitted, hoping to keep the emotions in check.

His blue eyes were fixed on you with intensity, trying to read all that you were not saying. After a minute of excessive staring, you were the first one to give up. The last thing you saw was a smirk forming on Neil’s lips. As though he knew that you were close to breaking. Close to potentially doing something stupid. Jumping up, you paced to the window. Nothing but sea and sky. And the damned birds. But even that was better than being faced with what you have lost. After a few days on board the icebreaker, you got used to the casual outfits he sported. What was worse is that they did nothing to make this any easier. It only proved the theory that Neil looked good in anything. Well, fuck him. Only not literally.

With the silence stretching well past the point of awkwardness, you grasped onto the first passing thought, turning to Neil again:

“You’ve talked about… me with TP, haven’t you?” it was a strange change of topic, but also something that has been on your mind for a while “Because suddenly he seems to trust me and I’m not sure what the fuck happened” throwing in the expletive, you sat down on the floor with your back against the wall.

Neil eyed you curiously. He was strangely quiet, and you wondered why that could be. Whether it meant that for once, he did not know what to say. Or maybe because he already regretted coming to see you. Yeah, probably that second option.

“Yes, I’ve explained a few things on the way to Oslo” the diplomatic tone was mildly annoying.

He leaned back in the chair, making sure to face you in the new dynamic. Only the nervous foot-tapping was a sign that he did not like the direction of the conversation. Interesting.

“Such as?” pressing on, you took a moment to observe him.

These days he gave up on styling the hair as the wind outside would always blow it in his eyes. That was rather adorable. He unzipped the pullover, shifting in the seat. Tension spilling out in weaves as Neil waved his hand dismissively.

“It doesn’t really matter,” another remorseful smile.

So, he must have said much more than just the basics. Could he have admitted to things even you were not allowed to know?

“Well, you must’ve said some crucial bits if he’s now so eager to take my side” arching your eyebrow, you met his gaze purposefully.

Hoping he will catch on. Just like the matter of whatever it was between you, the battle plans were a clear no-go in this conversation. But that did not mean you could not hint at it. He had to understand that you were not going to give in so easily. That his suicidal mission was not getting a green light from you. The bait worked. Kind of.

“I said things that you and I should probably explain to each other one day” Neil’s grin did not reach his eyes.

Oh. He must have read the shock from your face, for his eyes glimmered dangerously as he relaxed on the chair. Your brain froze. Things? As in what? You both did and did not want to ask. Instead, you chose to attack.

“We won’t have time if you sacrifice yourself” simply put with a merciless stare.

Neil frowned, not expecting that kind of a dig. Before you could taste the satisfaction, his weary expression caught you off guard. Could that really hurt him? The cold of the wall was digging into your back.

“Let’s leave that for the meeting tomorrow,” a silent plea in the blue eyes “I don’t want to argue,”

He meant it. The tiredness etched onto his face told you as much. You were used to seeing the same kind of exhaustion every morning in the mirror. You could let him off.

“Okay…” a solemn nod before you got up and picked up the pacing again.

It was a strange feeling to be with him alone and yet not close. You realised that this was likely the first time since the early days when you were together somewhere private and were not even touching. It felt wrong.

“How did you like my place?” Neil’s question was like a much-needed grounding.

Swallowing down the discomfort, you turned back to him. The innocence was just a façade that he has put on for your sake. He expected an answer, and you did not know where to start. And then… the way his hair caught rays of sunlight was an inspiration.

“It was… enlightening,” you relished in the curiosity reflected at you, “For starters, I never realised that this is all fake” crossing the space in one leap, you ran your fingers through his hair.

Just like the old times. Only then, Neil would not shudder upon the initial contact. It took him a longer moment to recover. You smirked seeing his stunned face and resumed the movement, separating the strands slowly. You had no clue why this was the fact you latched onto. Blonde or not, he was a sight. But the idea that he dyed his hair would not leave your mind like the worst of brain worms.

“Ah, you’ve seen the photos” when he finally found the words again, his voice was hoarse.

As though whatever you were doing had some sort of an effect. A spark of confidence. You tugged at a strand sharply, the gasp making you bite your lip hard. A dangerous game. The words you have been biting back begun to spill from your mouth:

“It fascinates me because you act oh so confident all the time, and yet you’re pretending you’re someone you’re not” glancing down, you noticed the closed eyes and pursed lips.

It was definitely working. Whatever you even wanted to achieve. It was nice to hold power for once. To call him out on the bullshit you had to deal with every day.

“That’s just hair,” Neil protested weakly, grabbing onto your free hand and encircling the wrist.

Unable to stop the emotions bubbling under the surface, you scoffed:

“It really isn’t. I mean, why? It’s not like you have to scrape for attention” his eyes met yours with defiance, “Unless you’re compensating for something. In which case, that’s just ridiculous” the hit came with a visible flinch from Neil “And ever so manly” you perfected the punchline with a final tug on his golden strands.

That turned out to be a step too far. Before you could sense a change in the mood, Neil used the hold over your hand to bring you down. More accurately, to make you sit in his lap. Your brain caught up too late. Suddenly he was too close, with hands settling on your hips, securing you in place. Fuck. You opened your eyes, cursing the moment of weakness. Neil was staring right back, his eyes unreadable and dark. You messed up.

“What are you doing?” too breathless.

He caught onto that, rubbing circles onto your thigh, focused on you. It would be easy to get up and throw him out, ending this madness. But you found that you did not want to.

“I’m not sure. Say a word, and I’ll leave. But...” he trailed off, searching your eyes for something.

A protest, most likely. A clear-cut rejection. When he found nothing, he leaned in, brushing his nose against yours. So close. Slowly your willpower was waning. You placed your palm over his heart to feel the warmth.

“Neil, why...” unable to find the words, you stared at him with questions multiplying in your head.

What was this? Was it why he came? And why, despite the hurt he inflicted, you could not tell him to stop?

“Because you’re here. It’s all I need to start feeling like...” another open-ended response.

Adding on to the confusion. His heart was beating fast, breaths coming out shallow. With fingers still tangled in his hair, you urged him to keep eye contact. That was the only chance of telling whether he was honest.

“Like what? Like you could want me?” the words were hard to say out loud.

For a moment, you felt like this was Tallinn all over again. Like you were losing sanity just for the sake of getting something from him. The ever-present yearning getting the best of you. The only difference was that this time Neil was the desperate one. His hands roamed over your hips and thighs, causing worrying jolts of electricity. It shouldn’t be that easy.

“You know that I do,” a whisper, eyes overfilled with determination.

Did you? Now – maybe. Any other day – hell knows.

“Maybe once I did. But recently... I don’t think you know what you want. You’re just...” you offered him the honesty, absentmindedly running your fingertips over his temple.

Exploring all that was familiar yet missed so much. The creases on his forehead deepened.

“What?” Neil leaned in once again, nuzzling the skin on your neck.

The shaky exhale felt like a defeat. It was increasingly hard to think, let alone give him coherent answers.

“You’re not making any sense” that had to do.

Only it was whispered breathlessly. Not convincing.

“Maybe this will make sense...”

Before you could contemplate the meaning of his words, Neil kissed your neck, drawing out a shudder. One of his hands wandered underneath the hoodie. His fingers ghosted the skin. You have not realised how much you’ve missed it until you got it. As he got braver in his ministrations, teeth grazing over your pulse point, hands stroking your bare back, you felt intoxicated. Unable to do anything but pull him closer and let your hands venture underneath his black t-shirt. It made no sense. But as soon as a reasonable thought would come up, Neil would do something to make you forget. It could be a kiss right under your ear or fingers getting too close to your sports bra. Christ. No logic, just Neil being the sole reason for insanity. The heat travelling up your veins was getting too evident to be ignored. As he gave you a particularly forceful mark by sucking on the skin in the crook of your neck, you could not hold back a moan. It pierced the silence accompanied only by your shallow breaths. Neil froze as though he was not expecting a reaction that strong. His breath causing goosebumps all along your neck. For a second, you wanted to pull him even closer, to give permission to take everything he desires. Even without a promise that it would mean something to him. He raised his head, meeting your wild gaze with the darkened pupils of his own. The proximity was suffocating. Unable to make sense of your thoughts, you leaned in, hoping to get lost in a kiss. To buy some time before you would have to make up your mind. That is when Neil did something unexpected – he pulled back, with a strangely remorseful look in his eyes. Fuck. Alarm bells started ringing out in your head, harshly reminding you about the reality of the situation. As though nothing happened, Neil’s hands went back to the meticulous caress of your upper body. But you could not ignore the nauseous feeling in the pit of your stomach. What if this wouldn’t mean a thing? Suddenly it seemed like the worst mistake you could make. The previous frenzy was quickly replaced with dread. Not meant to be. You retracted your hands from underneath Neil’s shirt and pushed him back. It took all the strength available to deliver the next sentence with necessary firmness:

“I think you should leave,” you hoped to hide the pain behind the schooled features.

If he was surprised, he was very good at pretending. His eyes searched yours for a beat, and then he let go of you. His touch was already missed.

“If that’s what you want,” Neil’s voice revealed remains of passion as he nonchalantly smoothed the hair you have tangled.

That was the cue to get up. With cheeks burning, you turned away from him, doing your best to cool off and keep the scraps of dignity you had still left. Before you could risk a dangerous spiral, Neil’s voice brought you back to the moment:

“Too close, wasn’t it?” you frowned at the casual tone.

He was zipping up the pullover, staring at you with startling composure. As though the past minutes have not happened. As though he has not marked you as his for the umpteenth time. It was terrifying.

