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mercy-burning · 3 years

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Losing You Twice / 1: If I Hated You

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: It’s Valentine’s Day weekend, and it turns out Y/N isn’t the only one struggling with the breakup. Category: Smut (18+), Angst Content Warnings: Language, drinking/getting drunk, penetrative/unprotected sex (If I missed anything, please let me know!) Word Count: 5,538

SERIES MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

“My bedtime is the darkest, that’s when I’m brokenhearted. The nighttime is the hardest. It’d be easy, if I hated you.” —FLETCHER, If I Hated You

FEBRUARY 13th

It was Valentine's Day weekend, which sucked this time around. Every year for the past three years Y/N looked forward to Valentine's Day, but that was when she actually had someone to spend it with.

Well, someone she actually cared about, anyway... Whether or not Spencer actually knew it, she did really care about him. She was just stupid and didn't say it when he needed to hear it the most.

And now Valentine's Day was on Saturday and Y/N was still without him. Not alone, but still without the man who'd spent the significant holiday with her for the past three years. Memories of their dates and 'afterparties' flooded through her mind as she got ready for work like a montage, a cheesy love-song playlist she'd found on Spotify acting as the soundtrack.

Eventually she sighed and turned it off, opting for something more loud and obnoxious, and therefore not tainted by Spencer's memory. She applied what was left of her makeup and added a pair of earrings before turning the music off altogether and shoving her phone in her bag alongside her keys and other necessities.

Even though she wasn't emotionally prepared for all the cheesy Valentine's things she'd see and hear and experience throughout the weekend, it was still kind of nice to see that things in the bank never changed during the holidays— Everything in her life was so severely different at the moment, that if Marjorie had somehow decided to throw out all her elaborate decorations for each holiday, no matter how small, Y/N would have thought the world was truly ending.

Speaking of, she was met with Marjorie's brighter-than-the-sun smile almost immediately once she set her things in the breakroom.

"How's my little macaron this morning?" she chirped, Y/N chuckling slightly at the nickname— She brought macarons from the bakery down the street on her first birthday she spent at the bank, and ever since then, the older woman had adorned her with the namesake.

"She's alright, Marj... Better now that she's seen you..."

"That boy still on your mind, hon?"

Obviously Marjorie's intentions were good, but Y/N couldn't stand to think about the situation at all, least of all at work... So, setting her jacket on the rack, turned away so that her coworker wouldn't see the visible discomfort on her face, Y/N squeezed her eyes shut and cleared her throat. "So, what are your plans with Geno tomorrow night? Anything special?"

There was a brief pause before Marjorie cleared her throat as well. "Nothing short of our usual dinner plans, my dear. He's been so caught up with work at the Mill lately, I think we're just going to spend the night relaxing."

"Hm," Y/N said shortly, finally turning around and giving her the best smile she could. "Maybe I should take a page from your book and stay in..."

"You weren't going to?"

"No... Britt's been nagging me about getting out there so we're going out tomorrow night. We both haven't been single in a long time, so... Should be fun."

Marjorie didn't look convinced. Either way, she nodded with a smile and walked over to Y/N with something glittery and bright red in her hand— A cheap beaded necklace to clip her nametag onto. She draped it over Y/N's neck and patted her shoulders. "Well, I want you to have fun. And remember that you still have to come to work on Monday. Whatever shenanigans you get into should be reserved for Saturday night only so you can rest properly on Sunday, got it?"

Y/N laughed, thankful for the playful tone in Marjorie's voice. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Oh, I joke, I joke," the older woman said with a bright laugh, turning to walk out of the break room. "A little..."

The smile on Y/N's face only really lasted until after Marjorie was out of sight, then she went into her bag and clipped her nametag onto the red beaded necklace with a sigh.

Was she excited to have a good night out with Britt? Of course. Hell, had it been literally any other day of the year, she would have been practically bouncing off the walls with excitement at the idea of going out to a bar, letting men hit on her until she finally let one of them take her back to his place for the night.

But it just felt like it was too soon.

Either way, she was glad that she'd get to see Britt again, after she'd been on vacation for Christmas and New Year's to see her family and only got back a few weeks ago. She'd seen her on Facetime of course, and they met up once for coffee right after Britt got back from her trip, but a well-needed night out and quality time getting ready together was something that had been missing from their friendship for almost a year.

Y/N knew Britt would most likely spend her time trying to hook them up with end-of-the-night dates, but maybe it wouldn't be so bad...

Even still, sleeping alone the night before was probably one of the worst spells of loneliness she'd ever had. It was normal to be sad spending the first Valentine's Day in years away from a significant other, but knowing how things ended between them—bitter and stained with words left unsaid—this time was just... cold.

And that was putting it lightly.

Y/N laid in bed that night, her eyes wide open and staring at the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars that adorned the ceiling. They used to give her comfort, but now they just reminded her of all the nights she'd spend with Spencer, listening to him tell stories about the constellations. They were some of the most peaceful memories she had.

And now those, too—those stars that had grounded her pretty much all her life and reminded her of the better days—were tainted by her inability to properly communicate.

She almost thought about taking them down.

But if she was really going to get over him this time, for good, then she'd have to learn to make new memories with the stars. Even if it was painful. Even if replacing those memories and writing new ones over them absolutely tore her soul to pieces.

And, as if that pain wasn't enough, that night Y/N dreamt of him, making love to her amongst the stars in every galaxy, only to wake up the next morning cold and alone.

FEBRUARY 14th

She promptly decided that she hated his guts.

It was Valentine's Day, Y/N was respectfully buzzed, and courtesy of two beers and four shots of tequila, she'd just deleted Spencer's number from her phone.

"I'm done," she said, waving a hand at Britt and shoving her phone in her purse. "He doesn't deserve my wallowing."

"Yeah!"

Britt was significantly the more drunk of the two, resulting in a fit of giggles after gaining some stares from the people around them at her sudden outburst.

Y/N smiled, finishing off another shot and shaking her head. "We need more!"

"More shots!" Britt hurried off to grab them, leaving her friend behind with a half-drunken smile that also only felt half-genuine.

Sure, she decided she hated Spencer's guts, but her heart didn't exactly agree well with that sentiment. Even after deleting his number from her phone, after downing all that alcohol, her heart still ached.

Y/N knew deep down that getting over him was going to take some time. A lot of time... But maybe one night of distraction would help.

So the shots kept coming, and by the end of the night, Y/N was just about at her limit.

Which was near black-out drunk. And when you're that drunk you tend to make decisions you wouldn't soberly condone.

Britt got into a cab, and she begged Y/N to come with her, but she assured her friend that she had someone to come pick her up. Eventually the cab driver got tired of their inability to decide, and when Y/N told him to go, he did, leaving her alone on the side of the street at 1am.

Unfortunately, it was incredibly cold, and she didn't really have anyone to come pick her up. And that's where the bad decisions started.

Y/N pulled her phone out, a long sigh escaping her as she dialed the number by heart.

Would he even pick up? He hadn't answered any of her calls or texts before, so why would it have been any different now? Not to mention it was Valentine's Day Weekend. With her luck, he was probably in bed with someone else. Someone who wasn't her. As she listened to the dial tone repeating in her ear, images of him wrapped up with somebody else—sleeping in the bed she'd slept in many times before—clouded her drunken brain and made her more angry than anything.

Her gut twisted, and she almost hung up.

But then the low buzz of the dial tone abruptly stopped and in its place came his voice.

"Y/N?"

Her name on his lips, even through the phone, was grounding, the anger in her system melting away and revealing a coat of drunken relief.

"Spencer! You answered!"

"Yeah... Are you— Is everything okay?"

"Pff, yeah, 'm-fine. Just really fucking cold."

"You're not outside, are you?"

"Duh, I'm outside... I wouldn't be cold in-side... Besides, I didn't call t'alk bout the weather, I need you t'come pick me up."

There was a brief pause, and for a moment Y/N didn't think he was going to say anything she wanted to hear. She swayed on the sidewalk, shivering and praying that he would throw her a bone, even if she'd regret it all in the morning.

"Where are you?" he said finally, and despite herself, she smiled.

FEBRUARY 15th

Spencer couldn't believe he was picking her up at near two in the morning.

Honestly, he'd initially thought about ignoring her call again, but remembering the day it was and taking note of the time, he figured she was most likely in some type of inebriated trouble.

His instincts were right, of course, but he wished that he could have been wrong. He wished she'd only been calling to drunkenly ramble on about how she missed him or maybe how he was stupid and she never wanted to see his face ever again, because that was normal. At least then he could have hung up after she was done and never thought about it again— it was a normal step in any relationship that helped move things along. They could have gotten on with their lives and it would have all been over.

But of course it was never that simple.

Y/N was never that simple.

He pictured her on the street near some bar, alone and cold and drunk, and of course he would have been the only one she could call to rescue her. After all, he'd been pretty much the only thing she'd ever known to make her feel safe.

Still, he wished he was capable of only giving her a ride home and then leaving.

But again, it was never that simple.

It was easy getting her into the car— that wasn't what he was worried about. Rather, it was the fated moment where she'd ask him to stay after he finally got her tucked safely into bed that worried him. Because it was bad enough that it was Y/N... It was her in all her alluring glory, and he'd never been able to deny her anything no matter how badly he tried or wanted to.

Now add on the fact that she was drunk, and most likely sad on their first Valentine's Day apart, and it was a recipe for disaster.

Even if she'd broken his heart, Spencer still cared about her.

Which is why he inevitably agreed to stay, at least until she fell asleep.

He knew her well enough to know all the ways she'd try to get him under the covers with her, so it was a familiar amusement that settled in his being when he was finally able to get on top of the covers with her underneath. But as he entertained her silly little questions with the right answers until she fell asleep, Spencer noticed something else accompanying that amusement.

Guilt.

And then anger for feeling guilty about her sadness— sadness that could have been avoided had she just gotten over whatever was holding her back and either returned his "I love you" or told him she wasn't feeling the same way just yet.

All she had to do was talk.

He had a right to feel upset about Y/N holding back when he'd been nothing but patient, spending almost every year of their relationship trying to make her see that she had nothing to be afraid of. He'd given her every chance to talk about what she was feeling, whether it was happy or not, and every time she pushed it all away in favor of sex.

That wasn't what he wanted in a relationship, so he ended it. And there was absolutely nothing wrong with that.

So why was he feeling so fucking guilty?

He blamed his good nature and innate need to please people, to make them feel good and happy. But he also blamed Y/N and her adorable drunken sleeping face.

He watched as she slept, willing himself not to forget the way she hurt him. She'd completely stolen his heart and shattered it at the same time, and if he was being honest, she still held some of the pieces. But he couldn't get them back, not if he didn't want to risk shattering her own heart in the process.

It felt like they were tied together by some strong, invisible force that wouldn't break unless both of them broke right along with it.

So... maybe he could afford to leave those pieces of his heart with her. He'd have to if they were going to get out of this alive. Not unscathed, sure, but alive nonetheless.

Once he was sure she was deep in sleep, Spencer quietly and carefully got off the bed and navigated through her apartment, getting her a glass of water and leaving it on the table next to her bed. And because he couldn't help it, he cleaned up some of the clothes that were scattered around her floor, depositing them into the hamper and straightening out a few more things that were out of place.

He looked over at her sleeping figure one more time, sighed, and then left, keeping her bedroom door open just a crack.

***

Spencer knew he shouldn't have stayed longer.

Despite his better judgement, he'd plopped himself down on her couch after making sure she was sound asleep, hoping to catch his breath and sort through what he was feeling before he got behind the wheel. But of course, it was 2am and he was exhausted, and he couldn't stop himself from closing his eyes and drifting off.

And now he was sitting up, looking around the apartment through the lens of morning.

Though the curtains were sheer, they didn't provide much light, but enough of it showed him just how familiar the space was. Y/N hadn't moved anything around. The same art was on the same walls, the potted ivy plant on her mantle sat un-watered and withering, and every book and record and DVD on her shelves was in the exact same spot as they'd all been the last time he was there in December.

Meanwhile, after the breakup he'd re-arranged everything. He was so sure that they were through for good this time around that he wanted a clean slate. Not that he wanted to rid himself of her memory completely, but if he was going to move on from the hold she'd had on him, he had to do something...

And yet, he ended up at her apartment the morning after Valentine's Day all the same.

He heard the shower running faintly a couple rooms away. You didn't have to pass the couch to get there, so maybe she hadn't seen him sleeping and he could get away cleanly.

Spencer scrambled off the couch, thankful that he hadn't removed his jacket or his shoes and that he could just sprint towards the door without having to find any of his belongings.

But as luck would have it, the second he took a step, the shower turned off. He had to get out of there quickly, but if he did then she'd definitely know he'd stayed overnight. But if he went quietly, he wouldn't have enough time before she caught him.

Maybe I could hide...

He shook the thought with a roll of his eyes, settling on the clearest course of action, which was to make as quick of a getaway as he could. He'd try to be quiet as well, though the creaky door was going to be nearly impossible to get through without a sound.

His hand was on the doorknob when he heard her voice.

"You didn't think you could spend the night and then leave without saying goodbye, did 'ja?"

The pure amusement in her tone made his stomach churn, and it wasn't unpleasant in the slightest.

Spencer turned and smiled softly, avoiding looking at her completely. "Sorry. Didn't want to bother you."

"You're never a bother."

That sentiment held less amusement and more sincerity, which was what guided his eyes to meet the woman who said the words.

His stomach twisted again when he saw her, exactly like he knew she'd be— wrapped in nothing but a thin towel with near-dripping hair cascading down her back. Her legs were bare and exposed, the towel not only thin but short, which meant that her chest was also practically spilling out of it. Despite the obvious and inevitable hungover look in her eye, there was also a good splash of that mischief that'd always been there— the kind that spelled out trouble.

He needed to get out of there.

"Well, um... I'm glad I got you home safe," he said, clearing his throat. "I should... I should go."

"You sure you don't wanna stay for breakfast?"

Spencer could have sworn she was teasing him, dangling her body in front of him like a meal they both knew he wouldn't be able to resist. But then she added, "I've got everything I need for your favorite omelet," and he exhaled with a small smile, exhausted with his own mind for convincing him that she was out to pull him back in.

Still, he declined. "No, I... I shouldn't. But, uh, thank you..."

"You sure?"

This time when he looked up at her, she was closer. She was gently striding forward to meet him, and he half thought about backing up towards the door until he realized he was already there.

"I—I'm sure. Really."

"But you drove around all night just to take me home when I was drunk, the least I can do is feed you..."

"Eh, it's alright. It's... Nothing I haven't done before."

She stopped then, her eyes briefly dropping to the floor. It was like her whole demeanor changed—just for a second—from the prowess she'd always been, to what seemed to be a woman filled with sadness and regret. It didn't last long though, just enough for Spencer to notice it before she looked back up at him with that wicked gleam in her eye and a remark right at the tip of her tongue.

"Still. I feel bad, making you do all that for me... Especially now."

He wasn't sure what to make of this... It seemed like she was sincere, but she was also alluring, calling to him like a siren leading him to his ultimate demise. And while he'd come to know that as merely a part of her nature, he couldn't help but shake the feeling that she was doing it on purpose.

She was in a skimpy towel, after all, and she definitely knew how to use that to her advantage.

It didn't help that he didn't have the courage to leave. Everything inside of him right then longed to drop that towel and indulge himself once more. Putting aside all the heartache and the differences they shared, all he felt in that moment was the need to touch her— to get lost in her and never be found again.

She was his fatal flaw, and it was painfully obvious.

Spencer knew he shouldn't have stayed longer...

He was over to her in just three strides, throwing off his jacket and tossing it aside before cradling her face with his hands and bringing their lips together for the first time since Christmas Eve.

The small whine in her throat signaled that she hadn't expected it, but welcomed it all the same. The moment she lifted her arms to wrap around his neck, the towel fell to the floor, and there was no going back.

"What about breakfast?" Y/N breathed out once they pulled away for air.

Spencer contemplated, studying her face, seeing the way her eyes sparkled, and decided on the two words that sealed his fate.

"Screw breakfast."

Their lips were melded together almost as soon as the words left his mouth. And it wasn't long before every other part of their bodies were melded together as well.

Y/N helped him take the rest of his clothes off as they danced around the entryway and the living room. Everything was open, no walls separating the living room from the kitchen, so to compensate for the lack of breakfast they'd be eating, they migrated to the kitchen counter once Spencer had off everything but his boxers.

He trapped her against the cool marble of the countertop, her back hitting it solid and sending a shiver up her spine. Meanwhile his hands roamed her body, unsure of where to be other than on her at all times, whether it be her waist, her stomach, her arms, her breasts, or her ass. He wanted to feel all of her, and quite frankly she wanted the same.

She even told him so, in her own way, by bringing one of her legs up and wrapping it around his waist, pulling him closer to her as she wove her fingers through his hair and tasted his tongue with her own.

The action elicited a groan from his mouth, low and desperate. Spencer settled his hands on her waist and gripped it tight, silently telling her what to do.

So she jumped up and he helped guide her swiftly onto the counter. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist again, and he found himself grinding into her hips, urgent to feel every part of her. And thankfully she was feeling rather desperate herself, because she rolled her hips up into him in return, breaking their mouths apart just briefly to speak.

"Fuck me..."

There was so much he wanted to say to her in that moment— how badly he was feeling about keeping her entertained while he was slowly deteriorating inside from her emotional detachment and rejection, how much she frustrated him, and more prominently, how she was so goddamn impatient and that he was getting there...

But all that he could manage was a broken, desperate whisper of her name.

It was all he'd ever known.

All that frustration... All that anger, heartache, passion, and time apart combined beautifully into those few syllables that made up her name and tore him apart from the inside out.

And his hands were just as destructive.

Spencer deftly dropped his boxers to the ground and pushed forward, almost losing all sense of self the moment the head of his dick finally made contact with her cunt. He made his way inside of her and then used both of his hands to grip her waist and bring her closer, their mouths connecting harshly as they found one another once again.

His grip was bruising— not possessive in any way, but desperate, like he had to cling to her for dear life or he wouldn't live to see another day. He held himself inside her, sighing and whimpering into her mouth as she clenched around him. It was so familiar, so comfortable and exhilarating that he almost didn't even want to move. He thought about staying there, still inside her forever.

But as always, Y/N was insatiable.

She wrapped all her limbs around him and held on, rolling her hips and seeking friction in any way possible when she briefly tore her lips away from his.

"I need you, baby, please..."

Even as his heart started to rumble in his chest, well aware of the fact that she still probably didn't love him the way he loved her, Spencer gave her everything. He pulled out and snapped his hips forward again, setting a strong, steady pace that had Y/N's eyes rolling back, and the payoff of hearing her sigh out his name was more than enough to keep him going.

Her nails dug deliciously into his shoulders, the faint sting adding something reminiscent of gasoline to a fire. The flames grew taller and brighter the more he fucked her, and with each gradual increase of volume and intensity, it was a wonder the whole kitchen around them hadn't literally burst into flames.

That's how they always were.

Together like this, so lost in the high of each others' bodies, it was easy to forget the things that made their relationship so hard. It was easy to let all the negativity slip away into the throes of pent-up, well-needed sex. The high they gave each other was merely that— A high...

A distraction.

And while that's exactly what Y/N needed, what she preferred in most cases, it's what Spencer recognized as completely unhealthy, despite his coming back to it every time.

It's also why he dreaded the moment ending. Because once they came down from the high, all that's left would be sadness, regret... Guilt... Their fire burned hot, brightly and wildly, but in the aftermath would lay only a thick layer of deadly smoke between them— hard to navigate, and nearly impossible to breathe in without suffocating.

So they simply burned and burned and burned...

Spencer gripped her so tight he was sure to leave her with bruising. And in turn Y/N dragged her nails down his back and dug them into his ass, her palm laying firmly over the muscles that aided in fucking her into the marbled surface. She whined out curses and moans, and he cried out broken whispers of her name, pet names, and curses alike.

Even once she'd come, he kept going, willing himself to hold on as long as he could. She whined into his ear at the overstimulation. And rather than keeping her legs wrapped around his body, she decided to spread them wide, perching her heels up on the counter as far as she could go and anchoring her fingers through his hair.

And though she might not have had enough orgasms in her to keep up with him, she welcomed it all the same—She welcomed the burn just as much as he did.

Even still, no fire can burn forever.

All concept of time was lost by the time Spencer finally collapsed forward, completely spent and barely standing on weak legs after coming twice. Y/N held onto him tightly to keep him upwards, lightly massaging his scalp with gentle fingers and closing her eyes as she focused on his breathing— the way it fanned over the skin of her bare shoulder and how it sounded, perfectly in time with hers...

It was the most peaceful she'd been in a long time.

She felt him pull out of her, the both of them groaning at the feeling, and a little at the mess it would make.

Spencer gently peeled his body off of hers, sniffing once and avoiding her eyes. "Sorry... You just got out of the shower..."

"It's fine," Y/N breathed. She begged him silently to look her in the eye, but he remained still... Most likely thinking. She could practically see the cogs turning in his brain.

So, in an effort to lighten the mood a bit, she added with a breathy laugh, "Besides... It's nothing I haven't done before."

The callback to his words—and memories of all the times they'd found themselves in this position before—got Spencer to laugh a little, but he still wouldn't meet her eyes.

Finally, he cleared his throat. "I'll... I'll grab the wipes?"

"Oh. Sure," Y/N returned with a thankful smile. It was hopeful, too, though the moment he was out of eyesight, it turned rather sad.

She'd known that behavior before, seen that hesitation in his movements and that sound in his voice.

It was guilt.

Regret.

Probably a bit of self-hatred, too.

When he returned, a pile of her clothes in hand and the bag of wipes on top, she took them from him with a kind smile and cleaned herself up while he put his clothes back on.

The silence was more uncomfortable than anything either of them had ever experienced.

So much so, that Y/N couldn't even muster up the courage to ask him to stay for breakfast— and she always did after one of their post-break hookups.

Maybe this time really was different.

Spencer was just at the door again when she stopped him.

"Thank you," she said. Her voice was so small, he almost didn't hear it. "For bringing me home..."

But he paused, turned, and finally looked her in the eye.

He almost sunk to his knees right there...

Seeing her, arms crossed like she was trying to keep warm, as her head hung low and she looked up at him through sad, hooded eyelids...

It reminded him of the woman he fell in love with.

But in his peripheral, he saw the towel on the floor and was reminded of the woman who'd shattered his heart.

Spencer cleared his throat. Once upon a time he might have returned her thanks with, Anytime, but... Honestly he wasn't sure there could ever be another time. For his sanity, he'd have to avoid 'anytime' at all costs.

So, he settled on, "You're welcome."

He was glad to see her return his kind smile with one of her own, even if it was tainted with sadness, and a small wave goodbye.

Maybe this time it would stick.

Even still, as he closed the door behind him and made his way to the parking lot, for some reason it didn't quite feel like goodbye.

And some of that deadly smoke that settled in his lungs as he drove further and further away from her apartment was inclined to agree.

***

Neither of them could sleep that night.

While Spencer stared out the window of the jet, a little annoyed to be called out on a case so late but at least thankful for the distraction, Y/N laid in bed, staring at the stars on her ceiling.

The same constellation caught their eye.

Columba.

The Dove.

She hadn't even meant to arrange the stars like that, but one night after a date, they were laying in her bed and Spencer pointed out that the cluster of plastic stars right in the corner of the ceiling looked like Columba.

Y/N fondly remembered Spencer telling her about how it was originally named to represent Noah's dove, which searched for dry land during the great biblical flood and returned carrying an olive branch to make news of its recession— of peace at last.

The memory made her smile. It tugged at her heart and made her dreams of him even more vivid.

All the same, Spencer noticed the constellation outside the jet window and remembered that same night. The smile on her face as he told her the story, the feel of her fingers gliding softly over the bare skin of his forearm...

It was the first night since he'd met her that he thought it.

I love her...

He almost told her then, too, but he was afraid it was too soon. So he refrained.

Looking back, Spencer was starting to regret that— Maybe without that extra time together, breaking up would have been easier. But instead, he gave her more time. He gave himself more time to fall deeper in love with her, and in the end it still wasn't enough.

Now they were both looking at the same constellation, one made of plastic and the other of gas, wondering if their flood would ever recede.

And in the event that it did... Who would be the dove, and what would be their olive branch?

“You know I dream about getting back together in the future, I could focus on you. But if I leave right now, I hope that you don’t find someone that touches you the way that I do...”

***

SERIES TAGLIST: @reidyoulikeabook @yourmisosoup @fortheloveofcriminalminds @bellzo17 @altsvu @flipperpenguins @mcumorningstar

TAGS NOT WORKING: @reid-to-me @totallyclearwitch

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds angst #losing you twice

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generallybarzy · 4 years

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did you miss me? 🖤 mat barzal

Part 2 ~6,700 words

Finished this at midnight and spent the last 50 minutes just trying to get it to upload properly! I’m sorry if there are spelling errors in it but its 1am and I’m just so excited to post it. I’m so so so sorry for how long this got oh my god. I kind of should have split it into 3 parts but I just wanted to get it all out. I think I’m happy with it, which doesn’t happen with a lot of long stuff I used to write. @matbaezal I tagged you in the first part so here you go again bb :) Hope you all like it!

Summary: After coming back into Mat’s arms after six months apart, it’s time for a cute, lovey-dovey reunion. You reveal some uncertainties you have about the relationship, and it sparks a heartfelt talk about feelings and the future of your relationship. Mat has been itching to tell you something for months now. Warning: there’s some smut at the end ;)

“I’m so happy you’re finally back.”

