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okay-j-hannah · 5 months ago

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Part 3: Blue Handprints

Teen Wolf : Multishot

Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Word Count: 12.2k

Warnings: series rewrite, season 1 {aka 2011}, slow burn, friends to lovers, eventual pining, eventual NSFW, usual teen wolf levels of violence and gore, bloody wounds, intense drunken flirting, heart conditions, health problems, lightheadedness, fainting

Request: This just came from my own head 😊

Part 2: A Lacrosse Boyfriend

Part 3: Blue Handprints {You Are Here}

Part 4: Ollie's Catnip

Mr. Harris walks down the aisle of students, having just given his sentiments to Jackson Whittemore. “Everyone, start reading chapter nine.” He makes his way to the chalkboard, “Mr. Stilinski, try putting the highlighter down between paragraphs. It’s chemistry, not a coloring book.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, blowing the yellow lid from his lips and catching it easily in his hand. Instead, he turns to the phone in his pocket, sliding it out to peer at any new messages. He frowns – there were none.

Bouncing his foot on the bar stool, Stiles huffs before leaning towards the fellow lacrosse player in front of him. “Hey, Danny. Can I ask you a question?”

“No,” was his immediate reply.

“Well, I’m going to anyway. You have homeroom with (Y/N), right?”

Danny sighs, trying to read his chemistry chapter. “Yeah, what about it?”

Stiles leans closer, “Was she in class today?”

“No.”

“Has anybody been talking about what happened at the video store last night?”

“Listen, I’m sorry your little girlfriend hasn’t been texting you…”

Stiles’ stool squeaks as he fidgets, “She’s not actually my…”

“… but I’m not the one to look to next. Shouldn’t you be asking Scott?”

“What do you mean girlfriend?”

Danny grips the sides of his textbook with his fingertips, “Just some things I’ve heard on the lacrosse field when she’s there.”

“What do you mean?” Stiles was leaning so far forward that he suddenly found himself falling to the tile floor.

“To the principal’s office, Mr. Stilinski,” Mr. Harris says in a loud, firm voice. “Don’t forget your highlighter. You can finish coloring the rest of the textbook in detention.”

Stiles wasn’t in the mood for a fight, and besides Mr. Harris didn’t give him a detention slip. This meant that he could sneak out and spend the remaining minutes of the period goofing off.

Or trying to contact one of his friends.

He dials Scott’s number as he leaves class and makes for the parking lot, “Scott! Finally, have you been getting any of my texts?”

“Yeah, like all nine million of them.”

“Do you have any idea what’s going on?” Stiles steps into the sunshine and shades his eyes with a hand. “Lydia’s totally MIA. Jackson looks like he’s got a time bomb inserted into his face, another random guy’s dead. And (Y/N) was mauled last night and had to go to the hospital. You have to do something about it!”

Scott was mumbling, “Like what?”

“Something!” Stiles jogs towards his car, hoping to escape any patrolling school staff.

“Okay, I’ll deal with it later.”

Stiles shoves his phone in his pocket as the line went dead. If Scott wasn’t going to help him, then the next best thing was to visit you. While you also weren’t answering his texts, he figures the reason is because of your parents.

After some rest, maybe you are stable enough to answer some questions.

He’s able to sneak his jeep out of the parking lot without any witnesses. The drive to your house is becoming more routine, and he finds it easily. Without even thinking about it, he went to the front door.

It opens to reveal Angela Westbrook. “Oh!” she says with wide eyes, “Stiles Stilinski?”

“Yeah,” he says awkwardly, pointing finger guns at her, “Front desk Westbrook.”

“You haven’t gotten in any trouble have you? You’re supposed to be at school.”

Stiles furrows his brow, “What? No. I’m… I’m here to see (Y/N).”

Angela looks curious, “(Y/N)? I hadn’t realized you two were friends.”

“I was at the video store with her last night.” Stiles tries not to take offense.

“You saw what happened?” she asks, instantly frantic.

Stiles waves his hands around, “No! No, she called me, and I went to help with my dad.”

“She called you first?” It was Angela’s turn to try not to take offense.

“Yeah, my dad pulled me away before you guys showed up.” He slides his hands into his pockets. “So… I can see her?”

Angela puts a smile on her face, “Of course. But not for too long. She still needs her rest.”

He nods, walking inside for the first time. He took note of the piano in the living room, the family pictures on the mantelpiece, and the sound of a little jingle bell. It was coming from the collar of a large gray cat following them up the stairs.

“You have a cat?”

Angela gave a breathy laugh, “He’s (Y/N)’s. She needed a… well, a friend while being homeschooled, I guess.”

Stiles bangs his shoulder into the wall trying to watch the cat follow them. Angela knocks on your door, “(Y/N), sweetie – there’s a Stiles here to see you.”

You were sitting in bed, reading a book and warming your feet underneath a blanket. “Hey, Stiles!”

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Angela says with a smile, clasping her hands together. “Just… no funny business.”

“Mom…” you say quietly. “Just leave the door open.”

Once your mom leaves, the cat jumps onto the bed and puts his front paws on your thigh, raising himself to get a pet on the head. He was large with fluffy gray fur and big blue eyes.

Stiles walks over, playing with his fingers. “How are you?”

“Fine,” you sigh, scratching the cat behind the ears, “I’ve been a little on edge.”

He observes your face with his investigative eyes. Your skin was dull, a blue tinge beneath your eyes, even your lips look a little off color. He lingers on that last detail longer than he should.

“How was the hospital?”

“The usual,” you run your fingers down the cats back and up the tail. “Any more stress and I’ll get more bodily damage. I’ll be bed bound… blah, blah, blah.”

Stiles swallows hard, “I think that blah sounds pretty important.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t heard my whole life,” you wave him off. “How are Lydia and Jackson?”

“Lydia is home and Jackson came to school, although I’m pretty sure he needs to be put in a coma to sleep off his pent up feelings.”

You smile grimly, “Understandable.”

Stiles scratches his shaved head, unsure of how to ask about the video store but knowing he’d have to be careful. He chooses to sit on the bed across from you, crossing his legs and licking his lips. “So… uh – what’s his name?” he points to the cat.

“Oliver,” you smile, “Sometimes I call him Ollie.” The cat was purring against your hand, whiskers perked. “I’ve had him for a couple years. He’s my best friend.”

“That’s what your mom was saying,” he says, watching the cat keep his fluffy tail in the air. Blue eyes found him sitting on the mattress.

You grimace, “Sorry about that. My mom can be…”

“She’s great,” he says quickly. “I thought you slept a little last night.”

“I did,” you say, “Thanks to you.”

The back of his neck suddenly feels hot, “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“The thing every girl wants to hear,” you smile. “Like I said, the hospital wasn’t happy with me.”

“(Y/N), I’ve been doing some research…” Stiles picks at his fingers again. “And you saying there’s something wrong with your heart; and the surgery scar you have…”

You run a delicate finger up the bridge of Ollie’s nose. He closes his eyes and pushes his head into your finger. “I knew you’d do that.”

Stiles licks his lips again, mouth dry, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it.”

“I know,” you sigh, “What did you find out?”

“I think you have some kind of tachycardia,” he looks at you with soft eyes, his eyelashes framing them. “That’s something that would make you faint and could weaken your heart if it happens too often. I’m not sure what the surgery was though… I’m assuming it was to stop your heart from getting too weak.”

The room felt heavy, but it was a comfortable heaviness, as in you weren’t afraid to talk to Stiles. “You would be right,” you nod, “I was born with a heart defect. It was an atrioventricular canal defect. It means there was a hole in the wall between my heart chambers. The hole made it so blood flow wasn’t controlled well. I had a surgery to fix it.”

“Just last summer?”

“One of them, yeah.” You smile at him like he knew you were still hiding things. “This is a deep conversation for another day, Stiles.”

“But…” he presses on, leaning forward, “If you fixed the heart defect, you shouldn’t have any heart problems now, right?”

You shrug, “Things happen.”

“You’re not going to tell me anything else today, are you?”

“You got my one personal thing of the day. You know I had a congenital heart defect and now I have ventricular tachycardia.” Scratching under Oliver’s chin, you sigh, “I’m sure you’ll do more research on that later.”

Ollie continues to purr and put Stiles in his line of sight. With soft paws, he walks across the covers and perches on Stiles’ knee.

Stiles wasn’t sure what to do, his hands shooting into the air.

“He doesn’t bite,” you laugh, “He just wants a pet.”

Oliver’s tail swishes around the covers, and Stiles lowers a hand. The cat rubs the top of his head into the palm. “He’s so soft.”

You rub your arms, “He’s a great judge of character.”

“(Y/N), the other thing I wanted to ask…” Stiles continues to pet the cat, enjoying the purring immensely. “… was about last night.” He doesn’t like the way you gulp. “What happened?”

“Well, Arnett decided not to show up,” you shrug, “Big surprise. Still hurt though.”

Stiles mutters something that sounds a lot like, “Piece of shit.”

You retell the events leading to the lights flickering on and off over the dead store manager. “Then there was this growling. Like an animal.” A waver enters your voice and goosebumps blossom on your bare arms.

Oliver senses your change of mood and returns to your side, nuzzling your knee.

“I only got a few seconds to look before…” you gesture to the bandages on your left shoulder, “It was some kind of… wolf.” Your watch lit up with a reading from your heart. The rate was rising exponentially.

“Okay,” Stiles says, scooting closer, “That’s good. I’m sorry that happened.”

“Did your dad say anything about it? Were they able to catch whatever it was?”

He sighs, “No. We haven’t found anything. They think it was just a wild animal attack.” He was itching to touch you again, hold your hand and calm you down again. He wanted to protect your heart. “You’re safe here. You have Ollie to protect you.”

That made you smile, and Stiles took great pride in that.

“Did you wish Allison a happy birthday before skipping school?”

Stiles watches your heart rate lower on your watch screen, “I didn’t know it was her birthday.”

“It was kind of a secret,” you pick up Ollie, resting your face against his head. “Lydia and I decorated her locker yesterday after school.”

Stiles smacks his forehead, “That’s where Scott is! That idiot probably took her out for her birthday. No wonder he’s been avoiding my texts.”

There was another knock on the door, “Sweetie, it’s time to change your bandages.” Your mom was there with fresh cloth and something antibiotic.

“I can do it,” Stiles says, “(Y/N) can tell me what to do.” He rolls off the bed, tripping over his ankle as he stands straight.

Angela raises her eyebrows at you, but you nod. “Okay, but if you need help please call me. I’ll just be in the kitchen.”

Stiles awkwardly took the supplies from your mom, mouthing a thank you before returning to the bed. “You’re really going to have to help me with this one.”

You grimace, “It’s not going to be pretty.” You pull an arm out of your pajama top to reveal a tank top underneath, one strap hanging off the large white bandages on your shoulder. Stiles flexes his fingers.

“I should wash my hands probably.”

“I have hand sanitizer in my nightstand,” you giggle, already starting to pick the medical tape off the edge of the bandage.

He cleans his hands, helping you remove the bandage. You hiss as he lifts it from the wound, blood weeping from the gashes. Stiles has to stifle a groan of disgust.

“God,” he mumbles, “It still looks so fresh.”

You suck in your lips, amused by his expression, “I didn’t realize you were so queasy around blood.”

“It’s not that,” he threw the old bandage in the garbage. “It’s just it’s… you. I hate seeing you with this.” He looks closer at the claw marks, taking some gauze and catching some pinkish fluid seeping out.

You fidget as he touches the red, irritated skin under the wound. “It still hurts a lot.”

“It’s still bleeding and… wet,” Stiles frowns.

“It’s called serous drainage,” you laugh at his look of shock, “It’s a normal part of the healing process. But too much can be a sign of infection.”

“It might be infected,” Stiles says immediately. “This is a lot.”

You wave him off with your other hand, “We’ll wait to see if I have a fever.”

“Just saying, it would explain why you look like a dead man walking.”

“You’re just full of compliments today, aren’t you?” But you were smiling as you say it.

~~~

A few days later Stiles was sitting in his morning English class, staring at the seat that you normally occupy. He was flipping his phone around his fingers, waiting for your next reply.

He was angry and biting the inside of his cheeks.

“It’s not his fault,” you text.

“He bailed on the date night, and you end up getting mauled. And then he bails on conferences and my dad gets hit by a car. Tell me again how he’s not a shitty friend?”

You take a minute to answer, “Those were all accidents. You can’t prove Scott being there could’ve stopped anything.”

“Yeah, it still would’ve been nice to have him be there.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t of.”

Stiles knits his brow at your message. “You’re hurt. I’m not upset about you not being at conferences. Besides with your luck that mountain lion would’ve went for you.”

“You still don’t think it was the same animal from the video store?”

“I trust you. If you say it was a wolf, then it was a wolf.”

Scott comes walking into class, sheepish in how he sits behind Stiles. Shoulders tense, Stiles sits resolutely forward, closing his phone and avoiding his best friend. Scott sighs, frustrated at more than just himself.

“Can you at least tell me if your dad’s okay? I mean, it’s just a bruise, right?” He was grasping at straws, “Some soft tissue damage?”

Stiles was running his tongue along the bite marks inside his cheeks.

“You know I feel really bad about it, right?” Folding his arms, Scott tries to explain himself, “Okay, what if I told you I’m trying to figure this whole thing out, and that I went to Derek for help?”

Stiles stops his eye twitching to grumble, “If I was talking to you, I’d say that you’re an idiot for trusting him. But obviously I’m not talking to you.”

As the bell rings, Stiles leans forward and contemplates the new development in Derek’s involvement. He stares at his phone lighting up with a new message from you, “Go easy on him.”

He grits his teeth, angry at his curiosity getting the best of him. He whips around, “I still haven’t forgiven you for not being there for (Y/N).”

“I get it,” Scott looks hopeful. “I really do.”

“Lately she’s been there for me more than you have, which is saying something considering we used be connected at the hip. I get this werewolf thing happened and then Allison and now a Derek/Alpha thing… but you don’t just abandon your friends. If anything you should be closer to them when things get hard.”

“I’m sorry, Stiles,” Scott mutters, “I’ll stop by (Y/N)’s place and check on her, alright? I know she deserves better… and that she means a lot to you.”

Stiles sighs heavily through his nose, drumming his fingers on the back of his chair. “Okay. What did Derek say?”

Throughout the day Stiles concocted a plan to help Scott with his anger issues. He spent classes thinking about heart rates and helping Scott avoid Allison as much as possible. After spending a quick minute in Coach’s office, they met outside on the lacrosse field.

“Okay,” he pulls out a heart rate monitor, “Put this on.”

Scott grabs it, “Isn’t this for the track team?”

“Yeah, I borrowed it,” Stiles says.

“Stole it.”

Offended, Stiles set his tone, “Temporarily misappropriated. Listen, I got the idea from (Y/N). She measures her heart rate through her watch, and it sends her readings through her phone. It’s easy to connect through a health app. And you’re gonna wear that monitor for the rest of the day.”

“And it’s connected to your phone?” Scott says, putting the monitor on.

He pulls out his phone and went to the health app, “Yeah, you know your heart rate goes up when you go wolf, right? When you’re playing lacrosse, when you’re with Allison, whenever you get angry. Maybe learning to control it is tied to learning to control your heart rate.” He shows Scott his screen, “See?”

There were two different heart rates being monitored on the screen. One being Scott’s and the other one being…

“Are you watching your own heart rate?” Scott asks, “Who’s that one?”

“I don’t know, doesn’t matter.” Clearly having messed up, Stiles shoves his phone in his pocket and starts riffling through his duffel bag of supplies.

Scott has a smirk on his face, “It’s (Y/N)’s heart rate, isn’t it.”

“Shut up.”

~~~

After a quick getaway from another heart rate experiment, and a few cuts and bruises for Scott, the pair of them drove to your house for an apologetic visit.

“Dude, you got to wipe all that blood off,” Stiles says, “You look like a murder victim.”

“It’ll stop in a second. I’ll heal no problem.”

“Let’s hope her parents are still at work.”

In front of your house, Scott wipes his nose, hoping you wouldn’t notice too much. The injuries were already healed, it was just the leftover blood that he needed to wash off.

It took a few minutes for anyone to answer, and Stiles checks his phone. Your heart rate is slightly elevated.

The door opens slowly, and everyone has a gasping reaction.

“Oh my god, Scott,” you say in a shallow voice, “Why are you covered in blood?”

Stiles’ mouth was gaping as Scott fumbles for words to say, “Uh, I might’ve gotten in a fight at school. Someone got a bloody nose and… I got it on me.”

If Stiles thought you looked like a dead man walking a few days ago, he didn’t realize how worse you would look today. That bluish tinge to your under eyes was deep and the purple of your lips was like looking at a corpse. Your ashy skin was speckled with sweat around your temples. You look sick… really sick.

“(Y/N)…” Stiles says, hands starting to tremble as he reaches for the door, “What…”

“Let me get you another shirt,” you say tiredly, backing away from the door. “My dad has some old Saturday t-shirts in the laundry room.”

“Are your parents here?” Scott asks, following you and Stiles inside. A quick sound check told him that they were the only ones home.

You sound as though it was hard to breathe, “They’re still at work. I convinced my mom to take her evening shift today. She’s been staying home all week because of me.”

The sight of you shuffling side to side, tank top and shorts on under a robe – the robe tie dragging on the ground – hair falling out of a wild bun… it was disheartening. What was wrong with you?

Scott could smell something. Something sickly. “I don’t need another shirt, (Y/N), really. I just wanted to check on you.”

You turn around in the hallway, ghostly in the dimly lit space. “Oh? That’s kind of you.”

“I know I’ve been kind of distant,” he continues, eyeing the worry enveloping Stiles. “And I want to change that. Life has been chaotic, but I want to make time to see you.”

“Thank you,” you smile, “But I’ve been in good hands.”

“Clearly not good enough,” Stiles says, “When was the last time you changed your bandages, (Y/N)?”

You shrug and then grimace at the movement, “Sometime yesterday.” You were swaying on your feet and Stiles took a step forward, prepared to catch you.

“Let’s take a look, yeah?” he says calmly, “Let’s sit down.” He guides you to a dining chair while directing Scott to check the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. “You don’t look so good.”

“So you keep telling me, Stiles,” you smile again, “You need to work on those compliments.” You struggle to pull your arm out of the robe sleeve.

“Here, let me.”

While he pulls out your arm, apologizing for causing any discomfort, he mumbles things to distract you as he takes off the bandage. “I like your pajamas.”

White fabric with little lemons and mint leaves printed on them, along with a robe of fuzzy summer fruits. It was just so you. If only he could still smell that wonderful fruity shampoo from your hair.

“Thank you,” you groan as he removes the bandage painfully.

“Oh my god,” he chokes.

The wound underneath was red and aggravated. It was still weeping blood and whatever fluid you had mentioned before. The center of each deep claw mark had a purple-blue color, and he didn’t like how venomous it looked.

Scott appears beside you, following that sickly scent to your shoulder. It smelt worse than infection, it had a familiar tang to it. Something wolfish about it. That terrifies him. “I’m going to call Derek.”

“What?” you and Stiles say at the same time.

“I have a feeling he’ll know what to do,” he eyes Stiles, pulling out his phone, “Don’t bandage it until he looks at it.”

“Is something wrong?” you say feverishly, looking at Stiles with half-closed eyes. He chooses to focus on your face instead of your wound. But his eyes were no longer a honey brown or an amber whiskey.

They were steely like fossilized tree sap.

“I think you just need some extra strength Tylenol,” he jokes, “Or a rabies shot.”

“God, my mom is never going to let me leave the house again if I don’t stop getting sick.” You hang your head, sweat speckling the back of your neck too. Stiles gingerly puts a hand to your back and rubs up and down your spine.

“You’ll get better, I promise.”

“You’re such a liar,” you cough, “I’m not going to get better. This is what it’ll be… just worse and worse.”

Stiles didn’t like the hurt that was developing in his chest. That inflation feeling in his ribcage came full force but was threaded with hurt. It hurt to see you like this.

“What are you talking about?”

“Nonsense,” you say with sorrow, “Don’t listen to me. I’m sick.”

Scott returns with determination in his step, “Derek’s almost here.” He kneels beside your chair, a hand on your good arm. “This is my fault. If I was there for you then this…”

“It’s not your fault, Scott. It’s not a crime to not want to third wheel.”

“What do you smell?” Stiles whispers under his breath. You have a difficult time concentrating enough to hear him.

Scott mutters something back, “Nothing good.”

“Should we take her to the hospital?”

Derek comes walking into the house, “This isn’t something the hospital can fix.” His nose crinkles at your exposed arm. “She was clawed by the alpha, right?”

Stiles waves a frantic hand, shushing him while Scott mouths at him to shut up.

“You guys are idiots.” Derek looks angry, “You haven’t told her anything yet?”

“Told me what?” you lift your heavy head. “Derek?”

The boys pull Derek aside and quickly whisper a conversation.

“Did the alpha do something to her?” Scott asks worriedly. He’d feel even worse if your injury was a result of his werewolf business.

Derek folds his massive arms, “If an alpha scratches a human and it makes a deep enough cut, the werewolf change could happen.”

Stiles chokes on his breath, “You mean she could be transforming!?”

“It doesn’t have to be a bite?” Scott whisper shouts.

“What the hell are we supposed to do?” Stiles pulls at the ends of his shaved hair. “Why is it making her so sick.”

Derek sighs heavily, “Because her body is rejecting the change. It’s trying to fight off the spread of infection. It’s impressive really.”

“You mean she might be fine?” Scott asks, “She’ll get over it?”

“Maybe,” Derek shrugs, “It could just kill her.”

Stiles swallows thickly, “Tell us how to help her.”

“You just have to let the infection run its course. There aren’t any werewolf antibiotics out there for a wound like that. Tell her to sleep it off.”

“Sleep it off?” Stiles says incredulously. “That’s the best you got?”

“I have other pressing matters. Including a meeting with your boss, Scott.”

Scott took a pause, “What has my boss got to do with anything?”

“I’ll let you know when I finish interrogating him.” Subconsciously or not, Derek was flexing his arms in a way that made him look gigantic.

Scott wasn’t intimidated, “If you lay a hand on Deaton…”

“He’s already in the trunk,” Derek says blandly, “You interrupted my questioning before I could finish.”

“Oh my god,” Scott mumbles, chest tight with oncoming rage.

Stiles was flailing his arms around like they were limp noodles. “Hello! Did we forget the sick-because-of-alpha-claws girl right behind us. Let’s handle one problem at a time.”

Derek was already out the door, “(Y/N)’s fate isn’t my problem. And Deaton isn’t your concern.”

“It is considering he’s my boss!” Scott follows him outside.

“Alright, Scott, you want answers?” Derek spins around on the lawn, “Those spirals you’ve been asking about… it’s our sign for a vendetta. It’s revenge. It means he won’t stop killing until he’s satisfied!”

Scott gawks at him, “You think Deaton’s the alpha!?”

“We’re about to find out.”

“No! Derek, listen. There’s another way to draw out the alpha. I’m connected to him remember?” Scott sounds desperate and on the verge of growing claws. Stiles stands on the porch, anxious to keep you from hearing any of this. “I can try to get him to reveal himself.”

“And how do you propose to do that?” Derek has a steely blue tinge in his eyes, almost as if they were glowing.

