#dirty talk to me in my own language and you will magically find me fully clothed at the end of the bed on my way home

[bitethedevil]

I’m too fatherless to ever experience that disgust you feel about someone saying your dad is hot. As a Danish person, I do however feel that foreigners thirsting over Mads Mikkelsen and calling him daddy is the closest I’ll ever get to that feeling.

[somedaylazysomeday]

A Deal with a Demon - Part Six

Beetlejuice was summoned. Since the summoner didn't want to pay his terms, you agree to step in on their behalf.

Demon!Beetlejuice x fem!witch!reader

Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 3,900

Warnings: Language, sex as terms of payment, discussions of pegging, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, biting, unprotected sex, creampie, references to demons and demonic biology, references to magic and witchcraft, brief gender dysphoria.

Previous | Masterlist

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“Lock the door.”

By the time Beetlejuice had processed your instruction and all of its implications, you had almost gotten rid of your shirt. The demon scrambled to do what you had asked, locking the door to your office with an awestruck look on his face. 

As far as you were concerned, there was no getting around it, so you may as well get things moving between you. Beetlejuice’s deal had fallen through, but the realities of summoning a demon were that they had to be paid one way or another. And you found that you didn’t mind picking up the slack as much as you once had. 

Even in his hurry to get undressed for you, Beetlejuice couldn’t keep from talking. He never did anything quietly if he could help it.

“This is hot,” he chattered, stripping off his jacket. “I can’t believe you’re gonna let me fuck ya in your office…”

“I’m not going to let you fuck me,” you told him, watching with no small amount of pleasure as he froze, crestfallen. “I’m going to fuck you in my office.” 

A moment later, a filthy grin sprouted on his face. “That’s even hotter.”

You kicked away your pants, underwear still tangled in the fabric, and mentally congratulated yourself on having the foresight to sweep earlier in the week. Since you were in a hurry and still waiting for Beetlejuice, you dropped your hands and gave an experimental stroke over your mound.

Tingles rose in the wake of your touch and you fought back a shiver as you repeated the motion. This time, you gave your lips a little more attention. They were sensitive, but your body wasn’t fully paying attention yet. You had some work to do if you were going to fulfill Beetlejuice’s deal in the next few minutes. For all that you would never say so to him, he was well-endowed, and hooking up unprepared promised to be unpleasant. 

The lack of swelling in your lips made it easy to press your fingertip between them, pushing gently against the firm bead of your clit. The simple pressure sent tingles running through your body, but it was marred by the sensation of eyes on you. 

When you glanced up, Beetlejuice’s dark eyes were fixed on the place where your hand was settled between your own thighs. As if only just noticing that your fingers had stopped moving, his gaze moved slowly up your bare body until he was looking at your face. 

“Hottest.” 

The gravel in his voice made it sound like talking would be painful, but he would never let something so minor stop him from constantly vomiting his thoughts. Especially if they were dirty. 

You gave him a stern look. “Get naked now or stay dressed. I don’t have time for a striptease.” 

Beetlejuice’s face sharpened, a fierce amusement lighting his eyes. He complained, but he liked it when you ordered him around. Especially when you were a little bossy about it. You had seen the evidence of how much he enjoyed it. 

Actually, you could see it just then, too. 

When he walked over to you, it was with a little strut in his step, his hardening length bobbing obscenely as it led the way. “So, if you’re gonna fuck me, where’s your strap-on?” 

You thought about it, you really did. Sinful sold plenty of sex toys, and you would be lying if you said you hadn’t looked at and thought about trying some of the toys for yourself. And finding the right box in the stock room just outside your office would take a matter of moments…

But you sighed and shook your head. “No time. We’ll keep that in mind for the future.” 

“I’ll hold ya to that,” Beetlejuice warned, pointing a finger at you. 

As you eyed the chipped black polish on that finger’s nail, you frowned. “Could you feed off that, though? Don’t you have to be the one penetrating the other person?” 

“Penetrating,” Beetlejuice repeated with a snort, waggling his eyebrows at you. “And no. I’m a sex demon, not an incubus.” 

You frowned harder. “Which is a demon that feeds on sex…”

“No!” he lectured. “Incubi are- See, they just… Sex demons don’t gotta… The difference is that we are tryin’- Shut up, we’re not the same thing!” 

Since you hadn’t said a word during the entirety of Beetlejuice’s stammered explanation, you just held up your hands and laughed. “You got it. Totally different, my bad.” 

“See, you don’t even sound believable,” he muttered. You laughed harder… until he stepped so close you could smell the mossy earth scent of him. “Point is, I can feed on any of it. All of it. And if you want to fuck this delicious peach of mine, baby… Just say when.”

“Ugh,” you sputtered, pushing him back a step. “Never say that again.”

“Then don’t compare me to a damn incubus.”

“Deal,” you agreed. 

Beetlejuice’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, you wanna make a deal?” 

“Aren’t you already one in the hole?”

“I’ll have one in your-”

“Enough!” you entreated. “I know you’re the master of wordplay and innuendo. And no, I’m not interested in hearing jokes about either of those words. I really don’t have a lot of free time today. If we’re doing this, we have to do it now.” 

Beetlejuice grumbled, looking down at his now-limp cock. “Can’t say that the mentions of a time limit are doin’ it for me, babes.”

“Let me fix it, then,” you offered, sinking down in front of him.

“I accept,” Beetlejuice agreed, grabbing you under the arms and pushing you backward onto your own desk. You gaped at him, partially from surprise and partially from the force of the impact. He grinned from his place standing between your legs. “I always get hard when I hear those gorgeous little sounds ya make for me-”

You pulled a pen out from behind the small of your back and tossed it at him. “I’m hearing a lot of talk and very little- ahh!”

The noise that left you was only tangentially humanoid in nature. Beetlejuice had dropped to his knees and skipped past everything else he could have done, sealing his lips around your clit and applying devastating suction. 

It was too much. Deliciously so, but still, too much. You pushed at his head, trying to force him out from between your legs, but he just lessened the pressure slightly and sank two fingers into you. 

You shouted, the muscles in your abdomen tightening so intensely that your shoulder blades left the surface of the desk. You stared down at him from your new vantage point, not surprised to see that his eyes were fixed directly on your face. It also wasn’t a surprise when he waggled his eyebrows and gave a particularly lascivious lick from the bottom of your opening to the top of your slit. 

When Beetlejuice was back where he had started - focused intently on your clit with two fingers pumping into you - you sank your hands into his hair. Your first thought had been to push him away, but you found yourself holding him in place. The helpless convulsions of your pelvis left you riding his fingers, his lips following to keep that steady, maddening pressure exactly where you needed it.

The amorphous pleasure coalesced, binding together in a sign of things to come. Your orgasm shimmered like a mirror on the horizon - distant, but inching closer with every moment.

Until Beetlejuice withdrew his fingers and pulled away from you. You growled low in your throat, glaring up at him, but he seemed utterly unconcerned. He stood, proudly displaying the hard-on he had apparently gotten from taking you apart on your own desk. “Okay, I’m ready.” 

“Couldn’t have taken another two minutes…” you grumbled, struggling to sit up.

“Stay down, toots,” Beetlejuice told you, using a hand between your breasts to press you back down against the cool surface of the desk. “Lemme do the work this time.” 

“Thought you wanted me to fuck you?” 

“Like position has anything to do with that,” he said with a snort. “Save that energy for next time. We’ll get ya a nice, fat strap-on and you can rock my world. For now…” 

Beetlejuice pressed himself to the edge of the desk, planting his hips firmly between your parted thighs. Your hips jolted upward reflexively, and the demon chuckled as he lined himself up and pushed slowly into you. 

Torturously slowly.

His grip on your hips was the only thing that kept you from scooting down and forcing him further into you. Instead, you were pinned in place, fingers tightening on the edges of the desk as you tried to move anyway. When you found that you couldn’t move at all, you bared your teeth at him. “Move, Beej!” 

He pouted at you. “No. But here’s a little gift for bein’ so good and not sayin’ my name…”

His finger brushing against the swollen nub of your clit made you gasp, your head falling backward fast enough that it collided with the desk. The sound of it was loud in the room, but not as loud as the ancient curses you hissed at him. 

“Hey, watch the Babylonian,” Beetlejuice chided. “Some’a that shit sticks.”

When you didn’t listen, he leaned forward and kissed you. You bit him. 

Beetlejuice gasped into the kiss, but didn’t pull away. Instead, his hips thrust in a way that seemed involuntary. It also forced the entire length of him inside of you. Your core clamped down around him, squeezing and working to keep the intrusion buried as deeply inside of you as possible.

Your teeth parted at the feeling of it, and you were left with the iron tang of blood in your mouth as he pulled away. After licking your front teeth clean, you frowned at Beetlejuice. “Is your blood… spicy?”

He licked his swelling lip - as always, using far too much tongue. “Yeah. Demon. Anyway…”

Beetlejuice’s hands tightening around your hips was the only warning you received, then he was pounding into you with a fervor that bordered on desperation. You met him stroke for stroke, using your minuscule range of motion to participate. Your feet slipped from the desk, thighs landing heavy and splayed against the cool surface for a moment. Then Beetlejuice hit something raw and aching inside of you and your legs wrapped around his waist without any direction from your brain. 

“C’mon, babes,” he muttered, eyes bouncing between your face, your breasts, and the place where the two of you were joined. “A little more. I know you’ve got it in you…” 

You shook your head back and forth, the motion turning into a release of energy more than an actual refusal. After being kept on the precipice of orgasm fo so long, your body was struggling to let go. “Have you- Are you feeding?” 

“Have been the whole time,” he reassured, giving your thigh a soothing sort of pat. “Come. You know you wanna.” 

Well, you certainly didn’t need him to ask you twice. You used the way your legs were locked around his waist to pull him sharply deeper every time he dragged out of you. The slow withdrawal against the sudden collision of him spearing into you provided the perfect counterpoint, and you were on the edge in moments. 

“I’m-”

“I know, I feel you,” Beetlejuice gritted out. “Now or never, babes.”

Beetlejuice bucked against you, pushing himself deep. You could feel his length twitching and spasming as he spilled into you.  His face was slack with pleasure, his mouth relaxed, a bead of dark red blood trembling on the curve of his bottom lip. His eyes were heavy-lidded as they roamed your body with an expression of mingled satisfaction and possessiveness. 

It was a worrisome expression, honestly. And you would never, ever admit to him that it was what pushed you over the edge. 

The orgasm seemed to rush in from everywhere at the same time. You heard it in the room around you, a sound that had never existed in the world, but was soaking your brain in pleasure. It tingled up from your fingers and toes, spreading into every limb with sparkling weightlessness. It emanated in waves from your pussy, sending contractions of sheer euphoria through you with every pulse.

And you were left utterly slack in its wake. 

Lying naked and splayed across the surface of your desk wasn’t a particularly dignified experience, especially when Beetlejuice collapsed across you. When you looked past him, you could see the sunlight peeking around the edges of the door. You weren’t sure why the time of day should have an impact on how you felt about sleeping with a demon at your job working for said demon, but you were feeling noticeably odd about the whole thing. 

“Okay, up,” you said, tapping Beetlejuice on the forehead. “I have things to get done. Plus, I think I’m ruining some documents.” 

He obligingly sat up, pulling out of you at the same time. You slammed your legs together in an effort to hold the mess inside, and gingerly slipped off the desk. On your way to the small bathroom attached to your office, you peeked backward and grimaced at the way your activities had left the papers on your desk disorganized and crumpled.

Cleanup took more time than you wanted to dedicate to it, but you had learned from previous experiences with Beetlejuice and kept an emergency cleanup kit in the cabinet, tucked carefully behind the first aid kit. Among the items in the cleanup kit were wipes, a clean pair of underwear, some soothing lotion, and a good lip balm.

You used all of them and felt far more presentable when you stepped back into the office. It smelled strongly of sweat and sex and magic, so when you were dressed, you propped the door open and slid up the loading dock door.

“Okay, is your deal fulfilled now?” you asked, sitting back behind your desk and straightening the papers as best you could.

Beetlejuice looked lost for a moment, then guilty. “Ah… we never actually set up that you were payin’ the deal price…”

“Are you serious?” The demand was shrill, but you were feeling distinctly tender between your legs. The idea of jumping into another session was too much. “We absolutely did set that up!” 

“We did, I’m just messin’ with ya,” Beetlejuice told you with a grin. 

You squinted at him, feeling suddenly and deeply suspicious. There was a chance he was actually messing with you… but there was also a chance he had screwed up badly enough that he was lying to cover for himself. Either way, you decided to take him at his word. If he was lying, he could work out a solution for himself. “Yeah… Good one.”

Your attention had moved to the list in your hands for only a moment when Beetlejuice leaned over you. “What is that? Is it the same thing that’s gotcha so busy for the rest’a the day?”

“Not really,” you told him, turning the paper so he could see it. “I’m trying to build some inventory. And a few networks, but that’s much slower going.” 

“Inventory and networks for what?” he asked. 

With a sigh, you set the paper aside. You hadn’t been hiding this from Beetlejuice, per se… you just hadn’t known how to bring it up. It didn’t help that you never got more than a few minutes’ warning that he was going to be around. 

“I’m planning on opening the magical portion of the shop soon,” you explained. “Hopefully in the next few weeks. I want to build some inventory, but it’s tricky to work on it during the day. Less power, you know, and I have to worry that our employees are going to find out something they shouldn’t.”

Beetlejuice didn’t say anything for a while, and your stomach started to knot up with nerves. You were the day-to-day manager of Sinful, but he was still the owner. “Is there any interest?” 

“A lot, actually. We’ve had a few customers come in looking for it. They wanted to know when the products would be available for sale.” 

“How did they know about it?”

You gave a sheepish shrug. “I may have distributed a few samples at coven meetings.”

“And how did they take the idea of you ownin’ a store?” 

At that particular moment, you weren’t worried at all about how your coven felt, or even how the Council felt. You were more worried about the fact that you couldn’t tell how Beetlejuice felt. He wasn’t the most difficult person to read, and it was concerning that you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. 

“I couldn’t tell them I own Sinful,” you told him. “My name isn’t on the paperwork. Remember? We re-filed it and put down a fake name for you. I had to tell them the owner is a human whose mother-in-law was a witch.” 

Beetlejuice barked out a laugh and you relaxed slightly. “Couldn’t make it easy, huh?” 

You smiled. “I needed there to be a reason why he knew about magic, otherwise, the Council would get weird.”

“What’re you gonna do if they wanna meet the owner?” he asked, picking at his nail polish. “Hire somebody?” 

You sighed. “I don’t know. I thought about hiring someone, but I’m back in the same place. I’d need to find a human who knows about magic, but can’t use any of it himself. He’d also have to be new to the area to explain how the coven didn’t know about him before. Maybe I’ll just play it off like he’s always gone for a while, then say he got in an accident…”

“Or I could just play human for ya,” Beetlejuice pointed out. 

The expression on your face was too disbelieving. It had crossed the line into offensive, you could feel that much. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” he demanded, clearly insulted. “I’m a master of illusions. See?” 

It was hard not to see that Beetlejuice was now sporting a rather impressive pair of breasts, especially since he was naked. When he saw the trajectory of your gaze, he preened, pushing his boobs together to create a generous line of cleavage. “See?” 

“Your illusions are good, but I don’t think that will work to convince the Council that you’re a human man with no magic.” 

“I don’t do illusions,” Beetlejuice scoffed. “Well, I do. But anything on me is one-hundred percent real, babes. Besides, I think you’re overlooking how realistic my illusions can be.” 

His nod encouraged your glance downward. You breathed a sigh of relief when saw that your breasts were exactly the same size they had always been, but you froze when your eyes moved a bit further down your body. There was a distinct bulge at your crotch, too large to be anything but…

“Maybe you should warn someone when you’re planning to give them a penis,” you told him, your casual tone hiding the way your pulse had inexplicably started to pound. 

“Okay, fair enough,” he admitted. The bulge disappeared. “But you see my point.”

“What I haven’t seen is your human impression.” You crossed your arms. “If this is it, I’ll have to hire someone. You can pass with normal humans, but witches will immediately know what you are.”

Beetlejuice nodded, a determined look on his face. You watched as he transformed. His jawline rounded, his chin losing the sharpness of its point. The angles of his face grew less unnatural and you watched the subtle points of his teeth disappear between his parted lips. His hair even flattened, losing some of the dramatic volume that made it so unique. 

The rest of the changes that happened were far more difficult to explain. Beetlejuice’s posture improved, but he seemed to get smaller His whole aura changed, going from something wicked and clever to a type of mild-mannered humor. 

When Beetlejuice opened his eyes, they were brown without a single hint of red. The gleeful look of chaos was missing from them, as was the sense that he was somehow harmlessly cruel. He had even dressed himself normally, and looked very average in a pair of dark jeans and a green tee shirt.

“What do you think?” 

The unaccented voice made you deeply uncomfortable, but you still nodded. “Looks believable. Hang on.” 

You got closer and closer, waiting to pick up some hint of magic or demonic energy, but there was nothing. When you were standing close enough to feel his body heat, you caught a faint trace of it, but it could easily be explained away by the potions, charms, and spells you intended to have on the premises. 

“It’s really good,” you eventually admitted. “Even the little bit of magic I sense from you could just be from the other magic in the store. I think the coven will buy it. I think even the Council would buy it. I don’t want to test that, though. Still, good job.”

“Thank you,” he said, nodding slightly. “I worked very hard on it.” 

His voice wasn’t bland or strangely plain, but it lacked of all of the inflection that made him Beetlejuice. You shook your head sharply. “Okay, you’ve proven your point. Stop it and go back to being yourself. This is just weird.” 

He glanced over at you, and you were almost relieved to see a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “I need to practice. If I need to play human, I’ll have to make it believable.”

“Ugh,” you said with a shudder. You went to your desk, eager to get away from the uncanny Beetlejuice.

He followed you. “Nice weather we’re having, isn’t it? We needed this rain. Do you have any coffee? I’m not human until I have a cup. I was mowing the lawn yesterday and I’m still worn out. I might need to take a nap later, but then it’ll be hard to sleep tonight.” 

You fought to keep a straight face, giving him a severe look. “Are you done?” 

Beetlejuice paused, considering for a moment. “Taxes.”

For some reason you couldn’t explain, that broke you. You laughter made Beetlejuice laugh, and he let the human disguise slip away. 

“Okay, even though it devolved into Suburban Dad at the end, I think that’s a pretty believable human impression.” You studied the sheet of inventory you had built up so far. “What do you think about opening the attic for specialty items in a few weeks?” 

Beetlejuice shrugged. “Up to you, babes. You’re the manager. I’m just along for the ride and to play meat puppet every now and then.”

“Two weeks it is,” you decided. “And I’ll work on figuring out a spell that can narrow down those summonings for you.” 

“Ya mean it?” Beetlejuice asked excitedly. “That would be great! It would really save me a lotta time.” 

“I can’t make any promises about when it will be ready,” you warned. “Or any guarantees that it’ll work when it’s done. Don’t blame me if it goes wrong.” 

Beetlejuice chuckled. “Sounds like someone’s gonna start writin’ demonic contracts. Deal, babes. Just lemme know when you’re done.”

And then he disappeared, leaving a haze of smoke and a faintly spicy smell in the air of the office. You shook your head and went back to planning, jotting a few notes and ideas about the theoretical spell into the margin of your page.

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Author's Note - As much as I hate to say it: despite my ever-increasing wip pile, I'm probably not done with these two. I'm not sure when I'll get around to writing more for them, but I'll make sure to link it here. Alternately, you can find me on AO3 under username InkSplots.

Thanks for reading! Comments and reblogs mean the world!

[poisonouspastels]

Anon forgot time exists. I would really love to hear more about Groda's transition from antagonist to basically house cat! Her character really fascinates me and I love a good redemption arc.

Hey no worries at all!! I've actually been talking to Atlas a lot abt Groda lately (he's #1 Groda fan I'm pretty sure) so I can actually copy/paste some of the stuff I've talked abt previously! And to anyone who needs to do some additional catch up reading, I talk about a lot of her past history here, and a bit about more recent (but also still past) events here. But!!! Talking about her (rather long) transitional period specifically, that pretty much started the moment that she got (unwillingly) taken home by the main 4 players after her defeat. Given she held Rana hostage for a few days, among other things, fair's fair. The main focus point though was after everyone getting back to somewhat decent health, Herobrine using his magic was able to find a way to block Groda from using it on her own, hence creating a longer term solution than just having her tied up forever effectively. Groda, without her magic, is a goddamn sitting duck. No Wardens, no turning people to stone, no way to fight back other than a half-hearted slap fight at best. Unfortunately her loss of the ability to use magic ALSO means almost no one could understand her anymore. Previously, thanks to her magic, the Galactic language was basically auto-translated to the players as Commonspeak (her lips actually wouldn't fully sync up with words she spoke, something that was noted by Rana during her time stuck with her in the caves), but now she'd only be reduced to Galactic at its purest form. Fortunately due to Herobrine's self-taught learning of the language (albeit a VERY butchered version of it being self taught), he at least was able to still understand her and communicate in some regard. Or perhaps you could consider that unfortunate for him, given the only weapons Groda had left to use was her words, and he had to be the brunt of actually understanding that and teaching her Commonspeak. On the contrary, soon after this revelation Rana would try and learn Galactic to try and make Groda more comfortable with the current circumstance and maybe feel more motivated to put in the effort. She's not very good at it, but it's the thought that counts! Groda did pick up rather quickly on Commonspeak though, since it and Galactic aren't too far apart in translation. Once she picked up enough on the language to be able to communicate basics (and maybe curse words she would pick up on from Alex), she would soon be getting her hands dirty for once in her life and actually doing field work with Rana, not only to carry her own weight in chores but also to get her more in touch with the new world and being an actual PERSON after her long lived royal life. With time, learning more of Commonspeak and taking in the world around her with the people who were willing to even TRY and help her change for the better, she started to realize more and more how badly her actions managed to inadvertently fuck everything up. How much the world had changed because of what she unleashed, and the weight of her actions fully dawning on her. Which I give this important note of Groda's characterization to:

She gets better slowly with time of course, its all just taken day by day and she learns more and more to do things for herself and to help those around her. I think one of my favorite turning points for her though is when Rana and Herobrine bring home a Sniffer egg they found in some old wreckage at sea. (Sniffers being a species in this instance that went extinct because of the Wither being unleashed by her) Groda is dumbfounded to see the thing even intact at ALL, and hesitant to hope that it may still harbor life at all, but she does take it upon herself to care for it until it does indeed eventually hatch! She names him Bear :)

Thank @beegswaz for the art of them together im obsessed with it Another important arc for her character, arguably the most important one is when she's spotted by the Wither Cult and is eventually pursued directly by White Eyes upon her finding out that Groda is still alive. Upon the (deadly) confrontation between White Eyes and the main 4 + Groda, she shows her truest colors:

After the dust settles, White Eyes is brought home much like the same way Groda once was (albeit unconscious this time around) and a way to free her of the Wither's influence will eventually be found. And though the mere sight of Groda brings her to a rage even now (very understandable), Groda takes some solace in the fact that she for once can think with 100% unbiased confidence that she did the right thing.

[sweetyyhippyy]

Part of You. Spencer Reid x OC! Character. Chapter 13.

Chapter 13: Planning

Summary: Bridgett freaks out and panics when she waits on the results of a very important test. She forgets about it and Spencer finds it. Planning for their future ensues. 

TW: Mentions of pregnancy, language, slight mention of injury and blood, dirty talk, talk of breeding, fingering, orgasm denial (non intentional). 

Word Count: 2.9k

A.N.: Guess who almost forgot to post today? 😳 This is chapter 10 Spencer as well! Next chapter out on Saturday!

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

Bridgett sits on the edge of her bathtub, picking at the hangnail on her thumb, her leg bouncing up and down quickly as she waits for the timer to go off. Bridgett was now officially almost 7 weeks late, and now she was starting to panic. Spencer and her hadn’t been extremely cautious the entirety of their relationship, even the night in Idaho they weren’t careful, but they were careful enough to not be worried about the outcome. She looks at the timer on her phone, how the hell had it only been 30 seconds?

How am I going to tell Spencer? How am I going to tell the team? Can I even still work if I’m pregnant? JJ worked. Just not in the field. Do I still even want to work after I have the baby? What am I going to name the baby? Is it going to look like me, or Spencer? What if I have twins? Nana Rosie is a twin. Twins run in the family. Am I going to let my family see the baby? Am I going to tell my family I’m having a baby? Why did you let him cum in you, you idiot?!

“Bridgett?” Spencer’s voice echoes through her apartment.

“I-uh-I’m in the bathroom. Hold on!” She yells back, grabbing the test and throwing it in one of the drawers in the sink.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

Bridgett flips the sink handle on quickly to drown out the sound of her panic.

Well you gave him the key! Of course he’s going to come over unannounced, you dummy.

“Okay, you’re fine. Relax. Just don’t mention the fact you might have his child growing inside you!” Bridgett whisper yells to herself in the mirror. She wets the rag hanging up on the wall and presses it against her face, taking deep breaths before drying her face and shutting the water off and heading out to see her boyfriend. Bridgett can hear him fiddling around in the kitchen, one of the pans falling to the floor loudly, Spencer cussing to himself. Bridgett laughs, making him turn around.

“Hi.” He smiles innocently, picking the pan up off the floor and putting it in her sink.

Bridgett smiles, leaning up to kiss him. “Hi my love. Whatcha doing?”

“Well, I wanted to make you dinner since tomorrow is a special day and we have work tomorrow. And these… are for you.” Spencer pulls a bouquet of flowers out from behind his back, trying to play it off as a magic trick but he really pulled them off the counter behind him. But Bridgett wasn’t going to let him know she knew his secret.

“Aww, thank you baby. They’re very pretty.” She gushes, kissing him twice. “Can you hand me the tall vase up there above your head?”

“I should tell you, one of the flowers is fake. I also have this card for you.” He says, pulling the card out of his satchel.

It was a homemade card, cut in the shape of a heart. She pouted her lip out exaggerated, making puppy dog eyes at him. It could have been the possible pregnancy hormones, or the fact that her boyfriend was the sweetest person on the face of this earth, but she could have cried right then.

“You gotta read it too.” Spencer says, beaming down at her.

Bridgett opens the card, a short message written on the inside.

“My love for you will last until the final flower dies. I will forever be grateful that I have you and have the pleasure of loving you. -Spencer”

Bridgett melts into his arms, nuzzling into his chest. “I love you so much, Spence.”

“I love you too.” He responds, pressing a kiss to her head. “I’m going to make a little surprise first for you in the kitchen, why don’t you go take a nap, because you need to not be anywhere in there.” Spencer says, gripping her shoulders and turning her around toward her room.

“Are you kicking me out of my own kitchen?” Bridgett laughs at Spencer herding her out of the room and into her room.

“Take a nap, and I’ll come join you in about an hour.”

“Okay.” She responds, kissing his lips lightly. “Just don’t burn my kitchen down.”

Spencer rolls his eyes teasingly and shuts the door behind him. Bridgett kicks her shorts off and climbs into bed, snuggling underneath her sheets.

***

“Bridge?... Bridge?... Bridgy?” Spencer calls her name, softly shaking her shoulder. Bridgett finally jumps awake, her eyes wide as she looks at Spencer. Once she registers that it was Spencer she lays her head back down on the pillow.

“Hmm?”

“Do you uh… have band aids? I had an incident.”

Bridgett lifts her head to look at where his wound was but Spencer hid his hands behind his back where she couldn’t see.

“In my bathroom. First drawer on your left. Are you bleeding to death?”

“No! I’m…” Spencer stops mid sentence, his voice tapering off.

Bridgett waits for him to finish his thought but the room falls silent again.

“Spence?” Bridgett calls out, lifting her head again. The door to her bedroom was still open but she could see the light to her bathroom reflecting under the door. “Spence? Did you find them?” She asks again, kicking the sheets off and crawling out of bed . Bridgett pushes the door open and sees Spencer still standing in her bathroom, his back turned away from her.

“Spence? Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself that bad?”

Spencer turns around, the blue and white stick in his hand.

Shit.

“Shit.” Bridgett sighs, gnawing at her bottom lip.

“Are you… are you pregnant?” Spencer asks, looking back at the test.

“I don’t know… I took the test and was waiting and then I heard you come in so I threw it in the drawer and forgot about it.”

“Do you think you are?”

Bridgett shrugs her shoulders, “I’m late. I didn’t get my period last month and I was supposed to get it a week and a half ago and it never came so I just wanted to see. It could be a lot of reasons why I’m late but me being pregnant could be a big reason. We’ve never been careful, and I’ve been lax on my birth control.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re late sooner? Tell me you were going to take a test?”

“Because why worry you unless it’s real? I don’t think having a baby is something both of us really want… at least not right now. Right?”

“I always figured if you got pregnant, then it just happened and you would decide what you wanted to do from there, if not then we would just wait until we were ready.”

“Are the results still on there?” Bridgett asks, walking up to Spencer. He shows her the test, the screen reading.

Inconclusive

“Damn it. I’m going to have to take another one.”

“Do you want me to run to the store and get you another test?” Spencer questions, throwing the stick in the trash.

“No, the box comes with two. I didn’t take the other one. I can actually do it now.” Bridgett says, grabbing the extra test and opening the wrapper around it. Spencer stayed in place, watching her.

“Spence… I would rather you not watch me please.”

“Right, sorry.” He awkwardly replies, exiting the room.

Spencer paces around the living room waiting for Bridgett to be done. His head was swimming with “What if’s”. And maybe he was a little excited to possibly be a dad, it might not have been when he wanted, but he’s always heard people say “You’re never fully ready to be a parent.” And maybe they weren’t ready but they would figure it out together.

“Okay we have to wait 3 minutes.” Bridgett says, walking into the living room to see Spencer still pacing. “You’re nervous.”

“Ye-yeah a little bit. Aren’t you?”

Bridgett sits on the couch crisscross, patting the spot next to her. Spencer joins her on the couch, putting his hands on top of hers that were shaking a little bit.

“Yeah of course I am. This definitely wasn’t in our plans but if I’m pregnant… then we’re going to be parents.” She laughs a little bit. “And I’m kind of excited to possibly raise a baby with you.”

“Yeah, I am too.” Spencer says, kissing the back of her hand. “And I hope they look like you.”

Maybe being possibly pregnant wasn’t absolutely horrible. Sure Spencer was scared, but he was taking it a lot easier than Bridgett thought he was. There was no doubt that Spencer was going to be the world’s best dad, especially since his own father wasn’t there.

“Since when has 3 minutes felt like 3 hours?” Spencer complains.

“This is my second time waiting, trust me I know the feeling.”

The pair sat together trying to find anything to talk about to distract them from how slow time was actually moving. But everything that they talked about somehow led back to Bridgett potentially being pregnant.

Finally the timer that Bridgett had set went off, both Spencer and Bridgett getting up from the couch together and walking to the bathroom. Bridgett walks in by herself, picking up the plastic stick and looking at the digital screen. Bridgett bit her bottom lip to avoid making the face she wanted to make.

Disappointed.

Bridgett looks over at Spencer, handing him the test with a sad look on her face.

“No?” Spencer questions, taking it from her and looking for himself.

“No. I guess my body is stressed out and that’s why I’m late. But I’m not pregnant.” She responds, a hint of disappointment in her tone.

Spencer kisses her shoulder, trying to make her feel better.

“I’m sorry, baby. I know it was a scary thought at first, but then once we started talking about it, the thought of having a baby with you sounded perfect.”

“Maybe we should talk some more about it.” Bridgett says matter of factly.

“Yeah? You want to start a family?”  Spencer asks, trying to suppress a smile from creeping across his face.

“Come lay down with me in bed and we can talk about it.”

Both of them walk out into her bedroom, Spencer crawling in first and Bridgett laying right on top of him, laying her head on his chest and Spencer’s fingers playing with her hair instantly.

“So, you’re serious about wanting a baby with me?” Spencer asks after a few seconds of silence.

“Yeah, if I wasn’t serious I wouldn’t continue having unprotected sex with you. We’ve been together for 5 years, you know minus me leaving for a year and then you know you were involved with someone else when I came back. You’ve been a part of my life for 8 years and I would like to think it’s time to maybe be a ‘conventional’ couple and have a baby… or two.”

“Or two? Let’s get past the first one and then we’ll talk about a second one.”

“Maybe we should try for… hmmm 6.” Bridgett jokes, turning onto her belly to see her boyfriend's reaction.

Spencer gives off a fake laugh, rolling his head against the pillow under him. “I don’t think so. We can talk about having…” Spencer pauses, thinking before he answers. “Three. Maybe 4. 4 might take some convincing.”’

“I think both you and I know I can be very good at convincing.” Bridgett says with a playful smile on her face. She sits up on her knees, pulling Spencer up to sit up against her headboard, he licks his lips as Bridgett climbs in his lap, smirking at him as she settles into him, rubbing his face.

“You think you have me wrapped around your finger don’t you, pretty girl?”

“Ask the team, they’ll confirm you are. It’s not a bad thing. I like that you’d do anything to make me happy. Because I’d do the same.”

Spencer kisses her lips softly, careful not to make any sudden moves that would lead to the multiple rounds of sex they were going to have anyways.

“You do a lot to make me happy, Bridgy. You didn’t complain about going to the Edgar Allen Poe puppet theater with me even though I know you didn’t want to go. Or any of the lectures you’ve gone with me to. All the Doctor Who episodes you’ve sat through.”

“I want to make your nerdy brain happy.” Bridgett smiles, kissing him again, wrapping her arms around his neck and moaning into his mouth. She quickly pulls back from the kiss.

“You know I mean ‘nerdy’ in the most loving way possible, right?”

Spencer laughs, squeezing her cheeks in his hands, making her look like a little chipmunk. “Yes I know.”

Bridgett nods her head, going back in for a kiss. It wasn’t long before both of them were shirtless and needy for each other, Spencer nipping at the skin on her exposed chest when Bridgett pulls back from the kiss for air, which makes her whine.

“Are you trying to make a baby tonight?” Bridgett jokes, feeling Spencer’s soft touch on her shoulder blade while he sucks the light tan skin of her collarbone. Bridgett gasps, feeling him lick the bruise he was making.

“Why not? We could try for a Halloween baby.” He whispers in her ear. “We both love Halloween.” Spencer’s fingers slipping underneath her underwear and diving right into her soaking wet middle.

Bridgett’s head falls back a sigh of relief echoing in the room, feeling his fingers slip inside her. “Sounds like a plan.” She responds, drowning everything else going on in her mind out and focusing on the pleasure her boyfriend was giving her.

“Lay down right here in between my legs.” Spencer says, assisting Bridgett down onto her back. She rests her legs on both sides of Spencer’s upper thighs, open to him, but a fabric barrier standing between what Spencer was craving. He pulls the waistband down her hips, Bridgett lifting her butt up to get them all the way off.

“So pretty.” Spencer says low, massaging both sides of her inner thighs. Bridgett watches Spencer’s face as he studies her body;  every curve she has, the stretch marks she was still insecure about, the cute moles scattered throughout her stomach. He gives his middle and ring finger a coating of spit then slides his fingers back inside her. Spencer loved being able to see her full body reaction to his touch. She massaged her nipples as he played with the wetness, moaning softly.

“I love you, Spence.”

Spencer looks over at her angelic face, her brown eyes were half open but were focused on him.

“I love you too. Just think, in a few months we’re going to have proof of our love. You want me to put a baby in you?”

Bridgett didn’t know what it was, but hearing Spencer ask if he wanted her to put a baby in her made her clench around his fingers. It turned her on to hear him want to take their relationship to the next level.

“Yes. I want you to put a baby in me, Spence. I want to have your baby.”

His fingers continued to thrust in and out of her dripping core, trying to quickly coax an orgasm out of her before fucking her. Bridgett stared at him, the best she could, as he fingered her. She almost wanted to take a picture of the way his mouth was parted, his tongue licking his lips every so often which made his lips look so plump and kissable. Spencer could tell when she was close every single time by the way her body tensed, and her walls got more slick, and this time was no different.

“Oh shit.” He cusses, pulling his fingers out of her quickly, making Bridgett whine loudly and desperately. Spencer awkwardly gets out of bed and runs out of the room.

Bridgett rolls onto her stomach, laying flat against her mattress, annoyed that she was denied her orgasm seconds before overcoming her.  A few minutes pass and Spencer comes back in quietly, laying his head against the small of her back, kissing her bare skin.