“I’m so happy to be back.” Mat couldn’t keep the smile off his face, and when you looked up at him the same unrestrained happiness he had, it only made him smile harder. This is her. This is the girl I love.

The way back from the airport had been a blur, with emotions still high and clouding your minds. You’re back you’re back you’re back. You couldn’t stay off of each other, your thumb was tracing circles into his hand over the console of the car, and you didn’t let go until it was time to get out. Mat had never felt happier than he did at this moment. He was sure that if they had been in the car for one more minute, he wouldn’t have been able to focus on the road anymore, not with this little beauty sitting next to him. Finally, finally, you were home with him. He couldn’t help but let his eyes drift down to you as you walked hand in hand down the hall towards his apartment. There was something different about you ever since you got back from your trip. The way you held yourself- whereas the girl he knew before had stressed over what she was going to do in her life, it looked like you finally found your purpose. There was a look in your eyes that was like you understood- you had seen poverty, injustice, suffering, and it left you feeling 100% more grateful for everything you had. You’d come back to him with little bits and pieces of your experience sticking onto you. He wasn’t upset about it, he didn’t want to change it at all- it just made you seem even more beautiful to him.

He could see how giddy you were, walking faster and pulling him along as his door came into view, and he squeezed your hand with a laugh. “Here we are, babe. Welcome back.”

“God, I’ve missed this place so much.” It felt so empty without you here. Mat wanted to say something as he watched you gaze around his apartment, but he held his tongue. This wasn’t your home yet, you had your own apartment that you probably missed more. “I’m sorry for putting such a long pause on our relationship, Mat.” With your bag of essentials- all that you would need for one night at his place- slung over his shoulder, Mat closed the door and put his hands on your hips.

“Don’t apologize for this. You enjoyed it, and I’m happy for you. I’d wait however long you need. Okay?” I love you, he wanted to say it. He really wanted to say it. “I really like you, don’t forget that.”

“Okay.” He smiled down at you until you finally smiled back. “I really like you too.”

“Good.” He punctuated it with a kiss to your nose, knowing you loved it when he did that. “Do you want something to eat? I’m sure the airplane food wasn’t that great.” He watched, amused, as you thought it over for a moment, shrugging and making those cute facial expressions that he had missed so dearly.

“Nah. I’ll eat tomorrow.” You leaned into him again and wrapped your arms around his waist, grabbing at the back of his hoodie and tugging him closer to you. “I just want to get showered and cuddle you.” He hummed with a small smile and bent down so that his forehead rested against yours, not breaking eye contact- the intensity of his gaze burned through you. Slightly breathless and maybe a little bit shy at this simple, innocent move, you added: “Come with me?” Mat smiled and pressed a kiss to your jaw, voice dropping in volume to whisper against your skin.

“Don’t have to ask me twice.”

In seconds, he was pulling you by the hand across the span of his apartment and towards his bathroom, slipping out of his shoes on the way and leaving them in the middle of the room. “Woah, slow down there cowboy.” You laughed at his antics as he set your bag down on the counter and quickly began to strip out of his hoodie. Wow, it really had been six months since you last saw him like this, hadn’t it? Well, save for those times when Mat was particularly missing you and wanted to get a little bit seductive over FaceTime or other video messaging you’d tried out. But with your crappy WiFi connection that kept cutting out, it really wasn’t easy to find it sexy.

“You look a little shocked. Miss seeing this?” You flushed in the warm heat of the bathroom and met his sparkling gaze and cocky grin. There was already steam rising behind the glass shower door.

“Sorry, I was just…” You waved it off and wrapped your arms around him, sliding your hands up and down his bare shoulders. “This is all still new. It’s been a while, huh?” He pulled you up to his lips and kissed you, much more passionately than he could have at the airport. He pulled back after a moment with a pleased hum and you giggled at him. “We’re wasting water...”

“Yeah. Well, if we’re taking a shower, you might need to be wearing a lot less clothes.” He smiled against your lips and pulled your hoodie over your head. You shimmied out of your pants, peeled off your socks and looked up at him as he did the same, feeling a little bit shy under his gaze after six months apart. It shouldn’t be nerve-racking, you’ve been naked in front of him before. Just, never like this.

“You first.” You motioned to his boxers.

He smirked, putting on a teasing face as he stripped down without any hesitance. A flush rose up to your cheeks just at seeing him naked again after all this time. There were some things that just didn't translate through the phone screen. He… really was something- you’d never get used to how good he looks. “Your turn.” Your breath caught in your throat as he closed the space between your bodies, fingers tracing the edge of the bralette you had on. He watched you with soft eyes, waiting for your permission. You could only nod as he unhooked it and let it fall to the floor. After laying two kisses on your chest and mumbling compliments that you didn’t catch, he knelt down and hooked his fingers in your underwear, and you kind of regretted choosing comfort over sexiness today. But the regret immediately simmered away when he looked up with intense, adoring eyes and his cheeky smile as he dragged the fabric down your legs, leaving kisses the whole way down your thighs.

"Mat, we really should get in." Your voice was barely above a whisper.

“Yeah.” Still, he didn’t make a move to get in the shower. He stood and pulled you flush against him, sighing into the feeling of your bodies, finally skin to skin after six months. God, your skin was so smooth. You were so warm, so soft. His hair tickled your skin as he dipped his face down to kiss at your neck, breathing in the familiar scent of your sweet perfume.

“Mat, really. Shower.” In one quick move, he scooped you up into his arms, laughing at the startled little noise you made. Being this close to him, you could feel the laugh rumble through his chest as he stepped into the shower.

Before you could properly get under the water, Mat had you up against the wall, hands gripping your thighs, kissing you feverishly. Your hands slid up from where they were resting on his chest to curl around his wet shoulders and up the back of his neck. Your fingers tangled in his hair, gripping softly and tugging his face away from yours. “Mat, Jesus.” You dropped your forehead onto his shoulder and laughed. “I wanna do this, just… we should actually shower first.”

“Yeah, sorry. I just can’t help it. You’re so… fucking amazing.” He left a little kiss on your head, laughing with you. And just like that, Mat was back to being soft and sweet. He let you down onto your own feet and pulled you under the water with him. God, he looked better than every other man you’ve ever seen. You felt things with Mat that you never thought you’d ever feel in your life. Things you didn’t even know how to put into words.

Mat, on the other hand, loved you. He knew he loved you. He loved you, he loved you, he loved you, and fuck, he didn’t know how to tell you.

He looked down at you, watching the water and sweet-smelling foamy body wash slide across your soft skin. God, just as he thought that you couldn’t get any better, that he couldn’t fall even more in love with you, you go and look like this. You looked up at him with those pretty eyes and slid your hands up his torso and chest, leaving behind foamy trails of soap. Mat had to hold back a smile as you leaned up for a sweet kiss, but then you booped his nose, leaving behind a dollop of foam, and that’s what did it for him. Right there in the shower, in what was supposed to be an intimate moment, he was bending over in loud, ugly laughter just because you were just too cute.

You were really gonna be the death of him.

He was really gonna be the death of you.

How can one man go around looking that hot and literally being naked in front of you while being so sweet and soft and then laughing like that? You could never not laugh when he’s laughing. His laugh is infectious, that was just one of the many things you loved about him. Like the way he always made you feel like the most beautiful person in the room, in the world. The way he was just so dedicated to you, willing to go long distance for a whole six months even though he knew it would be hard on both of you. The way he was still here after all of that. The way he was the perfect mix of sexy and cute at this moment.

The rest of the shower passed fairly quickly, cute and sweet, with both of you washing each other’s hair and giggling and kissing each other under the water. You smiled and whispered to Mat how hot he looked with his hair all wet and slicked back and he returned the compliment, booping your nose and causing the two of you to fall into yet another fit of giggles. You felt like it was a good reunion after all the time you’d lost- this was closer than you’d been to Mat in all the time you’d been dating. You couldn’t help but let your mind wander as you sat up on the bathroom sink wearing Mat’s hoodie and waiting for Mat to finish brushing his teeth.

Before your trip, your relationship with Mathew was still young, only 4 months in. Sure, plenty of people would have been having sex frequently by that point, but you had been taking it really slow and steady, at first because of your nerves, and then because you could never find the right time. When you first started dating in August, there were still two months left before the season started up, but time flew by too fast and you couldn’t get over your stupid first-time nerves. And then, in the following two months of your relationship after the season started, Mat had been getting busier and busier, so by the time you’d left in December, the most you’d done with Mat was a lot of naked making out and a bit of softcore touching each other. Then you were gone. And now the season was over- it was June. You had missed so much. You missed everything you should have been there for, you missed the moment he found out he was going to the All-Star game and you didn’t even get to watch him win the fastest skater competition or talk to him on FaceTime until days later. And all the holidays. And his birthday for fuck’s sake.

“Baby?” You looked up at him, wondering how long he’d been trying to get your attention. “You okay? You’ve kinda been staring off into space.” You just shook your head, opening your arms in a silent plea for him to carry you to bed.

“Let’s cuddle.” He complied with one quick kiss and carried you to his bed, dropping you into the pillows and climbing in next to you in only a pair of gray sweatpants, spooning you like he used to- one arm under your head and one leg thrown over yours and pulling you closer.

“You’ve gotta tell me everything about your trip. It must have been so cool.”

“No.” The bluntness and change in tone of your statement startled him a bit. Every time he called you during your trip, you seemed overjoyed to be there, no matter how much you missed him.

“What?”

“I mean, I did enjoy it, yeah. But I just…” Mat leaned into you and pushed aside your damp hair to lay a few comforting kisses on your neck before turning you over in his arms so that he could see your face. You gave him a sad smile as you were met with his soft eyes pleading for an answer.

“What’s up?”

“I just feel really bad for enjoying my time there.”

“Why?”

“Because I was away from you.” Before Mat could interject that it was fine because you still got to FaceTime and text while getting the opportunity to do something great, you continued. “Mathew, I missed everything. The whole season. Hockey is literally the biggest part of your life and I wasn’t even there to experience the season with you. I couldn’t be there to comfort you or celebrate with you after games. I didn’t even get to see your All-Star game! I missed all the big, important things that you’re supposed to do with your significant other! Christmas, kissing in Times Square on New Year’s, Valentine’s Day, your birthday. Mat, I’m a really lame excuse for a girlfriend.”

“Baby, don’t-”

“You should really consider getting a new girl-”

“(Y/N), shut up.” You froze, hearing his serious tone come out. He sat up in bed, pulling away from you and looking at you with a look that made you feel ten times worse than you had. “Don’t say another word until I’m done talking. Stop trying to get me to break up with you.”

“But-”

“Hush.” He pointed a finger at you and booped your nose, making you both smile. He leaned down to wipe away the tears you hadn’t even noticed had fallen and took your hand- all tension from the serious talk you were having dissolved immediately. “Seriously. You are more amazing than you give yourself credit for. Remember when you called me on Christmas Eve to congratulate me because you read the All-Star roster as soon as you could? And that long text on Christmas day about how happy you were for me and listing out all the things that you like about me?” His voice dropped to an intimate whisper, eyebrows quirking up. “Remember our call on New Year’s?” You did. He’d called you when it was midnight for you and 5 pm in New York, you celebrated the New Year together and kissed through the screen, and then you called back after sleeping because 7 am for you was midnight for him. You had kissed Mat through the screen at midnight twice.

“You were there for me. Even when you were thousands of miles away. And I know that around the time the All-Star game was happening, you were really busy, but you still made time to text me as soon as you could get a hold of any type of news about it.” You remembered crying on the night you knew the game was being held, having been in a place with no WiFi and feeling helpless with no easy means of contacting him. You knew he was playing, competing in skill competitions, but you had no idea what was happening. You never liked not knowing what was happening. “Listen, babe, I know you’re upset about enjoying your trip because you think I’m upset about it, but I’m not. I’m actually glad we had to go long distance for a little.”

“You’re glad?” After that whole reassuring speech, you didn’t know what to feel.

“Yeah. First of all, you got to do amazing things, and I’m so overjoyed that you’re gonna get your dream career. And it also gave me time to figure out some… feelings.”

“What do you mean?” He can’t be breaking up with me. Not after that whole speech. He wouldn’t he wouldn’t he wouldn’t.

“Answer one question for me first.” He smiled and leaned down to rest his head against your stomach. “Did you fall in love with anybody better than me while you were saving the world out there?”

“What? Of course not.”

“Well, I did.” He looked up at you and watched with intense hazel eyes as the gears began turning in your head. The worry turned to confusion, turned to realization and then to joy. “I fell in love with someone," he spoke through a laugh as you lit up with a smile and wiggled around to sit up, "Someone who is so, so much better than me and deserves everything in the world, but they just don’t see it sometimes.” Tears started flowing down your cheeks as you tackled him into a hug and wrapped your arms around his neck.

"Me?"

Mat laughed. "Uh, yeah! Who else?" You hastily wiped the tears off of your cheeks and grabbed his face between your hands, pulling him into you and meeting him halfway to let your feelings do the rest. It felt different from every other kiss you’d ever had. The butterflies that always erupted in your stomach when Mat kissed you were working double now, you felt giddy, excited, as if this was the first and thousandth time you’d kissed him all rolled into one. Your hands curled over his shoulders to thread your fingers through his hair as he pulled you into his lap and broke his lips off of yours for a moment, mumbling into your mouth with a smile. “I love you, (Y/N). I think I have since the beginning.” His hand found yours and he laced your fingers together. His hand was hot, almost clammy as he squeezed yours. “Baby, you make me so nervous, and you know that I don’t get nervous.” He laughed a little bit. You had really changed him, hadn’t you? “You’re just so perfect, and I don’t want to mess anything up with you. And I hope I didn’t mess it up now, but I just- I had to tell you. I love you.” He pulled back with a toothy grin and watched you again with those beautiful, nervous eyes. After a few seconds, he bit his lip in anticipation. “Say something?”

“Mat...” Your fingers massaged the back of his neck and you dropped your head down to rest on his shoulder, laughing and sobbing. “Mat, Mat, Mat, I love you so much.”

You could feel him let out a deep sigh and a breathy laugh. “Good. Heh, oh fuck, good. I don’t know what I would’ve done if-” You cut him off with another kiss, smiling and teary.

“I love you.” You held both of his hands in yours and peppered his chest with little kisses. “I love you.” You laughed, still getting used to the words, and found his eyes again, and the look in them showed you much more than either of you could ever say out loud. You were pretty sure you even saw a few tears. “This is crazy. I never thought I’d have someone like you.” You were sobbing into your kiss, cheeks hurting from smiling too much, too hard, arms wrapped around Mat and pulling him against you.

“Hey, shhh, baby.” Even though he knew you were happy, he didn’t like seeing you crying. He smiled at you again, of course, because if there was one thing he knew about you, you couldn’t not smile with him. “Listen to me. Everything that happened in the last 10 months, whether we were together or apart, good times or hard times, it was all so fucking worth it. I love you.” Fuck, it felt good to be able to tell you that without the unfamiliar pit of anxiety in his stomach.

“It was worth it.” Suddenly, any of the anxiety you had around the idea of having sex with him faded. This man loved you. And, not to mention, the lights of the city that were shining through the window and reflecting on his skin made him look so irresistible. You could feel his heart beating through his chest, pounding against your own. “Mat… I wanna… do it.” You looked up and watched him get the hint, letting out a short laugh at your phrasing.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m ready. I trust you.”

His lips quirked up into a crooked smirk after a moment. “I love you, (Y/N).”

“I love you too.” His contagious smile rubbed off on you. It felt so good to finally say it.

“Good.” Mat caught your lips and untangled his hands from yours and put them on your thighs to guide you onto your back as he laid you out on his bed. “Tell me what you need, babe,” he mumbled against your lips. “Tell me if it gets to be too much.” The kiss became more and more heated as his hands trailed up from your thighs to your hips to your waist, burning all the way and pushing at your hoodie. His fingers trailed along the waistband of your underwear for only a moment before they danced up your ribs and squeezed your waist. His mouth fell away from yours and he cast you one heated look before dropping his head and pushing aside the neckline of the hoodie to press wet kisses all along your throat. As he started nibbling at the sensitive skin of your neck, his hot breath hit your ear. “Can I leave a mark?”

“Please.” You didn’t realize how desperate you were becoming, but Mat was just so hot. You felt him breathe out a small laugh at your neediness and begin to lick and nibble and suck on your flesh. The way you were grabbing at his hair, at his back, the way your legs had wrapped around his waist and pulled him closer, just incited him to continue. Your moans were music to his ears and, though he was gonna drag this out nice and slow for you, he could’ve jumped you right there. Leaving a final kiss on the little bruises that were already forming, he leaned back and pulled you up with him so you were both on your knees.

“As cute as you look in my clothes,” he smiled and tugged at the hoodie that was swallowing your form. “Can I take this off?” You nodded, honestly just focused on how good your boyfriend looked kneeling on the bed shirtless, those sweatpants riding so low on his hips, but your silent response wasn’t enough for him. “Use your words, babe.”

“Sorry, I’m just…”

“Virgin nerves, huh?” You laughed. He was using the phrase you had joked about to him seven months ago.

“Yeah.” You bit your lip, looking up at him. “Please take it off.”

“There we go.” He smiled and pulled you out of his hoodie, tossing it over to the floor and holding both of your hands so you couldn't cover yourself, covering your chest in kisses and nibbles. “Be vocal with me tonight, babe.” His mouth was hot moving across your skin. “I want to know what you like. Don’t hold back any of the noises” You nodded and practically climbed onto him until you were chest to chest, straddling his thigh, and he dipped his head down to suck and nibble on your chest. “Oh, look who's getting confident now.” He smirked as you moved against him softly, just needing to feel any type of friction. He could feel the heat, the moisture, the need radiating off of you and onto his thigh through his sweatpants. God, it was so hot seeing you so needy. “Tell me what you want, babe.”

“Mat, I want you to touch me.”

“Mhmm.” He laid you back again and palmed at you through the now damp cotton, kissing you one last time before scooting down the bed, kissing your torso the whole way down, and finally bringing his face level with your heat. You propped yourself up with pillows so you could watch him, and immediately he caught your gaze, smirking and sending a whole new shock of pleasure straight to your core. Before you could process what was happening, you were naked and his hot breath was coating you. “Anyone ever done this to you?”

With his eyes on you like that, you could barely choke out a response. “Never.”

“Fuck. So I’m the only one.” He hooked one of your legs over his shoulders and pulled you closer to his face, kissing the soft flesh of your inner thigh. “You’re gonna love it.” And then his tongue was on you, soft and wet and hot and lapping at you as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

“Maaat, God…” you couldn’t help the moan that escaped you, and you could feel him smirking against your slick. You were sure your face was bright red, it sure felt like it was, it felt like your whole body was on fire. “Mat…” You could only breathe out his name and twist your hands through his hair and curl your toes as he focused all his attention- lips, tongue, fingers on that one small, special spot, kissing and sucking and nibbling and flicking at you over and over and over and over. You weren’t sure how long he was down there, or how long you had been yanking at his thick hair before you felt a numbing heat flood through your lower body. Holy shit. This is it... “Mat, Mat-!” You choked out his name as your legs shook and tightened around his head and he coaxed you through your orgasm with his mouth.

“Shit, babe.” He pulled off for a moment and leaned his face against your thigh, mouth wet and shiny. “Didn’t know you're into pulling hair.” Coming down from your high with deep, shaking breaths, you looked down at the dark mess you had left his hair in and removed your hands sheepishly. How hard had you pulled?

“I’m sorry.” Mat laughed, low and deep and rumbling now, and kissed the inside of your still trembling thigh.

“Fuck, don’t apologize for that. That was hot as hell.” He brought his fingers up to dip at your entrance, eagerly putting his mouth right back for round two. You whined at the new sensation of his long fingers inside of you and, being even more sensitive than before, you knew you’d fall apart quicker this time. While one of his hands was busy curling its fingers inside of you, making you writhe and squirm around him, the other reached up and pulled one of your hands from his hair, lacing his fingers through yours and holding your hand through your next orgasm. You were pulling at his hair so hard that you were sure he was uncomfortable, but you couldn’t help it, as the heat began to curl through you for a second time that night.

Before you could let yourself go, Mathew pulled back and climbed back up your body. “Maaat, please-”

“I know babe, just trust me here, alright? I need some release too.” His hands fell to his own hips and you took the moment to notice just how obviously hard he had gotten, as the sweatpants didn’t leave much to your imagination. In a quick move, his sweatpants were gone and he was laying on his side facing you and wow, huh, that got a lot bigger than it was earlier. ‘Of course it did, you idiot’, you thought to yourself. Mat brought your hand, encased in his, over to his side, and you sucked in a breath at being that close to him. “You wanna try this?”

“I don’t know how good I’ll be.”

“I’ll help you.” You could see in his eyes how much he needed you to touch him, and your stomach did a few flips at the thought of how you could make him feel.

“Okay.” You reached out, but Mat stopped you with a smile.

“I appreciate the enthusiasm, but it’ll feel better if there’s some, ah, moisture.”

“So should I... use my mouth?” He let out a noise that was something between a laugh and a moan, but shit it was hot.

“We’ll try that later. Right now you can just wet your hand.” You brought your hand to your mouth and licked it, feeling Mat’s eyes burn through you, his fingers tracing circles into your thigh. You grazed your hand against him, softly and hesitantly, not knowing how it would feel to him. You curled your fingers around his length, frankly kinda flustered at his size, and it must have felt good, considering the quiet “...fuck.” that escaped his lips. His hand encased yours, guiding you along as you stroked up and down slowly. Fuck, Mat knew he wouldn’t be able to last long. “C’mon baby, you’re doing so good. Ohhh, fuck.” As you found your own pace tugging on him and pulling little moans and whines out of him, his hand left yours to return to its rightful place between your thighs.

So you lay there next to each other, stroking and tugging at each other, your hot breath mingling in the air between you, both whimpering and moaning, eyes glued to each other until you were both shaking in anticipation. You rubbed your hand over the blunt, slick head and squeezed and Mat’s whole body jerked into you as he bit his lip to hold back a groan. As hot as it was, you wanted to hear him as much as he wanted to hear you. “What happened to being vocal?” You teased with a shaky voice.

“Fuck, that felt so good.” You continued to focus your attention on the tip, and this time he didn’t hold back the moan. His moans, along with his trembling fingers flicking at your nerves was enough to make you see stars, and your hand stuttered around him as you shook with intensity. “Babe,” You could hear Mat speaking in disbelief through your dizzying orgasm, “You came just at hearing me moan?”

“It was really hot.” You mumbled against his lips as he pulled you in.

“Fucking right it was. I’m glad you’re enjoying this.”

“There isn’t a word for how much I’m enjoying this.” Mat turned onto his other side and pulled a condom from a drawer in his bedside table, before rolling over to kneel in front of you, a stark reminder of what was coming next. “Maybe love. Yeah, that describes this pretty good.”

“Yeah. Love.” Mat leaned into you and gathered you into his arms, kissing you softly and situating himself between your thighs. “You ready?”

“I guess.” He noticed your hesitation and laced your fingers back together, resting his forehead against yours and murmuring.

“Tell me what you want.” You waited a few moments, leaning up to kiss him and taking a deep breath to steady yourself.

“Mathew Barzal, I love you and I want you inside me.” He bit back a smile.

“Tell me to stop if it hurts too much, okay? I know I’m pretty big.”

You laughed with him at his cockiness, his confidence, and smacked his shoulder lightheartedly. “Okay.” And then you could feel his hand on your hip, positioning you, you could feel him pushing against you, pushing into you, slowly, slowly, filling you up inch by inch, and no matter how uncomfortable it was, the pleasure outweighed the pain. For a little bit. A few inches passed comfortably, and then it started to sting and stretch, as you realized just how tense you had gotten and just how big he actually was. Mat noticed you wince and whimper and froze immediately, eyebrows furrowing in worry.

“Hurt?”

“Not too much. I- I can handle it.”

He stayed still for a few more moments. “Ya know, you’re so good to me.” He dropped his head down to your neck, to the bruise he’d left earlier as he began sinking deeper. “So fucking hot, babe. So tight. You feel so good.” He caught your teary gaze, all soft lustful hazel eyes and pouty pink lips, a dark lock of hair falling onto his forehead that made him look so cute. He took a deep, shaky breath, trying to steady himself, trying to hold himself back for you. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m good.”

”Tell me when you’re ready.” He was settled all the way inside of you now, his hips flush against your thighs, filling you to the brim in all the best ways possible. The hand that wasn’t tangled with his reached up to push a few strands of hair off his forehead as you just took the moment to look at him, adjusting to the feeling. Then, when you didn’t feel like you were going to tear apart, you slid your hand back into his hair and rolled your hips up into him, earning an immediate wave of pleasure and a groan from Mat.

“Holy shit, Mat.”

“Yeah?” He smiled, examining your face to see if you were ready to take this final step with him. He mirrored the pace you’d set, rolling down into you in slow, steady waves. “How’s that, babygirl?”

“Mat.” You wrapped your legs around his hips and met him halfway. After a few moments of rocking back and forth together, you needed more. “Faster.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice.”

And before you could comprehend anything else, he was rocking against you with long, drawn-out strokes, making sure to pull all the way out of you before snapping his hips back into yours with breathtaking force. With each slap of his skin against yours, you couldn’t help but moan out, whispering his name over and over and over like a prayer, a mantra. His hands left yours to grab one of your thighs, throwing your leg up and over his shoulder and fuck, that angle. He was hitting spots inside of you that nobody had ever touched before, places you didn’t even know could feel so good. You reached up, shaking, and strained to pull his face down to you, kissing him and letting your hands tangle in his hair once more. You felt the heat rise again in your lower body, but really it wasn’t heat- it was a fire, much more intense than your other orgasms of the night. And, calling out his name, you came undone, arching up into him and losing focus of everything around you.