“What?” you gaped, trying to collect the thoughts and keep calm.

“We got too close. And you’re worried because for a moment you wanted more than you should” Neil shrugged upon your quiet gasp.

He could read you too well.

“Don’t do that,” a pathetic attempt at a plea.

But it must have worked for his expression softened. A small smile split his face as Neil pressed the door handle:

“Just thought you should know that I don’t mind. I don’t have much left to lose,” a parting remark, and then he was gone.

You covered your face with your hands, falling onto the knees when the remains of strength gave out. What a fucking mess.

*** What you did not expect to be the hardest feat of all before the meeting the next morning was making sure that all the bruises were covered up. You did not need to add questions and human curiosity to the list of your problems. After all, it would have been obvious to anyone with a brain. You fucked up, and Neil was the reason why and how that happened. As usual. That was best avoided since everyone on your war council knew enough already when it came to your relationship. Or whatever the fuck it was.

As you walked in, everyone else was already on the bridge, spreading the materials and preparing the whiteboard. Wheeler gave you a welcoming smile which at that moment was worth more than it should. Any expression of kindness was at a premium. You sat down, and before you could process much of what was going on, a mug of coffee appeared before your eyes. Just so. A second later, Neil took the seat next to you without acknowledging your existence. Cool. Perplexed, you looked around the room, locking eyes with TP. He shrugged as though exactly aware of your issues yet unable to help. That much was enough to make you feel a tiny bit better. After a beat, the boss spoke up:

“Before we begin… Y/N?” his question interrupted the first experimental sip of the coffee.

Perfect. Again.

“Yes?” you ignored the annoying spike of anxiety upon being the centre of attention.

“Is Mahir going back to meet Kat in Vietnam on the 14th?”

Ah, that. The little side quest that you have been given ages ago with close to no information towards its purpose. Thankfully, Mahir cooperated. No questions were asked as you arranged for him to invert in London and travel to Vietnam to be Kat’s aide. That kind of smooth operation was a welcomed change.

“Yep, as ordered,” you offered the dark-eyed man a small smile, “Turns out I am capable of not fucking up some things…” that addition was a product of spite.

It was rewarding to see Ives and Wheeler crack a grin at your comment. It made you feel less alienated, as though it was only the man on your right that had issues. And he might as well be ignored. Neil was being helpful in his silence too, moodily staring at the papers in front, refusing to lay his eyes on you. It was painful, especially considering the previous day, but it also meant you felt more at ease.

“It would be great if we could agree upon a few things finally,” TP interrupted the silence, looking at you all expectantly.

“Can’t promise you that, chief” you shrugged, aware of the way Neil shifted in his seat.

His knee bumped into your leg, starting the irritating dance you thought you had moved past. But, supposedly, laying his hands all over your body yesterday was not enough for him.

“I know. But let’s try” you focused all the attention back on the boss “Splinter unit,” the phrase fell between you all like a death sentence “Who and how?”

“The tunnel” you picked up the map and showed it to him, “That’s what the intel said” taking the sip of coffee, you added, “As towards who…”

One of the sleepless nights has been spent wondering whether you should not volunteer for that. The logic was that there was a reason why TP chose you as his link with everyone else. It meant his future version trusted you enough. But it also meant you were important. In those hopeless moments, it felt like maybe that was the purpose. And if it would mean no coming back? So be it. Death for the means of saving the world did not sound half that bad. Before you could express the thoughts, TP spoke up again:

“It should be me” his voice was emotionless.

“Why-” Neil’s voice rang out in the room.

You glanced at him, noticing the tension and worry radiating from him. It was a strange situation; everyone could see that. You all knew that TP had to survive. After all, how could you be at this point if he did not? He had to set up Tenet, hire Neil, Ives and everyone else, prepare the ground for the operation to unfold just like this. But then, considering everything you have been told about temporal paradoxes… could it be that simple? Or was Neil wrong, and what’s happened could also unhappen, so to speak? Too much. Your head began to pound.

“I’m the protagonist of this whole operation. The reason why you’re all here” that was convincing.

And in any other situation, you would have laughed at the prophetic overtone of the statement. But now other emotions were more prominent…

“Mmmm, I’m here because of him,” you retorted, pointedly staring at Neil,

“Only, he doesn’t care” that is when the man turned to look at you for the first time that morning.

Irritated. Fed up with your bullshit. Lips pressed into a thin line. Eyes glimmering dangerously. Nothing new.

“What are you-” the sharp edge to his voice was satisfying.

Any kind of reaction meant you succeeded at pissing him off. Somehow back then, it was the best thing that could happen.

“Just being salty. Don’t mind me” you shrugged, making sure to pat his shoulder quickly.

Another tiny stab. Neil’s eyes flicked to your hand in a flash and then back to meet your eyes. You could only give him a deliberate smirk.

“Anyways… The splinter unit will be two people” Ives brought back the topic with palpable annoyance, “I’ve got an obvious choice on my mind, but I’ll discuss that later with some of you” the definitive tone would have made anyone shut up.

Not you though. Not when there was nothing to lose, and you decided that you might as well have fun with this mess.

“Why so mysterious, huh?” another quip, all to make Ives look up at you with surprise.

He rolled his eyes, showing you exactly what he thought of your new approach to things.

“We’ve got a more pressing topic to deal with” nothing to play with there.

What a shame. Mouthing an apology at the squad leader, you could feel the tension surge. The more trivial topics have been already mentioned and moved past. Now it was the time for big guns. For another clash of the titans.

“Precisely,” Neil jumped at the chance and spoke “The elephant in the room is rather obvious” his eyes scanned the space with a predatory gleam, settling on you, “I mean, look at her… she’s barely staying quiet,” a mocking smirk to compliment the statement.

Presumptuous fuck. Despite the anger reaching a boiling point in your veins, you refused to give him the satisfaction. To show how much it hurt.

“Her?” arching your eyebrow, you met his gaze defiantly “Neil, that’s a low blow. Even for you” a passing flinch on his face giving the power to keep going “But yes, I’d love to know whether you’ve changed your mind regarding some important matters” you addressed the room at large, searching for support.

That concerned look Wheeler shot you was helpful. As was the way TP hunched in the chair, burdened with terrifying possibilities of Neil’s stubbornness. Maybe you won’t have to be alone in this.

“I’m going in,” the blonde man shrugged nonchalantly, staring you down, “The only thing you can do is help us plan how to make it work,”

The strategy was to alienate you. Make it sound like you were the only one protesting against his idiotic plan. Well, not on your watch. Now was the time to put all those sleepless nights to use.

“How to make what work? Your suicide?” you scoffed, taking pleasure in how he frowned at the word, “If you let me speak for once, I’ve got an idea” finishing the lukewarm coffee, you gathered needed strength.

“Go ahead, sunshine,” a sarcastic half-smile, begging to be wiped off his face with a slap.

Maybe another time.

“What if two people went first to take care of the lock?” your voice cut through the tension permeating the room, “You rarely send anyone out without a cover. Because it’s unreasonable. So why this time it should be different?” that was logical.

The most sensible of plans you could come up with. Two on the splinter unit; two to deal with the lock. More likely to find an exit or, simply, survive whatever was waiting by the dead-drop. You also had ideas when it came to who should accompany Neil. But those were best kept a secret.

“Because losing two is worse than one. Even you can do the maths” the unnecessary dig made you roll your eyes.

He was ridiculous. In moments like this, you wished you had never fallen for him. But there was no point in crying over the spilt milk.

“Two have greater chances of survival,” you counterattacked, stating the obvious.

The truth he was so gladly ignoring for his purposes.

“You’ve got a point,” Wheeler chimed in, making you both turn to her.

“Thanks,” you offered the brightest grin you could muster and searched for more backing on the faces of the fellow companions.

Before you could analyse the grave expressions on TP and Ives’s faces, Neil spoke up again:

“You’re also rather emotional…” another insult.

Fuck. It was getting increasingly hard to stay calm. But that was the only thing to do. Another scene before the whole team was certainly not desired. You took a deep breath, fighting to maintain composure.

“Neil, stop” Ives was your saviour of the hour, interrupting with the non-bullshit attitude, “I think this idea is worth going over. It’s not like we’ve got anything better,”

You vowed to send Ives a bouquet of roses if you were still alive after all this. Or better, take him out to a pub. Nothing was settled upon during that meeting. The chaos of you all trying to convince Neil to listen to your arguments was only interrupted with him throwing more offences at you. Apart from emotional, you learned you were also delusional. And a potential loose cannon that was best kept away from making crucial decisions. You debated putting all of those on your CV and asking him to provide the references. After all, Neil was the expert when it came to your skillset. After half hour of barely held-together discussion, Ives told you all to calm down and fuck off for the time being. At least until you could decide on something without jumping to your throats. You doubted that was even possible. You were resolved to drive your plan forward. And so was Neil.

When the meeting was over, you were the first one to leave, hoping to slip out before anyone could stop you. You made it as far as the corridor leading to the bridge when you felt someone grab your arm, making you turn around. Of course. Neil’s steel-blue eyes were staring at you coldly. He was getting ready to attack, and you did not want to let him. Before either of you could break the silence, someone stopped in the corridor, and the familiar voice spoke:

“You two should fuck each other already,” you scowled at Ives’s choice of words, “Or break-up. I don’t care, only don’t do this again” he gave you a long taxing look, with annoyance brewing underneath.

You could not blame him. Only that kind of comment was too much right now. With cheeks burning, you desperately searched for words. Neil found them for you:

“We’re not together” dead simple with a tinge of anger to it.