“I’m mad at you.” She mumbles, her face still buried in the mattress. “I was so close.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I was so distracted that I forgot about the cake I was making you in the oven… it’s kinda good I remembered because I didn’t burn it.”

“I would have rather you let me cum.” She mutters, still not looking at Spencer.

Spencer snorts, wrapping his arms around her body, placing kisses on her back. “Can I at least show it to you before you stay mad at me?”

Bridgett turns her head to look at her boyfriend, narrowing her eyes at him before turning back over and getting out of bed, throwing her T-shirt back on and slipping her underwear back on. Spencer looks at her, proud of his work. Bridgett looks at the cake pan that was in the shape of a heart, the closer she looks at the cake she noticed it was a giant cookie.

“Awww you made me a cookie cake?”

“Yeah, I know you’re not a huge fan of birthday cake and you like cookies better so I made this.” Spencer looked like a toddler who was showing off their drawing they made.

Bridgett grabs Spencer’s cheek and kisses him sweetly. “I love you, so, so much. Why are you so perfect?”

Spencer kisses her forehead twice, “I love you too. I still have some stuff to do to finish it, but I need to finish something else first.” He says, pulling her arm to bring her closer.

“And what would that be?”

“I think you know.  Baby time.”

[captainsimagines]

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Seven

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 7 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this Chapter: abusive parental relationship; strong language; canon-level violence (explosions); mentions of alcohol poisoning; mention of Infinity War/Endgame deaths; perceived domestic partner abuse (no such thing actually happens!); concussions and minor injuries; mentions of arranged marriages; mentions of drug smuggling and human smuggling; lying; ANGST!

Word Count: 14,100+

A/N: So close to the finish line...

~

Spain, 2024, 5:07 pm.

    “Get the damn ice cream, Peter. I’m not holding you back.”

The kid sped down the sidewalk as fast as his feet would let him, skips in his steps and ignoring the chastising yells from Bucky. 

“You’re letting him have sugar?” Bucky whines, sluggish in his own steps. The Spanish summer sun was blaring, burning your forehead and building the same cold craving in your throat. It was just the three of you, carefree but melting, happy but annoyed with the constant proximity of each other. The villa (if you could call it that, it was more of a cottage) was listed as having three rooms - not the two you were stuck with. Bucky was at the last inch of self-control, begging you to switch with him - if only for one night - because ‘the kid fuckin’ talks in his sleep, doll! One more night and I might smother him.’

It was Bucky’s idea to take a little vacation. A year after the blip and only a few months after Peter’s world was turned upside down, a vacation seemed like the best choice. Preferably somewhere that was quiet and somewhat rural - somewhere you guys won’t be easily recognized. 

So the three of you packed and flew across the pond. In all honesty, you hadn’t even told the rest of the team where you were going besides Wanda. One day you were greeting them in the common room and preparing lunch, the other you were throwing your suitcase in one of the two vacant rooms in this little Spanish cottage. The three of you were truly off the map in terms of late notice. 

“Let the kid live. He’s having a mid-life crisis at eighteen.”

“I’ve had more mid-life crisis’s than his age combined. He’s not special.” The pointed look on your face had Bucky sighing in small defeat. “Okay, okay.”

These past two weeks in shared solitude, even if this trip was supposed to be relaxing, was beginning to melt into a tiresome routine. Well, just nights. The days were mild at best. And to make matters worse, you and Bucky had been dodging the team’s calls, messages that you left for voicemail. Bucky had clicked ‘end call’ more times than he could count and his excuse was always, ‘ the kid doesn’t want to leave, doll.’ Even annoyed with Peter, Bucky wanted only the best. 

It was only a matter of time until your phones were tracked and you were forced to come home. Everyone probably knew where you were anyway - you weren’t exactly hiding. But since you already got a good two weeks in, you figured they had taken some sympathy. 

“Think we can get him to visit a museum today or something?”

Bucky shrugged, lining up at the coffee stand near the ice cream cart. “Saw him checking out banana bread recipes last night. Seems more like a baking day.”

You could go for some banana bread. Ordering two iced coffees and making more miscellaneous small talk while waiting for Peter to order, you studied the streets of Spain. The country had suffered greatly when, cruelly, more than half their population disappeared. Left in proper ruins, no one believed it would ever recover. But then there was an election, a change in the structural government, and it just… did. They rebuilt themselves better than any country had, in your opinion. 

It was a rather calm day with minimal people out and about. It was exactly what you guys deserved after every mission - in your case, after a long month of PR recovery after that bar fight alongside Sam. 

“You bake, Barnes?”

He smiled fully, “Any chance I get.”

“You guys want anything?” Peter yelled out, bouncing lightly on his heels as he waited. You waved him off. “You sure? It’s pretty cheap for summer prices!”

After rejecting Peter’s dozen ice cream questions and offers, the three of you decided the heat was a little too much to bear, even with sunscreen. Peter spoke most of the way. Something about that banana bread.

Bucky, being the baker, helped him choose the best recipe of the four Peter had bookmarked and soon the kitchen was only half dirty with eggs and mashed bananas.

“What do you mean a cup of baking soda, kid? Use your eyes,” Bucky yelled in second hand embarrassment. “I don’t think a cup of baking soda goes in anything.”

“Read right here, dude,” Peter poked at his tablet. “A cuuuu... okay. Okay, I see what I read wrong.”

“You two better be making me some good ass banana bread today. I don’t want to throw up!” You had opted to let the two men have their fun in the kitchen. You tried to bake, but you were more of a cook than anything else.

“You could be reading out the directions.”

“I could do a lot of things,” you respond with the emphasis on “could”.

The doorbell interrupted your no-so-real argument. Peter snickered, “You could get the door.”

With a displeased grunt and a straightened middle finger to the kid, you opened the door to find two people who were definitely not invited. Clint, with this magical and massive smile on his face and Steve, with his eyebrow cocked and arms crossed.

“Oh, would you look at that. Guests! Welcome to our humble abode!”

“Now, how and why?” Bucky groaned. But his actions contradict his words as he went to give Steve a hug, covered in flour and all.

“Hey, Clint,” you mumbled, purposely ignoring the super soldier side-eyeing you. “Care to tell us what you’re doing here?

Clint returned your warm smile, “See, Cap? They’re safe. Can we go now?”

Steve rolled his eyes, arms crossed over his chest in a rather demanding way. “We’re here to take them home, Clint.”

Bucky scoffs.

“Eh, you might be. But I’m here to soak up some of this Spanish sun.” A low grunt sounded in the back of Clint’s throat as he spoke. He was already making his way to pick at the mashed ingredients. 

“You heard the man, pal,” Bucky slaps Steve’s shoulder, leaving him at the door as well. Awkwardly left alone, you blow a small raspberry and step aside to let Steve in. Bucky continues, “We’re here to soak up some sun. And I’m not done soakin’.”

With great protest, Steve maneuvers Bucky away from the kitchen and into the hallway beside the master bedroom. With both super soldiers out of the way, you finally go to help Peter with mixing. “Why did he come, really?”

Clint shrugs, arms deep inside your cabinets and collecting whatever desserts you had pre-packaged. “Honestly? I think he missed you guys.”

“All this drama because he misses Bucky? He could have just shown up declaring truce and had a nice little vacation,” you mumbled, glaring at Steve from behind. 

“Think he felt like he needed an excuse to even show up. But they really are asking for you guys back home. Threatened to arrest your ass.”

“Lucky me.”

You could make out snippets of their tiny argument up ahead. 

‘You could have called.’

‘You haven’t been answering the phone, Buck.��

‘I’ve been relaxing.’

A heavy sigh. 

‘I just thought we told each other everything.’

‘Believe it or not, Steve… but I’ve got more friends now. Isn’t that what you wanted? I’m not trying to ignore you, I - I just needed to help another friend out this time.’

Peter, with great care, washes his hands and makes sure there aren't any random mashes of banana on his clothing before he side-steps you and Clint to interrupt the very ‘private’ conversation between the super soldiers. “Hey, Mr. Steve- Cap, hey.”

Steve immediately lets his hard gaze falter. “Hey, kid. You doin’ good?”

Peter nods in response. 

“He’s doing great! Much needed vacation that still isn’t over.”

“Buck.”

Inserting yourself may not have been the best option. “Give it up, Rogers. We’re on vacation. And until the kid says he’s ready to go home, we go home.”

Peter fumbles, “Oh, please don’t put me on the spot like that. I’m not good with confrontation.”

Bucky quickly answers before Steve can, “It’s not confrontation, Peter. We love being out here and if it’s helping your mental health, we’re not going to take that away from you.”

Steve blinks and his expression looks like one of hurt. “You think I wanna do that? The literal president has been asking for your location. You’re not allowed to leave the country.”

You shrug, “Well, no one told me that.”

“Buck, you were just granted immunity three months ago. And you go and drop off the face of the earth?”

“I’m literally in Spain.”

Steve blinks again. He really can’t believe he’s got to deal with two people with similar personalities. “Your point?”

“On Earth…?”

Clint decides to make his presence known. He has even inserted the poured batter into the glass tray for you guys. “Why don’t we just stay with ‘em, Cap? God knows you need a vacation, too.”

“We have two rooms. You’d be bunking on the floor,” you say, pointing to random areas on the floor.

Clint waves his hand in the air, “Not the worst place I’ve slept in.”

“I’m being hounded day and night to bring you three home.” Steve looks about ready to burst into tears of frustration.

“Turn off your phone?”

Steve whips his head and stomps to close the few feet of distance between the two of you. “You really think it’s that easy? You really think I wasn’t worried when my two best friends just disappeared one night and didn’t tell me?”

Two.

Best. 

Friends. 

Before you could even comment, Bucky puts on the dramatics.  “We ran away together, Stevie. We meant to tell you.”

Steve takes a moment, just staring at the ceiling and piecing together his thoughts. “Joke all you want, Buck. I’m bringing you home.”

“Ste-”

“No!” He’s stomping back to the front door now. “I’ve had enough! I can’t stand not knowing where you guys are all day when bad things keep happening in this world. Just… just come home.”

All is quiet besides the quiet munching of Clint and his rogue cookie. Steve’s face did this thing when he was at war with himself, anxiety crawling up his arms or panic weighing his empty stomach down. His face drained color and that perfect renaissance oil lost its blush, blended paint that turned a murky gray. A masterpiece lost in storage.

“I can take the couch,” you whisper, arms erupting in goosebumps. “You guys can stay the night and we’ll go home tomorrow, okay? Or somewhere pre-approved, I guess.”

Bucky didn’t argue. Neither did Peter. 

Steve's imaginary painter adds the softest pink back to Steve’s cheeks as you compile a mess of blankets and pillows for him.

Present Day, 2025, 7:15 am

     There’s a warmth near you as you begin to lazily shuffle against the sheets, heavy on your chest but comfortable all in all. 

There are no worries, no sudden bursts of Avenger business, no fights needing to be fought. Simply Steve warm against you with sunlight draping over his bare and freckled shoulders. 

The serum enhanced for the sole purpose of strength and survival. And sure, it healed the body quicker than the average human body could naturally, but the one thing it couldn’t do was strip personality. 

Steve had freckles splattered along his broad shoulders and down to in between his shoulder blades, light in color and all similar in size. Something a lot of people hated about themselves and tried to cover up while others tried to mimic. The serum was supposed to heal damaged skin, sunburnt areas, birthmarks, and even moles - at least, that’s what the official 1943 report had claimed. 

But over the years, Steve had continued to age and grow into his new body. And while he couldn’t get dangerously sick anymore, anything unknown could still occur. No one had the same serum as Steve and last Tony had heard, Peggy had spilled the last remnants of Steve’s original DNA (blood they took before the procedure) in the Hudson. Bucky seemed to be experiencing the same natural changes as well. 

It had been proven that neither Steve nor Bucky could carry or transmit diseases, experience abnormal cell production, nor could they develop a lifelong ailment without severe reason. 

So imagine everyone’s surprise when Clint called one morning while deep in a routine mission (somewhere in Africa, you really don’t remember) to relay the news that, ‘you guys aren’t gonna fucking believe this - yeah Rogers, I’m telling them the hilarious news right now - Steve’s appendix just up and exploded last night - hey! He just stole - hold on. Give me back my hearing aid, you abelist fuck!’. 

Steve had stretch marks on his back from the procedure, his elbow still hurt from time to time after he had snapped it a year ago, and the white scar above his right hip reminded him that even super soldiers are not exempt from the wonders of the appendix. 

His breathing was slow and his eyelids flickered. Seemed he was enjoying his first deep sleep in a while. You craned your neck to try and read the cable box across the room, slightly making out a seven in the front before you gave up. You were due for your annual eye appointment, anyway. 

Steve did have perfect eyesight though, so damn him.

You shrugged the sheets from your arms. He was on his stomach, cheek planted on your chest and right foot dangling off the side of the bed. His left arm was draped over your middle and his right was tucked inside a pillowcase. His hair draped over his forehead and some of it was still tucked behind his ears. 

Careful to not wake him, you gently traced the ridge of his nose with your index finger, resting it on the tip that always turned bright pink regardless of mood. Once at the end, you went back up to trace it again. 

“Beak,” you whispered more to yourself, and you bit your lip to suppress the overwhelming urge to giggle. 

Steve was here, next to and near you, and he was so warm. 

You could have stayed in bed for hours, sleeping and cuddling and fucking, and you would bet your left kidney that Steve wanted that too. It was impossible to question it, it had to be, because Steve was too genuine. You had met hundreds of men in your life: some the literal devil, some cowards, some reserved, and rarely, some genuine at heart. Steve fit some category that didn’t even exist. 

You wanted to love him and hate him. You wanted to make love and fuck him. You wanted to kiss him and annoy him. He checked a box that didn’t exist but that you would just have to reserve for him. The annoying little shit who could lift Thor’s hammer. 

The door almost ripped off its hinges by the brute force of someone’s leg. You didn’t even fully register being crushed by Steve until his elbow stabbed you right in the gut. 

“Rogers!” you groaned in pain and half trying to reach for your pistol on the bedside table. 

There was a collective gasp of surprise (and maybe terror) from the people that just broke down your door. After yesterday’s unplanned run-in with Ramirez, no doubt this was called-for.

“Oh, hell…” Sam grumbled, lowering his gun the second he realized two of his friends were sharing one bed. “Lemme guess, the other bed’s mattress was too firm but this one’s just right.”

Bucky stood behind him, a knowing smirk plastered on his smug face. He looked between you and Steve, ignoring the way Scott was practically pulling his shoulder down in pure fits of laughter. Didn’t take much for Scott to tip himself over and almost drag Bucky down with him. 

“Couldn’t you knock?” Steve nearly yelled, body still trying to shield yours even though you were fully dressed. You were struggling to push him away in pure embarrassment, but he seemed intent with this form of protection. 

“You weren’t answering your phone! We changed our check-in times to seven instead of eight, remember?”

Steve, ever the gentleman, brought the sheets up higher for you and finally lifted himself out of bed. 

And Bucky, ever the gentleman who has been spending way too much time with Clint, nodded his head toward you. “You two fuck?”

Mouth dropping in humiliation, you pulled the sheets up over your head and screamed into the temporary cover. Steve sputtered over whatever explanation he was thinking of pulling out of his ass. 

“You two fucked,” Bucky smugly confirmed. 

Steve pulled on the nearest shirt and went to kick Scott, who was ‘criss-cross apple-sauced’ on the floor and laughing way too loudly. “Is it really any of your business?”

“Man, that’s an answer!” Sam was about to fall into the same fit as Scott. 

Annoyed, and fueled by that annoyance, you ripped the sheets off and marched for the bathroom. “You really want to know, you nosy little fucks? We did fuck and he made me come three times. Ask him how, I’m sure he’ll teach you a thing or two, no matter how embarrassed he may seem right now.”

You left him alone. You literally just exposed him and you left him alone with the wolves. 

All was quiet until Sam blew a small raspberry. “Three times?”

     Bucky didn’t need to speak to show he was about to tease the hell out of you. He simply sipped his coffee until he emptied it, and then refilled it. You couldn’t even finish a single mug yet because you were waiting to break the tension. 

Looking around the hotel bar because he still valued your privacy, Bucky made sure to keep his voice low. “Three times?”

Half wanting to slap the smirk off his face and the other half wanting to announce Steve’s naughty accomplishment, you settled for pouring more coffee into your mug. 

“Don’t you dare hold what I said against me, I literally had just woken up.”

“Mm, yeah. I remember how you literally moaned Thor’s name when you were startled awake from a nap in the living room.”

“Bucky!” you yelled, turning your shoulders inwards when you received a few odd looks from other early risers. Well, some were early risers. The person closest to the door was an agent, as was the other eating breakfast at the bar. “You promised you would never mention that again!”

He shook his head with amusement, “I can’t believe you swore me to secrecy when Loki basically told everyone.”

“He-!” Choking on your own spit, you slid lower into your booth. “That mischievous, conniving, son of a bitch.”

“In all honesty, I think that was his way of flirting with you.”

“Telling everyone I had a wet dream about his brother?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t be the first.”

You smirked, “Oh, trust me. I know.”

Bucky squinted, guilty in his spoken words. “All I’m saying is, it’s nice that you didn’t just write Steve off with us, as if nothing happened.”

It made your heart swell that even in a moment with you, Bucky would still always protect Steve. 

“I would never. We actually talked last night and he really apologized.”

“Really?” His eyes were hopeful. 

“He did. And as cliche as it sounds, one thing led to another.”

You realized your earlier words were contradictory when Bucky sighed sadly, “This better not have been a one time thing. I’ll strangle you both.”

You scoffed and finally took a piece of that blueberry muffin on your plate. “Screw you, Barnes. It’s Steve we’re talking about. I’d give him the world if I could.”

That made Bucky blush. “God, I’m stupidly happy for him. I always said he’d need to find a dame who had as big of a mouth as he does.”

Rolling your eyes, you offered him some of that muffin. He gladly broke off a piece. “Don’t go marrying us off just yet.”

“Doll, he almost imploded when we discovered you slept together. Teasing him about proposing might just kill him.”

You laughed at that. Although Steve had admitted he regretted the time you lost, there wasn’t any chance he would push you any further. He was probably comfortable with taking things slow, no matter the history. You had that in common. 

“Seems we’re all just gonna have to make sure we don’t cause his demise.”

Smiling as he chewed, Bucky played with your feet under the table. Safe moments like these always occurred before a mission, no matter how simple or heavy they were. And like people love to say, you never fought with each other before. Just in case. 

Going to bed angry was another thing entirely. That, the whole team was proficient in. 

“You ready for tonight?”

Yesterday had definitely turned you against the very concept of family reunions, what with the small ache between your shoulders. You were angry with Seda, with Ernesto, disappointed with Ramirez, and neutral toward your sister. 

God, your sister. This would be the first time since you left Mexico for school and SHIELD that you would be seeing her, as well as your other siblings. Jackeline was perhaps the only sibling you had some real memories with. Everyone else was already deep in the business or far away from the chaos. The team only knew of two other siblings who rsvp’d. The others: radio silence. 

“Part of me just wants a normal family wedding. I’m kinda hoping we can just end it all tonight.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Bucky chuckled, finishing off your muffin for you. “You’ll get some closure soon enough.”

There was no such thing as closure. Just less of a constant sting. 

“Bucky,” you spoke seriously now. “My father made Steve sign something yesterday.”

“He told us at the debrief yesterday.”

“When did you have a debrief?”

Bucky scooted in his booth, quickly explaining. “Uh well, it wasn’t so much of a debrief as it was a simple overview. Just a heads up.”

You tilted your head, somewhat unconvinced. “Uh-huh… but we could void it, right? He had a fucking notary there and everything.”

“We can declare it void, yeah Y/N,” he grabbed your hand over the table. “He won’t get tangled in this.”

With a heavy sigh, you gripped Bucky’s hand tighter. “I’m really glad you guys are gonna help us.”

He returned your smile. “Anything for family.”

Family. 

After all these years of self-hatred and despising your own blood, you blinded yourself of the simple truth that you already had a real family. Whether you were accepted after Sokovia, or after you helped Steve escape with Bucky, or after those long five years, you were accepted. And you accepted them right back. 

    The briefing goes as expected. Didn’t seem like anyone was going to live down the now obvious fact that you and Steve had slept together after years of unnoticed pining. You simply took the teasing in stride, better than Steve even, who stuffed his face full of chips in embarrassment.

The plan was simple but ever-evolving. The three of them will hang back: Bucky at the hotel, Scott and Sam at the nearby base with Torres. The base was fifteen minutes from the estate, hidden behind those same pine trees but the perfect cover - it was a nearby diner. Steve will still take the shield, FRIDAY was installed on your personal phones, and any weapons you attached to your person were specifically made to deter metal detectors. Once in, it was mingle, mingle, mingle.

There were going to be a thousand questions to answer: What in the world is Captain America doing here? Is he here to cause trouble? Are you two seriously dating? So, Captain America being one of us means holding Thor’s hammer was a myth, aye?

Then you would move on to the more important guests. Jackeline’s greeting would be more of a reunion. But flying under and over the radar had to walk the same line - you needed to mix in with the crowd and make sure they see you participating, but then escape for a little while to continue the mission.

Once in, the task was to electronically and physically retrieve everything Scott didn’t have time to yesterday, plus the new information Ernesto got for today and tomorrow. His latest emails, list of contacts, checks, birth certificates, video evidence.

“Do we all know our duties?”

You wanted to wrap up Steve’s commanding voice and keep it a special secret, a secret that was yours and the team’s to share.

“We got it, Cap. For the tenth time this week - you two okay?”

Sam was rewarded with a slanted smile. “Everytime you ask me that, I’ll lie.”

He nods, “At least you admit it. You’re not alone in this.”

“For years,” you continued, “It’s been that way. I guess I’m both ready for it to end and not. I want them behind bars. I don’t want the repercussions.”

“Makes sense,” Bucky agrees. “At least part of the fight will be over.”

Beside you, Steve clenches his jaw. “We’re always fighting.”

Bucky grins at him, “Yeah.” There’s a sparkle in his eye as he leans forward to squeeze Steve’s thigh. “At least it’s not with each other anymore.”

     They weren’t lying when they said vibranium was lightweight. Felt different from nano-tech and was an obvious change from your regular body suit. You felt protected and stylish. Good, because even though you weren’t obligated to impress those vultures, there were still a few cousins and extended family members you wanted compliments from. And?

The black turtleneck was warmer than you expected and didn’t strangle you. You were a bundle of velvet bliss right now. The cuffs were a golden brown, completely made from vibranium. Modeling in the mirror, you whispered a few ‘pew-pew’s as you blocked pretend bullets. C’mon, golden bracelets? You were basically Wonder Woman. 

The tights were your own, thin and black and you could still see there were faint bruises on your knees from training. Once all that was situated, you pulled on the long skirt and tucked in the bottom of your shirt, glad the way the high-waisted design sucked everything in. The skirt was the same golden brown as the cuffs, shorter in the front and wavy as it draped down the back, barely reaching your ankles. You tied the skirt’s belt in a tight bow and pulled on the black boots Shuri had also sent you. The heel was thick and short, and the boot was pretty tight around the top of your ankle. 

Time was ticking on that well-deserved goody basket you were meaning to send to the royal siblings. 

Hoop earrings, three rings dressing your left hand, a simple golden necklace - now you need to do your hair and make-up. 

Steve was just patiently waiting for his turn in the bathroom, bless his heart. 

     “Scott said the files are in his personal belongings. We suspect he’s planning to smuggle over fifty people tomorrow. Their records should be hidden away in those belongings, too.” 

Sam always kept a leveled head in dire situations like these. He was rational and helpful, always waited until the job was done and everyone was safe before he had a drink or a cry. It was safest, perhaps the most fair thing the Avengers could do for the public after destroying half the cities they fought in. The media didn’t need to know about the late-night fights, alcohol poisoning, or frequent therapy sessions. Your coping methods were all different - Steve has no doubt Sam will immediately pack an overnight bag and Bucky to visit his sister and nephews once the wedding concluded. 

Steve? Well, Steve was surprisingly calm, all things considered. 

“You get any hits yet? Anything from Ramirez that could help us find those people sooner?”

Sam sighs sadly, shaking his head. “It’s looking like we’re heading into a full-on fight.”

That’s not what Steve wanted to hear. A ‘full-on’ fight almost always had accidents, misfires, innocent casualties, and a few cuts and scrapes to add to his own personal collection. 

“Sam,” Steve puts down the files in his hand and shuts off his monitor to signal he’s done researching for the night. “I really don’t know how to thank you.”

“You know,” Sam smiles at him, “I’m gettin’ real tired hearin’ you say that.”

Steve huffs out a laugh. Sam gently exhales - Steve can feel it. 

“You two really are the same.” Sam points at Steve and to the bathroom door. “Always apologizing for shit you can’t control.”

Steve looks down to his feet, a blush in his pale cheeks. After failing to clip his cufflinks on his own, he holds his arms out to Sam who happily clips them for him. 

“Is it real?”

Steve pauses. He doesn’t really need to think about it because he knows. He’s known for a while even if he was on autopilot. The pause only serves to help him catch his breath from the happy prickle that crawls up his spine. “As real as second chances go.”

Sam laughs and claps his shoulder, “I get it. We seem to get a hell of a lotta those.”

      Now that the mission was truly kicking into gear, fucking full speed ahead, Steve had no other choice but to pull shreds of Captain America from that metaphorical attic of his. Took everything in him to revert back, never fully, and each time would be different from the last. Sometimes it was mentally draining being responsible for a whole team and creating the plans, other times he regretfully felt like a colonizer, an intruder who followed orders from the top and was forced to execute them. This time around, he was stepping into uncharted territory, but still familiar, and he had a million roles to mime. 

“Steeeve.”

His smile was instant and he gravitated to your voice. “Hmm?”

“So, I have an idea for a hairstyle,” you reply, throwing open the bathroom door with a brush in one hand and the other holding the top layers of your hair up. “I got enough hair for it.”

“Tell me about it. It gets in the way of everything.”

“Haha.” You rolled your eyes, still trying to shovel more hair higher. “I curled it, so all I gotta do is tug this upper half up into a ponytail while the rest stays down. But can you help? My shoulders still hurt and I haven’t taken my advil yet.”

Steve shuffles back into the room to grab you two pills before he replaces his hands with yours. “So, just lift it up?”

You hum confirmation, watching Steve in the mirror as he pulled your thick curls higher, snapped the hair tie between his teeth, and tied it all. He pulled the strands outward so the high curls still fell around your face. The hairstyle would have been easier with extensions (for a much fuller look) but if you had to throw your body around these next two days, you’d rather save yourself the embarrassment of having them pulled off. 

“Thank you,” you blush. These moments were so intimate, so sweet, just you and Steve. “You need any help?”

Steve looks down at himself. He had already tied his own tie. He could style his own hair and comb his beard. “I think I’m good. Forgot to pack cologne, though.”

“I’ve got some perfume in my suitcase. There should be one in there that isn’t too flowery.”

Steve rolls his eyes and turns to leave. “Not really a problem, doll.”

Pulling on his suit jacket and reaching for your suitcase to set it on the bed, he miscalculated the balance he was so obviously lacking. Instead of toppling head first himself, he fumbles your suitcase and spills its contents on your bed. He stills for a second, looking to the closed bathroom door to see if you popped your head through to ask what the hell that sound was. But it remained closed, and Steve silently groaned because of his clumsiness. 

He tries his best to roll the clothing items back in, cursing whenever he would accidentally squeeze a perfume bottle you had hidden in there. He counted three. The one he picks smells like roses.

Amongst the ruins he finds your passport, multiple IDs, and two pairs of sunglasses. He chuckles to himself and thinks, we’ve been here for four days and she hasn’t worn these once.

A torn piece of paper stood out from the pile, folded neatly in its own envelope but still damaged. 

     CLINT

Curious, Steve opens the envelope, wholeheartedly expecting to find the written contents from the archer himself, but pauses when he reads the simple sentence, in your handwriting. 

‘After careful deliberation, I have come to the conclusion that I want you to have all my video games.’

If Steve didn’t know any better, and judging by the multiple other letters peeking through the torn tape from the corner of your suitcase, it sounded like a goodbye letter.

“What’s taking so long?”

Startled, Steve shoves the letter under the pile of clothes. “Uh, my clumsy ass spilled your clothes everywhere so I’m being good and fixing everything.”

“...annoying.”

Still, you stayed inside the bathroom.

He glanced back just to make sure. And he knew he shouldn’t be snooping, the guilt was already eating away at him, but he now noticed the lump under the torn tape and another envelope poking through. 

They were all signed for different people. Bucky, Wanda, Peter, Rhodey - 

The devil on his shoulder drowned the cries of the angel. 

Opening his, he prays for his quick reading skills to aid him before you realized what he was doing.       

Steve, 

     Believe when I say that I thought I would put a bullet in my father before he could. Whoops…

I don’t really know why I’m writing these letters besides the thrill of morbidity for my untimely death or because I’m an amateur writer on the side. I never know what to say to you, anyway. Whether it’s in person or on paper. I’ve got a hundred drawn-up speeches in my head I almost say to you. But they don’t come out when I want them to and it seems a bit much to write out the words to several imaginary crumpled pieces of paper. 

This will have to do. 

Steve, I know for a fact, deep in whatever soul I have left, that you are a good man. 

When the world fell apart, I held on to you. I don’t know why. Natasha bugged me about it, sent me those signature smirks of hers whenever we did anything remotely weird. She believed something was going on between us and I would get so angry with her because it was like she saw something I couldn’t. And I wanted to see it. Wrap it up for myself and live in the softness.

You slept by my side when I would ask, you let me look through your private sketchbook to help ease my mind, and you would jump at every chance to shield me from danger. Even when you know I can take care of myself. I don't know how many times I have to remind you. 

I don’t understand why you shut me out after we brought our friends back. And at the time, it hurt like hell. I literally wanted to kill you and then myself. It made no sense, it still doesn’t. I won’t lie and say it still surprises me or that it no longer hurts. ‘Cause I’m numb to it now and the pain is more of a dull ache. 

But I guess you had your reasons, no matter how hurtful, how ridiculous, no matter how stupid. 

Fuck, why didn’t you get some of that life Tony had always wanted for you? The question eats me alive. Maybe you did move on, maybe you would miss us too much, I truly don’t know. When you confessed to wanting some form of that life when we rescued Wanda, it just confused me more.

Then my father basically declared war and you cut me out. I can’t help but think you stayed behind to help me finish this, what with that righteous streak of yours, but if it is the case, then I am so sorry. 

You deserve to live, Steve. 

Guess what I really want to close with is this: find that life you always wanted. Buy a boat, or a cabin in the secluded woods and become a lumberjack, travel, open your own art museum - hell, erase all traces of your identity and sell painted landscapes for a living. 

In any form you find it, just try. You know I’m always rooting for you, and I’m always by your side. No matter how annoying and smart-mouthed you may be. 

There’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be than here, there, and everywhere with you. 

With as much love in me, 

    The swirl of your name leaves him disoriented, and slightly paralyzed. Steve licks the envelope closed.    

     Steve puts the very existence and contents of your letter to the back of his mind for the time being. He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, no time to dissect it word for word. He’ll focus on it later. He still doesn’t know what reaction he should be experiencing. The letter was unexpected, yes, but it’s the matter of you writing a goodbye letter - as if you weren’t going to make it out of here alive. And that about saws Steve in two. 

Steve thinks the elevator comes too fast and wonders what he could do to stop time. The mics on your neck generate enough noise for you to hear the static on the other end. No one is currently online, and Steve cherishes the little moments he’s getting before having to transition into ‘Captain America’ mode. 

There wasn’t much time today to truly bask in the afterglow. The moment the elevator opens Steve literally drags you inside and captures your lips in a rather chaste kiss. It surprises you momentarily but you’re responding, and it’s fluid and familiar. The kiss is brief, but it feels as if your years mold into this single act, and Steve’s smiling wider than he has today when the first thing you say as you part is that maybe you chose the wrong shade of lipstick because it looks too damn dark on his lips.

The elevator reaches the ground floor and he looks over at you one last time in the privacy you’re afforded. He’s got that good ache in his chest again and it’s both calming and a little bittersweet, because staring at you is like staring at the sun - it hurts to look at for a long time but oh, so tempting. 

   The lawn was separated into two halves with only one fully decorated and the other still under a tarp, hidden because it was mid-construction and to not spoil the surprise. Over to the side, just left of the large lake, there was an extra tarp the workers were manning in case the clouds in the sky decided to cry. 

Jackeline had chosen violet as her main color scheme, with golden hues stitched alongside. The flowers, soft lights, marble floor, and desserts were all violet; the curtains and tarps, plates and glasses, flowers on the wall, and Jackeline’s rehearsal dress were all gold. Ernesto must have spent over a million dollars in the decorations alone. 

Everyone donned their best designers and since only family was in attendance today, the little amount of people were easily outdone one right after the other. In total, there were fifteen guests, and that included you and Steve: Ernesto, Seda, the groom’s father, Jackeline’s mother, two of your half-brothers, three aunts (sister’s of Ernesto), two cousins, the maid of honor, and Marcus White. 

They have already fawned over Steve, some with a major guard up as expected, but as Ernesto explains the specifics, everyone becomes more pleased than weary. ‘It was just too good to be true that the Avengers were all good’, someone announces. Steve grips your hand just a little tighter. 

The mere absence of Ramirez was enough of an answer: he really was going to be eliminated.

Across from your private corner, cheers and claps sound as the happy couple finally emerges. Even your father leaves mid-conversation to go greet her. 

She’s a fifties masterpiece. Her dark hair cascades in uneven but gentle layers, framing her face and she’s both glossy and matte. Her skin is darker and her eyebrows are fuller, widow’ peak and strong jaw, thin neck and perfectly rounded shoulders. She has a painted blush on her high cheekbones, dark eyeshadow and a faint cat eye, and the reddest, fullest lips that are already spitting wit as she greets her more serious guests. Her voice is high but steady and she’s so obviously the center of attention, she’s the literal bride, but you bet she could take over the room even if she wasn’t. Her fiancé, surprisingly enough, trails behind her as if he too is in a trance, greeting the same guests and attempting to match her enthusiasm. She’s making herself known, and she’s succeeding.

It isn’t until she locks her sight on you that Steve finally mumbles a quiet ‘woah’ underneath a shaky breath and you can’t blame him, dear god you can’t, because seeing her for the first time in six years is eating away at you. She’s nineteen, young and sweet, and still trapped in the world you were planning to destroy.   

Her first reaction is to run into your arms and hold you tightly, the force swinging you from side to side. Her giggles are contagious and you find yourself reacting similarly, grip tightening as she begins to ramble about how much she missed you and how proud she is that you have saved the world ten times over. The statement is overwhelming, but you find yourself nodding along in place of anything verbal.

Steve is patient as he witnesses this family reunion, standing at your side with respect and a tint of scarlet staining his cheeks. Finally, Jackeline turns to greet him and for a scary second, Steve sees Peggy.

“No way!” She keeps her voice low. “I could have sworn my bit-... uh, my bunch of tias were lying about you really being here.”

Steve shakes the fifties image from his head. The resemblance, even if Jackeline has more slanted eyes and a larger forehead, is uncanny. “Thank you so much for inviting us. The ride up was a bitch but we made the most of it.”

Jackeline stutters over her own laugh. “Oh.” She looks to you with a wide grin. “Oh, he’s a keeper.”

“Thought so myself,” you grin back. “You should hear him swear during a football game.”

“All men turn into animals when their teams don’t live up to expectations.”

Her accent is thicker than yours. Living in New York for over 10 years definitely helped smooth over some dialect and create your own voice. But Jackeline’s, considering she had never lived outside of Mexico, was thick and silky and resembled a place you no longer called home.

She pulls the man behind her forward, effectively interrupting and ending the conversation he was having with one of your cousins. “This is Julian. Julian, this is my one and only sister and her boyfriend!”

Julian, bless his heart, holds out a slightly shaking hand for you to shake. You do so, and try to convey calmness through it. When you watch his glance fall to Steve and feel his hand start to shake yours more rapidly, you can’t help but stifle a laugh.

“It’s an honor!” Julian finally says, voice deep and wracked with some nerves. He shakes Steve’s hand when he gets the chance. “Captain.”