“C’mere, beautiful.” You heard his voice, foggy in the aftermath of easily the most intense orgasm of your life, and felt him sit up cross-legged on the bed, keeping himself rock solid and steady inside of you, sitting on his lap. Your legs trembled as he wrapped them around his waist comfortably, letting you lean into his chest and breath him in as you came down from your high.

“Woah, Mat.”

“Good, yeah?” He leaned in to kiss you, brushing your hair away from your face, enjoying the intimacy of this position much more. Now he could hold you, kiss you, let you chose the pace. You nodded, taking deep breaths and trying to focus on how his eyes sparkled with that proud look that you love seeing on him after he got a goal or played a really good game or pulled a really ugly laugh out of you that he would insist was cute. He was cocky as shit, and he was a sex god and he knew it. But it was hard to focus on anything, because wow he’s still hard inside of me. You were getting turned on again, just feeling him sitting inside of you.

“Mat...”

“I’m not quite done with you yet, don’t fall asleep.”

“Jesus, how can I fall asleep when you’re still…” You pushed your hips down onto him to make your point, and Mat let out a strangled breath, hands falling to your hips so he could guide you.

“Do that again.” You rocked your hips against him with his helping hands, too spent to do anything more than a gentle sway.

“Baby.” He whined, not doing anything to hold back the need in his voice. “ Keep doing that.” It wasn’t long before he was falling apart beneath you, letting out little swears and groans and whining for more as he locked eyes with you. God, his eyes were so pretty, so deep and swimming with emotion. Nearing his finish, Mat reached down and stroked at you again as you continued to roll against him, wanting to give you one more high before he was spent. After only a few more seconds, you both fell apart, your free hands intertwined with each other again, holding the most intense eye contact you were sure you’d ever have, into a panting, trembling pile against each other.

He found your lips, panting against you and swallowing your whine as he rolled to the side on the bed with you and slipped out of your arms, leaving you feeling empty without him. “Mat.”

“Just gimme a second, babe. One second.” He moved to the trashcan next to the bed momentarily, ‘Oh yeah, condom’, before slipping back down beside you and gathering you into his arms.

“That was more than one second.” He smiled into your hair.

“But I’m back now.” You were lying completely sideways on the bed, but neither of you cared, and you didn’t plan on moving for a while, just wanting to catch your breath and look at one another for a bit. “How was that?” He asked, but you knew that cheeky tone by now. It wasn’t a question. He knew he did good, he just wanted to hear you say it.

You ran your fingers up his side and around his shoulder, snuggling into his chest, happy to praise him. “It was fucking unreal. I love you, Mathew.”

“I love you too. You’re so beautiful, so perfect, (Y/N).”

“So are you.” He wrapped his arms around your waist pulling you closer to him and not minding the stickiness at all. The two of you would go clean up soon, just… not yet. You lay in silence for a few minutes, just listening to each other’s heartbeats steady back to a normal rate, before Mat reached down and grabbed your hand again, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“I want you to move in here.”

“Really?” You leaned back to look at him a bit. You weren’t in disbelief, you weren’t even surprised really. You were just so so so happy that you couldn’t believe you were hearing things right.

“I’m tired of being apart from you. I’m tired of having to drive back and forth between our places. It gets lonely without you here.” You leaned up and kissed his cheeks, his nose, his forehead until he was smiling that big toothy grin you loved so much. “So? Move in with me?” But he already knew the answer.

“I think that can be arranged.” And then was on you, hugging you, showering you with kisses and not showing any sign of letting go any time soon. “We sorta already christened the place, though.” Mat full out belly laughed at that, holding you against him so that you could feel the comfortable weight of his laughter rumbling through you like a waterfall.

“Yeah,” he said, quieting down. “I guess we already did.”

🖤🖤🖤

#did you miss me?#mat barzal #mathew barzal #nhl writing #mine #!!!!!!!!#I can't believe I finished this!#I'm so proud of it!!!#🖤#op #fanfiction #imagine #fic

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pixcldust · 4 years

Text

𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭 ;

pairing | iwaizumi hajime x gn! reader

wordcount | 1.5k

warnings | mild mention of death, slight angst i think, small letters on purpose

tags | ambiguous ending, friendship to something more, no beta bc im shy

a/n | i don't write gender neutral often (i barely write in 2nd pov tbh) so if i messed something up, pls let me know!! it’s 1am but i couldn’t sleep lmaoo i’ll try to sleep again after posting this.

the beginnings of a love story in three parts.

it starts in the summer, with you lounging on a deck chair, eating candy that turns your tongue blue. you’re wearing shorts and a tanktop, in one of your friends’ big backyard, watching them scream and laugh in the pool. the sun feels like hell on your bare skin but the laughter is infectious and you’re laughing with them. never mind that it’s your last year of senior high school and that after this, you may never see half of these kids again. there is only the here, the now, and it’s brighter than you’ve ever felt for most of your life.

he comes over, a wide smile on his tan face and pool water dripping off his hair. his fingers move deftly to flick water at you, laughing as he dries his hands and picks up his phone. despite flipping him off, you note his good mood - it’s a rare sight to see him play around so childishly like this. you find that you quite like it.

“done with swimming?” you ask. he nods, eyes on his phone. the first few beats of some hip hop song that you don’t recognise starts playing from its speakers.

“my fingers look like prunes,” he groans as he puts down his phone and splays out his fingers at you childishly. you scrunch your face up at him in return. “plus they want to go eat pizza after this, and hanamaki is gonna take years to shower so i wanted to get a headstart.”

“we’re eating pizza after?” you roll your eyes. “damn these kids and their big appetites.”

“you’re not hungry, because you’ve been eating so much candy,” he wrinkles his nose at the packet of pop rocks in your hand. “that’s not good for you, y’know?”

there’s a pause, him staring at you and you staring at him - time in a frozen state - before you sigh and motion for his hand. “if you wanted some, you could’ve just asked.”

iwaizumi grins as you pour some on his hand. his smile gleams bright against his skin. “thank you.”

he throws them into his mouth as he runs off to take a shower, and you feel a smile curve your lips. it’s odd. your boyfriend isn’t here - he’s opted to train today, even though it’s probably the last time all of you will ever be close together like this - but you can feel your heart skipping the way it does when you’re with him.

ii.

you and oikawa started dating at the beginning of your third year.

it was bound to happen eventually; at least, that’s what most of your friends told you so. you have always been friends with tooru and iwa and, when you reached high school, makki and mattsun. tooru was always the popular one, iwa was the reliable one and you were the calm one. a package deal - girls, students in general, who were interested in oikawa and were too intimidated to approach iwa would come to you. frankly, you didn’t mind. everyone had had a crush on oikawa at least once, and it wasn’t like you were any different when you were younger.

what you didn’t expect was for him to confess to you in your second year. it’s burned in the back of your memory: under the shade of one of the staircases near the gym, in the middle of your lunch break, tooru’s face reddening in embarrassment. you said yes, because you’ve always found him funny and cute and attractive in all the ways more than physical and wasn’t that enough to make a good relationship?

apparently not, since it’s been several months since you last had a proper conversation with him.

he’s in the gym again today, still training by himself, even though he’s already graduated. he’s going to go overseas, to continue his volleyball training in another team. you know this because that was what he told you the last time you two had a proper conversation. good luck, you said to him because you know that volleyball meant that much to him. never mind that he always, always, always put the sport before you, because even though he was your boyfriend, he was also one of your best friends and that meant supporting his dreams. you’re going to be amazing.

you can hear the squeak of volleyball shoes on hard floor, the thwack of ball against flesh, as you approach the gym doors. he’s there - alone, because school’s out for the end-of-term holidays - and he doesn’t immediately notice you standing there. his eyes are too focused on the ball as he sets to himself. he’s always too focused on the ball.

when he does see you there, he lets the ball drop and give you a smile. “hey y/n. what are you doing here?”

seeing his happy face chips at some of your initial confidence and your words falter at your lips, unwilling to come out. a deep breath because if not now, then when? would you really be okay with letting this relationship drag on and on? if there’s one thing you’re certain of, it’s this: you have fallen out of love with oikawa tooru. and he knows it.

“tooru, I think we should break up.”

it hurts a little, if you’re being honest, as you watch the smile slide off his face, giving way to a soft frown. you know he’s had to do this before, watch a person leave him because he was a little too selfish to give up volleyball for anything else, and you hated knowing that he was going through it again. your fault this time. but you know he’s seen this coming. even matsukawa has asked if you were doing okay in a rare bout of seriousness before. at the time, you didn’t know how to answer the question.

oikawa tooru is a lot of things, but he isn’t stupid. he should have seen this coming from miles away, a freight train hurtling at him with its headlights bright and glaring. it’s deliberate ignorance; oikawa saw the train. he just didn’t feel like stepping off the tracks.

“is this because of volleyball?” he asks, tilting his head. he doesn’t have an argument against you, and you know it’s because he’s felt the romantic love for you die off back to a platonic one. like you felt it. “if so, i’m sorry y/n, i didn’t mean to make you feel lonely-”

“it’s okay, tooru. i’m really proud of you, y’know? and... i hope we can stay friends.”

the last sentence sounds more like a question but he’ll understand. his frown disappears at your words, and while it’s not a smile, it’s something like acceptance and that’s good enough for you at the moment. picking up the ball, he nods. “me too.”

iii.

you’re in a tank top and shorts once again, under blistering heat, only this time they’re new clothes, and it’s just you and hajime. all your friends have grown up and out, dotted all across the country. you hum to yourself, stretching your fingers. hajime passes a packet of pop rocks to you.

“hey haji. have you ever thought about death?”

he eyes you suspiciously like you’re about to trick him with nothing but words, and it makes you want to laugh. “sometimes, yeah.”

makki and mattsun moved out of miyagi after high school opting to attend fancy universities in tokyo. tooru left japan completely - said he was going to train twice as hard overseas after the opportunity presented itself. that just left you and iwaizumi, attending the same college in miyagi. you didn’t mind and, despite iwa’s occasional huffs, he never seems to mind either.

and maybe it’s because the both of you are older now, because you’ve found someone who doesn’t mind the way you prefer to skip over small talk, but recently it feels like hajime has been becoming your source of energy more and more. after classes end, he’s quick to send you a text and you’re even quicker to respond - at this point, you’ve visited almost every cafe in miyagi. even the shitty ones, to hajime’s dismay and your amusement.

“we’re so old now, it feels like i’m on the brink of death,” you groan, pouring pop rocks straight into your mouth. they fizzle like miniature fireworks on your tongue.

a magazine smacks you on the head but you can’t be bothered to turn and glare at him. you opt to glare straight ahead of you instead, to the pool and the few people in it. sunlight bounces off of the glittery water and your glare turns to a squint. “you’re 21, you’re not 71.”

“maybe it’s the heat getting to me.

“yeah, it’s seriously hot today,” iwaizumi knits his brows, sitting up in his seat. you steal a glance at his exposed biceps - bless his tank top - and feel a strange pound in your chest. opting to ignore it, your lips unfurl into a grin.

“sorry about that.”

the magazine thwacks you on the head again, but not before you see his lips curl into a amused smile to match yours. “shut up.”

all your friends have grown up and out, but your happiness is only beginning.

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calumcest · 4 years

Text

dancing with the demons (holy spirit, holy spirit)

[ao3]

yes its 1am yes i just finished this fic yes i am exhausted yes i currently have an exam i should be doing looks like Helen’s Deadline Season Coping Mechanism is back in full swing

i have to give my everlasting thanks to @ashesonthefloor and @clumsyclifford for their chaotic minds providing me excellent ideas and for always being so supportive of the things i write and motivating me to keep writing and also especially to ainslee for patiently listening to me talk about this for like the past three weeks before i could actually write it

also this VERY very loosely based on christianity but as you will see: VERY. VERY. loosely

“You’re kind of a shitty demon,” he tells Calum, who scowls.

“Fuck you,” he says. “You’re kind of a shitty angel.”

“Oh, dude, I know,” Michael agrees.

Humans, Michael thinks sourly, wouldn’t be nearly as interested in getting to Heaven if they knew Ashton were in there.

He means well, Michael knows that, and he’s just doing his job, but that doesn’t make it any less irritating when Michael gets Summoned twice a week to answer for whatever petty crime he’s committed this time. So sue him, he forgot witchcraft was sacrilege, and forgot that astrology falls under that umbrella, and he’d been amused when he’d seen a lady claiming to be able to tell him what was in store for him next year, and he’d had ten dollars on him. He’s thousands of years old, how the fuck is he supposed to remember every tiny rule? Plus, he thinks, cocking his head, she’d told him that a colleague would present difficulties for him, and the way Ashton’s ranting right now is just vindicating the poor woman.

“...set an example, Michael,” Ashton’s saying, when Michael tunes back in. “You were an archangel. You have to be better.” Michael rolls his eyes.

“Ashton, I swear to God-” Ashton slaps his hand down on the table.

“That’s exactly your fucking problem!” he says furiously, and then tenses as he realises what he’s said. Michael can feel the repentance washing over Ashton, the genuine purity of it, and it makes him wince a little bit. Ashton clears his throat, and tries again. “You can’t be blaspheming like that. You’re an angel, Michael. You have free will, and you know what a double-edged sword that is.” Michael folds his arms, wings ruffling defensively. Ashton’s always so fucking hot on how dangerous free will is, like he’s had some kind of bad experience with it, and Michael doesn’t get it. Ashton’s never stepped more than a centimetre out of line in his entire life.

“I’m loyal to Him,” he says firmly. “He knows that.” Are you questioning Him? remains unspoken, but rings loud in the air between them.

“I know,” Ashton says wearily. “But He did demote you. Again.”

“I mean, I did give the Son an onion disguised as an apple,” Michael points out. Ashton glares at him.

“Are you trying to make this worse for yourself?” he demands, and Michael holds his hands up in defence.

“Not my fault Jesus doesn’t have a sense of humour,” he mutters, under his breath so Ashton can pretend not to have heard it. He still thinks it was hilarious, made even more so by the connotation of original sin. Maybe the fact he hasn’t repented is why He keeps letting Michael get reamed out by Ashton for the smallest fucking things.

“You’re lucky He didn’t count that as a rebellion” Ashton tells him. Michael rolls his eyes.

“What the fuck do you want me to say, Ash?” he says, spreading his hands, ignoring the way Ashton flinches at the curse word. “I’m sorry? I repent? Forgive me Ashton, for I have sinned?” Ashton sighs, but chooses not to comment on the sarcasm.

“I’m assigning you another case,” he says instead, “and you’d better not mess this one up.” Michael groans, and Ashton gives him a sharp look. “You’re always free to leave, Michael. You know that.” Michael tips his head back to stare at the ceiling and lets his eyes flutter shut, shaking his head.

“What is it?” he mumbles. He hears paper sliding across Ashton’s desk, and pinches the bridge of his nose for a minute, inhaling deeply, before forcing his head back forwards to see the file Ashton’s pushed at him.

“A demon,” Ashton says.

“Oh, for fu- for Go- uh, for goodness’ sake,” Michael says hurriedly, when he sees the look Ashton sends his way. “Seriously, Ash? A demon?” Ashton shrugs.

“You want to act like a kid, you get treated like a kid,” he says. Michael exhales heavily, and picks up the file, flicking it open to the first page.

“Calum?” he says sceptically. “What kind of a name for a demon is that?”

“You’d do well to remember who named him,” Ashton reminds him, and Michael rolls his eyes.

“He doesn’t look very threatening,” he remarks, flicking through Calum’s file. “What, a couple of possessions, a few cases of muteness...c’mon, Ash, this is well below my pay grade.”

“Firstly,” Ashton says, in that tone that says I don’t like what you just said at all but I’m going to be the bigger angel here, “you don’t have a pay grade, and secondly, you’ll take what you’re given.”

“I know, but c’mon, this?” Michael says, waving the file in Ashton’s face. “You could deal with this in two minutes, Ashton, why send me after him?” Ashton presses his lips together and looks away, and Michael cocks his head, realisation dawning on him. “Oh, shit. He’s sending me after him.”

“You know I can’t comment on that,” Ashton says, but his wings twitch uncomfortably and he doesn’t even tell Michael off for cursing, so Michael knows he’s right.

“What does He want me to do this for?” Michael asks curiously.

“The Lord moves in a mysterious way,” Ashton says primly, which is his go-to response when he knows the answer but doesn’t want to say it. Michael sits back in his seat heavily, grinning.

“Okay,” he says, nodding. “Yeah. I’ll take the case.” Ashton rolls his eyes.

“You’ll do as He darn well says,” he tells Michael, who grins.

“I’ll do as I damn well please,” he says, and Ashton just sighs in defeat.

-------

The first time Michael finds Calum, he’s loosening lug nuts on car wheels in the dead of night.

He’s knelt on the floor, spanner in his hand, humming something to himself as he works. Michael leans against a car behind him, folding his arms, and watches him for a while, watches the way he bobs his head to the song in his head, taps his fingers on the spanner, grins to himself when the lug nut loosens enough for him to move onto the next one.

“Man, what kind of demon uses a spanner?” Michael comments after a few minutes. Calum spins around, on his feet at the speed of light, eyes black, teeth bared. Michael just gives him a bored look.

“Who are you?” Calum hisses. Michael cocks an eyebrow.

“Don’t recognise me?” he says, and Calum just growls at him. “Damn, how long were you in Heaven? Two minutes?”

“Who the fuck are you?” Calum spits. Michael sighs, pretending he’s not enjoying this as much as he is, and lets his wings unfold, big and pure white behind him. Calum’s eyes widen, still all-black but with an edge of fear, and he takes a step back. Michael tries his best not to smirk.

“You’re not an angel,” Calum says, sounding like he’s trying to reassure himself.

“Aren’t I?” Michael says coolly, tucking his wings back in. They feel a little cramped, but he’s made his point, and it’s cold.

“You said damn,” Calum says, still a little afraid, but also a little confused. Michael shrugs.

“I have free will,” he says. “Perks of being an angel.” Calum stares at him, and his eyes flash back to looking human again. Michael can’t see too well in the poor light, but they’re still dark, maybe a deep brown, and there’s some sort of a spark in them that makes Michael’s stomach flip.

He can see Calum a little better now as his eyes adjust to the dark, can see the black jeans and black leather jacket and thin black t-shirt hugging his muscular physique, can see what looks like tattoos on his hands and collarbones and can’t help but wonder whether there are more to be found.

And yeah, that’s a dangerous train of thought, so he stops himself firmly, allowing himself a sigh. Of course He’s saddled Michael with the hottest demon to walk the realms.

“Whose car is that?” Michael asks, nodding at the car Calum’s been working on. Calum’s eyes linger on him for a moment, like he doesn’t trust that Michael’s not going to attack him the minute he blinks, and then looks over at the wheels.

“Don’t know,” he says.

“You’re trying to fuck with someone you don’t even know?” Calum shrugs, eyes flicking back to Michael.

“Why not?” he says. Michael narrows his eyes.

“You know fucking with humans is, like, bad, right?” he says.

“For you,” Calum says, and there’s a glimmer of wicked amusement behind his dark eyes. Michael swallows. “Don’t know if you’ve heard, but my boss isn’t so hot on all of those kinds of rules.”

“Yeah, I know,” Michael says darkly, because if there’s anyone from Hell Michael’s well-acquainted with, it’s the Devil. Calum, who seems to have now decided that Michael’s had his chance to kill him and hasn’t, casts him one final glance before picking up the spanner, twirling it in his hands (Michael chants a prayer to keep the thoughts about Calum’s fingers at bay), and kneeling at the next wheel.

“Who are you?” Calum asks again.

“Michael,” Michael says, as Calum starts twisting the lug nuts the wrong way, tightening them instead of loosening them. “That’s the wrong way, man.”

“Fuck,” Calum mutters, and starts twisting the other way. Michael cocks his head.

“You’re kind of a shitty demon,” he tells Calum, who scowls.

“Fuck you,” he says. “You’re kind of a shitty angel.”

“Oh, dude, I know,” Michael agrees.

“Aren’t you a fucking archangel? Michael?”

“Used to be,” Michael says. “Got demoted.” Calum snorts.

“Demoted?”

“Yeah,” Michael says, with a sigh. “Big man doesn’t like it when you play practical jokes on the Son.” Calum laughs.

“Yeah, you’re a really shitty angel,” he tells Michael, who bristles slightly.

“Well, I did defeat Satan,” Michael says defensively. Calum grins, all wicked and sharp teeth.

“Yeah, he’s mentioned,” he says, and then leans back from the wheel with a sigh. “Man, would you give me a hand?” Michael cocks his head.

“I’m meant to be stopping you, dude,” he says. Calum rolls his eyes.

“You’re not doing a very good job,” he says. Michael thinks he would do a much better job if Calum weren’t so fucking pretty. That’s kind of unfair, he thinks. It gives Calum an automatic advantage.

“Stop it,” Michael says, and Calum laughs, tilting his head back, and Jesus Christ, Michael wants to mark up his neck. He sends a quick apology prayer to whoever might have heard that thought, and clears his throat. “Seriously, Calum. Stop.”

“Or what?” Calum says, eyes glittering mischievously. “You’ll scowl at me?” Michael cocks his head, and the grin slips off Calum’s face as he starts to choke. He clutches at his throat, looking somewhere between confused and shocked. Michael lets it go on for a few more seconds, relishing the way Calum’s gasping for air, before he lets Calum go. Calum falls back on his heels heavily, a pained expression on his face.

“Stop it,” Michael says simply, and he hears the power in his own voice. Calum winces, head jerking down in a forced bow, and right, yeah, Michael forgot that holy power has that effect on demons.

“Damn,” Calum says, looking up through inky lashes when Michael lets him go, voice hoarse, but eyes twinkling. “Didn’t take you for the kinky sort.” Ashton is going to string Michael up by his wings for the thoughts that follow that sentence.

“Fuck you,” Michael says, scowling, as he sends up yet another apology prayer. Calum cocks an eyebrow, grinning.

“If you’re offering,” he says, rubbing at his throat. Michael sighs to hide the please that’s probably written all over his face.

“Don’t let me catch you again,” he says instead.

“What, you’re not going to kill me?” Calum says, and he sounds a little surprised. Michael frowns at him.

“You want me to?”

“Just thought you would,” Calum says, shrugging. Michael hesitates.

“You’re not really that threatening, dude,” he says eventually. And you’re far too pretty to kill. “I think the world can handle you.” Calum scowls at him, and flips him off with his left hand, picking up the spanner again with his right. Michael wordlessly tightens all the lug nuts again with a surreptitious flick of his wrist.

“See you next time, angel,” Calum says, slotting the spanner onto another lug nut.

“Not if you know what’s good for you, demon,” Michael says, turning away and tipping his head back up to Heaven. He hears a grunt behind him as Calum tugs on the lug nut, and grins to himself.

“Are you fucking kidding me, dude?” Calum cries, and it’s the last thing Michael hears before everything turns white.

-------

The second time Ashton sends Michael after Calum, he finds him in a Starbucks. His leather jacket is hung across the chair behind him, and he’s staring at a guy a few metres away from him with a look of pure concentration on his face. Michael takes a moment to drink it in, because he looks really fucking cute and his biceps are, like, right there - and yeah, Michael was right about there being more tattoos - before sliding into the seat opposite Calum. Calum jumps, tearing his eyes away from the guy to Michael, scowling when he realises who it is.

“Hey,” Michael says nonchalantly, reaching for Calum’s coffee and taking a sip. It’s, like, pure fucking caffeine, and he pulls a face, pushing it back to Calum.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Calum hisses.

“According to my superior, you’re up to no good,” Michael says. “I’m here to stop you.” Calum rolls his eyes.

“You’re no fucking fun,” he says. Michael shrugs, and reaches for Calum’s chocolate muffin. He’s always regretted not planting the idea of chocolate in the minds of humans earlier.

“What were you trying to do?” he says, through a mouthful of muffin.

“Why would I fucking tell you?” Calum says, folding his arms. “You’ll just undo it.” Michael raises an eyebrow, and swallows.

“The guy’s tattoo,” he says. Calum scowls again. “What’d you do to it?”

“It said Lisa,” Calum says sullenly. “Changed it to ‘Lice’.” Michael looks over at the guy’s tattoo again - and yeah, he does actually now have a heart with Lice in it proudly displayed on his arm. Michael can’t help the snort that escapes him. God, would Ashton kill him if he left that one as it is? The answer is almost a hundred percent, but he thinks it might still be worth it.

“That is fucking funny,” Michael agrees.

“Man, how the fuck are you still an angel?” Calum says, and Michael huffs out a laugh, taking another bite out of the muffin. Calum snatches the rest of it out of Michael’s hands.

“This is my fucking muffin,” he says, waving the remnants of it in Michael’s face. Michael shrugs.

“Steal yourself another one,” he says.

“You steal yourself one,” Calum mutters.

“I’m an angel, dude,” Michael says.

“Could’ve fooled me.” Michael rolls his eyes, snapping his fingers as Calum raises the last bit of the muffin to his mouth. The muffin disappears and Calum bites down on thin air, looking confused for a split second before glowering at Michael.

“What the fuck?” he demands. “Why’d you do that? That was a good fucking muffin.” Michael shrugs, grinning.

“For the hell of it,” he says, snapping his fingers again, and the muffin re-materialises in his hand. He throws it in the air, catching it in his mouth, and winks at Calum as he chews. Calum watches him, half in intrigue, half in outrage, mouth slightly open. He’s got such full lips, Michael thinks, and then hastily swallows both the muffin and that train of thought.