Scott looks around him, jerky in his head movements as he tries to create a plan, “Just give me an hour and then meet us at the school. I’ll call to the alpha and we’ll see if there’s a response.”

Derek, rippling with rage, seems to consider. In the next second he growls under his breath and goes to his car. Scott took that as he was in agreement with the new plan.

He turns around to see Stiles giving him a death glare, hands stuck under his armpits as if he’s stopping them from throwing punches.

“Are you forgetting about our teensy-weensy other problem, Scott? Maybe our other friend currently dying inside?”

“She’s not dying,” Scott says as he stomps toward the house again.

Stiles shoves his shoulder as he walks past, “I don’t feel right leaving (Y/N) here while we go tango with the alpha at the school.”

“We could call her mom,” Scott suggests, making his way back to the dining table.

“She’ll hate that,” Stiles mumbles, meeting him at your chair. He kneels beside you again, careful as you were dozing off. Leaning against the table, your chin rests in your hand – your mouth slightly open as you take small breaths.

Scott shrugs his shoulders, “Well, then who do we call? All our other friends are occupied with themselves.” It suddenly dawned on him that he was supposed to meet Allison for a study date. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Finally realized that did you?” Stiles says sarcastically, “Who else do we trust?”

“Someone from the lacrosse team?” Scott says with a wince, “She’s gotten close with a couple of the guys there.”

A flicker of red hot flame licks up Stiles’ side. “Sure, yeah – one of the potential lacrosse boyfriends.”

“Oh please, we could call Danny,” Scott waves him off. “Although Andrew Wickstrom would probably be more willing.”

Good guy Andrew Wickstrom? Stiles did not like that idea. Not because he was just another blockhead lacrosse guy… but because he was genuinely a nice guy. And the possibility of you falling for him was very high.

“He’s better than leaving her here alone,” Scott says, going through his phone. “At least until her parents get off work.”

Stiles curses him, but he agrees. He rests one of his hands on your good shoulder, “(Y/N), hey…”

You stir in your daze, “Where’s Derek?”

“He left, don’t worry,” was his reply. Licking his lips he starts to prepare fresh bandages for your shoulder. “Listen, Andrew is going to come look after you until your mom gets home.”

“Who?”

“Andrew Wickstrom? From the team,” Stiles says, trying to keep the disdain from his voice. “Scott and I need to handle something at the school. And you need to stay here and get some rest.”

He applies pressure on your shoulder with disinfected gauze and you gasp with pain.

“You just have a 24-hour bug,” he continues to distract you. “And in the morning you’ll be right as rain, I promise.”

“Again you’re such a liar,” you smile painfully.

He loves your humor. “I’ll come check on you when we’re done. Just don’t go falling in love with this guy, alright?”

You laugh, “No promises.”

~~~

You were cuddled on the couch, pulling up your favorite forest green blanket to your chin. You try to fix your hair bun, but it was still falling out in wavy strands. The television was set low, a true crime miniseries on.

Andrew returns to the living room, a gatorade in an iced glass with a straw. He went back to his spot on the ground, propped against the couch arm and near your head.

“Did I miss anything?” he lifts the glass over his shoulder and directs the straw between your lips.

You take a few sips, humming your thanks. “I think the husband did it.”

“But there was all that text evidence showing how the wife verbally abused him. I think he’s a scaredy cat.”

“That doesn’t mean he couldn’t have lashed out and killed her.”

He grins, “You’re way into these true crime cases.”

“They’re interesting,” you snuggle further into the blanket, “And I like to see the medical side of things.”

“Can I check your fever?” he gropes under the pile of supplies Stiles had left them and found a thermometer. He brushes your wispy fly-aways into your bun and put the thermometer to your forehead. After it beeps he looks at it, “102.3, that’s a little high.”

“We don’t need the hospital until it’s 105.”

He got comfortable again, crossing his arms. “It’s weird. I hadn’t imagined the first time we hang out was going to involve playing nurse.”

“I appreciate it, really,” you say tiredly. “It’s nice of you to spend your night here. I’m pretty sure my parents would pay you like a babysitter too.”

“It’s no problem,” he smiles, dimples showing. “I don’t mind. I like this, spending time with you. Even if you are super sick.”

You giggle but end it in a cough. “You know I was kind of hoping you’d come talk to me at lacrosse practice.”

Andrew turns so he’s facing you cross legged on the ground, “No way.”

“A perk of TAing for Coach is that I get to watch all you handsome lacrosse players play,” you wink, “I might’ve had my eye on you a couple of times.”

“I’m flattered,” he grins back, “You were always surrounded by a crowd, and I wasn’t sure you wanted another guy forcing his way in.”

You prop your head up a little, “You wouldn’t have needed to force yourself in. I would’ve just welcomed you.”

He bows his head, brown curls hanging in coils. “I wish I would’ve figured that out sooner. Maybe our first night together would’ve had you feeling better.”

“No, this is better,” you smile, “This is more memorable.”

“So you wouldn’t mind if I asked to see you again…” he rubs his hands awkwardly on his knees, “… outside of school.”

“Please!” you say, “I’m so sick of being stuck at my house. Any plans I can look forward to is a blessing.”

He fixes the edge of your blanket, pulling it up a few inches. “Then I’ll think of something really fun.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” he plays with his hair. It’s cute. “Maybe something with a bookstore.”

Your sunken eyes widen a bit. “How did you know I like to read?”

“It might’ve been the book you always have with you at school,” he laughs, “Or the time Coach yelled at you because you were reading in the bleachers instead of grabbing more helmets.”

“Well, if you’re buying then I won’t say no to a bookstore.”

Andrew grins, a beautiful smile with his curly hair and warm, green eyes. “It’s a date.”

~~~

“It’s a what?!” Stiles was whispering as loudly as he could.

You were sitting up in bed, limp and frail but with a little more life in your cheeks. “I think he asked me out on a date.”

Scott shut the window behind him, “That’s great, (Y/N).” You miss the pitying look he sent Stiles’ way.

“What did you say?” Stiles asks, sitting on the bed next to you.

You shrug, “I kind of just smiled and we kept watching the true crime.”

“Oh god,” Stiles grumbles, “You’re going to fall in love with him.” He watches a blush rise in your cheeks, “No… no – there’s no falling in love right now. You’re just getting over a fever.” He starts to fan your cheeks, making you laugh.

Scott pulls your desk chair over, “But you do feel better?”

“Completely – Andrew cured me!”

“It was that gatorade I left.”

You try to hide a smile, “Or it could’ve been the goodbye kiss.” Stiles jumps on the mattress, slamming the headboard into the wall. You smack his arm, “God, Stiles I was kidding. My fever just broke.”

“How did your parents take it?” Scott asks. He seems a little put out in comparison to earlier that day.

“My mom was really grateful.” You flicker your eyes between the pair of them. “So are you going to tell me what was going on with Derek visiting to check on my wound?”

“Oh, you know…” Scott says instantly. Stiles was flapping his gums like a fish out of water. “He’s seen animal attacks considering… his sister… was killed that way. He just said to sleep it off.”

You lean against the headboard, nearly shoulder to shoulder with Stiles. “Well, he was right.” The jumpiness in Scott’s fidgeting made you suspect some lying. It irks you to know that there were still secrets they were keeping from you. “Hey, I thought you and Allison had a study date. What business did you have at the school?”

“Um…” Scott was picking at his fingernails, “That’s where I decided to surprise Allison with our studying.”

Your brow knits, “But the school is closed and locked at night.”

Stiles has his hands running over his head, “Scott, the others are going to tell her what happened.”

“Meaning?” you nudge Stiles with your shoulder.

Scott was full of conflict, whipping his eyes between different spots in the room. “Derek told us of a hunch that led us to the school. He spotted that monster wolf you saw at the video store. Allison got a strange text that might’ve come from Derek too.” He looks to you with slight panic, “It told her to meet me at the school. She was with Lydia and Jackson, so they came too.”

“I crashed my car and everything trying to get away,” Stiles says, trying to cover all their assets.

“I missed quite the party,” you whisper, searching for tells of his lying in the words.

“We were chased and attacked. A janitor died. We weren’t sure if it was the wolf monster or Derek.”

You lean away from Stiles and he darts his head to you, “I thought Derek was innocent of everything.” An ache was in the pit of your stomach, it made you feel empty and distrustful. It was plain how much they were hiding from you.

Of course you were also being a hypocrite because you hadn’t told them everything either.

“There might be more evidence,” Scott tries to continue.

“Like what?” you fold your arms, “You have any proof?”

Stiles was piecing together you shrinking away from them, “Enough that we called my dad in on it.”

“You know, I’m tired,” you say, “I think you guys should go.”

The boys share a look, and you miss the worry enveloping Stiles’ face. He pulls his wide shoulders inward to avoid touching you.

“Sure,” Stiles says, “You’ve had a long day.”

“We’re glad you’re better,” Scott adds, standing to open the window again. “Hopefully you’re well enough for school on Monday.” He slides himself outside while Stiles stops at the sill.

He licks his lips, a habit of his especially when he’s thinking. “Hey, listen, I’m going to try to fix my jeep this weekend. If you’re free maybe we could do it together.” He wipes his hands along his pants, fidgety in how he was looking at the floor, then at you, then at the floor again. “It’s no problem if not.”

You nod but avoid looking at him as he slips out. You sit there with your peachy lamp on, upset and confused. You like Scott and Stiles. They were some of the first friends you made when you started public school. Stiles had been so attentive and gently nudged you to be more open.

But the achy feeling of emptiness in your stomach was becoming more prevalent. It had been an on and off feeling since getting to know the boys. Stiles had been swooping in to calm your nerves with small nuggets of truth.

A few more lies and you weren’t sure it was worth it anymore.

A couple of days later and fully recovered from your infectious fever, you eat lunch on Saturday afternoon. Your dad slides a BLT your way and sits down with his own.

He nibbles on a piece of bacon, “Any plans for your post sickness weekend?”

“Catch up on the homework Allison brought me,” you take a sip of soda, “And try not to kill Scott for hurting her.”

“Are they okay?” Tom asks.

You shake your head, “She broke up with him. He snapped at her when she was scared. Kind of a dick move.”

“Language.”

“Sorry,” you grimace, wiping the tired from your eyes. “I’m mad at him too.”

“What a dick,” he says, winking at you.

It makes you smile, “I know he means well. I think he’s just being a stupid teenage boy.”

“Having been a stupid teenage boy myself I can vouch for him.” He eats the larger pile of bacon on his plate, “What about that other boy that visited the other day?”

“Stiles?” you sigh, “I’m upset with him too. I think they’re hiding something from me.”

Both you and your dad say at the same time, “Stupid teenage boys.”

“But that Andrew is nice,” your mom enters the kitchen, gardening gloves in hand. “I like him.”

“You like that he was taking care of me,” you roll your eyes. “You know Scott and Stiles were here doing that same thing earlier that day.”

Angela went for the shoes she wore in the garden by the back door, “Do they know about your heart?”

“I told Stiles some things and he’s told our other friends,” you shrug, “Just about the heart defect and my tachycardia.”

Your parents nod – your dad finishing his lunch much faster than you, “That’s better than nothing. I feel better knowing you’re out with kids that can help you if you feel faint.”

Your mom leaves for the backyard and your dad goes to get you another can of soda.

“Maybe I’ll stop by Stiles’ place today.”

“The Sheriff’s house?” Tom says, “You must not be that upset with him.”

You stand, your heart stuttering, “Eh… I’ll let you know if I need a getaway driver.”

The walk to Stiles’ house was long but nice with the California sun out. Your skin soaks up the warmth, unstiffening your bones from the sickbed. The birds twitter past and trees shimmer their leaves above you.

If your mom knew you were walking such a long way, she would have given you house arrest. But you monitor your heart rate through your watch the whole way.

The house was a little shabby but homely. It screams ‘bachelor pad’ in more ways than one. The grass was trimmed, but the flowerbeds neglected. The BBQ was greasy with use and left out in the open. The house was tidy but nowhere near clean. The old décor was most likely remnant of Mrs. Stilinski, and the boys don’t dare change it.

Stiles was running out of the door, tripping down the steps when he saw you. “(Y/N)! You came.”

You nod, hands in your jean pockets, “I wanted to see the damage.”

The jeep was in the driveway, towed there the night of the school attack. The hood was laying on the concrete and completely smashed in.

Stiles jogs up to you and looks about ready to give you a hug, but you keep your arms down as a signal. He scratches at the back of his head instead.

“I just picked up a new hood from the junkyard. And my dad helped me buy a new battery.”

“What happened to the old one again?” you look inside the engine and see more duct tape than rubber tubes. “Do you usually fix this guy up yourself?”

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles had a funny look on his face, hands on his hips, “It’s cheaper that way. When I hit the school sign it crushed the battery box. It needed to be fully replaced.”

You give him a side eye, “You hit the school sign?”

“I was in a hurry to escape, okay,” he says exasperated, throwing his arms down limp at his sides. He was always lanky and fidgety. “I have spray paint in the garage for the new hood.” He looks at you with a hesitant gaze, “Do you want to help?”

You fold your arms, trying to hide a smile. “Do you have a tarp for the paint?”

“Why would I need a tarp?”

A small laugh escapes you, “Your dad will thank me later. Come on.”

The pair of you lay an old blue tarp down and set the junkyard hood on it. You convince Stiles to sand the metal and prime it before the paint. Thankfully the jungle that was the garage held nearly all the equipment you needed.

“I think it’s funny you have the exact shade of blue you need for your jeep,” you say, shaking your head. “Makes me think you need to touch it up more often than not.”

“If you’re making some kind of assumption about my driving skills, you’re wrong. I happen to be an excellent driver.”

You shake the spray paint can, ready for last touchups, “Anyone is an excellent driver when they’re the only driver in the friend group.”

“Excuse me?” he says with mock offense, screwing his face up comically.

“You’re not exactly comparing your skills to Scott and me since we don’t have cars,” and in a moment of weakness you point the can towards Stiles.

“Hey, woah!” he held up his hands, getting a blast of blue paint on his palms and fingers. “Mayday! Mayday! Paint in mouth!”

You start laughing, shaking the can some more as Stiles spits at the grass. His hands and forearms were coated in shiny, dripping paint.

“Now you’re in for it.”

He ran at you, hands outstretched. You didn’t fight it much as you squeal at the cold wet paint. He hugs you from behind and starts rubbing his hands all down your sides and front, coating your arms and shirt.

He was careful to avoid your chest. “There, now we’re both a masterpiece.”

“Wait a minute,” you say, out of breath from your giggles. You raise a coated finger to his rosy cheek and write your initials, “There. An artist always signs their work.”

He blows out a choking breath, shivers prickling the back of his neck. He has to clear his throat before doing the same to you, raising a long finger to your cheek. A double ‘s’ is painted along your cheekbone, beneath your sparkling eyes.

“Should we put the battery in while the paint dries?” you were closer than you thought, just inches between you. You could have sworn Stiles flickers his eyes down to your lips, no doubt smeared with paint.

“S-Sure,” he stutters, wiping at his nose, “It’s right over here.”

You help lift the heavy black box and slide it into the car. You giggle at the blue handprints all over the battery sides.

“I’m sorry, I’ll get a wet rag.”

“No!” Stiles grabs your arm, “I like it. Let’s let it dry. Our signature touch.”

You look at your handprint on the top and Stiles’ on the side below yours. “Whatever you want, Stilinski. This is your jeep.”

“Damn right,” he mumbles, connecting wires, “This baby needs to last me through college.”

The duct tape didn’t look very promising, but you had to admire his persistence. “I’ll get the topcoat ready then.”

It took another hour to get the hood ready for screwing in. You help with holding tools and holding pieces in place. Stiles makes sarcastic remarks and tries not to swear when he pinches a finger. You laugh at his jokes and ignore the unevenness of your heart rate.

When the hood was in place and the spray paint on your skin dry and cracking, the pair of you walk inside for some lemonade.

Stiles keeps staring at his initials on your cheek. “Thank you for helping me. It wouldn’t have turned out half as good without you.”

“It was fun,” you nod, a hand to your chest. A pain was flaring there. You try to breathe past the tightness, “I think I need… I need a second.” Your watch beeps the exact same time as Stiles’ phone.

You share a confused glance with the boy as he blabs, “I can explain!”

“One second,” you say, leaning forward and closing your eyes. You nearly collapse in a dining chair, and a moment later you feel large hands on your knees, squeezing gently.

“Try to ground yourself,” he whispers to you, “Remember… what do you hear?”

It takes you longer to answer, holding your chest like it’ll keep your heart there. “The refrigerator running. Birds outside. And your heavy breathing.” You crack a smile despite the frantic fluttering in your chest.

Stiles scoffs, “And what do you feel?”

“My heartbeat,” you put your free hand on top of Stiles’, curling your fingers around his. “Your hand. And the cracking spray paint.” It was getting easier to breathe.

Stiles was rubbing his thumb along the inside of your knee. His own chest was inflating again, that powerful warmth that only happened when he was near you. His throat bobs as heat floods his cheeks – thankfully he was covered in spray paint.

He checks your watch screen as your heart rate went down, “That’s it.”

“Thanks,” you say, letting go of his fingers. He pulls his hands away quickly after that. “I think I should head home and shower. All this paint is making my skin itch now.”

He laughs awkwardly, standing, “Well, uh… you could always, you know… shower here.” His eyes widen and he starts to ramble on further as if to stop you from saying no, “I mean, I have extra clothes and I was planning on taking Scott out tonight to get his mind off the breakup. You could stay and we could all go together?”

You let the silence go on just for your own amusement. He was practically shaking waiting for your answer. “Sure, that’d be great.”

“Yay… I mean, yeah sure – cool cool.” He gestures to the stairs and leads the way, “There’s everything you need in the bathroom. I’ll just… jeans probably won’t fit, and I don’t believe in shorts…”

“Sweatpants are fine,” you say, enjoying every second of his rambling.

“Right, good,” he was pinching the ends of his shaved hair. You wonder if he was one to run his fingers through his hair when it was long. “I assume you don’t need boxers…” he chokes on his laugh, probably thinking about you in that very item of clothing. “But I’ll get you a shirt and a towel. Wait right here.”

You spy into the hallway bathroom and giggle at the few items of clothing strewn about the floor. A toothbrush was thrown onto the counter and leaving white, foamy scum on the counter. A deodorant stick was open and toppled over. A 2-in-1 shampoo was leaking in the shower. Overall, about as much as you expected.

“Oh god,” Stiles yells, spotting the same things you were, “I’m so sorry. It’s such a mess in here.” He starts to bang against the walls, picking up clothes and fallen toiletries along the way. “Clearly I wasn’t expecting company.” He steps on a sleeve and trips to the floor in a colossal crash.

You stifle a laugh as you bend to help him up, “So you really didn’t expect me to show up, huh?”

His cheeks were a blotchy red, a terrible sinking pit in his stomach. “It’s a wonder you haven’t run out of here the first chance you got.” His arms were full of clothes and a sneaker and a couple stiff washcloths that you didn’t want to think about.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,” you smile at his red face – the picture of embarrassment. He was so endearing in the sweetest way. The spray paint was starting to chip from his skin and flake onto the clothes he was holding. “I like you this way.”

Stiles figures he better leave before he does anything else stupid. “I’m going to use… my d-dad’s bathroom downstairs.” He fumbles the sneaker but catches it by the laces. “I’ll be super quick, so you have all the hot water.”

You nod, closing the door on his bright blotchy face. You step into the shower, not planning to use up the hot water either, and investigate any other hygiene products. The 2-in-1 must have been used as a body wash and face wash as well because there was nothing else to be seen. Shaking your head you use the bottle to clean all the spray paint off your body.

You had to scrub your skin raw, but the blue finally came off. You were quick to realize that the woods smell that Stiles usually had came from this shampoo. It was mixed with the strong scent of tea tree oil. At least the Sheriff knew a thing or two about antibacterial soap and how much a lacrosse player needed it.

The mirror wasn’t even fogged up with steam when you step out. You found the pile of clothes Stiles brought before he fumbled with cleaning.

Some dark sweatpants and a gray t-shirt with a star wars logo on the front. He even threw in a green and blue flannel to keep your arms warm when they went to get Scott.

You thread your fingers through your wet hair, carrying your ruined day clothes over your shoulder. Down the stairs you find Stiles making sandwiches in the kitchen. His shirt was a little damp from the shower, and he had goosebumps running up his arms.

“You look cold,” you say, sauntering in and catching the sweatpants before they fell a few inches. You tie the strings to make them tighter around your waist and find Stiles staring at you slack jawed.

“Um… uh – yeah. Sure, maybe a little.” He shrugs repeatedly as if that would calm the tension he was feeling.

You lean against the counter, watching him avoid your gaze, “Did you take a cold shower?”

“What – I like them!”

“No one likes them,” you scoff, “There was enough time for us both to shower fine.”

He stuck out his bottom lip, tilting his head to a shoulder, “I just wanted to make sure you had enough hot water.” Before you could make any other retort, he says in a louder voice, “I figured we could eat something and then pick up Scott.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you say, watching him work. It seems he wanted to busy himself, so he didn’t get caught staring at you again.

“Have you talked with Andrew at all since him babysitting you?”

You wince at the word ‘babysit.’ “We’ve been texting a little bit. I’m waiting for him to tell me when our date will be.”

“So he did ask you out.” Stiles cut his tomato with a little more force than was necessary.

“I guess, maybe,” you smile, feeling a little rosy in the cheeks.

Stiles sees the sudden flush and he flexes his jaw. “Are you excited?”

“Yeah, I mean – Andrew is actually a good guy compared to most of the boys at school.”

“Ah – shit!” Stiles drops his knife and holds his index finger.

You round the counter, “Are you okay?”

He waves you off, going for a band aid in a cupboard, “It’s fine, blood is red, tomatoes are red… no harm done.”

You laugh, snatching the band aid from him, “Let me see that.” You peel back the plastic and pull his hand towards your face.

He’s obviously upset about something, but that didn’t stop the red splotches from reappearing on his face. His long fingers were shaking slightly – from Adderall or his usual fidgets, you weren’t sure – but he was standing still as you gently apply the bandage.

You’re soft as you wrap the adhesive sides and push down to keep it stuck to the tip of his finger. “There,” you lean down and place a little kiss on the bandage, “All better.”

Stiles huffs an awkward laugh, almost shaken by your make-it-better kiss. “Thanks.”

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he says testily, making the sandwiches a little more roughly than before.

You squint your eyes, upset that he was holding back. “Are you going to give me a ‘you-shouldn’t-date-him’ speech like you did with Josh Arnett?”

Stiles takes a deep breath through his nose, and it seems to calm him enough to say in an even tone, “Like you said, Andrew is a good guy. He’d be lucky to date you.”

The sincerity in his voice put a little hitch in your chest, and you had to remember that he had access to your heartbeat.

“Moving on,” you say quickly, “Are you going to tell me how you got ahold of my heart monitor?”

Stiles plates the sandwiches and goes for a couple bags of chips in the pantry. He was stuttering the whole way and came back a little pink. “After the video store and I… stayed the night. I – couldn’t sleep. After a couple hours and me trying to read your latest Harry Potter book…”

“You can’t start reading the series on the sixth one, dummy.”