“Please,” Jackeline rolls her eyes. “He’s just like us! You should be swooning over my sister, who is probably going to be the one to kill you if you ever hurt me.”

Julian blinks. His eyes go from Steve to you, contemplating his next move without wanting to seem rude. He nods in your direction. “I don’t doubt you would. Excuse me if I came off as rude. I’m just starstruck by this one here, is all.”

His accent matches Jackeline’s.

Steve waves his hand through the air. “You are not the first tonight, son.”

Sometimes you forget that Steve is an old man. Biologically, he’s in his mid-thirties. Ever changing and growing old as normal, but his soul is old. From a different time and out of it. The mere nickname he just gave Julian, no doubt because of his young age, leaves you averting your eyes and turning away to smile up at one of the many golden chandeliers.

“I really hope you enjoy tonight. The party may seem small right now, but trust me, half of Mexico will be dancing with us tomorrow night.” Jackeline bounces in place, hand intertwining with Julian’s, and she leans in to speak more clearly with you. “Meet me later? We have so much to catch up on.”

Agreeing, you watch the happy couple leave to converse with the few other guests.

Steve turns toward you, eyes squinted in amusement. “Is she really cheating on him with a man of the cloth?”

You can’t help the involuntary snort that leaves your nose. “The photos were watermarked, right? Time stamped? Maybe they’re old.”

Steve huffs a laugh and grabs two champagne glasses as the tray flies by him. “She’s got a way about her. Reminds me of a dame from this book I read a while back.”

Sipping your drink, you ponder. “What book?”

“The one where the dude gets shot at the end.”

“Oh, you mean every book from the 20th century?”

Steve laughs, “That twenties one!”

Mouth dropping, you push at his chest and turn to walk away. “You did not just compare her to Daisy from The Great Gatsby!”

Steve follows. “That’s the one! Honest! She has this way about her!”

    It’s not long after a few dances and photographs that you’re all seated for the actual dinner. There are three long tables, two parallel to each other and the main one perpendicular. You don’t know if it’s a power move or whatever, but your name cards are placed on one of the parallel tables. But it doesn’t bother you much since you have a front view of Seda and your father. 

Dinner is a six-course meal. Not that you assumed any different - Ernesto really went all out for his youngest child (that you know of). Your mics are picking up conversations left and right so you’re actually able to enjoy the meal. Salad, soup, a weird looking appetizer that’s actually quite delicious, the main course of either chicken/fish/or steak, and two desserts. All throughout, Steve is actually having the time of his life being fed so well. 

“Answer me this,” Steve leans in to whisper in your ear. “Are those hearts or paper airplanes hanging from the ceiling?”

You smiled against the ridge of your champagne glass, “You mean those clay flowers?”

“Is that what they are?” He pauses for a long second, squinting.

“Are your eyes going bad?” 

“Eyes don’t go bad.”

Your mouth falls open. “Your eyes are going bad!”

“Again,” Steve holds up a finger. “My eyes are just fine, not bad.”

Something else to add to that list you had made in the morning.

“This is fucking fantastic.”

Steve, still trying to casually squint, huffs. “Annoying...”

You bump his shoulder and lean in to whisper quietly. “Turns you on.”

Steve just blushes.

    It’s like he forgets where he is for a second, what with the great food and surprisingly good conversation with one of your brothers beside him. Steve’s already built a much stronger rapport with the thirty-something year old man than you have. There’s a stab of guilt for a second, a need to duck and drown in shame, when you realize you can’t even remember his name.

Ernesto stands to announce toasts. His is brief and not all that fatherly, but it’s the longest you’ve heard him string some nice words together. Seda follows, brief as well, and includes a childhood anecdote about her. Jackeline’s mother is a young woman, somewhere between forty and fifty, and her toast is only a sentence long - ‘Solo quiero que estas contenta, mi amor.’ For the first time tonight, Bucky voices his thoughts over the mic with a quiet and sad sounding hum.

Ernesto lifts himself from his chair, swatting away his men who go to help him. He has the microphone again and he’s walking toward you, face neutral. You know better than to refuse in front of this big of a crowd. Steve squeezes your hand before you stand and he remains beaming up at you from his seat. 

You’ve seen it in the movies - raise the glass, say some words, end it nicely. It’s what you do. But it feels surreal, almost unnerving when you don’t recognize the faces looking back at you. 

     “Here’s to you,” you lift your champagne glass, looking around at the happy yet solemn faces at the small table. 

“You deserve all the happiness available to you. You are so lucky to have each other,” you finish the toast and drink your whole glass. There is no applause, just sad smiles in response. You’re not asking for much, you never had.

Tony and Pepper share a quick kiss, thanking everyone around the table quickly as the two cakes are being cut. Their wedding was limited, with only a few people in attendance. Whoever was left. Tony’s cabin could obviously accommodate more people, but he had only requested the gathering of those he could stomach to see. But when that turned out to only be Pepper and Happy, he was forced to open the doors to more. 

So, you accepted your chocolate cake from Rhodey as he handed it to you. Shared some quick chit-chat with Steve and Natasha; greeted Thor as he made his first appearance in a while, hair now longer and baggy clothes hanging from his body, a tortured smile on his aging face; and sat through Happy’s own speech, enjoying his refreshing and joyful attitude. 

But now you stood in front of the kitchen sink, staring at the hidden picture frame behind the mugs - a reminder of what was really missing from this special day. 

You studied Peter’s awkward smile and demeanor, his expression youthful and frozen in time. He became foggy, silver clouds blotting his cheeks and his hair went white, and soon the sink sounded with a tiny ‘clunk!’ as you wept silently. 

You felt a hand slide into your own, squeezing with care and understanding. You looked up to see Steve, his eyes watching your face. He gave you one more gentle squeeze, the same tortured smile as Thor’s on his beautiful face, and walked to his room to retire for the night. 

     Glass raised in the air, you swallow in hopes of not choking over any word because of your nerves. 

“Here’s to you,” you start, already deciding this was going to be like pulling a band-aid. “May this world treat you kind, and that you are kind to each other, and that it’s all that matters.”

Steve forgets to drink. He can’t seem to shake the feeling of wanting to cry.

     Everyone watches as Steve leads you onto the dance floor which is intimidating with its glittering violet light and marble that resembles polished glass. If these were the decorations for the rehearsal dinner, Steve can’t even begin to bet on how tomorrow’s going to look. 

Steve holds you close, one arm wrapped around your waist and the other framing your spine. It’s like a tight hug. “Do you enjoy dancing?”

You step on his foot once again. “Shut up, Steve. Tell me your real thoughts.”

“Who, me?”

“Steve.”

“You suck at dancing.”

“There it is.”

     It isn’t hard to sneak away once everyone piles onto the dance floor. Steve shares a few dances with your aunts before excusing himself to use the bathroom. 

The mission itself goes rather smoothly. Infiltrating and collecting information was childsplay. Amateur. You’ve done it a thousand times and your father isn’t exactly a tech wizard. Neither is Seda. 

You find the electronic bank records Scott couldn’t yesterday, as well as a detailed spreadsheet (more like a hitlist) dating ten years back. In the same file, this actually only slightly encrypted (slightly), are the names of high-level players involved. It’s color-coded, some names familiar because of their involvement with Hydra, and it’s only a matter of seconds before you notice that red means eliminated, black means still at large, and blue means ally. 

There’s a lump in your throat as you scroll through and find Steve’s name, thankfully in blue. It’s expected, so you simply move on, until you find yours. And it’s in black. 

It should terrify you, have you running for the hills and tucking your tail between your legs but you’re won’t because Steve’s name is blue. 

That’s all that matters. 

There’s still no concrete information about the shipment, nothing online or on a loose post-it note. It’s non-existent and that’s suspicious and you don’t know why you don’t voice that to Steve. He’s listening at the door and responding to Sam’s questions. You and Scott are the hackers of the group after all. 

You scan through drawers and cabinets, snapping photos of things you can’t take just yet and filing the papers you can. Papers detailing contracts and miscellaneous connections: lawyers, doctors, politicians, police. Once that’s done, you shrink the evidence to the size of a fingernail with the help of Scott’s tech and hide it in your bra. 

Surprisingly enough, the two of you are able to slip out of the office and the first couple living rooms undetected. Until Jackeline herself appears, pulling down her dress as she exits the bathroom. Steve, stunned by the presence of anyone, pulls you toward his chest with unfocused strength. You hiss loudly and naturally go to cup your injured elbow. It takes a moment for Steve to realize what he’s done and who he’s done it to. 

Jackeline nearly stumbles over her heels out of pure clumsiness but her mouth parts as she notices you and the harsh sound you make. If she truly saw or heard anything, she’s keeping it to herself it seems. 

“Ernesto wanted to see me before we called it a night,” Steve says, letting go of your arm and taking a step back. He doesn’t outright say he’s sorry; he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to. So he braves a smile, sends you a look, and excuses himself. 

No conversation ever comes naturally - or, rather they take at least minimal effort from either party. You say the first thing you can think of and that’s to congratulate her again. 

Your rambling sort of sounds like the toast you gave earlier, but Jackeline either doesn’t want to embarrass you or simply doesn’t notice. She waits for the pause in your voice before she finally speaks.

“Before I start, don’t hate me for this.”

“That’s not a good way to start a sente-” Your face is smacked to the side absurdly hard and you can feel the sting at the base of your neck. You look back at your sister with wide eyes.

“You couldn’t leave the world dead? He was finally dead!”

Baffled, you rub at your sore cheek. “Why am I the one getting the most blame for that? I followed a fucking raccoon around and I didn’t even snap my fingers!”

“Sorry,” she blinks, eyebrows scrunching as she thinks of the next thing to say. “Sorry, I just… it was that easy to kill him and then he just… wasn’t.”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but you were also dead.”

“I was.”

“And we brought back trillions.”

“I know.”

Never once did you wonder what your siblings might have thought. More than half of them were separated from this life, while a few remained and conquered their allowed sectors. Ernesto had never discussed which of his children would take over his seat. But when he was dusted and Seda assumed power, it was clear not one sibling wanted anything to do with it. Or they were just too scared to outright disobey Seda and his tyranny.

Jackeline stands tall, shoulders straight and chin held high. She didn’t seem to worry about the repercussions of her actions - she knows who you are and what you are capable of. The smack seemed deliberate but restrained.

“So?” It’s the only word you can muster up.

“Please don’t judge me.” Her confidence falters and her eyebrows push down even further. “I know you know.”

“You gotta spell it out because I know a lot of things.”

Sighing deeply, she grabs the hand you’re using to rub at your cheek. She grips it tightly as she speaks. “I love him. But he’s impossible to love now and I can’t do anything about it.”

“Oh, Jackeline…”

You could have contacted her. You were on social media - you could have followed her, maybe messaged her annually - hell, called her once in a while to simply check in. The ticket you got was always a temporary one: go to school and find a way to make the trade routes easier to travel. School finished, you found Fury, and you created an alternate identity and background plan to trick your family into doing just what they ordered. And during all that time, Jackeline was barely in her pre-teens, probably scared and alone and missing her only sister. This was just you throwing that smack out of proportion but there was truth in it all. Wasn’t there?

“Julian’s okay. I agreed to this arranged marriage. I’m sure I can grow to love him,” she shrugs, biting her lip as it begins to quiver.

Her eyes are no longer happy - perhaps that was the wrong word to use after she had just confided in you about the reality of her upcoming union. But they definitely seem more dull in comparison to the joyfulness she presented earlier tonight.

“Jackeline, you don’t have to-”

“No, I was gone those five years. He had to move on.” You drop your shoulders and lean forward to give her a hug. No matter how badly you wanted to wrap your hands around Ernesto’s neck, they had more use tenderly wrapped around your sister. 

Relishing the feeling for only a moment longer, Jackeline is ignited once again. “Besides, I should be telling you that! I saw the way that… that fascist pulled you. If he’s hurting you, I’ll kill him.”

Your eyes must be bulging out of your head. “Oh.” 

She looks at you as if you’re going to admit abuse and confide in her like she did you. “No, it’s okay. Steve’s perfect, he’s… wonderful.”

Jackeline shakes her head rapidly, “Don’t you lie to me. I know what I saw.”

“I’m not lying. But you gotta trust me. I’ll explain later-”

“Explain what?”

Seda breaks the conversation and you forget to curse inwardly. Instead, a mumbled ‘fuck’ is heard. It only serves to fuel the flame. Jackeline flashes a rehearsed smile, and she truly is your sister because for a sad moment she looks exactly like you.

“Explain why she never returned my calls to be my maid of honor! I swear, this one is always so busy she forgets I exist!”

“She is,” Seda agrees, grinning like he already knows what the original conversation was about. “Always busy.” 

Jackeline keeps the same smile and is about to continue fanning the flames when Seda interrupts again. “Jackie, your father wanted me to speak with your sister alone for a moment. It has to do with tomorrow’s shipment.”

“Yes, of course. Don’t keep her for too long, okay? Tomorrow’s a late start but we all need our beauty sleep.” Jackeline leaves and fails to look over her shoulder to double check on you.

Seda steps closer, arms swinging casually like he’s pondering the possibilities of what he could do without Steve present. But instead of focusing solely on him, you listen to the soft sound of Bucky’s voice through the mic as he tells you that he’s listening in and he’s here.

“What did she say to you?”

“Is it really any of your business?”

He snaps immediately, gripping your cheeks in one hand so you can’t move your head. “When will you learn to keep your goddamn mouth shut around me?”

“You asked.” Smacking his hand away would have been frowned upon before, but not anymore. Free reign if need be. “Besides, when will you learn that that will never happen?”

“You can’t believe anything she tells you. Ernesto’s only two daughters are mistakes, both threats to his reign. Never submissive, always asking questions-”

You grunt almost comically, “Men and their irrational fears of women… What did I ever do to you?”

He pauses and you notice how his angry eyes always seem to water from his frustration. “You brought him back.”

“I also brought back trillions.”

“You know,” his face does something unpleasant. “Before Jackeline was dusted, she had been seeing that priest.”

“How could you possibly know-”

“He was so devastated by her loss. Found God, became a changed man.”

“Seda, what are you playing at?”

“She came back.” He lifts one finger. “He couldn’t resist.” He raises another. “Didn’t take long for Ernesto to find out.” The third one is the last, and he mimics a small explosion as he concludes. “But don’t worry, we took care of him.”

You never once believed the Devil was this angry, red demon with horns atop his head and a sharp tail, voice booming as he ruled the underworld with the weapons of pain and suffering. He didn’t possess or haunt random places. If anything, the Devil himself was simply a metaphor, a representation of the evil in a living world. It only made people comfortable to create an image, no matter how ridiculous.

Once you even thought the Devil was Hades, and he wasn’t all that bad when it truly came down to the root of all problems. He oversaw the underworld but he didn’t take life, he didn’t cause the pain, he simply watched and ruled. That maybe Hades was real considering Thor was, and he was just chilling in the underworld bored out of his mind.

But the evil the Devil represented was a constant in this world already, in your life from start to finish, and Seda’s eyes held something unspeakable. Dark brown eyes almost black, left cheek twitching with the urge to smile grotesquely, the tense nature of his broad shoulders. He was no massive man, a few inches taller than you, but he was a giant in a world in which Hades lacked and the Devil persisted.

“But Julian-”

Seda scoffs, “Julian was her rebound. Got mixed up in the business, with Ernesto  - but I don’t doubt he loves Jackeline.”

You’re this close to breaking the man’s fingers. He doesn’t stop counting his supposed triumphs. “When were the pictures taken?”

“Don’t do that,” he laughs as he finally steps away from you. “Ask your real question.”

Your smile was involuntary. So was Seda’s. It was the one thing you had in common: smiling at things that weren’t funny. “Did you threaten him? Torture him? Kill him yet?”

“... Jackeline will never know.”

Your mouth parts slowly like you’re still digesting his words. “You unimaginable bastard.”

If you had to bet, you would have placed all your money on Ernesto being the giant to fear. He had hurt you in countless ways, used you and discarded what he didn’t like, put you in the line of fire for his own gain. He had taken pleasure in knowing you hurt, in knowing what you had lost and suffered. He mocked your sacrifice time and time again. And there was a sentence you had never uttered out loud for fear of what you might do, or what anyone hearing you might do, that Ernesto had said one chilly November night only a year after the world returned. It was a thought so suppressed you almost always forgot it had been real. ‘A shame the Widow did what she did - what an unbelievable asset wasted over something pointless.’

No one outside your circle could possibly understand. They didn’t have to - but to dismiss the main reason he was retaking his tainted throne... insanity. 

But something in Seda’s voice moved even the most dormant areas in your soul. The giant was a man with nothing and everything to lose but with the power to choose which. Staring at him for too long prompted an uncomfortable sting across your waterline like his glare burned. Such a normal looking man with short dark hair and an aging face. He stared at you with a set look, one that told you he knew something you didn’t. Like he controlled giants even bigger than him. He wasn’t Hades, who restrained himself and hid in the shadows of a world he was forced to rule - he was the Devil’s metaphor, with red strains licking his tan skin and eyes sharp enough to puncture.

With a small tilt of his head and a strangled grin, he finally turns to leave. “Have a safe drive home.”

     After saying a quick goodbye to Jackeline and securing the estate, you hurried to get to your car and leave. Ernesto had just sent you a quick nod of the head and reminded Steve he needed to see him again before the wedding started. All your leftover energy literally went into pulling open the passenger door. 

Out of instinct now, you wait until the car is past the gates and a good mile from the hidden entrance before speaking freely.

“We get everything?”

The night is dark and you can barely see the outline of the trees. The sky is covered with gray clouds and there are no lampposts to provide light. It’s really just your headlights. “I think so. I think.”

Steve can sense the hesitancy in your answer. “What’s wrong?”

You shake with an exaggerated shiver, “Seda was being creepy… just more than usual.”

“What do you mean?” Steve was probably communicating and online with Sam during his conversation with Ernesto and completely missed the one you had with Seda.

“Fuckin’ didn’t think it could get weirder, but Jackeline mentioned how this was basically an arranged marriage and then Seda,” you stop suddenly. The uneasiness was creeping back. 

“An arranged marriage? Fuck, what else is this mission going to throw at us?”

‘Captain?’

Steve’s hands accidentally swerve the steering wheel as response to the small fright. “... Was that your phone or mine?”

You fumbled through your mini purse for your phone. “Me. Hey? Friday?”

‘The one and only. I hope that didn’t frighten you because I really need your attention right about now.’

Steve chuckles, eyes straight ahead as he drives. “That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

‘My readings are picking up something strange. The vehicle, even if I’m not able to virtually connect, seems to be stalling.’ Torres did curse you two before you left for renting a car made before 2013.

“What do you mean? It’s working just fine.” 

You set your phone down on the dash to start looking around the interior of the car.

‘The pedal, yes Captain. But I’m afraid my readings are focused on the brakes.’

You bite your tongue and scrunch up your nose. What else could possibly happen tonight? “That’s always fun to hear, great. Greaaaat.”

“Friday, what are you picking up?” Steve’s voice is more stern and even if he’s not doing it on purpose, he’s trying to ignore your coping mechanism of joking during dire situations.

‘It seems that when they took the vehicle for parking, they attached something to the brake lines. Sort of like a trigger sensor. Do not slow down.’

“We’re stuck? We can’t stop?”

‘Everytime the Captain de-accelerates, the sensor heats up. That’s what my readings are.’

“Fuck,” you unclipped your seatbelt and turned your body toward Steve. “Fuck!”

“Friday, what do we do?” The least Steve could do is be the level-headed one here.

‘Exactly what you’re thinking, Captain. The shield’s in the trunk.’

“We can’t exactly get to it!” You don’t mean to scream at Friday. You’re sure she’s used to adrenaline induced attacks guided toward her and never about her.

‘The burners were produced by Stark Industries for our very own spy unit. They are equipped with a taser, flashlight, and laser.’

Jumping so your feet were planted firmly on the passenger seat, you make sure everything is in place: the stolen files, your gun, your phone, and earpiece. “Keep your foot on that pedal, Rogers. I don’t feel like blowing up tonight.”

He releases a shaky breath, hands turning pale from the grip he has on the steering wheel. “You and me both.”

“Friday?” Your voice is only slightly timid, but you manage to move your body out from the front seats and to the back.

‘The laser, Agent Y/LN. Cut through the seats.’

Nodding along to her instructions, you search for the burner under your skirt and unstrap it from the holster. Pulling its ancient antenna outward, Friday verbally guides you through the very simple instruction. The laser blasts out unexpectedly at first making you squeal, which in turn causes Friday (a literal AI) to chuckle. You’re thankful the antenna was facing the back seats already.

“Doing good back there?”

You respond with a low grunt as you carefully carve out the largest rectangle you can create. “You better have shoved the thing close. Any stop signs up ahead?”

Steve’s getting worried now, but instead of putting you more on edge, he hides it pretty well. “Thank god this place is in the middle of nowhere.”

You don’t even give his response acknowledgement as you finally pull the leather, metal, and weird cushion filling away and spot the shield. “I got it, got it, got it.”

‘My sensors suggest you’ll have a good five seconds to escape the vehicle once the Captain releases the pedal.’

You make sure your hair is in the tightest ponytail known to man and that your skirt is bunched up in your free arm. You strap the shield onto the other. “Steve, you gonna be alright?”

His eyes are still focused on the road, but he braves a look in the mirror back at you. His voice is stern but not demanding. “I know you hate the damn shield but bend your legs, jump sideways, and tuck your head.”

“Yeah,” you nod along. Damn straight you’ll put your hate aside for one second if it’s here to save your life. “You better jump on time, you understand me?”

“Sam,” Steve keeps the speed steady and tries to ignore the way his heart is pounding from the sound of you kicking open the back door. “Sam, Widow. Widow.”

Before you jump, the asphalt a never ending, rapid glare of absolute darkness, you leave your phone on the seat in case Steve still needs her. “Friday, send Sam and Torres our location. They’re the only ones who can fly in undetected. Tell them what you told us.”

‘Will do, Agent Y/LN.’

“Be careful.”

You smirk at him, “Don’t be a hero and crash this one into the ice, yeah?”

You don’t wait for his reaction and instead take the plunge. The shield makes a hard impact with the asphalt down below, screeching for what seems like an eternity before slowing down. You did as instructed: knees tucked into your chest as far as you were able, head doing the same. By the time the ride finally ends and you’ve gone partially deaf, you can make out the sound of a loud explosion a close distance away. The heat from the sudden burst of wind nips at your face. You’ve also gone partially blind. 

Your poor boots are definitely ruined and there’s a faint tell of a bruised ankle in the works. The arm attached to the shield will also need to be popped back into place - it shouldn’t feel this loose. Luckily, your head and torso were completely unscathed. 

Lifting yourself up the best you could without straining anything too much, you noticed the car still in flames but driven off the road. 

“He jumped, he jumped, he jumped,” you repeat, limping as quickly as you could, shield still attached to your arm. The closer you get the clearer everything becomes, regardless of the smoke. “Steve.”

You squint through the orange light and the dark of night. The fire wasn’t all that loud in its crackles and it doesn’t take you long to realize while tapping your ears that you lost your earpiece. 

“Steve,” you try again, adrenaline still pumping but panic seeping in. As if on cue, you can make out his body laying far away from the car relatively unharmed. “Ah, shit.” You drop down on your knees and wince involuntarily. Slapping his cheeks doesn’t wake him up, neither does gently shaking him. You don’t want to do anything to hurt him more. 

The sound of gravel popping kicks you back into spy mode. Hide. This was a hit, of course it was, and they were coming to see their job done. 

“You so owe me,” you groan as you unstrap the shield to throw it into the woods, the faint tell of it hitting a tree enough to make you work faster. You hook your arms underneath Steve’s armpits and bend your knees, breathing in deeply and out a few times before pulling him with all your strength. There’s pain shooting up your arm but you try to ignore it. Small whimpers escape you as you pull harder and finally make it a good distance from the wreckage. You sit Steve, still unconscious, behind one of those massive pine trees and sit next to him after retrieving the shield. 

It’s only two black SUV’s that come to check their hard work. They’re bending down and using their own fire extinguishers, snapping their own photos, the works. It isn’t until Seda walks over to admire the wreckage that you have to bite your bottom lip to keep from screaming. 

You’re seated in front of Steve now with the shield in front of you when a sudden movement to your left startles you. Before you scream, however, a hand covers your mouth. 

“Shh, shh.” Sam. Your eyes fill with tears. 

“I’ve got him. Torres is coming for you, alright? I’m the only one who can carry him out.”

It doesn’t take much to convince you. You’re silently helping Sam strap Steve against his chest as Seda and his men are now investigating the woods. You can hear them close, cursing and yelling about finding you. 

“Go a little further. Down there,” Sam points in front of you. “Torres is parked and waiting. Go.”

“Don’t drop him.” Sam stifles his laugh. 

You follow his directions, limping as quickly as you can, and finally find Torres, your second knight in shining armor of the night. 

    After an all clear from the medical team, Steve is left alone in your hotel room to rest. He still hasn’t woken up but Helen isn’t worried since his scans show no major damage. Small talk with the rest of the team fills in the time but it’s like you’re not really there, merely a participant on a loop. There’s a bitter taste in your mouth and you’re covered in scratches and smoky ash and you can’t shake the feeling of wanting to kill something. 

Your father wanted you dead. And showing up to the wedding was just going to anger him more but it had to be done. But you were tired, so fucking tired, tired to the point where you couldn’t sleep or rest.

You let your hair down but stay in your tattered clothing, making yourself useful as best you can. You answer questions, you review footage, you draft up some reports. Bucky tries to sit you down at one point, but he backs off when you simply shake your head and give him that famous broken smile. 

You’re sitting at your desk trying to save some of your phone’s cloud through the connected email. Sam has already ordered you a new phone. On the computer to your left, you’re scanning and uploading the files you stole tonight. On the right, your little butterfly is transcribing conversations from yesterday. 

The transcription is finished before the uploads. It prints. 

SEDA: ‘Ernesto needs to know how many more women we can get from Jonathon. I thought you said your Italian contact was up to date?’

UNKNOWN: ‘He is. But the women are coming from here instead. Got a load of ten just now.’

SEDA: ‘The shipment goes out during the wedding. Not before, not after. We can’t fuck this up for Ernesto and we cannot have the stars and stripes finding out.’

UNKNOWN: ‘Ernesto plans to mention it to him tomorrow.’

SEDA: ‘Then make sure he keeps quiet about it.’

The bitter taste in your mouth returns and you have to run to the nearest bathroom.

     Steve wakes just an hour after, disoriented but able to discern who he is. “What happened?”

You’re standing at the foot of his bed, having just got there a few minutes before, practically on the verge of tears. “... Did you know?”

There it was. Any hope of truly coming to terms with this new world order or his role in it, any hope of feeling like he did before he succumbed to the American war propaganda and became a science experiment, crumbling before him. The heavy weight that were your shoulders, crumbling like shaky mountains. His own, tense and straining and urging him to get out of bed. 

He’s been in the trenches when the smell of gas and blood clogged his nostrils and made him dizzy. He’s experienced loss a thousand times over, just heinous instances of despair where he swore he was torn in two. He’s lost on his own accord and pretended like the world was still on its axis. 

And he knew his time was up. He just thought he’d have more than a day to enjoy it.  “I was going to tell you.”

It’s like the air is punched out of you. “You knew?”

“Please, listen, please,” he scrambles out of bed.

“What the fuck, Rogers?”

“Ramirez told us yesterday. I swear I only found out yesterday. Yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” You’re stepping away from him. He’s almost on his hands and knees and you’re stepping away from him. “Before?”

Steve makes a pained noise. “Yes, but please-”

“No! You kept this to yourself and you had the fucking audacity to share the same bed as me?”

“Please, let me explain-” He tries to reach out but you side-step him. He reacts like you’ve shot him.

“Don’t touch me, Steve!”

“Please, just let me explain. We all know - Bucky, Sam, Torres, we all know.”

Your face does something he’s never seen it do. “Fuck?”

He’s talking faster now, words just spilling on the floor and into the air and he doesn’t know what else to do. “We’re tracking it. We have a plan set. We were supposed to tell you tomorrow before the wedding.” He stops to take in a breath. “I was going to tell you.”

“You went behind my back.”

“If I would have told you, you would have done something horrible tonight! We need your father alive to find those people!”

Eyes wide in shock and anguish, you step further away from him. Each step was the equivalent of a dagger plunging deep into Steve’s heart, twisting and burning its way to the depths of his vulnerability. He wanted to succumb to the pain - after all, he deserved it.

“That would have been my choice to make!”

Now he pushed forward, shoulders hunched and palms turned upward as if he was pleading for a crumb of understanding. “I was gonna kill him.”

He drops to his knees, arms wrapping around your waist. You remained perfectly still, a tree stump with no cover. “I was gonna shoot him between the eyes when I first found out. But if I had done that, then we would never know the location of those people.”

His weight was pulling you down and you felt his wet cheek against your stomach. “I deserved to know.”

His grip tightened, “You did. But if you would have known-”

“I would have known. Period.”

He had to know how much he weighed. But Steve leaned his body onto yours harder, afraid you would vanish and god forbid turn to dust. It didn’t really register in his mind that, even though he was holding you in place, you weren’t exactly trying to escape his hold either. 

He had let you go once and he’ll be goddamned if he let you go again. 

“It ate me alive. I hated doing this-”

You pushed against his shoulders and sensed his reluctance to let go. Instead, you look down at him and tense your jaw. “Steve, you don’t hate me, do you?”

His face dropped and his grip loosened. You should just slap him across the face, Steve thinks, because how in the world were you thinking that at this moment? Never did he think you would find a way to twist this - to somehow blame yourself for his mistake. Took a long time to see it, but you were just as righteous as he was. It would get you both killed someday. 

“Why do you think that? What in the world would make you think that after all this time? After everything?”

He lets you push him away so he could stand but he makes sure to keep his hands on you. A tangible promise that you are real. 

“You agreed to help me catch a drug lord. You didn’t sign up for this extra mess.”

“We may not always know what we’re up against,” Steve began, sniffing and wiping at his wet face. God, he felt like such a mess. “But I could never fucking hate you. Don’t even think that.”

“You sure?” your voice cracks, hands slightly shaking from the need to touch him too. “Captain America didn’t sign up for this.”

He shakes his head almost violently, “No, no. Don’t go there. I am not him, I haven’t been him in a long time.”

“Steve-”

“No! I’ve hated the title for a while now. I’m done. I’ve hated my reflection for years and years.” The tiny whine in the middle of your throat gurgled and your hands moved instantly to cup his cheeks.  “I represent no one but myself. I’m tired of others thinking I’m the same man from ten years ago, or the same man from the forties, or the same man from last week just because they’re enamored by that star on my chest.”

He tilts his head to lean into your touch, “I am helping you because it’s the honorable thing to do. I signed up for this work, I intend to finish it. Not Captain America, but me - Steve, me.”

“You’re still making me feel like it’s something you have to do.”

“I admit that I was never overly fond of the idea of being wrapped up in this,” Steve admits, hands now cupping yours over his cheeks. “But toppling this empire will keep you safe.”

As heartwarming as that sounded, you broke the fantasy. “The minute we take the giants out, they’ll elect someone new.”

“But we take the giants out. The giants that hurt you.”

He’s right, like always. 

“Steve,” you say quietly, bringing his face closer to kiss away his tears. You’re struggling to keep the tippy-toes and your ankle is screaming for a break, but you persist. “You should have told me.”

“I know.”

“No more secrets.”

“None, I swear, I promise.”

Biting your lip to keep from crying, you make sure his eyes are locked on yours before you speak. “I’m not walking away this time. I’m not leaving you. Not again.”

Steve’s mouth releases a big burst of air like he was holding it in, and he wraps you in a hug that promises the same.

~

TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess​ @supraveng @mycosmicparadise @missnighttigress​

A/N: Wooooo that took forever lol xxMoni

[yesttoheaven]

I SEE YOU – chapter II

pairing – arthur fleck x female!reader

wc – 2.4k

warnings – none, just some rude people. It's gotham.

a/n – I'm late with this chapter, I know... 🙃 but I hope you like it!

chapter one here:

English is not my first language. I am getting help from google translator and he is not always a good ally, so I apologize for any typos or grammar errors.

Y/N – your name

Y/L/N – your last name

A week has passed since Y/N met Arthur Fleck. It was a long week for her – with TV appearances, some biased rumors about a possible affair with her co-star and problems with the city's main NGO. The place was invaded and looters took what little they had to offer to the population. Gotham police were doing their best to find those responsible, but it would take some time.

Despite the problems, Y/N constantly found herself thinking about the brown-haired man. At some point he was always in her thoughts. Since the day she left him in front of a building on Winslow Avenue, they haven't seen each other anymore. Y/N would like to know what he thought of the movie, but the man never came.

Maybe he didn't like the movie, she thought. And that was totally fine. What was not right was this desire to find him again.

On Wednesday, Brian asked if 'the guy with the big shoes' had called her, but the actress confessed that she had not given him her phone number. What the young actress didn’t know, was that Arthur had crossed the city – more than once – just to tell her what he thought about the movie, but his attempts were marked by misunderstandings.

"The entrance for employees is on the other side." The receptionist informed, attracting the attention of Arthur, who was walking through the luxurious hotel lobby. He didn't know if she was talking to him directly, but he approached the counter anyway.

"Huh... Y-You talked to me?"

"You are the new janitor, right?" The woman stopped what she was doing and finally looked at him, repressing the urge to roll her eyes.

Arthur shook his head and with a small smile, he said:

"I'm looking for Y/N Y/L/N." The mere fact of saying her name made his heart run so fast. Arthur could not explain, but since he met Y/N, his days have become colorful. He still suffered from the brutality of the citizens of Gotham, but everything became more bearable.

"Y/N Y/L/N? The actress? Are you sure?" The receptionist asked incredulously and at the same time seemed to hold herself back from laughing. It really seemed like a joke to her. What could this strange man want with Gotham's Golden Star?

"I need to deliver this to her." Arthur showed the VHS tape, hoping it would guarantee his free pass. "What room is she in?"

"Listen, I don't know how you got through security... but you certainly saw all those people out there. Everyone wants to talk to Y/N or just ask for an autograph. The problem is that none of you are allowed to be here."

"Autograph? I'm not here for the autograph! She wants to know m-my opinion about her new movie."

"I'm sure the only opinion that matters to her is that of the Academy of Oscars."

"You are not understanding... We are practically friends, she saved my life in that alley! Ask her! Say that Arthur Fleck is here... S-She... She will remember me!" While Arthur was stuck in his own words, the woman called the security guards.

The moment two men approached, Arthur realized that things were going very, very badly. In his mind everything seemed easy. He found Y/N and she was happy to see him, but in practice he hadn't reached the elevator yet and the security guards were already putting him out.

"Wait! You got it wrong..." He tried to explain and get rid of the men who were holding him, but the receptionist just shook her head, telling them to get him out of the lobby before the residents showed up to see this show. This would not be good for the hotel's image. "I just want to see Y/N..."

"That's what everyone wants." One of the men said, laughing.

"And I wanted her to dance for me." The other security guard confessed, sighing sadly, while that desire would remain only in his dirty imagination.

Near the main door of the luxurious hotel, they treated Arthur like trash, throwing him on the sidewalk. The poor man managed to maintain his balance and remain standing with the little dignity that remained, but that disappeared as soon as a painful laugh cut his throat.

"Go back to your filthy home! You are too old for this fan and idol thing."

...

When the elevator doors opened, Brian left the metal box accompanied by two officers. Because of the police's satisfactory commitment in this case – obviously Y/N's status contributed to this – the actress received good news. The stolen supplies from the institution were found in a shed and a man was caught in the act. Other suspects are still being sought, but the only piece that doesn’t fit, is that the owner of this shed is Thomas Wayne, candidate for mayor and also owner of WayneCorp.

"Tell Miss. Y/L/N that we will capture the responsible."

"Or those responsible." The other officer added, reinforcing his commitment to the citizens of Gotham.

As soon as the officers left the building, Brian intended to go back to Y/N's room and check on her, mainly after receiving new information about the case, but his plans were interrupted by Susan, the receptionist. She showed a big smile, waving, and he approached the counter trying to look friendly.

"Hey, Susan! How was your day?"

"You know, check-in, check-out... The same things." She laughed, shaking her head. Her job was not exciting, but it paid her bills. That was enough. "I saw the cops... Do they have any suspects?" Curiosity was plastered on her face and Brian sighed, fully understanding why she had called for him. Gossip.

