#and she scolded me for it and what never left me was ‘ive never seen someone eat so much like you!’

[bumblingbriars]

While not a first generation immigrant child, I still appreciate Belushi: A Biography a lot because Belushi’s family life reminded me of my old home life before my mom and dad died. It also made me feel better about eating bigger portions too because like…. it isn’t just a me thing. It’s just how Mediterranean families eat KAKSJAKSJ

Not to mention Belushi himself reminds me so much of my dad I wouldn’t be surprised if his favorite actor was him. My dad was a big film nut and watched anything and everything that came out back then. Similar mannerisms, humor…

[kaunis-sielu]

Sick: 3

When you wake up you don’t feel much better than you did when you went to sleep. You’re just, exhausted.

But you won’t tell Helen that, she doesn’t look like she’s slept yet, she and Simmons are looking at something in microscopes. You don’t say anything until both women are away from the eye pieces.

“Hey,” Jemma glances over her shoulder at you, she’s in full hazmat gear and looks miserable.

“Hi. How are you feeling?” Jemma asks but Helen doesn’t look at you. You know that she isn’t because you’ll be able to tell with a glance if she’s rested or not.

“Totally fine. Has Helen slept yet?”

“No.”

“Helen.” You scold but she doesn’t stop working.

“I’m fine.”

“It’s been over 24 hours.”

“Not the longest I’ve gone.” She argues and you frown at her back.

“Jemma a little help here.” You look over at her and you see her sigh.

“Helen, we can do this, you should take a break.” Jemma tells her but you don’t have much hope she’s going to listen.

“I’m fine I swear.” She still hasn’t looked at you so you know it’s bull shit.

“Then look at me and say it to my face.” Helen is a shit liar and you all know it. You see her shoulders slump in defeat as she turns toward you. “The last thing we need is one of us down.”

“You’ll have to do it for me.” She tells you with a heavy sigh. “I can’t turn off, not with a puzzle like this.” You nod, if this is what you need to do to make sure she stays healthy and get some rest you’re fine with that.

“Do you just wanna share a room?” You ask and she nods then follows you into the room you’d just left. She lays on the bed that you hadn’t used and once she’s comfortable she looks at you.

“I’m ready.” She says softly and you touch her shoulder. With two slow, heavy blinks she falls asleep.

You head back out into the lab and head directly for Tony, Sam and Clint.

“How are they?”

“No change.” Jemma says, “Which is probably a good and a bad thing.” You nod as you gently touch each of your friends to make sure they’re not in any pain. You’re relieved that they seem to not be in much pain, you’re sure the IV’s they have in probably have some pain killers in them but you’re still glad you can focus more on other things. Like helping figure out what’s wrong with them.

“How are you feeling?” Jemma asks as she watches you take Clint’s temperature.

“Fine. A little tired but nothing like this.”

“The second you feel any sort of symptoms I need to know.”

“Okay.” You agree absently, Clint’s temperature is still up, 100° is a little high but it’s nothing like the 102.7° Sam was yesterday.

“Nox, I mean it.” Jemma says and you meet her gaze.

“I will. Sorry, I didn’t mean to make it seem like I wasn’t listening.”

“I just, I’ve never seen anything like this and neither has Helen.”

“You’re worried.” You don’t have to ask, you can see it.

“Yea,”

“Me too.” You admit softly this isn’t like anything you’ve seen either. Someone taps on the glass of the wall and when you look over you see Steve. He’s holding a bag and a to go cup, god you miss him.

“Hi Honey,” he says with a little smile, “can I give you some food?”

“You’ll have to put it in the slot and send it through.”

“Can I stay?” He asks and you nod. Jemma suddenly vanishes to give you and Steve a moment. “I miss you.”

“I know but it’s the only way until we can figure out how to make this stop I can’t risk you.” You tell him, you can’t imagine how loud he must be talking. “Do you want to send an ear piece through? So we can talk?”

“You’re a genius.” He says with a grin before shoving the food and drink into the little delivery slot and closes the door on his side.

“Is it safe to come back or are you two going to be all gross and lovey?”

“I mean he’s going to get ear pieces so we can talk so, it’s probably going to be gross and lovey for a minute.” You tell her with a laugh and she fake retches. “Excuse me, you’re the one who got married to your bestie so don’t even with me.” You tease her and she laughs.

“I wish he could be here.” You hum softly, you’re glad you know where Steve is but you also wish he was a lot further away.

“Why don’t you get your pepper pods and call him? I know you two like to bounce ideas off one another and he might be helpful.” You open the bag and see a bagel wrapped in paper towel and one sip of the drink reveals that it’s not coffee like it looks, instead it’s orange juice. God you love him.

Steve comes back and sends an ear piece through and then gets comfortable on the other side of the glass as you put in the ear piece.

“I brought our book.”

“Chronicles of Narnia?”

“Yea.”

“You don’t mind reading?”

“Of course not.” You hum happily and Steve starts to read as you work. You’re peering through a new sample of Sam’s blood, whose temperature has gone down even more than before. It’s still too high but you’ll take it as good news, you have to take it as good news.

Helen wakes up a few hours later, you’re still listening to Steve read, he’s finished the Magician’s Nephew and has moved onto the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. You love the way his rich voice fills your ear as you work.

“How’s it going?” Helen asks and Steve pauses, the two of you are still only wearing masks, not the full hazmat suit that Jemma is wearing.

“Temperatures are down and Jemma has been working with Leo, running through things but so far no big revelations. How are you feeling?”

“Well rested. Thank you.” She says and you nod, “I’m going to take more blood. I just, I feel like this is there somewhere.”

“Do you want to take bone marrow too?”

“Maybe. I want a look at the blood again.” She says and you nod. The door to Bucky’s quarantine room opens and when you glance up you’re shocked at what he looks like.

“Buck?” Steve says in your ear and you know you’re not the only one who noticed how pale and confused he looks. Bucky stumbles toward Helen, he looks furious and you dart in front of her.

“Кто ты? Где я?” He growls in Russian.

“Bucky,” you say crouching, you just need to get a hand on him. “I’m your friend, Nox.”

“Кто такой Баки? Я не знаю тебя.” You dive then, touching his leg and he stumbles back. “Doll?” He says in English, and you hear the door open with a hiss. Steve has overridden the safety protocols and is in the room.

“No!” You scream jumping up and crashing into Steve to try and force him back.

“Bucky!”

“Steve?”

“Steve! Get out! Get out!” You’re in a blind panic, if Bucky can get sick so can Steve. “You have to get out!”

“Honey, it’s too late.” He says down at you with a sad smile, “I’m already exposed so let me help.”

“Why.” You breathe, “why would you do this? I can’t, Steve, I can’t.” You can’t lose him and it’s suddenly a very, very real possibility.

“He didn’t know you.” Steve says simply, his hand cupping your face. Of course he would abandon any thought of keeping himself safe if you were in danger.

“Nox! A little help.” Helen says pulling your attention to the her, Jemma and Bucky. “Steve at least put a mask on you dumbass.” She snaps and he nods moving away from you as you move toward Bucky.

“James, I’m going to help you rest now.” You tell him gently cupping his face, you’re grateful he’s already on the floor propped up against the wall.

“I’ll get him into a bed.” Steve says coming toward you.

“No!” You snap, “stay away from him.”

“Honey, I don’t think you can lift him.”

“Watch us.” You snap, and thankfully he stays back.

“Steve you should go to one of the quarantine rooms.” Helen says, and he scowls down at her. You focus on getting Bucky onto a backboard, rolling him as a team you, Jemma and Helen get him onto the backboard.

“On three,” Helen says, “one, two, three.” You all lift him together and place him on one of the two last open beds in the room. God please, please don’t let Steve be the next one. After you get Bucky onto the bed you check his temperature while Helen and Jemma get him hooked up to some monitors. Then Helen takes some blood and hurries over to the microscopes are. Steve watches from the doorway of his own quarantine room, his arms folded across his chest and the sight of him, in here, makes you want to vomit, to scream, to break something and to cry all at the same time.

“We’re going to figure this out.” Jemma says softly, placing a hand on your arm. You know you will, but will it be too late?

Tag list:

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[wtfuglydemon]

As the year ends i keep thinking how this year was.... something. I feel like life gave me a soft reset and i dont know what to do with it, it's not as much as i was given a second chance on things but as if everything ive built suddenly crumbled down with no warning and im now forced to work around this, for better or worse.

This year already started horribly, after all i just left from a year where i was being humiliated, shamed and scolded for not being sad about my uncle's death, a man they all know tried to kill me multiple times before, i dont know if i am fully over that still.

At the beginning of the year i am suddenly invited to live with someone i honestly didnt even know and since i was so eager to leave home i accepted but didnt realize how much pressure that would place on my back, as suddenly i was responsible by so many things and specially the person. A horrible gamble that only made my situation at home worse because i left after a fight, never contracted anyone and suddenly i had to come back and pretend nothing happened, worsening my relationship with everyone now that they know i hate them.

I actually dont even remember what happened in April anymore besides the fact i tried to kill myself, i only know this because i told some people but my memory of it is completely gone however it is relevant as it is now May and im a very depressive episode the whole month due to my current treatment and i then suddenly forget my mother's birthday at the end of it, im at my worst day and im being guilted and dragged into a birthday party that i do not have since im 10, without a shower, without time to comb my hair, looking my worst in a place full of people who actively hate me, who told they hate me many times, i felt vulnerable and violated, i had to leave early and had a panic attack which led me to go back into self harming, something I hadn't done for years but this is what brought it back and now i was in a very bad mood and locked at my room

Then immediately after, the person i lived with for what was nice for a month or two, she made me start my hrt and gather my documents to change gender and name officially, and gave me many other things but now there was a problem, she was so... obsessive and possessive over me and i never had shown any interest in her and this became weird fast, everything she did felt like she was trying to win me over, all the gifts all the help, it felt like she saw my state and thought i was mentally vulnerable enough, that she could "save" me which eventually led me to be highly uncomfortable and start distancing myself. She got mad at me, started telling me i should go to therapy despite the fact im open to the fact im not returning to one, there was a random threat of sending me to a psych ward, she questioned my relationships and said they were all bad for me despite barely knowing the people i involved myself with AND me, and as i exploded due to my already bad mood and my frustrations about how she was invading my personal space and thinking she is important to me, that only certain people could, she used my words to spread it to all my old group of friends in a way that made it seen like i hated them.

I was immediately abandoned by everyone i knew since 2015 or even early, the only stable relationships i had my whole life, i was called many names, thrown away without a second thought and only for me to find out this was already coming, that they already had a secret chat to talk bad about me without me knowing way before all this, so all this did was give them an excuse. Of course i also no income and now with her doing this, i have to sustain myself with my hrt meds, something around $40(BRL120) per month and $80(BRL240) every four months, my family already hates me and now i need them to buy these, further decreasing even the food i receive and now i can not ask for anything, not only that but i am now being forced into a job i can not have, causing me to once again cut.

It's been like that for two more months, i only gathered enough courage to leave the house once in July to pick up my new altered documents and once my birthday came in September, almost no one remembered, two people did but not even my partner at the time did — all while i watched so many people with September birthdays, even the same day as mine get everything, birthday wishes, gifts, a party. I have a horrible relationship with birthdays, i never had birthdays past 10yo, all i get since then is a cheap chocolate box and a rush to find a job and leave the house and this year was no different but with the added flavor or being blamed for the lack of money due to my meds. To me, birthdays represent the day i start existing and if no one says anything about it, it tells me I shouldn't exist, which is what i thought that day, I was forgotten by everyone again, i ended everything, even with my old partner, that was the third cutting in less than 5 months.

I truly was at my lowest by the end of September and only by October i would have better news, it was when i got much closer to p-chan, my current gf, when we started dating... he cares so much for me, helps me at my lowest moments and makes me feel secure, i now have new people around me that i talk more often with and even if things at home have not changed, they are a lot more manageable when i have someone that understands my mind and is able to help me stay mentally stable after everything i went through this year, i really have no words on how grateful i am to her, she has been my light this whole end of the year, i am going to next year a little more hopeful for the better which is more than i can say going to this year. Ive been beaten down this year over and over and over, with barely any time to breathe, i dont think i am over anything in it yet and im back into my self harming behavior, with cuts as new as two weeks ago but i am better than i was at the beginning of the year and that makes me know that i can start over next year, with better people at my side.

[tenaciouschronicler]

November 26 2024 2009

I keep writing these so late in the evening. Its almost tomorrow, you cant type that fast.

I find it very interesting that these last few days have switched between each kid, sans Dave, kinda giving us a moment to re orient ourselves as to where we are in each of their narratives.

Rose has found some very pink, princess coded furniture that is very out of place for a secret underground lab. Theres cats, wizards and the most precious little mutant kitten.

Before the surprise cat, Rose actually was going to listen to the command suggestion to 'Be the Rider' which is a surprise in itself. Seeing the pony in Roses imagination made me think of a few things. First, how were you gonna ride the pony if Im pretty sure its still back in the main house? Then, realizing the pony has a heart on its flank that matches the hearts on the bed spread. And lastly, that pose Rose imagines looks very suspiciously like a wizard holding out a wand. I though you didnt like wizards, hm? These little connections really want you to see that this is all probably Moms stuff. But why is this all here and is it really her things or were these things she gave Rose that she grew out of? Though Rose does state its 'a little odd' and its up for debate if its because shes never seen this stuff or she also finds their location strange.

Now someone correct me if Im wrong, but I dont think Ive seen John with such a flat expression on his face.

In the next panel he and his slime shirt are both frowning (which Ive gotta say, having his shirt mirror his expressions is one of my favorite things). But here, something about it really conveys his apprehension to jumping down. John acts like its all just because of how crazy the room might be with harlequins if its Dads personal space. I dont buy it. Its more like all the addrenaline rush is leaving and hes realizing what hes thinking of doing. Hes never seen Dads room, hes never felt the need to. In another time, maybe his curiosity gets the better of him and he sneaks a peek and gets caught, or Dad finally invites John in to share his secrets once John has become a man. Here, Dad isnt around to tell John yes or no, scold him or embrace him. Its John deciding for himself, whether Dad finds out or not, if it even matters given everything thats happened, and he jumps right in.

Jade is making her way to the exit and I have to say these panels are interesting.

First off, that head in the top left corner kinda looks like one of the ogres John defeated but with massive tusks. Then theres the massive fireplace which is later shown to be taller than her Gandpa, with the pit area looking like a door. Honestly that fireplace doesnt look very safe from what we can see if the rooms floor really extends into it. Anyone could walk right into it if they werent careful. Curiously the fireplace is half purple and half yellow, colors weve seen so far associated with the dark and light kingdoms. And at the top a framed picture of Jade, pretty standard in most homes with a fireplace to be honest (everyday I live with the knowledge theres a very large picture of my quinceñera for everyone to see in my parents living room). I think this is the first time weve seen a human in clothes that arent white as Jade sports a... dress? maybe? i dont know something with capped sleeves in the same yellow shade as the kingdom of light. That in itself is enough to make me scratch my head with questions. Before she can make it past the "houseguests", Grandpa appears silouhetted by flames holding a giant gun that my brain keeps wanting to say is a bazooka. Please tell me they arent gonna strife with guns if he is.

I think the best part about it though is seeing that this is indeed so common Dave has used it before for SBAHJ.

I hope hes finished falling down the stairs.

[svechnikovvv]

can't take my eyes off you (part 2)

gif by: @acecroft

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: strong language

word count: 3,493

summary: steve fake dates y/n for a week for a family reunion, but little does y/n know, he's had the biggest crush on her for a while.

a/n: no proofreading

monday morning came and you woke up with a heaviness around your middle. you groan and do the best you can at untangling yourself with steve. shockingly he remains asleep. he looked very peaceful when he slept. you go to your suitcase and grab some loungewear and head to the bathroom to shower, locking the door behind you.

it only took you a good fifteen minutes to do everything before you got out and got ready for the day. you unlock the door and head out. steve was still asleep. undoubtedly because he stayed up watching tv all night. you decide to let him sleep instead of waking him. you wrote him a little note saying you were heading down to get breakfast.

once you made your way downstairs, the scent of pancakes hit you in the face. as if on cue, your stomach let out a loud growl. you feel a tug on your pants leg and look down to see a little boy that couldn't have been older than 4 staring back up at you with a big smile. you crouch down so that you're eye-level with him.

"hi buddy. what's your name?"

"david. im this many years old," he holds up four fingers and you let out a gasp

"wow, you're getting old" he laughs and you smile. you wondered where his parents were. a young woman then sighs in relief as she walks up to you two. you stand back up from your crouched position.

"david! what have i told you about running off" he bows his head a little bit at her scolding him.

"sorry mommy" she then looks at you and gives you a soft smile.

"im so sorry if he was bothering you. say, i've never seen you around here before. which one of these men are you unfortunately married to?" you laugh, holding up your bare left hand.

"not married" her mouth forms an 'o' and she nods in understanding.

"im cynthia and i see you've already met my son, david" you laugh and nod.

"hes adorable" she waves her hand.

"he's something," she pauses for a bit. "who did you come with, if you don't mind me asking"

"steve" she gasps

"awwww. little stevie's growing up" you laugh and she picks up david.

"oh, i didn't catch your name"

"y/n"

"well, it was nice to meet you y/n"

"it was nice to meet you too, cynthia. and little david. seriously, if you need someone to watch him, i'll gladly do it" she nods

"i might take you up on that offer" she says her final goodbyes and walks away with david hoisted on her hip. you walk into the kitchen and see margaret flipping pancakes with diane cooking the bacon.

"mm, something smells good" they both light up at your presence and gesture to one of the bar stools.

"so, how'd you sleep?" diane asks, plating the last few pieces of bacon.

"pretty good. steve makes a great personal heater" they both laugh.

"food's ready. come make you a plate before these men do" you nod and and make yourself a plate consisting of two pancakes and four pieces of bacon. you also make steve a plate with the same thing since he tends to have a big apetite. he'd also be eating what you couldn't finish. you douse your pancakes in syrup and start digging in. you let out a hum of satisfaction as soon as you take the first bite.

"margaret, this is possibly the best pancake ive ever had" she waves you off.

"nonsense," you swallow your mouth full of pancakes. "im being serious. one time, steve made me pancakes and they definitely weren't this good" you thought back to the time you spent the night at steve's and he made you breakfast and almost burnt the kitchen down. you then hear a gasp and diane and margaret look to where it came from. someone then plops down in the seat beside you.

"i thought i made decent pancakes" you look at steve and go quiet. the silence gives him the answer he needs and he pouts.

"it's okay steve, you make mean french toast" he smiles triumphantly and you laugh. he then digs into his pancakes.

"what's on the agenda today, ma?" steve asks diane and she shrugs.

"you could show y/n the vineyard" steve nods.

"is that okay with you?" he asks, turning to face you. you nod.

"that's more than okay with me" diane and margaret have their own conversation, as do you and steve.

"you sleep okay?" he asks quietly, to where only you can hear him. you nod.