You took a look at Neil, noticing the frown set on his face. And the fact that he was still holding on to you. Fingers wrapped around your bicep, just enough force to make it seem questionable.

“Could’ve fooled me” the squad leader shrugged and walked off before either of you could react.

Great start. Yanking your arm free, you asked:

“What do you want?” you made sure to make him hear the irritation.

That was against the plan, and you doubted your ability to survive yet another confrontation. From the look in his eyes, you could also guess where this was going.

“I know what you’re doing. All I’ve got to say is don’t,” Neil stared you down, keen on intimidation, “I won’t let it happen” no room for discussion there.

Well, maybe with any other idiot. You knew it would come to it. The moment when you would have to admit that your plan involved going with Neil. And there would be no debate about it. It had to be you. Reasons? Inexplicable.

“Tough luck because I’m not letting you get killed,” you counterattacked, meeting his intense gaze without reluctance, “Or go in there alone,” a pointed emphasis, to show him you meant it.

You felt like you could win this one. Maybe even walk away without the tears in your eyes. Just this once. But then Neil did what he does best – changed the topic.

“If this is about what happened-” he reached out to you again, fingers curling around your wrist.

There we go. You were surprised it took him that long to mention the previous afternoon. His touch and the bruises were hard to forget, but so was the lack of affection in his eyes. As though you were just another hook-up. Someone to seduce, get pleasure from, and then leave without a word of explanation. Nothing more. You deserved better than this. With heart hammering in your chest, you responded:

“Not everything is about you trying to fuck me, Neil,” it was his turn to scowl, as though the words have hurt him.

It was only fair.

“Who said-” his grip on your wrist tightened, drawing you closer.

But that alone was not enough to distract you from the denial he tried to pass as the truth.

“Please,” you gave him a pointed look, “That was a mistake, and it’s best treated like one” swallowing down the discomfort, you let the statement fall between you.

You wanted nothing but to forget about it. Brush it under the carpet. The marks were enough of a punishment for a moment of weakness. Neil seemed to consider something quickly, weighting the options, before he nodded:

“Of course,” the formality had the potential to drive you mad, “I’m glad we seem to agree on something,”

For a second, you contemplated leaving the scene. You knew he would not follow, too caught up in the grudges and apprehensions to stop you from escaping. But you wanted to have the last word. To put to use the ability to see right through his act. Neil was staring at you with eyes narrowed, trying to anticipate the very next move. You were sure to surprise him.

“Think I have figured it out though,” he arched his eyebrow in a silent question “Why you’re so keen on doing something that stupid” his face fell, you took a step forward “It’s that hero complex, hidden under honourable acts and philosophical bullshit” pulling your hand out of his hold, you advanced to intimidate, “You think you’re past redemption. That you don’t deserve it. But you can’t give up until you save everybody else. That’s just who you are” the sheer panic in his eyes was fascinating “Only there’s me. An obstruction” Neil swallowed hard as you laid your hand on his shoulder; nearly there, “And you might not love me, but it still doesn’t mean I can let you do it” you gave him a final sad smile, brushing away a stray hair from his pullover.

Yours, judging by the length and colour. A quirk of fate. You were too busy contemplating the fact to notice a shift in his eyes. Denial. Disbelief. Darkness.

“My god… you’re so stupid” the sharp edge to his voice was dripping with venom, “How can you not see it?” Neil was looking at you as though you were an idiot.

Wow. Fighting the urge to breakdown, you took a deep breath. You should have known he had not had enough of hurting you. Always naïve.

“… thanks,” you chuckled dryly, holding on to the remains of anger in your system, “First ‘emotional and delusional’. Now this… you’re expanding your vocabulary” his silence was deafening, “I wonder what will be next… expletives?” the next statement came from the depths of your heart “It would be much easier to just admit that you hate me, and we could be done with this”

That childlike belief in the existence of love wanted him to say no. To deny that he could ever despise you in any way. But the innocence had to be buried if you were to survive.

“I’ll consider that” the cold calculation in Neil’s eyes was terrifying. It was truly over. Even if your heart felt like it was being ripped out. The edges of your vision were blurring, eyes burning with tears begging to be released. Not yet.

“Fab,” you brushed away the strand that was falling into his eyes, “As a final note… I admit that the worst mistake I have ever made was allowing myself to believe you’re worth it”

It was not exactly the truth. But the tiniest moment of passing shock in his eyes was a good enough response. For a second, Neil was speechless, stunned by your harsh words and the way you caressed his face. One last guilty pleasure.

“I’m glad you’re acknowledging it” his face split in an attempt at a smile.

It was broken. Dishonest. There was something fascinating in him at that very moment. The set jaw, eyes cold as ice; yours, but not at all. The beautiful and damned. Gently, you ran your fingers over his stubble, hoping to memorise his face in every way possible. The intensity of his gaze was beginning to drive you insane, offering eternal suffering if you were to make the smallest mistake. Never again.

“The cruelty looks good on you” you zipped up his pullover in one smooth motion and turned away.

The searing pain in your chest was the needed punchline.

#tenet #neil tenet #neil tenet x reader #neil tenet imagine #neil tenet fanfic #neil x reader #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson #the art of inversion

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problematicfavesareproblematic · 4 years

Text

The Inherent Risks of Loving a Wild Man

Bill Guarnere x Reader

Summary: Word about Bill Guarnere and the NCOs going to Sink reaches you, but by the time you hear it’s been so muddled with misinformation that you think he’s dead. After hearing another person saying that he’s alive, you are let with the awful task of waiting....

Warnings: no-no words (it’s hbo/war, kids. people gonna curse), allusions to sexy times, some vv lite sexy times™, angst (kinda)

William Guarnere was a dead man- that much you knew for sure.

The only thing you weren't sure of?

If he was going to die by Sink’s hand or yours.

Sink, you thought ruefully to yourself, throat feeling tight again as you had an intrusive mental image of Bill crumpling to the ground after the crack of a gun. Sink has no other choice, his hands are tied.

For probably the fiftieth time that evening, you walked over to the window in the in-law unit attached to the side of the house you’d been assigned to in England. You knew better than to expect any of the NCOs to go out of their way to tell you, not with the strict curfew Sobel has imposed on them after the idiot himself led Easy astray during a training exercise.

The grandfather of the family you were staying with had told you about it in passing after coming across Dick and some others after his morning bike ride. You’d tried not to openly criticize Sobel, but when the old man mentioned a flustered soldier yelling “high-oh silver!” as he arrived late (and from the wrong direction), you hadn’t been able to hide your scowl.

“He’s going to get us killed.” Bill had grumbled to you a few days ago, after telling you about yet another catastrophic day of training. “I swear to god, Y/n, that cow-eyed bastard couldn’t find his own dick in a well-lit room—”

“I get the picture, Bill. Please don’t ever make me think about Sobel’s dick ever again.”

He’d chuckled at that, pinning your arms above your head and looking down at you with a smug grin.

“I’m awful sorry about that, Miss Y/L/N. Let me make it up to you?”

He’d kissed the air from your lungs then, and any thoughts of Sobel or death were put on the back burner….

It just seemed horribly ironic now- Sobel really was going to be the thing that gets him killed, it just hadn’t happened as straightforwardly as youd anticipated.

Headlights suddenly blind you, and your blood runs cold as you recognize it as one of the airborne’s Jeeps.

It must be Nixon, he’d tell me. Whether i want to actually hear it or not.

Your throat feels tight as the truck pulls to a stop by the front garden, and you don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until the figure that exits the car forgoes the direct footpath through the family’s garden, instead walking straight towards your window.

There’s only one person who does that, did that….

Throwing your window open, you stand on the desk beneath it and crawl out gracelessly, your limbs feeling disconnected from your body as you try to squash the painful hope trying to bubble in your chest.

The man stalks up to you, the light coming from your room illuminating the handsome, sharp, and perfectly alive face of Bill fucking Guarnere.

“Cara mia.”

He’s raised his hands to hold your face in his typical greeting kiss, that stupid grin bright on his face- as if he hadn’t been dead in your mind up until a few milliseconds ago.

So, it was to be you to kill him. Okay then.

You clapped him across the face, palm stinging as you watched his head snap to the side. In the low light, you could see a pink handprint on his cheek and feel a little bad for hitting him so hard.

Then you remember why you’d hit him in the first place, and you get over it.

“What in the actual fuck were you thinking, pulling that shit?”

Your voice is as sharp as your slap, slightly wavering as tears began to cloud your eyes.

“How could you even think about doing something so stupid, and not even bother to let me know…..and you don’t even say ‘goodbye’?”

He said nothing, his face still turned away and his jaw working as you tried your very best not to yell and wake everyone in the main house up.

You then surprise the both of you by bursting into tears, throwing your arms around his neck and sobbing so hard you forget to breathe.

His arms are quick to wrap around you, pulling you impossibly close and nosing affectionately by your ear.

“Hey, don’t cry….oh darlin’, please don’t cry,” the rumble of his voice only makes you cry harder, the sound so comforting and warm and essential, and for four horrible hours you’d tried to wrap your head around the fact that the man you loved was dead and you’d never get to hear that perfect voice again.

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I didn’t mean to make you cry—”

You pull away, glaring at him tearfully. “No? What part of you either leaving the airborne- and not telling me, or getting executed for mutiny- without bothering to say anything…..What part of either of those things breaking my fucking heart are you not getting, you stupid fucking idiot?”

You shake your head, only stopping when he unwraps his arms from around you and takes your face in his hands (as he’d intended to before you smacked him).

“Did you even think about what that would do to your mother? Or your father, for that matter—?”

“I’m sorry.” he interrupts you, and when you frown at him he sighs anxiously. “Fuck, baby….”