"Unfortunately I can't give too many details, but they are doing a good job." He stated, satisfied with the investigations.

"I don't know if that can help anything, but maybe he participated in the theft..." The woman murmured. The words seemed to be directed at herself, like a loud thought, but the bodyguard was unable to ignore and asked:

"What are you talking about, Susan?"

"A man was here looking for Miss. Y/L/N. His insistence scared me. He was determined to go into her room, only God knows what he intended to do, so I called the security guards, they put the man out. But Carl saw him across the street for three days straight."

"You did the right thing. It's unbelievable how Gothan became a fucking asylum!"

"Do you think I don't know? Sometimes it feels like we're living in hell... But the freak left his name. Arthur Fleck. I don't know if it's real, but you should check with the police."

"I will do this... Wait! Did you say Arthur Fleck?" Brian questioned, as confusion appeared on his face. That name was familiar to him.

"It's a strange name for a strange guy."

If it were possible, a lamp would be shining next to Brian's head right now. Arthur Fleck is the name of the guy with the big shoes.

Without any explanation, Brian ran for the elevator, leaving Susan extremely confused behind. When he arrived at the actress' room, he found her talking on the phone. She didn't look happy.

"Oh, he does not want to talk to me? Very busy, huh? You know I don't like to get involved in these problems... but he started it, Alfred!" Y/N had crossed her limit. The only thing she wanted to do was talk to Thomas Wayne about the NGO supplies that magically appeared in his shed, but that would be impossible. Alfred insisted, saying that the billionaire was at an important business meeting and that he had no connection to the theft. "Okay, I will not insist. Maybe when you regain your senses, you understand my side. Have a nice day, Alfred!" She ended the call and looked at Brian.

"I can't believe you called Thomas..."

"Likewise when he called the mayor’s office trying to ban the showing of Midnight Seduction." The actress argued, showing a fake smile. "These NGOs that I help, they are hindering his path, it is not very difficult to see. You know how men like Thomas Wayne build their empires. It's not pretty."

"God, I know... but be careful what you say. It is a very serious accusation." He advised, concerned for her safety. Y/N just walked over to the table in the center of the room, picking up her glass of scotch and drinking all the amber liquid.

"Don't worry, I'm used to white-collar men."

"Oh, I can see it, but I hope you're used to clowns too, because I have news about the guy with the big shoes." Brian started, capturing her attention immediately.

"Arthur was here?" Y/N's voice took on a hopeful tone and a beautiful smile formed on her lips. For a moment it was as if all her problems were gone.

"Well..." Brian cleared his throat, choosing the right words to tell her, but deep down he knew it wouldn't work. "Arthur was committed to seeing you, but Susan did not allow his entry."

"Why she did it? Usually she talks to me first..."

"It is the protocol, but in this case she considered his behavior to be atypical. I don't know if he was nervous and had another fit of laughter in the middle of the lobby, but she believed that he could present you with some danger or even be involved in the theft of the NGO... The security guards kicked him out."

For the first time in this conversation, Y/N didn't know what to say. The words were stuck in her throat. She felt stupid for not giving Arthur her number or simply putting his name on the reception list. Any of these options would have avoided the embarrassment he went through.

"Maybe you should talk to him. Do you know where he lives." The blond-haired man suggested. It was clear as the day outside that Y/N was silently blaming herself for what happened and that was not fair to her. "What do you think?"

"Arthur possibly hates me now..." She murmured, walking across the room. First he was beaten in a dark alley and now humiliated, practically compared to a criminal. All Y/N wanted at the moment was to go down to the lobby to clarify some points with Susan, but Brian was right. Talking to Arthur is the best she could do. "Prepare the car."

"What? Now?" The surprise was tangible in his voice.

"I don't know, maybe next month?" She rolled her eyes. "You have an appointment?"

"No, but you have." Brian added, crossing his arms. It took a few minutes, but as soon as the actress finally remembered, her mouth opened in a perfect O.

"The dinner with Charles is today! I completely forgot!"

"And before that I need to get Misty. If she gets here with the makeup artist and you're on the other side of town, we'll be in big trouble."

"Maybe not." Y/N smiled.

...

"If Misty finds out where we are..."

"First: You need to calm down. Second: She will only know if you open your mouth and tell her." Y/N listed it on her fingers and then took off her sunglasses, looking at the building across Winslow Avenue. "Just trust me."

"I think I will regret this later." He whispered to himself, leaving the interior of the car and opening the door for her. Y/N accepted the help and together they went to the entrance to the building. The next step would be to find out which floor Arthur lived with his mother. "And now what do we do, genius?"

"I confess I didn't think about that part..." The actress replied, looking around curiously. The place was nothing like the luxurious buildings in downtown. There was no lobby to ask for information and the reality here was completely different.

"Do you need help?" Brian and Y/N were surprised by a female voice and found a woman near the building's front door, holding some groceries from the market.

"Oh, hi!" Y/N smiled as the woman approached where they were. "We are a little lost... Do you know which floor Arthur Fleck lives on?" After that question, a mixture of confusion and surprise appeared on the woman's face.

She didn't believe it when Arthur said that a downtown girl saved his life, especially when that girl was the Gotham's Golden Star. It seemed impossible, but now Y/N Y/L/N was here, asking to see him.

Abandoning these thoughts, Sophie smiled, agreeing immediately.

"You are lucky. Arthur and I live on the same floor, I can accompany you there."

The actress smiled appreciatively and Brian offered to help with the bags from the grocery store. As soon as they were inside the metal box, the woman pressed the number 8 button and looked at Y/N, saying:

"By the way, I’m Sophie Dumond."

"Nice to meet you, Sophie. I am..."

"Oh, I know who you are." She stated, dispensing with the introduction. "I mean... Gotham breathes you!"

"Sometimes it is strange to open the window and see your own face on a billboard or on TV." Y/N confessed. The fame was glamorous, but sometimes suffocating.

"It sure is better than opening the window and seeing a pile of garbage. This is the privileged view we have here." The woman argued, laughing at the situation and the elevator stopped on the eighth floor. "Well, Arthur lives there." After leaving the metal box, she pointed to the end of the hall and while Brian helped her with the bags from the grocery store, Y/N thanked Sophie for the information and walked to the location indicated.

Looking at the "8J" sign, she took a deep breath, wishing she had a mirror nearby to check her appearance. She wanted to be presentable to finally meet Arthur again, even though he might be mad at her. Gathering courage, Y/N knocked on the door. To her disappointment, no one came. The apartment continued in absolute silence.

"Don't tell me there is no one at home." Brian appeared beside her. Realizing that the actress was anxious, he knocked on the door again, with more insistence this time. "We can come back another day..."

Without a better option, Y/N was ready to go back to the elevator, when the door was opened unexpectedly, revealing a woman on the other side.

"Hello, you must be Arthur's mother! I'm Y/N and this is Brian, we are friends of your son."

–––––––––––––––––

a/n – I really don't know if anyone is going to read this, but I would be happy to know what you think of the story :)

[samwrights]

I Found You

I have no excuses for this one except I’m a dirty dirty Overhaul fucker.

On the real though, this one was very loosely inspired from Yagami Yato’s plot lines for Dabi and Overhaul. These routes inspired the Underground and Dabi and Kai’s occupations, otherwise everything else was just me being a simp.

⤞ Pairing: tattooed!Reader x Former Villain!Chisaki Kai

⤞ Word Count: 16,850. Yes you read that right.

⤞ Warnings: language, arson, awkward questions, reader smokes, I shafted Dabi again and made him the best friend...again, slightly vivid gore, mentions of death, male masturbation, daddy kink, age difference, breeding kink (ish), dirty talk, dom!Kai, 

I’m sorry this is so long. Just kidding, no I’m not. I love writing really long fics. Honestly, I’m trying to see how much I can push the boundaries of my writing and how long I can keep one idea conhesive and consistent and how much I can flesh out. Eventually these longer oneshots will be cross-posted to my AO3, I just really need to do my paper. Also Tropium Tattoos is pronounced as Tro-Pie-Um.

The color of fire always burns in accordance to temperature as well as the material that it’s burning. Watching the local Underground clinic slash orphanage burn not only red, but an almost ethereal green from the copper couplings and details of the building felt like an early Christmas warning—like the Underground was a target and the rest of the hidden city would soon follow by the holiday. That warning was only followed by disgust at the thought of someone feeling the need to go after a free clinic and orphanage in a city built out of a hollow sewer full of exiles for whatever fucking reason. 

Your heart is an amalgam of aching and sorrow and anger as you watch the flames burst through the windows of the shoddy building from a safe distance. From where you stood outside of your tattoo parlor only two blocks down, you see a crowd beginning together. Much to your surprise, most of them were only kids with one adult herding them—a man you recognized to be the owner of the building currently meeting its demise. 

The doctor of the clinic is as calm as ever, or rather trying to be, quietly attempting to do a headcount of his children. It seemed that concentration was alluding him, given the situation, because he swears up and down that he knows he has nine kids. Yet, he seemed to be unable to count past eight. He’s trying not to panic, but one of the kids speaks his greatest fear into fruition. “Daddy, Eri’s not here!” Golden eyes widen until the sclerae are fully round, pupils constricting in fear. This ‘Eri’ was special, you realize as you observe from a short distance away. The doctor is looking back at his children who are all in some form of tears and shambles then back at the burning building like a ferocious game of ping pong. Chisaki Kai can’t just leave his kids out here—not when he is almost certain that this attack was premeditated. But his daughter, his eldest daughter at that, was still inside potentially being engulfed by flames. 

Back and forth. 

Back and forth. 

Your body moves without a second thought. 

Your body moves, ignoring the screams from other bystanders for you not to go inside the burning clinic as you burst past the dilapidated red door. Upon entering, copper decor and steel support beams had fallen from the ceiling, sparking flames that were separating you from the stairwell that led up to the orphanage. There was no way you would be able to find this Eri person through the wreckage—not alone at least. Maybe your dumb quirk was good for something. 

You didn’t even realize you had a quirk until the age of twenty when you had gotten your first tattoo. It wasn’t anything crazy—a traditional-style three-eyed wolf’s head on your arm—only to wake up the following morning with no soreness, no tenderness, and no ink on your body. The wolf laid beside you, curled up in your bed, somehow manifesting into real life. At first it was terrifying, of course, but after learning how to return the creature back to your body you realize it might not have been a total waste of money. Your quirk, something you jokingly called the Magic Pencil quirk in reference to a Spongebob Squarepants episode from your childhood, was officially registered through the government on the Surface as Life Canvas. Again, it was a pretty dumb quirk unless you knew just what to utilize. Now your body was littered with dozens of creatures, weapons, hell even a telephone just in case you might need it. But the wolf was your favorite, as it was your first, and he was just the one to call for in this situation. Activating your quirk, you pinch at the ink on your forearm until it begins to peel off before setting it down on the ground. The line work stands on its own before the ink fills out into a three-dimensional mass and a now recognizable creature. 

“There’s a child somewhere here. Help me find them,” you implored your creation, cautiously climbing around the shambles while it did the same, though much nimbler than you. Fragments of the stairs were missing, some of railings were in flames—it was hard for you to get anywhere at the moment. A scream rips through the walls, a young girl you realize. She’s probably now seeing your large and somewhat creepy three-eyed wolf. Maneuvering carefully, you find spots that have yet to burn until you see a little girl cowering away from flames in her bedroom and away from your quirk. “Take my hand!” You try to scream, but the way building was going down was deafening. Instead, you cross a patch of fire to scoop the frail child in your arms and trapping the both of you behind a brazen wall of flames. Patting the wolf on the head, as if deflating it with your magical hands, it flattens back into a two dimensional drawing and returns to your body to grant you the ability to switch out to a manifestation that would prove to be more useful in this situation. You repeat the process, this time with a Phoenix from under your bosom that emerges just outside the window closest to the two of you. “Hold on tight,” you tell her as you pull her flush against your own body before smashing through glass to land the back of the Phoenix, covering her head to make sure the shards didn’t mar her skin. With a gentle descent, you place her feet first on the concrete with her family. 

“Eri!” The doctor of the clinic calls out in relief, arms wrapping around his daughter tightly. Your lips purse in a small, tight smile before you’re off on your way again, riding off into the horizon on the back of your strange creature. And for a moment, Chisaki Kai is torn between going after you to thank you while Overhaul wants nothing more than cleanse his children and you for touching his precious daughter with a vile quirk. He settles on the former, golden eyes watching your back disappear into the dark cavern of the Underground city. 

Weeks had passed since the fire burned down the orphanage clinic. Tabloids were published trying to figure out who the mysterious hero was, though most of the articles feared that an actual Hero was among the residents of the Underground. The Underground welcomes Heroes like the human body welcomes the plague—they tried to be eradicated and killed off. Not to say that quirks themselves weren’t welcome, no. It’s just that most of the residents were quirkless and those that did have one were all registered in a public database, separate from the government mandated one up on the Surface, so that quirk wielders were no secret. 

All but you, anyway. 

One of these well-known resident holders was Chisaki Kai. Quirk: Overhaul. Local doctor and caretaker of the orphaned, quirkless kids. Though, whether their powers had yet to manifest or he had removed them himself due to his vile distaste for the genetic mutation was unknown to the public. 

Another was the leader of the Underground: Dabi. The Cremation user who was presently lounging in one of your dingy, beat up sofas of your tattoo shop. “You know, most of the people just want to know who you are,” he supplies, flipping through the most recent news article. Instantly, he knew it was you that had rescued the little girl from the burning building, knowing full well of your quirk regardless of how rarely you used it. 

“And half of them want my head because they think I’m a Hero,” you spit the last word out as you finish tidying up your workspace. Your last client of the evening had just left, leaving you to close up shop while Dabi came to bother you as you did so. Not that you complained considering he had been a close friend for a long time. “Like I would ever be a Hero.” Heroes were the reason you and many others here in the Underground existed in this hidden sewer metropolis. Whether the Heroes had destroyed their livelihoods, their families or, in your case, accidentally killed your parents while you were still a teenager and you had nowhere to go, they were at fault for the creation of this cozy, dingy city. 

“Says here that Eri wishes to personally thank you,” Dabi adds, turquoise eyes flickering in your direction as you stop at the mention of her name. “We could hold some little rally, get you a medal—“

“Dabi, no.”

“—or you could just stop by town hall with me. Overhaul and the kids have been staying there while the clinic gets rebuilt.” You mull his words over in your head while capping all your ink bottles and putting them away in their respective drawers. Dabi takes your silence as a gesture of you thinking, even more so as you aggressively sanitize your client chair. “Come on, [ name ], she’s just a kid.”

“Yeah, but I hate kids.”

“Then stop acting like one.” With that, the leader leaves your shop, bells tolling as he exits. You weren’t being childish, you internally bite, silently and stubbornly. It wasn’t your fault that you didn’t want to just announce that the lone tattoo artist of the Underground had a quirk that the public didn’t know about. It wasn’t your fault that your body moved without thinking. And it certainly wasn’t your fault that you rescued the daughter of the most notorious quirk hater in the city. 

Chisaki Kai was not quiet when it came for his distaste of quirks despite having one himself. Rumors floated all around the Underground that all of the children in his care had their quirks removed by his own hand, Eri included. What kind of monster did that? To his own child, no less. The thought made you sick to your stomach, only reaffirming your initial decision to not meet with Eri. 

But thinking of her brings great sadness to you. She was merely a child—a child who probably didn’t understand her father’s distaste. A kid who just wanted to thank the woman who saved her and nothing else. A sigh passes your lips as you head up the stairs from your shop to your attached apartment, turning off the lights to Tropium Tattoos. It’s not fair to deny her, you think. 

Maybe you’ll just sleep on it for now. 

 The following morning was quiet, as it was every morning in a city built out of a sewer. But eerily...too quiet. The sound of chirping nature and wildlife was a foreign concept now, especially years later. But there were no sound of bikes or clunky old cars passing by or arguing neighbors—if noise was present at all, it was in the form of faint crackling and crinkling of papier-mâché but somehow on a grander scale. It was new. There’s a grotesque smell in the air; a cross between a stale bonfire and rotting wood and warm smoke. 

Oh no. 

Oh fuck.

Panic fills your veins, throwing your nearly bare body out from under the covers. Ripping open your bedroom door and flying out the narrow entryway that led to the stairwell, you’re met with orange flames burning the wood of your staircase leading down to your shop. There’s no time for you to think about anything other than retreating back to your living room, to where the flames had yet to enter the threshold. Glancing out the large bay window behind your couch, you debate how steep of a drop it is from your second story down onto the cold pavement without sparing a second thought to how you could break your own fall. Contemplation wears down at your time to escape, you realize, as the fire is now entering your living space and burning brightly like a firework and catches onto the wooden console table in your entryway as well as the walls. Without another moment’s hesitation, you throw yourself through the window, bracing for impact from both the glass and the inevitable shattering of at least one bone. 

“[ name ]?!” You hear Dabi yelling over the sound of collapsing support beams from the inside of the building. All that’s on your mind is pain—throbbing pain and an ear-splitting cry as you try to cradle your probably broken arm from the back alley of your shop. Dabi calls out your name again, running over towards you while still trying to be somewhat mindful of all the shards of glass in fear of accidentally kicking more in your direction. Between rapid breaths, a few heavy coughs escape your lungs, no doubt from smoke inhalation. “I got you,” he murmurs as he picks you up gingerly. Another groan leaves your lips—your whole body hurts and were you more coherent and not in shock, you probably would have realized sooner that you’d broken more than just your arm. “Find who did this and bring them to me,” Dabi snarls at the small squadron behind him attempting to put out the fire that was destroying your livelihood as he makes his way back to town hall. 

It takes everything in Dabi’s body to not stamp his entire way back into his living quarters and the only reason he isn’t is because he’s carrying your busted body. This is the fourth fire in two weeks with no discernible pattern. All he knows is that it started with Overhaul’s clinic and now has somehow reached your quaint and quiet tattoo shop. As a leader, it makes Dabi want to tear his hair out. As a friend, he’s just pissed off. 

He’s thankful you’ve passed out just so he doesn’t have to deal with you bitching about how gruff he’s being. Though, it certainly dawned on him that you had probably fallen unconscious from the sheer agonizing pain of breaking multiple bones simultaneously. He sets you down, far from gently, in the residential living room upstairs of the Town Hall building. “Overhaul!” He bellows out, not even caring if the children heard his angry tone right now. 

“I told you to stop calling me that,” the doctor appears from around the corner, a clearly agitated look on his face, even beneath a simple black mask. The irony isn’t lost on Dabi despite his composure—he remembers once upon a time when Kai only went by the name of his quirk. Funny how years go by. “Her again?” Overhaul all but sneers, looking at your limp body that was covered only in a thin tee shirt and a pair of panties. Ignoring that little fact of seeing so much painted flesh, he notices the distinct smell of burnt wood and swelling under the skin where the breaks were. “What happened to her?”

“Someone set [ name ]’s tattoo shop and apartment on fire. She jumped out of a window to get out.” Dabi is absolutely seething, little sparks of blue flames leaving his nostrils as he lets out tufts of air. “Idiot had no idea how to break her fall and busted her shit. Can you help her?” 

“I suppose that would make us even.” The doctor snarks back thoughtlessly, but he can’t help but wonder why you didn’t use your little quirk to save yourself as you had with Eri. 

“Good. I’m gonna go find this fucker.” With that, Dabi storms out of the living room and out of the town hall building, leaving Kai with the woman that saved his daughter’s life. At least maybe now, Eri could say thank you like she had been asking to do. He could say thank you. 

Chisaki adjusts you on the couch so that you’re entirely flat on the cushions, mindful of the glass that’s embedded in your skin. If anything, he should probably remove those first. With gloved hands, he picks out all the shards he can see with his golden eyes while his mind wanders as he looks at the lines and colors of the tattoos that covered your body. From neck to toe, there was ink on nearly every inch—even the one dragon-snake hybrid on your face that wrapped around your temple and cheekbone. Despite your [ hair color ] locks matting your skin, Overhaul found all of your tattoos rather intriguing to look at; almost as if it weren’t flesh because the contact wasn’t causing him to break out in hives. Like your body told a story without you even needing to speak. 

After getting all the glass cleared up, Kai gently pushed on your arms and legs, checking for any signs of bones out of place from where they should be or cushioning and swelling to protect the damaged areas, outside of the very obvious ones that nearly looked like softballs. Two breaks in your femur, four in your ulna from what he could feel—nothing that Overhaul couldn’t fix. Though, he had to make sure that everything had set the way it was supposed to and that you were able to use your limbs after he did the repair. That meant he would actually have to speak to you, and he comes to the realization the two of you never actually had the chance to speak to each other before. Maybe he shouldn’t be as judgmental of the fact that you had a defect—maybe you were like him and abhorrent at the fact that you had a mutation to begin with. 

After using his own quirk, Overhaul checks for a pulse on your neck with two fingers, making sure you at least had a heartbeat before patiently waiting for you to regain consciousness. In the meantime, he continues picking out the fragments of glass that escaped his initial sweep—a task made slightly easier when the shards caught the light contrasted the dark lines embedded in your dermis. For a brief second, you stir against his touch before your eyes snap open. “Holy fuck, what happened?” You all but howl when you come to. You let out a deep gasp for breath, suddenly aware of the dull throbbing in your arm and leg as you attempt to make sense of your surroundings. 

“Can you tell me if this hurts?” The doctor to your left says evenly, emotionless even, as he holds your wrist between his thumb and middle finger, moving your arm in all sorts of ways. A sharp inhalation sucks in between your teeth as it twists in ways you weren’t sure it could before. A grimace touches his lips underneath is plain, black cloth mask—maybe he didn’t set the bones correctly? Overhaul lays your arm flat, ready to make his adjustments, but as his gloved fingers padded closer, you found yourself retreating further into the depths of the couch cushions. 

“I-I’m good,” your words come rushing out, desperate to dodge his touch. Why did you wake up with Overhaul over you? Did he take your quirk away? You’d have to investigate further when you were alone, test it out in private. Ignoring the dull hums of pain coming from your arms and legs, you manage to sit up, slumping over your knees before you realized where you were. “Town hall?”

“Yes. Do you remember anything?” You shake your head—you remember waking up to smelling the smoke in your apartment. You remember the fire creeping up the stairwell and the way orange painted your once tan walls. You remember jumping out the window, but everything else after is met with a blank slate. “You broke your arm and legs in a few places—I reset them with my quirk.”

“Oh,” is all you have to say. “Uh, thank you.”

“Speaking of thank you,” Overhaul palms his knees before pushing off of them from the wooden stool he’s sitting on, standing at his full height and smoothing out his black dress shirt and slightly creased slacks. “My daughter would like to thank you for rescuing her a few weeks back.” 

Dammit. 

It wasn’t like you could just say no to Eri’s father when it was only the two of you—that would just make you look like an asshole or worse; he could just kill you and say you died in the fire. It was even more difficult to decline considering the young, silver-haired girl was peeking her head from behind a partition, wide-eyed when her dad mentioned her. With your own eyes softening at the sudden contact, you offer an awkward smile that you pray comes off as welcoming. Overhaul beckons her to come closer, holding one hand open until the young girl is tucked underneath his hip. 

“U-Um, t-thank you for saving me,” a squeak spills past her dry lips before she runs out of the room as quickly as she came. You didn’t blame her. Even if Overhaul is her father, he gave off an intimidating air that surely would frighten any child. It made you wonder how such a man ran an orphanage. But to your surprise, Eri returned, though this time not alone. A flock of children was accompanying her, each of them with bright eyes and big smiles adorning their unique appearances. 

“Thank you for saving our sister!” They chime in unison. The sight made your heart swell and soften, even if only slightly. Eri steps forward cautiously, pushing through her own trepidation as she stands before you and throws herself at you, hugging you tightly with arms around your neck in gratitude. As if triggering a domino effect, a few of the other children felt the need to express the same sentiment. An uncomfortable laugh bubbles past your lips as you awkwardly wrap your arms around the gaggle of kids—you may not like them, but you weren’t that much of an asshole to deny them a hug. 

Kai’s typically hard, cold expression mellows at the sight. It’s heartwarming, he gave it that, but a part of him cannot stave off the tiny bubble of envy he feels seeing his children so ready to embrace you when they initially had such a hard time adjusting to life with him. He loved these kids—and it was quite clear you felt the opposite—so why hadn’t they gravitated towards him like they did you? Underneath his mask, he grimaced before internally shaking his head. They were his children, they loved Kai regardless and he knew that. “Alright kids, why don’t you go play and let [ name ] rest? It’s been a rough morning for her.” The use of your name shouldn’t have shocked you, or maybe it was fear that crawled up your spine at the doctor’s endearing tone. You weren’t aware that he knew who you were. The kids let out a collective groan before listening to their father and exiting the living room. As soon as each of their little, youthful heads is out of sight, you breathe out a sigh of relief. 

“S-sorry,” you mumble out, suddenly reminding yourself that it was probably rude of you to make a sound as such and you wanted to make sure you did nothing to insult Overhaul to his face. A huge part of you felt that one wrong word out of your mouth meant the end of your quirk or your life. 

“It’s alright, I know they can be a handful. Though, they seem to be quite taken with you.” His tone is still rather polite, you notice, and his voice is entirely different than what you’d thought it would be in a one on one interaction. You thought it would be deeper, as whispers and rumors of Chisaki Kai being an incredibly cruel, bitter man painted a different picture in your head. But the man standing before you looked every bit as broken as you felt on the inside—as if a part of him had an empty chasm residing in his chest that could not be filled by the nine children in his care. 

“I can’t imagine why,” you reply. 

“Neither can I,” he says without skipping a beat, his tone still airy and light. Before you can rebuttal with your quick wit, Dabi storms in with his eyes locked on to your now conscious body. Gesturing with his head, over exaggerating the folds of his damaged skin, he encourages you to follow him downstairs to the mayoral study. Silently, you sauntered off behind him, leaving Overhaul alone in the living room, while you could feel the internal flames burning within Dabi. Pissed didn’t even begin to describe the look on his face.

In the office, photographs of burnt down buildings, rubble, and the skeletal framework of Underground businesses were littered across the large, maple desk. All the while, the leader of the Underground was grumbling to himself repeatedly while tugging at his raven locks in frustration. Not only had someone burned down local businesses in the city, let alone a close friend’s business, but it seemed that someone was attacking his city from the inside. “I wasn’t able to save Tropium.” You offer no response, mostly because there isn’t one to have. You felt anguish over losing your home, sure, but knowing how hard Dabi worked to protect the Underground, you can’t quite imagine how he’s feeling.

Instead, you respond with, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I should be asking you that. Your home is gone, [ name ].” He had a valid point. Perhaps you could find a few local contractors and give them some work—it wasn’t like you didn’t have the money to spare. But that would probably take some time considering, from photo evidence, the place—all of them—was going to need to be built from the ashes. “Stay here while you figure it out. It’s the least I can do.”

“Don’t you already have Overhaul and the kids staying here?” Maybe Dabi didn’t notice the way your voice trembled as you spoke his name, even more so after having woken up to him by your side. But the thought of you, a quirk wielder that kept that little fact hidden from the public, temporarily boarding with a man who was vehemently against the abomination of quirks gave you severe anxiety. Additionally, there was the nine little children that also were a factor and the thought of one of them waking up in your temporary residence and intruding on what little privacy you would have—

“And?” Dabi asks, pulling you from your reverie. “[ name ], I know I don’t say this enough, but you’re one of my closest friends. I don’t feel right not giving you a place to sleep.” His quirk may be Cremation, but Dabi was a master manipulator when it came to pulling at your heartstrings whether or not he was aware of that. You let out a sigh of conceding, knowing you wouldn’t be able to argue your way out of this one. 

“One condition, bud,” you hold up a single index finger, the black quill feather tattooed there standing erect, “find me some contractors to help rebuild all the buildings that were burned dow.”

“That’s gonna cost ya,” Dabi hums, as if contemplating. And he was, but rather in estimated cost as opposed to the proposal itself. Physical currency was a rarity in the Underground, as the city ran on a merit and bartering system. Real Surface money was only used for certain occupations. Realistically speaking, he knew money was no object to you considering the wealth, or rather hush money, you acquired from your parents’ death, so there had to be another reason. Knowing you as well as he did, it was probably the fact that the faster your homes were rebuilt, the less time you would have to spend sharing walls with Overhaul. Very smart, the leader mused. “You got a deal, doll.”

 You lost count of the days that had gone by since you took over the project of rebuilding the structures that had gone down. While the orphanage project had already begun, you had hired two additional bodies to help the progress go faster so that Dabi could return to his duties without the addition of eleven more mouths to feed. Simultaneously, you had been at your own construction lot from metaphorical sunup to sundown, helping contribute and manage the two men that were hired for your location. 

You weren’t avoiding Overhaul, you told Dabi repeatedly when he asked where you’d been all day. 

This project was an opportunity for you to set up shop in a reimagined way—to be able to design both your studio space and your living space exactly to your tastes. It had sort of become your baby and you wanted to be as hands on as possible. 

You weren’t avoiding Overhaul, you kept telling yourself. 

Tropium’s new store front was stunning, albeit a bit ill-fitting with its new modern style in contrast to the Underground’s more rustic, steampunk look. But the charcoal grey stone walls with chunky white trim filled your heart with a sense of pride that your business would hopefully rise from the ashes much like that of the Phoenix tattooed under your bosom. 

Currently, you were upstairs with the tiny team of contractors while going over the floor plan of your currently bare apartment. Given the space of the empty building, you managed to enlarge your rooms at the cost of downsizing your entryway and living room. It still felt homey and, with the addition of a small office that served as a spare bedroom, you figured on nights that Dabi hung out and didn’t feel like going home, he had a space too. After laying out the floor plan and going over schematics with the team, you ventured back downstairs to continue sanding down the counters for your studio space. 

“So, this is where you’ve been spending your time?” Oxygen freezes in your throat as you’re met with Overhaul’s golden eyes and black mask. Albeit he wasn’t in his normal dress shirt and tie for once, but rather sporting an oversized hoodie and tight denim jeans. 

“W-what are you doing here?” Is all you can say back. You aren’t sure if you’re moving or even breathing at this point. The pressure you feel from a man whose face is half-covered is terrifying—liquid gold was dull in comparison to the intimidating eyes of Chisaki Kai. 

“Dabi told me about your little deal,” his voice rolls like honey straight from the dripper as he makes small flits toward you that subconsciously leave you retreating back up the stairs one step at time. A deep groan rumbles in his chest when he sees your reaction—not that he blames you in the slightest. Overhaul is more than aware of his notorious reputation both in the real world and in the Underground and is accepting of strangers’ reluctance to be around him. He knows he’s partially to blame for not trying to quell the stigma around him by formally introducing himself prior. maybe not being such a condescending jackass when he first officially met you would have helped as well. 

But he can’t squash the little bouts of jealousy that filled him seeing his children flock to you like dragonflies in search of water that almost make him bask in your trepidation. 

“Take a walk with me,” Overhaul adds, torn between offering you a gloved hand as a metaphorical olive branch or simply turning around to see if you follow. He opts for the latter merely for the fact that you’re covered in dust and paint from your days’ work. Bounding after him, you stuff your hands into the pockets of your loose overalls as you try to catch up while bearing in mind to keep a short distance between the two of you. The two-block walk is brief and silent as you end up at the construction site of the clinic. Perhaps your memory of the building you never visited beforehand was skewed, but it you were certain it was much larger now. “Feel free to look around. After all, you’re paying for this.” There’s a twinge of malice that paints his invitation that isn’t lost on you, but you decide to forego the welcoming regardless. 

Passing through the threshold cautiously, you’re greeted with what looks to be a regular, two story home. The skeletal structure foreshadowed a kitchen, dining room, living space, and a hallway leading to two rooms. One staircase that lead to a basement, one that lead upstairs—it was strange to see the clinic become more of a home than anything else. “Where are you putting the clinic?” You ask meekly, careful not to touch. Just because Overhaul invited you to check out the specs, doesn’t mean he wanted your lingering fingerprints ingrained in his space. 

“Basement. I figured it would be better for the children to have majority of the space.” A pregnant pause takes over the conversation once again, leaving you to roam around the new space in appreciation. A part of you was pleased with the work the contractors did for this family, a large part even, but there was a small nagging voice in your head that was still telling you to retreat back to your own project. “Why did you do it?” 

“Do what?” A brief chuckle that is muffled by his mask dances on his lips. He’s not sure which of his theories he wants to start unraveling first. So he starts with the one he believes to be most ludicrous—the conspiracy that you or somebody you worked for was trying to take this children away, or Eri at the very least. If people on the Surface knew about her and her quirk, Kai doesn’t doubt a bounty would be on her head. But truth be told, he knew this seemed unlikely. You had never bothered to even engage with him or anyone else in his family until recently, despite having come to the Underground shortly after its establishment. 

“Rescue my daughter, for starters.” Of course he starts with the question you don’t have an answer for. To which you can only respond with the truth—your body moved on your own when you saw the panic in his eyes. Also knowing he had to watch his eight other children and ensure their safety prompted your body to act automatically. “You used your quirk to save Eri, but not yourself. Why?” Your eyes narrow slightly in both suspicion and out of confusion. It was strange that Overhaul kept demanding answers and logic and reason for things you did as a knee jerk reaction. Considering you’d only discovered your quirk just before going to the Underground, it wasn’t exactly what you would call a natural reaction. Plus, weaving through danger for someone else wasn’t as simple as just running in and out of the building as it was to jump out your bay window. Judging by his silence, it seemed he accepted that answer.  “And the contractors?”

“I just want all of our lives to go back to normal, including Dabi.” It wasn’t exactly a lie—rather just a short omission of the truth—and it wasn’t like you could tell him that you couldn’t stand living in such close proximity with him due to fear. But Overhaul had a knack for pinpointing a fib like a honeybee in search of something sweet. 

“You’re lying,” he bites. You shake your head almost violently, as if the movement will deter your mouth from telling him the truth in its entirety. There was no way you could admit the fear he instilled in your bones or the anxiety you felt standing close enough for him to touch you. Sure, you may have felt that your quirk was less than impressive but that didn’t mean you wanted him to take it away or worse, your life. Knowing that he knew about it too, while the public didn’t which was a requirement for living in the Underground, only reaffirmed your worries. “Do you fear me?” Overhaul asks, making note of the way your fingers were trembling and way your eyes constantly averted his. 

“Yes,” your voice comes out as a mere whisper, barely rising above the hammering and drilling of the construction workers. A part of you wished that your admission made you feel better—like it felt like a weight lifting off of your shoulder rather than making it feel like you were denying some greater truth—a part of you just wanted to run and hide and pretend this interaction wasn’t happening. 

It shouldn’t have hurt Kai as much as it did to hear you say it out loud, considering you were nothing but a stranger. But you were a stranger that his children were so utterly enamored with and all he wanted was to understand. Yet, the feeling of disappointment is a dull thrum in his chest, long forgotten with a wide array of other emotions and coming only second to his envy. “I’m sorry,” he says finally, though the monotone voice almost sounds insincere. 

Perhaps, his jealousy is misplaced, he thinks. His children may be drawn to you, but at least they didn’t tremble or wrack their bones with trepidation the way you do when you see him. If anything, his jealousy is replaced with empathy. Despite your clear distaste for youth, you got along swimmingly with his kids and they clearly wanted to be present with you. It must have been difficult for you to be near them, even more so considering you trembled in their father’s presence. The two of you stand in silence with you looking away pretending to soak in your surroundings of the plastered walls. Overhaul is observing your nervous ticks—the way your twitching fingers are exaggerated by the ink in your skin or the way your knee bounces impatiently along the hardwood. 

“Daddy, daddy, daddy, come look at my roo—oh! [ name ] is here too!” Bounding down the unfinished staircase was one of the orphans in Overhaul’s care; Shura, if you remembered correctly. 

“Just stopped by to see how the place was coming,” you offer in addition to a sheepish wave. Before you know it, Shura is grasping one of your hands with both of his while guiding you up the stairs. 

“Come see our rooms, [ name ]!” Overhaul watches with curious eyes at the way one of his sons is so overzealous to include you in their little world. The appeal makes no sense to him—you were just a stranger with skin like a Monet painting that had made little to no effort for these children outside of rescuing Eri and allowing them to shower you in their affection. 

Why did acknowledging that their enthusiasm to include you hurt Kai even more so, knowing you were afraid of him?