"like a rock. you make a great heater by the way"

"is that all i'm good for, huh? being your personal heater?" you feign thinking and answer him

"pretty much"

"oh how you wound me, y/n." you laugh and shake your head. steve has a smile of his own on his face as well. you have half a pancake and a piece of bacon left so you put it on steve's plate.

"'m full." he nods, looking more than content with your leftovers.

"more for me" you stand up and go put your plate in the sink, cleaning it off.

"oh, y/n. you don't have to do that. i'll clean them later" you wave her off.

"'s the least i can do" she nods, letting you clean your plate. you feel eyes on you so you glance up and see steve looking at you. there's a certain look in his eyes that you can't quite decipher, but you brush it off.

"steve, your food's gonna get cold if you keep staring at y/n" margaret speaks up and your face goes hot. steve lets out a cough and finishes his food. he walks over to you and sets his plate in the sink, joining you in cleaning.

"am i that irresistible, harrington?" he shakes his head.

"nope. just had something on your face" you roll your eyes at him. you two then finish cleaning up and you thank diane and margaret for the breakfast, heading back up to you and steve's shared bedroom, him following you. you head back to your suitcase and find a different outfit since you two were heading to the vineyard.

you end up going with your pair of overalls and a white button up. you head into the bathroom and change, then stepping out. steve glances up from his spot on the bed and he feels speechless. you roll up the sleeves of the button up to your elbow and do a 360 for steve.

"how do i look?"

"gorgeous" you laugh

"please. give me your honest opinion and not your fake-boyfriend opinion." he swallows. right. fake-boyfriend. fake-dating.

"with your eyes. that's how you look" you furrow your brows at him for a minute before you get his joke. you throw your sweatshirt you were previously wearing at him.

"you ass" he catches the sweatshirt and sets it beside him.

"ready?" you ask him and he nods, getting up. you two head out of the room and head back downstairs. you run into diane and tell her you're going to the vineyard and she nods, winking at steve, which you didn't see because you were eagerly heading out the door.

you two walk there, making small-talk along the way. it only takes you five minutes to get there. once you do, your jaw drops in awe.

"wow" you grab steve's hand and start dragging him through the different aisles. of course he's seen all of this before, but you haven't, so he lets you have your moment. you don't seem to notice the dark-ish clouds forming above since you were lost in your own world dragging steve around. fifteen minutes later, he was following behind you as marveled at everything. a loud rumble of thunder sounds above and you turn to face steve.

"y/n, i think it's gonna rain soon," he looks up at the sky, then looking back at you. "maybe we should start heading back" you shrug.

"if you can catch me," you say before dashing off. it takes steve a minute to process what you said before he's running after you. you're laughing, not looking back because you know it would slow you down. you take many different turns, trying to confuse steve, but he's still trailing hot on your heels. you're about to take another right when two arms grab you, pulling you back.

"gotcha!" you're laughing and steve spins you around. he then puts you back on the ground and you turn around so that you're facing him.

"now let's head back before it rains" he says to you sternly and you nod.

"a deal was a deal" you two start to walk back in the direction of the house. it suddenly starts to drizzle and steve quickens up his pace. you however, stopped. you're looking up at the sky, eyes closed. he notices the lack of you walking beside him. he turns to look at you.

"y/n? what are you doing? it's about to pour!" you open one eye and peek at him, then closing it again. as he said, it started to rain harder and you smile. you look back at steve and he's starting to get soaked, so were you.

"don't you just love the rain, steve?" you walk to him, taking your time.

"we're gonna get sick"

"nonsense. it's just water" you grab his hands in yours and pull him.

"what're you doing?"

"dance with me, harrington" his head is saying no and to be reasonable and go back home where it's dry. but his heart, god damnit his heart, is saying to stay with you and dance. so he listens to his heart.

you smile and laugh as steve twirls you. a smile as big as yours graces his face and he can't help but admire you. even soaking wet from the rain, you still were the most beautiful thing to him.

"ooh! steve! remember that song that played at the snowball when we were in middle school?"

"y/n. there were lots of songs playing. which one?"

"the first slow song" he racks his brain trying to think but then he remembered.

"can't take my eyes off you by frankie valli and the four seasons" your smile gets bigger and you nod.

"how does it start off again?"

"you're just too good to be true" steve lowly sings to you and you start to remember the lyrics.

"can't take my eyes offa you" you sing along with him. you two dance with one another, singing the song you'd grown fond of over the years. once you two were done singing the song, another rumble of thunder sounded over you, this one sounding worse than the first time. steve grabs your hand and you two start running back to the house.

the rather large house comes into view and you run up on the porch, now shielded from the rain. you're both panting from all the running and you look at each other and laugh.

"you're something else, y/n"

"yet you choose to stick around" he nods

"that i do" you two walk inside, the cold air hitting your arms and giving you goosebumps. diane spots the both of you and comes up to your sides.

"there you two are. why didn't you come back before it started to rain?" she places both hands on her hips and steve starts to speak.

"this one right here," he points at you. "wanted to dance in the rain"

"you can't even lie that you didn't enjoy it" you say, facing him and crossing your arms. he goes quiet.

"exactly." you turn to face diane. "i'm so sorry if we worried you, i got caught up in the moment" she smiles and waves you off.

"it's okay dear. just, go get cleaned up. dinner is soon." you nod and head up to you and steve's shared room. he shuts the door behind the two of you. you grab the loungewear you previously wore earlier and put it back on.

dinner comes rolling around and you and steve head back downstairs, both of you now sporting dry clothes. you see cynthia at the table with david on her lap. she's desperately trying to get him to eat the food on the plate but he's resisting. you look out at the terrace and see all the men out there.

you greet margaret and diane as soon as you step into the kitchen.

"what'd you two whip up this time?"

"oh honey, not us. the caterer. the most we can do is breakfast and sometimes lunch. dinner would be pushing it" diane speaks and you laugh, nodding. you take a look at what was made and see that it's steak, mashed potatoes and green beans. your mouth waters at the sight of it. you make yourself a plate, then walking over and taking a seat by cynthia who is still fighting with david.

david notices your presence and his face lights up. cynthia looks up as well and lets out a sigh of relief.

"y/n. thank god you're here." david makes grabby hands at you and you look at cynthia to see if it was okay for you to hold him. she nods and you take the toddler in your arms, sitting him on your lap.

"i can't get him to eat anything. can you see if you can?" you nod and get some mashed potatoes on your spoon.

"david, open wide. here comes the airplane." you move the spoon around as if it was an airplane and david gets excited at the mention of an airplane. he opens his mouth and you put the spoon in his mouth and he eats the mashed potatoes. cynthia watches with shock.

"how-" you look up at her and shrug.

"i have younger cousins. this isn't my first rodeo" she laughs and you continue to feed david his mashed potatoes just as steve comes and sits down beside you.

"thought i lost you for a minute," you look back at steve and give him a smile.

"you're stuck with me, harrington. there's no losing to it." he chuckles and you go back to feeding david. once you're done cynthia thanks you repeatedly.

"'s no problem, really. i love the little munchkin" you poke david's nose and he lets out a laugh.

"okay david, come on. let's let y/n and steve eat. okay?" he shakes his head no.

"i wanna stay"

"hey, david, after i'm done eating, i'll come get you again, okay? go with your mom for now" he nods reluctantly and lets his mom take him. she thanks you again for getting him to eat and you tell her its no problem. before she leaves, she leans down to steve and whispers something in his ear. you're too caught up in your steak to pay attention.

once you were done eating, as promised, you found david again and he came running up to you, hugging your legs. you picked him up and bounced him up and down. he kept laughing. a guy around cynthia's age came up to you.

"okay, i know every face here, but i have no idea who you are"

"was that your attempt at a pick up line?" you raise a brow at him and he laughs, shaking his head.

"no. just curious as to who you might be. or what unfortunate soul you came here with" you laugh, still slightly bouncing david up and down. the guy looks at david and smiles.

"i see you've met my nephew" you smile down at the kid in your arms.

"i have," you turn your attention back to the guy, holding out your free hand.

"y/n. im steve's girlfriend" he takes your hand and shakes it.

"so you're the famous y/n i keep hearing about from my sister" your brows furrow.

"sister?"

"cynthia"

"ohhhhhh. my bad" he laughs, waving his hand.

"it's fine. im michael by the way" you nod, making a mental note. you then feel two hands on your waist and look up to see steve. he gives you a smile.

"you seem to keep running off from me today, huh? first at breakfast, then the vineyard, then at dinner and right now" you laugh

"i promised david i'd come back to get him" he nods and looks up and a gasp leaves his mouth.

"michael. man, i haven't seen you in so long. how's laura and wendy?" now you feel embarassed for assuming he was hitting on you. michael gives steve a smile

"i'm good man. and the girls are good. they're somewhere inside." steve lets out a chuckle and nods in understanding.

"yeah, i can understand the feeling of losing somebody," he pinches your hip and you playfully hit him.

"oh you poor thing. can't go a single second without you breathing down my neck"

"mm. and who's your personal heater at night?" you point a finger at him

"don't you dare go there" he crosses his arms and michael watches the two of you interact, a soft smile on his face.

"i hate to interrupt, but i gotta go find wendy and laura" you and steve face him and you both nod. he walks past the two of you and you, steve, and david who is now sleeping on your shoulder, head out to one of the terraces. you sit on a porch swing and steve sits beside you, placing his arm behind you.

steve swings the two of you slowly, humming a song quietly.

"i love your family," you speak up, breaking the silence.

"yeah?" you nod.

"i don't think helen likes me very much though," you scrunch up your nose, remembering your encounter with her yesterday. steve rubs your shoulder as a sort of reassurance and your body naturally scoots closer to him. you lay your head on his shoulder and let out a sigh.

"dont worry about grandma helen. she's always been that way" you nod and stare off at the sky that was now a pretty sunset, the stormy weather from earlier seemingly forgotten. the peaceful silence is then broken by a door opening. your and steve's heads both look to the door and see a guy who you don't know standing there. he looks at the two of you and a sigh of relief exits his mouth.

"there he is" you stand up slowly, not wanting to wake up david.

"i'm adam, david's dad and cynthia's husband. you must be y/n" you nod and hand a sleeping david over to adam.

"i haven't seen him this quiet since we got here" you quietly laugh and he thanks you for getting him to sleep. he nods in acknowledgement at steve and steve nods back. adam walks back into the house and you head back to steve and sit back down. a cool breaze blows and you shiver a little.

"wanna go back inside?" you nod and yawn. steve chuckles.

"tired already?" you nod again and the two of you stand up. steve then places a hand on the small of your back and leads you back inside the house. diane then stops the two of you and asks where you're going.

"y/n's getting tired. we're gonna call it a day" she nods and bids the two of you goodnight. a rather early goodnight though. you open your bedroom door and you fall face first into the bed and sigh of relief. steve laughs from behind you and you roll over, then propping yourself up on your elbows. steve raises a brow at you.

"what?"

"dunno. i think the sleep's catching up to me" he smiles and nods.

"yeah, i think it is too." you swing your legs over the edge of the bed and trudge to your suitcase to grab your pajamas. you head into the bathroom, changing into them. you head back out and steve's already back into his sleepwear. he's laying on his side of the bed with his arms behind his head. you make your way to your side and peel back the covers, getting into the bed.

you sigh as the soft sheets welcome you.

"god, this is the softest mattress i've ever laid on"

"or maybe you're just tired" you shake your head as you make yourself comfortable. reruns of golden girls plays in the back and steve seems to be focused on that.

"highly doubt it. even when im tired and come home and lay in my bed, it never feels this good." he laughs at your statement.

"if you say so y/n" you nod

"i do say so" you start to doze off and soon sleep welcomes you. steve takes his eyes off from the tv for a second and looks at your sleeping figure.

"god, y/n, what are you doing to me?" he whispers.

tags: @btsinurmom @lovelyela

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a/n: gah, i loved writing this part

masterlist: masterlist

[seosracha]

BACK 2 U! jake (and women) + 0.4k

synopsis- Australia 2017; summer, the glistening sea and an uneventful breakup. you wouldn't think the dream of becoming an idol would come true, yet here you are standing in a ginormous practice room ready to meet your members boyfriend. you would be happy for her, if only the boy she loved wasn't your high-school sweetheart- Jake Sim.

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PREVIOUS < MASTERLIST > NEXT

"Whats his name?" Nao kept nagging Jiyoon who hasnt said a word ever since they left the dorms.

She, like the rest of her members, was a mess. Stressed out of her mind, hands trembling. This was only her second? third? date after they became official, what if her members dont like him? What if you dont like him?

Jiyoon looked up to you. She viewed you as not only her best-friend but the sister she never had. When choosing the selcas she should post on twitter, only your voice mattered. You were flattered to say the least. Nothing could change your relationship, right?

"You cant just stay silent!" Nao pulled on Jiyoons sleeve.

"His name starts with a J, happy now?" Jiyoon rolled her eyes and kept typing away on her phone.

"Are you texting him right now? Let me see!" Nao smirked and attempted to snatch the phone away from her unnie.

"Leave her alone Nao, you'll get to see him soon" Suki, your leader, scolded the maknae.

"Ive never been in this practice room" Eunji murmured looking around the giant, empty space "Wasnt he supposed to be here already?"

"He's running late" Jiyoon smiled "They dont let rookies in this part of the building" she added.

"But Enhypen train in here, I've seen their TikToks!" Nao said, and Jiyoon turned pale.

"Who are Enhypen?" you asked, and Nao made a disgusted face.

"God you cant be that old! You know that survival show me and Suki watched-" she started but Jiyoon shushed her quickly picking up a call.

She laughed standing up to meet her boyfriend and probably warn him about the people hes about to meet.

"Hi Jiyoon its nice to finally meet you!" a faint male voice says before the oh so familiar voice screams your friends name.

Maybe you were still stuck up on your boyfriend (who broke up with you in 2017!!) or it was actually him standing behind the metal doors. Probably not, what would Jake out of all people be doing in a Hybe practice rooms anyways.

"So after all this time girls, meet my boyfriend, Jake Sim!"

[angstysebfan]

The Past Can Break You - 6

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

AU: Avengers

Summary: You and Bucky have been dating for aa few years. As far as you’re concerned he is the one. But what happens when a blast from the actual past shows up?

A/N: Ive seen a lot stories of Bucky getting his first love from the 40′s back. And I’ve always wondered... what would happen if he was dating someone already? Reader is from this time. Not proofread.

Warning: Language!, angst, short chapter (sorry)

--

Bucky didn’t now how long he sat on the floor, constantly re-reading your letter. He could feel the hurt and anger in your words, and it killed him. He knew Dot did something while he was away, but what? His immediate reaction was to go to Dot and confront her, but he didn’t trust that he wouldn’t hurt her. 

After what seemed like forever, there was a low knock on the door. Steve and Nat came in and saw Bucky on the floor, and quickly ran over.

“Buck? What happened man? Where’s Y/N?” Steve asked in concern.

Nat picked up the letter and read it, immediately getting angry. “What the fuck did you do now Barnes? You promised that you wouldn’t fuck up again,” Nat said.

Bucky turned to Nat with a mix of sadness and anger, “I didn’t do anything! I was on the mission with you. I came up from Medbay and found her letter. Dot must have done something while we were away. I have to find Y/N. I need to fix this,” Bucky said with tears running down his face.

Nat felt sorry for the super soldier, but her anger immediately switched to Dot. What did that bitch do to you that you upped and left with no word. Nat looked at Steve who also looked angry.

“Have you spoken to Dot yet?” Steve asked.

Bucky shook his head, “I didn’t trust that I wouldn’t hurt or kill her. I’ve been here since I saw the note. What if I never get Y/N back? She... she is the love of my life Steve. I need to find her,” Bucky begged.

“I’ll help you find her, but I think we need to find out what Dot did before we talk to Y/N. At least so you know what you are dealing with,” Nat said.

Steve shook his head, “Dot won’t tell us anything. She was a manipulative bitch back in the day. I can’t imagine how bad she is now that she wasn’t allowed to have what she wanted,” Steve said angrily.

Nat was shocked at Steve’s outburst, but thought about how they could fix this. “What if we manipulate the situation from here on out,” Nat said with a smirk.

Both men look at Nat cautiously, “What do you mean?” Bucky asked.

“I might have a plan,” Nat said.

--

You had walked around the city with your bags for hours. Part of you were shocked that Bucky didn’t come running for you immediately, but then you remembered you left everything at the compound so he would have trouble finding you. You look out over the water, thinking of where to go from here.

For the first time since the incident happened, you allowed yourself to cry. You were so sure that Bucky would never hurt you like this. You were so sure that Bucky loved you like she said. You thought you could trust him. But know you know that everything you thought you knew about the man you loved was a flat out lie.

You thought coming back to the city from the compound was good enough, but the amount of memories you have with Bucky here suffocate you. You knew that staying in the city is too close. Plus, you figured eventually Bucky would come running with some fake as apology. You wish you could smack him and his precious Dot right across the face.

How stupid you were to forgive him when you knew how important Dot was to him. I mean he never shut up about her before she miraculously found her way into this century. Why did you think he would just ignore her for you? You were nothing compared to the love of his life. The woman he compared all women to. The one who got to see the charming James Buchanan Barnes in the flesh before his life drastically changed. 

You secretly hope that she doesn’t hurt him when she realizes he is not the same man. If and when she knows of the trauma he has been through, and what he did for so many years. You didn’t care about any of that, but you could see the princess having a problem. 

You shook your head at yourself for caring what happens with them from here on out. “Come on, Y/N! He doesn’t matter anymore. He doesn’t love or respect you. Forget about him!,” you scold yourself.

You look out at the water and think of where to go from here. You have no family except for the Avengers, and you can’t and won’t go back to compound. You don’t want to reach out to anyone yet, so that Bucky can’t find you. You think for a few minutes before a thought hits you. You knew where to go.

You find yourself heading toward Port Authority Bus Terminal. You were getting on a bus and getting the hell out of here. Once you find yourself settled you would call Nat and Wanda and let them know you are safe. You had gotten a burner phone before leaving in case. They are the only one’s you can trust at the moment. Well maybe Tony also. But everyone else might tell Bucky where you are. And you officially am cutting him from your life for good.

You climb onto the bus and put your bags above you and sit. Once you leave the city Bucky will be nothing but a distant memory. Nothing but a mistake you will learn from. Nothing. As the bus leaves the city you feel a mix of relief and heartbreak. 

Then the burner phone starts to vibrate. No one knew the number so you can’t help but be nervous. You cautiously pick it up and before you can speak you hear your best friend.

“Y/N, don’t hang up,” Nat said.

--

Chapter 5 / Chapter 7

Sorry this chapter kinda sucks and is short. It’s filler mostly, however I think you will like what’s coming. Feedback is appreciated.

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[hanaasbananas]

your love is all that i need (the only blood that i can bleed)

The tragedy of Adrien Agreste. Written for the MWG March event. Last line prompt: "this can't be the end"

AO3

I.

The labour is hard. Harder than most. 