“You’re the worst angel I’ve ever met,” Calum says decisively, sinking back in his seat.

“You met many?” Michael asks casually.

“No, but I’m pretty sure you’re the worst they’ve got,” Calum tells him. “I’m going to write a letter of recommendation to get you kicked out of He-” he winces. “Up there.” Michael cocks his head.

“What’d you do to get kicked out?” he asks.

“What do any of us do?” Calum says grumpily. “Exercise our free will.”

“I exercise my free will,” Michael points out.

“Yeah, to fucking swear,” Calum says. “You’re like that kid at school who gets an adrenaline rush from telling someone to shut up.” Michael scowls.

“Fuck you,” he says, and Calum grins wickedly.

“You kiss your Father with that mouth?” he says. Michael flips him off.

“Right, well, this has been fun,” he says, wiping his hands on a napkin as he gets to his feet, “but I’ve got to get going. Stop fucking with humans.”

“Man, you’d be way more fun if you weren’t an angel,” Calum says mournfully.

“I dunno,” Michael says, mock-thoughtfully. “Wouldn’t get to do this then, would I?” He snaps his fingers, just for dramatic effect, and the Lice tattoo on the man’s arm rearranges itself to say Lisa again, and an identical heart with Lice appears on Calum’s bicep. Calum twists his arm around with a look of absolute horror.

“You absolute fucking bastard,” Calum shouts, making at least five people in the Starbucks turn around and give him a sharp look (not that he’ll fucking care).

“Be a good boy, demon,” Michael says, throwing him a grin before heading out into the warm October air.

-------

The first thing Michael’s going to do when He gets over Himself and reinstates Michael as an archangel is have a word with Him about ever giving Ashton Summoning powers.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Michael mutters, using his right wing to rub his head where he’d banged it on impact.

“Are you serious?” Ashton says, hands on his hips. “You come straight into my office and blaspheme?”

“Don’t fucking Summon me with no warning, then,” Michael says, shaking his wings out. Ashton throws him a glare, probably for cursing, possibly for having the gall to respond at all.

“You’re an angel, Michael, you’ll come when you’re called,” he says reprovingly. Michael rolls his eyes, but throws himself down on the chair on the other side of Ashton’s desk heavily.

“What?” he says, with a long-suffering sigh.

“It’s Calum,” Ashton says.

“Again?” Ashton throws him a look.

“You could’ve killed him,” he says pointedly. Michael shrugs, a little uncomfortably. He knows he should have, but something about Calum just draws Michael in, makes it impossible for him to say no.

“He was fucking with tattoos and unscrewing lug nuts, Ash,” he says, a little too defensive. “Not exactly crimes of the millennium.” Ashton scrutinises him for a moment, and then purses his lips.

“Well,” he says primly, “apparently he’s turned up in LA.” Michael can’t help but smile at that, because yeah, LA sounds like exactly the kind of place a demon like Calum would show up. Ashton sees it, and frowns. “Michael, this is a case, you hear me? Calum’s still a demon, no matter how much you want to copulate with him.” Michael scowls. Fucking Ashton, always listening to his prayers.

“No one says fucking copulate anymore,” he snipes, because he can’t exactly deny it. “You’d know if you ever got down off your high horse and visited Earth.” Ashton rolls his eyes.

“I’m pretty busy up here,” he says, gesturing to all the paperwork piled high on his desk.

“I’m telling you, station Pahaliah with Peter at the gates,” Michael says. “You’d cut all this in half.”

“Are you kidding me?” Ashton says. “Pahaliah’s had his work cut out for him since the Enlightenment.” Michael rolls his eyes.

“Alright, Barachiel, then,” he suggests. “He’s a fucking pain in the arse. Might do him some good to do something mundane for a few centuries.”

“I think He has bigger plans for His archangels than guarding the gates,” Ashton says. Michael raises an eyebrow, and Ashton rolls his eyes. “You’re not an archangel anymore, Michael.”

“I am in all but name,” Michael says with a shrug, because He always relents where Michael’s concerned. “This is my, what, twelfth demotion? Thirteenth?”

“This one might stick,” Ashton says warningly, which is what he says every time it happens. His concern is kind of cute, Michael thinks, if unwarranted. Ashton’s never understood Him like Michael does.

“Yeah, yeah,” Michael says dismissively, because he’s not about to have this discussion with Ashton again. “Can I go now?” Ashton frowns at him, which Michael takes as a yes. He lifts himself up from the chair, stretching his wings and arms out, and turns to leave.

“Do not copulate with the demon, Michael,” Ashton says.

“I won’t,” Michael promises, heading for the door. “Might fuck him, though.”

(The force with which Ashton slams him into the wall makes the whole building shake, but it’s absolutely worth it.)

-------

LA is cold in November, which Michael had forgotten. It’s also busy, which means he can’t draw his wings around himself for extra warmth, nor simply teleport himself to the studio Calum’s apparently in. Instead, he has to huddle into himself and elbow his way through the Hollywood crowds, meaning he’s in a pretty bad mood by the time he actually gets to where he needs to be.

Michael distracts the security guard momentarily with a quick wave of his hand, enough for him to slip inside unnoticed. It’s a small studio, only a handful of live rooms, and Michael only has to peek into two before he finds the one Calum’s in.

Calum, clad in his usual all-black get-up, is leaning against the wall of the studio, grinning as he watches the sound engineer frowning, fiddling with a bunch of his controls. Michael can see the shimmer of the glamour he’s cast, and wordlessly casts one of his own as he clicks the door shut behind him. The sound engineer doesn’t even look up, so preoccupied with trying to fix whatever’s going wrong, but Calum hears the sound and whips around, scowling when he sees Michael.

“Do you just, like, have a sixth sense for when there’s some fun occurring that could be stopped?” he asks, and Michael grins at him.

“Just got a sixth sense for shitty demons,” he says, and Calum’s scowl deepens.

“Fuck you,” he says. Michael raises an eyebrow, then casts a look over at the live room on the other side of the glass. There’s a band in there, two girls on guitar, one on bass and one on drums, all frowning at their instruments and fiddling with tuning pegs or tension rods.

“You’re un-tuning their instruments?” he says. “That’s pretty bad, even for you.” Calum makes a noise of outrage.

“What do you mean, even for me?” he says, sounding scandalised. “That tattoo was fucking hilarious, you said so yourself.” Michael’s eyes flick down to Calum’s bicep, even though it’s covered by his leather jacket. Calum notices, and folds his arms. “Yeah, fuck you for that. Do you have any idea the number of favours I had to call in to get rid of it?” Michael snorts.

“Who the fuck owes you favours?” he asks, and Calum grins, eyes gleaming.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he says.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m asking,” Michael points out. Calum rolls his eyes, and turns back to the sound engineer, who looks like he’s ready to cry.

“I asked around about you,” Calum comments casually, as they both watch the sound engineer fiddle with yet more knobs.

“Oh?” Michael hums, interest piqued. “You know, the Devil and I had a good understanding.”

“Yeah, until you waged a war against him,” Calum says.

“On the Lord’s orders,” Michael says, a little defensively.

“Well, he found it pretty funny that you got demoted,” Calum says. Michael rolls his eyes. Of course he did.

“He would,” Michael says. “Did he tell you about the time the Lord made him wash the Son’s feet in front of the whole host?” Calum gapes at him.

“No,” he says, sounding flabbergasted. Michael grins, feeling oddly satisfied.

“Yeah, I bet he didn’t,” he says. “Didn’t realise he concerned himself with petty demons like you, anyway.” Calum scowls.

“I’m not a petty demon,” he says, a shade petulantly.

“You un-tune people’s guitars, dude,” Michael says. “Pretty sure demons are meant to be out committing homicide, and stuff.”

“There are plenty of demons who do the whole murder thing,” Calum says, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m striking out.” Michael can’t help but grin at that.

“I’ll put that in your file,” he tells Calum. “‘Not Like Other Demons’. Got it.”

“I’ve got a file?”

“What, you think we just let demons run around unchecked?” Calum blinks at him.

“You know Galadriel’s in the US president’s cabinet right now?” he says slowly.

“Of course we know,” Michael says.

“And you’re leaving him be?” Michael shrugs.

“Not my department,” he says. Calum stares at him for a moment, and then a grin breaks out on his face, and he shakes his head.

“Man, things have definitely changed since I was up there,” he says.

“When was that?” Michael asks. Calum shrugs.

“I dunno, I’m not great with time,” he says. “One, two thousand years ago?” Michael hums thoughtfully.

“You remember Raphael?” he says. Calum rolls his eyes, and now that, that is a sentiment Michael can really get behind.

“Unfortunately,” he mutters. “He still so fucking holier-than-thou?”

“You thought he was holier-than-thou then?” Michael says, raising his eyebrows. “You should see him since my latest demotion.” He pitches his voice up a few octaves, and mimics: “Oh, Michael, if you just repented, you could have your seat at His side again. We’re all rooting for you. You’re just letting yourself down.” Calum grins.

“You get demoted often?” It’s Michael’s turn to shrug.

“Every couple of centuries,” he says. Calum laughs, all straight white teeth and sparkling eyes, and Michael’s stomach flips. God, he’s far too fucking pretty for Michael to handle. Is that why He sent Michael after him? Is this His idea of revenge?

“I have no idea how you’re still an angel,” Calum says, shaking his head, still smiling.

“Pure heart,” Michael says solemnly. “That’s why I keep defending these poor, helpless humans from your shitty little tricks.”

“They’re not shitty,” Calum protests, as Michael throws a glance over to the girls in the live room, tightening their tuning pegs and tension rods wordlessly. Calum sighs dramatically, eyes following Michael’s gaze. “Man, you’re so fucking boring, you know that?”

“Whatever you say,” Michael says with a grin, stepping back. “Behave yourself, demon.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Calum says, eyes twinkling. Michael smirks, and drops Calum’s glamour with a snap of his fingers. The sound engineer whirls around immediately, eyes widening when he sees Calum in the corner of the room, and scrambles to his feet, grabbing a nearby guitar and brandishing it like a weapon.

“Who the fuck are you?” the guy shouts. “How the fuck did you get in here?” Calum shoots Michael a glare.

“I fucking hate you, angel,” is the last thing Michael hears before everything goes white.

-------

The next time Ashton sends Michael after Calum, he finds him with another demon who looks decidedly undemonic, blonde hair framing baby-blue eyes. Calum’s head whips around when Michael clears his throat, eyes black, poised to pounce, but he relaxes when he sees who it is. Michael’s not sure what to make of that. The other demon, though, bares his teeth, eyes flashing to black, tensing at Michael’s presence.

“Evening,” Calum says casually as his eyes flicker back to looking human, like they’re friends, and like Michael doesn’t have the power to kill him with a snap of his fingers.

“What are you doing?” Michael asks, cocking his head. There’s glue and there’s coins, and he doesn’t understand how the two of them combine.

“Gluing coins to the footpath,” Calum says, stepping back to let Michael see. In the dim light of the streetlight a few metres away, Michael can see a few coins shining back at him.

“Huh,” he says thoughtfully. “Who’s your friend?”

“Luke,” the other demon says, eyes narrowed and black, posture defensive. He’s oddly familiar, Michael thinks, a bitter taste rising in his throat when they lock eyes. Michael’s dealt with a lot of demons in his time, but he doesn’t remember any called Luke. “Who the fuck is this, Cal?”

“This?” Calum says, far too nonchalantly, kicking at one of the coins to make sure it’s properly stuck. “Michael. You know, the archangel?”

“C’mon, dude,” Michael protests. “That’s a sensitive topic.” Luke looks at him, and there’s an edge of a glint to his eyes that Michael doesn’t like the look of.

“An archangel?” he asks Calum, eyes still on Michael.

“Well, no,” Calum says cheerfully, dropping to his knees again and sending Michael a pointed look, eyes glittering with humour. “He got demoted. Just a regular angel now.” Michael rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, rub it in,” he says. “Who are you, the Raphael of Hell?” Calum snorts, and Luke looks from Calum to Michael and back again.

“Are you going to kill us?” he says.

“That depends,” Michael says. “Are you going to piss me off enough to make me?”

“Don’t worry about him,” Calum tells Luke, reaching for another coin and some glue. “He’s the worst angel they’ve got.” Michael sighs, an I didn’t want to have to do this but you’ve twisted my arm kind of sigh, and raises his hand. Calum jerks into the air, feet dangling beneath him, and his wings instinctively shoot out, beating wildly to try and escape Michael’s chokehold. They’re kind of gorgeous, actually - sleek, black feathers, a little unkempt.

“Huh,” Michael says thoughtfully, as Calum struggles against his hold, wheezing and spluttering, and Luke stares at him, looking only mildly interested. “Nice wings, dude.” He lets Calum go, who drops to the ground with a loud crack, splitting the footpath on impact. Calum winces, rubbing at his throat, and folds his wings back in.

“Thanks,” he says, coughing. “Always thought black suited me better.” Michael hums in agreement. He can’t really see the pure, brilliant white he has on his own back working with Calum’s aesthetic.

“Hey, d’you have a halo?” Calum says to Michael, voice still a little hoarse.

“‘Course,” Michael says. “Do you have horns?” Calum snorts, getting to his feet.

“I can if you want me to,” he says, throwing Michael a wink. Luke stares at him.

“Wait, are you two fucking?” he asks, a note of trepidation in his voice. Calum’s eyes flick to Michael, dark and hungry.

“Not yet,” he says, not taking his eyes off Michael. Michael swallows, and apologises to Ashton, who he just knows is listening, for the string of thoughts that just went through his mind.

“I’m just doing my job,” Michael says to Luke, but he can’t tear his eyes away from Calum’s.

“Isn’t your job to kill us?”

“No,” Michael says. “Just to stop you. And, I’ve got to be honest, stopping Calum isn’t exactly hard. He’s kind of a shitty demon.”

“Fuck you,” Calum says, scowling, and Michael grins.

“If you’re lucky,” he says, winking at Calum before turning to Luke. “You don’t seem like a very intimidating demon either, dude, not gonna lie.”

“Oh, you should see him when he’s pissed,” Calum says, and Luke huffs, looking a little embarrassed. “Remember that transport minister in Berlin that fell in front of a train a few months ago?” Michael gapes at him.

“That was you?” he says, rounding on Luke.

“Yep,” Calum says gleefully, on Luke’s behalf.

“What, he stood on my foot on the underground and didn’t apologise,” Luke says defensively. Michael stares at him for a moment, and then shakes his head.

“You’re a way better demon than Calum,” he says, and the cheerful grin slips off Calum’s face, replaced with an indignant scowl.

“What the fuck, dude?” he demands. Michael shrugs.

“Find yourself a better sidekick, Luke,” he recommends, taking a step back.

“Go fuck yourself,” Calum says. Michael grins, flicking his wrist, and all the coins start rolling down the footpath towards the gutter.

“What did I tell you about behaving?” he mock-chides, as Calum makes a noise of outrage, trying to stop a few of the coins with his feet.

“Fuck you, angel,” Calum grumbles, and Michael blows him a kiss as he transports himself back home.

-------

Michael’s in the middle of a debate with Peter about whether or not Julius Caesar should really have been let into Heaven when Ashton Summons him.

“-just shouldn’t have crossed the Rubicon, if you ask me,” Michael finishes his sentence addressing the wall in Ashton’s office. He spins around, annoyed. “What the fuck, Ash? I was having a conversation.” Ashton holds up a picture of Luke and Calum that Michael had put in Calum’s file, tapping on Luke.

“Who’s the friend?” he says.

“Luke,” Michael says. “Can I go now?”

“No,” Ashton says, motioning for Michael to sit. Michael sighs dramatically, but throws himself down into the chair. Ashton sits down opposite him, wings poised, and steeples his fingers against his chin.

“You know Luke?” he asks carefully. Michael shrugs.

“Met him once,” he says. “They were gluing coins to a footpath.” Ashton nods thoughtfully. “Oh, and he killed that transport minister in Berlin a few months ago.”

“I think he’s killed a lot more than just the transport minister,” Ashton says, tapping on a thick, unmarked file on his right. Michael shrugs.

“Humans have to die of something,” he says. Ashton gives him a look.

“We’re meant to protect humanity,” he says reprovingly.

“C’mon, Ash, they live about as long as it takes me to blink,” Michael says. Ashton purses his lips, but he knows Michael’s right.

“I’m going after him,” he says eventually. Michael does a literal, honest-to-God double take.

“You’re doing what?” he says, astounded. “You’re going down?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Ashton says, a little snappily. “Gabriel’ll take over for me when I’m gone.” Michael groans.

“C’mon, Ash, can’t you pick, like, Uriel, or Selaphiel, or something?” he asks desperately, because he’d rather die than answer to Gabriel, but Ashton shakes his head firmly.

“Gabriel’s the only one qualified,” he says, eyes back on the picture of Luke and Calum.

“What’s so interesting about Luke?” Michael asks, seeing the way Ashton’s eyes linger on him. “Why can’t you send someone else after him?” Ashton hesitates, then looks at Michael with a serious expression.

“There’s never been a demon called Luke.”

-------

Michael next sees Calum in a shopping centre food court.

Calum spots him before he manages to get to him, and beckons him over, grinning excitedly. Michael tries to suppress a grin and ignore the way his stomach flips at that, pushing through the crowd to get to the booth Calum’s sat in and sliding in opposite him.

“Watch this,” Calum says gleefully, nodding at the woman to their right. She takes a bite of her margherita pizza, nodding at whatever her friend is saying, and then stops, frowning, hand flying to her throat.

“What did you do?” Michael asks, as the woman starts to cough.

“Made her allergic to salt,” Calum says nonchalantly, and Michael snorts. The woman looks like she’s starting to struggle to breathe, so Michael waves his hand, and she relaxes, coughing a few more times, looking extremely confused and concerned.

“So you’ve progressed to actually killing people now?” Michael asks, mildly intrigued. Calum shakes his head.

“Knew you’d turn up,” he says, flashing Michael a grin. Michael rolls his eyes.

“You don’t know that,” he says. “I’m a busy angel.” Calum snorts.

“Right, that’s why they’ve sent you after me,” he says sarcastically, dipping a chip in some ketchup and popping it in his mouth. “Sure.” Michael shrugs.

“He wanted me to go after you,” he says. Calum stops chewing, and frowns.

“He?” he says, swallowing. “As in, Him?” Michael nods. “What the fuck? I’m on G-” he winces. “I’m on His radar?”

“Apparently so,” Michael says, reaching for one of Calum’s chips and looking around for the mayonnaise. “Hey, where’s the mayo?” Calum stares at him.

“You eat mayo, and I’m the demon?” he says in disbelief. Michael scowls at him, and conjures some mayonnaise.

“It’s the best condiment,” he tells Calum, through a mouthful of chip. Calum shakes his head at him, looking genuinely disappointed.

“What does He want with me, then?” he asks. Michael shrugs.

“Do I look like God?” he says. Calum shrugs.

“Never met Him,” he says. Michael raises his eyebrows.

“Well, who kicked you out?” he asks.

“Raphael.”

“Bet he enjoyed that.” Calum huffs out a laugh, sticking his finger in the ketchup and then in his mouth. Michael’s not sure whether he should be grossed out by the fact Calum’s eating pure ketchup, or turned on by the way Calum’s got his lips wrapped around his fingers, looking up at Michael through thick, black lashes.

“You’re disgusting,” he settles for, but it comes out weak, and a grin’s flashing across Calum’s face in a second.

“Only for you,” he says, with a wink. Michael rolls his eyes, and hopes the pink on his cheeks isn’t too obvious. He reaches for another one of Calum’s chips, and Calum’s eyes follow him. He looks like he’s weighing up whether or not he wants to say something.

“What’s He like?” he asks eventually, curiously.

“God?” Michael asks, and Calum nods. Michael swallows his mouthful of chips, and clears his throat. “He’s cool. Pretty laid-back guy. It’s the Son you want to watch out for.” Calum cocks an eyebrow in intrigue, and Michael nods. “Yeah, the Son’s got a proper stick up his ass. Never met anyone so uptight in my life.”

“Might be a side effect of crucifixion,” Calum suggests, and Michael snorts.

“Well, you know, there’s the whole Trinity thing,” Michael continues, “so He’s pretty strict when it comes to the Son. God, the Son’s so spoilt. You think Raphael’s bad, wait until you meet Jesus.” Calum snorts.

“Don’t think I’ll be meeting the Son anytime soon,” he says, and there’s something hard in his eyes and bitter in his tone. Michael frowns, but it’s gone as soon as Michael opens his mouth to ask.

“What about Hell?” he asks instead.

“What about it?”

“Well, what’s Satan up to nowadays?” A look of amusement flashes across Calum’s face.

“Oh, y’know,” he says. “Same old.”

“Being the proudest motherfucker around?” Calum laughs, eyes twinkling, and Michael has the feeling he’s said something much funnier than he intended to.

“You could say that,” Calum says.

“He still funny?” Michael asks. “Heaven’s way more boring without him. He was the only one with a fucking sense of humour.” Calum’s eyes glitter with mirth.

“I’d say so,” he says, grinning.

“Well,” Michael says, a little awkwardly, because Calum’s finding this way funnier than it should be. “Give him my best.” Calum bursts out laughing.

“Will do, angel,” he says.

-------

God is nothing like humans think.

Okay, He’s a little like humans think - He’s got the beard - but that’s about it.

“Hey, Mikey,” God says, grinning at him when he knocks at the door. “How’s my favourite angel?” Michael rolls his eyes, shutting the door behind him.

“You’re not supposed to have favourites,” he tells God.

“I don’t,” God says, eyes twinkling. “But Raphael was listening.” Michael snorts, shaking his head, and God gestures at the seat opposite His desk, capping His pen as Michael sits down.

“You reinstating me as archangel?” Michael asks cheerfully. God sighs, giving him a serious look, and the smile slips off Michael’s face.

“You know, Jesus is still mad about the onion,” He says gravely. “You made Him look bad, which means you made me look bad.”

“You know I didn’t mean to do that,” Michael says, because He can see Michael’s intentions laid out in front of him, clear as day. “And you know I’m sorry.”

“I know,” God says. “So I am reinstating you. But don’t play around with the Son again.” Michael nods meekly, wings sagging a little.

“Thank you, Father,” he says. God waves His hand dismissively, grinning.

“You knew I was going to reinstate you,” He says.

“Ashton’s going to be pissed,” Michael says, and God chuckles.

“He knew too,” He says. “He thinks you get special treatment.” That fucker. And, yeah, whoops, Michael’s in the presence of the Lord, and isn’t censoring his thoughts. Whoops. Sorry. “Apology accepted,” He says, grinning.

Michael hesitates, then, because it reminds him of some things Calum’s said - you exercise your free will to swear, and the many different iterations of you’re the worst angel up there. God raises an eyebrow, motioning for Michael to ask.

“Why don’t you kick me out?” Michael blurts. God leans back in His seat.

“You want me to kick you out?” He asks. Michael shakes his head.

“But I- y’know,” Michael says, shrugging a little uncomfortably in the heat of His gaze. There’s nothing quite like the scrutiny of the Lord. “I swear. I blaspheme. I- uh.” He flushes, and God smirks as images of just what exactly Michael would like to do to Calum flash through his mind. Michael clears his throat. “I’m not exactly a model angel.” God looks at him, calculating, and Michael tries to resist the urge to fall to his knees.

“You use your free will exactly as I intended it to be used,” He says. “You do as you please with a pure heart, unwaveringly loyal to me. You never have your own interests above mine.”

“Even when I blaspheme?” God looks at him for a moment, and then smiles.

“Even when you blaspheme,” He says gently. “You’d do well to remember my omniscience, Michael. Raphael may think obsequiousness is the way into my good books, but that was the reason I gave you free will. I knew some would use it for wrong, I knew some of you would use it to serve me blindly, but you’re the only one who’s ever used their free will as I intended, and the only one I’d ever want at my right-hand side.” Michael has to drop his gaze, can’t meet the holy power shining from His eyes.

“Thank you, Father,” he says again, and he hears the awe in his own voice. Jesus Christ, he sounds like a human. God snorts at that.

“Yeah, you do,” He says. “Now, go and tell Raphael you’ve been reinstated. I’ve seen how it plays out, and you’re going to love it.”

“Can I tell him I’m your right-hand angel?” Michael says hopefully, and God laughs.

“The fuck you can,” He says, eyes twinkling, and laughs again as Michael gawps at Him. “Oh, you think you’re the only one who can swear in here?”

Yeah, Michael should have seen that one coming.

-------

The next time Michael sees Calum, he’s with Luke again. It’s the middle of the night, and they’ve both cast glamours, whispering to each other in a dormitory in a hostel in Prague. Luke’s pointing at something across the room, and Michael silently casts his own glamour, sauntering over to them nonchalantly in the hopes of picking up what they’re talking about.

“...the right side of the room, you take the left,” Luke says, gesturing to the other side of the room.

“For what?” Michael asks, and both Calum and Luke jump, eyes instinctively turning black and baring their teeth. They both relax when they see who it is, though.

“Can you let us have one night of fun?” Calum says, sighing.

“Depends,” Michael says. “Does ‘fun’ involve fucking with the humans?” He indicates the ten people sleeping soundly in the room, and both Luke and Calum hesitate.

“Well, yes, but-” Luke begins.

“No can do,” Michael says smoothly, and Calum scowls at him.

“You ever get tired of being a boring cunt?” he asks, and Michael can’t help but laugh.

“What are you up to?” he asks.