Trudging behind, Overhaul peers through the open doors upstairs to see each of his kids decorating their freshly painted walls. In Shura’s room, you were sitting on the floor with your arms wrapped around your knees while the little boy explained to you that he wanted his room to be decorated with narwhals. The excitement he had, and the knowledge of even knowing such a creature existed, was quite charming. “[ name ], are you gonna join us for dinner this time? Dabi says you’re always working, but daddy always makes you a plate just in case!” Your eyes glance over to Overhaul and his leisurely pose as he rests one arm on the door jamb. For a moment, your mouth open and closes repeatedly as you try to stutter out some semblance of an answer. 

“Just in case,” the doctor adds, as if to add more pressure to his son’s convenient question. The golden orbs you normally deterred from swirled with an intensity that, much to your surprise, didn’t wrack your nerves like they normally did. It was as if they were filled with remorse rather their typical bitterness, maybe sympathy even, imploring you to consider Shura’s inquiry. 

“I should go finish my work for today then so I can be home for dinner,” pushing yourself off of the freshly carpeted floor to stand. At some point while Shura was giving you the grand tour of his room, your legs had fallen asleep, causing your first step to hobble and throw you off balance and trip. 

“Careful,” Overhaul chimes, bemused at the way you flail to recover from your stumble. To your surprise, he’s pushed himself off the door jamb, crossed through the threshold of Shura’s room, and has his arms locked underneath yours to keep you steady. “Drink some water before going back to work.”  

“R-right,” you stutter out, hyper aware that his hands are touching you. He feels the way your tendons bunch together in your arms at the contact, even more so when your pupils lock into his. It untangles one more thread in his theories, one he figures he’ll push on later because it’s a theory just as farfetched as his last one. “I’ll, um, see you at dinner,” the last syllable rises in intonation as you squeak, flitting away and ignoring your numbed legs and blood burned cheeks. Meanwhile, Overhaul chuckles as he watches you scurry away, the blush painting your cheeks burning into his mind just as well. The way you moved was reminiscent of when he had reset your bones and the way you recoiled thereafter. But through thorough observation, he knew that reaction wasn’t fear this time around, no. Fear made you quiet, not nervous or jittery or force your pupils to dilate. 

This was something else entirely.

Something else entirely to the point where Chisaki Kai is unsure if he even wants to entertain the possible theory that maybe, maybe, you’re the slightest bit infatuated with him. 

“How nice of you to join us,” Dabi sneers teasingly when you set foot into the private entryway of town hall’s attached home. The makeshift family of ten is already seated at the extended dining table, an empty seat awaiting you on Dabi’s left with Overhaul on his right. Each of the children that you had come to be familiar with over the last few weeks had lit up like your presence was a treat—a strange feeling, considering you’d done the most to avoid being in the temporary residence. 

“Go wash up, we’ll wait for you,” you had never seen Chisaki Kai without his mask, let alone heard his voice so clear. The angelic lilt rivaled expert fingers rimming crystal glasses, hypnotizing you to do as he said without so much as a fight. Entering your room, you immediately discard your dirty work clothes and shower hastily, scrubbing off flecks of dried paint and dust. In seven minutes and nineteen seconds, you’re out of your en suite bathroom and shucking on leggings and a long sleeve tee before joining everyone else at the dinner table. 

To your surprise it felt quite...normal. Was this how families had dinner together? You were unsure, considering your parents had never been one to have the three of you gather together for a meal—they were always too busy working until the day they were killed nearly a decade ago. 

It surprised you how natural the flow of conversation was, even with nine children ranging from ages four to seven. Even more to your shock, Dabi was more than willing to indulge the kids in their stories. But the creme de la creme was seeing maskless Overhaul smiling and laughing and attempting to get his kids to eat their vegetables. Was this the real Overhaul? Had his notoriety preceded him so greatly that you feared him for no reason at all? Your intuition tells you no and, perhaps, to some degree it’s right. There was still a dangerous air that encapsulated Chisaki Kai, but it wasn’t one that made you instantly retreat like touching a cake pan you’d recently pulled from the oven with a bare hand. If anything, it was alluring as opposed to intimidating. 

The kids were so happy you finally joined them all at dinner. Rapid fire questions from any one or even two of them made you hesitate to answer but you did your best to keep your face even and amused. Children may not have been your favorite, but however the heck Overhaul was raising these ones, especially all nine of them, was truly wonderful. Throughout conversation, Shura and even shy little Eri had scrambled into your lap with each one of them taking a leg while the three of you ate. Initially, Kai had scolded them both, saying they were being rude to which you only shook your head and allowed them to stay, much to his surprise. 

After dinner, the children cleared the table. Those that were able of the younger ones brought stacks of dishes to Eri and Shura whom were in the kitchen washing plates and silverware—their duties as the eldest of the nine. Dabi has pardoned himself after thanking the family for the meal to hole himself up in his office. According to the leader of the Underground, the investigative team was still working around the clock to unearth who was responsible for the fires. You had found yourself in the garden of Town Hall, tablet and digital pen in one hand with a cigarette in the other. Drawing was the only leisurely activity you indulged in when not working on rebuilding Tropium. 

Typically, Dabi would join on you on these evenings with stacks of papers and a cigar between his lips as he bounced ideas off of you to figure out potential perpetrators. Needless to say, it surprised you when Overhaul enters the makeshift garden that was really just a manmade pond with lily pads and rose bushes aligning the sinkhole. “Hi,” you offer meekly, averting his gaze by keeping your own glued to your tablet screen. 

“Hi,” he returns, twisting up a shapely brow at the cigarette between your index and middle finger. For a moment, he’s torn between asking what you’re working on or if you had any ideas to who burned down both of your homes or even how the rebuilding of Tropium was coming along. But he can tell by the way the filter of the cigarette squeezes between your fingers that you’re tense, that you can sense there’s a reason for his presence and decides to forego small talk. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” his voice is small and unsure and drastically different from the Overhaul you were used to. Nonetheless, his statement catches your attention and pulls it away from the screen of your tablet. 

“I’m more afraid of what you can do,” you admit quietly, “I don’t want people knowing about my quirk. Dabi was the only one who knew and now your entire family knows and—“ you pause for second, hesitating on whether or not you should continue. But Overhaul was brave enough to tell you had what been bothering him, even if only a minuscule issue, you figure you owe him the same. “And I don’t want you to take it away.” The broken syllables leave your lips bare above a whisper, reaffirming at least one of the theories the doctor had about you. Of all the conspiracies, it made sense that this one was the most likely to explain your reactions to his presence, no matter how much he had hoped it to be some strange, magnetic attraction. 

You had bought into the whispers of the Underground that said Chisaki Kai’s life mission was to overhaul the population and remove quirks. 

Dejection fills his chest as he lets out a sigh. Maybe this was being too honest, his inner voice argues as it debates on his next words cautiously, but he feels the need to burn clean. “[ name ], what do you know about me?” 

“That you were a Yakuza leader and you think quirks are a plague that need to be eradicated.” Overhaul closes his eyes languidly, peeling them back open at a snail’s pace while the warm, golden orbs stare off into the never-ending tunnels of the Underground. 

“I became the leader of the Shie Hassaikai when I married my wife at twenty-three and took over for her ill father. It was a quirk marriage, but a happy one, nonetheless. At twenty five, my wife had Eri and while most children’s genetic code didn’t activate the gene for a quirk until a few years later, Eri was born with her quirk activated,” you listen deeply, soaking in every word leaving Overhaul’s maskless lips. His eyes drop down to stare at his gloved hands before burying his face in them for a moment to swallow his guilt quietly. “Eri can rewind time on living things and the first person she used it on—“

“—was her mother,” your voice barely vibrated past your lips as you made the connection. Bile rose in your throat, threatening to spill the contents of your gut not out of disgust, but rather an overwhelming surge of sorrow. 

“I lost my wife when I was twenty-five. The rate that she was being rewound at was too much for her body to handle and I had to overhaul my own daughter at birth just to get her quirk to deactivate so she didn’t destroy everyone she touched,” had Chisaki Kai not come to terms with the truth a long time ago, he would have shed at least a single tear recounting these memories he had buried. Either that, or almost hurled recalling the way his wife’s body had imploded until chunks of skin and muscle tissue and blood ended up spewing all over his chest and face. There was a reason he constantly wore gloves and a mask—the smell of cooking carcass and burning meat never left him and the exaggerated mask stuffed with lavender was the only scent that eased him. “I was angry at the world for a long time.”

“I am so sorry, Over—“

“Kai,” he interrupts, “or Chisaki, at the very least. I don’t go by that name anymore.” After a bout of silence, Chisaki continues further. Eri never grew up with a mother or siblings and after things had gone south on the surface, he wanted to raise Eri in a place where people didn’t know the truth about her or the mother she never had the opportunity to meet. So he fled to the Underground with Dabi; he started helping tend to the ill and taking in quirkless children who had lost their parents on the Surface to Heroes. 

In a moment of vulnerability, you felt the need to offer the olive branch and share your own story with this man after he bared his soul to you. And so, you tell him about the accident. How, while in pursuit of a villain, the small mom and pop diner that your parents frequented on Friday afternoons was accidentally set on fire by Endeavor and trapped and killed of the patrons inside. You were in your first year of high school at the time—fourteen and preparing for university until you realized you would need to work full time in order to continue paying the bills until the settlement from Endeavor came. University was down the drain. It took years for the dividends to be decided and the lawyer managed to get you a considerably high amount thanks to emotional damages, but riches and wealth would never quell the resentment you held towards the then number two pro Hero for being so reckless. That was nine years ago. Somewhere along the way, you’d met Dabi and he granted you a home and space to continue to hone the craft of tattoo artistry that you had picked up from working part time in a parlor, as recompense for his father killing yours. Though, you’d left that last little tidbit out, unsure if Kai knew of Dabi’s lineage. “I’ve been in the Underground for the last three years, give or take.”

You had always been rather indifferent to the concept of heroism until that day. Even more so when you had met Dabi—a man who was wanted and was supposed to be a villain. Yet he extended warmth and welcoming to you, offering you refuge in a new city he had created for the exiled and wandering. 

The grey areas only widen with this conversation with Chisaki Kai. A notorious man, an infamous man, known for causing utter chaos on the Surface both as the leader of the Shie Hassaikai and as a super villain, was sitting across from you and sharing the most intimate moments of his life. 

Maybe the concept of heroism was skewed to begin with, you think to yourself as you put out the cigarette in the ashtray in front of you. Maybe Dabi and Overhaul weren’t the real villains—only designed that way because of the way some omniscient creature in the stars that you couldn’t see. 

“I remember when you first opened Tropium,” Chisaki hums bemusedly, “the children said you looked like a coloring book.” The only fitting response you have is laughter. Neither of you thought laughter would be something the two of you would indulge in together. But the way your cheeks cinch together at the corner of your eyes or the tufts of air leaving your nostrils in a short snort and the somehow smooth staccato of your chuckle sounds like holiday bells after the first snowfall. It was a peace that Chisaki Kai hadn’t known for some time now. It was a peace he didn’t know he needed, and it makes him wish that his magnetic attraction theory had some truth to it. “Your secret is safe with me,” he says finally after the laughter had died off. 

“Thank you, Chisaki,” 

 You started coming home for dinner every night, figuring the two contractors didn’t need you there to micromanage them, until you stopped dropping into the worksite all together. With a full house, Dabi was out more frequently, preferring to be in the field to investigate the fires as much as he could. This left you with Chisaki and the kids more often than not. On occasion, you would run to the local market with Eri and Shura or had even done arts and crafts with some of the younger ones. As a sort of inside joke, you had bought each of the nine coloring books. 

Currently, the kids were playing volleyball in the makeshift garden while you and Chisaki supervised. It was no longer tense between the two of you, a sort of bond forming since that one night. You should have seen the inevitable question coming. Though you more so imagined it would come from Dabi in the form of some snide comment with sexual implications regarding how close you and Overhaul had become. Never did you anticipate his oldest son asking, “[ name ], are you going to be adopting us? Are you going to be our new mom?” 

“I-I—“ you were a deer in headlights and the question was a freight truck gunning in at ninety. Looking over at Chisaki for help, who seemed almost unwilling or at the very least unsure on how to, you shake your head before staring back at Shura’s big blue eyes. These children had begun carving a special place in your heart due to how they came to be in Chisaki’s care, sure, but you still had your reservations about kids in general. Not that the doctor blamed you—maternal instincts didn’t necessarily apply to every female. “I-I don’t wanna take you away from daddy, he works so hard to take care of you all and he does such a good job,” for a second, Shura’s expression becomes crestfallen. 

“But we all like having you around, [ name ],”

“I’m not going anywhere, buddy, I promise,” the seven-year-old boy promptly wraps his arms around your neck, squeezing tightly as if you were going to dissipate into the air in front of his very eyes. Without hesitation, you hug back briefly before telling him his siblings were waiting for him to start the next set of volleyball. “Was that okay?” You ask quietly, looking over to the doctor. From underneath his mask, you can see the twists of pain coloring the dusty gold hues of his irises and the way his jaw tenses. When he remains quiet, you anxiously reach for an e-cigarette—a fruity one that wouldn’t alert the kids or burn Chisaki’s nostrils from the scent—and pull the tip to your lips. Maybe you shouldn’t have said that to Shura, you think as you exhale a large cloud of smoke. 

But Overhaul’s stomach is twisting and churning, and he crosses his legs over the knee to squeeze his legs together tightly. He’s thankful for the black cloth mask that covers majority of his facial features as he bites his lip and his nostrils flair while he tries to control his breathing. Think of anything else, his mind snarls. Think of the days in the Shie Hassaikai, think of the children, think of literally anything but the way you called him “daddy” and how the blood rushed from his brain and straight to his dick at an alarming rate. It was so innocent—there was no reason Kai should even be thinking of it in any other way—but primal instincts were taking over, twisting into a delusion in his brain into hearing you repeatedly call him daddy while he fucked you from behind. 

“Can you watch the kids?” Chisaki chokes out, standing up abruptly and fleeing inside the temporary home. He doesn’t even have the chance to hear you ask if he’s alright as he’s rushing upstairs to his en suite bathroom. Entering his room, he rips off every shred of fabric covering his body before turning on the shower to the coldest temperature he could tolerate. But there wasn’t enough cold water in the Underground or gruesome thoughts of his wife’s sudden death that could stave off the erection he was currently sporting. “Fuck!” He snarls out viciously, mind running rampant with salacious daydreams. Out of sheer need, Overhaul wraps one hand around his cock, the other bracing himself on the shower wall while the cold water runs down his spine. 

Chisaki Kai is livid—raging over the fact that he is reduced to such actions over a simple word that he hears multiple times on a daily basis. It wasn’t that he was abhorrent at the thought of masturbation in the slightest—he was a human with natural human needs, after all—but this desperation that filled his gut and fueled his hard on was less than desirable. But he can’t stop the aching he feels to hold onto that blip of memory of you calling him daddy. He savors it like the first bite of a meal and indulges it in the same way he’s trying to coerce his own orgasm. 

Throaty groans and grumbles wrack in Overhaul’s throat as he fists his angry, weeping cock, twisting and turning it as he prays for reprieve. It’s not enough; it’s not your mouth or any other oriface he would rather be shoving into, but the friction rubbing against his veins would have to be enough. He’s far from gracious at this point. Cupping and massaging his balls with one hand while thrusting into his enclosed other at ferocious speeds was all in the name of merely getting off. “Fuck,” he hisses out once again as he feels the very start of his orgasm. As much as his natural instinct is just telling him to sit back and enjoy the ride, his common sense tells him otherwise, tells him that he’s filthy for doing this and he doesn’t deserve to indulge in these thoughts. 

But he needs that extra push to satiate his natural instinct. 

Succumbing to his deeper, carnal desires, his imagination wanders back to you. With golden eyes screwed shut, he pretends it’s you he thrusting into, that it’s you stringing together languid profanities between your lips; that it’s you begging for daddy to fuck you harder. 

That it’s you begging daddy to fill you up and make you into a mother. 

“Oh, shit,” Chisaki is gasping for breath as he cums on the shower walls—the last thought to flood his mind serving to break the dam. He licks his lips and swallows hard, his skin becoming dry despite standing in the cold shower. After his ragged, uneven breathing returns to some semblance of normal, he peels his heavy lids open and stares at the fluid coating the shower wall. For a moment, shame washes over him because he feels pathetic and small. But the moment is brief before it was replaced with a dull burn of hunger that may never be quelled. 

Pathetic, Kai thinks again as he scrubs his body clean, before exiting the arctic shower. Never before had he been in such a state, even at the ripe age of thirty-two, to masturbate to the mere thought of another person. Perhaps he was that touch-starved, all things considered. 

He can’t bring himself to gaze at his reflection as he gets dressed. Adorning grey joggers and a red zip up hoodie, in addition to his usual mask and gloves, he maneuvers his way back to the makeshift garden where the children are still playing with together. But rather than you sitting alone at the patio table as you were, Dabi had joined you in the seat directly across from you. 

Both of you were sporting matching cigarettes in your respective hands with matching distressed looks on your faces. 

“We’ve been waiting for you,” you say in an almost indifferent tone, a departure from the way Kai had heard you in his mind seconds ago. It was a sentence typically accompanied with some sass, but your eyes were devoid of emotion at the moment. Cautiously, Chisaki took a seat beside you at the patio table, propping an elbow on the armrest closest to you before resting his temple on the same closed fist he had just used to beat himself off. You pay it no mind, how close he is to you, but rather put out your cigarette on the ashtray on the table as a courtesy to him. “Dabi,” your tone is thoughtful as you say your best friend’s name, making a hand gesture that signifies him to speak. 

The leader of the Underground opens the manilla folder that was harboring the photos of both of your burnt down homes as well as the two other destroyed businesses. “It’s been a challenging investigation, but after eyewitness accounts and working with local law enforcement from the Surface, I’m pretty sure my bastard brother was behind this shit,” Dabi grits out. 

“Brother?” Kai asks, confirming your suspicions of him being unaware of Dabi’s genealogy and family tree. To this, the leader pulls out a mug shot of Todoroki Shouto. The face wasn’t entirely familiar to Kai, save for the small resemblances to Dabi. Same jaw shape, same blue eye with the same dead look. 

“Why us?” You ask, flipping the photo over. While it had been awhile since you had resided let alone visited the Surface, you knew that there was some rumors in the air about the start of a war, but what possible reason did Todoroki have for going after the Underground when everyone kept to themselves? For Chisaki, who ran a free clinic, and his children? What about you—why go after you?

Outside of Dabi, hadn’t the Todoroki family tortured you enough?

The city leader takes a deep breath, exhaling smoke as he extinguishes the dead cigarette on the ashtray. According to the patchwork man, Todoroki had confessed that he was selected for a covert mission from the Hero Association. The primary goal was to eradicate any and all quirk wielders within the Underground so they didn’t procreate further, so no overpowered quirks would mutate in the next generation of Underground born children. Overhaul lets out a scoff at the explanation—leave it to the Heroes to act so recklessly and selfishly. 

If quirk mutation was the concern, only him and Eri would have been targeted, maybe Dabi as well. Probably Dabi as well. But they burned down Tropium Tattoos, the home of you whom had the legally registered quirk Life Canvas up on the Surface. They burned down a farm whose owner had a quirk that could manipulate light and sunshine—whose farm fed the patrons of the Underground. They burned down the house of the guy who had a weird magnet quirk. It sounds more useless than he actually is—Dabi ended up capitalizing on his manipulation of magnets to create magnetic elevators up to the surface for supply runs and other necessities. 

This was about population control. 

It was a form of genocide that Overhaul himself was all too familiar with. 

“Well that’s fucked,” you sneer, reaching for one more cigarette, “the fuck is wrong with your family, dude, and why are they all trying to kill me and my family?” Chisaki turns his head in curiosity, no longer resting on his knuckles. The only time you had brought up your family, around him at least, was when Endeavor killed your parents—

Oh. 

He pretends he doesn’t feel disappointment when he realizes you weren’t implying he and the children were your family. 

“Why the hell do you think I left, [ name ]?” Chisaki almost feels as if he shouldn’t be present for this conversation; like it was meant to be private between the two of you. But he can’t bring himself to leave your side, not with the way anger is crinkling in the form of crow’s feet at the corner of your eyes. Dabi excuses himself after a long bout of silence, leaving you to stew in your bitterness while Overhaul directs the kids to wash up for dinner. You don’t realize all nine of them had left the garden until the doctor is standing over you, despite the small wisps of smoke billowing from your cigarette with a hand extended towards you to pull you from the patio chair. You’re sure to extinguish the stick, knowing how the smell often offended him before taking it. 

“Why don’t you go rest inside for a minute and wash up while I make dinner?” He offers quietly as he pulls you to your feet. The entire time, Chisaki maintains eye contact, his golden orbs unwilling to break their trance with your form. But thanks to the distress and the rapid pace that your brain is moving, you aren’t even aware of your surroundings or the way Chisaki is just standing in front of you until you’re running into his broad chest. Instinctually, you recoil away from him. Not out of disgust or fear like before, but rather respect, knowing how he is about touch and physical contact. 

“Sorry—“ his arms are nestling at your waist to keep you in close proximity and you’re suddenly reminded of the time your legs fell asleep at the orphanage and you had stumbled trying to walk. Chisaki had been there then too, holding you steady much like he was now. There was something drastically different to the scenario now compared to back then. The doctor didn’t shy away from the contact anymore, didn’t draw his hands back like he touched a freshly stoked lump of coal or break out into itchy hives. If anything, his gloved hands lingered just a little bit longer—too long even for Chisaki—before gingerly patting your head and retreating inside the home. 

And maybe if you weren’t trying to process the fact that the Surface was attempting to start a war with the Underground, you would have dwelled more on the warmth and security coming from Kai. The poise he held coupled with the fire and desire in his eye would have been enough to reassure that everything was going to be alright.

Dabi never came back that night. Rather than leaving his head seat at the dining table empty, Chisaki sat to your left with his daughter filling his space temporarily. You sat directly across from Eri, the girl who was once too timid to thank you now smiled brightly every time you looked at her. Other than your best friend’s absence, dinner was relatively average. Conversation went on as normal, sharing laughter and smiles between all of you—it was a nice delusion that for a moment, you were all a complete family and you weren’t so enrapt with the heartbreak of knowing these ten humans were targets to the surface. 

The children cleared the table as they always did, but rather than having the two oldest do the dishes, you offered to clean up instead. “Why don’t you kids gather up in the living room and have daddy put on a movie for you?” Clearly excited from the reprieve of duty, the orphans all head off, touting something along the lines of Frozen versus Tangled. But your back is already turned away from the family, getting started on putting away leftovers and scraping away scraps on plates and entirely missing the way Kai’s eyes drain from gold to a murky mustard. It misses the way his jaw clenches tightly as he settles the debate for his children, turning on Tangled—the clearly more superior film—before he returns to the kitchen. 

The sleeves of your ragline tee are pushed above your elbows as you hum an unknown hymn, unaware of Kai stepping cautiously toward you. Despite having just eaten, the doctor is filled with a renewed hunger entirely as his grip finds limp purchase on your hips much like they had before dinner. “You know, I think we need to have a talk about you calling me ‘daddy’ in front of the children,” he murmurs hotly against the shell of your ear, causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand up. Your blood is torn between running cold from the predatory drawl in his words and boiling from the sudden close contact. 

“I-I’m sorry, should I stop?” Kai licks his lips before running his teeth behind your ear and down your neck, suckling on the flesh as he mumbles a response. 

“Do you want to?” You contemplate his question in full, though it proves to be a challenge with the way he’s pressing warm, open mouth kisses to your neck and shoulder and the way his hands are kneading at your hips. “Are you afraid of me, sweetheart?” He asks again, his voice a low grumble yet somehow is louder than thunder as it isn’t hidden behind a mask. Had this been months ago when he had asked you an identical question when you were perusing the reconstruction of the orphanage, you would have said yes again. But this wasn’t fear—fear wasn’t a word you associated with Chisaki Kai anymore. 

Warmth. Strength. Dedication. Resolve. 

Love. 

Those were the words you associated with him now. 

“No,” you finally respond, shutting off the water before turning to face him. It was a rare, momentous occasion when you got to gaze upon his bare face outside of having meals together. His golden eyes swirl with elation, even more so as your painted fingers brush stray locks that fallen just over his brows. Despite a rather simple appearance, especially in comparison to yours, there’s something elegantly charming about Chisaki Kai that had never gotten the full appreciation he deserved. 

Tentatively, you nudge him closer to you from the back of his neck until your lips are pressed against his. For you, it’s an experiment just to feel him in such a manner. For Kai, it’s torture in every sense of the word because it’s a tease after all of the salacious thoughts that have marred his imagination. Taking a leap of faith, his arms tighten around your waist, pulling your body flush against his because right now there isn’t enough contact in the world that would satisfy him. 

The once delicate, experimental kiss becomes hungrier at his hand as he’s exploring your mouth with tongue, groaning as he does so. The scent of smoke and fresh cotton wafts into his nostrils between his sharp intakes of breath as he refuses to break contact. It’s as if he’s trying to commit the moment to memory, to burn it into his brain. 

As if this was never going to happen ever again. 

“Kai,” you whimper out his name, his true name, between pants of breathlessness for the first time. Just as gingerly as before, your fingers are cradling the man before you by the temples. You’re gazing at him fully, unabashedly, as you run a thumb just below his distinct lower lashes. Chisaki’s head dips a bit further into your brief touch before you skip away from him. 

“Wait, where do you think you’re going?”

“Come on, let’s go watch the movie with the kids,” you chime, holding a hand out to him as if he didn’t just have you all but pinned to the kitchen sink. 

“I was serious when I said we needed to have a talk.” Despite his verbal protest, he takes your hand in his, trailing behind as you saunter off towards the living room where the children are fully invested in the film. Plopping down on an empty space on the couch, you bring Kai with you until he’s nearly resting on top of you. For a moment, he releases your hand, opting to wrap an arm around you to pull you closer. “Back to avoiding me, angel?” The doctor grumbles into your ear, low enough so as not to alert the little ones. 

“Figured it would be better to not risk being interrupted,” you whisper back, smirk twisting your lips. Chisaki’s licks his own dry plains, tugging you even closer so that you’re sitting on one of his thighs instead. That predatory miasma that surrounds him on a day to day basis is seeping out of him tenfold, but intimidation when it came to Kai was now a foreign concept to you. It brought back that same seductively dangerous feeling you’d felt the first time you had dinner with the family or, thinking back further, to when you went to scope out the renovations. A part of you wonders if that fear you once had was displaced as soon as you knew he was going to keep your quirk a secret. Displaced with an attraction to him that was easily confused with fear. 

A part of you wonders if you ever really did fear him at all. 

Maybe you didn’t. 

Your mindless thoughts wander to anything other than the screen, casually leaning back so that your head settled on Kai’s clavicle. The doctor looks down at you with a curiosity that is replaced with a warmth that temporarily quelled his lust. As much as he had been fighting his day dreams of fucking you, having you in his arms surrounded by his kids stoked a different fire inside him. 

He didn’t want this domestic moment to end. 

He hopes that desire translates into the simple gesture of his lips pressing into your hair. 

Chisaki Kai was finally caving into his wants and being honest with himself. He doesn’t want this makeshift family to go back to normal when you finally returned to Tropium or when his family returns to the Underground clinic. There isn’t a single cell in his body that believes having you in his lap and curled into his chest feels anything other than right. He’s overwhelmed with the idea, the fantasy, of you moving in and being with the family. Your family—in the collective sense—with Kai by your side with your nine orphans. 

During the lantern scene of the film, he presses another kiss where the roots of your hair meet your forehead, lips lingering a little longer than normal. In response, you look up at him curiously to find his muted golden eyes staring right at you. There was a plethora of different things that Chisaki wanted to say to you, especially with the way you look so heavenly in his arms. But he settles with the murmur of, “I don’t want things to go back to normal.” 

“Neither do I,” you whisper, gracefully accepting the way Kai’s lips mould over yours almost lovingly. In a sense, it’s your way of finally admitting to yourself the feelings that worked and wriggled their way into your chest. The thought of returning to your lonely little two-bedroom apartment by yourself just seemed daunting now, despite the initial rush to get to work on the remodel. No more waking up to bright eyes at the table for breakfast or coloring with the kids; no more having Kai cook a delectable meal or having him accompany you in the garden for a smoke. It broke your heart just thinking about all you would be missing out on when life returned to somewhat normal, war aside. 

The doctor sucks gingerly on your lower lip, nipping slightly with his canines as his tongue wholeheartedly dances with yours. The kiss is full of longing and desire and it made his brain go fuzzy with strange thoughts. A part of him can’t remember ever feeling this recurring surge of wanton lust and infatuation when Kai would kiss his wife and, in regular circumstances, he would have felt guilt over it. But this warm, wet entanglement of your tongues is more loving than he was accustomed to and it excited him. Than you were even accustomed to. 

“So stay with me, sweetheart,” the nickname he’s given you sounds almost patronizing. But the admiration that seems to be laced in with it sends a shiver down your spine and leaves the hairs on your arms standing at full attention as the film comes to an end. “Time for bed, children. We’ll be by in a little bit to check on you,” Chisaki calls out to his protesting kids, though making no motion to move from his planted position on the sofa. When he’s certain that all nine of them are out of earshot, he adjusts you in his lap so that both of your legs are draped over his thighs. You call out his name, pulling him from his thoughts that take him far away from the present. 

“You said you wanted to talk,” you remind him. A part of you is afraid to start conversation because you aren’t sure what direction he wants to take this. Chisaki could have an entirely different meaning of returning to normal than you, but for you...

You didn’t want to wake up every morning without him being nearby. In the rawest form, that was the only way you could piece it together into a coherent thought. But even more than that, you felt as if there was so much more you wanted to see from Chisaki Kai. He was becoming more open with touch, no longer breaking out into hives when he touched others and even going so far as to hold you, albeit very languidly as he was now. Another part of you wanted to know if he would be beside you when it came to the impending war with the Surface. 

Mostly, you just wanted to know if he wanted to be by your side too, even if logic wanted to tell you this was a bad idea. 

“Will you stay? With me?” Kai implores quietly. His eyes are locked with yours, the gold shining brighter than ever. 

“You say this after I renovate our homes?” A short, lighthearted scoff leaves his lung in lieu of laughter at your attempt of a joke. Because, despite him echoing your own deeper, innermost thoughts, a part of you refused to believe this was reality. As if reality was actually playing a prank on you. 

Of course he had thought of that little fact. It was the longing desire he felt in his bones to have your presence that he hadn’t taken into account, but that need burning at the pit of his stomach had outweighed any semblance of logic that urged him to keep his thoughts to himself.

“The kids will grow up eventually and need their own space away from the orphanage. We could always save it for them.”

Answers you were expecting from Chisaki Kai: not that. 

Had he invested that much into the idea? To the point where he planned on you still being a part of the orphan’s lives until they were adults?

“‘We’?” You ask. “And what if “we” don’t work, have you considered that?”

“No,” Kai’s voice is clear and calm as ever, exuding the very confidence that once made you tremble, “I want you in every sense of the word. I’ve already said my vows and had my shot at forever. I want that sort of permanence with you and I know that some part of you wants me too.” At a loss for words, you opt to brush the backs of your nails along his cheeks endearingly, trailing them down until your hands find purchase around his neck to bring him close enough that you can feel his lashes tickle your cheekbones. The silence between the two of you was deafening and damning, yet welcoming as it’s broken with him pressing his lips fully against yours. 

For a moment, it feels as if the hunger stirring within his gut is satiated—satisfied with the even the tender, loving gesture of pulling you closer still until you’re straddling his lap. As if you were trying to fuse your bodies together because there was no such thing as too much physical contact right now. Kai encircles your waist with his arms, hoisting you up as he motions to stand and causing you to wrap your legs around his midsection. You don’t ask where you’re going; partially because your tongue is too busy just indulging in a private dance with his, partially because it doesn’t matter where he takes you. You’d go with him anywhere, no questions asked. 

It’s a challenge and a half maneuvering up the stairs with you anchored around him so tightly—even more so that with every step he took ended up grinding your pelvis along his ever-growing erection. Kai felt liberated this time around, shamelessly rubbing against you this time rather than scurrying off for a cold shower and a five-minute session with his hand. Your eyes open as he unceremoniously tosses you onto the plush blanket of your borrowed bed. Immediately, you’re greeted with the sight of Chisaki Kai hastily shredding off his tee shirt and lounge pants, leaving the doctor in strained boxer briefs. 

Briefly, you’re blown away by the sheer beauty of him—like a statue of Adonis come to fruition before your eyes. Even with the uncomfortable twinge in his golden orbs from your unnerving gaze. It was different, to say the least, to have you gawking at him with such adoration when he felt he was the only one doing so. “C’mere,” your voice comes out as a near broken whimper, a call to which Kai heeds graciously. The bed dips as he kneels at the edge, crawling closer until he’s hovering above you. Gingerly, your fingers trace over the smooth skin of his cheeks, tracing down his lips and neck until they ghost over his collarbones. 

“Sweetheart,” Kai groans out, snatching your hand in his as it continues to trail further down his bare skin. “As much as I want to bask in the romance of all of this, you called me ‘daddy’ earlier, and I think it’s time you suffer the consequences.”

“Yeah?” You sneer sardonically, pushing into your elbows until you’re both touching nose to nose. “Like it when I call you that?” His breath is hot as it fans over your features, the wanton lust tangled within the golden hues of his irises becoming overwhelmed with feral desire. Kai’s hand that isn’t supporting him over you grips tightly at your baggy tee, pulling harshly to tear at the fabric keeping your bare body from him. For a moment, his breath becomes caged in his chest upon seeing your semi-nude form for the first time. But the moment is flitting as he’s reminded of his aching, hard cock twitching underneath his undergarments. 

“Hands and knees, baby,” the slow, torturous movement you give in reply grates at Kai’s nerves, prompting a resounding smack to the ass of your joggers the moment your bottom is visible to him. “Daddy’s already impatient, dear,”

“And what’s Daddy going to do about that?” 

Similar to the treatment he gave your shirt earlier, Kai dug his fingers into the waistband of your joggers. Though he did not have nearly as much luck tearing off the thicker material, the gruff motion is enough to expose you, leaving your bare, pulsing core in plain sight while the cloth gathered at your knees. His chest presses against your back, his skin searing hotter than hellfire, as he places languid kisses along your shoulder. “I promise, I’ll spoil you with attention later. But right now, I need you,” his voice is something reminiscent of begging, only amplified by his suddenly bare cock dancing along your slit and smearing pre-cum along it before cautiously slipping the head in. 

Throaty groans leave both of your lungs simultaneously. Kai swears up and down that this was heaven manifested into reality. Part of him thinks this is all a dream, the way your walls are squeezing him to tightly as he pushes in centimeter by centimeter. “K-Kai,” you whimper. The calling of his name awakens something gutturally primal within him. 

“Uh uh,” the doctor tuts, ceasing his movements. “What’s my name, baby?” In lieu of a response, only pants of shortened breath escape your slackened jaw. There was no way Chisaki Kai was human, you decided. Not with the way his words sent every cell in your body into overdrive or the way his fat girth stretched you so deliciously without even entirely plunging his engorged cock. Not with how, despite his notoriety once proceeding him, he was often blatantly honest with you and certainly not with how utterly enamored he was with you and vice versa. “Say my name, baby, and I’ll give you a reward,”

“D-daddy, please,” you whisper in between breaths. Abiding by his word, Kai works his thick length into you, albeit still slowly, until your bones presses into his pubis and his whole cock carefully bottoms out inside you. His right hand trails up your tummy and dances along the skin of your sternum until his fingers encase your throat gingerly. Keeping still within you, the doctor tugs at your throat until you’re only resting on your spread knees as his lips ghost along the outer shell of your ear while he gives slow, deep, steady thrusts.  

“You like having daddy’s fat fucking cock in you, angel? Feel so fucking good around me, yes you do,”

A real poet, Kai was. 

Turning your head to face him, your fingers lace themselves in his messy locks and pull his lips to yours in a kiss that is entirely devoid of lust. He can bring the heat all he wants—it was your mission to make sure he understood that you wanted him in more than just sex. Even if the slow torturous withdrawing of his cock was absolutely divine. 