It is long, gruelling, and bloody. At the end of it, there is a boy. He is born healthy. 

This is his first crime. 

For his mother will never truly recover from the ordeal, and his father will never forgive him for it.

She holds him afterwards. Looks down at the squalling, blonde haired baby in her arms and says that he is perfect.

Father is more critical. He prods at Adrien’s pliant limbs, at his soft undefined features. He looks at his child and sees not a son, but a lump of clay waiting to be shaped, to be moulded into perfection, into something worthy of his love.

II.

They see him, and say that he is lucky. Better to grow up with everything than nothing at all. 

And for a time, he does have everything. Or what seems like it. An empty house doesn’t seem so empty when you have someone there who loves you. A lonely childhood isn’t unhappy when there is someone who will hold you close, who will wrap their arms around you and protect you from harm. 

It doesn’t always work. His mother is bedridden, and cannot be constantly at his side. But she tries. Oh, she tries. She coddles him as much as she can. Gives him all the love that his father will not. All the love she has in her heart, she gives to him, until there is nothing left for anyone else.

A child is not passive. A child takes up space, demands attention. Demands food. They cannot help it, it is in their nature to need. To want. 

This is his second crime.

In time, he will learn to be unobtrusive, to make himself as small as possible, but not yet. For now, he is a happy child. His green eyes follow every newcomer that seems to appear out of nowhere, looking for the flash of teeth, the smile that makes him gurgle happily in response. His mother delights in his every movement, in the way his starfish hands curl around her fingers, tug at her hair, and put the strands in his mouth.

As he grows, she teaches him to read at her bedside, plays games with him under the covers and soothes all his ills. She holds him close when father scolds him and feels her heart break when she sees him growing more cautious, wishing that he could be a little more boisterous, a little more free.

Adrien tries. He does. He sees what his mother wants him to be and plays tricks, cracks terrible jokes just to make her laugh. But still he is careful, always colouring within the lines, tongue poking out of his mouth as he concentrates on his colouring book, making sure that not a single pencil stroke escapes the thick black outline of his favourite cartoon. 

Father likes it when his work is neat.

III.

The arguments become more frequent once he’s older. Mother forgave father for his distance when he was a baby, but now…

Now Adrien hears them arguing, long into the night. About him. About fathers' indifference. Still, nothing changes. Gabriel Agreste has never listened to anyone but himself, after all. But mother looks sadder now, her face drawn, and even Adrien’s jokes aren’t always enough to make her laugh.

“Why does father hate me?” he asks one day, startling mother with his question. She looks at him with stricken eyes, her answer automatic.

“He doesn’t—”

“Yes he does.” Adrien’s words are matter of fact. He’s mulled this over for some time. Has spent hours looking in the mirror, examining his features, cataloguing them all. Sometimes, he wonders if it would have made a difference if he’d looked more like his father. If, perhaps he’d seen himself in his son and found it in himself to love him. 

Adrien will never know.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.. I just want to know why” 

Mother doesn’t reply. Instead, she pulls him close, dropping a kiss to the top of his head. “I don’t know.” she admits, finally. “But I can love you enough for the both of us.”

IV.

When he is ten, father finally finds a use for him. 

He looks at Adrien’s blonde hair, at his green eyes—so like his mothers—and sees a profit. Sees a way that his son can atone for the crimes he does not know he's committed.

Mother is overjoyed, sending him off every morning with a tight hug and a kiss on his brow, telling him: “be good for your father, now!” 

She is delighted by his fathers newfound interest in him, and Adrien doesn’t have the heart to tell her that they don't even travel in the same car in the mornings. That he spends his days being shuffled from room to room, getting dressed, and primped for the camera before being bought in front of father so that he can approve him for the day's photoshoot. 

So instead, he spins stories, telling mother about lunchtimes spent together, and pep talks before shoots. 

The shouting stops for a while, and he is glad. 

He doesn’t know that mother is too weak to shout. Doesn’t know that her heart breaks with every lie he tells her, that with every passing day that she grows weaker, she worries not about herself, but about what will happen to her son.

V.

Adrien is twelve when his life falls apart for the first time. 

Father doesn't let him see her when it happens, and he is glad. It is one of the few kindnesses he will ever show his son.

After the memorial, he stands in the doorway to mothers room, and stares at the empty bed, the pillows piled perfectly against the headboard; the covers tucked in and smooth. Everything is packed away neatly, all signs of his mother cleaned out so thoroughly that he struggles to even conjure up the image of her, struggles to remember what the room had looked like when she had lived. When he had learned to read at her bedside, had lain with his head in her lap—the only place where he felt truly at peace. 

Overnight, the house becomes almost unbearably quiet. 

Adrien hadn’t noticed the silence before, hadn’t recognised just how many empty rooms there were. But now the silence is his companion. It wraps around him like a thick blanket as he eats alone, drapes itself over him as he does his assigned schoolwork, and abandons him when he cries himself to sleep at night, as tears soak his pillow and the sound of his weeping echoes loudly in his room.

VI.

There is a restlessness inside him. A yearning to do more, to see the world and truly experience it instead of being locked away inside. It festers and grows, an itch underneath his skin that can’t be scratched. Until he can’t take it anymore. 

Father won’t notice, he tells himself as he makes his plans.

Father won’t notice, he thinks when he enrols himself into school. 

Father won’t notice, as he eats breakfast on his own once again, excitement thrumming through his veins on his first day of school.

He never does.

VII.

Father does notice. 

Not that he cares enough to bother stopping him, or even to check in after the entire city is sent into upheaval by Stoneheart, by the arrival of two young superheroes. Instead, Nathalie lectures him about maintaining good grades along with his modelling, her eyes trained on her tablet as she pretends to read off of it, pretends that the words she speaks are not her own.

Part of him bristles at the farce, wants to demand father come and speak to him himself, but a larger part of him knows such a request is futile. Father has never bothered with him before, why would he start now? 

Once he is dismissed, Adrien finds himself pausing just outside mothers old room. He hasn’t been inside since the memorial, unable to bear the emptiness, but now his hand hovers above the door handle, hesitant and almost afraid. He knows what lies behind the door. Knows that mother is not lying in bed waiting to hear about his day, but if he closes his eyes, just for a moment…he can imagine it.

If mother was still here, Adrien would have told her everything. About his new friends, and about his disastrous first meeting with Marinette. He'd ask for her advice on how to make amends, and she’d certainly pick up on his blush, would tease him, and pinch his cheeks and tell him just be yourself, my darling, and she is sure to be charmed. And he would be content.

Blinking away tears, Adrien shakes his head to dispel the melancholy threatening to settle on his shoulders. Mother isn’t here, but he isn’t entirely alone either. Not anymore. 

Now he has Plagg.

In his room, Plagg zips around, inspecting anything and everything, trying to eat it all, no matter how inedible. He chatters incessantly, and even as he complains loudly, filling the silence with demands for camembert of all things, Adrien sees what his new friend is doing, and for that, he is grateful.

VIII.

He could fall in love with her, he thinks, as he watches Ladybug stand tall, addressing the city with blazing eyes. It would be so easy to give her his heart. But there is another who has laid claim to it and as he fights alongside Ladybug; as he bumps his fist against hers at the end and they grin at each other he thinks that in this partnership, he would rather have friendship.

Afterwards, in school there is a thunderstorm, and an apology. An umbrella, and the brushing of hands, and laughter. 

Marinette’s laughter is captivating—it makes his heart race in his chest and a blush heat his cheeks and all he wants to do is make her laugh, to always be the one to make her laugh, and hear it always.

When Plagg teases him, and calls them lovebirds, Adrien does not deny his feelings. He simply looks back over his shoulder at her, and says “I hope so.”

IX.

It doesn’t take very long for Ladybug to become his best friend. 

The akumas don’t stop coming, and soon they set up patrol schedules, where more often than not they both end up talking for hours on end instead. She brings sweets and snacks, and he brings a big notebook and teaches her all the games that he’d play with his mother, all the games they made up to entertain themselves. 

He’d thought that with mother gone, those games would be forgotten, that they would become a distant memory in the recesses of his mind. But as he watches Ladybug scribble on the paper, watches her hold it up with a triumphant flourish and announce her win, he sees now that these games can live on. 

He swallows the lump in his throat and congratulates her. 

And if he misses his mother a little more keenly that night, nobody has to know.

X.

It takes a year for him to ask Marinette out. 

A year of awkward flirting, and blushing. A year of daydreaming about what it would be like to hold her hand, to hold her close and kiss her. A year of near misses and confusion, until Nino—and even Alya—finally get sick of his dithering and tell him that Marinette likes him too.

It still takes him a week after that to process the information before he asks her out, but when he does, she says yes.

XI.

Adrien loves going to Marinette’s house. 

He’d been before, of course, with their friends. There had been after school study sessions, movie nights, even just hanging out, but ever since they’ve started going out, he has a standing invitation to dinner once a week and he has yet to miss a single one. 

He watches her parents as they bustle around the kitchen, shooing him away when he tries to help. Their affection is clear in everything they do, in the lively chatter over the dinner table, in the casual touches—a hand on a shoulder, a peck on the cheek—that come so naturally he wonders if they even notice them anymore. 

Marinette’s house is never silent. It is small, and cosy, brimming with so much life, and love, that it doesn’t take very long until that love extends to him as well. Tom will ruffle his hair as he passes by, Sabine offers him extra portions of desserts, and won’t take no for an answer, and all the while Marinette’s hand is hot in his, as she twines their fingers together and squeezes his hand under the table, laughing and telling him to go along with it.

He doesn’t want to bring Marinette to his house, and she doesn’t ask. 

Perhaps she senses his apprehension, perhaps she simply doesn’t care. But…something inside him is afraid. Is afraid that if she was met with the choking silence of his home, if she met his father and saw just how little he cared, she’d realise that she shouldn’t care about him either.

Instead, his visits to her house become even more frequent once it becomes apparent that her parents truly do not mind. Marinette grouses that her father has stolen him away when they play Ultimate Mecha Strike for hours and Adrien will kiss her in apology until she forgives him. Sometimes they’ll fall asleep on the couch and he will wake up to find a blanket draped over them, and the quiet murmur of her parents talking in the kitchen. 

This is happiness, he thinks in those moments, when Marinette has her head tucked under his chin and is snuggled close. And then: 

Mother would have liked her.

XII.

He is seventeen when his life falls apart for the second time. 

Father stands beside him in silence as Adrien stares down at—

—at his mother. His hands shake and he shoves them deep into his pockets, trying to make sense of what is in front of him. The floor seems to tilt beneath his feet, his heart pounding in his chest and making his head spin as nausea makes his stomach roil.

Still, he can’t look away. “What…” he clears his throat. “What is this?”

“I think you know…Chat Noir.” Adrien barely even starts at the use of his alias. That seems to be the least of his worries right now, though a small voice inside of him finds amusement in the revelation. It seems father pays attention to him after all.

Father turns to him then, finally. “This is what I’ve been fighting for. To bring your mother back.” For a brief moment in the low light of the repository, his eyes almost seem warm as he reaches out to Adrien. “Now you can help me.”

Adrien almost laughs, pressing his lips together to contain the hysterical giggle that threatens to slip from his mouth. Of course. Of course father is Hawkmoth. Father is the one he’s been fighting for years now, the one who has been relentless in terrorising the city. He should have known. 

“Will you join me?” Father’s voice comes to him as if from a great distance, muted by the blood rushing in his ears, but Adrien cannot bring himself to respond, his mind racing. 

He thinks of Ladybug, thinks of their friendship cultivated over so many years. It’s their patrol night today and he’s more than a little late. She must be waiting for him. Wondering. Worrying. He thinks of rooftop picnics and late night chats, of fighting side by side and commiserating over their disdain for Hawkmoth. She is his best friend. 

Father is still waiting for an answer, his palm up in front of him, watching him expectantly.

Could he betray Ladybug like this? Turn against her without any explanation and leave her to fight alone? 

He looks to mother again. Underneath the glass, she looks exactly as she did the last time he saw her. More serene, perhaps, her face no longer lined with pain, but he half expects her to open her eyes, to smile at him as she always did and draw him in for a hug.

He misses those hugs. Misses her voice. Longs to have her with him again. A wave of yearning washes over him then, so strong that it threatens to knock him off his feet. He feels like a young boy again, standing alone at the threshold to his mothers rooms and wishing desperately for her return. 

And now he can do it. Now he can make that wish come true and all he has to do is—

—it is an impossible choice. How can he choose between them? But he must.

He must make a decision. 

Mother, or Ladybug. He cannot have both. 

His heart pounds, beating out a rhythm in his chest mothermothermother—

He takes his father’s hand. 

XIII.

The next akuma attack is his last. 

He waits until the fight is almost over before emerging, bile rising in his throat at the way Ladybug’s face lights up at the sight of him.

“You took your time!” she teases, breathless from exertion and still happy to see him. He says nothing, avoids her gaze and so misses the myriad of emotions that flicker across her face—bewilderment, confusion, disappointment—before finally landing on hurt as he vaults over to the akuma’s side and gets ready to fight her for the first time.

I’m sorry, he wants to say, but the words won’t come, sticking painfully in his throat. Such words are useless after all. They will not undo the damage he is about to cause.

Steeling himself, Adrien thinks of mother, and attacks. 

XIV.

Once, there was a time when Adrien had craved his father’s company. There had been days when he would sit outside his office, playing quietly with his toys for hours and hoping for acknowledgement that never came. The only thing he’d received was disappointment as day after day, father swept past him without so much as a glance at his son. 

It is strange then, when father starts joining him for dinner. The first few times it happens, they do not speak, simply sitting in silence as they eat, both assessing each other across the table, neither willing to make the first move to start a conversation.

Adrien isn’t sure what father’s motivation is, but he knows there is no paternal instinct involved. Father doesn’t have a single paternal bone in his body. They have spent so much time—hours upon hours—poring over the Miraculous Book together, plotting new akumas and planning ways to get Ladybug’s earrings. He stays out of battles and watches them alongside father, advising him about Ladybugs weak spots to skew the fights in their favour, and still Adrien sees in father’s eyes that he barely tolerates his presence, even now. 

Sometimes, it makes him wonder if he made the right choice. 

When those moments come, when doubt creeps up on him and guilt settles like a heavy weight in his stomach, he steals away to see mother, to sit by her side and talk to her, to remember why he is doing this. 

He has to remind himself a lot these days.

XV.

Adrien still goes to Marinette’s house for dinner twice a week. They go on dates together, and double dates with their friends, and in her presence he can almost pretend his life is normal. 

But there is a strange melancholy that surrounds Marinette now, a sadness he cannot seem to get rid of, no matter how hard he tries. When he does, she simply smiles at him and tells him not to worry, curls her body around him and hugs him tightly, as if afraid to let him go.

XVI. 

When he’d first got his Miraculous, he’d snuck out of his bedroom in the dead of night. Racing through empty streets, vaulting high in the air and feeling the wind ruffle through his hair he’d been unable to stop the whoop from escaping his lips and echoing in the night. Because for the first time in his life, he’d felt free.

Now, it doesn’t matter how long he runs for, or how far. Where before, the crisp night air had felt liberating, now it is stifling. Instead of racing through the streets, talking to civilians, and sparing them a smile as they pointed and waved at him in astonishment, he hides in the shadows. Nobody is happy to see him anymore. They look at him in fear, they remember the day he turned against the people and cower at the sight of him. 

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. It will all be worth it, in the end.

If only he could really believe that.

XVII.

They’re camped out in her room again, a movie they aren’t paying attention to playing on the computer and he has his head in her lap, finally relaxing for the first time that week as Marinette combs her fingers through his hair.

He loves these quiet moments, loves this simple intimacy that exists between them. If he could bottle this moment up and live in it forever, he would. He wants it to stretch out into eternity so that they will never again be discontent.

Without really thinking, Adrien begins to speak, his voice slow and quiet. Though he works with him now, father never wants to discuss what will come after, and Adrien knows better than to push him.

What he doesn’t know is why he has never spoken to Marinette about his mother, but as he tells Marinette about his mother, about those early days—the happy days and the sad— the conflict constantly brewing inside him quietens down, replaced by a strange sense of peace. An acceptance.

He doesn’t want to do this, he realises with sudden clarity. Mother wouldn’t want him to either. She wouldn’t want him to waste so many years in pursuit of bringing her back.

I had my time, he can imagine her saying, pushing his hair away from his forehead and pressing a kiss there. I lived my life. Now it is time you live yours.

He’s still talking, words spilling out of him faster than he can even think of them, talking now about the games his mother invented for them to play, the notebooks they filled up that he still has, hidden in the back of his wardrobe. Marinette’s hand stills.

“You’ve never…you never told me this before.” Her expression is stricken as she looks down at him.

“I know,” he says. “But I want to share it with you now.” Rising up, he kisses her, tangling her fingers in her hair and smiling as she clutches at his shoulders, deepening their kiss.

I love you, he leaves the words unspoken, but she hears them anyway.

XVIII.

Adrien agonises over how to tell father his decision for two weeks, but in the end it is taken out of his hands. 

“Ladybug has…demanded to speak with you. Or rather-to Chat Noir.” Father sounds amused as he tells him the news over dinner  as if he is relaying the antics of a particularly precocious child. “Alone.” 

It is the perfect opportunity, practically dropped into his lap and before he knows it, Adrien finds himself fitted with an earpiece and shoved out the front door. 

She’s already waiting for him when he arrives, landing softly on the rooftop behind her. The scene is painfully reminiscent of so many of those patrols they’d spent together and when she turns to face him, he sees in the way that her eyes glisten that she remembers just as well.

For a long moment, they don’t move, simply staring across at each other in silence. In his ear, father hisses to get on with it! 

He turns the earpiece off.

Adrien opens his mouth to speak and then pauses, struggling to find the right words, the perfect opening.

“I made a mistake.”

“I know who you are.” 

They both speak at once, voices overlapping and echoing in the quiet night. Adrien stumbles back, her words hitting him like a punch in the gut. Distantly, he wonders if the Parisians know what is going on on this night. If they feel how momentous this night is.

Because nothing can ever be the same. Not now. Not after the decisions he has made, the mistakes. 

“What?” He whispers, unable to raise his voice any higher. The pit in his stomach grows ever larger, threatening to swallow him whole as Ladybug steps forward, her expression earnest and no longer apprehensive after hearing his own confession. 

“I know who you are…Adrien.”

And that is when everything explodes.

XIX.

When Adrien awakes, it takes him far too long to reorient himself. Shaking off the debris that had landed on him, he rises to his feet, blinking the dust out of his eyes. Spinning on his heel, he searches for Ladybug through the smoke, terror gripping his heart. 

Of course father had planned an ambush.

Of course he hadn’t told Adrien about it—he was expendable after all. He had been in denial for too long, but this…this was indisputable proof. 

The confirmation didn’t feel particularly satisfying.

He finds father, eventually, far away from the rubble of the building. Standing over Ladybug, he has his cane raised over his head, ready to strike. Adrien breaks out into a run.