Seeing that you weren’t going to easily forgive him, Bill wipes at your tears with his thumbs and looks at you sadly.

After standing in tense silence for a few moments, Bill pulls you into another embrace- hands hot through the material of your thermal pajama top.

“I love you.” he mumbles.

A mournful scoff escapes your throat, and he squeezes you tighter.

“Hey, listen to me...” he turns his head so he can look you in the face. Your eyes showed your doubt, and you watched as he seemed to understand just how deeply he’d hurt you.

It was uncommon for either of you to voice your affection for the other and not get an immediate echoing response, the both of you having abandoned any sort of stoicism for the other during your time in one of the Carolinas.

His dark eyes are swirling with deep regret, and you don’t think you’ve ever actually seen him remorseful before. It was heartbreaking and heartwarming at the same time, seeing one of the cockiest men you knew looking at you as if you held the key to his happiness. His heart.

“I. Love. You.”

You close your eyes as he repeats the sentiment, unable to bear his intense look without wanting to start crying all over again.

“I didn’t think….well,” he cuts himself off, and when you peek at him you see that he’s nodding to himself. “Nah, that’s it. I just didn’t think. I just did because—”

“I’m not mad that you refused to follow an absolute moron into war...” you interrupt, watching as his brows furrow in confusion. You bring a hand up to wipe at the sticky tears drying on your cheeks. “Bill….losing you will kill me.”

He’s shaking his head now, whispering your name harshly. “Don’t say that—”

“I have to say it because it’s the truth. And if you love me a fraction as much as i love you, you probably already know that.”

With a tired sigh you bring your hands up to rub at his chilled ears, the cold air making your breath fog between you as you speak.

“But, I also know the reality of what’s about to happen- and I’ve made my peace with it as much as I can—” “Cara mia—”

“—because i know that i’ll at least get to see you once before we drop, before all the shit hits the fan, and I’ll get to tell you I love you..... and that if by some miracle we do both make it I’m going to marry you and then we’ll never have to do anything like this again.

“But you almost took that from me.” You swallow your sadness and rest your forehead against his. “Jesus, William….”

He kisses you sweetly, and you know he can also taste the salt of your tears as he does so. Bill’s hands are running up and down your back, following paths and trails he’d first mapped with his fingers the morning after the two of you had slept together the first time.

“Say it back,” he whispers between kisses. “I need to hear you say it back—”

“I love you.”

His hands suddenly stop, and he pulls back to look you over with a furrowed brow.

“Oh shit, darlin’, you’re barely wearing anything!” With commanding hands he turns you around and starts to march you back to your window. You had forgotten that you were just in your pajamas, feet still bare on the chilled ground.

When you climbed in he followed with silent movements, barely getting the window latched before he shirks off his outer few layers and is embracing you again, torso warm and inviting when you held him again.

“I’m gonna be pissed if you get sick, you know that right?”

He’s teasing you again, but his voice still is soft from emotion.

You smile and press a kiss to his cheek. “Yeah, Bill. I know….”

He turns his head before your next kiss lands on his cheek, resuming the sweet kiss from outside.

When you nibble at his bottom lip he groans softly, one hand knotting in your hair while the other one slid down to your backside and kneaded the supple flesh of your bottom with a hungry grip.

“You want some more, baby?” Bill’s voice has taken on a rough quality that never failed to make your heart beat faster and your stomach to curl sweetly. “Want me to show you how sorry I am?”

You shut him up with a kiss, knowing from experience that once Bill got talking like this there was only so much you could take before becoming a flustered and needy mess.

Bill takes the hint, only breaking away from you to quickly pull your shirt over your head before ducking right back in. the material of his button up is rough against your bare nipples, the peaks harder than stone ever since you’d first stepped out into the chilly night air.

His hands drew goosebumps across your back as he brushed his fingers up and down your spine, worshipping you in such a way that made all your teenage years of self-consciousness seem preposterous in hindsight.

“Fucking goddess,” he’d proclaimed once between hot open mouth kisses across your collarbones after you’d both come down from your third orgasm of the night. “If I had my way, you’d never have to cover a single goddamned inch of your body from me. Could fucking taste you whenever i wanted…”

When your hand cups him through his pants he hisses, laughing headily into your mouth.

“I’m still mad at you.” you say, pulling back so you can watch his face scrunch up attractively as you massage his stiffness.

He nods, eyes closed as his jaw goes slack. You can’t help but feel somewhat smug at being able to elicit such a reaction from such a fiery man.

“Thought I was ‘sposed ta be taking care of you, darlin’....”

You hum, walking him backwards so the back of his knees hit your mattress.

“Maybe I want you to suffer a little bit,” you offer as you press on his shoulder to make him sit down before you. He looks up at you, eyes heavy and breathing rough.

There’s now a clear handprint on his cheek from where you slapped him, and some flicker of sadness must show in your eyes because one of the hands that had begun tugging your pajama bottoms down your legs comes up to take the hand you’d hit him with and he kisses at your fingers sweetly.

“I’m okay with some sufferin’, ‘s long as you’re the one dealin’ it.”

You fist his hair and duck down to kiss him urgently, letting him help you step from the clothes around your ankles so you can straddle his lap.

“C’mon, baby….I can take it.”

You respond by craning his head back and placing biting kisses down his throat.

Because as wild as Bill Guarnere was, you were still the one who’d tamed him.

And he wouldn’t just do that for anyone.

You were going to be sure he remembered that.

Even if it took all night.

(Hey kids, wrote this while trying to get through writers block a little bittle ago, and there is a part 2, so holler at ya girl if yall’er (: interested ok thank your bye)

(ALSO! I saw someone else describe Sobel as ‘cow-eyed’ in a different fic. I’m trying to find it so I can give the author credit (bc it’s a perfect description!), but if any of you guys know which one i’m talking about just dm me and i’ll link it!)

(ALSO PART TWO: let me know if you’re interested in being tagged on any future garbage I write!)

#band of brothers imagines #band of brothers x reader #bill guarnere x reader #it's vv bad but I'll just add it to the pile of already burning garbage pile that is my bibliography

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simmonsofshield · 4 years

Text

The Last Thing

Pairings: Y/N Stacy & Peter Parker

Summary: Peter is not dealing with his friend’s death very well. Loosely based on true and personal events.

Words: ~2900

Warnings: Mentions of death. Yelling. Blaming.

A/N: AU, Peter and Gwen are friends. Y/N is Gwen’s older sister. Gwen is an Avenger and has been in all the fights instead of Peter. This is for @jbbarnesnnoble‘s mental health awareness challenge. I chose “How do you even begin to move on?” It won’t be a quote, but it’ll be in bold. Takes place after Endgame.

Dear Peter,

I’m not going to beat around the bush. I’ve never been known to anyways. If you’re reading this, that means I’m either dead or in some sort of close-to-death coma, probably the former.

I’m writing this the day before I leave for Berlin. Sorry I didn’t tell you about it but Tony Stark came to me so I’m assuming it has to stay on the DL. Yeah, you read that right. Tony freaking Stark! He hasn’t told me much but I’m assuming some sort of drama with the Accords. Why he came to me and not you, I’m not sure. Maybe just because I go out more and there’s more youtube videos of me than you. Or maybe he didn’t want the “friendly neighborhood Spiderman.” He wanted someone tougher. Haha just kidding.

Anywho... back to the reason for this letter. I want you to take my place. Queens still needs someone to take care of it, and since I’m no longer around, it’s gotta be you. We were both in that lab and got bit by those radioactive spiders. Who thought making spiders radioactive was a good idea anyways? We went through all the weird hardships with these new powers together and managed without anyone finding out….except my sister. (and apparently Tony Stark.)

Speaking of Y/N, I’m putting her in your care. You are now responsible for her. I’m only kind of sorry. She’s the only one that knows about this letter.

Hopefully you don’t have to read this immediately following this impromptu trip to Berlin, or at all in 2016. Or, you know, ever. Hopefully I can grow old and retire SpiderGwen. Wait, those are two different things, let me rephrase that: hopefully I can stop saving the day around 25 and then retire when I’m old and wrinkly and burn this letter so you never have to even know it existed.

If you are reading this and made it this far, I want you to know that I believe in you. It is hard being a hero. Sometimes you have to make tough decisions, but you’re a smart guy. I know you will be great. Better than me, probably.

You’re the best basically-brother I could ever ask for. Spiderman is destined for great things. I know it.

Gwen

Present day, May 2023

When it first happened - when half the universe was brought back - Y/N came looking for Peter immediately. After that first weird day back to school, she found him..and that was weird too. She used to only be one year older than him and Gwen, and now she was clearly 6 years older than him. She’d asked if he’d seen her in class, and he said no. She covered her mouth and started crying right there. It confused him at the time, but in hindsight, he realized she knew at that moment that Gwen was dead. Her family got the call from Nick Fury himself that night.

Besides the big bad, Thanos he thinks, there were only two casualties. “Only” two on the heroes side, when there’s usually zero. They were Gwen and Tony Stark. So not only did Peter lose his best friend, he lost his idol as well, and even though he never got to meet him, it still hurts. A little. He died bringing back the half of humanity that was blipped, a truly heroic act, but Gwen died so that that could happen. She’s hardly ever mentioned in news reports or anything.

It’s been almost two months. TWO.

Peter read the letter again. He did almost once a day. The fold creases were already very worn and the page had been stained with tears many times over. He still just couldn’t believe she was actually gone. Being brought back after getting blipped was enough to deal with but now his closest friend was dead. What was the most frustrating was that he didn’t know how. He wasn’t allowed to. SHIELD classified it and only the immediate family could know. You hadn’t told him everything, but you did say something about her getting caught in some crossfire. That’s all you were allowed to say.