And he felt it too. Even with his hand delicately cupping your throat or the way his pelvis greets your plump ass with every thrust or the way your wet walls clench on him as if trying to expel his cock from inside of you. Kai can feel it in the way your nails are digging into the flesh of his arms or in the tufts of breath that leaves your nostrils because he leaves you absolutely breathless. He feels the love, and he wants to bask in it. 

Now that he’d quelled his hunger slightly, Chisaki pulls away from your endearing lip lock while simultaneously withdrawing his length from you. A small whimper leaves your lips at the loss before Kai turns you over, pressing your back against the mattress and sliding home once again. The passion and intimacy he feels is overwhelming, boiling his skin through every pore as he bears weight on one arm while the other caresses your cheek. “I meant it, you know,” the murmur dances like air along your own lips, warm breath inviting. “I want you in every possible way. I want to wake up next to you in the morning, experience every season that doesn’t pass for us in the Underground with you.” 

“Kai...” in return, you seal you mouth along his, wrapping your arms around him to pull him closer and coaxing him to move. Slow and steady, he withdraws himself from within you before snapping his hips once again until he’s fully sheathed. Each thrust feels like thunder. “M-more,” you choke out, breaking apart your kiss momentarily to beg. His focus shifts down to where you’re connected—where each vein of his throbbing erection greets and becomes acclimated for every crevice within your cavern. Angling his hips along with your own with the assistance of his hand, he manages to welcome that spongy weakness that makes your knees buckle and regurgitate a scream in response. 

“Right there, princess?”

“P-please!” The hand under the small of your back moves to hook around your knee, it’s twin mimicking the gesture and leaving you entirely at the mercy of Overhaul whose mission at the moment is to rearrange your insides in an entirely different sense. Pinning your knees to the bed, Kai is at the perfect angle to ram into your g-spot over and over at a rapid, even pace until you’re clenching around him deliciously, silently coercing his orgasm. “Oh my fucking god,”

“Mm, you’re so tight, baby. Ya gonna cum? Gonna cum nice and hard for me? Cum for daddy,” his words are almost enough—almost. And it was as if he knew the filthy, slopping sound of his cock reaming you wasn’t enough. Though whether enough for you or him remained a mystery, his thrusts are becoming erratic as he’s panting and grunting an unabashedly as he chases his release and oxygen. “I love you,” Kai’s voice is broken, “love you so much, just wanna fill you up over and over until your body only knows the taste of me.” And you aren’t sure if it’s his nasty, vile words or the way he is utterly knocking away at your g-spot that is causing you to convulse around him—that brings you over the final hurdle and over the dam. Screams rip past your lungs as your back arches as much as it can from it’s confines while your fingers twitch out of necessity to grip something—anything. 

You’re granted no reprieve in that regard, but it matters not with the way Kai is still smacking his hips into yours, dragging out your orgasm even longer while in pursuit for his own. There is no amount of physical contact in this moment that is enough for him, even as he slats his lips over yours and slides his tongue inside your mouth to greet yours. Hips beginning to stutter, Kai is fighting every fiber in his soul—torn between the dichotomy of wanting to cum and stave off his orgasm because he wants to feel the welcoming, convulsing walls of your pussy forever. And though you’d already came at least once, the pressure was building again rapidly from the stimulation of the uneven rhythm of Kai’s hips. Part of you is thankful his tongue is hungrily dancing with yours to keep your screams muted so as not to wake the children down the hall. But the rumbling in his chest from his own throaty groans become overwhelming, forcing him to break away to and let his grunts and slew of curses fly from his mouth freely. 

“I love you, Kai,” the moans are just as bad coming from you, but those four words coming from your lips are what do the aforementioned man in. And he can tell there is no lie dripping from a silver tongue here—you mean every ounce of these four little words. For everything that is Chisaki Kai—the former Yakuza leader, the former villain, the doctor, the father—you loved the man before you. 

“Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuck, ‘m gonna cum,” he wails, the rhythm of his cock head tamping against your womb matching the pacing of his broken speech, “daddy’s gonna cum so fucking deep in you, gonna make you mine forever, angel.” Another hissed out string of profanities pass through as his dick twitches almost violently, shooting out ropes of seed and painting your walls white. You can tell he meant what he said, even in his lustful spew, by the way he leaves his softening erection inside of your spasming cunt and sealing his emission inside until he was almost certain his claim held permanence. 

“I meant it too,” you mumble into Kai’s sweaty neck as he collapses on top of you. Though he’s boneless at the moment, having spent all of his energy, you feel the breath of his questioning grunt beside your ear before his face is attempting to look at you while half buried in your pillow. Gingerly, he removes his now flaccid member from you, adjusting himself so that his form molds around you and wraps his arm securely around your stomach. 

“You know,” Kai starts off slowly. The rich timber of his voice is thick with exhaust but is warm and welcoming all the same. “I was jealous before.”

“Jealous? Of what?” 

“My children love you—a woman who was nothing but a stranger who doesn’t even like kids. They warmed up to you so easily, much easier than they did with me,” there’s a brief pause between his statements, causing you to adjust under his grasp until you’re touching nose to nose with the doctor. His eyes are closed for a moment, his long and feathery lashes greeting the tops of his delicate cheekbones. “So I tried to understand. Tried to figure just why they gravitated towards you.”

“And what did you find?” Peeling back his eyelids, Kai’s rich amber eyes bore into your own. Irises swirling with admiration before the view is flooded with a sudden closeness and the press of his plush lips against yours in the most loving fashion.

Truth be told, he wasn’t sure how to answer. 

He had found determination and independence, qualities of a strong woman that his daughters looked up to. Free and proud and brave, he thinks, are the reasons his sons admired you. But there’s something more. There’s a love and warmth that you bring to the family, yet a sternness that doesn’t allow them to run rampant (not that they would under Overhaul’s upbringings) that spoke so motherly to each of his nine children. And somewhere along the way for the last six months that the Clinic had been under remodel, Kai found himself gravitating to all of those exact qualities in you, the envy transforming into an admiration of his own. It was an error in his initial magnetic attraction conspiracy theory; he thought that your fear had changed to attraction when it was his all along. 

But Kai’s not always the greatest with words, and the thought of spilling his deepest thoughts of you seems a daunting task that he’d rather replace with kissing you instead. Considering you asked a question, however, he did feel the need to respond with something—anything. 

“I found you.”

 “Honey, I can still help, you know,” you whine for the umpteenth time, folding your arms over your chest as you stand in the mayoral office of Dabi with your partner. It’s been a year since Todoroki Shouto had burned down Tropium Tattoos and the Underground Clinic and tonight was finally the night that the Underground had planned on mobilizing their forces. It had taken a full year of investigating, planning, building alliances with those on the Surface, and patience for the citizens to finally strike back. 

Enough was enough. 

All of you had been exiled at one point or another, but now the Surface was trying to exterminate all of you. 

“Angel, no,” Kai chides sternly, igniting the twitch on the leader’s face. Granted it had been six months since you and Kai had first declared this little relationship of yours and, as your best friend, Dabi was still slightly hesitant on the idea. Not that his opinion had much weight considering—

“Kai, I am only three months along. I can still fight!”

“Hell no,”

“Absolutely not,” both men snark simultaneously. Best friend or not, personal opinion aside, there was no way in the ninth circle of hell that Dabi was going to let you go to war while you were pregnant. And with Kai being the father, the chances of you getting your way in this moment with him were even slimmer. The doctor pinches the bridge of his nose underneath his black cloth mask with his thumb and middle finger before letting out an annoyed rift of air. “Dabi, I’m gonna take [ name ] home before we go over invasion plans. Do you mind?” 

“Nah,” the leader waves his purple and nude hands in dismissal, “besides, we should wait for Hawks to get here before we start all that.” With that, Kai grabs your wrist with his gloved hand and drags you away from the office. He knows you want to fight, and he knows you want to protect your family—all eleven with himself and the embryo included. But as a father with another—biological—one on the way, Chisaki Kai just can’t bring himself to allow you to put yourself in harm’s way. 

“Sweetheart,” he calls out, stopping just outside of the currently closed Tropium. The grey and white building looked crisp and clean and everything you wanted it to be but you often found yourself closing up shop early and coming in late to spend more time with your nine children at home. At the very least, you were grateful that your parlor was only a block or two away from the clinic. “I need you here where you can keep our children safe in case anyone slips through the cracks.” Even with his mask on, you can tell that Kai is trembling ever so slightly. The thought of someone making their way into his home and hurting his kids, hurting you, was enough to unleash the beast within. 

“I know,” you respond quietly. Using his grip on you to your advantage, you pull the doctor towards you until he’s towering over you and looking down directly into your eyes. “But you know me, always ready to jump headfirst into the fire,” his amber eyes soften, thinking back to a year ago when you had saved Eri from the burning clinic. To think that a year later, you would be living with him and carrying his child and occupying nearly every cell in his brain. 

“It’s your turn to watch the kids,” he jokes pulling down his mask below his chin to slat his lips over yours lovingly. It’s only half a joke—he knows better than anyone you would do anything to protect them. He’s known that since day one. 

“You better come back to us,” your demand is quiet and breathless and laced more with concern than it is with threat. The thought of Kai dying while on the Surface has plagued you for the last six months, even more so when you found out you were pregnant. He knew it too, knew how much worry and panic had disturbed your sleep when the realization that war was an option had settled in. Despite the knowledge that he carried about different afflictions and ailments; Kai had been at a loss for how to quell your anxiety. He hopes that circumstances aside, him reaching into the right-side pocket of his heavy, army green coat and pulling out the small black velvet box is the correct move. Gingerly holding up said box until it’s in your line of sight, he takes a step back before peeling back the lid to showcase a single, solitaire diamond set in a simple gold band. 

“I promise you I will come back. And when this is all over, we can finally enjoy our life in peace, so long as you’ll have me.”

[arvandus]

Touch (Pt 2)

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: 18+ only please!  Drug abuse/withdrawal, adult language/themes, heavy angst, past trauma/abuse, anxiety/panic attacks, PTSD, fluff, pining, slow burn, eventual emotional SMUT. *please pay attention to the chapter tags as these warnings will apply at different times*

Synopsis: When you first joined the LOV to lend your healing quirk, Dabi  terrified you.  Not interested in attachments, he wanted to keep it  that way.  That is, until he needs your help. (Slow burn, soft Dabi).

Time Frame: Right before the League meets Overhaul

Additional notes: I took some liberty in giving Reader a backstory that fits in with the BNHA world and is important for the story.  If that bothers you, I apologize - just think of it as role playing!  Also, this’ll probably be broken up into 8-10 parts, roughly.  JUST KIDDING - this has now turned into an epic (roughly) 40 chapter series.  Oops.

Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters.

Recommended Chapter Song: Cradles by Sub Urban

Part 1

Artwork credit to @hellowon31​ on Twitter (https://twitter.com/hellowon31)

Part 2 - A Crack In The Armor

The pain came back, just as you said it would.   What you didn’t mention was that the numbness would gradually fade away.  It might sound nice to some, but Dabi hated it. He felt like he was driving towards a cliff in slow motion, waiting for the crash, unable to turn the wheel.  He had no control.  He hated this feeling of helplessness and traded it for anger instead. Why did he even ask for your help to begin with?

His answer was given to him as soon as your quirk’s effect finally stopped.  Dabi stared angrily at the empty pill bottles. It was amazing how quickly the brain adapted, his body acting as if he’d never had to deal with his damaged nerves before.  He had half a mind to hunt you down and demand you take care of it. He didn’t, of course, pride the deciding factor.  The scars were his, a series of choices made, a patchwork flag he wore into battle.  They were his burden and a reminder of his fight; he wasn’t going to give that up so easily.  Still, he couldn’t deny the temptation that surrounded him like a cloud, even if all he did was entertain the thought. 

Dabi waited all day for your visit until finally your characteristic knock on his door rewarded his patience.  He stood from his bed and cooled his features into their typical mask before opening the door. There you stood, keen eyes already assessing him.

“Can I come in?” you asked. Like the day before, he stepped aside just enough to let you pass.  He had discovered yesterday that he liked having your presence close to him… it gave his pulse a little rush.  He caught a whiff of your shampoo as you gingerly passed him and felt the softness of your shirt as it brushed against his own like a whisper.  His grip on the doorknob tightened.

As soon as Dabi closed the door behind you, you got started.  You were determined to be strictly business.  “How’re you feeling?” you asked, keeping your tone even, the perfect balance of concern and professionalism.  Dabi wanted to laugh.  Were you always this serious?

“Like shit.” He grinned. “That quirk of yours is potent stuff.”

You couldn’t help but let a grin escape in response to his candid words, a fracture in your hastily built armor.  “Not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.”

“It’s a compliment.” He stated.

You felt your throat go tight.  Stay on task.  Stay on task.  You cleared your throat slightly as you averted your eyes from him.  “Well, let’s have a look.”

With a little less flair than yesterday, he removed his jacket like before, followed by his shirt as he turned around to display his back for you.

You could see that the bandages were seeped through.  You had laid them on thick since you knew you wouldn’t be able to check on him as often as you’d like – he was still going out to do Shigaraki’s bidding and you had others to look after as well.  You were planning on seeing him daily, but it looked like he’d need more. 

Your little checkups were far from over.  You couldn’t help but wonder what he thought about that.  You honestly weren’t sure what you thought about it yourself.

“I’m going to use my quirk and then change your bandages.  I’ll check on you again tomorrow morning before you leave.”

“How often do we have to do this?” Dabi asked.  His tone was difficult to decipher.  Concerned? Annoyed? …Hopeful?

You cleared your throat again, desperate for a glass of water, as you began to remove the soiled gauze. “I’ll probably visit you twice daily for the first week, then reduce it to once a day or every couple of days for the second week.  We’ll see where we are by then.  It’ll take at least a few weeks before it’s fully healed.  That’s only if you’re good though, and don’t go out and use your quirk for a bit.”

“I won’t make any promises.” He replied.

You sighed.  “Well, at least your honest.  Really though, you should at least try not to use it.”

“That’s up to the Crusty Hands.” Dabi replied.  “He’s the one sending me out there to try to recruit members and gather intel.”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname for Shigaraki.  “Couldn’t you ask him for a break then?” You asked, your head tilted. “No point in making you hurt yourself over lackey work.”

The question was innocent enough, but Dabi turned around and stared at you like you grew a second head. Ask Shigaraki for time off? The thought made Dabi bristle for so many reasons.

You quickly caught on to his shift in mood and tried to repair your previous statement. “Look.  I get it if that’s an issue for you. Maybe I could be the one to ask him.  I can make it a medical request, since I’m the healer.”

That option almost seemed worse.  He didn’t need to be excused from his duties like a child with a sick note. And he most certainly didn’t want you putting your neck out for him.

“Look, I know your still kinda new here.  So, let me break this down.  There is no ‘sick time’ in the League of Villains.  No vacation, no hazard pay.  We all got our jobs to do.”

Now you bristled, your shoulders tensing up and your arms crossed in front of you defensively. “Yeah.  And my job is to make sure you crazy idiots don’t kill yourselves before we complete our mission.  You know, the big long-term one where we change the world, not the pointless dirty work Shigaraki’s got you doing.”

“Pointless dirty work? That dirty work is how we reach that long-term goal, sweetheart.”   Dabi grinned devilishly.  “I didn’t realize you had such strong opinions about how we do things here.”

“Just the part about using your talents for recruiting street thugs.  Most of them are idiots that can’t tell Stain’s message from an anarchist bumper sticker.”

You were right, of course. Dabi chuckled.  You were more interesting than he thought.

“Look,” you said, your voice quieter as you uncrossed your arms.  “We’re all in this together come hell or high water, and I’m really hoping we can all see it through to the end.  If that means taking some time off to let your body recover, then I’d think that’d be worth doing.”

Dabi stared at you silently while something tightened in his chest.  Your need to hold everyone together like glue was admirable and almost��� endearing.  He felt a sinking feeling in his gut.  He knew there was a high likelihood they wouldn’t all see the end of this, if the end ever even comes.  Did you know that but stubbornly hold onto your optimism?  Or were you really that naïve that you believed there was a chance that everyone could come out unscathed?  When the worst happens – which it inevitably will – will you blame yourself?

The thought bothered him.

For the first time Dabi’s mask slipped, and for the briefest of moments you could see the pity in his eyes.

“Thanks for the concern doll, but I got it under control.” Dabi said, his voice unusually calm. “Besides, if I took time off every time I hurt myself with my quirk, then I’d never be any use.”

Between his eyes and his words, there was no room for discussion, so you let the topic drop. 

You let out a defeated sigh. “Well then, let’s get started.” You placed your hands on his back.

Once again, the sweet balm of your touch spread across his skin, bringing back the relief he had missed. His body responded instinctively. His breathing slowed; his muscles relaxed.  He closed his eyes, relishing in the sensation.  You noticed the slightest drop in his shoulders and a pang of sympathy washed over you like a wave.  You wished you could do more for him, but you had to conserve your quirk for the others too.

You cleaned his wound quickly and applied fresh bandages without any more talk.  As quickly as it had begun, it was over.  Without missing a beat, he pulled his shirt back on while you packed your items.

You turned to leave, but paused for a moment before turning back slightly, your eyes bravely locking with his.  “Try to get some rest… it’ll help your body heal faster.”

Dabi didn’t respond with his usual quips.  Instead, his electric blue eyes stared at you in a way that made your blood pulse in your ears and the air burn in your lungs.  You stood captivated for a moment, locked in his gaze, before finding your way out of the maze of his eyes and left his room, hearing the quiet click of the door behind you.

 Without a word, Dabi sat on the edge of the bed and stared at his hands.  His brow furrowed in confusion.

This was supposed to be a game.  A game of walls and mazes and misdirection. He was the ‘Asshole,’ full of snarky comments and flirty quips all while withholding his true self.  He didn’t need friends, just coworkers so he could carry out his mission and bring Stain’s vision to life before his quirk killed him.  But your magic hands dismantled his walls, allowing you to walk right in and get in his head with your stubborn heart.  He had cared. For the briefest of moments, he cared.

It was his game.  Why did he feel like he was losing?

______________________________________________________________

Part 3

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Taglist: @lemonfvck​ @vs-redemption​ @inanabsentia​ @sheedaabee​ @toshiuwuu​ @marydragneell​ @chillinwithmybakubros​ @genuinelytodorokisbitch​ @sam-i-am-1025​

[rubix-writings]

Punisher Pt. 3

Third part of Punisher. I apologize it’s taking me so long to post these, but want to make sure they’re good for you all. Thank you for the support so far!! This is a Chicago PD/Fire imagine with an original character. I don’t own any of the plot points or characters from the show. Also, it doesn’t follow any particular season or sequence in the shows.

Series Summary: Josephine (Jo) never expected to find support and pure love when she left Los Angeles. She ran away to Chicago and was content with living an insignificant, hidden life. But everything changes when she walks into Molly’s to get a job.

Josephine (OC) x Jay Halstead

The italicized lines are internal thoughts of the character.

Warnings: language, mentions of drinking, long (!)

Things are going really well at Molly’s. It’s like falling into step during a choreographed dance. It feels odd to say that I’m comfortable and confident when it’s only my second shift. I’m working with Stella tonight, who to say the least had a lot of fun the night before. When she first walked into the bar she looked as if Casper made a stop in Chicago. At the start of opening she kept her jacket on and slammed down cups of black coffee. Her body seemed to stay in a permanent state hunched over the bar top while she only communicated through slow movements with her fingers. I couldn’t watch her pain any longer, so I used my break to grab a cheeseburger and fries so greasy the oil soaked the paper bag. 

“You need to put something solid into your body,” I announce as I plop the white, greased bag on the bar top in front of Stella’s practically limp body. She slowly lifts her head with a deep groan and analyzes the bag.

“I’m a firefighter Jo, my body is a temple. I can’t eat this,” I can’t stop the laugh that escapes my lips.

“Are tequila shots a part of your ‘temple’s’ regimen?” she sniffs the bag and sighs.

“You see, the tequila actually kills all the bacteria in the stomach,” Stella examines the golden fry before taking a bite. 

“Be sure to tell your theory to the doctors that come in later, I’m sure they’d love to hear that.”

“I will,” she says with a mouthful of cheeseburger. 

Just like magic, Stella is back to her bouncy self. It amazes me how much like Hermann she is, she practically floats around Molly’s. She talks to everyone and makes sure they’re having a good time. Stella sets the tone of the entire bar, bringing life to every inch of the place. It’s nice to watch her interact with others, a part of me is envious of how natural it comes to her. A part of me is, also, envious of her relationship with Kelly. His eyes when he looks at her are filled with unconditional love and the way Stella looks at him when he’s not looking confirms that she feels the same. I’ve never had that… or will have it. The bar top serves its purpose as a closed door to the patrons on the other side, I open it as much as I want and they see what I want them to see. I’m in control.

It’s a busy Friday night, the bar filled quickly. The firemen I met last night stroll in with the same vigor as the night before, obviously hurting a lot less than Stella was a few hours ago. Stella plays it off as if she didn’t have a raging hangover, but Kelly quickly throws her under the bus. Cruz yells as he claims he’s known the truth all along, but Mouch steps in to deny it, leading to Cruz listing out facts about how he knew. I place a few beer bottles in front of the guys, trying not to get involved.

“I’m sorry about them,” Matt says.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. They’re funny,” I smile.

“You don’t have to hear it all day long,” Matt grumbles as he takes a long sip from his beer.

“This is true. I get them in concentrated doses,” I excuse myself to collect empties at the tables scattered around the room. With my hands full I turn to head back to the bar top, but crash into a hard body. I stumble back from the blow and the mystery man swiftly grabs my arms to keep me from falling. Once I get my footing back, he releases my arms.

“Sorry about that. Are you okay?” His voice is like velvet that draws my eyes up to look at his face. Wow. My mind fell into a haze barely registering his question. 

“Um, yeah. Thanks,” he smirks at how long it took me to answer his question. Really smooth Jo. “I should get back to work, sorry about running into you,” I walk backwards a few steps, he immediately steps forward keeping the same amount of space between us as before.

“Let me at least help you with those, I’m heading to the bar anyway,” before I could object, his large hand cradles the numerous beer bottles that were once in my hand. Before my brain can spiral about his large hands, I spin and head back to the bar. I silently weave through the customer’s of Molly’s, I needed to get back to my safe zone to hopefully make his charm less effective. He gently places the bottles on the bar top for me to discard, I smile and thank him. Before I can ask for his order, the firemen and Stella welcome him to the bar.

“Hey Jay, haven’t seen you around here in awhile,” Stella mentions. 

“Yeah I know. Um have you seen my brother anywhere?” Stella shakes her head no. Brother? I try to seem like I’m not listening while cleaning up behind the bar and get any excuse not to look at him again. One embarrassing moment for tonight is enough. Out of nowhere, Will pops up and slaps Jay on the back. They go in for a quick hug before Will says hi to everyone. 

“Hey don’t kill me, but I invited Nat. I know it’s supposed to just be us, but she had a really rough day,” Will whispers, Jay shakes his head to let him know he’s totally fine with it. “Great, thanks man.”

I put two glasses of red wine on the bar top for two women that definitely want to take a firefighter home tonight. After how many women these men turned down the night before I highly doubt they’ll have any luck, but I’m kinda rooting for them.

“Hey Jo,” Will smiles.

“Hi Will,” I say in monotone to mess with him.

“Have you met my brother Jay?” Will slaps Jay’s chest which startles Jay a little, making me smile. Geez, these guys must have gorgeous parents. Will is handsome of course, but Jay... 

“We kinda ran into each other actually.” I smirk.

“Oh that’s great, he’s a really good guy. He’s a cop, detective, sorry,” Will corrects himself, Jay is glaring at him.

“I’m not making you a manhattan,” he slaps his hand against the bar top.

“Worth a shot. Can I get a glass of chardonnay and a beer, oh and whatever Jay’s having,” I nod and grab Will his drinks. He slides me his credit card to open a tab then walks off to see Natalie at the table.

“I’m definitely missing something, why does my brother want a manhattan?” Jay finally asks. 

“Oh Jay it was great!” Stella jumps in to tell a very colorful version of the events that happened between Will and I. As she finishes up she is swept to the end of the bar to take an order. 

“She was drunk last night” I mumble under my breath. Jay smirks, knowing Stella’s retelling was probably fabricated. “What can I get you?” I try to change the subject.

“A beer please,” I nod. “You’re new here Jo?” He phrases it as a question, but it's definitely more of a statement. 

“Yeah, started yesterday,” I hand him his beer. 

“Thanks. Are you from Chicago?”

“No, LA actually, lived there my whole life,” I lean my forearms on the bar top in front of him.

“Wow, big change.” “Yeah, I don’t know if I thought it all the way through to be honest,” he smiles.

“Well let me tell you if you haven’t figured it out already, snow and winter are incredibly overrated.” “Ah yes, that’s exactly what I needed to hear. I can go back to LA now.” “Glad to be of service,” he shrugs. Jay stayed on the same stoll at the bar for the rest of the night. It was strange how easy it was to talk with him, he offered stories about his job and funny stories about him and Will growing up. It’s so beautiful to have those stories, that he’s gone through life with someone that deeply and come out the other side. I tell him that I don’t have siblings and mostly spent time with my mom when I was young. Jay was quick to offer up Will to fill the void.

“I’ll keep you updated on that,” I laugh.

“Are you and your mom still close?”

“Um no, she… she died about ten years ago,” even though her death happened so long ago it still felt so weird saying it out loud. 

“I’m sorry Jo. I lost my mom to cancer a few years back.”

“So you get it,” he nods and offers a somber smile. 

It wasn’t till Will and Natalie announced their departure, that Jay made any moves to leave Molly’s. The bar was slowly emptying out as last call was already declared. 

“I should head out, it was really nice talking with you Jo,” Jay stands.

“It was really nice talking with you too Jay,” I say sincerely. He smiles wide before making a beeline for the front door. I can’t help but stare until he’s fully out of sight, my cheeks start to hurt from fighting the smile on my face. I tuck my loose hair behind my ear and start grabbing the empty glasses from the bar top. 

“Have fun?” Stella questions, I jump slightly not realizing she was standing there.

“Another good night for tips, yeah,” she looks at Kelly who’s the last of the firefighters at the bar. 

“Sure, doesn’t hurt that Officer Handsome was here all night either.” “I… I’m going to wash the glasses,” I pick up the large plastic crate with dirty drinking glasses and head to the back where Hermann showed me where the sink was. Stella didn’t mention Jay again, but it didn’t matter. The damage was done, Jay’s blue eyes and the way he got so passionate during a story were ingrained in my mind for the rest of the night. 

***

Hermann asked if I could open Molly’s for him the next day as he was running late with paperwork at the firehouse. I had a short shift that night anyway and could use the extra money no matter how little. Hermann told me to meet him at the firehouse to give me the keys since they haven’t been able to cut me my own yet. The firehouse isn’t far from Molly’s, a couple blocks on foot. I prepared myself with my warmest coat for the trek since the wind chill makes Chicago brutally cold. I focus on the sound of my shoes against the wet pavement to take my mind off of how cold I really am. 

The firehouse is a ball of color on this cold, dark Chicago day. The plain brick buildings surrounding it emphasize the reds and yellows. It somehow feels untouched by the rest of the city, a true sign of purity. As soon as I walk through the doors of the firehouse I’m met with the sweet smell of food cooking. It’s as if my feet have a mind of their own and take my body towards the magnificent smell’s source. The kitchen was buzzing with people cooking, talking, and playing card games. 

“Jo!” Stella yells, “what are you doing here?” she walks over to me, leaving her conversation with Matt and Kelly, who both wave at me.

“I’m here to get the keys from Hermann, do you know where he is?” 

“Yeah, he’s in the garage let me take you to him,” I try to argue that it could wait, but Stella insists. “Hermman!” she yells once we get into the garage. 

“What?!” he snaps back. She giggles as we both walk towards the outburst. As we turn around the big fire engine, I see why Stella was so insistent about not waiting. “Oh hey, Jo,” he says calmer.

Jay is standing tall with a notepad in front of Hermann. Stella silently excuses herself from the conversation and makes her way back inside. Hermann pays no attention to his surroundings as he’s searching for the three keys I need to open Molly’s. 

“Hey,” Jay smiles.

“Hi.”

“Here you go, I labeled them for you so you know what lock they go into. Once you get inside, lock the front door, just in case,” I nod and take the keys from him. The silver keys have thin pieces of masking tape on them with dark blue sharpie stating what they open. 

“Thanks, I’ll see you there,” I back away from the men to head back to the bar. Hermann nods and waves.

“Hermann we’re done here right?” Jay asks.

“Yeah, let me know if you find anything,” Hermann states somewhat hopeless. Jay puts away the notepad in his back pocket of his jeans and jogs to catch up to me. The sound of Jay’s thick boots hitting the cement fills the sound of the garage. When he finally catches up to me, he moves ahead to open the door to outside for me. 

“So you’re stalking me now?” He jokes.

“Um how did you get to that? Hermann asked me to come here,” Jay quickly fell into step with me, not that it was difficult as he’s much taller than me.

“I was here first,” he says plainly.

“Oh well, with that bulletproof logic…” he laughs.

“You headed to Molly’s?” we stop walking once we get to the sidewalk.

“Yeah, I’m opening today,” Jay slips the keys to his car from his jacket pocket. 

“Let me drive you.” “Oh no, you don’t have to do that. It’s only a couple of blocks and you’re working,” I spew out trying to find an excuse that’ll stick.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m parked right here,” he brushes off quickly. I roll my eyes at his back and get into the car. Jay puts the car into gear and sets off towards Molly’s. 

“So, is Hermann okay?” I ask since I couldn’t get his hopeless tone out of my head.

“His house was broken into, they didn’t get a lot, just some jewelry and a few Alexa’s. His wife came home which freaked them out and they bolted before they did any real damage.” “Jesus. Poor Hermann. Do you think you’ll find his stuff?” “Probably not, that sort of stuff is so small that they may keep it for themselves instead of pawning it, but we’ll try,” the car is silent for a little while till Jay pulls in front of Molly’s.

“Thanks for the ride.” “Course,” I get out of the car and make my way onto the sidewalk. “Hey Jo,” Jay says out of his rolled down window. 

“Hey Jay,” I say while playing with the keys Hermann gave me.

“Are you working late tonight?”

“Not too late, I have a short shift.”

“How about I meet you here later and we get a drink?” Jay says casually. I bite my lip and look down the street in hopes to take my mind off of what he just asked.

“Maybe,” I say as I make eye contact with him again. “See yah Jay.”

“See yah Jo.”

I’m losing control.

[dreamylyfe-x]

Reactions: 11x03 Frances Francis Franny Frank

While I feel like I’ve said a million words about this episode already I still have a lot more to say, so... 

* To start: I think there’s a lot about this episode to recommend it. I think it plants seeds I fully expect to see grow over the rest of the season. I think it might have the first real hint of the ending. And I think it did things with two characters I often do not enjoy that made me enjoy them. So full credit on that front. 

* Father Lip and his extremely tricked out baby room is delightful to me. I have come full circle on Lip. I was pretty exhausted by him in the later seasons, but this season I’m just like... You’re doing ok, Lip. Keep figuring it out. 

* And look. I live in a country with universal health care so a huge portion of this episode is like watching a horror movie to me -- but a horror movie that takes place on Mars, where you’re just like “This is TERRIBLE. You guys should get off of Mars.” Give up everything to save your baby because that’s the only choice afforded you. I really want someone to tell me that isn’t actually a thing that can happen to people. I fear no one will. 

* Gallavich: Enter fucking. In an entirely new way! I don’t think I paid this enough mind my first trip through the episode because I was too focused on things like “Did he just call him a dirty convict?” -- but there is so much going on here in terms of what we’ve ever seen of their sex life. Overt dirty talk, choking, Mickey on his back... And while it goes off the rails FAST, I do like the energy of Mickey’s move to switch positions because it reminds me of their play-wrestling in season five, a dynamic I think is very real and very indicative of a loving relationship between two teenaged boys. Ex-teens now, but it still works. 

* Ok, but... Like Ian looks honestly freaked out and that is... um... interesting. I reblogged @gallavictorious ‘s post earlier on this scene which I recommend. In general Ian’s reluctance makes sense to me, but I still get a level of unease that surprises me. They may never comment further (I don’t expect them to), but. It’s notable to me. 

* I still like the intimacy here. The rolling around together on their tiny bed and everything. I dunno. Even with all the conflict, they still seem in sync with each other. 

* watching from my app with captions is helpful. Debbie isn’t that crazy. She asks someone to take Franny to school and then Ian and Mickey say yes to taking Carl to work which is reasonable for her to assume means they’re taking Franny. But... Liam quickly points out that this has happened to him before. 

* For the second week in a row there is something happen on this show I am more interested in than the Gallavich story. And it’s Frank. WTF. 

* Kevin REALLY needs to watch Better Call Saul. 

* Oh my GOD does it feel like classic early-season Shameless, having Mickey and Kev in a scene together. I approve. I am in for more of this on every level. Actually, at The Alibi in general, Mickey feels so deeply familiar. But also, does Kev REMEMBER he’s had his keg robbed before? They taped him to a chair, for God’s sake. 

* It is flat out magical realism to tell us Mickey doesn’t work out.

* So on second viewing I think the emasculation of Ian at the hands of the retail giant is more clear. I still find a lot of the misogynist language tough to listen to in that context. Honestly, there’s something about the whole concept of emasculating that bugs me because of what it suggests about gender. Doesn’t mean that it’s not a very loaded thing for Ian to be experiencing, though. 

* I really don’t have much to say about Carl the Cop. I think they are taking the position that the cops are the worst, but this is also one of those things I don’t find entertaining. 

* You know who I DO find entertaining? Sandy. And she’s a pretty great girlfriend. 

* I cannot even tell you how low my tolerance for Frank generally is. This is may be the only episode where I’ve enjoyed him. 

* I like the fact that Debbie keeps entering rooms yelling “FRANK GALLLLLLAGHER” a la Mickey in season one with Ian. 

* Ok, so... Yeah. I just don’t like how mean Mickey and Ian are to each other in this episode. I don’t like the rubbing the salt in the would when Ian quits his job. I don’t like the fighting. @fiona-fififi wrote a comprehensive post about their physical fighting and it’s well written and I do not disagree... but I hate it when they hurt each other like this. I’m just not here for it. 

* V is the voice of the show here. Like, this is what they want to hammer home. And her speech is a good one. But I’m still just not enjoying how dark this one got. I DO get why Ian is not rushing to forgiveness because man did Mickey go in on him at a vulnerable moment. 

* Ok -- I said this before but I’ll repeat it. There is something in the scene with Frank and Franny makes me feel like we’re getting foreshadowed hard. They really hold on his confusion and he seems unnerved. Disorientation is normal for Frank. But he seems to be signalling in the moment that what he’s experiencing isn’t normal. Hmm. 

* Seriously. The American health care system is a nightmare. It should be the title of a Ryan Murphy series. 

* I honestly think Presley Schrader is doing a great job in this episode. Ditto Christian, who doesn’t have a lot to do, but nails Liam’s long-suffering resignation. 

* Second viewing, I found Debbie more sympathetic, but I feel like we don’t get nearly the sense of her “running everything” the way we did with Fiona, so her frustration with her siblings seems extreme. Also, Sandy clearly disapproves and I think they intend for us to see Sandy as a voice of reason. 

* I have a lot more understanding of Lip yelling at Debbie than I ever had of him yelling at Fiona, which is maybe indicative of not feeling like her load is as heavy. 

* Milton continues the proud tradition of random Gallagher acquaintances who are fundamentally decent and helpful. He goes into the Parthenon along with Ryan and Barb. Because YES, Lip is pouring a lot of time and money into a house he doesn’t own, and apparently he didn’t make ANY arrangement about that. Milton doesn’t have to do what he does. But apparently he’s just a good guy. 

* This is very random but I’ve read so much from people complaining about mask use on TV right now -- how people take them off when they should most be on -- and I enjoy the fact that Shameless is at least nodding to why someone isn’t wearing a mask.... But Tami had the absolutely best and most convincing reason.  * So we close on Gallavich as we found them (RIP anyone who is home at that particular moment) -- fucking and fighting about the Jonas brothers. I really like what @pathoftheranger had to say about that scene so I think that’s going to be the bulk of my comment. Just... well. They seem to have moved through some stuff. I guess we’ll see where they’re at come January. 