“Get away from her!” 

Quickly, too fast for Adrien to see, father moves his cane to the side, hitting him squarely in the middle, the impact sending him sprawling to the ground. Struggling to catch his breath, Adrien cannot bring himself to mind the pain, not when father is walking away from Ladybug, when she now has a chance to escape.

“I thought we were working together,” he says, glaring up at his father. 

Father laughs, the sound terrible and manic. “Did you really think that I would let you survive this? You, the object of my wife’s destruction?” 

Rage bubbles up inside of him, the likes of which he’s never felt before. With it comes despair, tears streaming down his cheeks.

He has lost everything. And for what? To simply be erased from the story, not even an echo of his existence remaining?

Father towers over him now, his eyes gleaming with triumph. His lips are pulled back in a sick grin and Adrien almost laughs at the thought that he had once wanted this man to love him.

The cane comes down.

His cataclysm is faster.

XX.

Ladybug is not lying in the rubble. 

Marinette is.

She smiles weakly up at him, fingers fluttering in a half wave. “Surprise.”

Marinette is Ladybug. 

The thought might have left him reeling another time, but…Marinette is lying in the rubble, blood slowly leaking from a gash in her temple. One hand rests on her stomach, covered in blood, attempting badly to stop the flow.

“Thanks for stopping your dad there,” she murmurs, wincing as he falls to his knees beside her. “I think a second hit would have killed me.”

Adrien can only stare in horror, hands hovering over her middle, over her head, looking for a place to rest that won’t hurt her. There are no words for this, for the horror enveloping him now. 

With a beep, his own transformation drops and he finally lays his hands down, brushing the hair out of Marinette’s eyes. 

“I’m so sorry, Marinette I’m so—this is all my fault if I hadn’t—” A sob builds in his throat and Adrien wants to scream. Wants to rage and yell and fight the universe that has dealt him this hand. His own suffering he can accept. He had accepted it, long ago. 

But to drag Marinette down as well? To destroy such beauty? The beacon of hope not just for the city but for himself too? 

Fingers brush against his, and he meets Marinette’s eyes. There is no reproach in them, no anger. Only forgiveness. 

Somehow, that is worse.

No.

No.

Carefully, so as not to jostle her, Adrien removes Marinette’s earrings, ignoring her small cry of protest. Plagg’s expression is solemn, an impossible sadness in his eyes, but he does not try to discourage him. 

Marinette watches him anxiously, her breathing becoming more and more laboured. Bending down, Adrien presses a kiss to her forehead, careful of her wound, feeling the sheer power of the Miraculous’ clasped in his hand. He thinks of his mother, and everything that has led him here. Thinks of father, and for the first time, truly understands his ambitions.

He cannot lose Marinette. He will not. This is not the end of their story. He refuses to believe it. 

This can’t be the end. 

[aphrodite-made-me-write-it]

Everything Stays

Part Four: Love, Lust, Prophecy

(A/N) Hey I’m alive! Sorry I’m just out of it. Got a new tattoo and I am back to normal(ish)? Work is killing me :D s/o to the anon who gave me the idea of vampire r freaking out over what we’ve done to fruits and veggies over the century. alskdfj i will throw in several mentions of this from here on out

♫ ♫ ♫

Rating: M (This Chapter, E Later)

Warnings: French Slander (Sorry), maybe some smooching, heavy themes of heaven/hell/demons, lovable succubus influencing bad decisions

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Vampire!Helsing!Reader

Chapter Word Count: 4,092

Total Word Count: 18,972

Synopsis: You and Natasha follow up on the lead in France and fall victim to the influence of a tricky demon.

| i | ii | iii | iv | coming soon |

“I hate France,” you mumble for maybe the hundredth or so time since you arrived in Paris. Natasha snorts, rolling her eyes at you. Somebody knocks into your shoulder, only further irritating you. “And I hate the French.”

“Don’t be mean,” Natasha scolds, looping her arm through yours. 

The streets of Paris haven’t changed much. Well, no, they’ve changed a lot, but it’s still easier to navigate than a lot of Europe. Missing a few big wars will do that to the layout of any country, but at least the French have upholded their ever-stubborn hold on ancient traditions. (Or, at least, the ones that don’t involve monarchy.)

“Can’t believe they’re keeping that eyesore,” you comment, scowling at the tower in the distance.

“The Eiffel Tower is, like, the symbol of France, now.” Natasha smirks at you. “It’s actually considered romantic, these days.”

“What’s so romantic about a fancy capital A?”

Natasha scoffs incredulously, placing a hand over her chest as if in shock. “Maybe you just have to be there to understand it.”

“Please, Miss World Wonder, show me your ways.” 

Natasha’s laughter is free; the most relaxed you’ve seen her in a long while. She’s always so tense - as tense as used to be, when your world didn’t revolve around a prophecy - but since you’ve left the states she’s loosened up ever so slightly. Maybe it’s because it’s just the two of you, and a world full of strangers.

It’s a wonderful glimpse into that part of her, but it’s only a glimpse.

“After the ballet.” She tuts, not breaking her stride.

“I still don’t understand why we have to go.” You sigh. “I love the dancers, but it’s so-”

“I learned ballet, long ago,” Natasha hums, almost wistfully. There’s a bit of pain in the tightness of her smile. “Even danced as Odette for a job once.” 

You arch an eyebrow at her curiously. “Oh.” Your eyes dart down to her legs. Yeah. That explains a lot. “So that’s why your legs are so nice.”

Natasha, to your delight, blushes. “You like my legs, of all things?”

“I’m not some lowly man, Natasha. I have standards.” You huff dramatically.

“What, so you don’t like my tits?”

“I never said that.”

“Uh-huh. Now who has to keep it in their pants?”

It’s jarring to think that apparently much of your life has been predestined, and you can’t help but wonder if that means you were meant to meet Natasha, too. It’s a distant thought, but a nagging one.

“You must have been good at it, is what I meant,” you clear your throat but Natasha doesn’t look convinced in the slightest. “My mother always wanted me to involve myself in the arts, but it was always obvious that I wanted nothing more than to be like my brother.” You chuckle at the memory. “It was quite scandalous of me to wear trousers all the time.”

Natasha lets out a soft laugh. “You sound like you were a real rebel.”

“Who said anything about ‘were’?” You open the door of the theatre for her, giving a playful wink as she steps through the threshold. 

Yes, you think as Natasha looks over her shoulder at you, you are indeed in deep shit. Maybe it’s just the way she smiles at you, her green eyes sparkling with the dazzling lights of the lobby, but you swear there’s something shifting between you. Unstoppable, unpredictable. You find yourself wanting to throw yourself into the unknown.

“Come on, rebel girl,” Natasha pulls your arm expectantly. “We’ve got a ballet to watch.”

According to SHIELD, your target is going to be attending tonight. You aren’t meant to approach her, but if you can get a read on her and figure out what she is, you can better prepare for the ‘ball’ she’s throwing. (She’s got to be centuries old to still be using that term, even in France.)

You find your seats easily enough, Natasha looking a little eager. It’s unbearably cute how excited she seems for this. Does she miss dancing, you wonder? You’ve missed out on a lot, but you know some of the basics at least. A good waltz or two. 

The ballet begins, and your world feels like it’s curving in on itself. The crest of a wave, ready to crash around you. You can’t tear your gaze from Natasha - though you do try. Her features just look so soft in this light, her expressions more vibrant and readable than you’ve ever seen before.

Here, Natasha is an open book, and you’re an avid reader starving to memorize each and every line in her pages. The way her lips will curl up or down, eyebrows twitching with every little shift of mouth movement. It’s making you feel lightheaded, dizzy.

Natasha glances at you out of the corner of your eye. You wish you could look away, but your eyes are glued to her even as she faces you with a smirk that says, ‘caught you’. It takes all of your willpower not to connect your lips then and there, but she turns back to the ballet with a dark blush on her cheeks and a heart hammering so loudly you can hear it as clearly as the music.

When intermission comes, Natasha pulls you aside in the hallway and your head is just starting to clear up.

“Are you okay?” She asks, looking genuinely concerned. “Did we pack enough, um- y’know, food?”

You blink away the last tendrils of fog. “Yeah, I-” you stop yourself. What the hell are you going to say? ’I just got caught up staring at you because you’re gorgeous and I’m a walking nightmare?’ Nope, not acceptable. Not even a little bit. “Sorry, I zoned out.”

“You’re sure you aren’t hungry?” She presses.

You clear your throat. “Yeah, I’m fine. Really. No need to get all steamed up about it.”

Natasha’s eyes narrow, but she doesn’t press the matter any further.

The rest of the performances follow much the same way. You end up thinking about Natasha the whole time and, no matter how hard you try to fight it, you end up looking at her like some kind of nutcase. Your relief only comes with the intermissions, but Natasha doesn’t seem to have noticed your gawking or if she does she doesn’t call you out on it again.

At last, the evening comes to an end and you still haven’t located the woman you’re looking for. Natasha looks just as disappointed, but hides it well and convinces you to follow her to the Eiffel Tower.

There’s something breathtaking about it. You can’t quite explain it. It isn’t just the stupid tower or the stupidly gorgeous view below. If you came here alone, it would just be another stupid tower with another stupid view, but with her… 

When you were alive, you never had a moment like this. Where the world doesn’t feel like it’s seconds away from ending. Moments where it’s just you and this person - this wonderful, understanding person - on top of the world.

“I think I get it, now,” you admit when a particularly bitter gust of wind causes Natasha to huddle closer to your side. “It is just a little bit romantic up here.”

“I’m never wrong,” Natasha hums. You’re not sure how she managed to slip under your arm, but you aren’t complaining. It’s unbelievably nice to hold her like this. You feel like this is all some strange dream. Will you wake up, back in your tomb, waiting for the apocalypse?

“Except when you try to get warm by cuddling up to a walking icicle.” You huff, shrugging your jacket off to give to her. “Or are you just collecting my jackets?”

“A good girl never spills her secrets,” Natasha winks, resuming her comfortable position once the jacket is properly around her shoulders. You keep an arm around the fluffy lump that Natasha has become, a warmth spreading through you like midsummer. 

This is dangerous. you’re dangerous. She should be terrified of you - disgusted by you. But here she is, cuddled against your side like a satisfied cat like you don’t have the ability to drain her of her blood in a few short seconds.

I shouldn’t be letting this happen. 

But you are.

(You were always a little selfish, though, weren’t you?)

- - - - -

“Jesus, what a weird dresscode,” Natasha comments, turning around to look in the mirror. The bathroom is small, so you’re a little too close for comfort. Then, there’s the added bonus of the singular bed because of course the one time Tony isn’t in charge of booking a room you’re stuck in this hole of a place.

“Supernaturals are a bit on the dramatic side, in case you couldn’t tell.” You slip the masquerade mask around her face, grinning at the effect of it. You’d bought it when she wasn’t paying attention; a sleek, silvery mask that resembled a swan. It goes remarkably well with the black material of her dress, the smooth black loosening into almost wistful grey at the bottom. She’s a summer night, and you’re helpless to those stars. “And who doesn’t love a themed party?”

“Well, let’s hope these at least give you more cover than last time. Don’t want you to be recognized again.” Natasha finishes the last touches of your makeup, grinning to herself. She reaches out with her thumb to rub at your bottom lip, probably to wipe away some lipstick, but lingers just a touch longer than necessary. She takes a step back, as if to clear her mind from your presence, and grins. “You look fantastic.”

“Not as good as you,” you tell her, eyeing yourself up in the mirror. “I don’t even recognize myself.”

“That’s a good thing, remember?”

Your dress is a deep, deep purple that shimmers under certain lighting. Your mask resembles a butterfly’s wings, intricate glittered patterns exaggerating the beautiful features. Because both of your gowns trail to your feet, you and Natasha holstered weapons beneath the skirts. You made sure she had a stake on her, just in case, as well as whatever else she wanted to use. 

Before leaving, you feed on one of the blood pouches that you’ve been regularly provided. They started keeping them in solid black bags, except for the few times Tony Stark managed to put some strange label on them. ‘Capri-Sun’ claimed to be some sort of ‘all-natural’ juice, but apparently they come in pouches like this. What sort of natural juice comes in a fucking pouch?

Futhermore, the amount of fruit and vegetables you don’t recognize is fundamentally alarming. What the absolute hell did they do to bananas and why? And watermelons, too! You make a mental note to ask Natasha what the fuck is happening to the natural food sources when you finally pull up to the building the masquerade is being held in.

It’s some sort of hall that’s definitely rented out regularly by the rich and snobby. The architecture is beautiful and ornate, though you expect nothing less from the elite of Europe. Some things never change. 

The rest of the attendees are as extravagantly dressed as you’d predicted. You keep an arm around Natasha as you lead her through to the main area, where bodies are pressed together and happily mingling. 

“Most of them are business owners and politicians,” Natasha notes quietly. “From all over.”

“How can you tell?” You snort. “You can’t even see their faces.”

“Wouldn’t that be the point of a masquerade?” She questions. “If the paps happened to get wind, they’d have a hard time getting a real scandal out of it.”

“You’ve got a point,” you hum. 

Something itches in the back of your mind. The sense that a supernatural is here, lurking, and it makes your skin crawl. Natasha stiffens a little, her eyes focusing straight ahead. You follow her gaze to where two marble staircases meet, a huge statue between them. You stop dead in your tracks, a familiar cold rush running through your entire body.

Depictions of her all over the world vary, but there’s a consistent factor: her beauty. The statue is so life-like in its details, you almost thought it was REAL. The veil, the robes that drape across her curvy features like water. Her face is hidden, but you can see her smile from here. A wicked smile, barely containing extended fangs. One hand is outstretched with an apple in her palm; the other rests at her side, just beside a dagger barely concealed by the rest of her robe.

“Nat,” you murmur. “That’s-”

“The Maiden of Death,” an unfamiliar voice makes you nearly jump. It’s a friendly looking man, definitely human by the smell of him. He has a very faint accent, though you can’t place where it’s from. “Commissioned by Lady Elana herself.” His mask is a fox, or something similar to it. The scarlet of the mask matches his tie, and he looks just a little bit out of place amidst the rest of the dramatically decorated guests.

“She’s fond of the occult, then?” You inquire, trying to sound casual despite the sickening feeling twisting in your gut.

“What?” The man blinks. “Oh, I suppose it appears rather dark. I’ve heard she’s fond of ancient history, so I wouldn’t be surprised if she found an interest in mythology.”

You grit your teeth together. If this man is going to be useless, you have no time to listen to him. 

“Is she here now?” Natasha asks, her tone oddly flirtatious.

“The Lady likes to make her presence known once the guests have all arrived,” he explains. “You know how she is.”

“Yeah,” you tighten your grip around Natasha just a little bit, not hiding your displeased expression. “I think they’ve brought out the champagne.”

Natasha gives you a sly smirk, but nods, following you through the crowd until you’ve reached the large serving table. Sure enough, the champagne is out and you hastily hand a fluke to Natasha. The redhead eyes you questioningly, and then flicks her gaze to the statue. The table is closer to it, allowing a perfect view of the exposed smirk of the Goddess.

“Is that the one who…?” Natasha asks quietly, audible only to your ears. You nod subtly, sipping your own champagne with a scowl. Eating and drinking just isn’t fun when you feel no satisfaction from it. “So, I guess the odds of this person being a friend are…”

“Slim to none,” you confirm softly, looping your arm back with hers. A wave of emotion has suddenly overcome you, just as it had at the ballet. This time, though, it’s so intense you have to stop yourself from pulling the redhead into you. You force yourself to take another sip, the orchestra beginning to play a familiar jaunty tune. 

“I feel like I went back in time,” Natasha jokes as the partygoers begin to flit around the dance floor. 

You hum, watching the way her lips press against the glass, her throat bobbing as she swallows. You notice you aren’t the only one watching - men always look at Natasha like that. It definitely bothered you before but it was easy to hide it; at the moment, though, all you can think about is mine. 

“Do you want to dance?” You ask, hoping you sound less annoyed than you feel.

Natasha, puzzled but blushing slightly, nods. You finish your drinks and you lead her onto the dancefloor with an odd determination. You can’t quite control yourself, thoughts consumed only by Natasha. You definitely hadn’t had enough alcohol to be this impaired - especially as a vampire - and Natasha was far from a lightweight, but if you didn’t know any better, you’d say her gaze was just the faintest bit cloudy.

Once you’re able to put your arms around her, you’re lost to the rising storm beneath the surface of your skin. It’s unsettling without the drum of a heartbeat, but your slowed beat quickens noticeably. Natasha seems to have a bit more awareness, her fingers toying with the enchanted ring as she keeps her arms around your neck. Your hands at her waist, you guide her through what few slow dances you remember without making it look too obvious that you’re fighting the urge to capture her lips with your own.

A powerful scent hits your nose, sweet and floral. Roses and wildflowers, a summer afternoon. And suddenly you’re drowning in Natasha. Her pupils are dilated, her own heart leaping into action as you mindlessly lead her away from the main hall and towards a sectioned off hallway.

You push Natasha against a stone column with a little too much force, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Her legs wrap around your waist easily, your lips clashing together with such force and passion you’re dizzy for a moment. Her lips are softer than you’d imagined them to be, warm and wet and welcoming as you deepen the kiss by shoving your masks aside and plunging your tongue into her mouth.

You swallow her quiet noises eagerly, relishing in the desire flooding through the both of you. Her hips grind hard against you, your hands pushing the skirt of her dress up and up and-

Wait.

With a shock, you realize that cloudiness has faded. You’re still horny as hell, and this is definitely something you’d like to continue, but the force that had made you lose yourself into the feeling has loosened its grip on your mind.

Natasha stiffens, taking a sharp breath. Your name leaves her swollen lips in a rasped whisper. 

“Lady Elana is a succubus,” you murmur.

A delighted cackle makes your skin crawl. You set Natasha down before facing the unearthly beautiful woman standing in the archway separating this section from the rest of the building. She’s gorgeous - velvet-smooth voice, naturally plump lips and curves. The more popularized version of the ideal woman, at this point in time. 

“I was wondering when you would figure it out, sweet thing,” she croons, taking a step towards you. Her dress is long, a train behind it and everything. She still manages to walk with grace and confidence, like you were any normal party guests and this was a regular conversation. Of course, this is neither of those things. “Though I shouldn’t be surprised you can’t tell the difference between your own carnal desires and your… influenced ones.”

“Enough of your games,” you snarl, showing your fangs in a dangerous smirk. “We didn’t come here to be toyed with like puppets.”

She rolls her eyes, placing a hand on her hip and pushing her hair over her shoulder. “Please,” she scoffs. “You needed the push. You’re the most powerful vampire and you can’t even let go of your own human idiocy-”

“Wait, stop,” you interrupt. “What are you talking about?”

Her eyes widen. “Tally-kins told me you were nearly helpless but I hadn’t realized-”

“Do all supernatural creatures talk in riddles?” Natasha asks.