He sat in the stairwell of his and Aunt May’s Queens apartment while he waited for you to arrive. He was zoned out thinking and didn’t even hear you come up the stairs.

“Peter?” he snapped back to reality and looked at you, eyes sad, “you ready?”

He nodded and stood up, shoving his hands in his shorts pockets. He trudged down the stairs and met you at the landing, then walking side by side down the rest to ground level. Exiting the complex, you put your arm around his shoulders walking the already too familiar route. What had happened was still fresh and you two had decided to visit Gwen’s grave once a week, tell her what had been going on, if anything.

The first few times were okay, but recently, Peter hadn’t been saying anything. He just kneels in front of her grave, head down, and cries. You really felt for the kid, you did. His parents died when he was 6, his uncle Ben 3 years ago (since he was blipped), and now his best friend-basically-sister. He’s only 16 and has dealt with more death than anyone at that age should. How do you even begin to move on? The gaps are big, but that doesn’t make any of them hurt less. Especially when they’re all family.

After a few minutes of silent sobs, you place your hand on his shoulder. He stands up and steps aside, so you can have your time. You look at him and give him a soft smile of thanks. He looks at you for a millisecond before looking back at the ground, wiping away stray tears.

You approach her gravestone, putting your hand on it, brushing your fingers along it and tracing the letters of her name. You speak softly, as if just to her. “Gwenny, I need help. Your help. This has been hard on Peter. You were his best friend and now he just seems like a lost puppy without you around. I know he has Ned and MJ, but a big chunk of him is missing without you here,” you cough out a sob, “I just want the old Petey back. I don’t expect it tomorrow, or next week, or even next month, but I need it. I want some sort of normalcy back in my life,” your next sob comes out with a little bit of a laugh, “look at me, talking to a grave like I’m talking to an actual human. You’d totally give me crap for this.” you sigh, “It’s just-- being six years older than him now instead of just one makes it hard. We’re in such different places in our lives. He just finished his freshman year of high school, and I’m in college now...” you trail off, forgetting where you were going with it. Standing up, you give one last tap to the gravestone. “Bring him back. Oh-” You dig in your purse and pull out a charm bracelet. You crouch back down and lay it right next to the base where the grass is a little bit taller. You wear an identical one. “Mom and dad are doing fine..well, as well as you could expect. There are some rough nights, but we’re managing.”

Emotions were still running high at home. You’d lost your sister, and your parents, their youngest child. There was a lot of fighting and blaming, despite heroism being Gwen’s choice. She’d told you once that she’d been given the powers for a reason. If bad things happened and she did nothing, it was basically her fault. You never really agreed with the sentiment, but she insisted and went on helping out the people of Queens, eventually roping Peter into it.

A lot of the time the blame fell on you, your father wondering why you weren’t with Gwen and Peter the day they got bit. You take it, as it’s his way of mourning and relieving his anger. He’s looking for answers that he’ll never get. Your mom is mostly silent, save for the fights. You two usually end up drinking a bottle or two of wine before tottling off to bed, drowning your sorrows.

The walk back is silent, as usual. You were both mourning and it was always emotionally draining after a visit and hard to make conversation. You’re about 2/3 of the way back before you decide to try. “I, uh, noticed you had the letter in the stairwell.” You feel a shift and see as his hand goes to his pocket. “Pete, why?” You sigh, not in disappointment, mostly in exhaustion but a little bit of curiosity too.

He looks down, an exhale coming from his nose, “It’s the last thing I have of her.”

You let out a soft gasp. That hadn’t even crossed your mind, it was the last physical thing Gwen had touched and given - by way of you - to him. “Oh, Petey.” You run your fingers through his hair a few times before letting your arm rest limply over his shoulders. He pushes it off, stopping in his tracks and looks at you with an expression you don’t recognize. He mumbles something and you stop waking as well, leaning forward a little. “Peter?”

“Tony did this.”

“To-”

“Tony Stark! He’s the one who recruited her. He’s the one that put her on this path.” he paces back and forth in anger. “If it weren’t for him, she wouldn’t be a part of the Avengers and she wouldn’t be dead.”

“Peter...” you know what he’s doing. In fact, you went through and did the same thing just a couple weeks ago. “You know he’s not to blame. She’s the one who wanted to help the community, just like you,” you reasoned, “it was only a matter of time before she caught the eye of the Avengers.”

He ignored you, turning on his heels. “I need to talk to him.”

“Y-you can’t. Peter..” you stand there, stunned for a moment, “Peter.” you call out. He doesn’t respond and you quickly move from your place on the sidewalk and jog a little to try to catch up. You forgot how quickly he could walk when he was on a mission. “Peter!”

“What?!” he turns around, fire in his eyes. You actually cower a little, never hearing this tone come out of his mouth before.

“Uhm..” your voice is meek at first as you try to figure out what to say and recover from the surprise his outburst gave you, “you can’t go talk to Tony.”

“And why not?”

“He,” you swallow the lump in your throat, speaking softly not out of fear now, but to bring down the information as delicately as you could, “he died that night too. Remember?”

He blinks and there seems to be a flicker of remembrance and realization. It quickly changes back to anger and he looks you dead in the eyes, pointing. “Then it’s your fault!”

“W-what?”

“Yeah. You’re the one that let her go to Berlin. She would’ve listened to you. If you had told her no, she wouldn’t have gone. It’s your fault!” he continues pointing his finger at you, his voice rising as he talked. You hadn’t even realized you were moving until you were suddenly backed into the wall of a corner store, or maybe a restaurant, you didn’t really take the time to figure out where you were on the street.

You could feel your breath beginning to shallow the more he talked. You had no idea what was going to happen, and with him being enhanced, he was unpredictable. “Peter...” was all you could muster up, hoping just saying his name would somehow take him out of this trance he was in. It didn’t work and if you hadn’t looked down to look away from his face, you wouldn’t have noticed his other hand beginning to ball into a fist. Your eyes widened and you looked back at him, tears threatening to fall. “Peter, please.”

It didn’t phase him. “It’s your fault!” he yells and you see his fist rise and you dodge out of the way in the nick of time, now in a crouched position.

You hear his fist connect with the wall, “Fuck!” Under different circumstances, you’d be surprised and sarcastically scold him because you’ve never heard him swear, ever. At the moment though, you’re now seated against the wall, breathing hard and tears falling silently.

“Y/N?” He crouches down and puts a hand on your shoulder, which you slink away from. At this point, as if it were a movie, mother nature decided it had to rain. All you hear is the soft pattering of the rain on the sidewalk for a moment before you hear some soft whimpering. You look around, and see a few feet from you, Peter sitting and hugging his knees, head down.

You stand up, and walk over to him, not announcing your presence in any way, and sit next to him. Taking his hand in yours, you begin inspecting his knuckles. “You’re lucky you have super strength. Otherwise that wall would have done a number on your hand. More than just some scratches and it looks like probably some bruising.” The only reply you get is some breathy sobs. “Okay,” keeping his hand in yours, you stand up and urge him up too, “let’s get you home.”

He doesn’t argue and slowly begins to walk home, with your aid. Your arm is once again around his shoulders and he doesn’t push it away this time. The whole walk back is silent, as expected. The both of you now more tired than before, physically and emotionally.

When you arrive back at Peter’s apartment, you enter, May leaving it unlocked. She’s on the couch watching tv. She turns around with a smile to greet you guys, but it quickly turns to a frown when she sees the state the two of you are in. You see her mouth open about to ask a question and you shake your head. She closes it and stands, walking over to Peter’s bedroom door and opening it for the two of you. You nod a thank you and walk in.

Peter still seems to be in a daze when you sit him down at his desk. You scan his room looking for a towel, seeing clothes and books strewn about, assuming he ‘lost’ his backpack again. “Well, I see you have a project for tomorrow,” you try to joke, despite the fact that you began picking up his clothes and putting them in the hamper in his closet. You hear a soft hmm? and look over at him. He’s looking at you, eyes red but only a little puffy.

You finally find his bath towel, halfway under his bed. Picking it up, you shake it a couple times to get any dust bunnies off and walk over to him. You can feel his eyes on you as you dry the rain off his arms and legs, but you continue. You dab off his neck and rub his hair a few times, getting as much off as you can before moving to his face. He jerks away and wipes his forehead with his arm before looking at you, as if studying you. You sit back a little, unsure, wondering what he’s going to do.

He takes a deep breath like he’s trying to gather the courage to speak to you. It takes a couple more seconds before he does. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh Peter,” you coo softly, “it’s okay.”

He slaps his hand on his desk, “No it’s not!” seeing you jump, he realized what he did, “s-sorry.” he says barely above a whisper.

“It’s not,” you agree, “but you’re mourning. I’m going through the same thing at home. You know this. I can take a few angry words.”

“But I blamed you, tried to hurt you.”

You nod, “I will admit I was a little scared when you tried to hit me,” he looks down, scared to make eye contact, “but,” you use your finger to lift his chin, “I got out of the way and you didn’t. Guess I gotta thank Gwen for taking me to some of those self defense classes so I could help her train.” You say the last part with a smile.

For what you’re pretty sure is the first time that night, Peter smiles too. You use your hand and wipe away the remaining tears on his face. “There he is.”

You get up on your knees, about to stand up, when he pulls you into a hug. You let out at squeak of surprise but quickly melt into it. Then, you suddenly begin to cry.

“Y/N?” he doesn’t pull out of the hug but you can hear the concern in his voice.