[stonecoldjerseyfox]

Jersey on my mind (part 39)

“Okay, so… what’s the plan?” Mila looks at Daryl, while pulling the knitted cardigan over her shoulders. “You gonna interrogate him? Tie him up in a chair and go good cop bad cop on him?”

Daryl meets her eyes from the other side of the bed. 

“What, ya’ don’t think he’s gonna have to answer some questions?” He asks, while searching the floor for his shirt. 

The morning sun shines in through the windows in the bedroom and it looks like it’s gonna be another fine day.

Mila dozed off as soon as she laid down in bed next to Juri the night before; after she had a quick but violent shower to get rid of dirty gas station toilet-cooties, and didn’t wake up to Daryl coming to bed or to Jesus strolling into the house in the middle of the night. Baffled to say the least, Mila was therefore greatly surprised when she came out of the bedroom this morning, fifteen minutes prior around eight, and met Jesus who came out of the upstairs toilet.

“Good morning!” He said happily and disappeared down the stairs.

Mila, unable to speak, just gaped and waved back at him lazily, whereupon she closed the bedroom door again and turned to Daryl, who was in the process of turning his sleeveless shirt inside out.  

“Am I still sleeping or did Jesus just walk out of the bathroom?”

“Prolly.” Daryl said with a shrug. 

“Is he just-” Mila paused to find the right words, pointing at the closed bedroom door. “You know, walking around-”

“He escaped.”

“Oh.”  

How he’d freed himself from the townhouse basement no one could figure out, and he didn’t tell them either; Mila was sure they’d captured a wizard.

“I don’t get why everything has to be so hostile.”

“Ya’ gonna teach me ‘bout hostile?” Daryl raises his eyebrows at her.

“Okay fine-” Mila sputters, knowing very well what he refers to. “But this guy isn’t like that- that weird wolf guy. This guy is Houdini-weird, not dangerous.”

“Are ya’ some sort of expert now?”  

“Gut feeling.” Mila replies.

Daryl shakes his head at her words. Mila realizes that it doesn’t sound that convincing, but she gives him a steadfast look; she’s sure about her gut feeling. She looks at Daryl while he buttons the shirt. He must’ve taken a shower too before he went to bed. The brown hair looks tousled, as if he went to bed with it still damp. Her gaze wanders down to the unbuttoned, washed out jeans; he wears boxers underneath for once, something he probably started to do for the first time ever when he realized that there would be a snoring three and a half-year old in the bed too. Mila bites her lip as she rests her gaze at the edge of the boxers, right above his pelvic bone. Her sudden rush of desire, or blunt frantic horniness, is obviously visible, because Daryl frowns at her.

“Ain’t doin’ it in front of the kid.” He nods down at the bed, where Juri still lies asleep, bundled up in the sheets.

“We can put him on the bath rug in the bathroom.” Mila suggests half hearted. “It’s really soft. He’ll just think he’d sleepwalked.”

“Jersey-” Daryl walks around the bed and stops in front of her; softly he lets his fingers run down her hair, playing with it while contemplating under silence. “Fine.”

“About the rug or that you gonna go gently on him?”

“The latter.” Daryl mutters. “Dunno why you care-” He rests his cupped hand at her chin. “I won’t knock him, unless he’s being a-”

“Ap-ap, language.” Mila pulls his hand big to her mouth and gives his fingertips a featherlight kiss. “Thank you.” She places another kiss on his fingers. “I like you when you’re all soft and diplomatic.”

The slightly erotic gesture of tenderness is enough to turn the big man in front of her into water between her fingers. His breath becomes heavier, he exhales through his nostrils and the eyes become soft and the gaze deeper, lingering even.  

“Uhu?”

“Mhm.” She leans in, places her head under his chin and kisses his collarbone, while fingering on the half buttoned shirt. “You know- I’m a good rider, like… really-”

A knock on the door drags them both back to reality.  

“Son of a- what?” Daryl turns and looks at the door that opens slightly and Rick peeks into the bedroom. “Don’t ya’ fucking know how a door works either?!” Daryl mutters huskily.

On the other side of Daryl, Mila chokes a grin. Rick looks questioning, but says nothing about Daryl’s, to him, odd remark; of course he knows how a door works?

“We need to talk.” He just says.

He doesn’t even tell them about what; they already know. Reluctant, Daryl sighs and looks at her.

“Duty calls.” He says, while, discreetly, correcting the crotch on his jeans. 

“Be gentle.” Mila winks.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Daryl leaves the bedroom and follows Rick; to talk to him and Michonne about what to do about the ‘situation’ walking around freely in the house. Mila sighs; so much for that ��ride’. Not even a quiet quickie in the bathroom. She turns, combs her fingers through her hair and looks at Juri, lying on the bed with his back against her. The blonde hair looks like a bird’s nest, the only thing missing is a couple of spotted round eggs. What a fun job I have in front of me to untangle that bundle of mess, she thinks to herself and kneels down on the bed. Softly she strokes the boy over the back; the pyjamas are so warm and soft and he smells cosy, a warm, sleepy scent mixed with fabric softener. 

“Prosypaysya, solnyshko.” She coos softly, tickles his warm neck. “Wake up, sunshine.”

Juri starts to move, softly pats his feet towards the covers and rolls over, to face her. He blinks, squints a little with his piercing blue eyes at her.

“It’s time to awake.” Mila says.

With the newly awakened boy in her arms, she then walks down to the kitchen, where she’s met by Jesus, sitting at the kitchen island.

“I’m not gonna ask how you got out.” Mila greets him and puts Juri down on the sofa, to awake at his own pace.

She doesn’t really believe in magic, but growing up in Russia, surrounded by ancient stories and with a grandmother who said she was a psychic and was convinced that she had seen both Baba Yaga and a vodnik, Mila’s quite versed in folklore; no sane Russian child disowned Baba Yaga. 

“Slept well?” Jesus replies with a polite, even hearty smile. 

Mila, still slightly bitter about the black eye and the cracked, aching lip he caused her, doesn’t answer at first; instead she puts a kettle with water on the stove and scoops up two abundant spoons of instant coffee in two mugs; the chances of her being in a better mood after she had some coffee is quite high. She needs that first sip of coffee to function. She throws a glance out of the window; where’s Carol? Her eyes are then drawn to a mint green tin can with a pattern of daisies around the brim. Smiling, Mila lifts the lid and peeks inside. Of course, Carol, she thinks with a smile. White chocolate chip cookies. She and Juri must have baked them the day before. She puts the lid back on and turns to the two cups with instant coffee. She awakes from her thoughts -mostly revolving around how unearthly tasty a really fucking strong, big salty caramel latte would be, instead of this sad, colored liquid that nowadays has to go under the name ‘coffee’- when she hears the water bubbling on the stove. 

“I think the water’s done.”

Mila peers at Jesus.

“Yeah I got ears-” She replies surly. “And eyes.”

“Not a morning person?” He asks. 

“I’m not super happy with you.” Mila peers at him as she pours the hot water into the cups and takes out two spoons from a drawer. “No offence, Houdini, but you gave me a black eye.” She hands him one of the cups and stirs around the coffee powder in the water. Not exactly a caramel latte with two extra shots, she thinks and sighs. 

“Sorry about that.” Jesus says. “You’ve ever thought about a career in wrestling?”

“I'm good at running, shooting and drinking-” Mila takes a sip of the blant coffee. “I haven’t got the muscles.”

“I’d say the opposite.” Jesus drinks and makes a grimace; there’s a pretty valid reason why everyone says no when she offers them coffee. According to everyone in Alexandria it’s like drinking tar. “At least you got the spirit.”

“Okay-” Mila sighs. “How did you get out?”

“Magic.” The man in front of her smiles. 

Over at the couch, Juri has finally awakened fully. He climbs down and hurries over to the kitchen and demands to be held; awake or not, he’s always in desperate need to be close by, just in case he needs a cuddle. Mila lifts him from the floor and puts him down on the counter.

“Ready for breakfast?” She asks and Juri nods eagerly. “Let me just finnish my coffee.” Mila looks at Jesus. “You can’t possibly be named Jesus.” She asks and raises her eyebrow at him. “I mean, I get why-” She nods towards his face, the beard and the long hair. “But-”

“Paul.” He smiles, a genuinely kind smile, and offers her his hand over the kitchen island. “Paul Rovia.” 

Mila looks at it, before taking it and giving it a firm shake; like a car dealer who’s just managed to sell a poor fellow an overpriced car. 

“Mila.” She replies and nods at Juri. “My son, Juri.”

With a bright smile Juri waves at Paul from where he sits on the kitchen counter in his pyjamas; Paul’s face bursts into a happy grin. Juri’s sunny demeanor usually has that effect on people.

“Any last name?” He then asks. “Just- you know. Formality.”

“Sergeyevna.” Mila says, takes the tin jar from the other counter, opens it and offers him a cookie; there, now they have put down the hatchet. “So, what should I call you? Sorry, but Jesus-” She grimaces and shakes her head. “Feels odd.”

“Paul’s fine.” He smiles as he takes a cookie and once again looks at Juri. “You’re a lil’ charmer, aren’t you?”

Juri nods and makes the ‘I know that’ sign with his hand, which makes Mila grin. Of course he knows he is, she thinks and takes out the big pack of Quaker oats from a cabinet. She pours the oats at random into a pot, covers them with water and puts the pot on the stove. It will be enough for both her and Juri. She looks up from the pot just in time to see Juri’s small hand being pulled away from the tin jar.

“No.” Mila says, takes the jar and puts it back on the other counter. “You get a cookie after you have breakfast.” 

Juri nods reluctantly, then gestures ‘okay’. 

“He’s mute?” She hears Paul ask behind her.

“He is.” Mila turns around in search of the salt. “Don’t need a voice to be the most charming rascal in the apocalypse though.” She smiles at Juri and winks.

“Is he the father?” Paul asks. “You know- the big guy?”

“Daryl?” Mila shakes her head as her eyes land on the pack of salt. “No, I don’t know who Juri’s father is.” She shrugs a little. “A happy accident.” She pauses and puts a pinch of salt into the pot. “Daryl’s-” 

Yeah, what exactly is Daryl? Mila doesn’t have to think for long. Juri tugs at Paul’s coat sleeve and places his thumb against his forehead, with his fingers outstretched. 

“Have you told Daryl?” Mila smiles at Juri while she opens a drawer and takes out a wooden spoon to stir the oats.

Before Paul can ask what Juri meant by his gesturing, the front door opens and Glenn, Maggie and Abraham enter. Mila greets them with a ‘morning’ and Juri waves frantically at everyone. From the stairs, Rick, Michonne, Daryl and Carl appear.

“Nice talking to you.” Paul winks at her, gets off the bar stool and walks over to the dining table, where they all sit down, looking at Paul.

Mila turns her attention back to her and Juri’s breakfast in the pot. Juri stirs the wooden spoon as she gets honey out of another cupboard and the home made oat milk from the fridge. She listens with half an ear to the conversation at the table while she portions the steaming oatmeal into bowls, puts a spoonful of creamy honey on top and then puts the oat milk over it. She places Juri at the counter next to the window, he likes to look out at the trees and the birds, and then starts to feed him; one spoon for Juri, then one spoon for her. He doesn’t need to hear the grown-up talk and Mila’s too tired to care, well, except for when Rick asks Paul how he got out.

“One guard can't cover two exits, or third floor windows. Knots untie and locks get picked.” Paul replies. “Entropy comes from order, right?”

Mila grins to herself while taking another spoon; it hurts to chew. Apparently he trudged around a lot during the night, peeking at their arsenal, their storage. Juri eats with a big appetite and has soon finished his breakfast.

“Bravo.” Mila praises and scrapes the last of her oats from her bowl. “How about-” She puts the bowls into the sink and turns back to Juri. “You and I hang out today, all day? I need to repay you for not bringing back those marshmallows.”

Excited beyond measure, Juri starts to clap his small hands, which causes the group at the table to pause and turn to look at them. Mila puts her hands around Juri’s and hushes softly, resting her forehead against his. 

“It’s a date.” She whispers and gives Juri a kiss on the nose. “Now- hurry upstairs, pick some clothes and pour a bath, I’ll join you in a minute.”

Smiling brighter than a sky full of stars, Juri scurries over the hardwood floors and starts to climb up the stairs while the group around the table gets up. Glenn, Maggie and Abraham leave, Abe gives her a cheeky wink and a ‘lookin’ sharp, lady’, probably referring to her ravaged face. Daryl gives the big, red haired guy’s back a squinting, dark gaze as he disappears out the door. For some reason she feels flattered about the ‘Dixon jealousy’ today; maybe because she feels anything but appealing. A confidence boost. 

“So?” Mila asks. “What’s been said?”

“He says he’s part of a community.” Daryl replies, referring to Paul. “Raises livestock and crops.”

“Okay. And?” 

“His job’s to find other communities to trade with.”

“That’s it?” Mila asks, slightly disappointed; given his Ninja-skills she’d at least thought he was part of a special force or something. “Okay. What’d you say then? We don’t have anything to trade?”

He thinks we may be in a position to help each other. They got livestock. Grows things.” Daryl pauses. “We’re gonna go back with him. To his community. Hilltop. See if he’s tellin’ the truth. If he does, we’ll see what they’ve got to offer. He also said they’re trading with other groups.”

Mila raises her eyebrows.

“They have contact with other communities?”

“At least that’s what he claims.”

“You think he’s lying?”

Daryl shrugs; apparently he doesn’t know what he thinks about it. On one hand; another community is something they, he and Rick, have talked about for a while. There had to be more people like them out there, other communities with survivors, they knew it. They had expected, or hoped, to be the ones who discovered the other group, not the other way around. The tables have turned and now they’re vigilant. Even though he doesn’t say anything, Mila sees exactly what he’s thinking. The thought has struck her as well. What if Paul Rovia belongs to the group they saw looting the arms deal?

“Does ya’ gut feeling say something ‘bout that?” Daryl asks with a wryly, barely noticeable smile upon his lips - sometimes it seems like they really can read each other’s minds.

“Shut it.” Mila shoves him softly. “No. No, he might fit in at that Harry Potter-school though. How else did he get out of the basement than by magic? I’m not convinced what he said before was the truth.”

“Magic ain’t real, Jersey.”

“At this point, I’m ready to believe it is. Living dead walking around, magic-” Mila shivers throughout her body; it’s as if her dead grandmother was in the room, taunting her for not believing in her wacko stories about trolls and other foul creatures. “You leaving soon?”

“As soon as possible.” 

She nods. 

“Ya’ coming?”

“I’ll pass.” Mila replies. She’s had it with adventures that, more often recently, ends with her getting bruises for a few days. Besides, she wants to spend the day with Juri. “Carol and I hold the positions here.”

“Good.” Daryl lightly strokes her arm. “Where’s she by the way?”

“Out, I believe.” Mila smiles. “You’re cute when you’re worried.”

“I ain’t.”

“Worried or cute?” She gets a light buff in reply to her cheeky question. “Carol’s fine on her own.” Mila ensures her big, worried archer. “Are you going to prepare for the trip?”

“Nah, I’m ready.”

Mila smiles faintly. Had she been Daryl, she would probably at least have changed her shirt to one with sleeves. He notices her smile, frowns a little.

“What?”

“I like that shirt.” 

“Ya’ flirting now?” 

“Yeah.” Mila nods. “Might be because of the concussion.”

“Ya’ didn’t have one last night.” Daryl says doubtfully.

“No, you’re right. But I am actually flirting with you.”

With an entertaining, barely visible, smile, Daryl takes her chin between his thumb and forefinger; a gesture that says more than he does verbally.

“Jersey-”

Mila sighs; she may well suppress the tingling in her body for a few more hours.

“Fine.” Mila pushes Daryl towards the door. “Off you go. Discover new civilizations, Dr. Dixon.” She proclaims theatrically.

In response, she gets a teasing middle finger over the broad shoulder, before Daryl disappears out the front door. Mila turns just as Rick scurries down from the upper floor, holding Judith in his arms. 

“You’re stayin’ behind?” He asks.

Mila holds out her arms; as if to show that her outfit says the most about the matter.

“Okay.” Rick nods. “Good.” He’s just about to say something, but Mila interrupts him:

“I’ll watch Carl too. Promise.”

“I think he’s sneakin’ out.” Rick says, while letting Judith chew on his finger. “He and Enid-”

“-Are teenagers.” Mila shrugs while putting the two coffee cups into the sink. “Be glad Carl’s not doing the shit I did when I was a teen.” She walks around the kitchen island and gives Rick an encouraging pat on the arm. “We’ll be alright.” She smiles overly excited at Judith. “Yes we aaare!”

As Rick closes the front door, Michonne comes down the stairs. As soon as their eyes meet, Mila grins broadly; her missing Jesus trotting into the house in the middle of the night was nothing compared to the disappointment she felt when she learned that he had stormed into Rick’s bedroom, only to discover that Rick and Michonne were lying naked in bed. Michonne raises a warning finger at her.

“Don’t-” She alerts. “Not a word.”

“Ohh I have a lot of words I want to say about it.” Mila chuckles. “How about; finally!”

Michonne says nothing, just smiles. As if Mila didn’t realize before that there was ‘something’ going on. They don’t have time to say anything else on the matter; they are interrupted by Paul, who emerges from the toilet.

“Ready?” Michonne asks him. 

“Yup.” Paul looks over at Mila. “Hey- I’m really sorry about the blackeye.” He looks sincerely sorry. “We friends?”

“Hm, fine.” Mila gives him a sharp gaze. “But I want my grumpy archer back. So no funny business while you’re gone. Then we’re friends.”

Paul nods gravely; hopefully, he doesn’t dare to pull any ugly tricks after yesterday’s haywire ride. In addition, Mila offered him both coffee and cake earlier, so he owes her. She follows them out of the house, still wearing her sleepwear; yoga pants, t-shirt and the knitted cardigan, to the motorhome. Maggie stands by and watches the motorhome. The young woman looks worried, deep into her own thoughts.

“See it as a honeymoon.” Mila suggests with a smile at Maggie as she approaches. “Minus the fancy hotel, the rose petals...” She continues jokingly, in an attempt to cheer her up.

Maggie smiles a little, but there’s obviously something on her mind.

 “Things don’t really go by the book ‘round here.” She replies. “I’m scared, Mila.” The green eyes look worried. “The crops, the baby, other people-” She sighs. Apparently she’s been pondering a lot lately.

“Hey-” Mila grabs Maggie by the hand. “Stop it. We all got days when everything feels like shit.” And those days you spend in bed getting jagged, Mila thinks to herself; that’s at least what she does. “But it’s gonna be alright.” She smiles. “We have made it this far. You’ve made it this far. See it as an- an adventure. And tomorrow is another day.”

Although Mila herself finds it difficult to absorb her own clichéd words, they seem to instill hope in Maggie; somehow Mila thinks that booze works better in her case. 

“Wow, where did the motivational speaker come from?” Maggie smiles, squeezes her hand warmly. “Thanks.” She looks down on her bump. “You know I’ll need all the help I can possibly get when this one pops out, right?”

“Yeah I know.” Mila replies. “But we’re not there yet, thankfully.” She winks. “I have to sober up until then. Well, off you go, adventurer.”

They part, Maggie walks over to Glenn and they get inside the motorhome. Daryl shuts the small hood and brushes off oil from his hands on his jeans. Mila wraps her cardigan tighter around her; she’s still in her tank top and yoga pants, standing bare feet on the hard asphalt.  

“Ya’ sure you’ll be alright?” Daryl asks.

“I’ll be fine.” Mila ensures. Honestly, she thinks, there’s not much that can go wrong when hanging out with a three and a half-year old. “Be careful.” She says and places a quick kiss on his lips. “Don’t punch people.”

Daryl gruffs in reply.

“Let’s chew up some asphalt!” Abraham hollers behind him.

“See ya’.” Daryl places a quick kiss on her mouth, before getting into the motorhome and shutting the door.

Mila and Carl, holding Judith in his arms, watch as the engine of the motorhome starts and it rolls away along the road, before disappearing. 

“Do you think it's safe?” Carl looks at her. “This other place?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” Mila replies, while letting Judith grab on to her fingers and play with them. “But I hope so.” She meets Carl’s eyes, smiles and caresses his thick, brown hair. “Come on, let’s get inside. Juri’s having a bath-” Mila smiles at the girl on Carl’s arm. “You wanna bath too?”

Happily, Judith giggles; no sane toddler says no to a bath with rubber duckies and lots of bubbles.  

It turns into a peaceful, playful morning. Juri and Judith bathe for probably an hour under Mila’s supervision; over and over she has to push the floating rubber ducks under the water, for them to jump out of the water again. Judith laughs to the point of her getting hiccups. With one toddler on each arm, drenched in bath water from head to toe, Mila carries them both downstairs.

“Ah, great!” She exclaims just as Carl and Enid walk into the house. “Keep an eye on these two as I get dressed, will you?”

Mila disappears up the stairs before she gets an answer. In the bedroom she removes her wet clothes and drops them on the bathroom floor. She quickly puts on a pair of jeans, glances at the long scar that runs along her stomach, before hiding it with a t-shirt. At least that’s easier to hide than the blackeye. She puts on a pair of socks, sticks her feet into a pair of Birkenstocks and hurries back downstairs. Carl and Enid sit on the carpet in the living room with Judith, still wrapped up in a lilac towel with flowers, while Juri runs around, naked, wearing his towel as a cape.

“Come here you!” Mila sweeps the naked toddler from the floor. “What have I said about being naked Batman?”

Silently giggling, Juri tells her that she’s wrong; he’s not Batman, he’s Spiderman.

“Well, first of all, Spidey doesn’t have a cape-” Mila presses her mouth into his soft belly and makes a loud farting noise, while Juri cries with laughter, silently. “Secondly-” Mila says, while lifting her head. “We gotta find you some clothes.”

“There’s some folded stuff in the laundry room.” Carl gets up from the floor and takes Judith in his arms.

They help out to sort the folded laundry while finding clothes for the toddlers. Mila’s heart swells when she observes Carl with Judith; he’s so much more grown up, so wise and kind, than she ever would have been able to at that age. He dresses Judith, who sits still on top of the washer and calmly lets herself get dressed. Juri on the other hand is in a rowdy mood. Carol returns, stained with blood, in time to see Mila chasing a laughing Juri, dressed in underwear, socks and shirt, around the ground floor; she carries a bucket in her hand, filled with acorns. She catches Juri with her free arm, like a hook, and hands him over to Mila, who can finally put him in a pair of trousers. 

“Thanks.” Mila sighs and brushes her hair out of her face when she has closed the button in the small pair of jeans. “I hope he’s not this cheeky when he’s with you.” She looks at the acorns while Carol assures her that Juri’s usually very angelic when they hang out together; it’s probably just an extra exciting day. Mila nods towards the bucket. “What are the, the-” The english word seems to have disappeared from her vocabulary. “those for?”

Carol looks down at the bucket. 

“You’d be surprised what you could do with acorns.” She smiles, mysteriously. 

“And the blood?”

“An unpleasant surprise.”

“Ah.” Mila nods understanding; a walker. “The others left a while ago.”

While Carol puts the bucket down in the kitchen, Mila tells her about Paul Rovia and the others, Rick, Michonne, Abraham, Daryl, Glenn and Maggie, leaving with him to go to Hilltop. Carol receives the news with calm, a trait Mila loves about her; by now not much seems to surprise her. As Carol disappears to take a shower and change clothes, Juri wonders what they should do first during their extra special fun-day. Mila suggests crafting; Juri loved crafting when he went to daycare and always brought home necklaces, drawings and scrapbooking cards to her. When she was looking for new sheets in the house that belonged to Jessie one day, she found a whole lot of craft materials in a cupboard; Jessie wouldn't need it anymore, so Mila took it. 

They spread the material over the dining table, Mila picks out Capri Sun as snacks and starts to make beaded necklaces and bracelets while Carol returns back after a while, and starts to bake more cookies with the acorns. Deeply concentrated, Juri methodically places pearl after pearl on the small wire, with his tongue between his teeth. He makes necklaces and bracelets for his ‘big brother’ Carl, ‘auntie Carol’, Mila gets a necklace and for Daryl Juri makes a bracelet and a little pendant to hang on his crossbow.

“That will be very nice.” Carol assures as Juri holds up the pendant for her to see, made with beads in all sorts of shapes and colors. “Daryl will be very happy.” She smiles. “I will wear my necklace every day from now on, sweetie.”

While the cookies are in the oven, Carol quickly sweeps up a vegetable soup for lunch. Just in time for lunch, Aaron pops in and joins Mila, Juri, Carol and Judith around the table to eat. Mila sits in-between Juri and Judith and has a full time job making sure Judith doesn't play with her food and tells Juri to stop making another bracelet, this time for Aaron.

“You can finish it after lunch.” Mila says, for the fourth time, before Juri listens, but by then he’s already done and stretches over the table to hand Aaron the bracelet.

“Thank you.” Aaron looks tenderly at the bracelet. “The nicest gift I’ve ever received.” His genuine expression of gratitude makes Juri blush behind his second package of Capri Sun. “I’d love to have kids on my own.” Aaron looks at Juri with glistening eyes. “They’re amazing.” He sighs. “But these times-” He shakes his head.

“You can borrow mine whenever you’d like.” Mila suggests while scooping up the soup in her spoon, pouring it down her still aching mouth. “Besides, you’re already uncle Aaron.”

Juri nods at Aaron at the other side of the table; he’s got a lot of uncles and aunts all of a sudden. But only one big brother, he assures them through his gestures.

“Yeah, there’s only one Carl.” Mila agrees.

Juri points at Judith.

“And only one Judith.” Mila nods. “And since you’re older than Judith, you get to show how to behave at the dining table. Like, you’re not supposed to make bracelets while eating.”

After lunch, Aaron thanks Carol for the lunch and heads off to the construction site, Carol clears the table from bowls and spoons and leaves to go and hand out the still steaming warm cookies to the Alexandria residents. Mila takes on the mission to put Judith to sleep, while Juri finishes off his second portion of vegetable soup at the table, now fully occupied with his walkman. It’s apparently completely impossible to sit and eat without amusement; on the one hand, Mila understands him. She herself likes to have a book or a newspaper with her at the dining table. Before the outbreak, when they lived in Brooklyn, she loved to eat in front of the TV when she was alone; channel surfing until she found a channel with a program about 'tanks in the first world war', 'ancient sharks eating ships' or 'grown men running around in the dark looking for ghosts'. 

Softly Mila sings the girl to sleep while stroking the soft, light brown hair. She sings a Russian lullaby from her childhood, the one her mother used to sing to her when she’d had a nightmare; a heartbreaking song about a dying child. In hindsight, Mila’s surprised she could even fall asleep at all after hearing that song, but the way her mother sang it as they lied next to each other in Mila’s bed, was like being swept in a blanket of protection, a safe embrace from the bad dreams. Then it didn’t matter that Vanya died and was buried the next day. Mila softly strokes the now sleeping girl over her cheek, smiles and leaves the room. 

“Wow, two whole rounds of soup!” Mila exclaims, as she returns to the dining room and Juri, proud beyond measures, shows her two short, tubby fingers. “Bozhe moy, I gotta find you new clothes soon, you’ll grow like a sprout-” She says as she helps him down from the chair. “So, nap or no nap?”

Juri shakes his head; no nap today. Instead he points at the kitchen island, where Carol’s left a couple of cookies on a plate. With the big cookie in a firm grip, Juri announces that he wants to have a dance party. He’s high on sugar from the Capri Sun and needs to let off some steam, pronto! Said and done, Mila runs upstairs, again, collects their dear collection of cassette tapes, runs downstairs and puts a cassette in the stereo in the living room. Having small children is a single gym workout; never a quiet moment. Juri wastes no time and starts to jump around to Van Halen’s “Dance the night away” with the cookie in his hand. Her heart overflows with love as Mila, smiling, watches as the little person moves around on the carpet, making his sporadic, spontaneous moves to the music. Sometimes he takes a bite out of the cookie.

Carl and Enid return just in time to see Juri make a pirouette to “Mr. Blue Sky”.

“Hey, great moves, dude!” Carl greets him. 

They sit down on the couch and watch Juri dance, while Mila sorts the crafting supplies; she has a feeling they’re done making bracelets by now. Activities shift quickly when you’re a child and as a mother, Mila is left to clean up. But when “Dance in the dark” comes on she can’t refrain from wanting to dance; yeez Louise, she loves this song. She lets herself be dragged out on the living room carpet by Juri and shakes her head, making her hair dance. 

“Dance with us Carl!” Mila pants mid air. “You too, Enid!”

Slightly frightened by the invitation, Enid shakes her head so the brown hair swings around her face. Carl on the other hand rises from the couch, widely smiling, and starts to dance with them. It’s fun, liberating; just dancing around, jumping, making silly moves, while singing their hearts out. 

“Come on!” Carl grabs Enid by the hands and pulls her up on the floor. “Don’t be such a bummer. Let loose!”

“I-” Enid looks anything but pumped.

“Live a little!” Mila encourages; she herself feels very much alive at least. Her heart is pounding and the pulse is at ‘moderately working’. It’s actually quite exhausting to dance. She’s a little impressed that she used to go to parties and dance almost every weekend back in university - in heels, moreover. She looks down at her socks and Birkenstocks. 

When the song fades out and the intro to KC & The Sunshine Band’s “Give it up” they hear a soft thud from the upper floor; Judith must’ve thrown her plushie on the floor.

“I’ll go get her.” Mila says. She lets Carl and Enid continue to dance with Juri, and runs up and gets the now awake, well rested little girl. With Judith locked on her hip she walks downstairs again. Judith points at Carl and starts to wiggle her arms, spits out the pacifier and starts to babble.

“You wanna dance too?” Mila asks, while bouncing Judith on her hip. “Come on, let’s dance.”

With a squealing Judith in her arms Mila sways to the music, hops around and swings the girl around the air. But Judith doesn’t get Mila’s full attention for long; Juri, unaccustomed to competition, soon wants her attention, he also wants to dance in her arms. With Judith on one arm and Juri on the other she moves over the carpet, while the two toddlers laugh excitedly by her, a grown up, acting incredibly funny.

Carol returns from her walk around the community in the middle of the chorus to [song], when Enid has returned to the couch and Carl makes an impressive attempt at a moonwalk.

“I disappear for a moment and poof; I come back to a disco.” She laughs.

“Gotta raise the roof around here.” Mila pants and twirls around with the two toddlers locked at her hips. “Right, malysh?” She gets support from Juri, who strikes a disco finger for Carol to marvel at. “But I would actually need a break now.”

The break is accompanied by “Twistin’ the night away” and more Capri Sun, taken on the couch. Carl playfully fans Judith with the wide-brimmed hat and Mila twists her hair in a sloppy ponytail and curses her poor cardio; it’s gotten pretty bad all of a sudden. That uncomfortable nausea she’s felt on and off the last week begins to creep in and she trembles at what Juri wants to do next. “Ya izmozhden.” Mila says when Juri tells her, with sugar rushed excitement, that he wants to dance more. “I’m exhausted. Mummy’s old.”

As if Juri was going to buy that excuse. He answers her firmly that she’s not old, but that they can go out and draw with the street crayons instead. Mila throws a glance out the window. It’s sunny, looks warm. “Fine.” She replies. “Let’s go, Picasso.”

While sitting on the hot asphalt, drawing with the chunky, chalky crayons Mila’s struck by a feeling she hasn’t felt in a long time; it all feels almost as before the virus. It’s been a very normal day. Just as when Mila had her day’s off from work. On those day’s Juri didn’t go to daycare; instead they did all sorts of fun stuff. They went to the park and occupied the swing sets until some irritated mother asked Mila if she would mind sharing with the other children. On the days Jim had a day off as well they went to coffee shops, had coffee and juice and tried different pastries and cookies. Other days they stayed at home playing, or Mila invited her friends (none of them had children of their own) over for lunch and to watch a day-movie with her and Juri. 

Soon Mila puts down her pastel blue crayon and lies down on the warm asphalt, while Juri continues with his masterpiece; this time a zoo with green tigers and yellow monkeys.

“Right now, life’s pretty nice, right?” She exhales and closes her eyes. In the distance she heard the light, barely noticeable, breeze sweeping through the nearby trees. A gentle, soothing sound that mixes up with the faint sound from the walkman, lying on the ground next to Juri. “Pretty, damn nice.”

[atiny-piratequeen]

Character Analysis, Choi San- the 'Usurper'

Languages: English, Arabic (Post Transformation), Japanese (Modern Day), Korean (Modern Day), French (Modern Day)

Crew Position: Sailing Master + Navigator +Map Maker

Powers: Blood Manipulation (Inherited by Egyptian God, Set)

Compass Position + Arrowpoint Stone: Northwest, located on his left pectoral (mirrors Wooyoung’s), Pigeon Blood Ruby

Eye Color: Brown(Natural)/ Heterochromatic Pink Right Eye, Lime Green Left Eye (Demonic Form)

Hair Color: Dark Brunette (Both Forms)

Likes: His space, Sitting in the Crow’s Nest, Drawing Maps, Weapons, Talking Shit

Dislikes: His family, Letting Too Many People Close to Him or Wooyoung, Mirrors, His Own Reflection

*The above artist rendition of Set is used courtesy of the game, Smite

Oldest Son, Choi San. 

Born the one and only son of a family of four, somehow didn’t gain him enough of his family’s respect-or love-growing up. San is actually the child of two aristocratic parents, something that clashed with his personal desire to be his own person. Rebelling for as long as he could walk, San grew to resent the tightening noose around his neck from his family and began running away more frequently from his family. 

They couldn’t even remember his own birthday, and he couldn’t be bothered to remember theirs. When the opportunity arose and he was forced aboard a pirate ship, the small voice on his shoulder told him as the shackles were placed onto his wrists and ankles, that he’d never see them again. 

San couldn’t help the quirk of his lips at the thought. 

Sailing Master Choi San

Suppressing his aristocratic side has never been so easy. Though standoffish at first, San has had the opportunity to prove himself as a new, useful man. For once, he finally understands what a ‘family’ is and how it feels to be ‘loved’. Wooyoung was the first to make him feel like more than a burden on the people around him, and to this day, while he loves all of the members and his lovers in his own way, Wooyoung will always be his first love and one of the first ones he’ll ever turn to when he’s in trouble. 

With a pencil in hand and the sea breeze blowing his bangs, San can finally draw his own future and feel peace knowing he is loved by those around him. 

-Mythology-

Set, also known as Seth, is the Egyptian God of the desert, storms, chaos, and violence. Depictions and understandings of them vary depending on who’s drawing, writing, or viewing him, but he has been represented as a male figure with a humanoid body and an animal head like many other Egyptian gods and goddesses were. Such animals he has been depicted as include several canines, including jackals, fennecs, and greyhounds. He has also been depicted as having a donkey, okapi, aardvark, antelope, or oryx’s face, instead. The inconsistency of his figure in Egyptian depictions is also believed to stem from Set himself being more like a chimeric being who changes his forms. 

Set, like many other Egyptian gods, can change his forms into several animals, and also has a form to mimic the appearance of the god Anubis. 

A destructive force of nature and often regarded as a trickster, Set was credited for creating natural disasters such as sudden, flash flooding, sandstorms, and thunderstorms. He is considered to be one of the mightiest of the Egyptian gods.

Egyptian familial trees are often complex and overlap, but some depictions of him and his family, Geb and Nut are his parents, with Osiris, Horus, Isis, and Nephthys being his siblings and Ra being his grandfather. In other depictions, Horus and Anubis are his nephews and in some, Anubis is his illegitimate child after disguising himself as Osiris and courting Isis. 

One of the driving factors of many of Set’s tales is his burning jealousy and rage, especially towards his brother Osiris.

Set was apparently the only of his siblings that didn’t have a traditional birth. Some say he tore himself from his mother’s womb, others say she spat him into existence and this was believed to foretell his existence of a being of chaos and disorder. 

At one point, his brother Osiris, known to be a benevolent king that brought positive changes to the lands he ruled and graced, left out of his kingdom’s reach to help in other areas of the world, and as such, appointed his wife Isis to rule the lands in his stead. 

While he was away, Set would set into motion the of the largest scaled affair in all of Egyptian mythology, an event that included many of the Pantheon’s major players in some way shape or form. 