You snort. “Practically-”

“I also didn’t realize she was serious about your… pet.” She eyes Natasha curiously, but there’s a dangerous smile on her face that you don’t like. “She’s a lovely specimen.”

“She’s not a pet,” you instinctively step in front of Natasha, blocking her from the hungry gaze of the demon. “And I’m tired of riddles.”

“Well,” Elana crosses her arms over her chest. “You know as well as anyone how this works.”

“Information doesn’t come easily, yeah,” you roll your eyes. “Ridiculous attempt at civilizing a bunch of-”

“Insulting me is a poor way of getting information, VAN-HELSING.” Elana warns, a flash of red in her gaze. 

You take a forcefully steady breath. “Alright, Lady Elana,” you begin with what you hope is a sweet tone, “please explain to me what this prophecy is. How am I the most powerful vampire?”

She lights up immediately, like a kid in a candy store. She pauses and looks around suspiciously. “Not here,” She whispers, nodding towards a door not far off. “That’s an old storage room. C’mon.”

Both you and Natasha hesitate before following, exchanging nervous glances. Her hair, you realize, has become messy and her mask is still hanging loosely around her neck. Yours is much the same, forgotten and irritating as you slip into the dark storage room.

Elana flicks on a light, illuminating dusty old boxes and crates filled with who-knows-what. She eyes you and Natasha for a long time, seemingly contemplating how best to begin. You wait as patiently as you can, though you’re achingly aware of the way Natasha’s lips had been pressed to yours mere minutes ago. You’re still aching for that touch, the fire she spread deep into your core.

Maybe that’s Elana’s influence again.

“Ever since he was created, Harkon was destined for his Throne. He absorbed his Goddess, drank of her blood and took her powers. His Throne is all that remains of her,” Elana begins quietly. You lean forward with a frown. “As the Goddess of fate, she ensured a prophecy that would remove him from his crown.”

“She can just… do that?” Natasha snorts.

Elana frowns gravely at her. “Contrary to what the Helsings taught, she was not a malicious force. Being from the Underworld doesn’t mean you’re a monster.” At this, the succubus glares directly at you. “The prophecy bound Harkon to a family of noble warriors who had once worshipped her. If a child of that family were ever to be turned by Harkon, they would become the product of two powerful and conflicting magicks. A perfect storm to defeat the King.”

You stare blankly at her. “You can’t- you can’t seriously be suggesting that-”

“You,” her expression is entirely serious, as opposed to her seemingly natural teasing attitude, “are going to travel the rings of the Underworld to confront Harkon’s true demonic form and stop the end of the world.” She takes in your gaping expression before adding, “I suppose you would have preferred a riddle?”

“This- this doesn’t make sense.” You shake your head. “Arthur was- he was bitten-”

“By a vampire lover of his,” she chuckles mischievously. “She was powerful, yes, but his turning was not what began the incident a century ago.”

“Then what was?” You can’t hide the desperation in your voice.

She hesitates a moment. “Your brother was involved, yes,” she licks her lips slowly. “But only as the sacrifice that needed to be made to bring the savior.”

Your heart clenches painfully; a surprising reaction given your current state of existence. “I-I caused it? And I’m causing it again?”

“I’m afraid so.” Elana, to her credit, really does look apologetic. “But your victory is important to more than the vampires. Harkon had overthrown so many overlords in the Underworld - freeing his reign would improve life for all of us.”

“Why would I want to help demons?” You snap.

“Because,” Elana’s eyes narrow. “Your human concept of good and evil, of heaven and hell, are miniscule compared to reality. Come now, you’re a Helsing. This should be common sense.”

“So that’s it, then? That’s my fate? Waltz into Hell and overthrow the devil?”

“No,” Elana smirks. “Waltz into Hell and overthrow a God.”

- - - - -

You don’t talk about what had happened when you return to the hotel. You just change into your pajamas and lay in the dark while Natasha sleeps, your mind running through several different thoughts all at once.

Another apocalypse was coming. The apocalypse, apparently. One that will be a hell of a lot harder to stop than the previous. One that requires you traveling into the unknown. You’ve journeyed through dark forests, ancient towns and broken castles - but you have never walked through the Underworld.

Could you trust what Elana said? That not all demons were bad? That those from the Underworld weren’t just forces of evil? It was too complicated, too complex to understand and sort through. Even worse, it sounds like you have no choice in this. Fate was always a looming figure in your life. When Arthur was the heir and the favorite; when you became the heir… now you realize, even when Arthur had the family magic, he was never the true heir. He never excelled the way you did, never committed like you.

This was always your destiny. To become this monster. To become- become-

You don’t have any other options, do you?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tags! @nobody13​ @fireflyglass @swords-are-cool​ @artapdarkstr @pasta-bandit​ @multi-images @blackxwidowsxwife​ @angelwolf-20258​ @bebe404​ @fayhar @darkangelxoxo @username23345​ @blackluthxr​ @meloncholymaz @imdreamingblo​ @tomy5girls​ @trikruismybitch​ @rice-wifee

[sadclearance]

right hand

pairing: katsuki bakugo x male!reader

summary: 5 things bakugo uses his right hand for + 1 thing bakugo uses his left hand for *wrote with “left hand” being in mind as a prequel, but can also be read as a standalone 

category: fluff

warning(s): none

word count: 1500

key:

s/t - skin tone

i.

when they were in high school, midoriya izuku noticed that bakugo katsuki--his childhood friend and bully--always started fights with a right hook.

which was incredibly powerful, albeit predictable.

midoriya still remembers a specific sunny morning in their third year when this expected yet efficient move was used for something that wasn't exactly a fight. a second year had made the unbelievably stupid mistake of--

"watch it, dumbass!"

and immediately after bakugo caught y/n before he could fall on his ass, bakugo's right fist met with the second year's nose, successfully breaking it and scorching off the hairs of the kid's eyebrows.

at the time, nobody really thought anything of it. bakugo was protective of the few people that he considered--but would never outright admit--to be his friends, and y/n was one of them.

ii.

but it was at the christmas social event that was held for the third years to get a chance to make connections as well as have fun before the end of their student years that it became clear that it was much much more than just friends looking out for each other.

"what're you doing all alone?" kaminari asked as he leaned against the wall next to y/n.

"everyone's either flirting with pro heroes or kissing their asses, and i'm not really in the mood to do either."

"yeah, i can see that," kaminari snickered as mineta got slapped in the face by mount lady after both a series of terrible flirting and a horrendous attempt to literally kiss her ass.

"surprised you're not doing the same."

"well..." kaminari said as he pointed up. he was wearing a hat with a hanging mistletoe.

"how not unexpected," y/n laughed.

"you know the tradition," kaminari winked pointing at his lips.

"okay, okay. for the holiday spirit--"

and as y/n leaned in to give kaminari a peck, a strong right hand grabbed his chin, and his lips met with a pair that belonged to someone else.

kaminari was too shocked to be disappointed after being pushed away by none other than bakugo.

"fuck off, dunce face," bakugo said before crashing his lips against y/n's.

that was one hell of a way to find out that two of his best friends were dating.

iii.

bakugo's jealousy only got worse after graduation.

but to be fair, that was his own fault.

he may have chilled out since their time together as first years, but he was still a headstrong ambitious hero.

they didn't go public with their relationship because bakugo figured it would be distracting to his goal.

which was a decision that he immediately regretted when he remembered just how attractive y/n was--something that other people clearly appreciated as well.

y/n got gifts, compliments, and very suggestive comments wherever he went, which did nothing but fuel bakugo's anger and displeasure.

there was a solution to this problem, and it was to let it be known to the world that y/n was his and his only.

instead of doing what normal couples do and going to an interviewer or announcing their relationship on his social media accounts, bakugo decided to--

"so... y/n," the barista looked at the name she just wrote on the cup and then back to y/n. "are you seeing anybody?"

"what's taking so fucking long?" bakugo asked as he came up behind y/n, right hand harshly meeting y/n's left ass cheek.

"ow! what the hell? there's paparazzi right outside of the window," y/n scolded, gesturing toward the crowd of people with cameras on the other side of the glass wall.

bakugo's only response was to press a kiss against y/n's lips, smirking into it as he saw a flash of light in the corner of his eye, fully aware of the fact that his hand was still on y/n's ass.

iv.

when he saw a building crumbling on top of y/n, he knew what he had to do.

he had faced a similar obstacle to this in his first year of high school, when he was up against round face--ochako. she had collected rubble that he had unknowingly provided and gathered it all up to the sky, later using it as a weapon by making it rain down on bakugo.

a building, however, had much more stone than a collection of collateral concrete that an individual collected over only a few minutes.

"y/n!" he shouted.

recreating the move from his first year, he raised his right hand and released a massive explosion--one much larger than the original maneuver.

he had succeeded for the most part. small bits of rubble rained down on them, but it was more like getting hit by hail than being buried by a boulder.

"bakugo!"

the mentioned man gritted his teeth and pressed the rough fingers of his left hand into his terribly cramped and pained right hand.

"you overdid it, you idiot!"

y/n rushed to get medical attention, and bakugo reluctantly let himself be pulled around.

he would've crudely yelled back that he didn't need help, but the worried look on y/n's face stopped him.

"i'm not gonna die, dumbass," bakugo rolled his eyes. the words were intended to come off harsher, and more like bakugo insulting a subordinate for not being able to see the obvious, but they came out closer to a soft reassurance instead.

"do that again, and i'll kill you myself," y/n glared. he looked more like an angry puppy.

"as if you could even land a hit on m--"

y/n's lips shut him up.

"even though that was the stupidest thing i've ever seen, thank you for saving me," y/n smiled, rubbing soft circles into bakugo's right hand.

"'stupidest thing you've ever seen'..." bakugo grumbled.

v.

"what the fuck are you doing?"

it's been a habit to hold hands while doing almost anything since their time together at u.a.

hell, they used to hold hands throughout basically all of high school except during hero training.

subjects like math, language, history--they didn't require both hands. they only needed to write on a piece of paper, and they only needed their dominant hands for that.

so it comes as no surprise that that habit followed them to their pro hero years, pale left hand entwined with s/t right hand as they finish their paperwork.

bakugo's confusion was prompted by y/n's sudden fascination with his right hand.

"i rarely ever give this one attention," y/n shrugged.

"it's not its own being. like a pet or a person."

the look bakugo gave y/n told him that he was the biggest dumbass in history, but y/n ignored it in favor of responding, "still a part of you i rarely get a piece of."

"i hate the way you worded that, creep..."

"you're still blushing."

"in your fucking dreams!"

+i.

going to a nice place was somewhat out of the ordinary for the two of them.

bakugo was focused on being the top hero, and being the top hero meant sacrificing a lot of time.

y/n doesn't know what changed bakugo's mind so suddenly, but he wasn't about to reject a once in a lifetime opportunity.

"the breeze is so nice," y/n breathed in the fresh air of the beach.

he had ran up to the gorgeous ocean, cold water hitting his bare legs while he tried to convince bakugo to join him.

"not up to the challenge? that's rare," y/n teased, turning his back to him and going deeper into the sea.

"oh, shut your trap! i have a damn good reason."

"yeah, i'm sure you do. you sure you aren't just cold?"

"i said shut the fuck up!"

"okay, okay," y/n complied and entertained himself with the vibrant blue waves.

"i love you," came bakugo's voice abruptly.

"that's weird, you never say it first, especially not without any form or profan--" y/n turned around to give bakugo a ridiculous look, laughing as he did, only to stop almost immediately.

"fuck y--" bakugo had to stop his habitual reflex. "marry me... dumbass?"

bakugo with a nervous tone, one knee in the sand, struggling to not get up because of the annoying shifting and imbalance, and a ring in his hands was a priceless sight to see.

"yes! yes! yes!" y/n ran back to the dry sand.

bakugo grinned and accepted the kiss but broke it off sooner than he would've liked for the fear of dropping the ring and losing it to the waves.

he slid the ring on y/n's hand with a proud smile before y/n demanded to have the other ring.

"shit, calm down," bakugo laughed, but he couldn't help but feel happy that y/n was just as ecstatic.

although he was the one to say that, bakugo's left hand struggled to stay still as y/n put the ring on bakugo's ring finger.

"i love you," y/n pressed his lips against the trembling left hand once he was done.

with the rings safely on their hands, bakugo could freely go back to enjoying the treasure that was y/n's lips.

❥๑━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━๑❥

a/n;

a sequel exactly a month after

i like this format because i'm shit at transitions

i mean just look at the shift from iii to iv...

i had an idea for the right hand theme for a while now since the battle trials when izuku mentioned the right hook thing but i was like woah i could do it with this while writing left hand

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Free Day Thursday

(Everybody Lives au, Remastered)

The young man lying in the hospital bed hadn’t moved since collapsing in the remains of Kamino Ward. Whatever had made Kurogiri’s portal flicker red like that, it must’ve had an adverse effect on the people who had fallen out of it. The elderly woman had been rushed into surgery and wasn’t out yet. That just left the young woman to answer their questions, but she hadn’t left the young man's side since he was brought to the hospital, and the doctors were very protective of their charges.

If it hadn’t been for the Pro Hero licenses the girl had turned over to authorities before leaving the ward, her brother might’ve been handcuffed to the hospital bed regardless of her presence. His resemblance to Shigaraki was, after all, uncanny. Even more unmistakable than the girl's resemblance to Nana Shimura, not that most heroes knew about that particular wrinkle.

Unfortunately for everyone, both siblings had been carrying the elderly woman to the ambulance, and the blood from when she had slammed into that crumbling wall had soaked into the cards. The ink was barely legible now on the boy's, and almost fully illegible on the girl's. All authorities could tell was that the young man was named “Tenko” something, and the young lady's name began with "H". If she had not told EMTs that her name was Hana, in a rushed and distracted manner, nobody would have known who she was.

It wasn’t until All Might visited, having escaped the doctors for a checkup, that anything happened to clear up the questions of identity.

“All Might, you know they’re just trying to help, right?” Detective Tsukauchi sighed as he followed All Might into the room.

“They act like I’m going to keel over dead any second,” All Might huffed bitterly. “You’d think they’d never seen a quirkless man before.”

There was a sudden rustling from the bed that caught their attention. The patient was staring at them with unfocused eyes. He seemed agitated.

“All…Might…?” he croaked.

The detective quickly pushed the call nurse button and sat down next to the bed.

“Oh! Hello there! Did we wake you up? I’m sorry about that.” He smiled sympathetically. “I bet you’re probably pretty thirsty, huh?”

The boy turned his head to examine the IV with a befuddled expression, then nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

"No sister today?"

Tenko began to look alarmed. "Where's...Hana?"

All Might grimaced. "Tsukauchi, I don't think he's been lucid until now," he scolded gently, "Don't scare the kid."

The detective made an apologetic noise and bowed his head. "Sorry about that!" he said again, "Hana is usually here, the nurses told me, so she must have just stepped out for a second."

Tenko leaned back and sighed in relief. With halting, weary, hands, he reached up to brush unkempt bangs out of his face. "That's...good," he mumbled, "She promised. She's always there to s- save me."

Now that he was seeing Tenko up close, a cold shiver ran down All Might’s spine. Even with his sunken cheek and facial scars, he was still recognizable. From the curve of his jaw to the small birthmark on the right side of his chin; All Might had seen that facial structure before.

The similarities became even more evident when the young man smiled weakly at him. “Hana was right! You are alive!” He sighed. “It worked! I was…so afraid it would be…for nothing.”

Tsukauchi exchanged a glance with All Might. “What do you mean? Did you come through the portal to try to help All Might?”

The nurse entered at that moment, and the questions paused. Especially seeing as she had brought the patient's sister with her. Once again, All Might was shaken by her resemblance to Nana, though she couldn't have been older than twenty or so. He had to take hold of Tsukauchi's arm to physically steady himself as the girl flew past them to her brother's side.

"You're awake!" she gasped, then flicked him in the forehead. "You waited until the one time I wasn't here to wake up? You jerk!"

"Don' hit me!" Tenko pouted, "I'm tired!"

He looked around again, and asked in a small voice, "Where's Gram?"

Hana let the nurse gently shoo her away from the bedside so that she could check Tenko's vitals.

"She's in another surgery," Hana admitted. "Her arm got pretty mangled, but the doctor said it's fixable. I'm more worried about how we're going to pay for all this."

Her brother's eyes widened. He gingerly accepted the large cup of water the nurse handed him and stared down into it. "Aw crap, you're right. We're still broke." He settled back against the pillow, looking no less concerned than before.

“He’s still recovering from Quirk Exhaustion,” the nurse said, turning briskly, “I’m sorry, Detective, All Might, I need to ask you both to leave. Family only, right now.”

Tenko frowned. “Wait…don’t go!”

The nurse sighed. “They can visit in a little while,” she assured him, “But right now, you need to be able to rest and recuperate without getting so agitated. The doctor will be in before long to talk to you.”

All Might forced a smile, even as his mind raced. “It’s alright, young man. We won’t go far.”

Several different emotions flickered across Tenko’s face. Hurt, concern, even resignation.

“You don’t…know us,” Hana said dully, speaking for them both. “You didn’t know us here, right?”

All Might turned to face him. “I’m afraid I’ve never met you face to face before today,” he said carefully. He had a suspicion. He wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe All for One had just been lying again. But he didn’t know.

Tenko sipped at his water and bit his scarred lip. “It’s going to sound crazy.”

All Might managed a genuine chuckle at that. “My dear young man, so does most of my life.”

With a half smile, Tenko mumbled, “That’s true.” Then, ignoring the impatience of the nurse, he leaned his head against Hana's shoulder and said, “I’m…My name is Tenko Shimura.”

"And I'm Hana Shimura." Hana met his eyes for a brief moment, then looked away. "You...might be kind of...you're our uncle."

One look at Tsukauchi’s dumbstruck face was all the confirmation All Might needed.

Now they just needed to know how.

[wyn-n-tonic]

Golden, Like Daylight -- Part IV

Word Count: 1,925 Warnings: PTSD. Drug use. Ben Affleck. Panic attacks. Bullet wounds. Smut (not explicit but it's there). A/N: Your kind words mean literally everything to me and I have been sobbing between the warmth shown to me over this series and also how much I love Francisco Morales and want the absolute best for him.

MASTERLIST | PART: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX

Gif by: @uuuhshiny

Luna hasn’t stopped wailing since Sunday, the one and only day Frankie said he wouldn’t be able to call.

It’s Thursday and both their lungs are close to giving out.

One Morales woman hyperventilating herself into fitful sleeps, the other only sobbing through held breaths in stolen lonely moments of peace and quiet.

Kristyn had taken up residence in the spare room, making sure Leah slept and ate. She was the one who cashed in Leah’s sick days with the school, forging a bullshit sick note when she went into work.

Leah is currently distraught because her husband might be dead in South America, we don’t know.

That’s what the first one said, dashed out on the keyboard in a petty moment of frustration. She might be the only one of Leah’s sisters who didn't want to lob his fucking head off every time she shed a tear but it didn’t mean she never wanted to do it.