You sniffle and wipe away your tears, letting out a kind of cry-laugh. “I’m just glad, that at least for tonight, you’re back to the Peter that I know. I’ve missed your smile.” You feel him hug you a little tighter.

For Avory

#JBBNNMHAMChallenge #Peter Parker x reader #(platonic yall)#peter parker & reader #gwen stacy #spiderman #spider man #spider-man #spidergwen #spider gwen #peter parker

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pi-cat000 · 5 years

Text

MSA time travel idea (part 31)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, Vivi POV, 8, 9, 10, Lewis POV, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, Lance POV 18, 19, Lewis POV 2, 21 , 22, Vivi POV 2, 24, 25 Lewis POV 3, Mystery POV , Vivi POV 3, 29, Lewis POV 4

Part 32: here

Why? Why couldn't he have just stayed dead? WHY? All he has done is make things worse! So much worse. Sure, Lewis is alive, but at what cost…and for how much longer? How much more can he lose? Actually, no, he doesn’t want an answer to that question. Arthur used to think nothing could top being murdered by his best friend in terms of terrible experiences and, oh boy, has he been proven wrong.

“Hey…”

Wrapped in his carefully constructed cocoon of self-loathing and mourning, Arthur ignores the irritatingly cheerful voice. He is beginning to hate the sensation of sound vibrating in his chest.

“HEY!”

Of course, the demon can’t take a hint and leave him to suffer in silence.

‘What,’ Arthur projects sullenly, pulling his attention forward. As much as he would rather drown in despair, he doesn’t want the bastard to start threatening Lewis’s family again. After failing a few more times at crashing the van- Arthur doesn’t even get the merger satisfaction of freezing his body for a millisecond now the demon is on alert- this really is the very least he can do.

“We’re here. I thought you might appreciate being coherent for the visit.”

Begrudgingly, Arthur finds the motivation needed to focus on their shared soundings. Surprise, surprise, there is a lot of flat desert. However, now the expanse is broken by a single structure; Kingman Mechanics, sign dark, sitting directly ahead of them. It is the same half red-brick, half corrugated iron building it has always been, yet the exterior is cold and uninviting. It looks like one of his frozen memories, drained of all colour and lifeless. Arthur watches with mounting discontent while the demon parks and strolls up to the front door.

Wind throws dust at their eyes, forcing the demon to squint in shared discomfort. The gusts are stronger than usual, and, if Arthur were to hazard a guess based on the darkening clouds, he’d say there was a storm coming in. Overhead, grey blackens, the day begining to transition into night. Lines of police tap, positioned across the closed garage door have been pulled free and are waving about like demented hands. No sign of police, though.

“Hello! I’m home,” The demon sings out, flinging open the unlocked door, “Oh wait…I forgot. There’s no one here…”

Arthur knows the sentence is meant to upset him and hates the stab grief, which immediately shoots through his chest. The fact that he’ll never see Lance come ambling out of the side door to greet him and welcome back is painful.

“At least…There should be no one here,” The demon continues, examining the space with a more critical eye, glancing back at the open door, “That was definitely locked when I left.”

Arthur is too busy drowning in another wave to depression to care much about the reception desk, which has been pulled apart and emptied across the ground. Usually, around this time of day, Lance would either be working late or packing up, grumbling about the low lighting and his poor vision.

Casually, the demon meanders over, examining the mess left scattered on the floor. Loose paper rustles underfoot, disturbed by their approach.

“So someone’s been through here…I don’t suppose you get a lot of thieves around these parts?”

When he doesn’t respond right away, the demon prompts with a more impatient, “Are you with me back there? ”

‘No...No thieves,’ He musters, mulishly compelling his attention onto the room. Neither he nor his Uncle had been particularly vigilant about locking doors, and they’d never had an issue. Why does it even bother asking when It has all Arthur’s memories? The demon knows everything he does.

A loud snort of amusement. They move further into the building. The door to the hall is open, revealing the narrow passage leading to the equally narrow stairs. Empty and dark.

“Please, I didn’t bother keeping even half the crap you had stored up here. You think I want a few hundred hours’ worth of pathetic pining after dumb friends, or re-runs of the same repetitive daily routines, over and over and over? Trust me, I chucked that shit right out.”

They pause at the entrance to his Uncle’s small, cramped office. Like the reception, the space is a mess. Someone has turned this room as well.

“I just keep the useful and really juicy stuff. Sides, it’s not like you’re going anywhere if I ever need a refresher.”

His Uncle’s shotgun is missing. Okay, that catches his attention. That shotgun had been a fixture of the office for almost as long as Arthur can remember. The reason why the door had been religiously locked during his childhood and teen years. It’s weird to see it missing. Are the two shots kept handy in the desk drawer also missing? Had his Uncle used them?

Of course, no sooner has he thought it, the demon is checking the draws for the shots. They are, indeed, missing.

“Now, who would come all the way out here just to steal some old gun?”

Arthur has no idea why, but, apparently, this question is rhetorical because the demon has started prowling the space, peering into filing-cabinet and at misplaced, scattered files. A patch of rustic discolouration marking the inside of the door catches their eye. Arthur feels that disconcerting predatory interest return as it picks out several other, similar, splotches. The demon reaches forward, running a finger over the nearest patch, bringing the hand up to its mouth. Arthur gets a flash of phantom nausea at the metallic taste. Blood. What he wouldn’t give to be able to throw up right now.

“Hm…” An irritated sigh, “and this is why I hate loose ends.”

The demon wipes the hand clean on Arthur’s pants. Obviously, the blood meant something more to it than to Arthur. Whoever had been here had either hurt themselves searching the room or had some pre-existing injury. Also, this had to be at least a day old, meaning the person was probably gone.

“Yes, most likely,” The demon answers his unvoiced question unprompted, “Suppose I haven’t killed as many people as I thought...How inconvenient. And here I was hoping to hit the road before sunrise, but it looks like I’ll be hunting around for this moron.”

‘If this road trip so important we should just go right now.’ He throws in half-heartedly, because damnit if a small part of him still hopes that he can stop this.

“Ha. I like the enthusiasm, but it really is nothing urgent.”

One last frown is directed at the bloodstain before they spin to head back into the hall and up the narrow stairs.

“A lot has changed in the last hundred years, and I’ve got a little catching up to do which requires a bit of travel. And then there’s this time-travel mystery to sort out. Lucky us, with a double-strength soul, this body isn’t going to burn out not nearly as fast as it should. It’ll give me the time I need to make this little partnership permeant.”

‘...,’

“The hassle I go through, I swear. Humans don’t even live that long to begin with but, all to often, you idiots just pass on for no good reason. Half the time, I’m not even siphoning that much energy. So weak.”

With the sky coved, there is bearly any natural light coming through Arthur’s bedroom window, making the room gloomy like the rest of the building. Undeterred, the demon starts to rifle through the narrow wardrobe pressed against the opposite wall, putting an end to their ‘conversation.’ While his body goes about chucking clothes onto the bed and sorting them into piles, Arthur just stares. ��Make this little partnership permeant’…He expects the words to make him sad, sadder, or angry, but he only feels numb.

“Ugh. Your fashion sense is terrible. This baggy orange stuff is about as unflattering as clothes can get.”

Arthur watches his body spin and pose in front of the dusty full-length mirror he has jammed into the back on his wardrobe, having spent a good half hour trying on various combinations. Black seems to be the colour of choice. No surprises there. The black shirt, dark blue jeans, and black jacket are all old and worn down. He hasn’t worn this stuff in years, meaning the clothes are a whole lot tighter than Arthur really likes.

“I suppose this will have to do.” The demon examins a lime green scarf, and Arthur can feel the contempt directed at the only green coloured thing he owns. A gift from someone, he can’t remember who.

“At least it’s not the ugly orange life vest.”

They make eye contact in the mirror, and Arthur mentality winces, wishing he could look away.

“You know, I bet we’d look pretty good with a proper body maintenance routine and some nice clothes. I’ve definitely had more unfortunate hosts.”

“Something to do later. Can’t be killing people 24/7 after all.”

They pack up one of the clothing piles in an old school backpack, slinging it over a shoulder before strolling across the landing into his uncle’s room.

The demon moves with purpose, knowing exactly what it wants. Lance’s hidden stash of cash which he keeps for emergencies and his wallet. Unlike the reception and the office, both their bedrooms seem relatively intact. If the ‘thief’ had been through, they hadn’t done much to disturb anything. Maybe, if Arthur could find the motivation to care, the inconsistency would be interesting or cause for investigation. He doesn’t care.

The demon frisks the room, mentally tallying up the cash it finds. While it counts the money, Arthur’s attention is drawn to the crumpled up photo, the corner of which is poking out from Lance’s wallet. It’s of him and his uncle standing before a beat-up van. His van. This photo was taken on his eighteenth birthday. The van had been a gift. Numbly, he watches.

The demon flips through Lance’s assorted business cards in loose motions, pulling out the photo alongside them. Money is left in the wallet, and anything deemed unimportant is dropped to the floor.

‘Wait,’ Arthur objects suddenly when they come to the photo.

“Hmm?” The demon hums, continuing to sort.

‘Keep it…please,”

A pause. “Keep what? This?”

Their vision centres on the photo. The demon pinches a corner, pulling it free, scanning it with minor interest.

‘Yeah,’ Weird how quiet he sounds, considering he isn’t actually speaking out loud.

Humour and mild exasperation follow.

“Sentiment. Thought we’d decided not to get too attached to things.”

Arthur’s not really game for another round of verbal bashing and beratement, so he doesn’t bother responding. He really wants the photo. He wants it so badly it's painful, but he’s not going to beg. Not for something like this. Some of his longings must be filtering through because the demon roles its eyes in an exaggerated movement.

