The Man with the Thick Eyebrows (Paul x Reader)

Devastated

-Art was by me-

<I will not be using their real last names>

Your Point of View

 

   I simply couldn't stand for it. Civilians lay dead at their feet along with the bodies of many. Like I would ally with red-and-blue freaks. Like toddlers wielding heavy machinery. There was only one I knew by name. Their devil horned leader, Tord Latterson. His two assistants, Widow's Peak and Eyebrow, were trying desperately to stop our ambush. I smiled, planting a bullet deep into the knee of Eyebrow. Watching his eyes widen as he shrieked with pain was exhilarating. Tord whipped around, giving him a sorrowful, yet cut, nod. Widow's Peak seemed to preform a double-take before popping more shots into my men. I watched as some crumbled to their knees, bowing lightly to each fallen man and woman. I knew there would be casualties, but I wouldn't allow them to take innocent lives for a fear factor. The White Army, or as some call it, The Army of the Doves, was government funded and completely legal. We were an anti'army of some type, having received our nick name because we cake down quickly, killed the writhing worms that were our enemies swiftly, and took off as soon as we had came. Eyebrow was being taken off the field by some soldiers, who called for the leader and Widow's Peak, as their usually stoic leader bit his nails. I knew inside there was no way he could ever care for anything, the stone-hearted grub, but I almost felt pity. Alas, pity makes a pitiful person. I gave a small sigh, my (h/l) (h/c) in a bun. My white boot slammed into the wooden deck. 
     "Cease fire!" I called in my loud voice, forcing air out through my gut. The sound of gunshots was silenced. Tord looked up at me with a deeply set scowl. I only returned it with a feather-light smile.
     The man in the blue and red hissed retreating into the trees. He had simply lost too many men. I knew if it weren't for the meticulous planning and spying that went into this ambush, they would be dead, like krill to a great whale. She shook her head. They retreated with guards watching the bushes, ready to sound the alarms. Of course, the red ones were long gone, and there was nothing to worry about. They made it to their base in peace. They had an underwater base, their main one being in Nemo's Point. The submarine ride was long as long as it was expensive, the cost of fuel and all, but damn was it worth it. We had even managed to hide themselves from most radars. I was snapped from my prideful thoughts as my second in command, a Russian man in his thirties named Aleksandr, grunted. He didn't want to lay a finger on me, or to really speak to me. We were on good terms, and I was a generally nice person, but when I was in work-mode I was regarded as stoic and intelligent, maybe even a tad bad-ass. I shook my head---what a narcissist I had turned out to be.
     My two body guards, Sven and Ryan, one of Scandinavian descent and the other a red-neck American. I had nothing against country boys or Americans, I, in fact, was legitimately born in a barn, but Ryan was a hick. We left into the glass tube, reinforced with platinum and steel beams. I waved to Sven and Ryan as Aleksandr and I trotted into my office. I flung myself into your chair, letting myself sink in. "Doh, god, Alek, we should'vie died."
     Aleksandr nodded, stuffing his stubbly face with grapes. "Agreed," he mumbled in between handfuls. We were best friends. We had tried dating a few times, but generally enjoyed simply being friends. It was alot less complicated that way. I mean, we still kissed sometimes, but it really wasn't a romantic kiss, but a friendly one, a joking one. It sounds weird even saying it in my head, but neither of us minded. We didn't have feelings for eachother and that was that, more like a peck, like French people. I shook the thoughts from my head. I had a problem with narrating my life.
     Aleksandr smiled, standing and walking over to run his hands through my hair. I sighed, my (h/c) hair being probed through felt quite nice. "Shit, bud, this is why I want to be a dog," I said.
     "I know they say a dog is a man's best friend, but you wouldn't be able to be my best friend that way," he chided. I nodded. Alek had a dog and a cat allergy, to the point where his throat would swell and choke him. For that reason, we had a small glass cage where we kept some birds in the center of the base. Aleksandr liked birds.
     "I know, I know," I smiled, enjoying the feeling of his leather-gloved fingers running over my scalp. He bent down and gave me a peck on the cheek and walked out the door. I waved slightly. Our relationship was weird but I loved it more than anything.

Tord's Point of View

​

​​     I sat in my office, head in my hands. My breathing was pained and shallow. Earlier, during the ambush, I had been shot through the collar bone, near my trachea. The medics said I'd be fine, but to watch out for infection, as it could mean they would have to put a tube through me for me to breath. Meanwhile, it was Paul I was worried for. The bullet had struck a major vein in the leg, and he had lost alot of blood. They had to put him in a drug-induced coma so that he would be able to focus all of his energy on healing. I shook my head. Far too many casualties. If only I had agreed to send a patrol. The one time I didn't was the one time we were attacked, and it cost me. The lives of soldiers---the lives of friends. Sure, I acted like I didn't care, but when you spend enough time with someone, even someone like Tom, you can't help but care a little, and for my soldiers----my army---my position, hell, Paul and Patryck, I cared a damned lot. I kicked my feet up on the desk, covering the papers with caked on mud and blood. I heard a knock, but I ignored it. Then I heard another knock---louder this time. A final knock and I shouted at them to come in, brushing off the papers and placing my feet onto the abundantly carpeted flooring. 
     "Sir," a voice said,"We think you should say your goodbyes."
     Ice. Coursing through my veins and heart. My stomach filled with a numbing cold. Sweat on my forehead---freezing droplets of my weakness. I stood, the chair rolling behind me. Every hair on my being pricked upwards highly. That damned woman. We had gotten him here too late.
     Paul laid on the table. An infection had already caught from the dirt forest we drug him through, and the blood. I could remember the iron smell as I walked beside Patryk, Paul's arms draped over our shoulders. I sighed as I walked in, seeing his pale face. Patryk was trying his best not to show emotion as he gave his friend a nod, but tears pours from his wide, brown eyes. I went to say good bye, drape a handkerchief over her face, but the spaces between the beeps never stopped. Everyone held their breath, but finally a doctor came back. "He's stable, he's stable. We got him back. Although---" he said, eyeing me,"He won't be able to go out on the  Attlee field for awhile."
     I only nodded, my hand awkwardly squeezing Paul's. I could care leasing he was in a wheelchair. Any normal soldier and I wouldn't care, in fact he would probably be released from the army---but Paul and Pat have been my friends since school days, and damn if it wouldn't stay that way.

-Sorry for the super long and drawn out chapter. This will probably be my longest one. This takes place after the end, and there may not be much of Tom, Matt, or Edd.-

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