Patient is suffering from a prolonged migraine and intensive nausea. Follow up appointment scheduled for next Thursday at 9am.

That should fucking do it but she’ll have to start checking off the vacation days soon. Dip into family leave for Luna.

Alexa held her on that first Monday, talking her through the panic in a puddle of spilled coffee. The paper cup splashing across their knees in the hallway as concern emanated from the AP Lit room at their backs.

Somewhere at the base of the Andes, her husband was being pried out of a crashed helicopter by the only other men she’d ever truly loved. William was shot, Benny was reckless. She felt it all in her body as she was driven home, helped into the shower, held in her bed but not by the arms she craved.

“He's coming home,” Deana brought dinner that night, her big sister cutting into her steak like she was a child at risk of choking again, “he will do anything he can to make sure of that.”

“What if he doesn’t, D?” Leah’s taken on the stare, everything and nothing all at once, “what if he doesn’t come home this time?”

“I promise you, Lee, okay?” She reaches out to push aside hair damp with tears, “I've never seen a man so in love.”

“Yeah…” she’s quiet, “he promised me too.”

And she told him to stop making promises because he doesn’t keep them.

I think you put a baby in me, Francisco Morales.

The tears well over her eyes, spilling onto already salt stained cheeks.

He made love to her like it was the last time he would ever see her, the last chance he would ever get. He poured his entire being into her, drunk off the feel of their bodies together. She could feel him in the hollow of her ribs, an aching that called out for the comfort of his beating heart against hers again.

Would that be so bad?

She sobbed out, startling Luna’s own ragged cries again, afraid that she would never know warmth against her cold hands again.

—————

“Hey,” they're huddled against the onslaught beneath a barely-there cliff, labored breathing in tandem, “you still with me?”

Frankie’s panic attack came on slowly, a rolling storm in the distance the moment the helo crashed in the valley.

Bad landing.

His fight or flight response has his lungs in a vice grip but he still manages a laugh, “I think I should be the one asking you that.”

“You know it’s gonna take a lot more than a stray bullet to fuck me off,” he’s smiling but Frankie knows how much blood he’s lost, how long it takes for a wound like that to clot without medical intervention.

It’s true, it’ll take a lot more than a stray bullet to take William Miller but that was before, when they had back up. Out here, though? Surrounded by his brothers in arms? Having done what he just did?

Francisco Morales has never felt more alone.

“Fish,” William hits his knee against his, “where are you?”

His eyes refocus on the tepid water pounding all around him, the world coming back as he takes a deep breath, “are you afraid, Will?”

“You gotta be more specific, Frank, I’m terrified of everything.”

He’s quiet when he speaks, “me too,” barely above the downpour.

He sees Will nod in his peripheral, “I know.”

“Will, I’m afraid I’ll never see them again,” and when he chokes, he realizes he’s been crying.

“No, you can’t think like that.”

“I know, but I can’t stop it either, like…” trailing off, he lifts his face to the pressure of the water; it’s the sweetest thing he’s felt in days, “what if this is the last shower I ever take?”

“Fish…” Will reaches for him but he’s cut short.

“No, listen to me. If anything happens to me out he—“

“Nothing is going to fucking hap—"

“Shut up and let me finish,” his rage and sadness is burning hot through him, it takes everything within his being not to choke on air as he speaks again. “If anything happens to me out here, Will, take care of my girls. Please.”

The blond nods his head, heavy with exhaustion and pain, “until the very end of my life, Frankie.”

The relief that spreads through his body is better than any drug he ever tried, he feels himself slipping into an upright sleep, his heart at peace for the first time since he left his bed.

“But,” Will’s voice catches him on the edge of consciousness, “I would also face down the end of my life to make sure you see them again, do you understand me? If the only thing standing between you and a bullet is me, don’t fight. Leave me there and run like hell. You’re going back to your family.”

“But if I don’t make it…”

“Fish,” Will's laugh is drenched in the space between them, “are you saying it’s your last will and testament for me to marry your wife?”

“Fuck off,” his words are clipped, strained, “and don’t call me Fish.”

—————

They still, eyes up to the screen of the baby monitor as they hold their breath for another sound from Luna’s room. The baby settles back into silence, her small chest rising and falling on the grainy feed.

He remembers Leah opening the military grade surveillance equipment at the baby shower, the shake of her laughter as she held onto Benny’s shoulder to anchor herself to the chair.

“Should we check on her?” It’s small, a rushed question of a concerned mother.

“I said a baby monitor, Benjamin, not a prison security camera.”

“Absolutely not,” Ben grabs her hand, “This is better than any of that shit you’ll find at Target. Video means there’s no wondering either, you can just look up and assess the situation, more rest. That’s important, you’ll need to savor the little that you get.”

He pushes a lock of hair from her face, damp with the tears of the day and the sweat of the night, “no, baby, we don’t want to disturb her.”

“Yeah,” Will chimes in, his beer bottle held loosely in his hands, “Frankie should’ve been training you on sleep deprivation this whole time, you’re spec ops yourself now.”

“But what if she wakes up?”

“Well…” the corner of his mouth lifts to close the fan at the corner of his eyes, “it’s a good thing she can’t see us through that thing, right?”

“Francisc—“ the irritation of his name is finished in a heady moan lured from her body by another slow drag of his hips.

The crook of his nose slots against hers as he finds her lips again, the warmth of the room around them is nothing compared to their mouths on each other. Bathing in shared heat, her fingers entwine into the curls at the crown of his head, the other hand palm up to his chest. And as the beating of his heart races towards her burning touch, he submerges himself once again.

His firm grip holds the hinge in her leg, fingers digging into the sensitive skin that fills her lungs with fits of laughter and light. He braces himself against the bed, the aching in his forearm dulled by the soft, breathless whimpers intoxicating his entire being.

His voice is washed out when he finds it, “mi sol,” lips dragging across her own, “mis estrellas.”

Her eyes find his, heavy with admiration and trust. “Francisco,” she is drunk and drowning in the love of this man, “finish me.”

He shifts to cradle her jaw and as he trails his other hand up her thigh, he sinks within her once more. Finding his release against her own, he is convinced they’ll never be able to fully untangle again.

He presses a kiss to her nose.

My sun.

Her forehead.

My stars.

Her lips.

My whole sky.

—————

I think you put a baby in me, Francisco Morales.

He snaps back to reality, Santi and Tom’s voices echoing all around them.

His head is hot, he’s pushing past Will with concern set so deeply in his eyes he fears he’ll break right there.

Would that be so bad?

“Fucking bullshit!” Tom’s face is red, Santi having finally said what all of them are thinking.

He feels the weight of Leah in every fiber of his being, slotted perfectly against his body.

“We're all on the hook for this, are we not?”

I should’ve said no.

“God damn this fucking horse! Stop it!”

All those years blinded by loyalty to authority, Frankie never talked back to his leader but the man in front of him isn’t a leader. He’s a whiny child who’s lost his toys and Frankie hates him.

Biting back what he wants to say, he holds his hand up in a show of camaraderie, “Relax.” His finger quirks up as if he’s scolding a tantrum, “Relax. We’re not picking at the fucking scab right now, okay?”

Tom stares him down, like he’s weighing an argument against him too but Frankie’s done. He meets the taller man’s gaze, this man he would’ve died for.

“One foot in front of the other. Come on.”

This man he almost has died for.

“Let's go. Jesus fucking Christ.”

His true allegiances don’t lie to this man anymore or the gun at his hip. Not the money or the mules. He left that splintered fantasy about twenty feet back.

He’d throw this man over if it meant going home right now.

The money too.

None of it is worth a goddamn thing to him if it means he’ll never see the way that the light bounces off the gold in Leah Morales’ eyes ever again.

The same honeyed flakes in the brown of his daughter’s bright gaze.

I think you put a baby in me, Francisco Morales.

He made love to her like it was the last time he would ever see her, the last chance he would ever get. He wanted to pour his entire being into that woman, ensure that he would live on if lost to the Colombian jungle off a narco's bullet.

Would that be so bad?

He was scared but, truly, would it be so bad?

But it would be because he could truly leave her with nothing. No money, no husband, no father to her babies.

He lost count of the days he hadn’t called.

He makes his way up the mountain, following Tom’s bitching, wishing it was Leah leading him home instead.

TAG LIST: @justanotherblonde23 | @greeneyedblondie44 | @icanbeyourjedi | @princess76179 | @bbuckysbeardd | @notcookiebelle | @knivesareout | @empress-palpat1ne​

[xirenex]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Promise That You Won’t Leave

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Group: Ateez

Member: Choi San

Genre: Angst

Word count: 1362

Trigger warning: mentions of terminal disease (please don’t read if you are uncomfortable with this. I changed the first version to be less obvious but cried nevertheless)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You opened your eyes and reached the glass of water that was prepared for you on the nightstand with an uncontrollable thirst, breathing heavily. Your eyes went towards the wide windows that covered half a wall of your hospital room. Shiber plushie was smiling to you from its place on the sofa while the usual keys were nowhere to be seen. Just when you reached towards the button that was for the purpose of calling the nurse as a wave of nausea hit you, your phone that had been put to silent mode started vibrating. Seeing the caller id, you decided that you could hold on for longer since he would panic if you were not to answer the phone.

“Hey, love.”

“Hi. Did I wake you?”

You smiled automatically after hearing his voice.

“Nope. I just woke up so... perfect timing.”

You heard a car door opening from the other end of the phone.

“I called you to tell you that I was called in by the company. You were sleeping so peacefully that I found it a waste to wake you up. I’m on my way back though.”

From his end of the call, the background filled with the sound of the car engine while the small amount of food that you had for lunch was poking your insides.

“Thank you, I rested well. Hey... uhm... I’m going to hang up. Drive safe, okay?”

“Is something the matter?”

His voice filled with worry but you thought there was no need to tell him your regular uncomfortable situation so, you just decided to ease his mind for now. He would learn it from the nurses when he arrived anyway. You wouldn’t want him to be distracted in traffic.

“I’m fine. I just have to use the restroom. Stop worrying and focus on the road.”

“Okay, baby. I’ll see yo-“

“See you later San.”

You hung up without waiting for him to finish his line and totally forgot to use a pet name before pulling up your weak body from the bed. You were barely able to reach the toilet. From the side of your eye, you saw the button on the wall with the same purpose as the one next to your bed. After pushing it, you leaned into the toilet while trying to hold your IVs in a safe position. A couple of seconds later, your appointed nurse came in to hold you through the time you threw up.

Just when you were about to lean back to take a breath, an anxious voice called your name.

“Y/N!”

San came running in and replaced the nurse. Since she was used to your boyfriend taking care of you, she left the room silently, leaving the door open in case you needed help. She would be back with a piece of bread and yoghurt since it always helped your stomach to calm down.

“Just a second, I need to brush my teeth.”

San nodded to your demand and helped you stand up. He was extremely cautious not to hurt you. After all that time you had to put up with this routine, you were nowhere close to your prior strong body condition and he was aware that tended to act rash under pressure. Although he was doing better compared to the first time you had learned of your disease, he tried his best to control himself in order to avoid hurting you.

You were held by your waist by him until you finished brushing your teeth and got back to your place in bed. Before you started on your treatment, you insisted on cutting your hair and not wait until it weakened. San and Woo both joined you by cutting off their hair with you, earning a good scolding from their manager, who by the way did the same after he learned of your sickness. Most of the time you’d have your wig on made from your own hair, you would reject the idea of being close to death. It could’ve been easier if you had the chance to simply take the surgery and -if possible- skip the medication part but the doctor found it safer to try increasing the success rate of the surgery with drugs first before taking you down to the operation room.

You cried the night you were admitted to the hospital while San was seeing the boys and your friends off. He was the one to hold you through each time you suffered, each time that play-pretend cracked and you saw the possibility your last moments in life come real in your dreams. You knew he was exhausted nearly as much as you were but never did he complained or left you alone for more than two hours.

That night, he was spooning you on your bed when a tear escaped your eye. Then, a kiss landed on your shoulder. You didn’t know that he had been awake this whole time, having the same fears that you did. The only sound in the room was the way he breathed your scent in. He couldn’t stop himself from opening his mouth when he felt another drop of tear that this time fell on his arm under your head. Then, he whispered without having even a slight hesitation.

“You will get through this.”

There were dreams you two made in your two years of relationship. Dreams that now seemed far away. Having diagnosed with a deadly disease at the age of twenty-five was draining especially with your parents being absent in sharing the burden with your boyfriend who was an idol. Not to mention the comments he got when he announced that he had a girlfriend just to ask them to give you both some privacy when you recognized paparazzi on your way to the hospital. The fans were divided: they were either supporting and swooning over how thoughtful he was or hateful towards you for putting him through this. You, too, felt guilty and gave him a chance to go. However, it was never in his nature to leave his loved ones especially if they were in a hard situation.

“San, you have to promise me...”

“Shh...”

He hushed you, refusing to hear the words that was about to leave your mouth. It wasn’t that you gave up but being face to face with your end, you didn’t want to take the chance of leaving without saying what was needed to be said.

“Listen to me.”

You tried to turn around to face him but nearly blocked your IV pathway while doing so. Being used to this clumsy attitude of yours, he saved your hand at the last second and held your shoulders, both of you now sitting on the bed.

“No you listen to me.”

His voice was a decibel lower than what could be considered as shouting. This made you panic but since you were not a teenager anymore, instead of trying to come up with an answer of denial, you shut up.

“You have no right to do that talk to me, Pumpkin.”

Even if his brows were furrowed from the anger and anxiety born from you talking about “what if”s, he used your pet name.

“I know what attitude this relationship deserves if things come to that but you are alive and well now. Maybe weaker and thinner but it’s still you. Just a couple of stars less from your adorable eyes. However, you are still the woman I love. Still the woman I will love forever. With all my heart and soul.”

You gulped and stopped the tears in his eyes from falling with your thumb.

“Therefore, you don’t get to talk to me about leaving me alone. I don’t allow you to. Never will. You will do your best to fight and I will force you to marry me afterwards because oh boy, you are not escaping me from now on.”

You chuckled while tears streamed down your face and hugged him tightly.

You were confident that you would only marry him, despite your refusal to the concept of marriage, if you were allowed to see the day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi again~ I would like to apologize for those inconvenienced by this fic. I was hesitant to publish it but came to do it somehow. For those that read through it thank you for taking your time to finish it and for those not, thank you for taking notice of the triggers and deciding what’s best for you.

P.S.: I don’t even know why I wrote something like this since this is a trigger for me too. God, why am I like this!?

See you soon~

[mediocre-writerr]

the nights [leah rilke]

leah rilke x reader

part 2 of 3:00

requested by anon: omg can we please get a second part of 3:00 where the girls come up with an escape plan and when leah goes to her room and she’s not there. she finds her hooked up to sedatives and did get sick like she was scared she would LETS CONTINUE THIS ANGST TRAIN

warning: mentions of overdose and ptsd

*not my gif*

“Isolation isn’t that bad,” you remember telling yourself that every time back before the island.

For example, whenever you said no to a party and they’d tease you about you would just say: “Isolation isn’t that bad,”

Turns out it is.

You don’t know what happened, but your PTSD got worse. The amount of times Dr. Fader was sending nurses in to sedate you was becoming more time than you could remember.

But as they kept coming in the less it started working and the more doses they started giving you.

You don’t remember what happened, but the entire day you were feeling a little uneasy. You had a bunch of dizziness, difficulty breathing, and felt cold the entire day. So you tried your best to fall asleep and for the first time ever you fell asleep peacefully. Little did you know, that your life was on the line.

The facility hallways were dark at night. After taking a page from Leah’s book the girls all snuck in napkins and shoved them in their doors. Everyone except for you, who apparently missed the memo because the girls were now on their way to grab you and get out of the shit hole.

Leah remembered putting the napkin there to allow you to walk in and out freely. But with your state of mind it was a lot harder for you to remember simple things.

She pushed open the door to see your room empty, even checking the bathroom to make sure you weren’t in there, but came up empty.

“Where is she?” Fatin whispered.

Leah shrugged, “I don’t know, but I don’t have a good feeling about this,”

“You never have a good feeling about anything,” Rachel pointed out and Dot smacked her arm, “What? I’m not lying,”

“We don’t have much time Leah, we got to find her if we want to get out of here,” Dot mentioned.

And for some reason the blue eyed paranoid brunette just knew. The aching feeling in her stomach just seemed to be proving her point.

She left her room in a quick dash leaving the other girls far behind, “Leah, wait,” Shelby whisper-yelled as the girls followed suit.

The brunette was already far ahead, walking as quickly as possible to the medical center. She peeked her head around the corner and made sure that there was no one there. Before entering the examination room.

And there you were. A IV hooked up to your arm and a ventilator covering your beautiful face. Leah let out a shaky breath rushing over to your side immediately, her face filled with tears.

She let out a small cry when she noticed a tube in your esophagus and a small machine sucking stuff up out and into this small bag.

“Baby, what happened?” she whispered, brushing the hair away from your face as she watched your sleeping face.

There was no way she could leave the facility now, not with you in this condition.

“Leah! How could you leave us-“ Toni was about to scold her when her eyes landed on your condition. The blue eyed girl turned towards her friends with tears pouring down her face.

“What the hell happened?” Fatin questioned.

Leah let out another muffled sob, “I knew. I knew she was struggling and I just wanted to be with her and stay with her, but they took her away. I knew she was going to be sick. I should’ve been with her, I should’ve,” she whispered over and over again.

Shelby rushed to her side, pulling her close and holding her. The two grew close ever since the incident where the blonde decided to cut her hair and have a small breakdown.

Dot just stood there in shock, horrid flashbacks started filling her mind from when her dad was sick. But she snapped it out of it as quickly as she could rubbing at her eyes.

She scanned the room for some type of chart and found one right by the door. As she skimmed over the chart she realized her mouth opened agape. All of the girls were sitting around your bedside or trying to console a now sobbing Leah.

“What happened Dot?” Leah asked, noticing the somber look on her face.

She didn’t quite know how to say it, but she tried her best, clearing her throat, “Y/N’s in a coma right now,” and that’s all it took for Leah to sob even louder, despite the crack in her voice Dot continued, “She was given too many shots of sedative liquids to the point where the higher does caused her to overdose,”

“They’ve been sedating her?” Rachel asked, “Like we’re in some fucked up asylum. Have they done it to anyone else?”

Most of the girls shook their head, but Leah nodded. It only happened to her twice, but never as more times as you experienced it.

“Agent Young found her unconscious in bed,” Dot whispered.

“I should’ve been there with her,” Leah mumbled.

Shelby wrapped her arms around the girl, “You couldn’t have known,”

“But I did. One night Agent Young got me out of my room to help her because her PTSD caused a panic attack. I knew she was gonna get sick and Dr. Fader came in and took me away. He wouldn’t let me stay with her and the next thing I know she’s in a fucking coma!” she explained.

“We can’t leave now guys,” Toni brought up, “Not with the state that she’s in. I don’t know about you guys, but we have lost way too many people to lose her too,”

“She needs us,” Fatin whispered.