“You know what? Sure. Whatever,” It shoves the photo back into the wallet, flipping it shut and shoving it into their back pocket, “We’ll keep it. Don’t say I never did anything nice though.”

Arthur reframes from voicing his opinion-nice what a joke- too relieved about having something of his Uncle’s. A reminder.

The relief doesn’t last long.

“Speaking of sentiment. I think it’s time we go kill Lewis’s cute little family,” A fist pump and they head down out to the stairs. Fear, frustration and panic, quickly case away all other emotion. It’s his Uncle all over again. Not again. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked for the photo. No. Arthur’s sure it wouldn’t have mattered…

‘I can’t help that I care,’ He whispers miserably, a small part of him wishing desperately that he didn’t and hating himself for it.

“Oh, I know.” They walk back out the door, slamming it shut, heading towards the van. The gravel crunches. The landscape is almost black, the invisible sun having finished setting.

“Say bye…we’re not coming back to this dump.”

Gusts of wind rip at the newly acquired jacket.

‘…’

“Oh, right. Haha, you can’t speak. Well, it’s the thought that counts.”

NOTE: HELLO! Just want to take a second to thank the aprox 20-30 return readers for this fic. I have definitely noticed u (like 30 parts in and it would be hard not to). I want to say that I am always pleased to see u return to like/reblog updates. Very motivating. This fic has been spinning its wheels while I attempt to build tension so I hope u enjoy the payoff.

Also! thanks to the people who drop in every now and then to bulk like/reblog all the parts they missed. It never fails to catch me off guard (in a good way) when I sign in and see 10+ notes from one person.

Part 32: here

#MSA #mystery skulls animated #fanfiction #fanfic #arthur kingsmen #the demon?#depression #angst #suicidal thoughts #asehole demon is an ashole #sad arthur is sad #Arthur bad times continue #possession

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loreletters-blog · 4 years

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A moment for everything.

God’s Perfect Timing

If you think about God, some people would likely think about Him as a serious, grandeur and strict Being. Although I don’t consider that view as wrong or misguided, I think it’s very one-sided. God is even more humorous than you are. After all, He is God, Creator of all (humour included).

One thing I find super funny and cheeky is God’s sovereignty over timing. His unpredictable timing that can cue the dramatic music effect as we hold our breath in anticipation of the worst. Sometimes, we think that when we are doing our mundane activities God is bored with our lives and just left us alone to do our business. But, have you ever wondered how God protects you in every second of your life?

Maybe that time when you miss the bus or that time when you’re too early to class? Perhaps, the time you forgot to bring your wallet, or when you dropped your phone into the toilet when you’re about to open Twitter? Every single event, big or small can happen only when God allows it to be.

Let me tell you a story about how God’s perfect timing really is mindblowing.

Earlier this year, my granddad fell ill for almost 3 months. He was staying at my house with my parents and my sister. Our relatives were going back and forth to visit him, and for a quite introverted family, my parents and sister were exhausted to host all the guests every single day. Meanwhile, I was working during the summer in Melbourne and didn’t go back home to Indonesia. My mum would call me at night to update granddad’s condition to me. Our family was distressed. I think deep down we knew that his time was not long, so we prayed and prayed that he would open up to Christ before he took his last breath. We prayed for his health, and we prayed that he would eventually find peace in his heart.

One time when we were on the phone, my mum said that I need to go back home if granddad passed, but at the same time, I really want to go to our church camp this year. We were worried that he would pass on when I join the church camp and we were wondering if I should just stay and not go camping at all.

A couple weeks later, I went to go to work as per usual. I picked up my black bag, put my water bottle inside and went to the office like it’s a normal day. My heart was so full that day, all I can think of was thanking God, the song “The War is Over” by Bethel was playing on repeat on my phone.

I planned to go to a pharmacy after work to get some vitamins, and so I did. When I was looking around at the store, I felt water dripping to my shoes. I thought it was the store aircon leaking, then someone pointed it out to me that it was actually coming from my bag; my water bottle inside the bag was leaking! I opened up my bag and found my phone completely drenched. I clicked the button and saw a message notification from my mum, granddad was gone.

I tried calling her but failed to reach her because my phone was not responding after the spill. So I took the tram back home, but I didn’t have enough credit to pay for it and behold, the inspectors were there. Somehow, they didn’t approach me. I ran as fast as I could back home. Thankfully my roommate was there, and it’s outright ridiculous that she just bought a new phone a week before, so she lent me her old phone to use. Since I need to fly black to Indonesia (as per my parents’ request), I needed to buy tickets for the most immediate flight back to Jakarta, I couldn’t find one that is flying that night, so I decided to ask a travel agency for help. It was 5.30, and the nearest flight agency was supposed to close at 6 PM. Somehow, we booked a ticket 5 minutes before the travelling agent office closed.

I was ready to book a cab when God sent me my church friends, they offered to drive me to the airport, and so, I flew safely back to Indonesia. I had the chance to meet my family, be there to comfort them, and learned that before my granddad breathed his last breath, he had finally prayed in Jesus’s name!

Weeks went by until the day of our church camp arrived. Fortunately, I was able to go and finally, after years of not joining the camp, I finally got to experience it with my church family. During the sessions, I got reminded of how God was so good to me for the past year, especially after a season of hurting and disappointment (check out our post Inflated Balloon for more details!). I have been reminded of how faithful and patient He is with me and my family. The fact that my granddad finally prayed in the last minute of his life, makes me think of really proclaiming my faith in the symbolical form of baptism. My Pastor has offered to baptise me on multiple occasions, and I constantly refused. Not that because I didn’t want to commit, I just think that the symbolism can wait. Plus, I really wanted to wait for the perfect time (which in my mind was the day when I can go to the Jordan River). But one night in camp, I got an impression that God doesn’t want me to wait anymore, the time has come. He said it doesn’t matter where I do it. Instead, He said, it’s time. Seems like, God doesn’t want me to wait for a huge and fancy wedding reception but one that is intimate and simple for just me and Him; for the two of us to celebrate. And so I made the decision that it is time to get baptised, here in Melbourne, with my local Pastor. For so long, I wanted my baptism to be ‘special’, hence, I was aiming big like Jordan River. But God knows how to make it special despite the humble ceremony. I got baptised on the day I turned 21, the age which supposedly marks adulthood, with my mum and sister beside me, as they were able to visit.

How crazy is that? From the spilled water bottle, the broken phone, not getting inspected, having my roommate at home, her having 2 phones, being able to book a ticket before the office close, to finally getting baptised?

For some people, it may seem like that whole whirlwind was just a series of coincidences. I believe it’s God’s work. He knew exactly what I needed. He knew I’ve been praying for my granddad, so he comforted me with a song. He knew I wouldn’t check my phone until I got back home, so He grabbed my attention with my water bottle dripping to my shoes. He prepared a spare phone for me in exchange. He knew that if I didn’t check my phone soon enough, I couldn’t book the tickets with that particular travel agent, and would probably go home on the next day. He knew I needed comfort, so He made my friends available for me. He knew that when I join the camp, my life would change for the better.

How crazy intricate is God’s perfect timing!? It is down to the tee, to every millisecond. I believe God never left, He’s never bored with our lives. He’s never bored of your office job, he’s never bored of you when you’re doing your assignments, and He will never leave in the middle of every processes and season that you are going through; He’s right there, working hard, and He made everything beautiful in His perfect time.

He can open doors that used to be closed, He could give you a job after months or years of waiting, and He would help you graduate in the perfect time. Whatever it is, He is in charge.

There is always a time for everything. And He knows when!

“There is a time for everything,

and a season for every activity under the heavens:

a time to be born and a time to die,

a time to plant and a time to uproot,

a time to kill and a time to heal,

a time to tear down and a time to build,

a time to weep and a time to laugh,

a time to mourn and a time to dance,

a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,

a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,

a time to search and a time to give up,

a time to keep and a time to throw away,

a time to tear and a time to mend,

a time to be silent and a time to speak,

a time to love and a time to hate,

a time for war and a time for peace.”