He waves you off, presenting you with dinner. “You turned over in your sleep… and your hand was – was resting on my arm; the hand that had your watch.” He takes a big bite of his sandwich and rushes through the rest, “It turned on when your heart rate went up a little bit in your sleep and I thought… it would m-make sense to share that monitor with other people so they can take care of you in an emergency.”

You quietly eat your meal as you listen, a warmth in your stomach at feeling looked after and cared about. Stiles took it upon himself to help you and strangely… you didn’t mind it like you did when it came to your parents.

“Your watch doesn’t have a password on it so…”

“My parents thought it’d be easier if someone needed to access my heart monitor app if I fainted.”

He nods, “So I opened it while you were asleep and connected my phone to the app.”

“Why didn’t you just ask?” you say softly, watching him with that warmth you were feeling. It was comforting and you realize how comfortable you felt around Stiles – especially when talking about something so personal to you.

“I was afraid you’d be all stoic and say you’re fine,” he smirks at you, “And that you can take care of yourself.”

You shake your head and huff a laugh, “Smart man.”

The two of you share a few more laughs before Stiles goes on to apologize again, “I’m sorry this isn’t the greatest meal. I’m no chef (Y/N).” He waves his hands around as he says it, “But…”

“It’s good,” you say, smiling. “I don’t like to cook all the time.”

You get off topic as you continue to eat. You discuss your science project and the upcoming chemistry test on Monday. Stiles tells you the made up story about what happened at the school. You ask more questions about Derek. Sherrif Stilinski had contacted state police to handle a possible serial killer. School had been closed Thursday and Friday to deal with the damages, so you hadn’t missed classes while being sick.

The sun starts to set as Stiles cleans your plates. “There is one more thing about tonight that I forgot to mention.” He puts his hands on the counter and leans in, “What do girls usually do during breakups?”

“Well, Allison, Lydia, and I had a night of crying as we watched The Notebook and Titanic. We ordered takeout and ranted about every stupid thing a boy has ever done to us. We ate chocolate and contemplated possibly being alone forever. And then we passed out after doing our hair and giving each other facials.”

Stiles was not expecting that, “You did all of that in one night?”

“Hence why we passed out at three in the morning.”

He shakes his head, “Well for Scott… we’re going to get him drunk.”

You raise your eyebrows, “Excuse me?”

“We’re going to get drunk and make sure he has a good time.”

“Cause no one has ever been considered a sad drunk before.”

He gives you a deadpan stare. It makes you giggle – he was so open with his facial expressions.

“I just want to take his mind off of it.”

You consider him, “Where are we going to get alcohol?”

Stiles holds up a finger and goes to rummage in a side cabinet near the dining table. He returns with a full bottle of Jack Daniels. You smile to see the comparison you had made multiple times. Stiles’ eyes were sometimes like sunshine through whiskey.

He took your smile as a good sign, “You up for it?”

~~~

You and Stiles were leading the way past the park entrance and onto a cliff face with Scott trailing behind. The moon was out and very nearly full, shining a perfect light around the outcrop.

The ground was uneven and layered with rock, sparse pine trees growing between the cracks. There was a bonfire barrel just ahead that Stiles went to light.

“Where are we going?” Scott grumbles.

He was looking a little worse for wear. After your night of girl talk and general anguish, Allison seemed to be faring better. It was strange to see how each party handled the breakup.

“Cause we really shouldn’t be out here. My mom is in a constant state of freak-out from what happened at the school.”

Stiles sighs, “Well, your mom isn’t the sheriff, okay? There’s no comparison, trust me.”

“It’ll be fine, Scott,” you say, “It’s been quiet since Wednesday.”

Your friend was over it. “Can you at least just tell me what we’re doing out here?”

“Yes. When your best friend gets dumped…”

“I didn’t get dumped,” Scott butts in, “We’re taking a break.” He looks to you as if asking you to prove it.

You shrug, breathing in the cold air and swinging your arms in the too-long sleeves of Stiles’ flannel. “She’s pretty decided.” It was Scott’s fault after all that Allison made the decision. “She’s already given you a second chance.”

“Not helping!” Stiles snaps, “When your best friend gets told by his girlfriend that they’re taking a break…” Stiles stops walking next to the bonfire barrel, moon shining right above his head. “You get your best friend drunk.”

He holds up the bottle of amber, proud of himself for taking it from his father’s stash.

Scott sighs but doesn’t fight it. He was more interested in talking to you about the situation, which tells you how he really wants to handle the breakup. While Stiles works on lighting a fire in the barrel, you sit on a rock and pat the spot next to you for Scott.

He slumps down as if his body is heavier than usual. “Thank you for being here.”

You lean into him a little. It was cold and his body was warm. “I’ll always be here for my friends.”

“I mean, especially since you’re one of Allison’s best friends too.” His voice lowers when he says her name, like it was painful.

“Of course, I’m not picking sides, Scott. I have my girls… and I have my boys.” You wrap an arm around his shoulders and squeeze him to you. Your head lays on his shoulder, and you could almost feel the hurt he was feeling. It wasn’t as teary as Allison’s, but it was still very plain to see.

He takes a deep breath and stares out past the cliff at the rest of the forest below. It was almost like the moon was putting him in an even worse mood.

“Has she…”

“No,” you cut him off. “We had our night talking about it and she hasn’t brought it up since. But it’s only been a few days and you know Lydia is trying to swear her off of boys for a while.”

Scott nods, sinking into you a little more. “What do you think about it?”

You rub his shoulders a little, “I think what you did was done out of fear and anger, but it was still very stupid.” You feel him swallow thickly, “You shouldn’t have taken it out on her.”

He hangs his head, moving his hands up to hold his face. “I know.”

“If I’m being completely honest though… it’s going to be hard for her to get over you.” You lean closer to talk quietly as Stiles whoops at his roaring fire from behind. “Just give it some time to settle and try to apologize again. Try to give her more of a reason why you acted that way and she’ll understand. She’s very understanding if you don’t hold the truth from her.”

Scott turns his head sideways in one hand and looks at you with glassy eyes. You could tell he wasn’t going to cry, but he was heartened to hear your words.

“Thanks, (Y/N).”

You nudge him around a little, “Anytime.”

Stiles jumps off another large rock and lands with the bottle in his hands, already taking a swig, “Let’s party!”

Scott grumbles again but takes a couple gulps of the bottle before handing it to you. As you raise the rim to your lips, Stiles starts shouting.

“Hey, hey! You’re not supposed to be drinking that.”

You take a big swallow, the burning liquid stinging your throat as it goes down to warm your churning belly. “Because why?”

“Because alcohol can increase arrhythmias,” he says matter-of-factly, “I read that in my… research.”

You shrug, taking another gulp, blowing out a breath as if it were on fire. “Hasn’t stopped me before.” You mock the boys’ shocked silence with a muttered, “You’re not the only one that has stolen a drink from your parents liquor cabinet.”

Stiles still looks worried as you hand the bottle back, “Make sure you check your watch.”

“You have that on your phone now,” you stretch back, leaning on your hands, “You can worry about it.”

Scott gave half a smile, “You found out about that?”

“He hadn’t exactly hidden it well,” you giggle, already rosy from the alcohol.

You and Stiles continue to share the bottle, laughing at each other as you tell Scott about your day. You mock the state of the blue jeep while Stiles makes fun of your little crush on Andrew Wickstrom. You whisper (basically shout) about the old washcloths found in the bathroom while Stiles splutters his next swig all over the ground. And you finally laugh about how any of you were to take chemistry tests seriously when the school has been in disarray.

Scott stops drinking after his few sips and continues to stare off into the distance, hurting as he watches you and Stiles fall over each other on the ground. Stiles slams the bottle down with a tink of the glass and you shush him.

“You’ll break it,” you slur, words feeling funny in your mouth. You fall back and hit your head on the rock Scott was sitting on still. “Ow!”

Stiles rolls over from where he was laying and cups your head, pulling it from the rock, “Oh no…” he sounds just as drunk, “Did you get an owie?”

You rub at the slight egg forming on the back of your head, “The rock decided to punch me.”

“I’m sorry,” and he kisses your hairline, “There, all better.”

You laugh like that was the funniest thing in the world, “You gave me a make-it-better kiss!”

“I learned from the best,” he let your head go and you both fell onto your backs, laughing.

Scott closes his eyes and takes a shallow breath, tense from his friends having a flirty experience without them realizing it. He ignores as Stiles lifts his bandaged index finger and declares how “(Y/N)’s make-it-better kisses could cure cancer.”

You look up, laughing at that, and notice Scott folding his arms to keep the cold away. “Oh no…” you lean to whisper (again – basically shout) at Stiles, “He’s thinking about her again.”

“Dude, you know she’s just one… one girl. You know, there are so many… there are so many other girls in the sea.”

“Fish in the sea,” Scott corrects.

You gasp, “I should make a shrimp scampi.”

“Shrimp are not fish,” Stiles giggles, “Why are we talking about fish? I’m talking about girls.” His voice gets quieter, “I love girls. I love them.” He stares off at the moonlit sky while you try to contain your laughter, cheeks blooming red.

You tap out, refusing more drink but still overly drunk. Instead you wrap a hand around Scott’s ankle as if that was still giving him silent support.

“I love…” Stiles continues to ramble, “Especially ones that are super smart and like true crime and books and… and can cook super well and have a history of serious heart conditions.”

“Like (Y/N)?”

You lift your head but decided the motion was going to make you sick.

“Like who?” Stiles mutters before smiling wide, “Like whom? What was I talking about?” He looks up to see Scott brooding over his crossed arms, “Hey, you’re not happy. Take a drink.”

“I don’t want any more,” Scott says.

“You’re not drunk?” Stiles asks, only to hear you fall into giggles again.

You lean your head towards him, “I’m drunk.” You still had one hand on Scott, running your fingers weirdly around his ankle in an absentminded gesture. Scott didn’t care – he still found it somewhat comforting to have you there.

“Hey, maybe it’s like… maybe it’s like not needing your inhaler anymore, you know.”

You tug on his pants leg, “You used to need an inhaler?” You were starting to sound sleepy.

“Maybe you can’t get drunk as a wolf.”

Scott picked up a pebble and threw it at Stiles’ face.

“Hey! What the hell…” he rubs at his face harshly, throwing his arms out afterwards. One of his arms lands across yours. “Come on man, I know it hurts. I know. Well, I don’t know,” he chuckles, his fingers subconsciously finding the skin of your wrist just under the flannel sleeve. They’re light and lazy as they trail up your wrist and down to your palm.

You hardly react, too drunk to really care. “I don’t really know either. Never had anything past a situationship before. They always leave when things get too serious.” You shiver, tickled by Stiles’ fingers. “They get all scared about me dying.”

Stiles rolls his head around the rocks he’s laying on, too far gone to really register what you’re saying, “I do know this though! I know that as much as being broken up hurts, being alone is way worse.” He laughs quietly, “That didn’t make any sense.”

His long fingers were overtaking the space of your hand now, tracing the skin there as he drifts off. Scott was staring at the two of you with mixed emotions, that is until a mystery guest appears to steal your bottle of whiskey.

“Well,” a sinister older looking boy says, “Look at the little bitches getting their drink on.”

Scott sets his face in cool indifference, “Give it back.”

Stiles’ fingers are no longer light and lazy – they grip your hand and pull you closer to him, half sitting up as he tries to clear his head. You hardly register the movement of your hand, only the distant panic starting to rise in your throat at the newcomers.

“What’s that, little man?” the guy had to be a senior or even a freshman in college.

Another guy of similar age was just behind him, “I think he wants a drink.”

Stiles was trying to stand up, “Scott, maybe we should just go.”

“Woah, woah – wait a minute,” the first guy whistles, “The party is just starting.” He eyes you down, “What’s your name, baby?”

You swallow hard, “We were just leaving.” Your head was terribly clearer now as a thrill of fear went down your spine. You try to stand too, “Enjoy the drink.”

“Oh, we will,” the guy says, approaching your standing figure, “But only if you enjoy it with us.”

“Hey, back off man,” Stiles says, wobbly as he holds onto you, “We don’t want any trouble.”

The guy goes for your free arm, slow but tight in how he grabs you, “You don’t want to spend the night with these losers. We can show you a better time.”

“Let go of me,” you say fiercely, but fear was shining in your eyes.

Stiles starts rambling off sentences of retort, pulling on you and pushing the guy away. Until you were yanked sharply, and a squeal escapes you.

All bets were off after that.

Stiles throws his drunken arms towards the guy, eventually punching him on the jawline closer to his ear. Scott, his eyes gleaming a strange yellow light, grabs the bottle of jack from the senior’s hand and throws it with incredible speed against a faraway tree.

His voice is deep and strange as he says, “Get out of here.”

And the two guys run off back towards the woods, passing the tree now drenched in whiskey and glass.

Your teeth were chattering, heartbeat rapid, and a look of fear plastered to your wide eyes. Stiles was shaking your shoulders, “You okay?” Then he pulls you into his embrace, guiding your head to rest under his chin, “You’re okay.” He rubs up and down your arm as he watches Scott stomp away towards the jeep.

“Hey, woah – Scott!” he holds you to him, kind of like a support for both your drunken bodies, but you’re grateful for the warmth his body provides as you head for the parking lot again.

Scott drives you all home, angry as he watches you sleepily lay in Stiles’ arms. The fidgety, sarcastic boy was slumped against the door and had his arms wrapped around you, snoring and completely unaware of how lucky he was.

He was going to lose his mind when he wakes up and doesn’t remember it all very well.

~~~

Taglist: @assassinsasha23 @tasty-book-fans @lovelybaka @the-fandom-queen @runs-with-sciss0rs

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi x reader #teen wolf stiles #teen wolf #okay j hannah #okayjhannah #fandomfantasia

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safination · 8 months ago

Text

Partners in Death... and Life

Part 3: Not Everything You Hear From the Radio Should be Trusted

| Part 2: Radio Will be Dead if He Doesn't Explain Himself| Part 4: The Radio Star’s Co-host Just Wants To Do The Dishes||Masterlist| ao3| Tag-list| Parings: Alastor x wife!reader Tags: fem!reader, established relationship, hopefully not but just in case ooc!alastor (I'm still trying my best to keep him as canon as possible) Reader is in hell for a reason. Please take note of the following warnings: Body horror. Graphic descriptions of injuries, glass piercing skin, cutting of skin, cutting of chest. Dissection of Human muscles. Misogyny Just…be careful out there

Series Summary: After a seven-year absence, you find the man you were married to in life, not only back in town, but also helping... *checks notes*... the Princess of Hell run a hotel aimed at rehabilitating sinners who were sent to the bad place for a reason.

Hello. I usually aim to post on Wednesdays, and I knoooow it's not a Wednesday. But, in my defense, this chapter is longer than chapters 1 and 2 combined. Also, I tried to keep the body horror to a medium level. I tried to find a perfect balance of horrifying but also still readable. Would you guys want more body horror, or less, or is this a good amount? Updated: 5/01/2024 *just realized that I forgot to add the part I was supposed to add*

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The heart monitor beeps with a steady rhythm. The model’s ECG reading dip, but that’s normal for her species. You study the model asleep on your table, and take your place.

Turning to your interns, you adjust the fit of your gloves as say, “Are you ready?

From the other side of the table, Lys nods her head with such vigor that you’re afraid it would fall off. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be!”

Heme takes their place next to you, wheeling the cart within your reach. “Aren’t there supposed to be more people here?” they ask, adjusting the fit of their mask with their shoulder. “We don’t even have an anesthesiologist present, and the technician dumped the tools and left without a word!”

Sighing, you take another look at the screen, and monitor the patient’s ECG readings. Just a couple of decades ago, you wouldn’t even be allowed to take five steps into a surgical suite, but in your death, you stare at the state-of-the-art Vox technology heart monitor.

“This was dumped at the last minute. And the Vees paid a hefty amount for the best,” you say, smiling to yourself. “I guess it doesn’t help that most of the staff have clocked-off for the night already.”

“It really doesn’t,” Heme says. You think they frown, you’re not actually sure. It’s hard to tell with masks on, but Heme sounds like they’re frowning.

“On the bright side, this is a special case, and special cases require special means,” you say. “Stick around, and I’ll make sure to show you something amazing.”

Lys squeals, jumping a bit, “I can’t wait to see your work.”

You turn to Heme. “Tell how you were guided into stopping the bleeding by Doctor Neisseria.”

Heme straightens, round their shoulders. “Hemostatic dressing for the capillaries,” they recite. “Then Lys clipped the bigger vessels, and Doctor Neisseria used an electrocautery for any that we missed.”

“Good,” you say. “Lys, is this your first time using a clip?”

“ . . . Yes,” Lys tells you. Even with a mask on, you could tell she was sulking.

You eye the cart between you and Heme, double checking that the technician brought everything you requested for. “It shows,” you say. “Practice every chance you get. Make a deal with some poor and down on their luck Sinner who wouldn’t mind making a deal for permission to poke around whenever you want. They’ll heal on their own if it’s not too severe or don’t—I mean, that’s how I did mine.”

Lys blinks at you. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Your shoulder slumps. “ . . . Shall we just begin?”

Heme hands you a needle driver, the needle already clipped to it. A bunch of suture forms around your palm. It’s study, and made of pure Sinner Magical Energy, or just magic or whatever. It comes out of your and you have full control, that’s all you need to know.

Heme and Lys lean closer to observe the threads you make.

I don’t get to do this often.” You turn your head, motioning to the detached arm placed on the side. The skin has been stretched and the jagged and stringy muscle fibers sticking out tell you it’s been ripped off rather than slice. The radius protrudes out into the air, jagged and sharp. It would have hurt this model quite a lot. “Steady her arm please.”

Lys snatches the arm, holding it with confidence as she steadies it. “This is so cool.”

Heme hums. “Cool in a gross way.”

“Whether your patient is awake or not, a steady hand is key,” you say. “When you pierce your needle, be sure to do it right at the epidermis when dealing with the skin. Too deep and you’ll puncture the arteries or nerves.”

Lys brings the arm closer, and you do the first suture that will connect the limb of Velvette’s model. Valen-something apparently tore her up, but it wasn’t enough to kill her. So, they rushed her into the Emergency Room three days before this poor girl’s debut, and dropped her into your care with her arm and leg in an ice box.

You sew the model’s arm. The threads around your fingers are light, but sturdy. You entwine some around your fingers like some puppet master for better grip. Blood vessels, bones, nerves, and muscles. Not a single cell escapes your control.

You quiz your interns from time to time or tell them to take a closer look at where the vessels stick out the muscles, making sure they’re able to observe how a proper reattachment is conducted.

You study the threads connecting the arm to its body There are thousands of loose sutures. One single pull, and it will be completely reattached.

You shift your shoulders and crack your neck, giving it a slight stretch. “How long has it been?”

Lys glances at the clock behind you. “Five hours. I think it’s almost sunrise.”

“Be ready to be here for a while,” you say, rolling your shoulders. “The leg will be more complicated.”

Heme groans and their shoulder slump. “I guess I should just be thankful the model is mostly humanistic.”

You pull on the singular thread, and the stitches shorten until the arm is fully connected to its base. A thing line is the only indication that any limbs have been detached.

The door swings open and you snap your head at the sound.

“Hey doc!” The little Egg Boi saunters into the room, an envelope in his tiny hands. “I got something for you.”

Your feathers crack and sharpen. “If you wish to keep your shell,” you hiss at him, “you will leave this room before you contaminate it further.”

Egg Boi #04 wobbles a bit. “I was told to give you a message.”

A headache forms on your temples. You want to massage it, but that would contaminate your gloves. “Lys, show the egg to the observation room. Show him the microphone.”

Lys pouts a bit but exits the surgical suite.

Heme grabs the leg, and you begin again. You pause to take a deep breath. The threads don’t just appear out of thin air—they’re created because you will them to take shape. It gives as much as it needs to take from you.

Egg Boi# 04’s voice echoes on the speaker. “I have a note for you.”

“Read it then leave.” You pierce the tibia bone with your needle (special hell needle, you guess. Normal needles definitely cannot pierce bones) and connect it to the model’s leg.

Your concentration does not waver, even as Lys enters back into the room.

“ My dearest good doctor, ” Egg Boi #04 reads. “ What a helltastic day for –"

“Stop!” you exclaim, and the threads you’re producing fizzle a bit, “Is that from Alastor?”

“Uhhh . . . yes?”

“Give me 10 minutes.” You sew the model’s leg just like before, starting from bones, then vessels, the muscles, and finally skin, but this time at a much faster pace.

Thousands of strings connect the detached leg to its place.

Heme gawks at you. “I thought the leg was more complicated?”

“It is.”

“It took you five minutes to sew everything ,” they say. “Why did it take the arm until sunrise?”

“You wouldn’t have been able to learn anything if I went too fast.” You hand the needle driver to Heme, who takes it with eager hands “I trust you will be able to close for me?”

“Yes!”

“Go around the skin—remember not too deep,” you say. “Once it’s all connected, just one strong pull and the threads should work their magic. Lys, once she closes, you can practice your knots.”

The door closes with a swing. You discard your gloves then peel off your protective layers, but you keep the scrub cap on your head.

The Egg Boi waddles into the room, threatening to tip any moment. He holds up Alastor’s note and you’re forced to bend when you reach for it.

You open the envelope and sigh. “This is a letter, and definitely not a note ,” you say counting all the pages jammed into the envelope. “Notes are small pieces of paper, and not fifteen pages of paper scribbled back-to-back.”

You take one deep breath, flaring your nostrils as you contemplate your marriage choices, and begin reading.

Heme enters the holding room as you’re reading through the last page.

They take a look at the pages you’ve read. “Ohhhhh a letter?” they say, discarding their mask into the trash. Their gloves are next. “Who is it from?”

“My husband.”

“Why a letter?” Heme asks you “Why not just shoot you a text or a phone call?”

“He mumbles to himself when he writes, and he just loves hearing his own voice.” You turn to the Egg Boi once you’ve read the last word. “Tell Alastor I’m busy—I can’t leave work to go to the hotel on such short notice!”

“Right . . .” Heme leans against the sink. “Management will be dropping by this afternoon.”

Your eyes squint. “This afternoon? I was told there'd be visiting tomorrow!”

“Yes, they informed you last night,” Heme says. “It’s tomorrow now—morning, actually.”

Your eyes twitch as you turn to Egg Boi #4. “Tell him I will be early. Now go, run along now, lest you get scrambled.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Bustling sounds from the other side of the circus themed doors. You knock then take a step backwards, least Vaggie greets you with a fist to the face.

A crash sounds from the inside. The door slams open, and Charlie pops out, hair disheveled and sticking out in odd places. You see the relief oozing into her. Charlie’s smile relaxes and her eyes stop bulging at the sight of you.

She says your name with enthusiasm. “It’s just you! I am so glad to see you.”

You wave at her. “Hello, Charlie. It’s good to see you as well.”

“Would you like to come inside?” she says at the same time another crash sounds. Charlie’s smile turns sheepish. “I hope you don’t mind the mess.”

“It’s quite alright,” you say with a polite smile. “Who am I to judge another person’s mess? It can be quite entertaining sometimes.”