“Unplugging people’s phone chargers,” Luke answers, eyes gleaming. “They’re all going to wake up with thirty percent charge. Some of them might even miss their alarms.” He sounds so fucking pleased with himself. Michael rolls his eyes.

“What are you, three hundred?” he says, and he opens his mouth to make another scathing remark, but is interrupted by a tap on his shoulder. He whips around in surprise, because who the fuck can see through his glamour, to find Ashton standing there, looking equally surprised to see him.

“Oh,” Michael says, turning back to Calum, who looks bewildered, and Luke, who looks shocked. “This is my superior. Although, actually, that’s not true anymore, is it?”

“You get demoted too?” Calum asks Ashton sympathetically. Ashton sends Michael a glare, and shakes his head tightly. Calum looks back at Michael, who’s grinning widely.

“No way,” he says incredulously. “You got reinstated?”

“He always gets reinstated,” Ashton mutters.

“Jealousy’s not a good look you, Ash,” Michael tells him sweetly, and Ashton scowls at him.

“Ashton,” Luke says suddenly. Ashton’s eyes slide over to him, something unreadable in his expression.

“Yes,” he says, a little tightly. Michael frowns. What the fuck is Ashton’s deal with Luke? He’s just a harmless fucking demon. He’s about to start unplugging people’s phones, for God’s sake. Not exactly the kind of criminal mastermind Ashton usually descends for; the last time Ashton had come down had been for Attila the Hun.

“Huh,” Luke says, a little smile unfolding on his lips. “You’re still fucking hot.” Michael’s eyes widen, and Calum chokes on his next breath, disguising it badly as a cough.

“You know him?” Michael asks in disbelief. Luke grins, eyes glittering, and waves his hand. Michael watches as all the phone chargers in the room simultaneously unplug themselves and fall to the floor, and his jaw drops. No demon should be able to do that. Calum wouldn’t even be able to unplug two chargers at the same time.

“Cal didn’t tell you?” Luke says sweetly. “Luke’s short for Lucifer.”

-------

For want of a better phrase, all hell had broken loose as soon as the words had left Luke’s lips.

Ashton and Michael’s wings had flown out, in warrior mode without a second’s hesitation, and Calum and Luke had responded in kind, growling, eyes black, teeth bared.

“I knew it,” Ashton had hissed, holy light rolling off him so brightly it even almost hurt Michael’s eyes. Calum had shrunk back, but Luke had been unperturbed. “The minute I saw that picture, I knew it was you.” Luke had grinned, all sharp teeth and gleaming black eyes.

“You think about me that often?” he’d said.

“Of course I fucking think about you,” Ashton had spat, and Michael had stopped short, stared at him.

“Did you just fucking swear?” he’d asked.

“Not really the point, Michael,” Ashton had said through gritted teeth.

“Man, you’re not the only angel to swear?” Calum had said to Michael.

“He never swears,” Michael had told him, bewildered.

“These are special fucking circumstances,” Ashton had snapped, and the power in his voice had made Calum stumble back a few steps.

“Look,” he’d said carefully, when he’d regained his footing. “Michael’s an archangel, you’re...whatever the fuck you are, and Luke’s the Devil. All I’m seeing here is I’m going to come out bottom if this comes down to a fight. Why don’t we take this somewhere else?” They’d all hesitated, tense and poised, none of them willing to be the first to give in, until Calum’s gaze had flickered to Michael, a pleading note in his brown eyes.

And really, who’s Michael, archangel of the Lord, to say no to petty demon Calum?

“Fine,” Michael had said, folding his wings, and after a moment’s hesitation, Ashton had followed suit. Luke had taken a moment longer, until Calum had nudged him pointedly, and then he’d folded his sleek black wings in too.

That’s how they’ve ended up here, in a McDonald’s that’s open all night. They’re huddled in a booth, too close for comfort, Calum and Luke on one side, Michael and Ashton on another.

“So,” Michael says awkwardly, cutting into the uncomfortable silence, because someone has to be the first to speak. “Sorry about, y’know. The war, and all that.” Luke snorts.

“Water under the bridge,” he says, waving a hand dismissively, but his eyes don’t stray from Ashton. “You were always my favourite angel.” Ashton flinches at that.

“What’s the fucking deal here?” Calum demands, and Michael’s silently grateful that he’s not the one who had to ask the question and risk getting publicly reamed out by Ashton. “How do you two know each other?” Luke grins, still gazing at Ashton.

“You wanna tell them, or should I?” he says, and Ashton stiffens. “I guess I should, huh? It is my story, after all.”

“Fucking spit it out already, Luke,” Calum says. Luke raises his eyebrows at Ashton, and then finally tears his gaze away.

“Ashton’s the reason I fell,” Luke says. Michael feels his jaw drop.

“What?” he says, at the exact same time as Calum.

“How?” Michael demands.

“What the fuck?” Calum says.

“What happened?”

“What did he do?”

“Hang on, I thought you fell because of pride,” Michael interrupts, jabbing a finger at Luke. Luke shakes his head.

“I fell because I loved someone more than I loved Him,” he says, and then nods at Ashton. Michael blinks.

“Sorry,” he says after a moment, shaking his head. “Not sure I’m getting this.”

“Yeah,” Calum chimes in. “Sounds like you’re saying you and Ashton were, like...a thing?”

“That’s what he’s saying,” Ashton says.

“You- hang on,” Michael says, holding his hands up. “You, Ashton, angel who tells me off for even thinking about blaspheming, dated the Devil?” Ashton nods curtly.

“Nah,” Calum says, shaking his head, “sorry, not having it.” Michael has to agree with that. No way did Ashton date Satan.

“Wait,” he says suddenly. “No, this doesn’t make any sense. Why do you look different?” Luke shrugs.

“Changed it up,” he says. “You get a much more exciting range of powers when you’re not confined by His morals.” He grins, and looks back at Ashton. “Ashton still recognised me, though, didn’t he?” Michael stares at Ashton.

“You dated Satan?” he asks, and Ashton nods. “You never thought to fucking tell me?”

“What was I supposed to say, Mike?” Ashton says.

“Oh, I don’t know, hey, Michael, sorry about all those times I slammed you against a wall for swearing, turns out I dated the fucking Devil?” Michael suggests, slightly hysterical. None of this makes any fucking sense.

“You slam him against walls?” Calum asks, sounding intrigued. “Huh. Shame. I won’t get to be the first.” Michael scowls at him.

“Are you serious?” he demands. “I find out Ashton dated the literal Devil, and you want to make innuendos? What are you, an incubus?” Calum grins at him.

“Might be,” he says.

“Could make you one, if you wanted to be,” Luke offers.

“If you’re Satan, why the fuck are you messing around with people’s phone chargers and gluing coins to footpaths?” Michael says. Luke shrugs.

“Being annoying is way more fun than being evil,” he says. Michael stares at him, because yeah, that does actually sound like something Lucifer would say. But Lucifer also didn’t fucking date Ashton.

“You two didn’t date,” Michael says, shaking his head. “That’s just- that’s just not true.”

“I can’t lie, Michael,” Ashton reminds him, and Michael bites his lip, because it’s true, he can’t, but he also didn’t fucking date the Devil.

“So,” Luke continues, like this whole interlude hadn’t even happened, spreading his hands. “Turns out I loved Ashton more than he loved me. I get cast out, he doesn’t follow, cue thousands of years of warfare.” And actually, that’s a point.

“You let me fight that war,” Michael says tightly, rounding on Ashton. “You let me lead that. You let me lead angels, your brothers, into battle to die, and you could have stopped it all along.” Ashton puts his head in his hands.

“I couldn’t,” he says miserably. “I couldn’t force myself to love Lucifer more than I love Him.”

“Man, this is like a fucking soap opera,” Calum puts in, leaning back in the booth with a grin on his face.

“I’m glad someone’s fucking enjoying themselves,” Michael snaps, and Calum holds his hands up in defence.

“I’m a demon, dude,” he says. “I kind of get off on chaos.” He pauses, and then adds: “So do you, actually, don’t fucking lie. You said the tattoo was funny.”

“That’s exactly why I’m so worried about you, Michael,” Ashton says. “You abuse your free will. I don’t want you to fall, too.” Michael rolls his eyes.

“Ash, if I were going to fall, it’d would’ve happened a long fucking time ago,” he says. Ashton shoots him a look.

“You’ve never been as close as you are now,” he says bluntly, eyes flicking to Calum.

“Oh, c’mon, I want to fuck a demon, so what?” Michael says. “You actually fucked the Devil, and you’re still up there.”

“You want to fuck me?” Calum interrupts, and Michael rolls his eyes.

“Dude, of course I want to fuck you,” he says. Calum looks at him for a moment, and then his face splits into a self-satisfied grin.

“Don’t blame you,” he says. “I am pretty fucking sexy.”

“Not the moment, Calum,” Michael says warningly, and it’s Calum’s turn to roll his eyes, but he doesn’t retort.

“He’s not going to fall, Ash,” Luke says, and there’s something gentle and reassuring in his tone that doesn’t really sit well with Michael’s idea of Satan. “Trust me. He’ll never love anyone more than he loves Him.” Calum’s grin drops at that, and Michael tries to ignore the unpleasant flip in his stomach.

“You don’t know that,” Ashton says. “You haven’t seen how he uses his free will.” Michael hesitates.

“I spoke to God about it,” he says, after a moment of dithering. “I- look, I can’t tell you what He said, but we’re on the same page.” Ashton throws him a sceptical look. “Come on, Ash, am I going to lie to you about what He said in front of Him?” Ashton hesitates, and then deflates.

“No,” he says reluctantly. “But-”

“No, I’m not taking any more fucking criticism from you,” Michael interrupts, pointing a finger at him, “ever. You dated the Devil. I’m going to swear to fucking God-” he relishes the way Ashton flinches at that “-and I’m going to fuck Calum, and there’s absolutely fucking nothing you’re going to say about it.” Ashton opens his mouth, and then closes it again, and Michael gets a rush of satisfaction almost as strong as when he’d told Raphael he’d been reinstated as archangel, again.

“Fine,” Ashton mutters. Luke shoots him a look somewhere between concern and amusement, and Michael tries not to think about the fact that Satan seems to at least somewhat care about Ashton, instead lapsing into an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes until Calum clears his throat.

“So, Michael,” he says hopefully, breaking the tension. “We were gonna fuck?”

-------

Just because Michael and Calum are fucking now doesn’t relieve Michael from his duties, as God kindly but firmly reminds him when he goes to ask about whether this is, like, even permitted.

(“You know where I stand,” God had said. “Love no one more than me.”

“For you are a jealous God,” Michael had muttered, and God had grinned.

“Exactly.”)

He’s begged Calum to stop fucking around, but Calum seems to think it’s even funnier now that they’re whatever the fuck they are, uses it as a fucking booty call. His ideas are getting more and more ludicrous - he’d gone to someone’s house and put tiny holes in all of their socks, for God’s sake - just to call Michael down for a quick fuck.

So when Michael hears that Calum’s caused a ten-car pileup on a motorway in England, he’s a little concerned.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Calum says, aiming for light-hearted and missing, not even looking up when Michael sits down next to him on the overbridge.

“That’s all in your hands,” Michael says, looking out at the (pretty impressive) traffic jam Calum’s caused. “Damn, dude. Bad day?” Calum huffs out a laugh, but it’s humourless.

“Yeah, guess so,” he says moodily. Michael hesitates. On the one hand, Calum’s a demon, and even though they’re physically intimate, Michael’s not supposed to emotionally care about him. On the other hand, Michael’s an angel, so caring is kind of in his nature, and something about Calum just draws Michael in.

“Wanna talk about it?” he says eventually, gently. Calum shrugs.

“Nothing you can do about it,” he says.

“I can listen,” Michael says. “Angel, remember? I do a lot of listening.” Calum snorts.

“What are you angel of?” he asks.

“Healing,” Michael says.

“You heal broken hearts?” And, oh. Okay. Michael swallows. He shouldn’t care about that as much as he does. It shouldn’t matter to him that someone that isn’t Michael has broken Calum’s heart.

“I can try,” he says, aiming for jovial, but it falls flat. Calum sighs.

“Remember that dude who wrote that play about the people who couldn’t be together?” he says, kicking his legs out. Michael frowns. “You know, the one set in Italy? Couple of centuries ago?” Michael frowns, and Calum rolls his eyes. “C’mon, man, you know who I’m talking about. Ro- Roleo? No, wait, Romeo? Romeo and Juliet, that’s the one.”

“...Shakespeare?” Michael says.

“Yeah, him,” Calum says in relief.

“What about him?”

“Didn’t he write the whole star-crossed lovers thing?” Michael raises his eyebrows.

“You remember that, but not Shakespeare’s name?” he says. Calum scowls, but it’s half-hearted.

“My point is,” he says, and then he stops, and kicks his feet out again.

“Your point is?” Michael prompts. Calum sighs, and stares down at the cars.

“You ever feel like that?” he says gloomily. Michael follows his gaze.

“Like a traffic jam?” he asks slowly. Calum rolls his eyes.

“Like we’re star-crossed lovers,” he says, and oh.

Oh.

Oh, fucking hell.

“Calum,” Michael says carefully, and Calum sighs again.

“I know,” he says, before Michael can continue. “You don’t fucking care about me, whatever. It just fucking sucks.” He laughs humourlessly, and then adds: “You think He’d ever let me back in?” Michael dithers on that for a moment, before deciding to go for the truth.

“I don’t think so, Cal,” he says gently. “You wouldn’t be able to love Him more than anyone else.”

“Is that such a fucking crime?” Calum says bitterly. “That I have the capacity to love with thought, with intention, not just blindly?”

“No,” Michael says kindly. “It just means you’d make a shitty angel.”

“You’re a shitty angel,” Calum says.

“I am,” Michael agrees. “But I’ll also never love anyone more than Him.” Calum deflates, and shit, are those tears? Can demons even cry?

“What the fuck are we even doing then, Michael?” Calum asks flatly. Michael sighs.

“I do care about you, Cal,” he says. “A lot. I should have killed you the first time I met you, but I couldn’t. There’s something about you, I just…” he trails off. “Look, it’s complicated. I do care about you. I’ll just never love you more than I love the Lord.” Calum stares at the traffic below them.

“But you could love me?” he says to the cars. Michael nods.

“Easily,” he says. Calum bites his lip.

“I could be second best?”

“You already are second best.” Calum’s brow creases, like he’s trying to make some kind of decision.

“Okay,” he says eventually. Michael frowns.

“Okay?” Calum shrugs, and the wicked gleam is back in his eyes, just like that.

“You know what they say,” he says, grinning. “First the worst, second the best.” Michael rolls his eyes, hard.

“You really gonna have a breakdown and end it like that?” he says sceptically.

“Demon, dude,” Calum reminds him. “Not really keen on serious.”

“You sure you’re not, like, a poltergeist?” Michael says, and Calum shoves him off the overbridge. Michael squawks, wings unfolding so fast he thinks he might have sprained something, and he hits Calum upside the head with his left wing as he sets himself back down next to him. “You’re a fucking arsehole, you know that?”

“And proud,” Calum tells him, and then sobers again.

“What?” Michael prods. Calum sighs, and holds his hand out, fingers spread, for Michael to hold.

“I don’t want you to fall for my sake,” he says.

But, as Michael laces his fingers through Calum’s and stares at the cars under their feet, he thinks: would that be such a bad thing?

#malum #lashton #5sos fic #5sos slash #5sos fanfiction #im so tired i will rsvp to messages tomorrow im sorry xx #holyverse

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awfully-sadistic · 5 years

Text

Week 2: Oct 7th

The Adventures of Dot and Dodger

A series of linear prompt one-shots.

I might cheat a little with this one because it’s a pretty stressful day. It’s a little condensed due to family issues today preventing me from sitting down and letting me write without interruptions. It’s a hard day for inspiration and otherwise.

Dot likes to keep the weekends as free as she possibly could, starting from Friday through Sunday with no calls coming in from work at all. And she did not like to be bothered. She never understood that “work hard, play hard” mentality because she would rather not work herself into the ground, how else would you get to play hard? It was a major thing at the Agency since Agents tend to be on-call 24/7, even on their days off. Their motto seemed to be “Supernatural and Human affairs don’t take breaks and neither should you!” and it drove Dot up the wall, near crazy. She believed there shouldn’t be a life-long struggle with employment. You shouldn’t have to work yourself into the ground to make a living and put your hobbies and the things that make you happy on the shelves until its time to play with them. Those things should be just as important if not more. People often wonder what the key to happiness was but Dot largely suspected it wasn’t working your ass off and getting nothing to show for it if you have to live paycheck to paycheck. It seems obvious to her the key to happiness would be to push the things that make you happy to the forefront and that’s what Dot did; she valued her time off and her hobbies.

Supposing it didn’t hurt having a job you enjoyed doing, too. But even then, it’s good to take ample breaks from it. Even Supernatural and Human business have its gruesome moments.

Opening one’s own business allowed one to set their own hours and Dot made sure to take advantage of that.

When they were working out of her home, she tried her best to make her no-work weekends stick but there was always an emergency here or there that was knocking on her door at least once a weekend. It was disruptive and it never occurred at the hours one might think. Dot was a heavy sleeper anyway and for the most part, someone knocking on her door would have been easily ignored if not for Dodger being the second person the client would try for.

It was a partnership, after all. Both their names and numbers were in circulation.

Dodger put a very special ring on Dot’s phone for her whenever he’d call when she was asleep; he knew how heavy she slept. It always did the trick on waking her up. Dot just wished Dodger had the sense not to call her whenever he decided to take the client up on their request around the same time they came requesting it. But like her, he had a heavy sense of duty. Unlike her, that duty could always wait the next morning to get done.

Unfortunately, given Dot’s adamant belief that the weekends should be sacred, the first weekend of October was really busy for them. It wasn’t until they returned with the Cursed Lockbox on Thursday, October 3rd, that Dot remembered that Doctor Strange was due to return on a Friday.

Of course, it was technically the 4th when they returned from Whitecrest. It was 1AM when the trio lugged their suitcases into the Sanctum, up to their ankles squelching along the way.

“I’m glad we don’t have carpet here,” Dot muttered, making her way to her closet. Armand followed closely with the intent on changing out of his clothes with her.

Dodger, having taken the shower, but forgetting about having to re-step into the ankle-deep flooding once he stepped out of the inn had sat down and started to pull his shoes off.

Once the trio were dried and their spirits renewed, or that may have just been the comfort of being back home, they stared at the lockbox Dodger had put down on top of one of the many desks that made up The Pen.

“I’m kind of worried about leaving this in the Sanctum overnight.” Dot said, glancing between both Dodger and Armand. She couldn’t help but smile a big wider noting the shared pajama outfits she and Armand donned.

“No kidding,” Dodger agreed. “It’s already in a lockbox but it was still powerful enough to seep out of its confines to still curse the crew of the Ocean Spray.”

“That’s another good point. I wonder why they had it in the first place.” Dot questioned.

Dodger made a noise of agreement in the back of his throat that sounded like a cross between a grunt and a hum. “I wish I had the thought to check for a logbook in the Captain’s Quarters,” he said. “it might have given us a little insight to their inventory.”

“They might not have realized that what they were carrying was Cursed, either.” Dot pointed out.

“Good point. Either way, this is Doctor Strange’s territory.”

“It would have been good to at least given him some more information.”

“We’ll just tell him what we were told.”

Dot floundered a bit. There was nothing wrong with what Dodger was saying but this was Doctor Strange. Her expression conveyed what she couldn’t quite argue against sound logic.

“What?” Dodger asked, studying Dot’s features.

“Doesn’t that sound a little… I don’t know, lackluster? He asked us to do this job and while we accomplished what I think he meant, this just feels a little unfinished. There’s a Cursed item in that lockbox but we don’t have any information about where it came from or why it was in the Ocean Spray. If there was a chance of those questions being answered from this logbook you were talking about, we should have had the sense to look for it. It’s not like we’re not new at this.”

There was a silence where Dot thought Dodger was thinking. His expression looked as thoughtful as he mulled over her statement. With a little nod of his head, he finally replied. “I get what you mean. You feel like we didn’t do a thorough job with this case. I can agree but on the other hand, you have to understand we don’t know much about Curses in the first place. Not even the Agency with a more established background—”

“Hey.”

“—Not saying that we’re not established, I’m just pointing out that even with all the years the Agency had been in operation, they’re just as clueless about Curses as we are. Allegedly.”

Dot gave Dodger a side-eye before sighing. “Yeah, honey. I know. It just feels like we could have done more.”

“Are you sure you’re not just feeling that way because this is Doctor Strange?”

Dot paused. Realized. Then flushed. “W-We do the same things for our other Clients…” she haughtily put, trying to save face and take control of the conversation again.

Armand circled around Dot, “Why did your cheeks turn red like that?” he asked with a childlike innocence that struck Dot in the heart. She stretched out her arm and grabbed Armand by the shoulder, tugging him over. Her other hand landed on the back of his head and she pulled him down, into her bosom.

“Good lord, child.” She cooed. She began to stroke his hair, mothering and smothering becoming a very fine line at the moment. When she heard Dodger chuckle, she looked up. “What?”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ll put in a call at the Whitecrest inn. I’ll inquire about the ship’s log and see if there was any attempt at acquiring it when it first washed ashore.”

“But that’s got to be more than a hundred years ago…” Dot shook her head, “There not might be any record left.”

“We might get lucky,” Dodger was saying with renewed interest. He had that glint in his eye that alluded to the fact he may have remembered something important, “Usually, there are two types of logs. The Captain’s journal about the journey at sea and an inventory log. The inventory logs are recorded twice; for the Captain and a copy for the land. Remember what that old guy was saying about the registry around the time Fitzsimmons was uh, alive?”

Dot’s eyes widened, “If they kept records of the registry from that long ago, they might have the ship’s inventory log!”

Dodger nodded and Dot released Armand to clap her hands in joy, “Dodger, you’re so smart!”

There was a certain pride that touched on Dodger’s smile after hearing Dot’s praise. It was usually hard to praise him considering he was almost always distracted with something else to participate in conversations, only chirping in to lend his two cents. After he said what he had to, he’d usually tune out. But that was Dodger with regular people. His attention to Dot was as intense as his gaze, and her praise never fell short on his ears. He never knew how to respond to it, though. In this instance, he cleared his throat and started, “Well, I better get on with that phone call.” To excuse himself out of the room.

“Dodger, it’s like, one in the morning.” Dot called after him but he was already ducking out of the office. She turned to Armand, “Where is he going?”

Armand looked wide-eyed confused and shrugged. It was a rhetorical question and she hadn’t expected Armand to answer but it was damn cute he had. She laughed, reaching over to straighten out the mess of hair she had caused when she smothered him with affection.

“Speaking of one in the morning, what do you do for sleep?” she asked.

Armand gestured over with his head towards the Grandfather Clock. “I go in there and it’s hard to explain but I think the closest thing is like recharging my battery.” He chuckled lowly, lowering his head to allow Dot better access to the top of his head.

Dot frowned and dropped her hands as soon as she was finished sorting out his soft strands, “So, you have to sleep in Armand, Sr.?”

“I can sleep anywhere but if I need to restore energy I have to go back to my bound item for it to affect me.”

Dot’s mouth formed an ‘o’ as she listened and then asked, “Are you low on energy right now? And if not… how can we tell if you are?”

Armand laughed, a shy sound. “You’ll know. I will act different. Out of sorts. Spacy. And I will not have any energy to become physical.”

Dot nodded with understanding. “Okay. That’s good, I’ll be able to keep an eye on you.” she paused and then asked, “Do you know how long you can go without sleeping in Armand, Sr. before your energy starts to drain?”

Armand looked thoughtful, “It depends on how much energy I deplete. If I’m spending my entire days as my corporeal form, I’ll expend more energy. It’s not much but it’ll start to add up before I realize I can’t change anymore. And if I do something really straining, I’ll deplete it faster. But if I’m just hanging around with using the least amount of energy, I can last for days without sleeping.”

“I don’t want you going without sleep,” Dot said. She couldn’t explain it but it felt like seeing Armand in little clothes go out in cold weather even if he couldn’t feel cold. It would make her worry and so Armand neglecting “sleep” was the same way. She was protective by nature and overprotective of the ones she loved; Armand struck her nurturing chord so many times, she was beginning to note she could fuss over him without a second thought. He was childlike which made the urge that much stronger.

She glanced at Armand, Sr. with another frown tugging downward on her lips. “and it makes me feel bad that you have to sleep in Armand, Sr. in the Sanctum by yourself.”

Dot and Dodger have their own homes to go back to. Armand was found living in their office, so to speak. Armand shifted around Dot, walking around her. She was beginning to see that he did that often, especially if he was trying to understand something about their expression or their words. It was a pretty odd habit of his, in the cutest way of course.

“I don’t feel bad,” he told her. “it’s where I’ve been for a very long time.”

Dot’s brows furrowed as she thought about that, “Yeah, that reminds me, how did you end up here?”

Armand opened his mouth to speak but he stopped short, realizing he didn’t know what to say. Confusion clouded his features and he closed his mouth, twisting his lips as he thought or tried to that far back.

“…I… don’t know…” he said, almost in a haze.

Dot was beginning to see that there were many more unanswered questions Armand brought up for every few he managed to answer. She didn’t ask again mainly because it wouldn’t do any good. She figured, that down the road, they’d eventually find out more about Armand.

Everything buried gets dug up eventually.