There was a clearing of throat by the door. Everyone’s head snapped to the side. There Dr. Fader was, disappointed again at the sight of all of them out of their room.

“Why are you guys here? How did you even get out?” he asked, but none of the girls were going to answer, “All of you need to leave right now!”

“What are you gonna do, huh? Sedate us to the point of overdose like you did Y/N!” Toni screamed.

“See now that’s not fair, Y/N was struggling with some major anxiety and PTSD, she needed something to help keep her calm,” he explained.

Dot scoffed, “You’re a doctor, right?” he only nodded, “Then you should know that sedatives are highly addictive and your body gets used to them the more you use. You practically set her up for this!”

“I should’ve been there with her,” Leah finally mumbled, yet again, “I should’ve fucking been there with her!!”

Everyone seemed to shrink at the sound of her screams, “My girlfriend is on the brink of death because you wouldn’t let me stay with her. She didn’t need sedatives she needed me, she needed us!”

The girl collapsed back into the chair that she was once sitting in, lying her head on the edge of the bed. She grabbed your hand and intertwined your fingers together, your skin was cold against her warm ones. She squeezed your hand tightly.

“Love, please, I’m sorry. I should’ve been there, I should’ve been there,” Leah kept mumbling to you.

“There’s no harm in this,” Shelby tried to explain, “We just want to be here to support our friend and make sure she’s okay,”

“I’m sorry I can’t do that,” he snapped his fingers like an ominous villain in one of those classic movies.

There were five nurses with needles in their hands and bigger agents with them. Agent Young was nowhere to be seen. The agents wrapped their arms around each girl.

“Hey get your hands off of me!” Fatin screamed as the liquid was being shot through her.

Toni and Dot were putting up a fight even elbowing the agents in the face, but at the end of the day it was no use, “Fuck you!” Toni yelled before going limp along with Dot.

Every girl seemed to be out for the count when arms wrapped Leah to steady her. She flailed in their arms, “No let me go! Please! Just let me stay with her! Fuck!”

No one was listening to her though. She placed a small kiss against your cheek, trying her best to push off the inevitable doom.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve been there,” was all she could get out.

Isolation isn’t that bad.

[phantomrose96]

Twisting Fate

(A what-if idea I had. adjusted the canon timeline a little)

...

From Recovery Girl’s perspective, Sir Nighteye was a horizon.

Lying stiff in his hospital bed, with the setting sun creeping lower at his right, Nighteye’s whole body became ridges of shadows. His face was gaunter, paler at the precipice of death. Caverns hid his eyes, and every sharp angle of his frame threw swaths of shadow, magnified larger, over the left wall of his room. Machines like snakes clawed into his midsection, all cold metallic tubes replacing the functions of organs that had been shredded through. Recovery Girl sat on a stool to his left, shaded in this darkness, smelling on the heat of the radiator the familiar smell of death.

“I have… a theory…” Nighteye’s words were hardly even whispers. They were stow-away nuances on the raspy rattle of his breath. “…and it will bother me if I die without ever having resolved it.”

“What’s your theory?” Recovery Girl asked. She was too used to this, being the receptacle for the last thoughts, wonders, worries, and dreams of dying heroes.

“Izuku Midoriya… He may--…it is possible—he may have a quirk.”

“A quirk, as in one beside One For All, I assume.”

“Not One For All. Beyond that. His own quirk. I have a theory…”

“Izuku Midoriya was diagnosed quirkless. Does this affect your theory?”

Silence rattled around them. Nighteye’s chest rose and fell faintly. “As in… the vestigial joint in the smallest toe, and no observable quirk of his own?”

“Yes, he matches those criteria,” Recovery Girl confirmed.

Sir Nighteye said nothing in immediate response. He laid in silence to catch his breath, and let the room fall back under the sedation of his blipping heart monitor.

“The correlation… of the additional toe joint to quirklessness is about 99%. It is possible for Midoriya to still have a quirk.”

“That is true.” The lamp in the corner clicked on, softly yellow, blanketing the room as the creeping darkness of nighttime set in. “We don’t know how many cases of quirklessness are false positives. What is it that makes you think Midoriya has a quirk?”

Nighteye let out a rattling breath. “By my own nature, and the nature of my quirk… I take pride in having evidence for my claims. I’d like to investigate this before I tell you. …The doctors estimate they can keep me alive like this for three days, at most. Do you think that’s accurate?”

“Three and a half, now that I’ve healed you some,” Recovery Girl answered.

“That’s enough. There’s someone I’d like you to fetch for me.”

“All Might.”

“No,” Nighteye answered with the faintest shake of his head. “Shota Aizawa. He should be in this same hospital. Please bring him to me.”

…

Aizawa and Nighteye spoke only briefly, with an agreement to help, and a message to pass along. Two messages, more precisely.

Aizawa got himself released from the hospital by 6am the next morning, having not slept, and having pulled some strings with the night nurses who knew him well to expedite the process. By 7am, he was back at the U.A. dorms, the very atmosphere asleep this early on a Saturday morning.

Only two students were awake: Momo Yaoyorozu, reading comfortably on the common area couch with a blanket swaddled around her, and Tenya Iida, preparing enough toast in the kitchen to cover breakfast for the entire class.

It was Iida who Aizawa flagged, and pulled aside, and passed the message along to: There was a dying pro hero whom Iida had never met asking for his presence. Aizawa had no further details on what the man wanted, or why, and he knew Nighteye well enough to assume that neither he nor Iida would ever be informed.

The lack of information agitated Iida. His arms jittered, and he pressed for information on why, and what had happened, and what his presence would mean to Nighteye. Aizawa could only shrug and ask if the withholding of that information affected Iida’s answer. Iida paused to consider this only briefly. And then he agreed, of course, because any self-respecting hero-in-training would do everything in his power to satisfy the dying wish of a citizen.

…

When Sunday set in, Aizawa did not go prowling through the dorm areas until the early afternoon, because the other message he had to pass along was for Katsuki Bakugou, and Bakugou’s whole morning was booked solid with provisional license training.

When Aizawa found Bakugou, the boy was freshly showered and sporting a litany of new scrapes and bandages, thumbs jamming aggressively into one of the dorm’s three console controllers for the shared GameStation. From the neighboring couch, Kirishima yelled at Bakugou to not mess us the toggles, to which Bakugou fired off several choice, colorful words back.

Aizawa didn’t bother scolding him. He only pulled Bakugou aside, and gave him the same message as Iida: Pro Hero Nighteye wanted to see him.

Bakugou sneered at this. He knew the name as Deku’s work-study boss, and knew it more potently now that the recent news story broke, and Nighteye’s name made it to the local stations as a hero in critical condition after a daring rescue.

Bakugou asserted this had nothing to do with him. That none of this was his problem. That he owed nothing to a man he’d never met and shouldn’t be expected to bow to his whim. Aizawa said nothing in response. He let the silence linger, and let Bakugou fester in the echo of his own words. Bakugou cracked the silence with a growl of frustration, and a crackle of his palms, and a spat declaration of “fine”.

Aizawa thanked him for his cooperation, and asked if now would be a bad time to follow him to Nighteye’s hospital.

…

By the third day of his hospice stay, Nighteye had become more machine than man. He fostered little presence. His only motion came from the respirator breathing for him. His harsh angles and stark shadows had decayed, softened, sank with him into his very-little-at-all-ness into the bed.

Recovery Girl sat beside him once more. In theory she had come to change bandages and administer healing, but at the sight of the man, she knew even that much was not worthwhile. It was only Nighteye’s comfort that mattered now. She set up an IV drip to ease his breathing and pain, but it would not heal him. At best, it would offer him just a wisp of his voice back.

“Have you resolved your theory about Izuku Midoriya’s quirk?” she asked simply. It was another skill she’d fostered in her professional life – to ask the leading questions of dying people, who in death seemed so strangely prone to avoiding any direct answers.

To her surprise, Nighteye smiled.

“Yes, I think so.”

“Would you like to tell me?”

“Yes. You are the only person right now I trust with this information. I need to pass it along, and I have no one else in mind.”

“And once you’ve told me, should I tell Midoriya too?”

“I don’t know. I trust you to figure that out, if it’s right or not.”

“What’s Midoriya’s quirk?”

Nighteye said nothing at first. He stared at the ceiling, as it seemed he possessed little of the necessary strength to look elsewhere.

“During the fight against Overhaul… I saw Midoriya die. I saw it with my Foresight,” he said, not answering the direct question, which did little to surprise Recovery Girl. “My Foresight has never been wrong. Sometimes, purely in denial, I’ve convinced myself it could, theoretically, be wrong, if only to not feel so hopeless about the futures I’ve seen. But 35 years without a single incorrect prediction is… a devastatingly consistent precedent to contend with.”

“I know this about you. Midoriya was the first to change that future?”

“It was… Chisaki’s future… that I was looking at. I saw him kill Midoriya. I saw him escape. So it was Chisaki’s future that changed. And I suspected, the more I thought about it, that Midoriya may have done it.”

“What do you think his quirk is?”

“I… have more context… I want to explain myself. I asked Shota Aizawa to bring me two U.A. students.”

“Iida and Bakugou. Shota told me.”

“Iida, because, if my hunch was correct, he would be affected too. And he was. My hunch was correct.”

“What was your hunch?”

“When I used my Foresight on him, I saw something I’ve never seen before… All futures I’ve seen are linear. A movie to play out. Singular, immutable, and certain. What I saw in Iida was more like… tree branches twisting around a trunk. One which was strong, and bold, and most clear ahead of him. Like what I usually see. It was a bright and happy future. A future he’s earned. One to be proud of.”

“I’m glad. Tenya Iida is a kind boy.”

“But the small futures… I’ve never seen them before. All gnarled and withered, twisting in and out…. Most of those were empty. I see this when someone is soon to die, but… these looked as though Iida had already died. Several times over. Other small twisted ones… he was still alive, but not a hero, not a U.A. graduate, too heavily incapacitated. No use of his arms. Limited use of his legs.”

“And what does this tell you?”

Nighteye offered just wheezes, catching his breath.

“With… with Bakugou. It was similar but... Bakugou had many more gnarled branches than Iida. Some empty… Others where, it seemed he had never even gotten into U.A. Others as the League of Villains’ hostage. Others in jail. They were not uniform. Some were faint, so I could hardly detect them. Some were so far removed from our reality, as if they’d forked over a decade ago. …Do not worry, his main future is bright.”

“I know All Might has a lot of hope for that boy.” Recovery Girl pushed off her stool. She went and cracked the hospital window open, so that the fresh air may do something for the sweat coalescing on Nighteye’s brow.

“Izuku Midoriya… I know many things about him. Gathering intel is a specialty of mine. And I know he has been lucky in unfathomable ways. Bakugou, that boy, he saved from the League of Villains. Iida, he saved from Stain, just barely, as I understand it. Midoriya’s own acceptance into U.A. was improbable at best. His rescue of a boy named Kota should have been his end, but it wasn’t. He was involved in a fight against the serial killer Moon Fish. He was Shigaraki’s hostage briefly. He played the main role in orchestrating Bakugou’s rescue from the League of Villains. And now, under me, he defeated Chisaki, in a fight which should, with certainty, have cost him his life.”

“There’s no need to remind me of all these. I was the one who healed that boy every time. I know he’s reckless.”

“This is beyond reckless. This is the resume of a boy who should have died many times over. …And I think, maybe, he has.”

To this, Recovery Girl gave no immediate response. Only a deep inhale, nasally, a held breath, an exhale.

“Midoriya may have died already. My Foresight wasn’t wrong, but it was posthumously corrected. It is in the strange nature of Izuku Midoriya that when the people around him should die… they don’t. Midoriya always saves them. And if my Foresight is to be believed, he does not always succeed on the first try. Those gnarled branches into Iida and Bakugou’s futures were fates in which Midoriya had not intervened. Or had failed to intervene successfully. They were fates he was able to twist off the main path, and correct under his own power of will. And that would be a quirk nigh undetectable. How would you document or observe it? The ability to undo the outcomes that ended in disaster. It’s powerful. Unfathomably powerful, if I’m correct about this. Stronger than One for All could ever be. I wonder, if I were to look at Midoriya’s future, how many twisted fates might I see?”

Recovery Girl let her eyes shift to the window, contemplating the skyline, contemplating all the near-lethal encounters Izuku Midoriya had fought through. She tried to process this possibility, and found herself failing to take it in all at once. “Do you intend to look?”

“No,” Nighteye said, and it was with finality. “I won’t make it to tomorrow. And there’s someone else whose future I need to see today.”

“If it’s All Might, I would be able to--.”

“No. It’s not All Might’s.”

To this, Recovery Girl startled. Her eyes shifted to Night Eye, who wore the smallest of smiles, his eyes squinted shut.

“After what you saw six years ago… you don’t want to see if that fate has changed?”

“All Might and I have parted ways. I am choosing to entrust his safety to Izuku Midoriya now. I am choosing to trust that that boy has saved him from that future that’s weighed me down for all these years. I am choosing… to pass the torch onto him. All Might has chosen Izuku Midoriya, and I am at peace with it… No, more than that, I accept that. I am content with that. I am happy with that.”

Recovery Girl nodded, but trepidation stiffened her movements. “…Then who is the last person you want to see?”

…

With the light fading around him, Nighteye wondered if this was the first time he’s seen Mirio cry.

The boy was endlessly bright, endlessly shining, a beacon and a pillar and someone who Nighteye was proud to call his pupil. He felt only the slightest knocking pangs of guilt in his chest for the fact that he’d only connected with Mirio as a vessel for One For All. But Mirio had proven himself well above and beyond all Nighteye’s paltry expectations. He didn’t need One For All to be strong.

The true guilt Nighteye felt was in the knowledge that it was his own fault that Mirio was crying now.

Thick opalescent tears swam in his eyes and cracked his voice. Red blotched along his cheeks and sweat clung to his brow. It was a sad sight to see, the raw and wet keens of Mirio’s voice. It was sad. Nighteye wanted nothing more than to see Mirio smile once more.

So he set a gentle palm to Mirio’s cheek, and he apologized, and he blinked his final activation of his quirk into existence.

Mirio’s future was a grand tree. Like Iida’s, like Bakugou’s, it was threaded with splintered branches. Some empty and shriveled and dead. Some dismal and bleak, twirling up like vines. Nighteye didn’t pay mind to those. He focused only on the trunk. That bright and shining pillar surging forward.

It was a future where Mirio was smiling.

A hero. In costume. Beloved and strong and willing. With a smile that alone could save a million people.

Nighteye trusted Midoriya to cultivate that fate for Mirio.

And that was enough.

So Nighteye told Mirio as much. He deserved to know this as Nighteye did. A fine hero. Finer than anyone else. He’d smile again, Nighteye was sure of it.

The light crept to dark edges around Nighteye’s vision, petering out, swimming to a coldness and a darkness and a nothingness. But it was one he could take comfort in. He focused only on the image of Mirio’s smile as the heart rate monitors ticked to nothing, and the breath vanished from his lungs, and the future set before him ran through its final swath of film.

[whats-rambled-rambled]

Smoke & Mirrors - part 4

Neil x Reader

Chapter 4: Save me

(see chapter 3, 2, 1)

summary: what’s gonna happen if we lock them together for some time...?

warnings: some violence, language and other explicit things, 18+ 

author’s note: 4,8k words, just because I thought I needed to add more plot to it because you wanted 2 shorter chapters instead of a longer one. Who’s laughing now? 

Reading this may cause a slight whiplash. Sorry, not sorry. 

song for this chapter: Aimee Mann - Save me 

Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think, please?

----

The Protagonist’s eyes darted at Ives. 

“And what did she say?”

“Short answer? Nunya,” Ives shrugged, closing the door behind him.

Wheeler giggled and TP looked at her in confusion.

“Long answer,” continued Ives, joining the other two by the coffee machine, “is that as long as they're doing their job, it doesn’t matter who they are fucking in their free time.”

“And are they?”

“What, fucking? I thought we’ve already--”

“No, doing their job,” TP pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I have a mission for them, but it requires locking them together for a significant amount of time.”

Wheeler took a sip from her cup. “If they don’t bond, they’ll bone, and I’d say it’s better than killing each other.”

Ives snorted, clearly amused, but TP hid his face in his palms and groaned lightly.

“Was that your plan all along?”

Wheeler gave them an innocent smile. “Wasn’t yours?” she asked, and as she caught the exchange of looks, her eyes lit up. “You’re welcome.”

-----

You found the car parked near the front door and you had to admit - that grey-ish sedan was the dullest, most ordinary vehicle you’d seen in a while. And that’s why it was perfect.

Neil tossed you the keys and proceeded to load your bags into the trunk. You went to check the GPS setting. The total route was calculated for a little over 5 hours, which gave you enough time to go over the details of the assignment at least once on the way there.

As your mission partner took the passenger seat, you handed him the tablet with all the documents loaded up and ready to go. He nodded, fortunately sparing you the small talk and unnecessary comments, and started reading through them out loud as you followed the GPS directions to your destination.

What you didn’t expect was an almost insultingly short length of reports from the previous stakeout teams, and even a slightly more detailed operation brief was not enough to keep you occupied for too long. Exhausting all the work-related topics, you tensed, suddenly uncomfortable in the silence between the two of you. Especially since you caught Neil’s stare, because if his furrowed brows could be any indication, you had a feeling he might start asking way too many questions any minute now. 

As the radio crackled again, you groaned in frustration. There were still two hours left of traveling through the middle of nowhere, and you’d appreciate any distraction that wouldn’t make you want to drive into the nearest tree. Unlike talking to your partner. 

Neil opened the glove compartment and searched through its contents. He found a thick CD case and started flipping through pages curiously. With the corner of your eye, you saw a grin lighting his face when he finally picked one. 

As you heard the familiar piano notes, your knuckles on the steering wheel turned white. Oh, fuck no.

You glared at Neil, who was gently swaying his head, eyes closed, fighting himself to keep a straight face. When the lyrics started, he pressed his palms to his chest right over his heart and looked at you as he mouthed the words.

//When I was young

I never needed anyone

And making love was just for fun

Those days are gone//

You gritted your teeth and focused back on the road, trying to keep in check the rising anger already boiling the blood in your veins, as Neil was clearly feeling the song more and more with every line.

Well, at least this time he wasn’t--...

And then just as the chorus was about to hit, Neil mimicked the opening drum sequence and spread his arms wide, singing along:

//All by myself

Don't wanna be

All by myself

Anymore//

“If you don’t change that fucking song in the next 10 seconds, be ready to walk all the way to the city--...”

“Come on, it’s a classic!” he complained, the biggest smile not leaving his face even for a moment.

You smacked your tongue, finding your most casual voice, “...and I’m not gonna be bothered with pulling over.”

Neil turned down the volume so the music was barely audible, and while it was not what you’d asked him to do, he didn’t give you a chance to scold him. 

“I bet you’ve spent at least one evening listening to that song with a big box of ice cream on your lap,” he smirked, closely watching your reaction to his words.