Charlies smoothens the stray hairs sticking out. It does little to actually fix it. “Sooooo what brings you by? Not that you’re not welcome here! Everyone is welcome here! We don’t discriminate at –”

The door swings wider and Alastor pops out with that permanent smile of his. “I called her here.”

Alastor helps you out of your coat as you enter through the doors, and drapes it over his arm. “I came early. I hope you don’t mind,” you say, glancing at the crudely attached banners. Strobe lights are being taped to the railings. Its brightness makes you blink. “Are you throwing a party? Is that why you called me here?”

Alastor hangs your coat on the rack. “We’re preparing for a sudden guest,” he says. “It seems we’ll have to delay our plans, only if you’re happy with waiting for me.”

Charlie shrinks and her eyes water a bit. “Alastor . . .,” she says with a frown. “If you have plans, that’s alright—go. We can manage without you here!”

“Not at all, this is where he needs to be right now,” you tell Charlie, placing a hand on her shoulder. Her smile brightens immediately. “Who will be the special guest today?”

Charlie fiddles with her fingers. “We invite my . . . dad .”

Alastor twirls his microphone. “The King of Hell himself.”

“Oh,” you start, “ the demon is coming here?”

“That’s actually Satan,” Charlie says with a smile. “Dad often gents confused with Satan but they’re not the same

“Oh . . . So, Lucifer is coming here.”

“Pretty much.”

You laugh a bit—you’re not even sure why. Maybe you shouldn’t have laughed. It sounded so awkward, even to you. “Well, how can I help? If it’s alright with you, of course.”

Charlie’s eyes brighten, and she shakes your shoulders. “Are you sure?”

Alastor grabs Charlie’s fingers with the tip of his own and pry them off you. “I’ve already come all this way,” you say, and turn to your husband. “I’m sure we can make the most out of this situation.”

Charlie leaves to change her clothes, and hopefully brush her hair while she’s at it.

Alastor offers his arm, and you loop your own around his, even when you know it’s unnecessary to escort you to a living area that’s five-feet away.

He leaves you, walking to the kitchen with a wave of his microphone.

The hotel looks the same, just more diverse colors hanging around. Niffty stalks past you without a word, engrossed in her task of sweeping the floor. Angel Dust or Vaggie don’t seem to be around, nor is Husk at his usual post. Only a one-eyed cat keeps you company.

On the table, deflated balloons are left forgotten with two pumps resting next to it. You take your seat, and complete the unfinished task.

You’re on the third balloon when Alastor presents a mug to you.

He leans over the chair, reaching his arms to place that ‘ Oh Deer’ mug on the table. It’s difficult to meet his eyes when he leans so far in front that his whole face is upside down.

His hair hangs in the air, and your husband looks goofy in such an awkward position that you can’t help but laugh. “You look awful this hellish morning!” he says, and his grin widens until his teeth show. “I thought you could use a bit of brightening up. You’re practically dozing off in the chair.”

“Thank you,” you say, a small smile on your face. “The coffee smells good.”

Alastor swings back, and lands next to you. “I know we agreed to leave such tasks to you,” he says and he waves his arms as he talks. “But you look ready to drop dead any second. Poor Niffty had swept about a hundred feathers on your short walk from the door to this chair—Long day?”

“ Longer day, actually. Yesterday’s long day turned into a late night that bleeds into today’s early morning.” You take a sip, and revel in its taste. Even after all these years . . . his coffee still tastes like acidic bean water. (If you smile, then that’s your business.) “The coffee tastes good.”

Alastor crosses his leg, cracking a laugh hard enough for his eyes to bulge. “You didn’t even try to check if it’s been tampered,” he says with that same wild smile. “Are you that tired, my love?”

You smile at him, lips curving bright and wide. “My deerest, did you place something into my coffee?”

“Not at all.”

“That’s disappointing,” you say, taking another sip. “That suit of yours could use some brightening up! A splash of this bean water would add such an interesting texture to it.”

“We’ll it good to see you’re not tired enough to lose your way with words,” Alastor says, smiling at you. “But if you’ve had a ‘ longer’ day, you could have sent the Egg Boy—"

“It’s Egg Boi, my deerest.”

Alastor squints, his brow furrowing as he does. “That’s what I said.”

“You said Egg Boy, deerest,” you tell him, taking a longer sip than usual to drown your laughter. “Those eggs are called Egg Bois . They have different numbers—except Frank.”

On the corner of his cheek—just where it’s always been—Alastor’s smile strains. “You said the same thing as I did.”

“Egg Bois.”

“Egg Boys.”

“Egg Bois .”

“Egg Boys .”

You chuckle a bit, and take another long slip. “If you say so.”

Alastor rolls his eyes and he makes it a point to show you he’s doing so. “You could have mentioned to that egg creature that you’d had a long day.”

“Management was dropping by my floor today.” You grab another balloon to pump it.

Alastor’s head tilts, and you hear the small crack of his neck. Static fills the air. “Well, I’m always glad to be used in such a way.”

You roll your eyes, making it a point to show Alastor that you’re doing so. The sharpened feathers and the glow of your eyes were just for the fun of it. “There is another reason why I dropped by the hotel.”

“Do tell!”

You knot the end of the balloon and throw it to the side. “Who am I to refuse the summon of the Radio Demon?”

“His wife.”

You snort, and toss a balloon at him. One balloon becomes two and now you’re just tossing whatever balloon you could get your hands on.

Alastor pops a balloon and static emits from his microphone.

You cross your arms, staring down at him. “I was going to use that.”

Alastor grabs the second pump.

An hour passes too soon. They always seem to do around your husband. The balloons are stringed and weighted. Razzle and Dazzle—the two lambs Charlie made a point to introduce you too—put up . . . er . . . interesting banner on the railings.

Sir Pentious slithers out the kitchen, a tray of cookies in his hold. The Hazbin Hotel looks lively. The space looks decent—live in — as if Sinners actually gathered and used the space. (Those are your favorite kind.)

Sir Pentious offers a cookie to you, and you munch on it. You give him a compliment for its taste.

By the entrance, with Vaggie to her side and Alastor at the other, Charlie takes a deep breath, her nostrils flaring as she does.

Vaggie gives her a smile, and Charlie opens the door.

The bringer of sin rushes to his daughter, drowning her in a hug.“Chaaaaarlie!”

Charlie squirms in his hold. “Heeeyy, Dad!”

Egg Boi #13 and Egg Boi #08 twist their poppers and confetti pops into the air. Niffty grabs her broom, sweeping the floor.

You watch Lucifer, and try to hide your smile. The King of Hell looks different from any paintings or drawings humans make. They can’t seem to capture how shy he looks. How awkward. No painting has been able to capture his search for a place to belong.

This Fallen Angel has blond hair. He’s not the brunette you thought he’d be, which was a shame for you rather liked brunets. It makes sense he’d be blond. Afterall, Charlie has blonde hair as well, and she is the spitting image of her father.

If someone told you it was Lucifer who birthed her, you wouldn’t be able to deny it.

“It’s finally nice to put a name to the face.” Alastor shakes Lucifer’s hand with his microphone, wiping his own right after. “You are much shorter in real life.”

You turn aways, coughing to hide your laughter as Alastor banters with Lucifer.

Husk rolls his eyes at you and grumbles. “Of course, you’d find that hilarious,” he says. “Everyone knows it's smart to insult Lucifer.”

You place a hand on your cheek. “Guilty as charged.”

Charlie brings Lucifer to meet your group. He calls Vaggie, Maggie. Smiles awkwardly when Angel Dust calls him a ‘short king’ . Lucifer waves back when Husk waves at him, and shrinks when Niffty jumps and pulls him by the collar. One by one, you’re introduced.

You extend your arm for a handshake.

Lucifer smiles awkwardly, shrinking a bit, but reaches out to shake your ha—

The chandelier crashes to the floor.

And oh God . . .

Lucifer begins to sing.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Your hair sticks to your face.

Water droplets splash on your clothes. You accept your fate, and trudge through the rain, even as your fingers freeze. The breeze blows your hair, making you nuzzle into your damp coat. You should have brought an umbrella, or taken a cab. Just your luck, a sunny day turns into a drizzle that turns your shoes into a lake. You hate damp socks.

An umbrella blocks the rain from your soaked clothes.

You spring out of its coverage, spinning to look behind. Your arms jerk out, causing you to wobble because of the wet pavement. (That’s totally not embarrassing.)

“The point of an umbrella is to stay underneath it when it’s raining.” Alastor smiles, giving you a small wave.

You wave back.

“Oh . . . hello,” you say, adjusting the straps of your bag. Alastor takes a step forward, and you jump backwards. “I’m alright—I can manage by myself.”

“Why don’t you tell me all about your very capable self from underneath the umbrella,” he says, twirling the umbrella. “Come on, now.”

You dip your head inside. Alastor inches closer, but there’s still a respectable gap between your shoulders. “I’m really alright,” you say. “I quite love the rain.”

“Yes, the rain is a beautiful thing to frolic underneath when you’re in a meadow,” Alastor says. You can’t help but feel that Alastor is scolding you, “not when it splashes off buildings and drips off power lines and other items that have not been cleaned. We are in the city, my dear.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“My mother would roll in her grave and haunt me when she finds out I left a lady in the rain.”

“But—”

“Constant refusal is quite rude, you know,” he tells you. “And I still owe you one favor.”

“You really wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all,” Alastor says with a smile that makes you smile back. “If it makes you feel more comfortable, I’m happy to leave my umbrella in your umbrella-less but capable hands, and be on my way.”

You shake your head, inching closer. “We can share if you don’t mind walking.”

“I love walks. It keeps me stimulated.”

Alastor follows your every step, covering you with an umbrella that was meant for one. You glance at his shoulder, and turn away to hide your frown. Half of his shoulder sticks out into the rain, gathering droplets, while not a single speck of water slides on you.

Alastor is giving you the bigger half of the umbrella.

“Would you mind holding this?” he asks.

“Not at all,” you say, and take a hold of his umbrella. Alastor is taller, and you have to quirk your arms higher to avoid hitting his head.

Alastor slips out of his coat. You watch him slide it off his shoulders and pull his arm out the slits. He’s wearing a vest—a fine vest as well. Alastor flicks out stray waterdrops. He leans close enough for you to smell his cologne. He drapes his coat over your shoulders, grabbing the lapels to adjust its fit. His body heat lingers. It’s warm . . . he’s warm.

Alastor pries the umbrella from your grip with a wide smile. “Before you say anything, the only response that I will be accepting is, ‘thank you’.”

“Thank you, Alastor.”

“You’re welcome.” He adjusts the angle of the umbrella, careful to keep every drop of rain from touching you, even at the cost of his own clothes. “Whatever made you decide to walk? There are cabs and busses for a reason.”

“It wasn’t that bad when I started,” you say. “Plus, I was eager to get home.”

He keeps his eyes ahead. “It’s still quite dangerous.”

You step over a puddle, narrowly missing it. “Dangerous?”

“Yes!”

“The sun is—well, was still up when I began walking.”

Alastor hums, shaking his head. “Murders and thieves do not magically dissolve in the sun.”

You smile to yourself. “I’m sure you’re quite knowledgeable on that subject.”

Alastor turns to you, and his hair shifts as he tilts his head. “Pardon?”

“I heard your voice on the radio this morning,” you tell him, adjusting his coat around your shoulders. “I caught the news segment.”

“Well,” he starts, his smile widening. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “you must have been busy when I mentioned the forecast then.”

You inch closer as much as he’ll allow you, trying to keep a respectable distance, but still close enough that Alastor doesn’t need to sacrifice his clothes to keep yours dry. “Speaking of radio, what brings you to this area?” you say. “Isn’t the radio station all the way across town?”

Alastor laughs in a way that makes you wish you’ve kept your mouth shut. “Have you been tracking my movements?”

“Not at all,” you say and try to mimic his laugh. It comes out strained instead. “I just know how to read a map.”

Alastor steps over a puddle. He places a hand on your back, guiding you away from it. “I just had some business in the area,” he says and drops his hand. “I turned the corner and I found you walking all alone in the rain!”

You smile, careful to keep your eyes forward. “I’m thankful to whatever beings that fated our paths to cross.”

Alastor leans closer, eyeing your hands. “Been gardening recently?”

You glance at your nails, at where stubborn soil sticks underneath the cuticle. “No . . . not at all,” you say slowly. “I guess you could say . . . light treasure hunting . . . ?”

“The more I get to know you, the more I find myself dumbfounded at your wide range of hobbies.”

“I hate seeing things go to waste.” You try to ignore the squish of your socks. You are definitely never forgetting your umbrella again. “For example, your garbage is my treasure.”

“What a wonderful philosophy to live by.” Alastor meets your eyes and smiles.

You smile back. “Indeed, isn’t it?”

Alastor’s hold on the umbrella stays firm, even as he follows you around the corner and across the street. Not a single drop of water lands on you. “What treasure were you able to find?”

“You have a lot of questions for me today,” you say and ignore the thumping of your heart. “I feel as if you know me more than I know you—I think that’s rather unfair.”

“Well, what would you like to know?”

You move your foot to avoid puddles of trash. The city could really use a good cleaning. “You know so much about my hobbies. So, I’d like to know some of yours.”

“There isn’t really much to tell,” he says. “The radio is my life.”

A strong breeze has you sinking deeper into Alastor’s coat. “You have your hunts.”

You glance at Alastor, and oh . . . his hair is as brown as his eyes. Wisps of hair stick to his face because of the rain.

Alastor’s brows furrow a bit, but you swear his smile turns sweet. “Those are more of a necessity than a hobby.”

“In what way?”

“The woods around my area have a lot of . . . let’s say, mammals that don’t necessarily belong there, it is as if someone just leaves them from time to time. I hunt a few here and there to thin the population a bit.”

You smile to yourself. “Well, tell me about the radio—What is that like?”

He places his free hand on his chest. “Why, it is the proper medium of expressing oneself, of course.”

“It must be nice having such a creative outlet,” you say. “Sometimes, I wonder how you’re able to come up with the most exciting segments.”

“Sadly, you would think after all these years of bringing success and money into the company, I would be allowed to have more control over my content.”

You step over another puddle. A small tug on Alastor’s arm, and he steps over it as well. “That is quite sad to hear.”

“For example,” he starts, adjusting his hold on the umbrella. “I wanted to have this whole portion just on crimes that have been committed.”

“Like . . . the news?”

“No, not at all,” he says. “I was thinking more on the lines of old cases like robberies and murders—some solved, some not. Unfortunately, the director said it would be too gruesome.”

“It really depends on how you choose to present it,” you say. “I think audiences would love a good mystery with a satisfying conclusion.”

“That is exactly what I thought so as well!” Alastor’s smile widens. “I came across this story . . . Oh, well I wouldn’t want to bother you with the details.”

“I’d love to hear this,” you say, chuckling. “Show me how you would present it.”

“One winter night,” he starts off with that never ending smile on his lips, “a child—no ordinary child—disappears in the middle of the night. There were no signs of a break in and nothing other than the child was taken from the home. Not a single dust was out of place.”

“Wait, what was so special about the child?”

“I will tell you,” he says. “That child was the two-year old son of aviator Charles Lindenberg! Some newspapers called the child the ‘Eaglet’ because his father had become the first man to fly across the Atlantic Oce—Oh, why are we stopping?”

He angles the umbrella, careful to keep you dry. You smile at him and point at the small apartment complex behind you. “This is where I live.”

Alastor doesn’t frown, but his smile droops a bit. “Oh . . . ” he says. “I was getting to the most interesting portion of the story—what a shame.”

“A shame, indeed,” you echo. “You have such a captivating way of conveying your words.”

“Thank you.”

The rain splatters on the umbrella. It’s not going to stop anytime soon. Your socks are damp and it’s starting to get colder. “Would you like to finish what you were saying?”

Alastor’s smile widens, just a bit, but it was enough for you to notice. “On the month of May, after continuous searching, a tiny little corpse was found abandoned on the side of the road. Forensics determined that the baby was bludgeoned to death.”

“It’s quite funny,” you tell him. “You talk of such gruesome murders but I find myself captivated.”

“Indeed.”

“Thank you for going out of your way for me, Alastor.” You slip out of his coat, returning it to him. It’s cold—has it always been this cold. “Will I see you around?”

“Of course,” he says. “We always meet in such unconventional places.”

You duck out of the umbrella, giving him one last smile and head up the steps. A twist of a doorknob, a few flights of stairs, and you would be home. You were tired, your socks are soaking, and the back of your clothes stick to your skin. So, why . . . why do you find yourself running back into the rain?

“Wait!” you find yourself exclaiming.

Alastor covers you with his umbrella. “What’s wrong?”

‘I . . . I may have a problem.” The words are slipping out of your lips. “Are you busy by any chance?”

“Not at all.”

“What about your business in the area?”

Alastor raises his eyebrows. “I can always come back.”

“Would you help me?” You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Of course.” Alastor brings the umbrella closer to you. “What can I do for you?”

“I think . . . ” you begin to say. Stop. Stop! You should turn back; head inside where warm clothes and a bath awaits you. “I think I’m in the wrong area.”

Alastor laughs, and it’s that same breathy and light laugh as before. He drapes his coat over your shoulder once more, and adjusts its fit to secure it around you. It’s the warmest thing you’ve ever experienced in your life. “I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I left a lady stranded in the rain.”

“Not at all,” you say with a smile that you do not remember smiling. “Lots of scary thieves and murders out there—apparently they don’t disappear during the day.”

Alastor nudges you along, down the path, to a destination either of you have the faintest idea where it will end.

Your feet stay locked in its place, and you hold Alastor in your gaze. (His bowtie is crooked, and even with his coat around you, he looks presentable. His vest matches his shoes. You note how his smile is asymmetrical, and how his eyes are still as brown as his hair. Alastor’s glasses are frosted, but he doesn’t seem to mind.)

“Are you alright?” Alastor asks you.

“I’m fine. It’s just . . . .” You shake your head and smile. “It would be a waste to forget this.”

“Come on,” Alastor says in a voice that is oh so soft. He offers his arm, and you hook your own around his.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“ Motherfucker! ” Husk curses into the air, his ears quirking as he does. “Would it fucking kill you to be gentle with that shit?”

“I am being gentle.” You stare him down, keeping the towel pressed firmly against his foot. “Would you want to know what it’s like when I’m not? I’d be very happy to comply.”

“ . . . No.”

“Then settle down, Husker ,” you say and use your free hand to grab the forceps from the hotel’s medical kit. “This will be much easier if you stay still . . . or don’t and give yourself a harder time. I’m not the one with glass sticking out of my foot.”

Husk sinks into the clinic bed, sulking as he crosses his arms. He picks on the pillow, fidgeting with its seams. “ Bitch. ”

You raise your eyebrows and huff. “ Virgin. ”

“I am not . . .grandma. ” Husk’s fangs show when he growls.

Your feathers bristle. It’s smart to keep Husk talking, even if hurling insults is the way to do so. If it keeps him distracted, you won’t complain. “I died in my late twenties . . . or was it my early thirties — I honestly forget.”

The blood on his foot begins to clot, and you toss the towel to the waste basket. You walk to the sink, rinsing stray droplets of Husk’s blood with soap.

“Settle down then, grandma,” he says with a triumphant smile, and you roll your eyes. “Today, it’s your memories. Tomorrow, it could be anything.”

You plop on the clinic chair, waiting for your hands to dry. “Yes, it would make sense you’re familiar with the signs,” you shoot back, “considering you lived long enough to be called Pawpaw — Is that why you’re a cat?”

Husk barks a laugh, his wings flaring. He grabs the pillow and tosses it to you. It hits the side of the chair and langs on your lap. You pick it up and toss it back at him. “At least my husband didn’t walk out on me for several years without so much as a word.”

You chuckle, and settle his foot on your leg for better access. Taking your forceps, you brush away slivers of glass from Husk’s foot . . . or would this be his paw?

You clip a shard of glass, and glance at him. When Husk doesn’t whine like a little bitch, you pull a shard and drop it to the metal pan across you. “At least my marriage lasted even through death, Arachnid Simp.”

Husk rolls his eyes. You smile when his whiskers twitch. “Where did you even learn that word?”

“I see you’re not going to deny it.”

Husk sinks deeper into the bed.

“This wouldn’t be happening if you—I don’t know—wore these things called shoes ?” You pluck another shard of glass. Husk tries to jerk his foot away, but your hold stays firm. “They were invented a long, long, time ago, and were created to keep your feet protected .”

“Stop talking as if I’m a child.” Husk frowns and his teeth stick out. “Wearing them feels weird.”

“I guess they kind of are weird.” You grab a fresh towel when blood squirts out of Husk’s foot. “You die and then suddenly waking up to see you don’t have toes

A beat passes between you. “Do you . . . do you not have toes?”

You toss the towel, and pick out the last shard. “Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy.”

“ What does that even mean ?” Husk growls, running his palms over his face.

“I . . . have absolutely no idea.”

You reach into the medical kit, grabbing some dressing. You peel the plastic and toss it to the trash, and press it against his foot.

Egg Boi #03 waddles up to you, a gauze roll in his tiny hands — you weren’t aware the little egg creature was in the room. You thank him with a smile, and wrap the gauze roll around Husk’s paw then his ankle. Satisfied, you clip it in its place.

“You’re all done,” you say. “It might be weird to step on it for a few hours, but it’s not impossible. The glass didn’t puncture you too deep.”

“Good to know.”

“Oh . . . and just in case, the amount of blood you saw isn’t anything to be scared of. There’s just a lot of tiny vessels on the foot. That’s why it took a while for it to stop,” you say and toss him a new set of gauze rolls and pads.

Husk stares at the items. “I don’t know how to use this.”

You stare at him, leaning into the chair. “Just slap the square on the skin and roll the gauze around your foot.”

Husk hops out of the clinic, keeping pressure off his injury.

It takes a while to clean up after yourself, but Egg Boi #03 keeps you company. The little egg speaks a lot of nonsense, but it’s entertaining nonetheless. You flick the lights, and Egg Boi #03 follows behind you.

The chandeliers had been dragged away, and the glass and debris cleared off the carpet.

Mimzy’s hug makes you take a step back.

You squirm in her hold, placing a placating hand on her shoulders.

“I am sooooo glad you are here!” Mimzy exclaims, shaking your shoulders. “This is like one big reunion, ay. Just between you and me, that Lucifer is a real looker—shame on Alastor for not warning a gal. I would have dressed better, and who knows? Maybe I could be the Queen of Hell. Ha! ”

Mimzy grabs your arm and drags you to the bar. Husk pours you a drink with a nod, and stalks away. Seeing him hop up the stairs makes you laugh.

You swirl your drink. “It’s always good to see you, old friend.”

“Not that old!” Mimzy swats your arm, a huge grin on her lips. “And there’s no need to lie to me, darling. I doubt you actually feel that way.”

“Well, I still have those burn marks on my wall from the time you decided to play bartender with matches.”

Mimzy barks a laugh, and her legs kick. “C’mon you can’t still be blaming me! If I remember correctly, it was Alastor who brought out the matches.”

Angel Dust walks up to you with Sir Pentious trailing behind him. You wave.Sir Pentious waves back, his hood flapping open.

“Mind if we join ya?” Angel Dust asks.

“Not at all,” Mimzy says. “I’m always weak to such lookers.”