Instead, she nodded. “I wonder if we can see about making one of these rooms a make-shift sleeping area. It’d make me feel better about leaving you here by yourself. Even if you’re not bothered by it, I am, love.” Dot placed her hand on Armand’s arm, giving it the motherly gesture of a cross between a pat and a rub. “You’re not just a ghost to me or even to Dodger, no matter how he conveys it verbally. I know how he feels. He gets just as worried about you as I do. And you have feelings like we do, it just seems weird leaving you here by yourself.”

“How is it different from you and Dodger living by yourself?” Armand asked. He didn’t mean any harm by it, he genuinely wanted to know. But Dot had an answer for that one, too.

“We live in places we chose for ourselves. We don’t live in an object we’re bound to. We chose where we lay our heads. I may not know how you became bound to your Clock, but are you going to stand there and tell me it doesn’t bother you? Bound items bind you for a reason. You can’t go too far out of range from yours, right?”

Armand didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. Dot was right. Dodger had asked Armand if he could make the trip to Whitecrest while they were getting packed and while Dot didn’t think of it at the time, Dodger must have thought it through. Armand must have known what Dodger had meant because he had replied with a quiet yes and that was the last they had spoken about it.

“I don’t know how far Armand, Sr. lets you travel since you went to Whitecrest well enough, but there’s got to be some sort of drawback. Do you know what they are?”

Armand shook his head. Dot bit her lip with another frown.

“That’s alright, too. When the time comes, we’ll figure things out together.”

Armand didn’t say anything again but he did rest his cheek against the top of Dot’s head, drawing her into a hug that held on a little too tightly. She didn’t say any more than that, and returned the gesture giving him a hug just as tight.

That night, the trio had separated with the intention on meeting at the Sanctum tomorrow afternoon. Dot was the last one into the office pushing past the waiting area and into The Pen where Armand and Dodger were seated, talking to each other.

She set down three cups of coffee she had picked up from the successful chain franchise, Starluck, and sat with them. “So, what are we talking about?” she asked, carefully testing her drink. It was the sweetest item their menu had to offer and about the only time she’d spend an absurd amount of money on coffee. She had ordered the same for Armand and Dodger got the same Iced Mocha drink he always got whenever he went with her.

“Doctor Strange left a message,” Dodger revealed. Dot, who was beginning to take a drink, stopped. He continued, “He said he wouldn’t be able to make it tonight. Tomorrow, though. Work was taking longer than expected.”

Dot’s shoulders slumped and she sighed. It wasn’t Stephen’s fault but she wasn’t going to lie to herself and say she wasn’t disappointed. “Alright, then we’ll just meet up here tomorrow.”

“Oh, we also got a call from Whitecrest’s record keeping department. I was telling Armand I was just as surprised to hear that they had one as well as the affirmative we received on the ship’s inventory log.”

Dot gasped, “This coffee is way too hot!” She cursed quietly before taking up a more excited tone as she registered what Dodger was telling her. “We got it, then? They can give it to us?”

“They’ve already sent it out but we won’t receive it again until next week. It is the weekend after all.”

Dot groaned, “And Stephen’s not coming today but tomorrow, can this weekend’s start suck anymore?”

“I’m sure he’d understand about the log.”

Dot nodded, knowing Stephen would be more than grateful for the information they had just obtained. She just wished it all went off without a hitch.

“Did anything strange happen while the lockbox was here?” Dot asked, looking over at Armand. She might as well ask as long as they were going to hang out for a little while.

He had stayed overnight in the clock since there was really no other place for him to go. Dot had suggested they could bring Armand, Sr. to her house since they knew he could at least travel three hours out of its hold. But Dot also had the thought that Armand would have to retreat to her home if something happened while at work. It was best to leave Armand, Sr. in the office and just bring in a spare bed like Dot had originally planned.

In the meantime, Armand was going to stay at the office by himself. He didn’t think that was any big deal but Dot couldn’t help but feel bad about it. Armand wasn’t admitting that beneath his denials there was an air of loneliness he wasn’t willing to touch on. Dot had no idea how long Armand had been alone but she could feel at least that much. She was thankful for her empathy abilities sometimes but that didn’t mean she’d bring it up unprovoked if Armand wasn’t aware. She’d wait in the meantime, but there was simply no fooling her.

“I thought I heard some sounds,” Armand revealed. “but when I searched around the Sanctum, I didn’t see anybody.”

“And the television wasn’t on?” Dodger asked.

Dot had the sneaking suspicion that there was something familiar about this conversation but she couldn’t place her finger on it. Armand continued, “No, I didn’t see or hear any of the appliances on.”

Dodger had figured putting the lockbox in the room in the back across from Dot’s closet was a good bet because it was furthest way and there was nothing in that room in case it influenced anything. It was a huge space and even going back there to retrieve the lockbox had given Dodger a bad feeling, he had explained.

“Well, let’s try not to put anything weird in that room.” Dot reasoned. It was only half a joke. She still had no idea what the hell they were going to do with it but she figured, weird things weren’t going to be in their office anyway.

A day later, she could have laughed at the irony.

Because a day later, they were staring at Doctor Strange who was explaining that he would appreciate if they could convert that back room into an artifact storage system.

“Come again?” Dodger asked.

Dot was still gaping.

Doctor Strange who had finished speaking glanced between the two and then chuckled. Their reactions were priceless in the good Doctor’s eyes. “Did you really need me to repeat that?” he asked, “or was that an exclamation of disbelief?”

“A little bit of both,” Dot admitted.

“Yes, well, I’m aware this is an unusual request but you’ve really proved yourselves upon carrying out the task I had unfairly asked of you. I had an inkling what this may have been about,” he spoke, indicating the lockbox nearly forgotten in Stephen’s presence but he drew attention to it now. His gaze was upon it as if it might misbehave in his presence and he dared it to do as much. “I know the boundaries and limitations I’ve asked your government to adhere to if they were to enlist my services; for one, Cursed items are a priority—”

“Not a top priority?” Dodger interrupted.

Stephen smiled, “No. There are worse things that draw my attention.” There was absolutely no comfort in that but Stephen seemed to gloss over it because he continued as if what he said wasn’t startling enough, “But there are classifications in which Curses can be handled. I wasn’t sure how far this world’s progressed in terms of handling them but you three seemed to accomplish what even the Agency could not. I’m pleased to see that my faith had not been misplaced.”

“All we did was pull it out of the ocean and hold onto it until you came to retrieve it,” Dot simply put. There was no lie to that, whatsoever. But it didn’t bring the comforting thought that Stephen might have tasked them with something they weren’t completely equipped to handle. What made him so sure that they were going to be fine?

Stephen turned his gaze onto Dot. It turned a touch warmer and his smile deepened and Dot was relieved of any previous worries. All she could think about was Doctor Strange’s attention on her. “Fascinating how the Agency couldn’t even pull that off, right? Even with the same equipment the two companies have, yet somehow, you three were able to complete this task.”

The simplified way Dot had recounted the tale made it seem that this task had been anything but when Stephen worded it that way. She cast him a look of confusion but Dodger wasn’t as affected by Stephen’s charm. He circled back to their previous thought.

“How did you know we’d be able to do it? It could have Cursed us in very much the same way as the crew we saw on the Ocean Spray. We would have had no way to help ourselves without knowing what harm it could have caused us. Worst case scenario, one of us could have died from the exposure somehow.”

“You weren’t pawns,” Stephen clarified as soon as he seemed to realize where their thoughts have taken them. His expression had hardened at Dodger’s accusation but this was a serious claim, too. Dot had to give Stephen credit when he didn’t shy away from explaining himself, however, there was a regretful expression on his face that matched his somber tone, “but I wasn’t entirely 100% certain what the outcome would be; I knew the Curse to be relatively harmless in terms of humans, I just couldn’t say the same for Armand. Even so, I had faith that you three would be what I was looking for.”

The regretful expression on his face seemed to be guilt. He was admitting something that had ashamed him. It made Dot sympathize with him but she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was somehow more to that. She couldn’t gloss over the fact that he knew Armand might have come to harm, too. She was quiet for a long time, trying to get a handle of her own emotions before speaking because she knew she’d say something that’d be more emotional than adding to the conversation. The last thing anyone needed to do right now was point fingers.

“…It was a test,” Dodger clarified after it had dawned on him. Dot whipped her head towards Dodger who had spoke it and then to Stephen who had verified it.

“Why?” was all she asked, confused and to be truthful, hurt. Everything she had ever read and heard about Doctor Strange indicated that he didn’t involve citizens in the circumstances of his work. In fact, he hardly ever involved anyone from Earth-6969. Granted, Doctor Strange’s responsibilities weren’t entirely known throughout the world, the Agency and the government in working together with Earth-616 shared information. So, Dot and her crew weren’t exactly citizens if she was privy to this information in the first place, but Stephen mainly took on his duties working alone or with any other superhero from 616.

Was that changing? And if so, it all leads back to the question why?

Stephen sighed, taking a moment to wager his words. Long ago, Dot had offered them the seating area she had cultivated just for her guests like Stephen so that was where they sat. Tea cups and coffee mugs sat forgotten and getting colder on the coffee table and snacks half-eaten. No one felt hungry.

“To be honest, I need help.”

Dot shared a look of surprise with Dodger. Armand glanced over just to express his confusion. Everything was going over his head and he was going to have to ask Dot what this meant later on. For now, he knew there was a serious conversation taking place and he was afraid to speak.

Stephen continued, “Taking on the responsibilities of two realms is difficult. I’m not saying I cannot do it, I’m just saying I cannot do it alone. For some reason, your earth lacks a protector. I’m supposing it’s a big factor for why the Great War happened the way that it did, your planet being severely underprepared for it. The tear that merges our two worlds cannot be as easily fixed by merely severing it. By now it’s common knowledge that the two realms exist and are connected in some way, but it’s been so long that these two worlds are now feeding off each other’s energies that attempting to sever one planet from another can cause catastrophic events for both worlds.

We’re leaving it alone for now but things are shifting; people from 616 are coming over to…6969 while people from your realm are coming into ours. In the last decade, this change is finally beginning to show the consequences. From anything major such as our earth’s villains crossing over to make their stake on your planet to minor examples as with the strained relationship between the Supernatural and Human beings, it reflects on those who have the same discrimination in our realm reigniting old flames that were beginning to die down.

Of course, your planet isn’t going untouched, either. You might be seeing more and more of our superheroes cross over in attempt to clean up the messes by migrating villains. And 6969 civilians are holding protests on pushing one side of Supernatural sympathizers onto 616, creating a skewed view of their own Utopia. All in all, it’s a mess and the Agency or either government aren’t showing any attempt at cleaning it with the exception of S.H.I.E.L.D. which acts as the world-wide law enforcement for our planet. For which the powers that be in the council were more or less content to push this off to. For the most part, it’s left up to us superheroes of 616. As for 6969, we’ve been looking through many Agents of the organization who want to make a difference. Civilians who show signs of Supernatural abilities are recruited into the Agency as soon as they are located so it makes for a nice hub to start searching, however, it also puts us in a hard place when you can’t find what you’re looking for. We’ve searched and failed to come up with any prospective candidates until hearing about two Agents that branched off on their own…”

Stephen cast an expectant look on all three of them. A deliberate look that couldn’t have been misunderstood.

Dot swallowed thickly, slowly rolling all of this information around in her head. Her first thought was that she should pick up a newspaper more often or at least watch the news. Being at the Agency, they were supplied with what went on with the world on the terms as the Agency’s need to fix it—Dot had never looked at it that way before, either. They might have been fed propaganda as if the Agency wasn’t as sketchy as it was. In another realization, Dot realized she was really ignorant about what went on in the world, too. She got away from the Agency because she wanted to do more good in helping people instead of turning an eye as the Agency often did but she never questioned why they did; she figured it was because majority of those cases were not promoting enough and the people they usually passed on were of no consequence, justice wasn’t being done for the little guy.

To be honest, reading about the exploits of 616’s Spider-Man filled her with the confidence to do just that.

“The Agency really does that?” Armand had asked, calling attention to himself. He had been quiet this entire time. But hearing about the Agency always compelled him to ask questions. It was the one major power just beneath the White House and its Secret Service in its importance. It was an organization that was well-known but at the same time, secretive.

“Does what, love?” Dot asked, grateful for the break from this mind-boggling revelation.

“Recruit people who show abilities like you and Dodger? What if you don’t want to go?”

Dot blinked. It was a fact she had almost forgotten. It was so ingrained that it didn’t seem unusual to anybody. “I mean, I guess. And I’ve never really thought about it before. I suppose it’s not like volunteering for the Army. You have to go once you start showing signs of anything peculiar about you.”

“You can correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m under the impression that humans here who start showing signs start at infancy once the need for preservation had died out years and years ago.” Stephen added. “From what I’m told, the Agency takes note of these children and when they become of age, they adopt a boarding school lifestyle.”

Dot nodded, “You’re absolutely right. Fun fact! I was a late case. When I was born, my empathy abilities were hard to detect and the Agency had no way of figuring out how to pick that out from any of the other crying babies in the hospital. Apparently, empathy was a rare case! Most special babies were super strong already or did other things, like shoot beams from their eyes and stuff. I just seemed like a regular baby. And this was before the A.R.T.I.I. glasses! Which would have saved a lot of trouble if we had them back them.

Anyway!

Since infancy, I felt strong emotions and for the most part was just a really happy or fussy baby. So, my dad said. When I was about six, I was exhibiting strange mood swings that I became unmanageable. I would throw tantrums out of nowhere or I’d start crying my eyes out or laughing hysterically in the middle of public places; I had no way of knowing that other people were influencing my emotions and I especially did not know how to tune them out when it got to be too much. As you can imagine, it created a strained relationship between me and my parents. I felt like I didn’t understand them and they definitely did not understand me. It didn’t help that I was feeling their emotions every time they had to “deal” with me.”

Dot cleared her throat, bypassing all the painful old stuff she would have to drudge up if she went any further. It was not something she wanted to get into right now. Or ever. She avoided delving too deeply in the sympathetic looks she was getting and put on a more brightened tone to finish off her story for Armand.

“One day, the Agency was just at my door and basically, my parents couldn’t wait to get rid of me. But I learned that I wasn’t normal. The boarding school has a lot of teachers that help you learn about your abilities based on what you got. They helped you readjust to life in the real world, basically, by teaching you how to control them. There’s further training if you show interest on wanting to be an Agent. And I didn’t want to go back home, so…”

“You became an Agent.” Stephen finished.

“Yep!” Dot beamed. She was surprised when Stephen put a hand on her head, giving her short-cut curly hair a ruffle. It was a sweet gesture, full of affection.

Armand looked sad when Dot faced him. She was about to reassure him when he stated, “I don’t think I like the Agency.”

Dot laughed, “We all don’t, honey. It wasn’t until much later that I realized that they weren’t the salvation I was looking for. I can get behind the idea of helping others but I don’t like the way they do it if they can be bothered at all. And now that I think about it, that recruitment thing is pretty weird, too…”

“Which makes me wonder why they let us go at all.” Dodger commented. “The Agency is a huge organization but I never thought they’d be the only organization to handle Human-Supernatural relations. Surely, they’d feel a little threatened with our start up?” This gave Dot pause because she had never thought of it like that, either. But then Dodger added his personal signature of realism, “Of course, they’re a big entity and we’re three people who have but one official case under our belts. I suppose the rivalry isn’t there.”

“…Good job, Dodge.” Dot deadpanned.

“And now Doctor Strange wants us to play heroes.”

Dodger’s bluntness was going to give Dot a heart attack one day.

“Not play, but be.” he corrected. “And it’s not just me, there’s other powers here at work.”

This just brought back the bombshell he had put onto their laps. Dot still couldn’t fathom the entire thing. Stephen’s coming to them was merely a test but they passed. He still gave them a dangerous task on handling a Cursed item without knowing the consequences that she wanted to scold him for but looking at him now, she couldn’t muster up the courage.

“Adding to that,” Dot said, at least giving in to an urge to give him trouble. “you’re asking us to renovate the back room into a Cursed artifact room like we’re the Warrens or something.”

Doctor Strange looked surprised. “Sometimes it amazes me that similarities between our planets.” But he came to his senses and added, “Well, that’s more of a personal request. But yes.”

“That sounds incredibly dangerous. We don’t know how to handle Curses much less understand how to store them. Do we bless them individually? And the entire room? Especially after we add a new item? I assume we have to keep the room locked but do we avoid getting 13 locks or should we get 13 locks to keep with the theme of curses and superstitions? Do we need a priest?”

Stephen held a hand up, laughing at Dot’s rapid-firing questions. “Sweetheart, don’t worry. You’re not going to be doing this alone and in no way will you be in any danger of the Cursed items I’ll have you holding on for me.”

Dot had stopped short the instant he called her sweetheart and had been hooked on that word that she almost didn’t hear the rest of his sentence. “You’ll… be working with us again?”

“Of course. I hope you did not think I’d ask this of you and that’d be that.”

“Well, no, I just didn’t think that far at all.”

Stephen laughed again, this time leaning forward to his coffee. When he put it to his lips, he didn’t at all seemed bothered that the coffee was cold. That was until Dot realized that there was slight steam coming out of the mug in little vapors. She looked down at her mug and picked it up, realizing that it was warm in her hand.

“I went to the trouble of refilling our glasses,” Stephen said, setting his mug down. “the other ones were cold. Except for Dodger. You seem to like your iced coffee.”

Dodger nodded with appreciation, seeing that he had another serving when he had finished his before. “Thank you.”

Dot and Armand exchanged gleeful expressions before Dot turned her appreciation to Stephen, too. “Thank you!” she exclaimed, quite amazed at his handiwork. Aside from his cape and portal entrances (or exits), she hadn’t seen Stephen utilize anymore magic until this moment. And even then, it was subtle.

“This is a big undertaking I’m asking of you but I have to insist on acting upon it.” Stephen continued the flow of the seriousness of the conversation. That snapped the three into serious mode as well. “I have my work in 616 that calls for most of my attention but 6969 is in dire need of attention, too. I need you three to be my Wong in this world.”

“…Wong?” Armand asked.

Dodger’s gaze squinted. Even he didn’t seem sure what Stephen was saying. “Is this some sort of magical term?”

Dot seemed to be the only one aware in the room what Stephen had meant considering the scary amount of attention she paid to the supers. She chuckled in her drink, occupying with carefully drinking it while Stephen laughed.

“Wong is my friend. He’s in 616’s Sanctum. My partner, if you will. If you cannot reach me, you’ll most definitely be able to reach Wong. In the meantime, I’ll be using your room the duration of the weekend to prepare for the Artifacts that will be stored there from here on out.”

Dot was startled, putting her mug down. “Wait, already?”

Stephen, standing up, paused. “Yes, my dear. Is there anything you need to get out of there before I start?”

“O-Oh no, it’s empty! I just meant… I thought you were going to start later. And even so, you’re going to need the whole weekend?”

“Yes and as they say, the sooner, the better, correct?”

Dot laughed nervously. It wasn’t so much as Stephen’s saying but the fact that these artifacts were going to be kept in their office. Supposing that’s what they get for naming their office the Sanctum Sanctorum. Then Doctor Strange gets involved. Was this some kind of cosmic joke?

Doctor Strange wasn’t kidding when he said he was going to get to work. He took off his cape and that was the last they saw of him behind the closed door until a few hours later when he emerged for a break. Dot and Armand were in the middle of discovering all the strange things Stephen’s cape was capable of and Dodger had been recording everything from their meeting and Strange’s cape into D.I.D.. Stephen’s cape did a playful flutter in Dot and Armand’s face before sweeping up to Stephen’s side and he clasped it back around himself.

“I’m taking a break but I did want to add,” He paused as he was talking as he fussed with his cape, “I’ve taken the liberty of also connecting my 616 Sanctum to yours. There’s no reason for it to be connected to the one in your New York; there’s nothing in there. It will also allow for the quick and painless transfer of artifacts between hands in case we need to move things around from the two areas.”

Dot’s eyes were round and she was speechless. Just like that he was going to connect his Sanctum to theirs; a personal way to get to 616 from 6969????? And he was just talking about it like it was a hallway into another room. Dot never thought she’d be able to step foot in 616 in her entire lifetime much less have it in her backyard. Or quite literally, across from her closet.

“The artifacts will be safe?” Dodger asked, ever the one to pick up slack.

Stephen nodded, “I give you my word.”

Dot raised her hands, “Well, there we go. Doctor Strange’s word! Everything will turn out great!”

“Please, call me Stephen.” He offered. Dot didn’t want to tell him she was already calling him Stephen other places but still couldn’t help but flush slightly at the permission. It was one thing calling him Stephen to Dodger and Armand but to his face?

“A-Alright.” She laughed a tad shyly.

Stephen looked appeased, his gaze lingering a touch longer on Dot before he moved it to Dodger and Armand before insisting they start with something for lunch. Around the time Stephen returned to work on the Artifact room, Dodger was taking off to go home. Dot would go home a few hours later but she wanted to spend more time in the same place Stephen was working. There was something reassuring just looking at the door this great Sorcerer was behind, working away and doing magnificent things she could only imagine. Armand had retired to his clock, having stated that it’d be pretty nice to have their company all weekend which swayed Dot bring home Armand during the weekends and they’ll see from there whether or not Armand, Sr. would need to be moved back and forth.

The weekend was filled with visiting the office and hearing some questionable noises in the backroom while Stephen worked. Dot found herself eager to see what the outcome would be. It wasn’t until Monday, Oct 7th, that Stephen had emerged for good.

They were seated at the “Livingroom” area Dot had deemed once more and Stephen was explaining to them what he had done.

“The artifact room is secure to hold any degree of Cursed item. I will take care of the management myself, ensuring that the spells I have put in place are not weakening. So many Cursed items in one place, as one can imagine, creates an abundance of bad energy. It can spill over if the protective spells I weave weaken and depending on the severity of the room, it could weaken over time. Which is why I will be stopping by every so often to make sure it holds up well. Of course, granted I have your permission—”

“Definitely, yep. Yes. Please come over.” Dot insisted. If not for Stephen’s presence alone, the thought of all the bad juju Curses emit had Dodger and Armand nodding in agreement.

“—Thank you, that simplifies things.” Stephen chuckled, “Now, with the completion of the Artifact room, there is still the manner of S.H.I.E.L.D. getting in touch with you in order to merge forces—”

“Wait, what?”

Stephen glanced at Dot when she sparked her outburst. He looked amused. “As a continuation of our chat over the weekend, I should say I largely came here as a representative. There is still the manner of forming an organization here that reflects the ideal of the unification between the two realms; S.H.I.E.L.D. is our force and the Agency was supposed to be yours. But I believe as I’ve stated before, we’ve settled our sights elsewhere.”

It dawned on Dot, “…Oh, yeah… the talk from before. You… you were really serious about that, huh?” she laughed, sounding a little frayed. The idea was too spectacular if she could honestly say so. Exciting but, too ambitious. “This… was supposed to be a private investigation firm. I mean, we’re only licensed as such…” she said, already feeling herself trying to talk their way out of it. Or perhaps she felt a little too humbled. Either way, it was making her head spin.

There was a beat of silence and then Stephen said, “Do you want to know why we focused on you?”

Dot glanced up, feeling herself wanting to say no. But at the same time, she wanted to know. Stephen continued when she couldn’t make up her mind to answer.

“We’ve seen it all before. The governments, the people divided, it’s only going to get messier if the wrong side gets chosen. The direction of relations between your species is in its infancy. Only recently are Humans and Supernaturals working together to create the future you, personally, want to see. But at the same time, there are forces against you that are willing to plunge your world back into the dark ages from ever bearing the fruit of your labors. This line of separation between species, we’ve been there before. In fact, it still rings around my planet even today but your planet is the point at one end of the spectrum that shows us how far we could fall if we don’t do something to change the direction we seem to be going and with the realization that our planets are now bound, it could get messy if there’s a separation on two global scales. We cannot control people but we can continue to set good examples to sway their views, their feelings. We just need a power as great as superheroes in our world to help deliver that message here.”

“Again, you want us to be heroes…” Dodger trailed off, the notion too big for him to swallow. “Like superheroes.”

“Like superheroes.” Stephen repeated. “Your world needs superheroes. Not the Agency.”

“But your world has S.H.I.E.L.D., too.” Dodger argued, “which from what I’m understanding is kind of like the Agency but not as corrupted.”

“It can be corrupted is what I’m saying. But for the most part, it’s not. It is genuinely in it for the best interest of its people; civilian and superhero alike. Even if the two sides are at odds with each other sometimes.”

“Why can’t you work with the Agency on this?” Dot asked. It wasn’t that she was dismissing the idea of helping Stephen or even… becoming a superhero in some weird sense, but why couldn’t the Agency change?

“It’s… compromised.” Stephen finally admitted. He seemed to say it begrudgingly as if he had been trying to hold off on divulging the information. He was holding off on saying more despite Dodger and Dot asking what he had meant. He looked troubled and on the verge of bending, catching Dot’s gaze and the confusion there making him want to share. She had a certain way of looking at him that made him feel chastised; he felt it the first time he admitted his intentions with the Cursed Lockbox and now.

Perhaps it was the universe giving Stephen the much-needed break he deserved when a new voice interjected; a commanding tone. One that sounded like he was in charge of the conversation even though he was the one who hijacked it:

“There’s another reason why we focused on you.”

Stephen turned, letting out a slight exhale at the frame that emerged from behind their seating area. It seemed that Nicholas Fury was going to be his salvation for today.

#{{ original drabbles: spooktober 2019

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lemmingswithcameras-blog · 5 years

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Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind - late to the party.