Ecclesiastes 3:3-8

#sovereign #power #time #process

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jeniolarte · 7 years

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on being human

rarely do you read a story that starts with an ending, and why should those kinds of stories exist? there is nothing after an ending, because endings are so terribly final and nobody wants to start with something terrible. but i want to tell you how endings are a gateway to a new beginning—by starting this story with a death. the name of this story's protagonist is danielle alcorn. coincidentally, she is also the antagonist to her own story, as she was the one who brought upon her own demise. on the 25th of august, two days before her 18th birthday, danielle swallowed one too many blue pills from her mum's medicine cabinet for reasons that we won't delve into. she passed out on the bathroom floor at 2:15 am, and was discovered dead by her older brother, who was on his way to vomit out the alcohol that was in his system from the party the previous night, at 5:36 am. it was way past the point of saving her, so her brother just mourned for his little sister's unexpected death. now this isn't danielle's brother's story; this is still danielle's, so we won't focus too much on the people that she left behind. we'll move on to what happened to danielle's consciousness. as earthly beings, we debate over the existence of heaven and hell, and what it looks like. we describe heaven as a paradise, where no harm will ever befall upon us ever again and sadness never exists. we describe hell as a fiery pit of endless punishments, with torture chambers and satan waiting to inflict pain upon us for the rest of eternity. but i'll let you in on a little secret: heaven and hell exists in the same plane, and we will never know where we end up after we die, even if we're already there. danielle regained her consciousness in a place that exactly resembles Dysteria Park. the funny thing is, danielle knows she's dead. she knows how she died. she knows that this is the afterlife. but for some reason, she doesn't feel anything—no relief, no anxiety, no remorse, nothing. all she knows is that she's dead, and for some reason, she woke up in the small theme park that she always went to when she wanted to take her mind off of things, and it wasn't even abandoned—the rides were fully functioning, there were people milling around, there were small stalls where people could play mini games, and tiny snack courts where people were in a queue for popcorn and soda. danielle wasn't confused, though. as i've stated before, she couldn't feel anything. she wandered around the park, looking at the night sky filled with more stars than she's ever seen, and all the stuffed animals that the workers were giving away to kids, and all those things that we take for granted. she looked at them all, and then wondered why she was brought here, of all places. after walking around for an unfathomable amount of time, someone appeared in front of her. "hello, danielle," the person said. "hello," danielle said calmly. the person held his hand out for her, and she took it. it felt warm, but not necessarily alive. she knew this person was also dead, though she couldn't recognize who he is. "i'm nathan. we've met before, though i can understand if you don't recall who i am anymore," the person said. danielle cocked her head to the side, fascinated by nathan's apperance. "who are you?" nathan guided danielle into an empty park bench in front of a carousel, where they sat down and ate pink cotton candy. "in this place, people perceive you differently. if they knew you as a child when they died, then that's how they'll see you here. you are currently looking at my physique when i was 18, and i am currently looking at your physique from when you were 11, which means you saw me last when i was 18, and i saw you last when you were 11. "i know you're 17 now, but i still see you as an 11-year-old girl. we met in this park, by the way. you were with your parents, celebrating your brother's 16th birthday, when you wandered astray and got yourself lost. i worked here as a part-time job, and so when i saw you almost in tears because you couldn't find your parents, i saw it my responsibility to help you find them. what i didn't know at the time was that you were leading me to my untimely death." at that point, danielle's emotions were returning back to her, bit by bit, and so when she heard this, she immediately said, "i don't remember any of this! i didn't lead you anywhere, and i would never lead anyone to their deaths!" nathan just smiled, and his smile made danielle relax, but only just slightly. "you didn't intentionally lead me to my death, but you were a factor as to why i died that day. "while we were looking for your parents, we were both unaware that the street performer's fire juggling was about to go wrong. you were fascinated by them, and i saw, so to calm you down i took you to observe them. you were so happy, watching them juggle flames, catching them so effortlessly and with such finesse. i was fascinated, too, but your kind of fascination was different; it wasn't their tricks that astounded you, it was the colours that formed when they threw the fire balls in the air. you were so astounded, in fact, that when they accidentally threw it at an angle that made it aim for your face, you didn't panic—all you saw were the colours. i panicked, and in the short milliseconds that my sense of judgement was clouded, i pushed you away from the fire." danielle's memories unlocked, and suddenly, she could remember everything: she remembered the fire juggling, the performers making all the pretty colours and shapes with them, and how she was suddenly pushed away from it. she remembered the crowd of people helping her up to her feet and leading her away from the scene, and she remembered looking back and seeing someone on fire, flailing and screaming for help. she was so scared that she ran and ran and ran, until she bumped into her brother. and then, in a snap, everything was fine. they rode a few rides, ate some popcorn, went home, and everything returned to normal. she had no idea that the guy that accompanied her when she was lost had just died at her expense that night, and now, all she feels is guilt. "i'm sorry," danielle said softly, looking at everything but nathan's eyes. "i was so oblivious... i didn't even know... you were so kind and..." "shh, it's okay," nathan hushed her. "it sucks that i died so early, honestly. i was on my way to university, on my way to study medicine, but at the end of the day, i'm just glad that i saved you that night." "but why? why save a stranger? you didn't even know who i was," danielle murmured. "i'm so, terribly sorry, nathan. please forgive me." "i have forgiven you a long time ago," nathan said, standing up. "i didn't tell you how i died just to make you feel sorry and guilty, danielle. i told you my story because you needed to know why it was vital that you survived that accident." "why? for all i know, it should've been you who survived." nathan smiled again, a smile that let danielle know that his presence was no longer needed at that moment. "you'll figure it out. goodbye, danielle." nathan dissipated in front of her, and danielle was left confused. she stood up, brushed the crinkles off of her clothes and walked the park again, this time, thinking about what nathan said. why was her survival that night more important than nathan's life? for all she knew, she didn't make any life-altering decisions when she was alive. she didn't bring world peace. she didn't stop wars. she didn't discover the cure for cancer. she didn't discover the meaning of life. she was just... her. she was just quiet, average danielle. so... why was her life so important? this is why i told you that the afterlife is both heaven and hell—we are given riddles that we can't answer on our own. we are left with nothing but guilt and confusion towards our past mistakes, no matter how little or how significant they were to the world. danielle felt dizzy, though she didn't know how she could still be dizzy in the afterlife. not knowing what else to do, she rode a ferris wheel, just to take her mind off of things temporarily like she used to do when she was alive. the cart that she rode on was the last cart to go up, so no one was there with her.. until someone caught up to it before the workers closed off the bars. danielle looked at the person that entered, and she immediately recognized who that person was. "oh my god.. xavier!" she hugged him, and she clung on to him with all her might, as if she was afraid that he would slip away from her again. xavier held her back, softly stroking the back of her head. "hey, danny," he whispered. danielle had tears in her eyes, overwhelmed by xavier's presence after years of mourning for him. "i missed you, you idiot. i missed you so, so, so much." xavier grinned then kissed his former girlfriend's forehead. "i missed you, too, danny," he said, looking into her misty eyes. "i waited for you, you know? i yearned to see you, but i didn't expect you to get here so early." danielle wiped her tears away. "i'm sorry. i just.. i couldn't take it. i was depressed and everything was going horribly and.. and you weren't there and nobody was there and my brother's an alcoholic and my mom's addicted to crack and it was just.." xavier pulled danielle into a hug again, tighter this time, and cradled her head on his arms. "i know, danny. i know. i'm sorry i couldn't be there." danielle cried some more, all while xavier was holding her. the ferris wheel spun softly and quietly, calming both of them with the chilly night air circulating around their cart. they just sat there, holding on to each other, trying to make up for lost time. i guess that's what we cherish the most: the time that we once took for granted that was given back to us at a time we least expect. this is because we don't know what we take for granted and what we don't; we'll only know when it's too late. danielle calmed down soon enough, and xavier took that as his opportunity to speak. "i never got to say this when i was alive, but thank you, danny. i know my gratitude is long overdue, but i still want you to know that i am grateful. for everything." "why are you thanking me, xavier?" danielle asked, surprised. "what.. what did i ever do that deserved your gratitude?" "everything, danny," xavier said. "you know how i am; i have a problem with being forgotten, with being insignificant. you know how badly i wanted to save everyone, even if i can't, and you taught me that it's okay to save just one person, even if that person is myself, and i'm grateful that you made me realize that." "when did i make you realize that?" danielle asked credulously. "i don't remember telling you all that." xavier looked out their cart window, and so did danny, and they both gazed upon the tiny fairy lights scattered across the park, blinking softly. the wheel seemed to go on forever, but neither of them minded; they were just happy that they finally found each other again. "do you remember that time, when we first fought, when i told you that i was sick and tired of living averagely, and you screamed in my face how the universe will never care whether i died a war hero or a poor beggar or anything in between that?" xavier asked. "yeah," danielle said. "i was so mad at you back then, because you made it sound like being with me was just this.. average, boring thing that you got sick of. and i know that wasn't what you meant, but i couldn't help but feel that way." "i know, and i thank you," xavier said, reaching out to grab danielle's hand. "that night, i was seriously considering just.. ending everything. i had this whole plan mapped out about how i was going to completely annihilate myself and then you screamed in my face and it made me stop and think and.. and then i realized that i needed to save myself before i saved anyone else because, at the end of the day, the universe will never notice what i am when i die. so it's up to me, the person i had to save, to notice the universe instead. and i realized, too, that, it doesn't really matter how big or how wide the mark i leave behind is; what's more important is who i leave it on, and i chose to leave it on the few people i cared about." danielle leaned her head on xavier's shoulder. "i'm just glad you didn't leave me that night," she said. "and i'm glad that, of all people, you chose me to leave your mark on. and i'm sorry if it wasn't as big as you would have wanted it to be, but i can assure you that it was deep and i am honoured that i was good enough for you." "you were always good enough for me, danny," xavier said. "you were better than just 'good enough'; you were everything i aimed to be." "xavier, look at me and tell me i am everything you aim to be," danielle challenged. "i'm ordinary. i didn't want to be, but i was too much of a coward to change anything." "shh," xavier cupped danielle's face in his hands and looked her dead in the eye. "you are not and never were ordinary. you are smart and kind and extraordinary in every way. if it wasn't for you, then i would have been done for; i would have never found the will to live... so thank you." "you're welcome, i guess," danielle said, smiling but still unsure. "but even though you lived that night, you still left earlier than you should have." "i'm sorry," xavier said. "it wasn't your fault, though," danielle said. "you didn't choose to be sick. i was just.. i needed someone to always be there for me. i guess i'm just being selfish." "needing someone to be there isn't called selfishness," xavier said. "it's called being human. we always need someone—whether we ask for them or not—and it's not a bad thing. we need to stand on our own two feet, yes, but there's also nothing wrong with being dependent on someone from time to time." and in that moment, danielle understood what nathan meant: every life in this universe has a purpose, and regardless of whether our purpose is to save the world or to just survive so we can help others, we have a purpose—sometimes, it just takes the end to realize it.

#oneshot #short story #personal

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