Angel Dust takes the seat next to you and pushes back his hair. Sir Pentious takes the one behind him. “Sooooo, you two and Alastor run in the same circles.” He takes a drink. “And you guys are friends with him?”

You take a sip of your own drink. “You could describe it that way.”

“Well, those are your words, not mind, but I think it fits.” Mimzy glances at you, a knowing smile on her lips. “But our good doctor here is more than just—Hey! Why do you look so surprised?”

“Well, I just didn't know he had any of those. He's been here a while and is still a big, creepy mystery,” Angel Dust says. Sir Pentious nods, his head squeaking as he does “What's his deal?”

Mimzy is happy to explain tall, dark, and creepy’s ‘deal’ .

“But before that, he was the prime bachelor of my day,” Mimzy says. “Not a single lady wouldn’t want a taste of that twink. But eh . . . I wouldn’t wish marriage with Alastor on even my worst enemies. It would be a real shock when you die and find out your hubby’s got a real screw loose.”

“Well, it wasn’t a shock to me,” you say, rolling your eyes. You swirl your drink—hmmm, it’s good to know Husk still knows what you like.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that!” Mimzy chuckles nervously. She scoots closer, elbowing you lightly. “You happy he’s back? I still remember the few months you’d visit my place to look for your deerest, most darling Alastor, Mimzy at the bottom of a bottle.”

Your eyes twitch. “Quite pleased actually,” you say and force a smile. “It’s great to finally see my husband again.”

“ Husband? ” Angel Dust chokes on his drink.

Sir Pentious tilts his head and his hat slides off a bit. “Oh you’re married?”

You show them your ring, wiggling your finger. “Indeed.”

Sir Pentious puffs out his chest. “I would love to meet thisss husband of yours,” he says. “If you cannot be my rival, he can fight in your stead.”

“That wouldn’t be a smart idea

Mimzy stares at him. “He’s not the brightest is he?”

Angel Dust drops his drink with a clink. “ Pause ,” he splutters. “Shut u—” He coughs, still reeling from his drink going down the wrong pipe. “Shut up. Plause. Pause!”

Sir Pentious frowns, and his tongue sticks out. “No one elssseee is talking.”

“There is no way,” Angel Dust says. He turns to you, eyes bulging. “I refuse to believe that Freaky got hitched.”

Sir Pentious gapes, and his hoop opens. “Alastor is married as well?”

Mimzy slaps her forehead and points to you. “He’s married to her!”

“You are mess’in with me,” Angel Dust says. “Well, you can’t trick me. I refuse to believe it, toots.”

Mimzy takes a swig of her drink. “No one’s mes’in with ya,” she says with bright eyes. “They had a big white wedding and everything. I even got to bless them with my singing.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Mimzy glares at Angel Dust, a hand on her hips and her noise in the air. “You calling me a liar?”

You place a hand on Mimzy’s shoulder. “It was a good day, wasn’t it?” you say.

“Could’ve been better without the rain,” she says shrugging.

The lights flicker. Static fills the air, making your skin buzz. The bar glows a faint green. “The rain made it sentimental actually,” you say and glance up the stairs. “We quite like the rain.”

Angel Dust crosses both sets of arms. “I thought you said you were friends.”

“ I said partners,” you tell him. “Alastor said friends.”

Angel Dust blinks at you and sighs. “So, you married him? Like you’re his wife.”

“I am, indeed!”

“Are you sure?”

“I sure hope so,” you say, crossing your legs. “It would be weird not to be sure considering I was there in a white dress, walking down the aisle.” Mimzy barks a laugh, and the feathers on her head sway. A part of you hopes she topples off the chair.

“Uh . . . Is this something we should know?” Angel Dust asks. “He’s not going to try to kill me because I learned about this right?”

“We’re not trying to hide it, but we don’t broadcast it either,” you say. “And well . . . no wife likes to be introduced as a ‘ friend ’.”

Sir Pentious’ tongue sticks out. “Does Alasssstor own your soul or something?”

You empty your drink and revel in the taste. “We got married back when we were alive.”

Angel Dust reaches across the bar, grabbing a whole bottle off the shelf with his long arms. He pops open the cork and takes a swig straight from the bottom. “I still have trouble belive you,” he says, squinting his eyes. “I just . . . I can’t!”

“Your belief, or lack of, won’t change the fact that I have a ring,” you say. “And it’s not really for you to believe, now is it?”

“Why . . . ?” Angel Dust’s mouth quirks into the cutest frown. “Why . . . ya’know?”

You sigh and place a hand on your cheek with a smile. “He makes me laugh.”

Angel Dust makes a face, and coils back like he’s been shot.

“Oh he’s a total kitten,” Mimzy says with a bright smile. She inches her glass closer to Angel Dust, and he fills it up for her. “Catch him in a good mood or pour him a drink and play some jazz and he’s totally harmless.”

“You still shouldn’t toss caution into the air, Mimzy” you say. “If I were you, I’d be wary about trusting Alastor just because he likes cleaning up your mess.”

Angel Dust crosses his arm, and his eyebrows quirk. “Ain’t he your hubby?” he says. “Isn’t there this whole spiel about trust and love and faith and all that other boring vanilla shit.”

“He wouldn’t be the Radio Demon if he could be trusted by just anyone, now would he?” you say. “It still crosses me when I remember how he lied to me.”

Angel Dust’s eyes shine. “You said no wife likes being introduced as a ‘ friend ’.”

“Yes?”

“It must have crossed you quite a lot, huh?”

You shrug, a bit confused. “I mean . . . I wasn’t really a big deal at the end of the day.”

Angel Dust’s smile widens and that golden tooth of his shimmer. “I want to know everything .”

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Despite the rain, clear skies show the moon, not a cloud in sight.

The flashlight clipped on your collar shines on your path. Your boots sink deep into the mud, but that’s alright. A few inches of goo won’t stop you from your destination. You adjust your leather medical bag—double checked that there are gloves inside.

Between those two trees, your treasure lies buried.

You lay your kit on some nearby stones and reach in for your gloves. You dig until bits of the cadaver’s skin stick out. You brush the soil of his chest and peel open the flaps of his skin. The underside of his skin has blood vessels attached to it. It was worth cutting out the fat to have a glimpse.

Superficial fascia connects his muscles to his dermis. You take your probe and disconnect the thin filament. It reminds you of spider-webs.

You discard your probe and exchange it for the bottle of formaldehyde. You can’t study the whole body, not when it’s exposed to the elements. His fingers are starting to rot, but that’s alright. The chest is all you need, for now. So, the chest is all you’ll preserve.

The cheesecloth you placed on him last night is still damp. Good, that means it’s been sanitized this whole time. You take the cheesecloth and wipe it against his open cavity, sanitizing every surface you can reach.

The formalin stings your nose and burns your eyes. It makes you cough, but you push through the pungent chemical.

You peel off the cheesecloth and use it to spread formalin into the deeper crevices between his skin and muscle.

Good. There are no maggots yet. It means you still have time.

You discard your gloves for a fresh pair and prepare your tools. You take your forceps and clip the scalpel blade onto the handle. You lay all your tools on a clean cloth for easy reach.

A human’s adipose tissue buildup is thicker than animals. This man’s fat is soft, easily squishable. Sadly, you’re not here to study his fat.

The scalpel blade is balanced perfectly. Throughout this Earth, no . . . not just Earth, but Heaven and Hell as well, nothing will ever be as perfect.

You slice through his adipose tissue, discarding it behind you, carving the cadaver until a nice rectangle opening forms. Muscles are grey, not like the red color printed on textbooks. You run your fingers along the smooth fibers of his pectorals. It’s slimy. That’s probably moisture mixing with the formaldehyde.

You quirk your shoulder to adjust the angle of your flashlight, still running your hand on his pectoral.

There, on the side of the chest where a muscle resembles a fan, do you find what you’re looking for.

Taking your probe, you define the muscle. You don’t use your scapple—never a scapple, because it could slice the fibers. You’ll scrape off the muscles later when it’s time to move on to the systems.

You take a pen and write your notes.

Muscle name: Serratus Ventralis. Description: The Serratus Ventralis appears to be a fan-shaped muscle, just like Hyman writes it to be. Although he’s not describing humans, I think it looks the same. Willd double check to see if such similarities are indeed correct. Just like the book says, I can see the muscle extending anteriorly and posteriorly from the scapula and to the walls of the thorax. The Serratus Ventralis appears to be divisible into anterior and posterior portions, with the anterior originating deeper into the body. (Will cut open if there is still time.) The posterior border seems to be where it originates from, and while it is buried by other muscles, I think it originates from somewhere between the ribs.

Origin, Insertion, Action: Origin: Textbook says it originates from the outer surfaces of the upper eight or nine ribs. (Will double check once I’ve moved on.) Insertion: The muscle fibers appear to move upward to the side. Inserts along the anterior surface of the medial border of the scapula Action: If it indeed is inserted from the scapula, this could mean that it could draw the scapula, forward, backward or against the body.

You flip to the previous page, and cross out Serratus ventralis. You move on to the muscle on your list: Xiphihumeralis. Based on the name, the muscle should pass through the xiphoid process to the sternu—

“Is this what you meant about my trash being your treasure?”

You startle, jumping back until a tree hits you and there’s nowhere else to escape. Run. Run. Run! Your heart screams at you, hammering in your chest. No one is supposed to be here. You’re supposed to be alone. You were careful—not careful enough, apparently.

Alastor emerges from the trees.

He waves at you when your gazes meet, but you don’t wave back. He’s smiling. “Hello,” he greets you with a gentle voice that strikes your core. It would be foolish to mistake his gentleness for kindness. “And yet again, I’m forced to comment on how you have such interesting hobbies.”

You press deeper into the tree, even if a knot digs into your back. “This . . . .” You pause, trying to find your voice. Do you run? “This isn’t a hobby. I’m merely studying.”

Alastor drops a bag on the ground. It looks heavy. “A man?”

“A cadaver,” you say, careful to keep your voice steady. You cannot let this man see any cracks. “They’re already dead, aren’t they? Wouldn’t it be a waste to let them rot like this? At least now, their sorry lives will be making a meaningful contribution.”

The admission of your crime was easy to say. You don’t want to know what that means about you.

Alastor laughs. It’s not that breathy and light laugh he had earlier. This one is lighter, more elated. “Please, tell me more.”

You harden your heart, searching for any speck of bravery. “Why would I?”

Alastor smiles until his teeth show. The moon makes his brown eyes glow—you did not think it would be such an attractive color. “I’m the one holding the large knife.”

You glance at his hand, and oh . . . that indeed is quite a large knife. It’s not even a kitchen knife, but a proper hunting blade meant to kill. “I see you’re resorting to threats,” you say and you don’t know why you do. It’s not really a smart idea. “I did not think you, a man, would feel the need to say such things to a woman.”

“That was barely a threat,” he says. “I’m just curious to know your motivation to dig up trash.”

“I’m studying—that’s my reason.”

Alastor waves the knife as he talks. “Are there no other dead bodies for you to prey on?” he says. “Don’t hospitals have an area specifically to keep the dead?”

“Only morticians or medical students are allowed access,” you say. “I am neither.”

“Why not become one then?”

“Women as doctors are still a relatively new phenomena,” you say. “There is not a single medical school in this area that will allow me to study, nor are there any that won’t bring me into debt.” Your blood boils and it replaces your thumping heart. It still beats in your chest, but it’s not because of fear. “I needed to find a way to learn, to study, and textbooks could only describe it in words. I want to see for myself.”

Alastor plays with the tip of the knife. “Sounds like a classic case of lusting for knowledge.”

“If lust is to be my sin,” you start and a wonky smile appears on your face, “pride would be yours. A classic case of judge, jury and executioner.”

“I do not need to explain myself to you.”

“Well, you are holding the larger knife,” you tell him, rolling your eyes. “Anything more you’d like to know?”

Alastor hums at you. “How did you figure it out?”

“A little bit of a suggestion?” you say, and you can’t help but smile to yourself. “You should buy suspicious items at different times and places. Your turn—How did you know I was here?”

“A little bit of a suggestion?” he echoes laughing like he’s told the funniest joke. “You shouldn’t have told me where you lived so easily. I thought I would have to hang around your clinic for a few days before I got your address.”

“I made sure to be careful.”

“You weren’t in the slightest,” he tells you. “Even an animal is harder to track. It was quite a surprise to see you heading in this direction.”

“Wait . . . ,” you say slowly. “Hang around the clinic? You . . . you were stalking me?”

“I wouldn’t say stalking,” he says, putting his arms up. “And if we’re pointing fingers, you would have had to follow me around for a few days to learn where I buried my trash.”

Your eyes drift to his bag, and then to his knife. Realization hits you like a cruel bus. You face heat. “You!”

“Me?”

“You lied to me!” you say, venom lacing your words as you puff. “You had no business in the area, nor did you randomly spot me! You followed to kill me, didn't you?”

Alastor smiles at you.

“Oh my God!” you scream at him, throwing your arms into the air. You point at him, glaring “You’re still going to kill me?”

“I can’t exactly let you leave, my dear,” he says, rolling his eyes. “What did you think?”

You stare down at him from your nose. “Don’t be so brainless,” you spit, crossing your arms. “If you would use this thing on your head called a, ‘brain’, and use it to think, you would be able to deduce that you’re currently not in cuffs.”

Alastor glares back at you, tightening his grip on the knife. You don’t give a single flying fuck.

“Since you are adamant on not using your brain, I shall do so for you,” you say, voice dripping with sarcasm. “If I wanted to rat you out to the coppers, wouldn’t I have done so already? Hmmmm?”

“Don’t speak to me as if I am a child.”

“I wouldn’t have to, if you aren’t thinking like one,” you say. “Why would I tattle on someone for giving me what I want.”

Alastor gives you a dry smile. “So much sarcasm to the person who does so.”

You cross your arms and lean against the tree. “I suppose I should be thanking you.”

”Will you?”

“No,” you say. “I don’t thank liars.”

You smile to yourself when Alastor rolls his eyes and furrows his brow. That strained smile of his is an extra bonus.

“If you’re going to kill me, be quick with it,” you say. “I’d like to die with my dignity as a lady.”

“How curious,” he says. “You’re not going to try and run? Fight me off in some clever way? Those are always the best kinds of hunts.”

You roll your eyes, making a point to show him that you are doing so. “That would be a waste of our time, wouldn’t it? And I think you’ll forgive me if I am not exactly keen on giving my murderer the satisfaction of experiencing ‘the best kinds of hunt’.”

Alastor laughs, breathy and light this time. He tosses the knife into the trees and puts his arms up as if surrendering. “It seems you have made me change my mind,” he says. “Not many are able to do so—especially not when I’ve settled on a hunt.”

“What an honor then,” you say, smiling dryly.

“Indeed, it is.” He takes a step forward, and when you don’t run, he walks to you and brushes stray dirt off your shoulders.

“Why change your mind?”

He smiles, inching closer to you. That is for me to know,” he says. “But, what I will say is I know potential when I see it.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“Someone, please, kill me again!” Angel Dust massages his forehead with one arm, using the other to empty the bottle. His third arm reaches into the bar shelves for a new one. You stare at his arms and wonder just how it got to be so long. “You’ve got to be shiting me right now. That’s your example? That’s your final answer?”

You pick at the wooden table, suddenly finding it hard to meet his eyes “Yes . . . ?”

Angel Dust chugs his bottle at your answer.

Mimzy avoids direct eye contact, choosing to study her empty glass.

Even Sir Pentious keeps his gaze locked to the floor. You bite on your cheek, letting out a soft huff.

If they didn’t want to know, they should not have asked.

“Out of all the misery he’s caused and will be causing,” Angel Dust says, “you think that Freaky ly’in to you about his reason for walking you home was the best possible example.”

“Yes?”

Angel Dust takes a deep breath. “Let’s be clear, okay? I’ll rephrase what I said, so listen closely,” he says. “Alastor lied about – and let me get this right—he lied to you about why he was in the area, and that’s why – hold on, bear with me – and that is why you were angry.”

You cross your arms, huffing a bit. “You make it sound stupid.”

Mimzy sighs, shaking her head with amusement. “That’s because it is, darling.”

“It is not!” you say, pouting. “It’s a very valid reason to be cross.”

Angel Dust takes another swig of his bottle. “It’s the fact that you weren’t angry that he was going to murder you in cold blood for me.”

You throw your arms into the air. “Okay, so it might not have been the best example,” you say, tapping your legs. “But that isn’t exactly my fault. Alastor is strangely honest.”

Angel Dust gapes at you. “No, he is not!”

“I don’t know, hun,” Mimzy says, leaning against the bar table. “Alastor kina is.”

“You won’t get the truth if you don’t ask,” you say, nodding your head. “And when you do ask, Alastor will either say the full horrifying truth, say it in a way that’s vague but still considered to be true, or dodge and not answer your question.”

Sir Pentious tilts his head, and he keeps a hand on his hat to keep it from falling. “And that is why we should not trust him?”

“There is no we , my dear,” you say. “That’s why you shouldn’t trust him.”

The hotel trembles.

You startle in your seat, gripping the table for stability. Mimzy clutches your arm, and you grab hers. It’s a small reassuring gesture that would make you smile at any other moment.

Someone pounds on the door.

You snap your head towards the entrance, nearly giving yourself whiplash. The hinges creak with every bang, and you watch with horror as the wooden frame begins to crack. Whatever wants to go in is determined to do so.

“ MIMZY! We know you’re in there, you lousy bitch!”

You lock eyes with Mimzy, glaring at her with bristled feathers. “Really?”

“Whooops . . . ?” she says with the most innocent smile. You grab your glass and throw it at her head. Mimzy snarls at you, searching for a stray bottle. She never finds it.

Glass rains down to the floor. Dust fills the space, and you cough when it irritates your throat. The whole hotel is in disarray. With a yelp, you jump away from the bar when one of the bone heads detaches and crushes your seat.

Mimzy scurries behind the bar.

A portal rips open in the middle of the room . . . Huh , that’s pretty cool. Vaggie steps out, Lucifer and Charlie behind her. “What is going on?”

Mimzy explains what she did. You roll your eyes when she does.

Fireballs shoot out the broken windows.

Motherfucker! You are going to kill Mimzy. You press against the wall to avoid Sir Pentious’ long tail from smacking into you as he slithers about. Angel Dust scurried away at the first sign of trouble. Of-fucking-course this happens today. Niffty scurries about, cleaning every debris in sight, You grab her by the collar, pulling her away from a stray fire. Niffty squirms out of your hold, and hops away. Another fireball keeps you from pursuing her.

“We’re under siege!” Sir Pentious exclaims, slithering about. “Take cover!”

Alastor pops out of your shadow, jerking your arm to pull you away.

You flap your arms to regain your balance.

Alastor keeps a steady hand on your shoulder, his hold on you firm. His touch keeps you grounded. Your eyes flutter to where you pressed against the wall, but Alastor pokes your cheek with the tips of your fingers, nudging your face to keep your eyes on him. The hotel burns in chaos, and you dig your fingers into the fabric of his coat.

Alastor holds your gaze. He smiles at you softly, but you see the hardness in his eyes and the tension is his jaw.

You try to give him your best smile. “Much better?”

“No, not in the slightest” he says, eyes squinting into a harsh glare. Alastor doesn’t frown, but his teeth bare into a snarl. “Are you hurt?”

The hotel trembles, and more fire crashes through the windows.

You try to turn to the chaos around you, but Alastor leans to the side, blocking the surroundings with his face. “I’d like an answer.”

He smoothes the feathers on your hair, and you lean into his hold, shaking your head. “Not a single feather out of place,” you say. “Thank you, my deerest.”

The hotel trembles once more, but you keep your gaze locked into Alastor’s.

“All of you get a safe distance,” Vaggie says, spear raised.” I’ll take care of this.”

Satisfied, Alastor drops his hand from your head and turns to the door. “No, my dear. Leave it to me.” Radio static warps the air around you. His eyes morph into radio dials. “It’s time I remind everyone why I am here.” He has the smile on his face—that same smile that tell you he’s on the hunt. It makes you buzz.

Mimzy pops her head out. “Ugh, finally!” she says, rolling her eyes. “Took you long enough.”

Tendrils shoot out of Alastor’s back and it waves around the air as if owning a mind of its own. His bones break with audible cracks to adjust to his expanding size. “A reminder to all, not to mess with the radio demon!” His teeth stick out when he smiles, and the little ‘x’ on his forehead appears.

Alastor laughs and begins his kill.

You rush out when your husband crawls out the broken doors, bolting from the bar and out the entrance. You watch Alastor. He grabs a shark with the tips of his fingers and uses the others to pull him apart, slowly, painfully , with a grin.

“Mimzy . . . ” you say, slowly.

Mimzy shrinks next to you. “ . . . Yeah?”

Alastor’s nails elongate and he pierces the shark, letting his blood trail down, reveling in his screams. “I really appreciate everything you do for me.”

A leg sails across the air, it’s bone sticking out. You smile to yourself as Alastor hunts down his prey. Blood paints the flowers red when his tendrils wag like a happy tail.

You’re faintly aware of Lucifer and Charlie arguing behind you.

The show is over too soon.

Alastor shrinks, twirls his microphone and stretches.

Mimzy runs, the first to approach Alastor. You don’t hear a word they’re saying, but Mimzy jabs her fingers into his coat. She leaves with a frown and a middle finger pointed at him.

You walk closer to your husband, a smile on your face. Alastor inches to you, bending close enough for you to reach his bowtie. The fabric is smooth against your fingers as your straighten it for him. “Much better?” you ask.

“Indeed.”

“You put up quite the show,” you tell him. “You looked absolutely riveting, my deer.”

Alastor’s smile widens, and he offers his arm, guiding you back into the hotel. “Did I?”

“You always do, my love.”

And oh . . .

Another song.

Lucifer leaves, taking his singing with him.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

As quietly as possible, you grab your belongings and check that nothing is missing: wallet, flip-phone, bus card, pieces of mint, various essential items, and lastly, your umbrella. You step out of what is left of the Hazbin Hotel’s front doors and stifle a yawn. Today’s excitement has gone on for too long. It was time to go home.

Drops of acid fall from the sky, a light drizzle forming. It was a good idea to stash that umbrella in your bag.

Alastor slithers out of your shadow, and covers your heads with an umbrella. “Did you happen to forget your umbrella?”

You force a sheepish smile on your lips. “I did, actually,” you lie to him. “But a walk seems rather lovely today.”

Alastor twirls the umbrella, his smile widening. “May I join you for your walk?”

“Are you not still working?” You glance behind you, observing the hotel.

Angel Dust sweeps glass off the carpet. He steals glances from time to time, trying his hardest to avoid looking in your direction—it doesn’t try hard enough. Your eyes meet, and you brush your stray feathers from your hair. A not so subtle way of showing off your ring. You stick out your tongue.

Angel Dust laughs, shaking his head with amusement.

Alastor adjusts the umbrella, angling it to block the prying eyes from inside the hotel. He raises his eyebrows, looking at you with a questionable glance.

You offer your most innocent smile. “I think they’re going to need a new door.”

“I think it’s time I clocked out,” he says, inching the umbrella closer. “I shouldn’t have them getting too dependent on me.”

“Are those not grounds for prime picking?”