I have a confession to make. I hadn’t watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind until last evening. Whenever it came up in a conversation among friends who were self-proclaimed movie buffs, I’d just nod along, animating at the right times and saying “I know, right?” at the right moments when the movie came up, usually around 1AM at house parties where the alcohol consumption had made people feel a little more pseudo-intellectual and cultured than earlier. it was a movie which everyone spoke off endearingly. There were diehard fans and people who hated it for some odd reason. And I was late to the party and held on to it like it was a badge of honour. Until last evening.

Right off the onset of the movie, I knew I was venturing into a movie I’d definitely appreciate, if not love. There’s something about this niche genre of low budget sci-fi-esque romance films which I’ve always found appealing. And while the vice versa doesn’t always hold true, I’ve often believed that the low budget/”indieness” of a film does contribute to great writing and character development in movies. The movie can’t just shove in a special effects explosion to generate oohs and ahs from the audience whenever there’s a lull in the story.

The movie, for the uninitiated, is built around this magical scientific process where people can pop on by the doctor’s and erase their memories of a person for a fee. While this plotpoint itself could drive the entire movie, it's the finesse with which the writing of this movie (hats off to Charlie Kaufman, a household name in every film lover’s repertoire) uses this to visit human emotion, specifically loneliness and the need to be validated. Having Jim Carrey’s Joel Barish go through his memories with Clementine while they’re being wiped away emboldens the movie’s exploration of the feeling us millennials have in a relationship that’s run its course - how we stay in relationships which might not be, for lack of a better word, “right” just because we want to be loved instead of being comfortable with ourselves. It’s through this exploration of this relationship that one starts to understand and relate to the leads’ loneliness. This is only elevated by the melancholic yet memorable soundtrack (hat tip to Job Brion’s Theme, lo-fi reworks of which have been on loop for the last 24 hours) which seems like the blanket on a cold winter day; keeping you warm and comfy but also in bed and away from any form of productivity.

Having seen it in 2019, the movie ages well (other than the usage of some random homophobic insults once or twice), unlike multiple romantic comedy movies which you enjoyed while growing up and then revisit ages later only to find the material to be problematic as fuck.

More than anything, it’s the ending of the movie which left me pondering about the movie into the next day -- does this tale really have a happy ending? Sure, Joely and Clem get back together, but is that really a happy ending? Knowing that they’ve given it the relationship the old college try and knowing exactly what they disliked about each other, they venture into rekindling their relationship and that leaves me wondering whether the ending is just driving the point I made earlier home - are we as a society way more comfortable being in a relationship which ultimately leads to a dead-end than learning to be more comfortable with being single? In 2019’s society, where the definition of a relationship and marriage has being taken apart and reconstructed to be more inclusive (and rightfully so), would Joel and Clem get back together? if the movie were to be made now, would this movie have ended in the same way it did? And would it be looked at more as one of the best romantic films ever made or an exploration into what a relationship really entails?

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bambyeol · 6 years

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This Band (p.8)

B.A.M SEQUEL now updating daily!

pairing/s: band! park jihoon x oc ; band! bae jinyoung x oc ; doctor! hwang minhyun x oc

character/s: park jihoon, park woojin, bae jinyoung, ong seongwoo, kim jaehwan, ha sungwoon, lai guanlin, kang daniel, yoon jisung, hwang minhyun

genre: angst, fluff, music (band)

summary: never date your band mate.

warning : a sequel so I’d appreciate it if you’ll read B.A.M first. though you can always live dangerously and read this immediately.

This Band (p.1) This Band (p.2) This Band (p.3) This Band (p.4) This Band (p.5) This Band (p.6) This Band (p.7) This Band (p.9) This Band (p.10) This Band (p.11) This Band (p.12) This Band (p.13) This Band (p.14) This Band (p15) This Band (final)

B.A.M p1 // B.A.M p2 // B.A.M p3 // B.A.M final

wanna one masterlist

song inspiration: Sick by Got7

Now that you leave me and whatever you do

I hope that you think of me

That your days without me

Are as sad as mine

---

The following week, the chaos over the upcoming reunion was increasing without limit. There were speculations that the previous controversy surrounding the ex-lovers was merely a publicity stunt to put the reunion in the radar of the public’s attention. Although, this accusation was not enough to stifle the thrill over the December event.

Social media was blowing up with fans predicting the exact date and venue, broadcasting stations were promoting the event every chance they got, and old BAM songs have even made their return on radio countdowns. Some have thought up their own dream reunion setlists and boosted BAM songs back up into the charts. Needless to say, it was going to be bigger than they all anticipated.

The Underground housed the rehearsals for the whole month leading up to the big day. Plastered on the walls of the small event space were snapshots of their early days as BAM and the members tirelessly stared at these bits and pieces of memory as they waited for everyone else to arrive for the concert planning process.

Jaehwan bustles into the Underground all disheveled, making his way to the side of the room without looking at the members due to his rush.

“Guys, sorry I’m late, I spent too much time in the shower wondering how I’ll act with Jihoon and Riseul in one room--”

“Hyung, relax.” Jihoon piped up from behind the amplifier, shrugging and pointing to Riseul who arrived way before anyone did.

“You look more tense than we are.” Riseul chimed in to lighten up the mood. She then brushed off Jaehwan’s dumbfounded stare and stood up, signalling the commencement of their first ever production meeting.

“So, the management informed me that all we need to worry about is our setlist and promotions. Everything else from styling to lighting and other equipment would be taken care of.” Sungwoon announced in a rather professional atmosphere, setting the tone of the discussion perfectly.

“What do we have so far?” Seongwoo asked.

“A blank setlist and thousands of excited fans.” Woojin threw his arms up sarcastically and flailed his arms around in mock excitement.

“Well, we better start filling that list up now.” Jisung, the trustworthy leader, clapped multiple times to make sure he’s got everyone’s eyes and ears.

“Already on it. I’m on randomizer.com, now if you could just enumerate all our songs from day one.” Baejin whipped out his phone, beginning to type up song titles to feed into the raffle website.

“Jinyoung, you’re really taking after me.” Grabbing a seat from the nearby table, Seongwoo sat beside Baejin, taking no notice of the disapproving glances of the other members.

“Yah, yah. Guys. You’re telling me that we’re putting our fate in the hands of the internet? I think we’ve done too much of that these days,” Woojin slumped into his seat, showing disagreement.

“Our supporters are already creating their own dream setlists so we can look at those to get an idea of what they want to hear most.” Jaehwan sat on the floor and opened his laptop, redirecting to an online music chart and some blog posts written by their listeners.

“I know it’s a reunion concert but I think the audience would really be psyched to hear a new song or two. If that doesn’t make things too hectic.” Riseul proposed, scanning the members faces to see if they approve with the extra work.

Sungwoon, Jaehwan and Jisung were almost immediately won over by this idea but the others took turns and expressed their concerns over the time frame and the composition process itself.

Riseul notices Jihoon nodding along as she further explains her request, visibly weighing the pluses of coming back with new music at the end of the year.

“I think that’s a great idea. After all, it’ll be touching to write a song solely about reuniting. That boosts the emotional impact on the fans.” The convincing tinge in Jihoon’s voice along with that bit about making much more of a mark on the fans made the others nod as well.

“It might be possible. I mean, unlike before we have more hands and minds now.” Riseul’s response seemed to do the last push.

“It’s settled then? We’ll make a bomb setlist before we go home today and start working on the new songs starting tomorrow. Overnight is enough to get our thoughts in order?” Jisung finalized the plan to conclude the informal voting.

“Yep!” They said in unison and gathered closer to get into today’s business. Growing up has indeed made them more systematic and professional in their dealings. They knew in that moment that going beyond the expectations of the audience was what would make this reunion as explosive as it has been made out to be.

They all sat in a circle, each holding either their own instrument or their phones, all set to create.

Riseul sat between Jaehwan and Guanlin, directly in front of Jihoon to whom she smiled to for supporting her stand on adding to the setlist. He smiled back and turned to his phone with his cheeks frozen to the same stretch.

As a tease to Jaehwan’s grand entrance a few minutes ago, Riseul leaned to her side and whispered, “See, this isn’t so tense isn’t it?”

Jaehwan blocked his ears. “Don’t rub it in.” ---

“Yah. It really feels like I’m back in time.” Woojin stretched his arms after settling in his seat. It was 1am and with proddings from the youngest Baejin, the whole band was now sitting around a long table at a barbecue restaurant, throats still strained from rehearsal yet ready for a long night of drinking. Tonight they were back to being a simple group of friends in their youth; not a famous band nor individuals who were separated for several years.

It took some time to ease the tension between all of them when rehearsals for their reunion concert started. Apparently, not only Jaehwan felt a tinge of awkwardness brought by the two. But a few sets later, they were all reminiscing about their first ever gigs, the contests won and the countless songs composed, all of them apparently adhering to a silent agreement not to mention anything about the recent controversies nor the past relationships.

“The difference is that we can all drink now.” Baejin pumped his fists in the air and looked up, followed by cheers from the rest of the band.

“But you still act like a child, Baejin-ah.” Seongwoo pushed the younger man’s arm down and tapped him on the top of his head.

“Yah, say that to me when I have to drag your drunk ass back home.”

“Okay, okay. Everything’s on me. Order up!” Sungwoon announced as he stood up to wave over the server.

More cheers erupted from the group as everyone picked a dish and a drink of their choice. At the corner of the table Jihoon and Riseul sat facing each other.

Throughout their rehearsals, Jihoon and Riseul felt more and more at ease. The warmth was coming back, or it was there temporarily anyway. They’ve shared some glances and some smiles, although reluctantly, scolding themselves afterwards. But they end up repeating the actions anyway. They glance up as familiar lyrics come up, one-liners they remembered they thought up together. They glance up as difficult notes were hit, their eyes expressing a tap on the shoulder.

“Beer for you?” Jihoon asked, earning a nod from Riseul.

“And soju for you?” he smiled at the mimicked response, tone and all, and nodded back.

“Soju for everyone!” Jaehwan, seated near the ex-lovers, tapped the shot glasses with his chopsticks and got everyone’s attention before they noticed the exchange at the corner of the table. In a while, alcohol will take over their systems and the mindless teasing will inevitably start. Where that will lead, it’s probably best not to know.

The orders arrived as the conversations continued. The two wordlessly predicting and subtly observing what dish will end up on each other’s plates. It surprised both of them how much they remember about each other’s tastes.

He eats everything but he can’t handle too much spice.

She loves garlic. Maybe a little too much.

“Riseul-ah, you love this, right?” Jihoon got a little too over-excited at the sight of the steaming tofu stew placed in front of them. Without thinking twice, he grabbed Riseul’s empty bowl and started ladling some of the stew onto it.. “Here, while it’s still hot.” He said, eagerly looking at her and gesturing for her to try it out.

“Huh--Oh, yeah. Thanks…”

“Jihoon-ah, last time I checked Riseul had hands of her own…” Seongwoo nudged him multiple times with the sole purpose of annoying him.

“You’re already drunk? You’re the weakest, hyung.” The eagerness gone from his eyes in a split second, he pushed Seongwoo aside jokingly and went back to eating. He sees a meat jeon that was not on his plate before.

“It’s your favorite.” Riseul mutters without looking at him directly and took a swig from her mug.

Maybe it’s the atmosphere or maybe it was the alcohol slowly getting into their systems that’s making them take such bold steps like this. Or maybe it was their inner consciousness, in all its genuineness, trying to make its way out. It felt good somehow, pretending nothing was ever wrong between them. It felt good to have that fluttering feeling again; the feeling that someone was looking at you admiringly from your peripheral view. It felt secure. It felt familiar.

“I see your tolerance is still as high as ever.”

“Uh-huh. Sad to say, yours is still at an all-time low.” Riseul proudly jutted out her chin and stuck out her tongue at Jihoon.

It was already a couple of hours past midnight and most of them were already out of it. Jaehwan and Sungwoon can be heard singing their hearts out at the coin-powered karaoke machines, while the younger members were in the middle of a pointless contest of who could consume the most soju with chopsticks.

“It became a habit I guess?” Jihoon shrugged.

“Being a weak-ass became a habit?”

“No, not that!” Jihoon just shook his head at how silly she was acting. Nonetheless, he finished getting his point across. “Drinking little became a habit. Because I always had to take care of you back then.”

“For the record, I never black out when I drink. All I become is a bit tipsy and nothing more. Totally self-aware. So you really didn’t need to worry that much.”

“Ey. I was just doing my job as--”

“Hyung, noona, we’re playing never have I ever, want to join?” a flush-faced Baejin called out, cutting Jihoon off mid-sentence, and pulled his chair nearer the pair. “You know how it works right?”

“Just put a finger down when you’ve done what the other person tells you. We’ll go clockwise.”

“Person with the most fingers down by the end of the game should give us a consequence.”

Guanlin and Seongwoo took turns explaining and eventually everyone around the table except for Jaehwan and Sungwoon, who were still at it straining their throats, had their fingers up, either forced or willing to participate in the supposedly lighthearted drinking game.

“First! Seongwoo-hyung, never have I ever had to flirt with a lady to get my drums repaired for free.”

“That’s strangely specific! Yah!”

“Riseul-ah, never have I ever been friends with someone who has pink hair.”

“Seriously?! Remember when you had pink hair?”

“Guanlin-ah, never have I ever been to America.”

“That’s really lame, hyung.” Guanlin put a finger down followed by a roll of his eyes.

And as more fingers went down, the players started decreasing as well. The restaurant was filled with their laughter and banter mostly from Seongwoo who was the first to be eliminated.

“You better not give me a consequence that involves public humiliation.”

“But isn’t that the point of it all?” Riseul shrugged and put on her pretend thinking face to tease the losing player.

“Ah! I won! In your face, Baejin-hyung!”

“Yah, I’m still older than you!”

Guanlin and Baejin, who were the last players, noisily settled their childish conflict and ended up teaming together to give Seongwoo “the worst possible consequence in the history of consequences.”

Their night ended as each of them tapped out, deciding too late that it was probably best not to stay out until the sun begins to rise again. Their game was long over and Seongwoo has done his dare (with much delight from his tipsy younger members).

But a particular boy was not yet done asking for answers.

Before all of them could file out of the restaurant, Jihoon gently held both of Riseul’s wrists, pulling them to make her palms face him. With Riseul’s fingers now outstretched in front of him, he mirrored her, their palms almost touching.

The question Jihoon was about to ask has been stuck on the back of his mind ever since he first saw her again. It was wishful thinking, selfish even; he’s been hoping that she never had eyes for anyone after their separation. He thought knowing this would once and for all ease a fraction of his insecurities. Or worsen them if it goes the other way.

It certainly has crossed his mind that Riseul deserves someone better than him after all. Someone who did not hold her back. But he didn’t have the guts to concede and admit this to himself. Deep inside he believed that their story was meant to continue.

“Never have I ever….dated anyone after you.”

All of Jihoon’s fingers stayed upright. He looked straight into Riseul’s eyes, with a soft and expectant expression. There was a long pause in which none of them spoke and even their breaths seemed like they were on hold. But just as Jihoon’s hopes were skyrocketing...She’s not putting any fingers down...Riseul finally let go of the heavy breath and slowly folded her thumb in.

“I have.”

“I see…” Jihoon looked down and coughed as if doing this would brush away the warmth slowly creeping up his face.

Riseul nudged Jihoon’s hands with her own and eyed his still outstretched fingers, nodding to signal him to continue. She, too, was waiting for a response: a simple movement from his fingers or the lack of it.

“I haven’t.”

“Ah. Is that so…” With her hands now back to her sides, she decided to try and probe further. Despite her already knowing what he was about to utter. “Why not?”

“Because I couldn’t...I still can’t.”

Riseul started to say something but closed her mouth just as soon as she opened it, stopping to think twice about letting this conversation flow on. But Jihoon took care of that for her, leaving his words hanging vaguely in the air around both of them and saying his goodbyes without any further explanations.

“Go home safely. See you in rehearsals.”

“See you. Be safe.”

They asked questions and it left them with more.

---

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weasleyimaginewheezes · 6 years

Note

F. An absent look or touch George Weasley (Forgot the character the first time, oops!)

George x reader / Absent

A/n aha so I may have got a bit carried away as per usual so sorry but thank you so much for requesting :) this is entirely fluff, I was going to make it angsty but I much prefer sappiness and oh my god is this sappy haha. I hope this is okay because its like 1am and I just continued writing without full considering the prompt. This tiredness accurately reflects me right now btw. A/n

To see George Weasley looking absent-mindedly into space wasn’tunusual. However, when it his absent look was directed right at you, it madeyou wonder what he was thinking about. You tried to focus on the conversationat hand and even though he you knew he didn’t mean anything by it, the lookstill made you blush.

“Are you alright (y/n)?” Hermione’s voice pulled you out ofyour reverie of thought. You coughed to clear your now dry throat as younodded. She seemed satisfied enough to continue her rant about S.P.E.W and younodded along, listening intently. Well at least for the first 5 seconds. Youwondered how Hermione had time for all of this alongside her studies beforeyour attention was caught by George whose gaze was no longer on you. He had madea little yell as his twin hit him on the arm, George looked disgruntled as Fredwhispered something to him. They both looked at you and your eyes went wide beforereturning to Hermione who had just pulled out her brand-new collection ofknitted hats to show you.

Eventually Hermione walked away to class with a bright smileas you promised to wear the badge she had made. You rolled your eyes as sheleft and flopped your head onto the table, banging it harder than you hadintended. You felt the bench you were sitting on dip with someone’s weight andlooked up confused to find George smirking at you. You smiled tiredly before restingyour head back on the table. You had little sleep with your roommates’ owl bringingher secret letters at 5 in the morning and one of your other roommates findingit to be the perfect time to gossip.

You closed your eyes, missing the look of encouragement thatFred gave to George who glared back. Although the great hall was not a great placeto take an afternoon nap and the table was not the comfiest of places, you feltyourself drifting. Your reached out your hand, eyes still closed and placed iton George’s arm, rubbing it up and down absently. Your brain didn’t processwhat you were doing but George’s did. So much so, in fact, that it whirred intooverdrive. Then your voice spoke softly as if only for him to hear.

“Georgie, I’m so tired.” He tucked a piece of hair that hadfallen onto your face behind your ear and smiled, mostly to himself, at youradorable nature. You were falling deeper into a slumber, not caring about allthe students entering to study for their free period as you should be doing. Georgelaughed before getting an idea, a ridiculous idea but a good one nonetheless.

Just as the chatter around you picked up, you felt yourself instantlywake up as you were picked up from where you sat. “GEORGE! What are you doing?!”You screamed a little in surprise as George picked you up and carried you outof the great hall, struggling slightly. Your arms quickly held onto his neck ashe reached the start of the marble staircase and gave you a worried look. Youhopped down from his arms and smiled at him before beginning to laugh.

“I couldn’t just let you fall asleep there.” George shruggedin explanation encouraging more giggles from you, mainly out of tiredness. Hethought of a better way and grabbed you’re hand without thinking, running upthe long staircase to the Gryffindor common room. You panted as you arrived atthe portrait and yawned more fiercely. He uttered the password gaining you entryto the warm, cosy common room. There were only a few people there studying orchatting.

This wasn’t the first time you had been there, most of your friendsincluding the twins were Gryffindor’s so you were known to sneak in. You wentto make your way to the sofa before being pulled up another staircase and ledto the boy’s dormitory.

“Here,” George cleared some clothes and boxes off one of thebeds. “You can sleep here as long as you like.” You smiled gratefully,accepting his offer and crawling into the warm space that smelt like George, asmell that made you think of warmth and love - of home. He smiled as you got cosyand went to leave before you grabbed his hand and pulled him back. Clear confusionechoed on his face, you tugged his hand down so he was on your level. You didn’tthink twice before kissing him ever so sweetly on the lips. He seemed shockedat first before relaxing into the kiss to return it.

“Thank you.” You whispered as he grinned again. He thoughtabout just spilling it all out and telling you how he felt there and then butthen what was the fun in that if you were already half asleep. So he left youin peace to sleep, his love for you would be there forever after all.

#harry potter fanficiton #fanfiction #George x reader #George Weasley #fanfic #imagine #hp imagine #fluff #request #my fic

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sevenkookiejars · 7 years

Note

“We’re both in the vegetable isle and I just burst into tears while staring at the cabbages” + namjin? 👀

Pairing: NamjinPrompt: “We’re both in the vegetable isle and I just burst into tears while staring at the cabbages” AURating: PGWord Count: 1,726 A/N: I got carried away writing this so for the sake of everyone’s dash, I’ll put half of it under the cut ^~^ (p.s. the cute/fluff stuff is near the end, so read this all the way through!)

This probably isn’t the best idea Seokjin has had but while some people drink away their pain or indulge in retail therapy, grocery shopping has always been the best sort of comfort for him. Which is why Seokjin finds himself welcoming the blast of warmth from the 24-hour hypermart’s interior as he steps through its sliding doors.

Except it’s past 1am and Seokjin’s probably drank one shitty mix too many and he feels a little less in control with the alcohol running through his system.It isn’t Hoseok’s fault for dragging him out of his apartment to a party though. Seokjin understands, really, because he’s been a moping mess if he says so himself, and Hoseok is one of those people who finds comfort in loud music and bad alcohol.

“It’ll be fun, hyung” was Hoseok’s response to Seokjin’s weak excuse of “I don’t party”. And Seokjin’s grateful for a friend like Hoseok, even if he doesn’t particularly enjoy parties, because Hoseok’s trying to cheer him up and comfort him in the only way he knows how.

“Who knows, it might be good for you, you know?” Hoseok’s tone was light but Seokjin still caught his meaningful gaze, heavy with concern. He pretended not to have noticed it.

Hoseok took it upon himself to bring drinks over in the next few hours at Jackson’s place, seating himself down to accompany Seokjin instead of joining the mess of bodies on the makeshift dance floor. Seokjin tried to lose himself in casual conversations with strangers and overbearing music, but three hours in and he’s had enough.

He convinced Hoseok that he was tired and wanted to catch some rest, insisting that Hoseok stayed on to enjoy the party. Shrugging on a single heavy coat, Seokjin then stepped into the darkness of night to make his way across the wintry streets.

But of course, the mart with its bright lights and toasty heating distracted Seokjin, which is how he ends up inside, a basket in one hand, walking towards the fruit and vegetables section. It’s Grocery Day tomorrow anyway (or today to be exact, since it’s past midnight), and Seokjin figures there’s no harm doing it a little early.

The familiarity is comforting and at this time, it’s almost void of customers. Seokjin takes his time, steps still a tad sluggish from drinking as much as he did. He picks up bananas first, before moving to select some apples. The fruits look pretty good this winter despite the early chill, and Seokjin’s glad he can keep up with his whole “an apple a day” ritual. Hoseok laughs at him for it but Seokjin’s adamant that it’s what keeps him from catching a cold when the seasons change.

He’s just picked up two packets of Brussels sprouts and is turning around to see what other vegetables he feels like buying when he sees it. The section with a whole lot of cabbages on display.

Seokjin freezes. No, not now. He can feel the lump in his throat growing and Seokjin fights to swallow it back down. This isn’t the right time and definitely not the right place for this kind of flashback.

No, Seokjin tells himself sternly, but his body doesn’t exactly obey his mind with the alcohol running through him, and he feels tears prickling in the corners of his eyes. His vision blurs and Seokjin stands helpless as hot tears flow freely. It’s pathetic how affected he is even after two weeks. He can’t control the tears, so he only hopes that the cashier doesn’t hear him in the quiet of this enclosed space.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there sobbing as quietly as he can. Maybe it’s a few minutes, or something much longer, but there’s a tap on his shoulder and Seokjin glances up out of reflex.

“Hey, you alright there?” There’s a boy who looks about Seokjin’s age frowning a little at him in concern.

Seokjin blinks back at him through swollen eyes, sniffs once, twice, before coming back to his senses. Turning his face away, Seokjin hastily swipes at his eyes before muttering a soft “yeah, sorry”.

“Here.” The boy extends a pack of tissues into his line of sight and Seokjin hesitates before taking it. “I was passing through this aisle and saw you crying so I figured I’d… you know, see if you’re fine."

His voice is low and gentle, somewhat comforting in Seokjin’s mess of thoughts and he finds himself calming down a little. Seokjin ducks his head again in apology, not trusting his voice at this point (he might just break down again if he opens his mouth).

"Hey, you look kind of familiar,” the boy starts again, and Seokjin almost snorts at that despite his teary state. If that’s a pick-up line, it’s probably one of the worst he has heard. Seokjin hazards a glance at the boy to find him staring back, rubbing his neck awkwardly.

Seokjin’s about to retort with something when the boy’s eyes light up. “Oh! You’re the lead role in last year’s theater production, senior Kim Seokjin?” At Seokjin’s dazed nod, the boy smiles, dimples showing. “My roommate Taehyung has been gushing about how great a senior you are."

Of course it has to be Kim Taehyung that’s roommates with this guy. Great, so Seokjin possibly just threw his reputation that he’s worked hard to earn down the gutter. Because if Taehyung’s roommate over here spills whatever happened today to Taehyung, half the faculty’s going to know about it by the next week.

Seokjin holds back the urge to collapse dramatically to the floor (it’s not his fault that he’s a theater major). Instead he lets out an oddly strangled "thank you”.

The boy, oblivious to Seokjin’s internal struggles, continues with growing excitement evident in his voice. “Taehyung says you’re really good at acting, and that you’re really nice and are always teaching your juniors."

He’s starting to gesture exaggeratedly, all hesitance lost. Cute, Seokjin thinks, before catching himself, because hold on a second, wasn’t he still sobbing over his ex just a few minutes ago?

”… and Taehyung also says you’re an amazing at cooking.“ Seokjin stiffens at that, eyes automatically darting back to the cabbages. He can feel the waterworks starting again, even as he wills himself not to cry.