You could feel your ears burning. Fucking hell, you really hated his guts.

“No,” you scoffed, but even you were not convinced by the sound of that. Judging by Neil’s expression, neither was he. You winced and groaned, ”...shut up!” 

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” - he shrugged - “been there, done that.” 

“Of course you have,” you couldn’t help but snicker at the image planted in your head. 

The blue eyes studied you for a while longer before focusing back at the view outside the window. Meanwhile, the song ended, getting replaced by an instrumental track. You turned the volume up and for the next minute or two, you drove in silence. 

When you heard a light chuckle, you glanced at Neil again. There was something peculiar in the look on his face, a soft gaze in contrast to a knowing grin.

You sighed.

“Do I wanna know what you’re grinning about now?”

Neil raised a brow and his lips parted in an even wider smile.

“Probably not.”

You shook your head, drawing a long breath, wondering how you were going to survive the next forty-something hours together. You could just hope that being at the actual location and starting the real work was going to make it easier. 

Grounding yourself, you stared into the darkness stepping back under the car’s headlights as dusk slowly turned into night. You noticed a faint glow of city lights reflecting in the clouds over the horizon and you relaxed slowly, tuning out anything other than the road ahead. 

Just as the CD player jumped back to the first song again and you switched to a local radio station, now clear of static, you realized your companion had been unusually quiet for the last half an hour. You looked at the passenger seat only to find Neil deep in his sleep and your heart started beating a little faster. Suddenly, everything about the sight seemed endearing - the peaceful face under the ruffled blonde hair, the slightly open mouth almost hidden behind the turned-up collar of the dark navy jacket, the way he wrapped his arms around himself in a little self-hug…

Your lips curled into a fond smile and as your chest clenched painfully, you turned the radio down, wishing you could do the same thing to your feelings just as easily.

-----------

The second you pulled over in the alley at the back of the abandoned hotel, two figures emerged from the door and rushed in your direction. You recognized the fellow agents and jumped out of the car to make the exchange as smooth as possible. 

“Ten-minute window until the patrol comes back,” you said to a short brunette, taking your bags out of the trunk and passing her the car keys.

“Got it,” she nodded, handing you the room key in return. “Our report should be ready before we reach HQ, I will send it to you ASAP.” 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that the lack of an easy escape plan is intentional,” said Neil as he grabbed one of the bags and looked around.

“But it is,” you shrugged, walking into the building and heading to the nearest staircase. “No loose ends. You’re either good enough to make it out undiscovered and alive, or you get revealed and --...”

“...and then even having the cavalry on call is not going to make a difference, I get it,’ he sighed, matching your two-steps-at-once pace up the stairs, “Can’t say I like it, though.” 

“So let’s try not to do anything stupid so we don’t get caught, shall we?”

A corner of your lips twitched as you heard him scoff at your remark, but to your surprise, he didn’t take the bait. Huh.

When you reached the room, you turned the lock and looked around, taking mental note of the location of every piece of equipment left by the previous team - two cameras, night vision binoculars, and a parabolic microphone placed by the windows. Some parts of the blinds on the windows were broken, others were missing, but the remaining parts still provided a decent cover from the curious eyes peeking up from street level. Other than that, the room was exactly what you would expect from a stakeout location - peeled-off wallpapers of an undefined color, a small table with an electric kettle, a couple of chairs, a mini-fridge, and a mattress. 

As you went to check the last few minutes registered by the camera, Neil started unpacking the supplies. Seeing nothing interesting on the feed, you grabbed one of the water bottles he’d just put on the table and took a seat by the window, your usual first-hour-of-stakeout enthusiasm fending off the tiredness you felt after the long drive.

Neil took a laptop and sat on a chair at the other window, alternating glancing outside and typing in a message to TP with a quick update on your situation.

Your main objective was to observe the building on the other side of the street, especially one loft that was suspected to be a meeting place for one of the smuggling cells’ bosses. Snapping photos of the vehicles pulling over, of the visitors, and reporting any odd activity straight ahead. The usual. But it was past midnight already and your targets were having a pretty quiet night, apparently. 

As Neil finished filing in the paperwork, he stretched his arms and groaned.

“Tea?”

You rubbed your eyes, a sudden wave of sleepiness flooded your brain as soon as you lost focus on the mission. 

“Yes, please, there should be a box with a green one somewhere.”

“Ah, pity, I don’t know how well it’s gonna mix with the biscuits,” said Neil in a ridiculous posh accent, making you facepalm in response. 

Partially, to hide an amused smile. 

You really were that tired, huh?

“I take my tea with no sugar, no biscuits, and no snarky comments, thanks,” you huffed as your eyes followed him to the table.

“I, too, don’t like talking over a cuppa.”

“What did I just say--” you groaned, smacking your thigh in frustration.

Neil giggled and rolled his eyes, now lit by a playful twinkle. “All right, one ‘green tea no bullshit’ coming right up.”

“Thank you,” you sighed, glancing up to the ceiling as if it was supposed to help with the alarming level of annoyance in your system.

Less than two hours on-site and you already wanted to strangle him. 

Among other things.

And before you could stop your tired brain, it brought up a memory of that karaoke night. 

His hands roaming through your body. The sound of a belt buckle hitting the floor. Your frantic gasp when you felt him inside you. His firm grip on your hips. The heart racing in your chest. Your longing body pressing itself into him even further. His uneven breath on your neck. The quickening pace of his thrusts. Your eyes squeezing shut. His muffled moan when you tugged at his hair. The cold wall against your cheek. Your fingers interlocked. His arm wrapped around you tightly. The things whispered into your ear---

“Your tea.”

“Hmm?” you mumbled, blinking rapidly and focusing your gaze on a thermal cup in front of your face. “Oh, thanks.”

Neil studied your expression curiously, a sly grin hiding in the corner of his mouth.

“Pleasant daydream?”

“Maybe,” you sent him a smug smile and raised a brow.

His lips parted slightly at the implication. Drinking his tea, he schooled his features and sat back on the chair. 

You spent the next moments enjoying the hot beverages, the silence becoming more comfortable with every sip you took. But as the time went by and you ran out of tea, the peacefulness turned into boredom. 

Finally, Neil shuffled in his seat and turned your way. 

"We should play a game."

Even though it sounded tempting, you didn’t trust those roguish sparks in his eyes. 

“We already had a chance to play ‘yellow car’,” - you shrugged - “not my fault you chose a nap instead.”

His puzzled face gave you a hint he didn’t get the reference. Pity.

“I was thinking about some sort of...questions game,” he said and cleared his throat, shifting in his chair again. "To get to know each other better."

"Why?" you stared at him with your mouth open, suddenly taken aback. 

He gave you a half-smile. "Don't you think it's weird that the only thing I know about you is all the ways to turn you on and piss you off?"

"Wouldn't be so confident about that ‘all’ part…" you huffed and lost a train of thought as you spotted the familiar flare in his gaze.

"You’re sure you wanna challenge me like that right now?"

A cold shiver ran down your spine at the way his voice got lower. You gritted your teeth as your mind started racing to find a way out of the dangerous waters. 

"Aren't you a master of multitasking?" you teased, batting your eyelashes.

"And aren't you scared of having an actual conversation?" Neil narrowed his eyes and grimaced slightly. 

"Fine!” you fumed as you tossed your hands in the air in defeat. “Why don’t you get straight to the point because I have a weird feeling you have a very specific question in mind."

A silence that dropped after your words was heavy and you realized you’d made a mistake.

"Actually, I do,” he said, tilting his head and locking his gaze on you. “What's up with you and kissing?"

...shit, walked right into that one, huh? 

You pulled one leg up on the chair, glancing outside the window to avoid the blue eyes boring into you. "It's nothing."

“Didn’t look like nothing to me.”

Sighing, you rested the chin on your knee and wrapped your arms around it, as if that little bit of comfort was enough to make the conversation easier. Your ears were burning, your heart pounded heavily in the clenched chest, and it all was only adding to your frustration. Because it really was nothing. Or maybe it should have been, and that was the issue.

“If you don’t wanna talk about it--”

Your eyes darted at Neil only to meet his soft look. A shadow of concern on his face wasn’t helping, but you were grateful that he was willing to give you a way out.

Although at that moment, you felt you owed him an explanation. 

“No, it’s just that it’s a bit silly,” you said, wincing. “I’m gonna tell you, but if you laugh, I will murder you in your sleep.”

Neil smiled lightly in encouragement.

“Got it.”

So you took a deep breath and squeezed the first word past the lump in your throat.

“It’s just that kissing to me was always something… special,” you cringed, fully aware that you sounded like a flustered teenager. “Like it really meant something. Do you know where I’m going with this?”

Neil’s brows knitted together.

“I think so, yeah.”

“Good,” you sighed, forcing yourself to breathe again. “And some time ago, I made a mistake and opened up too soon, burning myself. Fuck, it’s pathetic, I know, I just…” you hesitated and looked away, feeling the rising panic. You were exposing yourself, again. “...maybe I’m just wired that way and we should leave it at that. And never talk about it again,” your voice was hollow, the result of your brain’s desperate attempts to keep your emotions bottled up, just to keep you safe. 

And after what felt like forever--

“Okay.”

You shot him a thankful look, too overwhelmed to say anything. 

Neil got up, moving his shoulders in small circles to get rid of the stiffness. As he walked by you on his way to the bathroom, he patted your arm lightly. Reassuringly. The tip of your nose tingled and you bit the inside of your cheek, cursing a sudden wave of softness clouding your mind.  

A few minutes passed and Neil was back. He fell on the chair heavily, slowly massaging his temples with the tips of his fingers. Catching a question in your stare, he shook his head and grinned.

“What?” you asked, squinting suspiciously.

Neil chuckled, leaning back and spreading his legs. “Trying to figure you out is giving me a headache.”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed, focusing on the view outside the window. 

“Who we are and who we need to be to survive are two different things, you know.”

“So it’s all an act?”

You looked back at him, suddenly perplexed. “What is?”

“This,” he gestured vaguely in your direction and shrugged. “Or rather your usual behavior.”

You snorted. “Oh, I am a real ray of sunshine, but somehow being around you makes my inner bitch jump out,” you teased, meeting his amused gaze. A corner of your lips curled and you exhaled slowly. “I don’t know, after some time you learn life is easier that way, and at one point the line blurs,” you stopped for a second and frowned, wondering what had gotten into you tonight. “Does it make any sense to you?”

Something new tainted Neil’s features as he looked away, smiling sadly.

“You have no idea.”

Just as you opened your mouth to ask what was wrong, the blue eyes darted back at you.

“I’ll take the first shift, already had my nap after all,” the little laugh escaping his mouth felt forced. “You must be exhausted. Try to get some sleep.”

Oh you were exhausted, all right. But all of the sudden it felt as if he wanted to get rid of you and you couldn’t help feeling a bit hurt by that. There was something in his presence that gave you a hint that it wasn’t the best idea to pressure him about it now, and you slumped your shoulders, nodding.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, getting up. All that held-back fatigue was going to hit you in full force any minute now, and you really wanted to be laid down by then.

A few moments in the bathroom and you were back in the room again in more comfortable clothes. You rolled out a sleeping bag on the mattress and slipped into it, covering your mouth as you let out a small yawn. 

“Wake me up if anything happens or you need me to take over, will you?”

Neil shot you a quick look from his chair. 

“Sure thing,” he gave you a weak smile. “Goodnight.”

“‘Night,” you mumbled. 

You curled up and closed your eyes, hoping the heaviness you felt in your chest would be gone by the morning.

--------

It took your still half-asleep brain a moment to remember where you were and what was going on. You looked around as much as you could without moving your body to avoid revealing that you were no longer asleep. Oh right, the stakeout. 

You noticed Neil sitting on the floor by the only floor-to-ceiling window near the corner of the room, looking outside. The early morning light seeping through the blinds was reflecting in the disheveled blonde hair, a fitting addition to his overall tired appearance. It seemed like he’d spent most of the night working through whatever bothered him after your last talk, but he seemed more at peace now. You studied him in a little moment of sleep-deprived self-indulgence, musing over the dark quarter zip pullover, those absurdly long legs in khaki pants--...

Okay, enough. You sat up, rubbing your face.

“How’s the mattress?”

Hearing Neil’s raspy voice made you quite tempted to invite him over to check for himself.

“Passable,” you replied instead, stretching your arms and wriggling out of your sleeping bag. You nodded at the cameras. “Anything?” 

“Not really. One visitor, already on the list,” he said as his eyes followed you around the room.

“All right,” you sighed, flipping the switch on the kettle. “I need coffee, you want some?”

“No, thank you, but if you could pass me a bottle of water--”

You grabbed one and tossed it to him, heading to the bathroom. 

When you finally looked and felt like a decent human being again, you went back to finish making coffee. As you walked to the windows with the thermal cup in your hands, you caught Neil’s resigned stare. You sat down on the floor in front of him, leaning your shoulder against the wall. A glimpse of internal battle clouded his features and you tilted your head, waiting for him to speak up first.

“I didn’t want this,” he blurted out, and when nothing else followed the statement, you cleared your throat. 

“You have to be more specific, I’m afraid.”

Neil clenched his jaw. You noticed a hint of frustration in his eyes, but then his shoulders dropped and he let out a nervous chuckle, fastening his gaze on the view outside the window.

“I wanted to do things by the book. When TP recruited me… I thought I’d be just another field agent and I was okay with that,” he sighed and grimaced. “But he insisted on fast-tracking me, even when I told him it wasn’t fair to the rest of you.” Neil shook his head slowly and a corner of his lips twitched. “He promised me one of his best agents’ help on the way though. Imagine my surprise when the agent in question kept snarling at me and shoving me around instead.” 

When Neil looked back at you, you realized the meaning behind his words and your mind went blank. You stared into the blue eyes with your mouth open, trying to process everything you’d just heard and its implications.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you breathed out, feeling light-headed.

“Why?”

“Nobody told you…?” you asked, but his confused expression was his only answer. And you simply couldn’t believe that he hadn’t known all this time. “I’d been working my ass off for that position,” you huffed, studying his reaction to your words closely. “And then you showed up.”

Neil’s face dropped as he finally connected all the dots. “Fuck...I had no idea, I’m sorry.” 

Seeing his sincere look, you sighed, raking fingers through your hair. Fucking hell, what a mess. The impossible mix of emotions swirled inside you and you giggled hysterically, suddenly finding the whole situation absolutely hilarious. 

“And I had no idea I was supposed to babysit you,” you said as you stretched your legs, positioning them alongside Neil’s. 

“Thought we were having a moment here,” he scoffed, smiling lightly.

You smirked and tapped his thigh with your foot.

“Think again.”

Neil tapped you back, stifling a chuckle. “You’re insufferable.”

“Too bad you can’t do anything about that now, huh,” you teased, wiggling your brows as you nibbled at your bottom lip.

The blue eyes lit up. “Just you wait till we finish the job,” he said slowly and placed a hand on your ankle.

But before you could respond, you heard a phone alert and Neil jumped at his feet.

He read the message quickly. 

“Seems like we are about to see some action after all,” he said, pressing the phone to his ear. You downed your coffee and joined Neil by the table.

“Hold on, I’m gonna put you on speaker… okay, now”

“Hope you two are rested,” TP’s voice filled the room. “We intercepted a phone call. Our target is expecting a delivery in the next hour or so. Significant enough that from this moment on, the mission objective changes.” You exchanged looks with Neil, knowing well what was coming next. You walked back to the windows to keep an eye on the street. “We have a chance to prevent this shipment from spreading to different sellers. I’m sending the cavalry your way. But you’ll need to assess the situation as it progresses.”

“Means we might have to engage early, got it.”

“It’s your call, Neil. And as we have enough intel now… no loose ends. Good luck.” said TP and hung up.

Neil tossed the phone on the table and dashed to the bags to prep the equipment. You noticed movement in the loft across the street and snapped a few pictures before looking back at your partner.

“Are you good to go? You haven’t slept tonight.”

He glanced at you and gave you a smug smile. 

“How nice of you to worry about me.”

You could feel the usual annoyance mixed with a new emotion, but maybe you were just glad to be back on familiar waters.

“Nah, I’m worried about the mission,” you snorted. “Especially if we may end up going in there alone.”

“I’m okay. How does it look out there?”

You looked outside again and tensed as a van appeared at the end of the street. “We’ve got company.”

Neil changed you by the window and you rushed to get ready.

-------

After clearing the back entrance, you found yourselves in the underground garage. 

Splitting up, you took down the guards one by one without raising any alarms. 

Neil checked the van and then you both made your way upstairs. You knew there were at least five more people in the loft, but you had to rely on the element of surprise because the cavalry was still on their way. 

As you got to the door, you cocked your pistol and met Neil’s determined stare. You nodded. 

Bursting through the door, your instincts kicked in, allowing you to put a bullet into two men before they had a chance to realize what was going on. In the next second all hell broke loose. You knew one thing - you somehow underestimated the numbers. And just as you thought that maybe you got lucky and got every last of them, someone grabbed you from behind and you felt something cold and sharp pressed against your neck. Fuck.

You dug your fingers into the arm wrapped around your shoulders, but a stinging pain made you stop any further attempts at breaking free. The blood pounded in your ears and everything seemed to slow down. 

You noticed Neil standing in front of you with a gun pointed right next to your head. 

He secured a grip on his pistol and the man holding you yelled something at him, but you didn’t listen, focusing completely on the blue eyes, now filled with a silent question, looking straight into yours.

You let out a shaky breath and blinked slowly. 

A gunshot echoed through the room.

The pressure on your neck lowered and you heard a thud of a body fitting the floor behind you. 

Neil lowered his gun. 

You stared at each other for what seemed like forever.

“Nice shot,” you said, composing yourself first.

He gave you a weak smile, and just as he opened his mouth to say something, your comms filled with a familiar voice.

“We’ve missed all the fun, eh?”

------

Neither of you said anything on the way back to the HQ, not counting the short answers to the questions asked by Ives, but even he gave up after a while seeing you weren’t in the mood for talking.  

You got your duffel bag out of the trunk and looked around. Neil was standing at the bottom of the stairs leading to the building, talking on the phone. You walked up to him slowly, waiting for him to finish the conversation.

“Do they need us to get in to file a report?” 

“No, I convinced TP to give us the rest of the day off,” he said, hiding the phone in the pocket of his jacket. “We can do that first thing tomorrow, I’m just gonna drop the equipment now.”

“Great, thanks.”

You couldn’t wait to get back to your apartment. You tossed the bag on your arm and smiled at the thought of a long hot shower and crashing in your own bed. 

There was just one thing you needed to do first.

Neil took a step towards the building and without thinking too much about it, you reached out for his hand.

“Neil…?”

He stopped and turned around, puzzled. His eyes dropped to your joined hands and slowly moved up to your face. 

You gave him a nervous smile.

“Thank you.”

His features softened and he squeezed your hand gently.

“Don’t mention it.”

And then he smirked.

...of course.

“Guess that makes us even.”

(next chapter->)