“I wouldn’t exactly be a doting husband if I left my wife to walk alone in the rain,” Alastor tells you.

“ Doting husband ?”

He nods, leaning closer to you. “Yes. Was that not your condition for our marriage?”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Did I say that?”

“You did.”

“Are you sure?” you ask, humming a bit. “I do not remember saying that at all.”

“Well, it wasn’t for you to remember,” he says. “And in any case, I did not call you to the hotel to prepare for some party.”

“Then why did you call me here?”

Alastor meets your eyes and his smile widens. “Allow me to join you, and you shall find out.”

“You’ve piqued my interest, deerest,” you say. “The best walks are usually the ones that are shared. It doesn’t hurt that you have an umbrella.”

“What would you do without me?”

You roll your eyes, and take a step closer. “You always seem to remember for me.”

Alastor fiddles with the umbrella. “What did you do for several years—get pelted by acid?”

“You would know the answer to that had you been present for those years,” you say and you don’t fight the coy smile that forms on your lips.

Alastor hums in displeasure. “Well, in any case, I only have this one umbrella.”

“I guess we’ll have to share.”

“Yes, it seems we will.”

Alastor offers his arm, and you loop your own around his. He doesn’t need to take precautions to ensure your clothes stay dry nor do you have to for his own attire, not when you press closely against each other. The umbrella covers the both of you just right.

You rest your head on his arm. It’s nice. Warm. Even if it was as thick as a stick. His bones press into your cheek. Your eyes flutter into a close . . . just . . . one . . . second . . .

Your knees buckle causing you to trip.

A frim grab of your waist keeps you from the ground. Your nose crinkles when you collide with Alastor’s chest. Finding strength in your legs, you dig your foot into the ground and stand.

Alastor keeps his hold on your waist steady, and you don’t move from his hold.

“Before you say anything—you are not fine,” he says. “I don’t want to hear anything else but an agreement.”

You peel your face from his chest, meeting his eyes to give him the brightest smile you can muster. It doesn’t come out as you hope. “It seems . . . It seems it will be my turn to postpone our outing today,” you say. “The excitement of the day seems to be catching up to me.”

You fell asleep while walking,” he says. “If it was not for me, you would be on the pavement.”

“Then it is a good thing I am no longer alone.”

A single tendril emerges from his back. It wraps around the umbrella’s handle, keeping it secured over your heads.

Alastor’s hand shifts from your waist to your back. You feel his other arm snaking down your legs, trailing your skin until he reaches the back of your knees.

Alastor lifts you like a bride.

Well, you actually are a bride . . . his bride, specifically.

Alastor continues the walk, holding you in his arms. You lean into him, and he places a chin on your head. “Your pointy chin is poking me, my deerest,” you say but you don’t move to push him off. “It’s digging into my scalp.

His chest rise and fall as he laughs, and you feel every bit of it against your cheek. “I could always drop you right over this puddle.”

“That wouldn’t really be part of the doting husband image, would it?” you say chuckling into his suit.

“No, I guess it would not.”

Smiling to yourself, you nuzzle deeper into the crook of his neck. “Hey, Al,” you mumble softly, “tell me a story.”

At the corner of your eyes, you see Alastor glance at you. His gaze lasts a second before he turns back ahead. “It was 1929,” he says. “The beginning of the glorious Great Depression.”

You roll your eyes even if he doesn’t see it. “You are the only one I know who calls the Great Depression ‘ glorious’ . People were starving, and we almost got fired from our jobs.”

“That’s because it was a great year.”

“Because you got to see the sufferings of the masses?” You laugh softly. “That’s definitely something you would do. I can practically hear you laughing at the way they try to claw their way out of misery, only to fail spectacularly.”

“Because we got married that year,” he says. Even if you’re wearing a coat, and Alastor wears his gloves. Even with layers of cloth between your skin, you still feel the way Alastor caress your with his thumb. “Can I continue my story now or would you like to bicker about your failing memory?”

“Continue.”

“So, the start of the glorious Great Depression,” he says. “That day, I saw an ad for the local zoo. I wasn’t doing anything important, so I decided to support my local animals.”

“How kind of you,” you say, stifling a yawn.

“Indeed it was,” he says. “I stalk through the animals. Looking at every malnourished species they kept locked up—”

“You get to the alligator enclosure and to this day, swear that you saw it do a backflip,” you mumble softly, eyes dropping. “That’s pretty good for someone you claim to possess failing memories.”

“Alright then. I shall find another.” Alastor hums as he thinks, and his chest vibrates as he does. “Summer of 1916–long before I met you.”

“You don’t need to tell me that,” you say, huffing. “I’m well aware of the year we met, my deer. So, Summer of 1916?”

“It was a dark and stormy night. Weird for the summer seasons. Usually, the house becomes a furnace, but it was terribly cold,” Alastor tells you. “During that second night of the hurricane, a knock sounds from the door.”

“Oh . . . I’ve heard this as well.” You pick on the lapels of Alastor’s coat, tracing the white lines.

“You have?” Alastor raises his eyebrows

“Yes, it was your neighbor. His tree fell into the window and you and your mother ended up sheltering him for the night,” you say. “Then, you’ll tell me that he gifted you three pounts of cheese the next week.”

“I guess there’s nothing left to tell.”

You lean back to meet his eyes. They’re no longer brown. Once, a long time ago, you thought it was your favorite color. Now, you don’t think you’ve ever had a favorite color. You just liked his color. “Nonsense,” you says. “We are definitely not that old. I’m sure there should be be at least a few.”

“Alright, this one began fifteen years ago,” he says, tightening his grip on you. “I was waiting outside St. An’s, and a Sinner came out. It was my first time seeing a cow. It was quite a conundrum because — Oh, I think you’ve heard this already. Have you?”

Your eyelids are heavy. “I have.”

“And you choose not to inform me?”

“Can you tell it to me again?” You sink deeper into his hold.

“Of course, my love.”

Alastor’s steps lag until he comes to a full stop. He holds you in his gaze as the acid rain splatters grow stronger. It’s just you and him in this tiny bubble of an umbrella.

His eyes flicker, touching every inch of this scene. You do not know what he is thinking.

“Are you alright, my love?” you find yourself asking.

“Yes,” he says. “I’m just . . . trying not to waste, that’s all.”

“Come on,” you say in a voice that is oh so soft.

Alastor continues his story. You don’t hear the end of it.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Next Part: | Part 4: The Radio Stars' Co-host Just Wants To Do The Dishes| I am excited to know what you guys think about this chapter. My replies and inbox are always open for any questions. I always get so happy to see my notifications. It's a bit addicting actually. Thank you to everyone who has interacted with this story. Every like, reblog, and reply means so much to me. Part 4 will be poasted as soon as possible

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swordy-da-goat · 8 months ago

Note

(last ask for a while bc I feel like I'm nagging you sorryy)

I thought road wiz was like an scp, and now we have hazard monster.

Anyway I wonder how either of them would react to being treated like scps? Hazard would be a keter for sure.

Also if you made a road wiz plush I'd 100% buy it I love him sm

got carried away my bad

The Road Wiz

Item# : SCP-████

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: Contained within a Standard Secure Humanoid Containment Cell in ██████, Sector-██ at Site-██. SCP-████ will often teleport out of their containment cell for an unprecedented amount of time before teleporting back. They are allowed to freely walk around the foundation as their skills and “magic” are very useful in securing anomalies, reducing injuries and casualties, and dealing with containment breaches.

Description: A humanoid entity (hard to distinguish if SCP-████ is a human or some other entity due to their hat and scarf obscuring facial view. Request to remove hat was met with opposition) wearing a hat resembling an orange traffic cone with one big and small white, reflective stripes, an orange safety vest with a long cloak attached from the backend, a yellow and black safety coverall, and long black leather and rubber gloves and boots.

SCP-████ is also in possession of a long black staff with a ring on the tip of unknown material. This staff is able to produced anomalous properties which can be better described as “magic.” Their “magic” seems to be a parody of signs, spells being correlated by the top of their staff in a hologram visual. One example being the staff projecting a deer sign when generating a glowing holographic version with mass of any of the Cervidae family.

Addendum 1: Discovery

SCP-████ was first captured near American state highway ██. The foundation was alerted when nearby police claimed that quote, “a portal just f█cking opened in the middle of the lobby where then a weirdly dressed guy wearing a cone on their head kicked a guy through saying to arrest him for drunk driving.” All personnel in the police station were given Class A amnestics. Foundation personnel were then deployed to the last place SCP-████ was spotted. Foundation were able to find SCP-████ feeding some stray dogs under American state highway ██. SCP-████ willingly agreed to come with the foundation for questioning.

Addendum 2: Interview

The following interview was conducted by Dr. Richards

Dr. Richards: Good afternoon SCP-████, I hope you’re feeling comfortable right now.

SCP-████: No, no, I’m fine thank you. Though I would prefer if you addressed me by “Road Wizard” or just “Wiz.” SCP-████ sounds a bit degrading.

Dr. Richards: …Noted. Anyways the foundation would like to ask you questions regarding your… job.

SCP-████: My job! Well you see Dr., as my name suggests, I am a wizard. My job is simply to keep everyone safe and responsible. The world is a very dangerous place, you SCP foundation folks would know that better than anyone about that fact!

Dr. Richards: You know of the SCP foundation?

SCP-████: Of course I do! Very big fan of your work! Trying to keep everyone safe from all these dangerous anomalies. Kudos to you guys, kudos!

Dr. Richards: Uh, thank you? Anyways, can you detail how you usually preform your job, or keep people “safe?”

SCP-████: Uh… I guess lecturing people on the rules and importance of road rules, filling up potholes, sticking reflective poles near edges, stuff like that. Pretty mundane huh?

Dr. Richards: What about your staff? What do you use that for?

SCP-████: Oh my staff! Well, I use it to channel my magic for the more dangerous part of my job. Magic can be real dandy in a rock slide.

Dr. Richards: I see.

Room is silent as Dr. Richard pauses to write notes.

Dr. Richards: *coughs* Um, SCP- sorry, Road Wizard. If you don’t mind me asking, I know you dub yourself as the “Road Wizard,” but is that the only safety concern you have? Or are there others like you that specialize in other hazards?

SCP-████: Funny you should ask that Dr., my real name’s actually the Safety Wizard. I just go with road because America has a crap ton of cars you know? And no, there's no one else like me so far that I know of.

Dr. Richards: So do you specialize in anything else then?

SCP-████: Sure I do! Let me just-

SCP-████ then manifests their staff from their hand which starts to emit a blue glow. A train sign then projects at the tip.

SCP-████’s outfit then suddenly shifts into a mock version of a steam engine engineer of their outfit, complete with a cap, denim overalls, vest-cloak and a yellow and black striped bandana.

SCP-████: Trains! Guess you could say I’ve become the “Rail Wizard!”

Silence.

SCP-████: Haha, sorry. There are other specialities too, but it’d probably take a while to show you all of them.

Dr. Richards: So are you able to switch forms like that?

SCP-████: That’s right miss! It’s very important to be dressed proper for any job!

SCP-████’s staff projects a car sign and outfit returns to previous description.

SCP-████: So any other questions for me Dr.? I’d love to stay and chat, but I need to be going soon.

Dr. Richards: SCP- I mean Road Wizard, you are aware that we can’t just let you go out.

SCP-████: I understand your concerns Dr., seeing what kind of place you guys run. But believe me, I’m not a dangerous guy! And it’s not like you folks can keep me in here anyways.

Dr. Richards: What do you mean by that?

SCP-████: Oh nothing. Anyways, it was nice chatting with you Dr. Richards, but I really must be on my way. See you later!

Dr. Richards: Hey, wait!

*SCP-████’s staff projects a Two Way Traffic sign and a glowing, yellow portal appeared to the right of SCP-████. SCP-████ then enters through the portal which disappears.

[END LOG]

——————————————————————————————————

The Hazard Monster

Item# : SCP-█████

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-█████ should be contained within a 5 m x 5 m x 5 m chamber of reinforced concrete. Door and windows should be tightly sealed to prevent SCP-█████ from escaping through any cracks.

Description: SCP-█████ is an amorphous, black blob which can change its mass, texture, shape, and composition through anomalous means. SCP-█████’s face appears to be an NFPA 704 Diamond symbol. Each section of diamond can open up to reveal a set of teeth or eyes (amount varies). SCP-█████ normally uses its anomalous abilities to inflict injuries on people. The relationship between SCP-████, or as they dubbed themself, the Road Wizard, is very negative.

Addendum 1: Discovery

Foundation was first alerted of SCP-█████ when reports of multiple incidents were reported by the people in the town of █████████. Residents were reported being injured by a black shapeshifting blob. Foundation, with the help of the Road Wizard, were able to track down SCP-██████ and capture it. All town residents were given Class A amnestics.

#the road wiz #hazard monster #myart #sqwonks #this was fun to make #long post #the numbers are blocked out because they’re not official

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ladykailitha · 2 months ago

Text

Of Butterflies and Backstrokes Part 4

Shiny new schedule! Lets see how it shakes out. I'm hoping this will give each story time to shine on its own. But as my husband pointed out, it is four days in a row of stories followed by a day of no posting and then WIP Wednesday for the next two. So there really isn't a break between them lol!

Eh, it's fine!

In this Eddie finds what happened to Steve and decides to do something about it. And Steve develops a crush on Eddie's swimming.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Steve was grateful when the party ended. He was about ready to vibrate out of his skin. He needed to talk to Robin.

“All right spit it out,” she huffed when they got into the car. “I can tell you’ve been antsy all day.”

He let out a sigh. He loved her so much. He never had to over-explain himself with her. The way he always did with Tommy.

“When you guys do the staff swim on Saturdays, how often is Eddie there?”

She blinked at the question. It was the last thing she would have thought he would ask.

“Almost every week,” Robin said. “He wasn’t there last week because he had to help his uncle in the yard, but yeah. If he can be there, he will.”

Steve pursed his lips and nodded. “Yeah, okay. Does he play around usually or does he do laps and shit?”

She frowned as she thought back. “He’s usually doing laps when we get there and then plays around with us when we get in the pool.”

“Is he doing a basic breaststroke or...?” he hedged, biting on his bottom lip.

“All right, what’s with the twenty questions?” Robin replied. “Just ask what’s really on your mind.”

Steve let out a long breath. “Is there a chance he could have been trained to swim and not just taught?”

She sat back in the passenger seat and thought about it.

“Huh.”

“Yeah,” he said dryly. “Because Robin, he’s fucking good. Like could be better than me with the right coach good.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Wait, really?”

Steve nodded.

They sat on that thought the rest of the way home.

Eddie got home from his swim and immediately hopped into the shower. He hated showering in locker rooms. Even when they were supposedly empty. Too many close calls with the jocks at his high school to feel safe in those things.

When he got out his Uncle Wayne was sitting on the armchair reading the newspaper.

“You know those things are going go the way the dodo any day now, right?” he teased, flopping on the nearby sofa.

“Uh-huh,” Wayne said dryly, not bothering to look up. “You’re back early.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh. “The rec center general manager was having her son’s birthday party today so I dipped out early.”

Wayne put down his paper and took off his glasses. “They didn’t tell you they’d need to use the pool? That’s not fair, Ed.”

“No, no,” Eddie said waving his hands back and forth. “They were using the kiddie pool. They were just super loud and I wasn’t in the mood to deal with just lifeguards today with Robin helping out.”

“She getting paid for that?” Wayne said, steely-eyed.

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Yes Uncle Wayne, they were asked if they wanted to and were paid overtime for it.”

Wayne nodded curtly and went back to his paper. “I went to the library and looked up that Harrington fellow. Five gold medals, two silver and a bronze. Probably would have had even more gold medals if it weren’t for that accident at the beginning of the games.”

“Tragic,” Eddie said. He was aiming for sarcastic but it came out more sincere than he would have liked.

“I think it was sabotage.”

Eddie’s head whipped up to look at his uncle. “You want to repeat that?”

Wayne carefully folded the paper and set it on the side table next to him. He pulled off his glasses and looked him in the eye. “I think it was a deliberate attempt to get Steve out the games.” Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. “Now I don’t know if it was meant to go as far as it did, but without a doubt that jumping board was tampered with.”

Eddie sat back and looked at him skeptically. “You shitting with me right now?” Wayne shook his head. “Because why would anyone do that? He only did okay in the second Olympics he was in. He didn’t even medal the first time.”

“Because they were throwing around phrases like ‘world record’ and ‘best swimmer of his generation’ about Steve Harrington at Beijing,” Wayne explained. “Like proper news worthy stuff. All eyes would have been on him and I’m betting that whoever it was wanted him out.”

Eddie sat back on the sofa with a “Huh.” He pulled out his phone and pulled up the internet. He typed in Steve Harrington’s name and the top results was his 2008 Olympic trials. Which Eddie privately wondered if someone paid heavily for that.

He clicked on the link. The final swim for butterfly and no one else was even in frame. He could hear the zoooom, click, of the camera zooming back out. Hargrove came in second, Hagan third and then everyone else was tight cluster of bodies at the finish line.

“Holy shit,” Eddie breathed. “He’s not just good. He’s God’s gift to swimming, son of Poseidon levels of ability here. If you’re right and someone did this to him, I hope they fucking hang for it.”

“Kick him out of the sport at the very least,” Wayne said gruffly. “Maybe even criminal charges if they call pull them.”

Eddie nodded. “Speaking of criminal charges, how the hell did you convince Chief Hopper to get me off mine? Because I should have gotten probation at least. A criminal record and jail time at the worst.”

Wayne looked him straight in the eye. “Because I know everyone deserves a second chance. Not everyone is like your daddy. He used up every ounce of goodwill he had with everyone before they locked him up threw away the key. Hopper was a delinquent before he got into a big enough trouble and his parents sent him to military school.”

Eddie’s eyebrows went up. That explained a lot more than anything else he knew about the man. “And you what? Covered it up for him? Took the fall? What?”

Wayne chuckled and shook his head. “No, nothing like that.”

Eddie leveled his uncle with a glare. “It must have been something big because he picks me up every day and is part of the trio that has to sign off on my paper work. That’s not a small favor, Uncle Wayne.”

“That’s certainly true,” he agreed. “I was a character witness for him to adopt his daughter, Elinor. He’s pretty damn sure that if it wasn’t for me going to bat for him they would’ve never let him some much as foster let alone adopt.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, nodding thoughtfully. “That is a pretty big favor.”

“You being good to him?” Wayne asked after a moment.

Eddie reared his head back and tilted in confusion. “Who? Hopper?”

“No,” Wayne scoffed. “Steve. You might have not have known at first what he went through, but you do now. So are you being good to him?”

Eddie opened his mouth to instantly reply ‘of course!’ but he forced himself to stop and think about it. “I don’t really spend enough time with him to be one way or another, but I haven’t gone out of my way to be a dick, you know?”

Wayne nodded and then picked back up his paper and Eddie knew that was the end of that. He went back to watching videos of Steve completely smash his American teammates to smithereens. Like the way the guy moved through the water was like a hot knife through butter, it was that smooth.

Then he pulled up the video. The one that ended the guy’s Olympic dreams for good. They were all at the starting line and everything looked normal. Calm. Then the gun went off and suddenly it all went wrong. The spring board literal flew out from under Steve. He tried to correct his trajectory, but Eddie could see he only made it worse.

He clung to it desperately, but his head bashed the side and suddenly he was under. Sinking like a stone. People held their breath as they watched, waiting for him to surface again. But he didn't. Suddenly, a streak of white flashed by everyone and dove in, straight for him. The figure grabbed Steve and dragged him to the surface. When they both crested the surface, it revealed just exactly who his savior was.

Robin.

Somehow there wasn’t any blood, just a giant bruise where he hit his head. Eddie can tell he’s unconscious and Robin barely holding on. Then finally a couple of the coaches jumped in after them and helped pull him to edge of the pool where EMTs were waiting with a stretcher. They immediately wrapped his neck in brace and then carefully hauled him out of the water.

All this to fucking commentary. Like Eddie wanted to reach back in time and punch those assholes until they bled. Sure, tell people what happened. But this? This was disgusting. A play by play.

Eddie exited out of the video and threw his phone on the sofa next to him. Afraid of the water. That’s what Jeff had suggested back when he first started doing his community service. Murray had even suggested something to the like. But this? This cinched it.

Fuck.

“Would something like almost drowning make you afraid of the water?” Eddie asked out loud, chewing on his lip and rubbing the bottom of his lip.

Wayne looked up from his newspaper again with a questioning hum. So Eddie repeated the question. “Could do, I suppose. Trauma is a bit funny like that. Why do you ask?”

Eddie told him about Steve’s avoidance of main pool and how he stayed to the kiddie pool and endless pool. “Like he obviously takes showers and shit, so it’s not a complete aversion, but it’s something, right?”

Wayne hummed again, this time more thoughtfully. “Certainly sounds like it’s more than something, Ed.”

Eddie slapped his knees and stood up. “Right, I think I know what I need to do.” He grabbed his phone off the sofa and patted his pockets to make sure he had his keys.

“I’ll be back later,” he called out over his shoulder and Wayne hummed his acknowledgment that he heard him, before he was flying out the door.

He got in his van and drove straight over. He skidded to a stop in front of nice house in Loch Nora. He barely managed to yank the keys out of the ignition before storming up the stairs to the front door. He pounded on the door until Gareth opened it.

“Hey,” he said with a grin. “Your dad’s a psychologist, right?”

Gareth blinked at him a moment, unsure what was going on. “Dude, you do realize it’s barely ten o’clock on a Saturday? You know, that day most people use to sleep in?”

Eddie looked at his watch for a moment and then looked up at his friend with a chagrined expression. “Sorry, dude. I can come back later if you want.” He jutted his thumb behind him at his van.

Gareth peered around him and then looked at Eddie blearily. “No, no I don’t want to unleash you on the unsuspecting populous when you get like this.” He turned around and waved for Eddie to follow.

Eddie bounced on his toes for a moment trying to decide if he should come in or not. He was about to decide not, when Mrs. Hughes came around the corner.

“Eddie!” she cried cheerfully. “You’re just in time for breakfast. I’ll throw another couple of slices of bacon on the griddle for you.”

So he came in, lured by the promise of bacon.

“So what did you need to my dad about?” Gareth asked, setting the table for breakfast.

Eddie jumped, nearly forgetting he had a mission. “There’s this guy at the pool they have me doing community service at, who has a shit ton of trauma and I wanted to ask him for advice on not accidentally fucking the guy up worse, you know?”

“That’s admirable, Eddie,” Dr. Hughes said, coming into the kitchen with the newspaper. “Trauma is such a tricky thing and by educating yourself in knowing where the common landmines are is good place to start.”

Eddie sighed in relief. He had been worried that Gareth’s dad would tell him to keep his nose out of it.

So once breakfast was on the table and they had dug in a bit, Gareth’s twin Gethin having spent the night at a friend’s, Eddie started telling Dr. Hughes all about Steve.

Dr. Hughes nodded. “Trauma in relation to pain is a tricky thing to unravel because they avoid the thing for fear of getting hurt again.”

Eddie nodded, soaking up everything and even taking notes. “Thanks, Dr. H, this was really helpful. I won’t feel so nervous around him anymore.”