"Hey,” the boy stops rambling. Somewhere at the back of his mind, an irrational part of Seokjin thinks that he kind of really misses his voice already. A sob escapes his lips and Seokjin tries to muffle it with the sleeve of his coat. There’s a hand on his arm now, touch light and hesitant. “I’m sorry, Seokjin-ssi, I must have said something wrong."

Seokjin shakes his head in disagreement, taking a shaky breath. Because this boy has been nothing but nice and sweet to a random stranger that is Seokjin (aside from hearing about him through Taehyung). It’s probably nearly 2am now and Taehyung’s roommate was probably just dropping by to grab something. He can very well be in bed sleeping right now if not for Seokjin, and yet here he is. So really, as cliched as it sounds, it’s not him but Seokjin that’s the problem, and Seokjin really should get that out to him to take away that frown of concern on his features.

But as always, Seokjin and alcohol means that his mind and everything else just don’t cooperate. "My ex broke up with me because he hated my cabbage kimchi,” Seokjin blurts in place of a “I’ll be fine, I’m sorry for taking up your time”.

The boy blinks once, twice. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he says.

And Seokjin really should shut up right now, but his mouth decides against it. After all, it’s about food. Food and cooking, and Seokjin without alcohol can’t shut up about that, let alone his mildly inebriated self. “I wanted to surprise him with my kimchi stew but he said it was too bland and horrible and that he hated it. Hated my cooking,” Seokjin says queitly. “I swear I stored the kimchi over the last winter though."

Seokjin knows he’s whining by now. Hoseok chides him teasingly for it but Seokjin really can’t help it, especially when it’s about his cooking. But now that he’s done it again, Seokjin feels a flush creeping up his neck, embarrassment setting in two paces too late. Belatedly, Seokjin realises that he not only offloaded his sob story on a stranger, but also came out to him. Great job, Seokjin, great job.

"He doesn’t know how much he’s missing out then.” Seokjin glances up, surprised. The boy’s gaze is on him, steady and calm.

“What?” Seokjin says.

“I would never have broken up with you over homemade kimchi,” the boy replies. There’s a beat of silence, before the boy colors, eyes widening at the realization of the implication behind his words. “I-I mean, I uhh, Taehyung says you’re amazing at cooking, I can’t even trust myself with a stove and I only do microwaves so… umm… no, what I meant-”

This time Seokjin cuts him off with a hand around the boy’s wrist. The boy’s ramble trails off and Seokjin smiles the first real one he’s had in two week. As much as Seokjin loved the boy’s calming presence before, he finds this flustered side of him undeniably adorable. God, he’s got it bad this time, and it isn’t even the alcohol thinking, Seokjin is sure.

“I’ve still got some kimchi for stew left,” Seokjin starts. “And my apartment is in the block next door. Care to join me for supper?"

The boy locks gaze with Seokjin, surprise evident on his face. "You’d cook for me?"

Seokjin nods, grinning despite the tightness in his cheeks from crying. "Come on, let me grab a few things and we can head back. By the way, I never got your name."

"Kim Namjoon, sophomore, English major” the boy says. “And you’re saving me from microwavable mac and cheese.” Seokjin laughs at that and Namjoon flashes him a dimpling smile. Seokjin thinks he can definitely get used to a smile like that.

“Call me hyung,” he replies. “And you’re helping me with my English script in exchange for the free food."

Seokjin decides then that this grocery run, is maybe the best idea Seokjin has had.

A/N: This prompt honestly caught my attention when I first looked at the prompt list because it’s kind of funny and cute all at once, so thank you so much annonie for choosing this prompt! (and namjin!! bc awkwardly-cute and kind namjoon is too hard to resist ♡)

Send me a prompt and a bangtan pairing, I’ll write you a short fic ♡

#networkbangtan #armiesnet #jinseoknet #rapmon-net #rapperlinenet #replies #anon #namjin #namjoon #seokjin #storyboard #bts #bangtan #bts fanfic #i'm sorry if i'm not that good at fluff stuff #i'm not sure if i did this prompt justice >_<

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photonconductor · 7 years

Text

i dont have an ao3 but shout out to my homeboys

once upon there was a gay on th e moon bc of a really lovng alternate au idea where elc turened BAD and klaus had a 1000 year nap and it'd take too long to fucking explain this so just roll with it ok. this gay--its elcrest btw hes also a Bad Boy now; he rly likes hot topic and thinks those t shirts with sarcastic sayings are actually rly funny but we all know they aren't--was feleing emo bc he couldn't see his bf xen o bc he betrayed him. so he stayed in his room whining abt how fgay he was until eve showed up

"hey whats wrong elc mother is here for u" even tho shes like 5000 years old and looks like shes 2 and also a rock (but im not rockist guys i promise). elc looked at her with his optics shining in the pale argentate light. good thing hes the seme here bc otherwise he'd start crying. in reality he rly wanted to fucking bone xeno bc obviously they had a lot of gay sex b4 they tried to kkill his mom once nad staring at rocks all day kinda sucks.

a;so burnign alive but hes kind of over that phase.

"im sad my bf left me for 1000 years can i pls go back to earth my raging hard on can't be satisfied bc rocks. my dicks not a jack hammer even tho im jacking it all the time (thats what guys do right bitch i dont know)" eve was so offended she put her hands on her giant rock self thats not just herself. its rly fucking complicated shut up u came here for the gay sex not instructibles on how physical forms manifest.

"we dont say ROCKS in this household young man!!!!"

"ＢＵＴＭＯＯＯＭＭＭＭＭ sorry i forgot to turn off my seme voice lemme adjust my mic it happens when my dick is hard" elcrest coughed twice "ok sounds good, BUT MOM I RLY NEED TO NUT. YOU KNOW NUT I'M SAYING... ITS ALL OR NUTTING BUT MOSTLY NUTTING IN XENO'S SWEET HOT BUNS"

"stop talking abt nuts u disgusting boy fine, god, if u leave me alone u gaylord"

and then eve punched him so hard in the dick that elcrest landed on earth in a giatn crater. how hes still alive is bc he still had some continues left like in mario even though this is a srpg game. once elc recovered he struck a pose and laughed evilly while twirling his mustache.

"finally...... I have RETURNED for xeno's hot man breasts! the world cannot stop me now!!" he cackly cackkled and quickly ripped off the fake mustache he put on just for this one scene. then elc went on a quest to find where klaus was and bc the author is too lazy to write any tansitional scenes.

elc found him chilling in his bed reading a book that was called Sweets and You: Do sweets make u inherantly Gay? elcrest made the PFFT noise. ofc they make u gay, fuckiing idiot book. he could write better than that author. in fact, elcrest was gonna do that when he got home bc obviously if this trash is published any shit elc wrote would be good.

NO! he had to focus! but he couldnt stop staring at xenos man boobs and felt his dick get hard again. elc got a nose bleed too bc thats what happens in anime right. i played persona 4 i know what im about

"damn u xeno." elc said thru his nosebleed and klaus looked up bc the author cant fucking rmemeber who is klaus and who is xeno and was surprised i remmebred his name but could not remember remember the 5th of novemember

"what"

"XENO IT IS I" since h e was caught red handed he just kickflipped through the window anyway. he did a sick flip then stood in the middle of klauses room. klaus made a gay gaspp

"alto! what are u doing hre!?" klaus said, bc in this AU that was his codename. elc wanted to be currently doing that but eve said no. fuck his mom. except please dont bc i know you sick fucks are thinking abt it.

"I HAVE COME TO BRING YOU BACK TO THE GAY SIDE, XENO WE HAVE COOKIES. bc i really miss that bammin slammin bootilicious sex we used 2 have and you are in fact bammin slammin bootilicious. also have u heard the word and gospel of our savior mother" elc said gayly

"dude no please stop preaching in my house im a changed man now" xeno pirouetted out of bed

"cmon man im ur seme u cant refuse we made like a yaoi blood oath u cant go back on ur word" elc pushed him back on thebed bc he'd have his ass yet anyway so no real use getting up. bc what is consent anyway hes Bad

"o shit really huh" klaus paused in thougt and bad elc laughed evilly. his plan was working!! all he had 2 do was the final touches! i mean besides touching xenos dick or whatever we're not yet. sorry u have to suffer for ten more paragraphs for sweat boy on boy. elc then turned around an produced a kitty keyboard from the recesses of his coat tails. xeno made the :O face and elc sat down bc playing while standing rly fuckin g sucks

"i wrote this for u on the moon so you'll be hypnotized by my sick beats" then he pulled the mic out of the keyboard and made a sick beatbox noise. No i dont know what the fuck it sounds like just google it. klaus blushued and made another gay gasp and elc made the >:3 face

then be started to play the piano keyboard. he was playing cruel angel thesis, their theme song that they had decided at 1am while xeno was drunk af. it was their theme song despite none of them speaking fucking japanese but they just felt it in their SOULS. it was rly gay. elc was going so fucking hARD that his hard on was getting 40 hard ons. and thats four tens the hard ons. and its rad.

except the ebst part was it was all in meows so it spoke 2 klaus' furry soul.

klaus nyaed softly in surprise and suddenly all his memories of being xneo were restored!!! he gave into the desire that he craved in his soul and opened his big man arms bc for some reaon everyone thinks dudes are thirsty af. dont ask me why

"elc1!1 pls take me!! but be gentle my ass hasnt been ravaged in 1000 years (sick reference to hilda and altos magical wedding night by sorunort like, comment, subscribe for more sick referneces like this one)" xeno mewled like afucking furry and elc nodded once. xeno walked up to elc an touched his man boob sensually even tho xeno is like 60 feet taller than elc just imagine it ok

elc now has sunglasses just bc i think its a funny image

"xeno...... lets do it" elc said softly

"o h elc senpai......." xeno meowed

"and i'll keep my sunglasses on bc i hate the sun #moonlifeforever" and xeno gayzed into his emotion shields sensuallyier. then elc kissed him passionately and their tongues battled for dominance but we all know klaus is a fucking bottom bitch as stated in hilda and altos magical wedding night by sorunort paragraph 17 and 18 bc it was a dialogue.

then elc ripped off his clothes bc hes fucking JACKED and jACKED OFF and xeno gay gasped forlike the third time in this fic. elc was fuckign shredded. legends told of his abs but this time it was real. almost like the fact that shaved ice flavors dont actually exists the syrup is just food coloring. his dong dangled in the breeze and xeno was turned tf on so he took off his clothes too bc hes not a god damn animal god whats wrong with u elc.

except elc didnt take off the sunglasses like he promised so those were still on dont worry readers i got you covered.

"get on ur knees dude and give me a wet willy but like on my dick" elc demanded

"wtf no"

"dude u cant say no its a smutfic"

"ok yeah i guess i kinda do like sucking dick or somethign"

"PREPARE TO EAT YOUR LAST DICK, XENO" elc cackcled and then xeno succed his dick like no tomorrow. elc practically creamed right there bc he couldnt get his rocks off on the moon for 1000 years (hahaha no im not gonna stop makign rock jokes). also xeno has no gagreflex bc he succed dick like a thousand times. once that was over elc just punched his dick in xenos hot cross buns and xeno meowed again

"why are u still a furry after 1000 years" elc asked but continued to Ravage The Promised Ass

"do u nyat like it erucu-kun???" xeno purred and elc shook his head

"no ur still banging its ok"

NUT THEN (i wanted to write but but i typoed and decided to keep it its funnier this way) xenos ass started 2 glow with a new holy light

"WHAT tHE FUCK" elc yelled

"my ass was actually the only way we could turn u good again! the more u fuck me the gooder u are!" and elc gasped gayily! no! his plan was working against him! he could alredy feel the goodness (haha get it bc fucking is hot i guess) turning him good! he had 2 pull out but found he couldnt. xeno was just too bammin slammin bootlicious

"HOW DARE YOU TRICK, I, ELCREST THE CONDICKTOR" he roared and xeno was tuned on again bc roaring is prolly a furry thign im not a furry im sorry

"it was for ur own good elc bc i love you!" xeno dokied so hard there were shoujo sparkles and even elc got shoujo sparkles. his azure optics glew like stella glow and u could almost see constellations in them. except there were sunglasses so u couldnt actually see it but the reader can. xneo was right. he was his tru love..... not the Mother..... his mom was lame anyway all she did was talk to rocks

"xeno.............." elc said wiwstfully before bangin xeno harder. their bangin was so intense everyone could hear it in the kngihts barraks. it was so loud that even ana in her coma woke up for like a second to be like The Gays are At It Again. soon enough the banging was sucessful. elc glew in a beautiful magical girl ligtht and he was become good again. xeno shed a single tear but licked it away

"im cured! xeno ur ass did it! plus that was hot" elc smiled and im pretty sure xeno cried bc look at that man. hes so beautiful. please take the $2 from my purse. they embraced in a gay way. it was cute and xeno did a thumbs up and ana's face appeared at 20% opacity in the bg and she was also winking

"elc i am so glad u are back and i love u" then they made out. for a rly long time too bc theyre so fucking GAY good lord how could stella glow keep this under wraps. then they decidd they had to punch eve in the rock bc she was a dickw hile elc was being emo and stuff. BUT FIRST, xeno got porked lke 80 more times b4 then bc 1000 years does a lot do u.

the end remember to like, comment, subscribe for more fics like this one, seeya

#choo choo motherfucker #im sorry

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familyvisionis2020 · 4 years

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Day 2 - Knoxville

Somehow the post I made about Knoxville got deleted so this is me trying to remember some of it but this is deficient and I am mad and sad I lost that writing because it was good and heartfelt.

Before we went to bed in Asheville we heard birdsong in the trees at like 1am and I said ‘nightbirds?’ and Jeremy laughed a little. Jeremy and John and me remarked in the morning in Asheville how nice it would be live here. The cool mountain breeze was nice. We left the house we were staying at and headed into town. We went to the mechanic first to try to find out what the problem with the van was. The mechanic looked at it and explained it was our pittman arm and the steering box was shot which was causing the play, and that it could be repaired for about $280, and we confirmed with the van owner from whom we are borrowing the van that they would reimburse us for the repair, so we left the van with them, put on sunglasses, walked past the moog factory and down thes street to the Five Points diner. It was a greasy spoon where they served typical Denny’s fare plus a bonus section of greek and italian entrees in the back. I got a big omelet of spinach and feta, hash browns and grits. It felt so warm and full and substantial to eat those things. Later John would remark that “when your needs are met on tour, they’re met so much more intensely,’ which I agree with. Sleep is precious even thought it’s usually cramped and smelly and uncomfortable, the water bottle and coffee cup and meal feel like real ballast and fuel. I had said this more poetically before I lost the post but whatever. We eat our breakfast and then stroll around town for a bit, visit the bookstore Malaprops downtown where I see more muppet-looking people busking and spanging, flying signs, nodding out, sleeping on benches, the nexus of muppet and homeless is an unclear one for me and I try not to be too judgy. We meet Kabir’s friend Alex Brown at Malaprops, Kabir buys a book called 1491 which is a precolonial history of the US I think, we walk down town past one plaza and to a park with a bandshell and a stage and a lawn cordoned off because two men are testing the sprinkler system. The soil near the bench where we sit is aerated and I confirm the squat columns of earth littering the ground are soil and not goose shit. We all four sit on a long bench and all cross our legs together and read each of our individual books in this way that was kind of comically synchronized, so much so that Kabir just bent over so we wouldnt look exactly the same. Me and John were on Ursula K Leguin and Kabir on Kingdom Cons by Yuri Herera, a novella, and Jeremy on Capitalist Realism on his kindle. A townie ambles by, he has a deeply asymmetrical hircut with a shock of purple dyed hair on a mostly shaved head, a loud Pittsburh steelers hat, a cane, and that familiar mix of affability and psychosis that seems to characterize a lot of home bums. He sees us all reading and remarks: “I like Shakespeare myself.” Mercifully, he walks on, goes to another group of tourists down the sidewalk and does something that’s not quite heckling and not quite visiting with them.

We leave, the drive is short, we have had the steering box/pittman arm/linkage repaired and so the play is gone out of the steering but the wheel itself is permanently at 10 o clock and evidently it wants to drift left. Jeremy is driving and negotiating the misalignment expertly, we agree to find a place to get this fixed in Knoxville. On the drive we listen to Blue Smiley, The Durutti Column, Andy Shauf, Frank Zappa, Toro y Moi, Toshifumi Hinata, and best of all we listen to a track called “Style and City’ by Stand High Patrol, which is just an upbeat litany of naming music genres and then naming the city that genre originated, a genius idea, Jeremy said it came on in a club in Brooklyn and the crowd got incredibly loud and everybody loved it. This time around on tour rather than despairing at the poverty of my music knowledge as compared to the expansive encyclopedic aural erudity of the boys in the band, instead I just ask what song is on when I like a song and like it on my Spotify. The other day my friend was asking me where I find out about new music from and I said without thinking ‘I just borrow my music taste from my friends’ which like yes, of course I do. I had this issue for a long time like I must be the originator of my taste, that I must dig in the crates and find the rarest music that no one has ever heard of before, and that I must never be influenced by anyone. Which is dogshit egotism, I’m pleased and relaxed to learn that I can just ask and my bandmates will happily give me a track ID and not think twice of it, and I can take these new songs home with me to enjoy and share.

We get into Knoxville and there’s a giant JFG sign that looks about a century old and a bizarre system of concrete staircases snaking and zigzagging and carved into a steep hill and I want to go visit them but we end up not visiting them. We get to the house we’re staying at, the people who live there are Royal and Kayla, ‘betrothed’ is how Royal describes his Kayla, they are married. Royal is an architect, exceedingly kind and jubilant and gregarious and gets close to you and involves you in jokes and has a laugh that comes so easy and his jaw kind of jerks in time with his jaw and palate when he laughs, the same sort of motion you see in an opera singer or like Mariah Carey when they are modulating vibrato on big belting sung notes. We hang at the house, Kabir breaks out his big thing of homemade chipotle hummus, we start to feast but Kayla brings out a homemade loaf of sourdough she has and then warms up four thick slices in the cast iron and puts a gentle golden crust on it and serves it to us with a big stick of butter on one of those covered narrow butter plates, and also she brings out sweet bell peppers and cuts them into sections we can dip into the hummus, and she pulls out the drum throne from royal’s kit for me to sit on. She’s a nurse, she’s southern in this special way that treats hospitality like breathing, makes it not hard to accept kindnesses and graces. She gets up after eating to work on her pottery, she has a throwing wheel outside in the garage area and she has lined their stone retaining wall with cups and pots she’s made, I learn later that the plates she served us bread off of were all made by her as well. The life she and Royal have in Knoxville seem so breezy and solid and supported and full and healthy.

Royal is an architect, the home has a couple little miniature homes and buildings made out of what look like high-grade matchsticks. John recognizes a poster on the wall of a friend’s band. Their dog, Willow, approaches me, I get annoyed and think it’s going to be mean or bark or smell bad or be annoying, but then I’m petting it for an hour, she jumps on the couch beside me and I put her in this kind of hug-headlock and fall asleep with her on the couch, Jeremy, I learn later, has taken a picture of this, I feel really happy he did that, and I ask for the picture from him and I send it to a girl I like in an effort to confirm my putative cuteness and genteel nature. When Royal is home we watch funny videos on youtube on his projector, weird interviews with furries and flat-earthers and then of a guy screaming about something while in the middle of traffic outside Universal Studios in L.A., I try to explain to the guys how there was a meme I saw wherein there is a picture of a cat who is reciting the lyrics of a Kanye song but in a cute speech impediment style where it can’t say Rs: “Pwease Baby No Mo Pawties in Ew Ay” and it is basically impossible to explain and gets no laughs and that’s fine and we move on. Jeremy puts on a Vimeo of this incredible short film he made with the title “Guided Meditation for Increased Kill/Death Ratio,” which is exactly what it sounds like, it’s built in Unity, which is like a framework to design video games in, it looks like a generic FPS with a character holding an assault rifle moving down a long spacy looking corridor lined with metal, and with a very calm amniotic ambient track Jeremy comissioned his friend to make, and Jeremy is doing the voiceover, and the conceit is it’s like a guided mindfulness meditation except instead of reducing anxiety or avoiding panic or grappling with trauma or mending depression or whatever the usual purpose of these meditations are (meditations I do daily, using the app Headspace, btw, which no one here knows as far as i know), instead of that, the purpose is to like reassure the video game player that they are a perfect efficient killing machine. Stuff like ‘focus on the feeling in your HUD, now the feeling in your body armor, now the feeling in your M4A1 carbine, now visualize your next spawn, you are not your avatar, you are pure death’ something along those lines, and it hits hard home for me being a former competitive Counter Strike player and casual Halo and Call of Duty player and now being like mentally ill to whatever extent I am such that I believe I require these meditations. ITs really well executed, the player glides through corridors, clips through the ceiling, encounters nebulas and NPCs and aliens and eventually spirals into space. Jeremy shows the original video that inspired him, same basic thing but in a virtual Costco rather than in a FPS. We move slow, Royal screen prints tee shirts for his band, Tired Frontier, on his living room table as we watch the videos. The plan is to spend tonight and the next three tour dates wth Tired Frontier. We eventually go to the show.

It’s a house show, the name of the place is CBD Castle, above the front door they have a huge cardboard sign that says CBDB’s in the style of CBGB’s and there’s a big porch with a huge couch on it and a guard rail thing that you can sit on or prop your feet on perfectly if you’re slouched way down on the couch. We mingle a little, the show gets started, the opening act is Kind Magic, which it becomes evident is something of a joke band, perfectly suited to a house show, they don’t take themselves too seriously, they mostly have just mustaches, 80s style, one guy has wraparound oakleys, he’s the lead singer, he climbs up on his bass amp at one point. Royal comes in, and people start moshing, gently, just like running into each other, Jeremy does a silly dance and I watch it happen and I want to do it and I have to wait a few songs to get up the courage but eventually I give it up and start spinning around and let myself get bounced around and I am 32 years old and feel just right and not self conscious and silly and afraid how I used to always feel at the metalcore concerts when I was 16 in Ace’s Basement in Greensboro and the moshing was this awful violent masculine chauvanist bullshit thing. This is the opposite. One song, the lead singer, it becomes evident, is chanting “Pogo! Pogo! POGO!” and I think this means pogo mosh but it does not, it means the drummer gets up off his throne and picks up a big pogo stick he has secreted in the corner and starts jumping up and down on it WHILE playing a complex drum pattern on the drums, it is unreal the level of dexterity and coordination this guy has, I learn later that he spends half the year touring with a professional pogo troupe whose gigs are mostly basketball halftime shows, and include a guy named Danger Rus, aka Russel The Muscle. This band rips and is so fun and loosens everybody up and people are drinking and getting kind of sloppy and I plan to be mad and indignant about this but instead I just don’t care and it’s lovely. Next up is us.

We set up, I get to use the backline kit so load in is minimal, just setting up breakables again. We get locked in, Kabir revs us up, we get started, and right from the jump either I pushed the tempo with my count-off or the guys pushed the tempo or we all did most likely, but we are playing louder and faster than last night and I am going in all the way hard on the drums, playing with my whole body, i come down with my right hand on the floor tom so hard my butt bounces up off the throne, I’m surprised but I like that so I keep letting that happen, I head bang as hard as possible, my neck is immediately sore and hurting but the crowd is crazy live, everyone is dancing after a few songs. I manage to thrash the wingnute off the hihat clutch which and try to repair it, flounder, and give up, which all that means is I can’t modulate the hi hat and so our set is just louder and more raw which matches the room anyways. By the last two songs the people are dancing so hard that I give up my usual veneer of grimacing and lasering my eyes to the side or corner to avoid the crowd, instead of grimacing what I do is watch what is happening in the crowd, which is the crowd smiling dancing moshing grooving with us, with me, and I get a huge smile on my face which I can’t hide and I’m so incredibly happy just playing and being heard by these people. We end and Royal rallies the crowd and they chant ONE MORE SONG ONE MORE SONG for like 3 minutes but we just don’t know another one, and so there’s no encore, but how special and lovely to be asked to do one.

Tired Frontier plays and they rock and they have keys by Paul who has a master’s in music theory and currently pursuing a second music masters in production or something. Royal has 10 pedals I think, and a super weird tuning, and they make a big wall of ambient noise between the keys from Paul and the feedback from Royal’s “stack,” which is his guitar running through a Fender guitar combo for an amp and with a Fender bass combo for effects. Their set is a little longer and the vocals don’t come through that clear and they don’t give super clear definitions to the start and end of their songs so the set may have been 4 or 7 songs. They finish, and I am so starving hungry I get the keys from Kabir and go to the van and eat about a half a jar of peanut butter and an apple and then go lay on the big white couch outside and just doze, super tired. It starts raining sheets and we learn from somebody that Knoxville’s adjacency to the mountains makes it a temperate rain forest and it rains almost every day. It’s warm and breezy and perfect. Me Kabir and John go get taco bell, the best taco bell in town, I just order the same thing as Kabir rather than taking a million years to choose and that works out great, two spicy potato soft tacos, and we just sit in the parking lot and wolf and chomp. The parking lot is sparkling, spotless, a big street sweeper truck is skrrting around finishing the job, someone who I imagine is on opiates walks very very slowly up to our van and then walks away. Someone is asleep outside near a building in the strip mall. Some car drives up and maybe drops off food or clothes. We go back to CBDB’s Jeremy is involved in a dance party there, Paul is choosing tunes based off what he calls ‘forgotten hits from the 80s.’ We eventually go back to Royal’s I fall asleep almost immediately on the couch.

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