“You’re a good kid, Eddie,” Dr. Hughes murmured. “I’m glad my personal psych profile was able to help in keeping you out of jail. It never sat right with me that poor people have to resort to crime to stay afloat and then be punished more severely for it.”

Eddie blushed. “Thanks for that, too.”

He knew was reductive to claim that it was Hopper that got him off, especially when so many people came out to help him stay out of jail and out of having a criminal record. But Hopper’s testimony was certainly the most memorable.

He finished breakfast and then spent time with Gareth going over the next session of their current D&D game.

Come Monday, he was going to help Steve in every way he could. Because if anyone knew the consequences of having a shit hand dealt you, it was Eddie.

Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

Tag List: CLOSED

1-@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @chameleonhair @sadisticaltarts @dreamercec @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @mac-attack19

10- @aol19 @eriquin @tartarusknight @gloomysoup @morallyundefined

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #olympic steddie #olympic swimmer au

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peppermintquartz · 4 months ago

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Based on my ask and the reply from @so-that-was-okay

By the fourth one, it is clear to everyone that the guys Tommy happens to know are his exes or former dates.

Number 1: Cruise ship cook Mark is tall - six foot three - and as cheerful as a retriever, even when he had to be rescued from a mishap in a professional kitchen he borrowed for a YouTube video. At least he kept his cool and his hand safe - that meat grinder could have caused some very serious damage. And the moment he saw Buck, he exclaimed, "Oh my god, I've seen you, you're Tommy's boyfriend! How is he?" He loved telling Buck about Tommy's favorite dishes and even shared recipes with him. (Also the team got a free five-course meal out of it as thanks.)

Number 2: Geologist Hyun Ki was, again, tall, strong, and had a store of encyclopedic knowledge, specifically about cave structures. He was the guy Tommy recommended to advise if limestone was toxic to humans and also about how to best remove a stalagmite from their subject's posterior with minimal damage to the actual stalagmite, which had been illegally taken from a caving expedition and was to be evidence. Hyun Ki had not been pleased about the offender removing "a marvel of nature that took thousands of years to form and it's a STALAGMITE with a G for ground, you criminal moron, STALACTITES are the ones from the ceilings" to stick into his ass, and tells the team all about his various expeditions.

Number 3: Marine Biologist Bryan is tanned, blond, surfs on his days off, and built like a tank. He also smiles a great deal, greeting both Tommy and Buck warmly at the aquarium and then jumping in to assist when one of the new glass windows exploded. The 118 showed up, helped the aquarium to hustle the shocked visitors out and treat a kid who had been pressing his face to the glass just as it shattered while the aquarium staff did their best to rescue the fish that had fallen out of their tanks.

Number 4: Leg model Stephen had lean and elegant limbs, and was excellent at making jewelry and statues out of scrap metals. That was not the reason for calling on him; he had found his neighbor, who owned the scrapyard where Stephen got his materials, trapped under several steel car chassis, though one was keeping tons of metal from crushing him utterly. That had been tricky for the team, seeing it as high stakes Jenga. Buck and Stephen have a great chat once Stephen sees Buck's phone wallpaper, both commiserating over Tommy's inability to put a damn shirt on while doing something involving sparks or fire when at home.

"All those guys you know turned out to be your exes or failed dates," Buck says. He is more amused than anything else. Those guys were interesting and fun. If Buck had gone out with them, he'd have kept their contacts too and stayed friends. "And, Hen says, all are kinda like me. Or I'm kinda like them."

"Like you?"

"Tall, strong, good with hands, cheerful... It appears you have a type, Firefighter Kinard."

"Well, Firefighter Buckley, I honestly have never seen the similarities until this moment.*

Buck believes him. Tommy's only ever been honest with him, even when it's an uncomfortable truth. He props his chin on the middle of his boyfriend's chest and studies his handsome face. "Tommy?"

Tommy smiles fondly. "Yeah?"

"Will I ever be one of the guys you 'happen to know' for something?" He doesn't put in air quotes, trusting that Tommy has listened to him ramble often enough to understand what he's saying.

Tommy's smile softened. "I hope not. I want you to be my guy. The one guy of all the guys."

Buck's heart grows warm and light. "Yeah? What would I be the one guy for?"

Tommy's caress along his birthmark and jawline is achingly tender. "For the rest of my life."

For a split second Buck feels the world stop, and then it rights itself, and the weight of what Tommy's said sweeps joy over him like an unexpected wave.

But for a moment Tommy's smile falters. "I know it's too early for that," he murmurs, a little sheepish, "but I mean it."

Buck lunges forward and kisses the smile back on Tommy's face.

"I know. And, okay, maybe it is early, but for what it's worth? I want to be your guy," Buck affirms. He presses another kiss to Tommy's warm mouth, lingering and gentle, before he adds, "For the rest of our lives."

#tommy kinard #evan buckley #bucktommy #tevan

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whatsk-poppinhomies · 1 year ago

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Pairing : Idol!Kim Seungmin x F!Reader TW : assumed cheating ; general angst ; fluff at the end ; Word Count : 5.1k Request : pls pls pls angst/fluff w seungmin 🙏🏼

5… “She’s coming down the hallway right now…” 4… “I don’t think they look good together either…” 3… “Can’t believe he actually invited her to the show tonight looking like that…” 2… “He could do so much better…” 1… “Do it now.” …

You turned the corner to go into the dressing room where he was and there she was, sitting on his lap, his hands on her hips, and neither of them looked particularly uncomfortable… It almost seemed like she had been sitting there for a solid few minutes before you had even walked in. You didn’t like the sight of it, but you also couldn’t seem to look away from it either. Your heart felt like it had dropped into your stomach, the sudden weight making you nauseous.

You were never the kind to make a scene, you weren’t vocal about anything that upset you, and maybe that’s why your life always seemed to go to shit once things finally went well. That’s why you quickly turned away, your head hung low as you moved in the same direction you had just come from. “Hey… You alright?” Jeongin asked as you ran right into him, but you didn’t even care to respond, side stepping out of his way and walking faster until you were out of the building.

The makeup artist was always so… touchy… And Seungmin honestly hated it. He hated having to get his makeup and his hair down, he hated the way she’d look at him way too long. It was part of the job though, and he knew that in order to do what he loved to do, he had to endure it, and that’s the only reason he didn’t bring it up to Chan or any of the staff members.

At least you were coming tonight, that thought alone had him dealing with all the annoying shit that came along with having to go on stage. You had finally been able to get off work to come to one of his shows, and this one was a pretty big deal, it was the third comeback show, sadly you couldn’t make it to the first two, but he told you that making it to even one was good enough for him. Having you in the crowd was important though, he wanted to look good for you, he wanted to do good for you.

“Your skin is always so clear, you make my job so easy.” The stylist said, her hands running over his cheeks as she looked at him. It was honestly so annoying, but he forced a smile as he looked past her, staring at himself in the mirror. “If it’s so easy, then why do you take so long?” He muttered, and while he didn’t exactly want to sound rude, he was hoping that maybe she’d get the hint and stop touching him and just do her job.

He absolutely hated when other people touched him, it felt wrong, especially when it was another woman, and the only reason he even allowed this to be done was because it was for work and you, being the amazing, understanding woman that you are, had told him that it was okay since it was job related.

“Really?” She was talking on her phone, and he tried not to let the loudness get to him, instead closing his eyes and leaning his head back in his chair to just let her do what she had to do so he could get the hell out of there. “I just don’t know how anyone would think they look good together. They’re like… complete opposites.” Was she always this much of a bitch or was he just really intune to her bitchiness today? It seemed like the more he tried to ignore it, the louder she got though. “What’s she wearing tonight? I bet she looks like shit. She doesn’t deserve to even be seen with someone like him.”

The one thing he hated more than people touching him though… People who thought that they were better than everyone else. He knew that he could be somewhat of an ass sometimes, but hearing the way she was talking about whoever this poor girl was… It made him feel guilty for even being in ear shot of this conversation. He was sure that whoever the guy was that she was talking about would never choose someone like her, especially if he was already with someone else.

“Now?” She asked, and then before Seungmin even had the chance to question what she was talking about, he felt the weight of her crashing down on his lap, his hands instinctively shooting out to her hips, not to hold her, but to push her off. That’s what he was trying to do, but it was like she was holding herself there, letting gravity take over completely. “Oh gosh… Sorry… I tripped.” She said, trying to sound innocent, which only disgusted Seungmin more.

“Can you get off of me now?” He said, trying his best to keep his cool, but he was beyond frustrated and he was pissed and he just wanted to take a breather. He knew that you’d be there soon, and all he wanted was to see you at this point and appreciate just how much of a bitch you weren’t. “Seriously, get up.” The composure was slowly starting to slip away, and he finally was able to push her off after what felt like the longest minute of his life.

“I must have tripped over the cord for the straightener…” She said between giggles. “I wrinkled your pants, let me just-”

He immediately grabbed her wrists to stop her before she could even get close to him. “Don’t touch me.” He quickly stood up from his chair, letting out a heavy sigh. “Does anyone know if Y/N made it here yet? Did you even let her in? Jesus Christ…” You were the only person at this point who would be able to help calm him down and for some reason you weren’t there yet even though you had texted him more than 15 minutes ago that you’d be there soon.

Just as he was about to start looking for you, Jeongin walked into the room, his eyes narrowed as he stared at Seungmin. “Did you and Y/N get into a fight or something?” He asked, and Seungmins eyes lowered to match the look on the maknaes face. “She walked by, she didn’t even say anything when she ran into me. She looked really upset… or really sick… Is she okay?”

Were you okay? Fuck if he knew, he hadn’t even seen you, the only person that he even liked seeing and he finds out that you were already gone? What the fuck happened? As if he weren’t already agitated enough today, now this? “She left left? Like… Where was she going?” Seungmin asked, his fingers raking through his hair as he tried to keep his cool, but his patience was slowly dwindling as the youngest shrugged his shoulders. “Cool, thanks.” He snapped, making a mental note to apologize for it later as he walked out of the room.

“Seungmin~” The stylist called out behind him, and even though he tried to quicken his steps, he felt her fingers grasp at the back of his jacket, tugging him back and keeping him from going forward any further. “I’m not done with your makeup yet! You go on in like… 30 minutes! Where are you going?”

30 minutes. It wasn’t that long when counting how much time he had before he could go on stage, but it felt like too long when it came down to leaving you on your own and not knowing what was going on. Seungmin had priorities, and of course his job was one of them, but you were his top priority. “Let Chan and the rest of the staff know that I won’t be at this show.” He said, and it had been his first choice, his only choice in this matter. He wasn’t going to leave you alone, no matter what the problem was, he was your boyfriend and he was going to be there for you.

“What?!” She gripped onto his jacket tighter, and he truly was on the verge of completely snapping. She had been getting on his nerves all day, and he was finally at his last, and she seemed to be finding a way to get on that one as well. “Why? You can’t miss a comeback stage… This is ridiculous. Chan will be pissed. Do you know how hard I worked on your-”

He shrugged out of the jacket before whipping around, his eyes like daggers as he glared at her. “I don’t care. There’s more important things for me to worry about than the third show. They’ve seen me twice, I’m sure they’ll get by without me this time.” He stormed off, leaving her absolutely stunned, but he couldn’t care less. He didn’t care about anything but you right now.

You sat in your apartment, sipping on an hours old cup of coffee that was colder than the drinks that you had in the fridge. You hadn’t even been able to finish it this morning, you had been so excited to just get to the studio and see Seungmin. Your hair hadn’t been done, you didn’t wear anything fancy, Seungmin had said many times that he loved the way you looked when you weren’t even trying to dress up for him, when you weren’t even trying to look good… That’s when you looked your best.

Walking down that long hallway to get to his dressing room, it felt like it took forever, and all the words that were whispered amongst the staff members felt like they were being directed towards you. Maybe it was the fact that they weren’t saying any names, and it just seemed like they were all staring at you… You tried not to think too much about it, thinking only of the fact that you were about to see Seungmin and that in itself made you happy, it allowed you to completely ignore the offhanded insults that were being thrown around you.

That happiness that had pushed you forward was immediately gone when you saw the girl sitting on Seungmins lap. He didn’t even let you sit on his lap in public, not even around the other guys… And then came the barely muffled snickers from the female staff behind you, the soft murmurs of how cute the two of them were together. How were you even supposed to process what was going on in that moment? You could barely even begin to process it now.

The pouring in of texts had your phone vibrating non-stop, that mixed with the random calls that were thrown in, and soon enough your lock screen was completely filled with notifications. All of them were from Seungmin, but you didn’t know what to say to him. Was he cheating on you? You weren’t sure if it had gone that far… yet… But clearly they were closer than any of the other guys with their staff members.

“Y/N?!” Your name was shouted from the other side of the door, you heard the doorknob jiggle. You had locked it, but he had the keys to your apartment, it was just one of the signs that you trusted him… Maybe you shouldn’t have. “Where… Fuck… Y/N! I left my keys back at the studio… Can you open the door?”

You were shocked that he had even noticed that you were gone, that you hadn’t come in to see him considering he seemed so invested in the stylist. How could he be so open with it when he knew that you were on your way. You had just talked to him to tell him that you were not even five minutes away. Did he really think that you were going to be okay with that? Was it because he was an idol? He had never striked you as that kind of person, but maybe you had read him all wrong.

“Jeongin said that you looked sick… Are you okay?” You heard a loud thump against the door and you questioned whether it was his fist or his head, but judging by the loud groan that followed soon after, you felt like you were right to assume that it was his forehead. “You’re really scaring me right now… You haven’t answered my texts or my calls, and I don’t want to have to do it, but I’ll break through the door.”

Would he actually break through the door? You weren’t sure… But the uncertainty had you quickly getting up and undoing the lock. Not because you wanted to let him in, but if your door ended up damaged at all, you’d be the one paying for a new one. “I’m fine. You can go back now.” You mumbled, turning away just as fast and heading back to your spot on the couch.

“Clearly you’re not fine. You haven’t responded to me at all.” He walked over to where you sat and dropped down onto the couch beside you, grabbing your phone off the coffee table and turning it on to see all of his unanswered notifications. “Are you sick? Did something happen on your way in?” His hand reached out to touch your forehead and you jerked your head away, turning in the complete opposite direction of him, not wanting to be touched by the hand that had just been holding onto another woman. “Hey… Are you mad at me?”

“I don’t know what I feel toward you just yet… I just know that I’m upset.” Was truly the only reason that you wanted to give him, that you could give him, but then he let out a little “huh?” and it was even more upsetting that he’d try to play stupid. “Maybe you’d understand how I feel if I just sat on Felixs lap and he had his hands on me. Or maybe you wouldn’t… Clearly you don’t care enough.”

“Excuse me?” He practically shrieked, grabbing your chin and turning your head so you’d look at him. “You’re not sitting on anyone else’s lap… You’re not being touched by anyone that isn’t me. The hell are you talking about?” You could feel his body shaking ever so slightly with anger at the thought of one of his members being disrespectful enough to touch you in any way knowing that you were his, but again, his complete lack of understanding, or the false act of not understanding had you rolling your eyes.

“Seriously Seungmin, just get out.” The words were breathed out in an exasperated sigh. You tried to get him to get it, but he just didn’t, he refused to, and that in itself was tiring. You were just emotionally drained, you couldn’t put up with this, you didn’t want to.

His head shook fast before his eyes were set on yours once more. “No because now I’m really fucking confused and I’m even more scared than I was before… Is there something going on between you and Felix?” His voice was laced with panic and frustration, but your jaw dropped at the assumption. How could he even think that? It’s like he completely brushed over the fact that it was a hypothetical, that you were trying to make an example.

“No!” You almost shouted, tears of anger stinging your eyes. “Don’t you get it?! I’m talking about you!” His head cocked to the side, like a confused puppy as he pointed at himself, questioning you once more. “Just go be with your fucking stylist, Seungmin. I’m sure she misses you and your lap is getting really fucking cold.”

His mind had been so fogged with worrying about you that he had almost, although he would rather it have been fully, forgotten about the incident. You had already gotten up off the couch, motioning rather sternly toward the door for him to leave, and that’s when it finally clicked. “Wait… No, Y/N. I didn’t… That… I didn’t want that. She did that!” The words rolled off his tongue faster than any rap that the older guys had done before. “Mmhm” Was all you said in response, but his eyes were like saucers, wide and dark brown, but so glassy as his own tears began to well. “I’m serious! I was trying to push her off and she wouldn’t move! I swear!” His hands were clasped together in front of his chest, like he was praying for you to listen to him, to believe him.

“Seriously Seungmin… just… just go.” You huffed, your thumb and pointer finger coming up to pinch the bridge of your nose. Everything that had happened, you just felt weak, you were tired, and truth be told, you just wanted to be alone. You motioned towards the door once more, breathing heavily through your nose as you tried to fight back your tears. “Leave. Please.”

It hurt, it was devastating to walk out the front door, to leave you behind knowing that once that door closed behind him you’d be crying by yourself. You didn’t want to see him though, and he knew that if he had seen something like that, if you had been sitting on Felixs lap like you had said, he would feel the same way.

You wouldn’t do something like that though, he knew you wouldn’t, and he wouldn’t do something like that either. Of course right now your mind was too frazzled to even think straight, and it was so early in your relationship too. The two of you had only been together for 8 months, he was well prepared for small bumps in the road, but he wasn’t prepared for this. He loved you, and while he knew he didn’t say it enough, he hoped that you’d know that he loved you enough, he loved you too much to do something like this to you.

It took a couple minutes for him to get himself together as he stood outside of your door, and by getting himself together, it was just him switching from being devastated about being kicked out to pissed at the stylist. She did this, she caused this. As he walked out of your building his mind replayed the moments that lead up to the stylist landing in his lap, the call that she was on, who she was talking to. It was all clicking now.

The phone call, the way she talked so disrespectfully, the way it seemed like whoever they were talking about was right there… She was talking about you… People were talking about you like that… and now his blood was boiling as he climbed into his car and slammed the door shut, whipping out of the parking spot and speeding down the road back towards the studio.

“You’re back for the performance?” One of the male staff members asked and Seungmin walked up to the building, his head only shaking in response to the man's question, making a b-line straight to the room where everything had happened. “Is everything okay? Did you for-“

Seungmin turned to look at the man, violence burning bright in his eyes, and once again, he’d have to make a mental note to apologize to the man who hadn’t truly done anything to him, he was just mad. The man’s mouth snapped shut as he backed away, his hands up in front of him as he continued backing up until he went around the corner and was out of sight.

As he got to the room, he could hear the stylist and a couple other people talking, all of them females, and he stood just off to the side of the door to listen. “He just ran off, can you believe that?” “Because fucking Jeongin came in and told him that his girlfriend looked upset.” “I’d be upset if I looked like that too.” “Can’t believe he’d actually chase after her. Is he even worried about his reputation? His image?” “He’d look so much better with you noona, just give him time.”

Blood boiling wasn’t even close anymore, it had all but evaporated now as he listened to them talk about you, about himself… As if she ever had a chance in hell. Of course, violence couldn’t be used, but god, he wished it could be. He wanted her gone, he wanted all of them, every single one that had spoken wrongly about you, he wanted them jobless, out on the streets, he wanted them to suffer.

He pulled his phone out, knowing that they were too stupid to stop talking, too deep in their disgusting conversation to just let it end. He started recording, doing his best to keep from plowing through the cracked door and going off on each and every one of them. This was the evidence he needed, not just to show management, but to show you that he was being honest, that he didn’t want any part of what had happened.

“What did he do when you fell on his lap? I thought the two of you looked adorable when I saw you through the mirror.” “He got really fucking mad. Can you believe that? He told me to get off? Like… hello? Has he even taken the time to look at me? I’m way better.” “Did he… you know…?” “Pfft… no! It’s like… he has a thing for ugly girls.” “Don’t worry, if you keep doing it enough, she’ll just dump him and then you and Seungmin will be together. Yay!” “Shut up! Don’t say his name… What if someone hears?” “No one is going to hear, there isn’t even anyone around right now.”

That was enough, and while he was sure they’d keep talking until someone walked in, he couldn’t stomach hearing anyone talking about you like that. You were such an amazing person, the best girlfriend, the sweetest and kindest person he had ever met. You were his perfect match, completing him in a way that no one else ever could.

They wouldn’t keep working there, they wouldn’t be there to upset you anymore, and he surely would make sure they’d never try to ruin your relationship ever again. Just as he was about to walk away, the woman filed out of the room, a shriek of excitement leaving the stylist. “Seungminnie! You came back!” She squealed, running over to him and hooking her arm around his. “I knew you would. You still have time to be on before the show starts.”

She was walking along beside him, and he was gritting his teeth the entire time, breathing deeply through his nose, but then her hand lowered and he felt her fingers brush against his thigh and he couldn’t stay quiet anymore, stopping to look at her but all he saw was red.

“Stop.” He said flatly, grabbing her hand and pushing it away from him. “I know what you’re doing, I know what you’re trying and it’s not going to work.” He moved closer and closer to her until she was backed up against the wall, her eyes wide as he got in her face. “I don’t like you, I will never like you. You’re disgusting and you’re ugly, no amount of makeup will ever fix your personality. Also, you’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me.” She whispered, her hands folded in front of her as she tried to look as innocent as possible just in case anyone walked past. “I didn’t do anything… you’ve got it all wrong.” She really thought she was smart, and that had Seungmin scoffing as he pulled his phone out and started playing the recording, watching as her eyes went wide. “Wait…”

“I don’t want you near me, I don’t want you in the same building as me, I don’t want you touching me even if it’s for work. I want you gone. You’re not worth the destruction of my relationship, and if it makes my girlfriend happy, I’ll make them fire you right this minute.” He slipped his phone back into his pocket, taking a step back and crossing his arms over his chest. “Today is your last day, so pack your shit up. I’m being nice enough to give you the time to do that.” Her mouth fell open and she quickly ducked away from him, running down the hall in the opposite direction, her overly dramatic sobs slowly getting more and more quiet until everything was silent. The other staff members stood around, their eyes wavering as they looked everywhere but at Seungmin. “Don’t think you’re all off the hook… I heard each and every one of you.”

He didn’t have the time or the patience to get into it with them though, leaving it at that, leaving them to worry just as he had, just like he still is right now about the looming outcome of his relationship. They can worry about their job, and he can hopefully fix what they had messed up. “Hey Seungmin!” Bangchan called, and he could hear the heavy footsteps of the boot clad leader running down the hall to catch up. “Jeongin told us you had to leave… Is everything alright? Are you still gonna be able to make it now?”

Seungmin shook his head, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “No… I just forgot my keys to the apartment back here in my rush over…” He quickly patted his pockets, rolling his eyes and sighing loudly. “Almost forgot them again, thanks for making me remember.” He patted Bangchan on the shoulder as he sprinted past him to grab his bag from the dressing room and then running back out, just barely brushing past Chan. “I promise I’ll tell you about it later! I’ll tell you all of it!”

The audio clip came to an end… for the third time. The first had been when Seungmin promptly came back to your apartment, tears in his eyes as he let it all play out, and then begged you to believe him. The first listen had ended in you both hugging and crying as you apologized profusely for doubting him even for a second, and he apologized for making you feel that way. Many kisses were given to make up for the almost 2 and a half hours of worrying that you both put each other through.

The second listen was when he had sent the clip to his managers and then decided that he wanted to listen once more just to try to imagine how they’d react when they heard it. It didn’t take long for Seungmin to get a message back, more apologies for him having to put up with staff members like that, and then apologies to you for being put through something like that. The girls involved were in the process of being reprimanded and fired for their behavior.

The third listen, the one you had just gone done with, was when Seungmin had gone to the dorms and decided to take you with him. He had promised to tell the guys about what had happened and why he didn’t perform today and the little recording served as the perfect explanation. “I knew something was wrong!” Jeongin exclaimed, his hands clapping together loudly as he motioned to you. “If you would have told me I could have told you all about how much Seungmin hated his stylist. The amount of times he’d come home ranting about how annoying she is… Ugh. So glad she’s gone.”

You nodded in agreement to Jeongins words as Seungmin draped his arm over your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. “This wasn’t about me… It’s about Y/N.” He said firmly, although his touch was soft as he ran his hand up and down your arm. “I’m just glad that she’s so understanding…”

“Did you cry?” Minho asked, and Seungmin was thrown off by the question, looking around the room at all the guys that were now staring at him awaiting his answer. “I bet you did. You cry when you have to spend late nights at the dorms instead of at her apartment with her.”

“No I don’t!” Seungmin quickly tried to defend himself. “It’s just that the dorms are kind of dusty and they make my eyes water and my nose runny.”

“But your eyes aren’t watering and your nose isn’t runny now…” You quizzed, holding back your giggles, and he let out a groan before burying his face in your hair. “You’re so cute… If you want to move into my apartment all you have to do is ask.” You pressed a quick kiss to the top of his head and Minho made a sound of disgust.

“You two are disgusting, get a room.” Minho grumbled, jokingly tossing a pillow at Seungmin, making sure to completely miss you, before getting up off the couch and heading to the kitchen to help Felix with dinner.

Jeongin snickered mischievously before calling out to Minho. “Remember! The dust makes him all sniffly! That must be why he’s got five boxes of tissues and the mega bottle of lotion. He must be really dry!” All the men cracked up and you could feel Seungmins body rise about 20 degrees with embarrassment.

Instead of continuing to hide in your hair, he jumped up, practically diving across the living room to tackle Jeongin who was still laughing hysterically. “It’s not funny! Shut up!” But even you were laughing now, watching as Jeongin pushed Seungmin off of him and the two started to chase each other around the room.

“I’m glad he’s found someone like you.” Bangchan said once he had walked over to sit beside you, taking the time that he had to really talk to you. “He loves you a lot, I’ve never seen him more panicked than he was earlier today when he thought he was going to lose you. I just hope you’ll stay… That you love him just as much…”

You took a moment to look around at the chaos unfolding around you, Seungmin and Jeongin fighting each other with the decorative throw pillows as Changbin recorded and Jisung narrated it. Hyunjin sat off to the side, watching with amusement and clapping whenever one of them landed a hit with their pillows. Things were absolutely crazy right now, but you loved it, you loved all of them. You had started with Seungmin, your amazing boyfriend who would do anything for you, and in the span of 8 months you had gained 7 brothers who protect you like their own sibling. “I don’t plan on going anywhere…” You murmured, a smile on your face as you sunk into the couch. There was nothing that anyone could do to split you and Seungmin apart. You were staying as long as he wanted you to, and you hoped that it would be forever.

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magics-neptunes-things · 3 months ago

Text

Olympics Games (One Love 9)

Hi guys :)

I don't want to talk about today's game so straight to the new chapter from One Love ♥

Please enjoy :)

TW : None

(1) | (2) | (3) | (4) | (5) | (6) | (7) | (8)

Ona is tired. Like fucking really tired. She never felt as exhausted as she is right now after loosing the semi-finale of the Olympics Games. And what is rather alarming, is that she’s not only physically tired but her mental health is pretty low too.

Like some of her national teammates, Mariona for example, she played a lot of games during the last season. She played during the World Cup last year, the National Cup too and now she has the Olympics to play. The tiredness was easier to manage while they were winning, but it’s not the case anymore and she’s exhausted.

She’s exhausted to have to fight against her Federation and she’s exhausted to have to deal with the shit their coach is doing with the national team. They need someone who fight for them and know what she did and it’s not something they have now. Without pretension, Spain's team has some of the best players in the world and they aren’t in the Finale.

Ona knew that Lucy reserved a plane to come to see her play Saturday at Paris, not Friday at Lyon. She felt so exhausted and angry after their lost game that she didn’t have the strength to cry. She hated that game, hated the way the staff made them play and hated the way Cata Coll was the one who took the lost on her back.

She almost burst into tears when she saw that her family was waiting for her outside the stadium after the game, and she let herself being wrapped and cradled in the maternal embrace of her mother. Something she hadn’t done in years, probably at the beginning of her teenage era.

She just wants to sleep until she feels rested, go home to her dog and her girlfriend. But that’s not possible because her girlfriend is in fucking London, and that’s basically what she said while crying in Aitana’s arms way later that night, when her friend came to see how she was doing.

She had Lucy on FaceTime earlier and she managed to keep a more or less neutral face, even if the English woman obviously felt the disappointment she could feel. She had the right words to comfort Ona, like always, and it really worked. Until Ona realizes that it’s really all she will have during the next months, while she was brushing her hair after her shower. And that’s when Aitana came.

Ona doesn’t know that her friend texted Lucy right after that to inform her about Ona’s state of mind. She repeat everything that got out of Ona’s mouth even if it was in a confuse way. But Aitana managed to understand everything and was able to repeat it correctly to Lucy.

Lucy was supposed to be at training on Friday, so Ona doesn’t think anything more when Laia Aleixandri and Aitana take her outside of the hotel to grab a coffee somewhere. Ona loved coffee, they only had to say that word to convince her to follow them.

“Who suggested you that place again?” Laia asks Aitana while they were entering the shop.

“Oh, a dear friend of mine who played here for three years before going to Manchester and then finally coming to Barcelona”

Aitana smirks while she looks at Ona from the corner of her eyes, the younger one raising her eyebrow while looking back at her. Of course she understands that Aitana is talking about Lucy. The shop is almost empty at that time of the day. The place is what you probably find on Pinterest when you write “coffee shop”, Ona thinks. It’s all wood, peaceful colors and amazing smells, mix of coffee and pastries.

“Here, there she is actually.”

Ona’s head makes two abrupt movements, one to go on Aitana face (she was looking at the menu hanging on the wall while trying to decrypt those Frenches words when Aitana spoke again) and another to go where she was looking.

And actually, yes. Here she was, Lucy Bronze, casually sitting on a booth, grinning at her.

Ona’s mother probably wouldn’t approve of the words that come out of her daughter’s mouth at this particular time, but Ona doesn’t care. She doesn’t care either about the other people who are inside the shop too, because her girlfriend is here and that’s all it matters.

Lucy got up while the Spaniard came to her senses and that she joins her before passing her arms around her waist.

“Hi” Lucy smiles at Aitana and Laia when Ona buried her face in her neck and hair.

She’s glad that with time they decide to be less strict about the public display of affection. At first, they didn’t want the world to talk about their relationship more than their football skills. Plus, Lucy didn’t want Ona to have to face some of her creepy fans, but it was still happening anyway. So, one day, she surprised Ona by grabbing her by her waist from behind, in the middle of a pitch. And since then, they aren’t really thinking about it.

“What do you want to drink?” Lucy asks the two other girls.

“Nothing, we were just bringing you your girlfriend” Aitana smiles.

“Well now that you are here you still can take something” Lucy points. “Their latte are amazing”

“She has a point” Laia smirks.

Laia and Aitana went to ask for their drink at the counter and during all this time Ona hasn’t let go of Lucy. The dark haired woman puts her total attention on her girlfriend at that moment, lifting her face by sliding a finger under her chin.

“Hey” Lucy says softly, making Ona smiles.

“Holà”

“You look exhausted”

It wasn’t a remark saying in a bad way, Lucy is more concerned about her girlfriend than anything. She already saw the dark circles under Ona’s eyes when they called each other but it’s more impressive here and now. She frowns, realizing in what state her girlfriend is.

“I am” Ona shrugs.

Lucy doesn’t have time to say anything else because Laia and Aitana were coming back to say goodbye.

“You have to be at the hotel in four hours Oni, don’t be late, yes?” Laia reminds her.

“Don’t worry” Ona smiles softly.

They went out, Laia kissing Ona's cheek, and Ona turns again in Lucy’s direction. She has realized by now that Lucy hasn’t command anything for herself, which is pretty strange. She might be the coffee addict in their relationship, but Lucy likes it too.

“What are the plans?”

“Well, at first we are going to take some drinks and something to eat. And then I’ll take you to one of my special spots around here”

“Sounds perfect” Ona smiles.

Ona follows Lucy to the counter and looks one more time to the menu to choose a drink. She asks for a cold caffe latte while Lucy asks for a Macchiato. They take some pastries to go with it, Ona choosing to follow Lucy’s lead about it. As long as there are some with chocolate, she will be okay anyway.

When they get out, Lucy takes Ona’s hand in hers and the gesture itself makes Ona’s heart fluttered. They don’t talk a lot during the walk to Lucy’s secret spot, just enjoying each other presence. Sometimes, Lucy points a building or a park to Ona, mentioning some memories she has there.

They finally arrive somewhere next to one of the two rivers traversing Lyon, and after several yomps, they finally are where Lucy wanted to take Ona. She never lets Ona's hand go one time.

“Tadam!” the English woman sings, making Ona laughs.

“It’s beautiful” Ona says, smiling softly while looking around them.

They can see a lot of the river from her and the other side, but she’s pretty sure that they aren’t visible themselves.

“Beautiful view for a beautiful girl” Lucy winks at her. “Come on, sit with me.”

Ona obliged but chose to sit on Lucy’s lap rather than the big rocks around them. The former Barcelona player doesn’t seems to mind though, letting an appreciative hums passes her lips. Ona puts her head on Lucy’s shoulders, decided to enjoy their closeness.

“I’m happy you’re here” Ona whispers when she remembers herself that Lucy shouldn’t actually be here.

“A little birdy told me that my girlfriend was struggling away in Paris. Couldn’t let her alone, could I?”

“Is this little birdy called Aitana, by any chance?”

“It is” Lucy laughs before kissing Ona’s cheek. “I would have preferred that my girlfriend talk to me about that herself though”

Ona bites her lips, feeling a little guilty for hiding things to Lucy. It was easier to do by phone than in real life. When they are together, it’s impossible for her to do it. Lucy is able to read her expressions and her body language easier than anyone. Sometimes, Ona even has the feeling that Lucy can understands her better than herself.

“I didn’t want to worry you. I’m just tired, really. I will be okay.”

Lucy hums, not really sure about that statement. It looks more than a things Ona is telling herself or repeating to her friends and family, to reassure them. She knows very well how much worried her mother can be for her daughter.

“I know you will be okay. You’re the strongest person I know. But that doesn’t mean you are feeling fine now or that you aren’t allowed to feel a little low.”

Ona sighs softly, stroking Lucy's arm with her fingertips.

“It’s just frustrating you know? We are good and we were supposed to go on the final. But what are we supposed to do when they manage us that way?”

“I know” Lucy sighs too.

She really wants to help her girlfriend but like a little more than one year ago before the World Cup, there is nothing she can do. Other than hearing Ona’s frustration and sympathize with her. Which she tries to do the best as she could, of course.

“You deserved to go to the finale. But you still have a medal to fight for. And I beg your pardon if I’m wrong, but it seems like you like Bronze, no?”

Ona, who was looking at the river in front of them, smirk before turning her face to Lucy. The English woman was fighting against her smile, trying to keep a straight face. Which is almost impossible to do.

“You haven’t even kiss me and you start with your awful flirts attempts already?”

Lucy laughs and puts a hand on her girlfriend’s cheek, the other staying where their both were before, on Ona’s waist to stabilize her.

“You are right, first the kiss”

Ona is smiling when Lucy presses her lips against hers. They have kissed a lot already, an infinite number of times. They shared tender kisses, shy kisses, hot kisses, goodbye kisses and reunion kisses. But Ona can swear without a doubt that every time she has the same feelings to fly somewhere above the ground when Lucy kisses her.

She actually groans in annoyance when Lucy stops the kiss, crossing her arms behind Lucy’s neck for another kiss. This one is maybe a little less innocent than the first, but she doesn’t care. She missed her girlfriend, she needs comfort and she knows that almost no one can see them.

When it ends, Lucy takes Ona against her, the head of the younger one finding her place back on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry you had to cancel your travel to Paris” Ona mumbles finally.

“Don’t. You don’t have to excuse yourself for anything. I shouldn’t have anticipated things like I did, I’m the one who is sorry. I shouldn’t have put more pressure on you like this”

“You haven’t…”

Ona starts to answer, frowning, but Lucy puts a finger on her lips to make her stay silent. Their gazes cross and Lucy takes off her finger from Ona’s lips only to put hers against hers again.

“No football talks until you have to go back to the hotel”

Ona rolls her eyes with a smile but accepts gladly, sitting to be able to look at Lucy easier than before. She missed her like crazy, so why not to take advantage of this time to look at her the more possible? She always have been fond of her face, her smile, her hair, her eyes... Everything. But Lucy soon feels a little uneasy under her girlfriend’s gaze. She’s usually the one who is creeping on Ona, especially in the morning when the Spaniard is always asleep longer than her.

“What are you doing?” the English woman asks.

“Admiring you” Ona answers while Lucy rolls her eyes. “You are so beautiful. I want our children to have your eyes. And your smile.”

“Nah. They all will be mini-Ona” Lucy smirks. “With your beautiful smile, hair and freckles”

Ona pouts when Lucy boop her nose with her fingers, but it’s quickly erased when Lucy kiss her again.

“Barcelona agreed to give me ten days of rest after the Olympics” Ona informed her.

“Finally, you will be able to breath. What will you do during that time?”

Ona shrugs without looking at Lucy. She wants to go to London and having some days with Lucy at least, even if the weather seems to have already said goodbye to summer. But for a maybe stupid reason, she doesn’t want to be the one asking if she can come. She doesn’t want to impose herself in her girlfriend’s life.

“Probably sleep all day long” Ona finally answers.

“Yeah?”

Ona nods and there is a moment of silence.

“Want to come to sleep in depressing and cloudy London?”

Ona smiles and nods again, this time while looking at Lucy with a smile. Lucy is smirking too, one of her arms always around Ona waist. She kisses her hair this time, when Ona sinks her face under her chin.

“Can I take Coco with me? Even if he seems have a blast in my family’s trail, I miss him.”

“Of course you can. Narla will be happy to see him again”

Ona smiles wider and sink even deeper in Lucy. She misses the comfort of her arms. She’s not really used to lose anymore and the only time it happened last year, Lucy was here with her. It will be a process she will need to start to learn again.

“Did you come her a lot while you were in Lyon?” Ona asks casually.

“Only when I needed to clean my head. But I usually came her alone.”

“Usually?”

Of course, it was the word who seems the most important for Ona. It makes Lucy smiles and rolls her eyes again.

“Nah, more like always”

When Lucy walks back Ona to her hotel, she offered her a big hug and a long kiss goodbye, even if they know they will see each other after the game. It’s only when they heard Alexia loudly clearing her throat that they remember where they were. Lucy looked over Ona’s head while Ona turns herself to see the Spanish’s captain looking at them with her arms crossed on her chest.

It might be an impressive sight, but Ona spots quickly the hidden slight smile and the fun in Alexia’s eyes.

“I better go” Ona smiles at Lucy.

“You better” Lucy laughs before kissing her one last time. “Go, Superstar. See you after the game”

Ona rolls her eyes and keep Lucy’s hand in hers as long as possible when she starts to walk to Alexia. The blonde passes an arm around Ona’s shoulders, who take a last look at Lucy before entering the hotel.

“See you at the stadium, Bronzey” Alexia says at the same time.

Like the other time when she came to watch Ona playing, Lucy is sitting near her family. The “O. Battle 2” clan is today joined by Ona’s grandparents and some of her cousins. Lucy knows them all, the Catalan girl having took her at every birthday or family celebration since last summer.

She was next to Ona’s brother, listening to him talk with her father in Catalan. And she’s proud of herself when she realizes that she understands almost everything. She turns when she feels someone putting a hand on her shoulder, smiling when she sees Lia Wälti, wagging discreetly like every time.

“Lia, hi!” Lucy smiles before hugging her.

She knows well the Swiss woman now, having watched some Spain’s games with her since she was with Ona.

“Mind if I seat next to you for a bit?” she asks after they great each other.

“Of course not. Are you here alone?”

“Kind of. Mario’s family is here, but…”

She shrugs, looking at the field where Germany just entered to train. Her unfinished sentence makes frown Lucy, who looks at her with concern.

“Aren’t you getting along with them?”

“I hardly know them honestly. I saw them like four times since I’m with Mariona. When I come to see her in Barcelona they are obviously still in Mallorca”

Lucy nods softly. She has to admit that she knows Ona’s family a lot better than Ona knows hers. She never asked herself how Ona feels when she’s with the Bronze, but the younger always seemed happy to pass time with her brother’s kids or her parents. She seems to have a great bond with Jorge, and Sophie too.

“How is Mario?”

Lucy feels a soft guilt, she should maybe have checked a little more for her former teammate and frien. They are close after all and moving both in London at the same time. Lia shrugs one more time.

“She’s tired. I really hope they will win today, I’m a little scared for her mental health if they don’t” she sighs softly. “How’s Ona?”

“Same things. At least after that they will have some days to rest”

Lia hums softly. They don’t have to say what they think about the Liga’s schedule and the Women Football’s in general. They both think the same and understand each other quickly.

“I’m happy that Mario will have less games to play next year. I was concerned about her having an injury, even if I was the one getting one after all”

Lucy smiles at that. It’s honestly a miracle that her knee seems to be always fine after all the games she played last year. Lucy got a little distracted when the speaker starts to present both teams, frowning when she hears “Felicita Rauch”. She hasn’t realized until now that Ona will play against her ex.

“Oh shit” she mumbles.

“What is it?”

Lia got distracted too, but only because Mariona came on the pitch with some of her teammates and staff members. Like every time, Mariona looks for her and send her a wink, which Lia answer with a heart with her fingers.

“That’s Ona’s ex” she mumbles again, indicating Feli by a nod.

“Oh.”

Lia doesn’t really what to answer, she knows Feli well, they played together at Potsdam for four years before she went for Arsenal. It was before the things between Ona and Feli, though.

“Didn’t she mention anything?”

“No” Lucy frowns.

“Probably because it doesn’t have any importance for her” Lia says with a gently smile.

Lucy groans in answer. She still struggles some times with her new jealousy, who appeared when she starts dating Ona. She hates when people she doesn’t know touch her girlfriend, not knowing what intentions are behind that kind of touch. She doesn’t mind Ona’s friends hugging her of course. But having to play against her ex, it’s something different.

“Have you already been in that situation?” Lucy asks soon after.

“Not really”

“I hope she won’t take advantage of that game to try to reconnect with Ona” Lucy frowns.

Lia giggles softly next to her, making Lucy stop glaring at the poor German player to look at the Swiss Woman. With all of that, she hasn’t realized that Ona has entered the pitch too and that the Spain’s team has started the training.

“I’m sorry, but she probably knows you both are together and that’s it will be a lost cause”

That’s true, and finally it’s wasn’t a bad idea to stop hiding things, Lucy thinks. She seems a little relieved when Lia points that fact.

“Plus, you are wearing a Spanish jersey with her name and hanging with her family in the stand, this is probably another indication of how much you are into each other”

Lucy relaxes completely this time, her shoulders falling back a few centimeters. Lia is right once again, and she is glad about it. As if to press this point, Ona’s dad comes back with a carton of beer, holding one to Lucy with an affectionate pat on the back. He proposes one to Lia too, who refuses with a smile.

She keeps an eye on Feli anyway, after seeing that Ona doesn’t seem to take one look at the German team. She plays as a defender, just like Ona, so they shouldn’t have to face each other a lot during the game. Lucy feels like a creeping fan when she looks attentively at how Ona and Feli greats each other at the beginning of the match, but other than a smile, there is nothing. Ona has a full match face.

(She always found her sexy at that very moment)

In the end, they didn’t win. It would be irrelevant to talk about Montse Tome management once again, Lucy thought. She would have preferred to find her girlfriend with bronze around her neck, not to see her sad face and the sadness of her other friends.

“What does that bitch want?” Lucy grown when she sees that Felicitas is actually coming to Ona.

She looks at her tapping softly on Ona’s shoulder while the girl was standing next to Alexia, Salma and Mariona. Lucy isn’t able to understand what they are saying, but she sees Ona’s hesitation at what Feli is asking her. Then she shrugs and nods before getting out of her jersey to hand it to her former girlfriend.

“Is she…?” Lia asks next to her.

“Looks like it” Lucy shrugs at her turn.

If Felicitas puts Ona’s jersey without hesitation, she sees Ona looking for her in the stand. It’s only when Lucy smirks at her that the Spaniard puts it too, making what it can be described as a slight smile.

“Can’t wait to see Twitter going mad” Lucy comments.

She hears Ona’s family laughing with Lia. She can’t herself explain why it doesn’t bother her, but just after their exchange of jersey Feli went back to her team and Ona seems to ask the permission to go in the locker room. She jogs to go with Patri, relief on her shoulders.

Half an hour later, when Ona comes to her family in the VIP section, she looks once again exhausted. She’s wearing her Spain’s training kit again and goes right to Lucy’s arms. The English woman smiles softly, hugging softly Ona.

“I’m sorry about the defeat” Lucy whispers in Ona’s hear.

“It’s over now. I just want to sleep for four days” Ona mumbles, somewhere on Lucy’s shoulder.

The dark-haired woman laughs softly, releasing Ona for her to be able to say hi to her family. The Battle seems sad for Ona but relieved to see that she will have some rest, finally.

The next day, they are on a plane for London, Ona half-asleep on Lucy’s shoulder. Coco is on the end of the plane with other animals, sleeping peacefully like his human. Lucy has passed a hand under Ona’s shirt to stroke her back softly, helping the younger one to feel relaxed.

“Are you sleeping?” Lucy asks softly.

“Only resting my eyes” Ona mumbles, making Lucy laughs.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure”

She yawns but sit a little better, just to be able to watch Lucy’s face while the older one is talking. Lucy needs several seconds to focus and stop beaming in front of her girlfriend’s cuteness.

“Why did you get your ex’s shirt?”

“It’s sound so bad saying like this” Ona winces. “But I don’t know. She asks and I say yes. And then I looked for you before wearing it and when you smiled at me I thought it meant that you were okay with it?”

“I was” Lucy assures her quickly. “But I was wondering... We never really talked about it, are you still talking to her?”

“No” Ona shakes her head. “She likes my Instagram's posts from time to time but that’s all. This jersey’s swap doesn’t mean anything, really.”

“Ok. Great, because you made the social media going crazy”

Ona smiles when she sees her girlfriend relax against the back of her seat. She kisses her jaw and then her neck, it’s impossible for her to reach another part of her from her position.

“I don’t care what they say. I’m in love with you.”

“I’m a lucky girl” Lucy smirks.

“Nah. I’m the lucky one.”

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