After conspiring against him with several others, Set would end up trapping and murdering Osiris. Not content with simply killing him, Set eventually tears Osiris to pieces, tossing his remains all across Egypt in another attempt to keep him from ever being whole again. Isis managed to find all of the pieces of her husband despite Set’s efforts. Well, most of the pieces. 

She never located his dick, so that’s fun. She replaced it with a golden one, though! Yay innovation!

Through the use of magic, Isis managed to revive Osiris, though he would never rule in his original kingdom ever again, and would instead be in the Underworld. 

Set tried several times to steal Osiris’ body from the underworld, and each time was punished severely for his intrusion by the jackal-headed god of the dead, Anubis. Eventually, after repeated attempts, Anubis grew tired of the chaotic desert god and killed Set once and for all.

Despite his chaotic and volatile actions, Set did have moments of redemption. In the afterlife, Set protected the great Sun God, Ra, from the serpent Apophis as Ra embarked on his daily journey through the Underworld. Set placed himself in front of Ra’s barque and would attack and kill Apophis every time he would rise to attack Ra. The serpent could be killed, but would rise again the very next day. 

Set would be there to slay it night after night, thus granting Ra safe passage and being one of the reasons the sun rises each day.

-Power Applications/Demon Transformation-

As Set is one of the more violent of the gods that the boys have inherited their powers from, San’s fighting style has remained just as violent and wild. When he is fully imbued with the effects of his powers, his eyes go bright pink and lime green. His lips turn into an onyx color and runes appear across his face, from his forehead, all the way to his chin. 

San’s blood manipulation allows him to turn any blood around him into a weapon, be it a series of daggers to propel through the air, or his go-to favorites, a large spear or scythe for attacking. Despite his aristocratic upbringing, San is incredibly good at hand to hand combat and isn’t afraid to fight ’dirty’. He’s only gotten more proficient at fighting without his powers thanks to Yunho taking the time to teach him capoeira. 

San’s runes only appear when he begins using his blood manipulation, and he prefers to use other people's blood, as too much blood loss from himself may still make him pass out and leave him prone in battle. He also has a few light blades weapons from Wooyoung he uses when there hasn't been any bloodshed on the battlefield yet, but if push comes to shove, he's not opposed to asking the slightly younger immortal to cut into him. 

-Character Song Breakdown-

All of the main boys have a song assigned to them in the AtT playlist to go alongside their origin chapters. San's song, which he shares with Wooyoung, is Mist by Ateez. I will go over some spoiler things, but if you made it this far, you may know this already.

Mist is used as an in-story device that goes over Wooyoung and San’s budding relationship and them coping with the uncertainty of life while being prisoners aboard a slave ship. 

-If I can’t see anything 

If I can feel you, I’m fine 

I want you to make me sure 

I need you to help me out of my misery 

I can see the light in the dark, 

It quickly blurs 

Step back in place.-

San spends the majority of his life feeling isolated and alone. He had no friends, as his mother’s aristocratic status left him with limited options for people he could make friends with. His sisters resented him as much as he did the entirety of his family, and he usually kept to himself. His general dislike and distrust for those around him persist until he meets Wooyoung, and it’s through the other boy’s positive outlook on life that San slowly begins to understand that not everyone in the world is out to get him.

- Lost and wandering hands again 

Hold me and hug me 

Your whisper is my compass 

Even if we’re going back for a long time 

Stay with me, always 

I’m not sure. I don’t know the way 

I’m just Like Alley Cat without you....-

 

San doesn’t know what it means to love, be it platonic or otherwise until he meets Wooyoung. He has a disposition much like that of a feral and volatile alley cat due to what he went through all through life, but it’s through Wooyoung-and eventually Hongjoong and the crew-that he’s guided towards the more positive aspects of life.

They soon become his new moral compass.

-Character Blurb-

“You’re just like the other pirates. I won’t let you take away the only person that’s ever loved me.”

San’s eyes grew as he watched his body move against his own will. The runes on his face gleamed and pulsed with chaotic energy as he attacked Seonghwa and Hongjoong, laughing maniacally and screaming about them giving Wooyoung back. Across from him, two eyes gleamed in the darkness. 

He stepped away, his foot sinking into the sand that was below his feet. 

A snort came from the figure, as he approached, his blade dragging through the sand. 

“Long lives those who are strong. How strong are you, cowering under something as fruitless as ‘love’? I choose you because you are full of rage, you have all I need to take back this world and get my revenge. Give in, it’ll all be over soon.”

“San!”

San looked behind him, eyes wide as he saw Wooyoung. No, he had to get out of there, he couldn’t-

 

“It’ll all be over soon.” The figure repeated, and in a gush of sand and wind, he saw his body fly forward and a blade of blood sliced into Yunho. San screamed inside his head as the dark figure controlled his body, eyes gleaming in malice as he raised a blood sword. 

“Rid yourself of such fruitless emotions and useless people. Let it all wash away in the sand and blood. I’ll do you this one favor. Then, this body will be mine.”

“So please,

If this is my way

Hold my hand

So we won’t wander for much longer…”

The sound of Wooyoung’s voice finally spurred San to action and he sprinted forward before the large being could kill Yunho. He snatched a small blade from his hip and buried it into his back with a scream. Blood splattered onto his cheek and the large man tossed him aside, pink and green eyes turning on him as he broke into a run towards San, a scream of rage and pain rattling in the sandy area inside San’s mind. 

San threw his hands up, and the blood from the being’s wounds sharpened, impaling him from all sides before his claws could slice into San’s face.

His hand trembled as he let out a growl. 

“No! Not...Not again…!”

San stood, feeling himself regaining control as the dark dessert began to fade away from his vision. Before he completely regained his senses, he looked back at the dying entity, his lips pressed into a firm frown and his fists clenched. 

“I’m my own person. I have no strings on me. Not anymore.”

-M.List-

[missingartist]

The Witcher’s Mate- Part 8

Three men gazed down apprehensively at the Witcher, who in turn stared unblinkingly up at the men. Out of the village, Tolstoi, Bradger and Miska had been nominated to plead with the Witcher. Tolstoi was the oldest, at plump age of 55, he still owned all his teeth and only owned a few white strands of hair. A blacksmith by trade, born with a hammer in his hand and will properly die with one in his hand. In spite of his age, his body still heads the thick muscles of his youth, maintained by hard, honest work.  The second was Bradger, the town miller, the second eldest at the age of 51, he had come from the next village, when he married the town clerk’s daughter, Bethany. Despite being four years younger than Tolstoi, his hair was complete grey and receding rapidly at the temples, his frame over-ripened with the freshly baked cake and bread he prepared. Finally, there was Miska, the town treasurer, the youngest and the smartest. Thick wavy locks of gold-framed his face, golden skin finished off with deep green eyes. The robes he wore where immaculate, well made for a man of his position. The University of Oxenfurt educated, that was till the war and like so many idealistic men had gone off to fight, and somehow he had survived and ended up running out the last of his days in a small backwater town.

Miska cast his eye toward the glowering man. Even seated, he almost fell at there shoulder, the armour was reinforced, and old and two large swords lay to his left, fingers tentative stroking. His companions were interesting. A young man, looking no more then 20 sat scribbling of a wad of parchment, the youthful feature makes him an appealing sprite, dressing in a cavalier fashion, flamboyant and attractive. The women, on the other hand, was intriguing. Fresh-faced and innocent. Shapely brown eyebrow frame deep blue eyes, soft pink lips parted in a pleasing smile. Her clothes were shabby, dirty from the travel she no doubt had to endure. The clothes seller, Olso,  had said she was the Witcher’s wife, a much-loved wife for if anything was taken from the Witcher buying her a king’s ransom in clothing.

In honestly, she wasn’t what he expected, he expected a heavy breasted whore, with the dress so tight she burst through it. Instead, he was met by a curly-haired beauty. Young and innocent-looking, with deep bags under her eyes.

Miska's eyes narrowed as they came back to focus on Geralt of Riva. ‘100 silver pieces, is that enough?’

‘Depend on what the problem is.’

‘Drowners’

‘How many?’

‘I could lie, tell you a lesser number…but 50 if not more.’

‘Hmmm, I admire your honesty, a characteristic seldom held by treasurers. I tend to find those who control money untrustworthy…200.’

‘120’

‘150’

‘…deal’ Geralt thrust a gloved hand out and one by one, each man shook his hand. ‘Take me to the pit. I need to see what I am up against.’

Miska nodded frantically, a soft hum vibrating up from his throat, and she thought. ‘Acceptable…Acceptable. I will have Tom set up accommodation for your…friend and Wife. He only has one good room but…’

The youthful man cut him off, looking up from his writing. ‘I won't need a place to stay, a… generous citizen has already offered me the use of her bed. So beauty is her soul that even stars are jealous.’ Jaskier gushed.

‘…right..Well, I will have Tom make up the room for you and your wife….I’ll have a hot bath prepared for her…’

‘Actually…’ Adva cut in.

‘My wife will be going straight to bed; she is exhausted after her travels.’ Geralt cut over. Standing. ‘I will meet you by my horse, and you can show me this infestation and don’t touch Roach.’

Miska nodded slowly look at the frowning women but obediently left the couple to their argument.

‘I am not your wife.’ Adva hissed.

‘It would be best if they thought we were. I don’t think that you want another incident. I’d hate to have to start gutting men.’ Geralt rumbled lowly as he stopped to her level.

The woman’s eyes darted to the main room of the tavern, seen through the archway of the snug. Barbaric, snarling men pushed and roared at each other while, beer and ale being sloshed around the sodden floor as young barmaid dodge past groping hand a shiver of disgust run down her spine. Adva’s eyes snapped back to the swirling ginger orbs in front of her, his brows were downturned in concern, and lips get in a firm line. As much as she wanted to slap his controlling face, the logical side could see the reasoning behind it. She had seen the very worst things that a man could do, most of the women turned to the whoring lifestyle because they had no male protection and either way they would be subjected to the savage nature of man, at least at the brothel they would get paid for it.

Adva nodded slightly, watched as the mirth re-joined his features and the dimple in his cheeks flashed a toothy grin. Geralt stood to his full height, towering over every man than with a good foot to spare. Adva had to look away to stop herself from ogling the way his leathers tighten around his body as she moved and the way he though the saddlebags of his shoulder without so much as a strained groan.

‘Stay vigilant. I will be back soon. There is a dagger in the bag.’

‘Don’t worry Geralt Ill look after her.’ Jaskier smiled glancing up at the white-haired man.

‘I was talking to Adva’

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Water cascaded over pale flesh as Adva pour another jug of steaming water over herself as she massaged the hair oil into her tangled hair. Once she was satisfied, she dunked her head under fully before resting herself against the warm brass of the tub. Jaskier had abandoned her for freckle ginger woman with the kind smile and come to bed eyes, leaving her to crawl into a warm bed. The bed was the softest Adva had ever slept in. A large double bed with feather pillows and thick down blankets, within a minute she had fallen asleep, much to the amazement when she awoke the next morning, she had thought she would be up worrying about the Witcher’s return. When she awoke the sun held itself high in the sky, most of the town had probably been up for hours, but Adva was determined not to feel guilty as she lounged in the warmth of the water.

Geralt has still not returned as a surge of fear bubbled inside her, but it meant she could indulge longer in the soothing silkiness of the water without interruption. It gave her a few moments of peace to mull over the raging thoughts in her head. Part of her was beginning to understand, Tradi had always been a horrible, abusive man but she had never thought him capable of such a malicious act. Then again she never thought Veronica would sell her and to a Witcher, who despite buying her like a common whore on the streets had been caring a diligent in his care, catching and roasting her rabbits to eat on the road and buying her more clothes that she had owned in her entire life.

The feeling that surged within her collided with such ferocity it made her dizzy it forced her to sink into the depths of it till the only part of her body visible was the surface of her face. She could just leave, Geralt wasn’t holding her prisoner, but if she did leave he could find her, no matter how well she tried to hide her track, he could sniff out the faintest of traces. If what he had said about Tradi was right, she would be a danger to everyone around her. Tradi has always been after power, but the length he went for her book was unthinkable. The book was the last thread of who she was, the elegant handwriting in an unknown language that only she could decipher. It wasn’t even as if she or that book where that important, just nonsense scribbles  Lord Brightwater hadn’t sent her off to be a mage and Cersi was perfectly happy just to let her hang around, learning from like a child on his mother skirt. Her little bit of magic was nothing compare people like Cersi. An ominous fear ran through her, what if Geralt had taken her with him to one day run his sword through her.

Adva’s eyes snapped open as the bathtub began to vibrate across the floor, spheres of shimmering water began to swirl above her. Outside the perfect mid-day sky darken, the wind picked up and bellowed against the wall. The dying flames fought viciously with unknown sources of force as it ricocheted across the room. A shrill gasp escaped her mouth. The orbs of water came crashing down with an almighty splash.

Wiping the water out of her eyes, Adva looked around, the room was completely normal, apart from a few puddles of water, the only evidence of what had just happened. Leaning back against the tub, a deep dread overcome her, what was happening to her?

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Adva wallowed in the water till all warmth had disappeared and she forced herself to leave the safety of the water and wrapping her body in a fluffy towel sitting down at the makeshift table as the door quietly knocked and Jaskier’s companion for the night, the auburn-haired beauty popped her head around the door.

‘Oh, my lady Rivia your up.’ The girl bobbed lightly in a makeshift bow as she fully entered the room.

The brunette smiled lightly as she looked at the girl. ‘It Adva, I’m no lady…and you don’t have to bob to me; I’m not some noble.’

The girl hesitated in the doorway as she observed her with curiosity; both women looked at each other for several long moments before Adva cut the awkward silence.

‘Can I help you with something?’

‘Jaskier sent me up to see if you were alright… he thought you might be homesick or struggling to dress. He is such a caring person with a beautiful soul.’ The women gushed as she attractive flush caressed her cheeks as she swept into the room fully, obviously high on whatever budded between her and the bard last night.

Griselda keen eyes searched the women in front of her; the women looked much better than the night before. Pale skin freshly scrubbed, revealing a healthy glow and soft ringlet had begun to form. Her figure was now revealed from underneath the frumpy clothing she had arrived in, she was short and curvy, broad hips and small waist. The bust was full but pert. It was clear to see why the Witcher would marry her; she was stunning, otherworldly the way her skin glowed. The women seemed sweet, kind but shy, not a type that a man like a Witcher would normally go for.

‘Right let's get you ready…your husband has been mooching around since the earlier hours of the morning’ Griselda cooed picking up the brush as beginning to comb through Adva’s mane.

‘Geralt’s back? Why didn’t he come to bed?’ Adva frowned as the woman began to play with her hair.

‘He mumbled about not wanting to wake you up. That so romantic. My departed husband Merriweather wasn’t so gallant, day after our wedding he went hunting, came back clashing around in the wee small hours of the morning three days later, threw up and passed out snoring on the bed. Such a pig of a man, god rested his soul. I was lucky married off at 16 was too soon. I got left with a little house and my hymen broken in, left me to ponder the pleasure of the flesh.’ Griselda whispered the last part with a wink, running her hand over her shaking the freshly brushed locks in soft curls.

‘Speaking of the pleasure of the flesh…what is it like to bed a Witcher? I have heard they go through mutations…does it affect their cock? Like is it longer or thicker? ’

‘I…I…wouldn't know.’ Adva spluttered, her face glowed a bright red.                

‘You’re his wife! Are you tell me you married the man without trying the goods? You have to try them after..?’ Griselda gasped in shock.

‘Ehh.. well… we only just got married, and Geralt is a romantic… he wanted to wait till we were in a comfortable place…till it was right.’

‘Ohhhh you poor thing… this is your honeymoon and Miska and the other idiots spoilt it by offering him a contract.’ Griselda pushed out her bottom lip as she rested her hand on her shoulder in comfort. ‘But don’t worry me and the other women have our ways…we will have you in that wedded bed before you know it’ Griselda winked a mischievous green eye at her. ‘Till then though we will have to use your feminine asset till sending him int a frenzied heat, he doesn’t look like the kind of man who likes to be teased.’

Adva could barely comprehend the slip of a woman who looked barely older than 19 suddenly became this wanton advisor as she picked through the brother Geralt brought her and through the various garment at her.

The person in front of her in the mirror wasn’t one that Adva recognised. Griselda had dressed her in a deep red blouse and rich brown trousers that cling to her every curve from her plump thick thighs to toned calves. The carved leather under corset gripped her waist empathising her figure in the most alluring way all finished off with leather boots with a small hill giver her figure a bit of lift.

‘When I first saw you I thought you were pushing above your weight will a hunk like that but now I see it the other way around. Honey, you are going to drive him mad.’ Griselda purred with a devilishly smile.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was safe to say Adva had never felt uncomfortable in her life, and she descended the stair and headed towards the snug. Geralt was a hard man not to miss; he sat in the same place as last night, his hair pulled back tightly and look slightly dishevelled, as he growled at the te man from last night.

‘…your lucky the drowner only gashed him…keep your men out of my way and let me do the job you paid for.’ Geralt growled, slamming his drink onto the table, sloshing the amber contents onto the wooden table.

‘Sir… I think that it is best we do this methodically. Slow and steady, take them out one by one. If we don’t….’ Miska's voice trailed off as he noticed the two women appear behind the Witcher.

Geralt could smell Adva before he could see her. The smell of her lingered in the snig of the tavern even with her tuck safely upstairs asleep. As soon as she opened the door, the Witcher’s senses were over some with her scent, it intoxicated him with its heady fragrances. Geralt kept his eyes on the man in front of him in annoyance, only glancing up when he heard her stand next to the table. Glancing up her had to do a double-take. Freshly bathed, she glowed, literally glowed, bright blue eyes sparkled as she stared down at him, her plump bottom lip caught between her teeth as he looked innocently down at him. Golden eyes wandered down her body as he took her in, a thick, shapely body greet him wrapped tightly in a burgundy blouse the crosshatched under corset laced tightly around her waist highlight her shape and giving the breasts an indecent outline as the blouse wast pulled tight against them. Geralt's eyes ogled her legs as skin-tight trousers covered them, giving him a perfect view of her body.

Miska scrapping the legs of the chair on the stone floor pulled Geralt from his appreciations as the treasurer pulled out a chair for her with roaming eyes. Geralt stared darkly at the man as he curled a muscular arm around her pulled her down to the bench beside him, glaring at the man.

‘Adva! If beauty be in the stars, you shall outshine all of the heavens’ Jaskier sung as he sat perched at the end of the table with his quill.

‘Is he drunk?’ Adva asked, concerned.

‘No, just an idiot.’ Geralt rumbled lowly, cause the woman in his arms to giggle loadly.

‘Adva perhaps you can talk some sense into your stubborn husband. He wants to march sword in hand into the den of the drowners,  sword in hand without any backup…’

‘I told you already; your men are a liability. They don’t know their arse from their elbow.’ Geralt growled.

‘There are too many of them. They cant be poisoned or attacked; they heal right up.’

‘That is why my silver sword is the best options. I can set fire spells that the beasts are vulnerable to…all I need is for you to keep your men the fuck away from me. They showed their competence yesterday.’

Adva became all two are of the tension in the room between the two men, feeling the way Geralt arms tensed around her waist. Griselda moved round the stand next to Jaskier filling his cup, who in returned kissed her hand sweetly.

‘It is out of the question. If you die in this foolhardy attempt, we will be stuck with these creatures.’ Miska calmly stated, straightening out his robes.

‘Your concern is endearing, but I am a Witcher. I know how to kill drowners. You want me to kill off two or free a day, that would take months, all the while they grow in numbers as they drag more and more people to their graves.’

‘Miska, you are a treasurer, not a witcher let him do what he does. He’s impatient to get his honeymoon started. He was kind enough to cut into his nuptial celebrations to help us. Let him do what he does best.’ Griselda pleaded.

‘Honeymoon?’ Miska frowned looking at the couple.

‘Yes, they have just got married. Leave them alone.’

‘I am sorry…’ A million thoughts passed through his head as he pondered upon this new information. ‘Maybe it would be best for you to do it you way. Good day then.’ Miska stood, kissing Adva on the hand as he left without another word.

Geralt’s chest vibrated against her side as he watched the man's form disappear.

‘Ahhh jealous love. I’ll leave you three alone; I need to help in the kitchen….I’ll see you later’ Griselda purred, kissing Jaskier chastely on the lips.

‘Newlyweds?’ Geralt smirked as Adva pulled away from his grip.

‘I panicked. She started to question me about…the thing?’ a deep blush filled her cheeks.

Geralt’s arms burned with needed to pull her back to him but instead shifted closer to Jaskier to look at her fully. Her scent was so pure now it was obscene, that alone caused him to strain against his breeches.

‘Questions? What questions?’ Geralt teased, with a devilish smirk.

‘Just questions…. Can we drop it please, I'm traumatised enough.’

A few moments of silence passed between them, the only sound Jaskiers quill scratching on the paper could be heard above the low rumbles of the tavern. Geralt eager eyes taking in every each of his fake new wifes, her heavy breathes causing her breast to strain against the material hypnotising him.

‘Why don’t we set a silver charge in the cave, it would kill most of them and then you could finish the rest off.’ A small voice cut through the silence

The witchers eyes travelled up to rest on her face, ‘the silver fumes would weaken them, and the fire would kill most of them. It means you would have to take them all on at once.’

‘Hmmm, interesting…and how would we make them? Have you made them before.’

‘Well I don’t but on principle…with your help… we could….’ Adva voice died in her throat as she cast her eyes down.

A sturdy finger lifted her chin, forcing her to look into the bronzed face of the Witcher.

‘It is a good idea. We will make the charges tonight. I will then place them in the caves. While you and Jaskier stay in the tavern, understand?

Adva nodded happily and took up a swig of her drink, beaming at the two men for the first time since Brightwater. Geralt removed his hands and look above her head to the treasurer lurking across the tavern eyes trained on the couple.

Let me know what you think?

[be-dazzled]

#SIYC

Gray Fullbuster, Juvia Lockser Genre: Multi-chapter, Romance, Comedy Rating: M for sensitive language and content

It gives me sweet little pains in my heart Like a sweet little rain, that falls for a flower And that's love A new kind of love

–       A New Kind of Love, Skylar Grey

The sun had already set when the little party ended at the Home for Boys. The day ended with hugs and high fives, some ugly cries too – from the big guys, not the kids. The team promised to be back the next year. Even with that promise, goodbyes weren’t really that easy. Juvia had to comfort a sobbing Mika all the way to the presidential car. She said it never gets easier.

After a laughter-filled dinner and teasing, Gray invited Juvia to walk off the carbs. He took her to the back part of the house, to the most beautiful flower-filled garden Juvia has ever seen.

Mika Mine hand-grown the flowers in her garden. She started with just some dark pink Geraniums she liked sitting around the house. Not until she found that large blank canvass behind her mansion that the Mine matriarch eventually developed a certain fondness getting her hands dirty, waking up early to water them and most of the time, talk to her plants. She said it was therapeutic, helping her cope with the stress. Gray uneasily admitted he was almost always the reason for her stress. So, her mother named that garden after him.

The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Juvia was sure Mika Mine’s garden would have been very beautiful under the brightest shine of the sun. She took a note to come visit the “Stressful Gray Garden” in the morning. Tonight, she took the time appreciating the living attraction in the silence of the evening. It was simply magical.

Illuminated by natural moonlight, Gray and Juvia covered the narrow pathway, bathed in cold breeze and silver light. On either side of the pathway were beautiful, fully bloomed flowers on trimmed shrubs. But they cleared the path that led somewhere more beautiful, as Gray promised.

“More beautiful than these flowers borne out of the stress you caused?”

Juvia looked around the backyard garden. Mika Mine outdid herself. Or Gray was just a stressful fellow to raise. Page Six did a good retelling of how Gray painted the town red. Looking around the fully bloomed buds around the ‘stress garden’, Juvia had a feeling she didn’t know the half of it. Different kinds and colors scattered around, giving life to Mika’s green-thumb project, like fresh from a Monet painting. If Olivia Lockser saw this, she would have begged Gray’s mother to become best of friends or maybe died of jealousy. That’s a thought.

“Yes. But not as beautiful as my girlfriend.”

Gray pulled her to a stop. As a gentleman who had his fair share of women, Gray knew that off-hand ‘more beautiful’ comment would read as ‘even than your girlfriend?’ He crossed the small distance between them and got himself that kiss that he’d been waiting for. It was just a brief brush of the lips, like a kiss shared in children’s books, at the end of the story, when the prince and the princess lived happily ever after. One innocent kiss like that came so naturally.

Juvia wiped the stain of lipstick that transferred on Gray’s lips. Then, she took his hand, taking the lead this time. They walked down the narrow path, side by side. Her small hand was clasped in his bigger one, her slender fingers intertwined with Gray’s. She leaned on Gray every now and then, wanting and needing the contact. They exchanged stories here and there, talking about nothing much really, until they reached the end of the paved path and a silhouette of a familiar structure emerged.

“That, girlfriend, is my favorite part of this house.”

The ground they stood on was abruptly cut by a grassy, shallow slope, right before the rectangular pavement began. Gray guided the ballerina down the sloping garden, watchful over Juvia who was trying not to lose her footing, and held her hand as he ushered Juvia onto the flat surface.

“Stay here.”

Gray’s absence was quickly missed. It made the breeze feel colder against the skin. Juvia enveloped her arms around her own frame to fight the chill. Her eyes never left the figure jogging towards a shed. Even through the dimness, Juvia saw Gray pushing a lever. The light coming from the lamp posts standing at each corner flooded the playing surface. In the floodlit view, Juvia could make out the unmistaken round hoop attached to the backboard; the rectangular pavement bordered by freshly cut-grass. Juvia knew enough about basketball to recognize the lines painted on the pavement. Although, it did seem to have seen better days. There were obvious wear and tear, a few repairs here and there. When the mansion decided to move forward, that particular part of the house was left behind.

She lost Gray for a moment, not finding him where has just a minute ago. Next thing she knew, her boyfriend was standing next to a covered cart near the stone bench. He peeled off the cover, bent over to pick one ball out. Gray remained standing, feeling the rubber skin in his palms, taking his time, like some sort of ritual. He then waved his girlfriend to come.

Juvia crossed the paved court, her purposeful steps synced with the bounce of the ball in Gray’s hand. But instead of running toward the ring to show off a perfect shot, as Juvia expected, Gray replaced the ball inside the cart. He met her half-way and led Juvia to rest at the stone bench.

“Man, I spent most of my childhood here.” shared Gray. He turned to Juvia, who remained quiet, and held her gaze. “This is where everything began, you know.” The usual confidence in Gray’s smile was hidden safe for the time being.

Gray left her side and covered the pavement with sprints toward the middle of the court. His absence allowed the breeze to touch on her exposed skin, penetrating through the fabric of her clothes.

“My first shot.” He dribbled an imaginary ball and pretended to shoot the same, flicking his wrist like the pro that he was. Juvia imagined the ball went in perfectly and she clapped, humoring him with his ‘play pretend’ game. Then, Gray scampered over to much nearer the ring, executing the familiar two-step footwork before he jumped off his left foot and shoot with his left arm. The ball would have hit the backboard and went into the hoop without miss.

“My first lay-up.” He made a quick chuckle. “It wasn’t a good one. That I admit.”

Gray dashed back to the center, the tip of one shoe nearly touching the white paint which Juvia recognized as the three-point line. Hoopster had his proper posture down to a T: with feet shoulder-width apart; his dominant foot ahead the other; knees bent at the perfect angle; his toned body and shoulders squared toward the basket. His dark blue eyes were unrelenting, drilling a hole on his target. Juvia has seen it far too many times, but every time Gray fell into that stance, her heart skipped a beat. Like any minute now, something magical was about to happen. That’s how he always made her feel. Gray held the ball above his head, elbows bent in the perfect degree, then he snapped his wrist, ending his signature three-point shot with a perfect follow through. Juvia was back at the lower box of the Fairy Academy Dome, her heart in her throat as she and the rest of the roughly six hundred basketball fans waited at the edge of their seats.

His sharp blue eyes, now staring at Juvia’s mesmerized ones, pulled the ballerina out of her reverie. He resumed his rightful spot next to her at the stone bench, drawing a long, slow breath. That little prancing around the court didn’t tire him out. Gray didn’t even break a sweat but showing off to his girlfriend did exercise his lungs.

“My dad always said, ‘Gray… if you. Want to set yourself apart from the others, you need a signature’. He decided, right there and then, that three-point shots would be mine.” He relayed to Juvia. “He trained me day and night until I perfected that shot.” Those perfect three point shots that eventually earned him his nickname.

To Juvia, it sounded like the Fullbuster patriarch was a believer of putting in the time. She knew now where Gray got his hard-working disposition. She believed in that too… nothing of value was ever borne out if taking it easy. Juvia believed in the hustle, too. His father may have had all the connections to make her dream a reality sooner but Juvia was never one to want everything handed to her.

“Or passed out, whichever came first.”

He tried to play it off as a joke but Juvia could see no humor in Gray’s eyes nor that forced smile – because he was talking about his father. Once, when they were just starting to get along, Silver’s name was mentioned in passing. Juvia remembered how his expression turned serious and how Gray quickly changed the subject. It was obvious back then that it was a touchy subject, one Gray would rather not talk about. Ironic, considering how Gray was considered an open book, his tales of gallivanting making headlines. But Juvia understood, that topic was too personal for Gray. This was the first time that the elusive Hoopster was the first to mention Silver Fullbuster to her, which only meant one thing – he trusted her. She knew better than laugh. Juvia sought his hands, took them in hers and giving them a gentle squeeze – one that told him that she was there. This time, she was going to be there for him, like how he was always there for her. It was Juvia’s chance to show Gray that she was going to be the one he could rely on; the one he could trust with his heart. If she could, Juvia would have eased the pain she knew was still there. A big chunk of Gray’s heart was still missing. But there wasn’t much she could do but to lend an ear. Her soft gaze told him she was ready to listen.

Gray heaved out another breath, preparing himself for the outpour.

“I miss him every day, you know. He was my best friend.”

Gray wasn’t looking at Juvia. He was staring at somewhere at the court, remembering. A bittersweet smile touched his lips, eyes looking out at the empty court as if he was watching the figures play on the paved ground – Silver and an eight-year-old Gray.

“He trained me in this very ground. Sometimes, we’d just play around all day until mom calls us for dinner.”

When Gray turned to the quiet ballerina, his eyes were different. The soul behind them was different. He was showing another side of him, one Juvia has yet to see. They said the eyes were the windows to the soul; that they held the truest, most genuine emotions. Tonight, those windows held his vulnerability.

“He wasn’t just my coach, my strict trainer. He was my dad.”

Juvia knew she was only an audience, merely a listener. She didn’t say a word and continued to listen even through the shy moments of silence that filled the in-betweens. A few strands of black hair fell over his forehead. Juvia brushed it away from his face, tucking them back to that shock of coal-black hair.

“What I am now is all because of him.”

Honor and gratitude equally shone through his dark eyes. But there was another one hiding behind that shine – loss. He lost his father. The tears he was holding back was for that important person taken from him far too soon. Juvia knew of the pain of losing someone she loved but she could never fully understand what Gray went through, still going through. It was something that sticks with us no matter what happens.

“When I was in my senior year, my school was up for a championship in the regionals. He stayed behind because he wasn’t feeling well. That was a first for him because he was always present to all my games.”

It’s been more than a decade but the memory was as fresh as if it happened yesterday.

“The neighbors called my mom. They said dad was… my dad was on the way to the hospital. He had a heart attack.”

His last words felt like a silent whisper lost in the soft gust of wind.

“She hid it from me. My mom waited until I finished the tournament. And when I got there… when I got to the hospital,” Gray shifted in his position, his strong jaw tightening at the memory, at the long-forgotten anger that resurfaced. He faced Juvia, finally letting her see that side of him he never wanted to show people. And she saw the tears in his eyes that he tried to hold back. “It was too late. He was there, lying on the hospital bed. His doctor just…covered him in that… in that white sheet.”

He brushed away the tear that managed to fall and for some reason, an awkward chuckle erupted from him.

“I don’t even know why I’m still crying over it.” He said, harshly wiping the tears with his bare palm.

“It never really goes away.” offered Juvia.

“For years I’ve blamed my mother. I blamed her because I couldn’t even properly say goodbye. Then, basketball.” Gray huffed. “God, I hated basketball.”

Juvia remembered that silent, blank space in his career. When he graduated from High School, everybody expected Gray to be the first to be picked out for the draft season. No one ever heard from him since the news of his dad’s passing.

“I should have stayed, you know. I should have been there for him.”

Regret clouded his dark blue eyes like an unkind storm rolling in.

“It isn’t your fault, Gray.”

Gray visibly gulped.

“I know that. But for so long I’ve been so angry at everyone around me.” He struggled to bit back the sob. “If I hadn’t met Natsu at that orphanage, I would have never went back to basketball.”

“Is that why the Home was so important to you?”

His only answer was a gentle smile followed by a stretch of silence. Juvia thought Gray didn’t want to continue but he did.

“I realized, basketball was only way I can feel closer to him. When I touch that rubber ball, the rough texture of its skin, the smell of the rubber, the beat when it hits the floor, suddenly, I was back here.” He didn’t need to point to the open space. “In this court, with my dad, teaching me how to properly hold my first ball.”

He gave her a small smile, a result of a mixed feeling of gratitude and regret.

“That’s why I can never hate basketball ever again.” He expelled a breath that felt like a finality, like an end. The worst part was over. “Why are you crying?”

Juvia laughed it off, looking like some crazy woman as she frantically rubbed her eyes. She told Gray she didn’t even know why. That wasn’t true. Juvia was crying for him, for all the bad things he went through and for all the good things that came after. She couldn’t feel more proud of him, of how Gray overcame that painful moment in his life. Not all could recover from that loss. But Gray was strong. A warm feeling swelled up in her chest. Juvia was grateful he was able to overcome his rock bottom. Now, he was on top of the world.

Gray reached to Juvia, cradled her wet cheeks between his palms. She leaned into the warmth of his hands. Juvia wished she could be there for him back then, to help him go. Through that darkness. That’s all in the past. All she could do was be here for him now.

“Look at us crying like idiots.”

They made a shared attempt to laugh. Then, Gray gathered her in his arms, lending his girlfriend heat against the night chill. But more so, feeling sorry for having Juvia go through all of that. Yet he was grateful to be able to get it off his chest. It wasn’t easy to be so out into the open, to even admit to any weakness. In his world, in basketball, there was no room for weakness. But even if he covered himself of layers and layers of defenses, at the very core he was still vulnerable. When he saw Juvia struggle through her dance albeit being a professional, seeing the stern, no-nonsense ballerina he first met being bothered by the small things as performance jitters or her paralyzing adoration for Aquarius, Gray realized that he didn’t have to keep up appearances all the time. That he could just be him – flawed and human.

Hoopster rested Juvia’s head against his chest, gently stroking waves of her long, silky hair while Juvia listened to his heart’s every beat.

“Man, after all the ugly crying, you still think your boyfriend is cool?”

He used to think that his pain was his weakness. It did almost ruin his career and his future once. He was never going to let that happen. He was never going to let his emotions get the better of him. So, Gray went through all those superficial relationships, if he could even call them that, and worldly fun, albeit fleeting. But now he decided it was time to break down the wall. He was ready to allow himself be vulnerable.

“Much cooler.” answered Juvia as she snuggled into his hard chest. “Much, much cooler.”

Because now he wasn’t just some fantasy Gray Fullbuster that was perfect at everything. He was real.

---

Writer’s Corner: Allowing yourself be vulnerable in front of that person you love, I don’t think it can get any realer than that. As promised, this is a double chapter posting since, as you noticed, this chapter is a little short.

P.S. We got a new design because we are entering a new age.

tags: @ship-ambrosia @juviaafullbuster @keencreatormuggoop @sasskiiia @anaken101 @mika-milano @icelyn20 @gruviafanficsyo @nay-ssi @shampooneko @hiccstridhumour @shounenmangaotphell @ftmains @sobatsu @freeezingrain @gruvia-galaxy @tinyvoidtrash @juvialockseroff @jetblackrevival @cobblepottantrum

[drwnng-ophelia]

Caught Between the Two of You | Richie Tozier x Female Reader

A/N: I can only apologize again for not finishing this earlier. Nevertheless, I hope you’ll enjoy the new chapter and where this story is going. I haven’t planned it out completely, but I think this miniseries is coming to an end soon-ish (maybe two more chapters, give or take).

After that, I’d be more than willing to get into some Richie Tozier (or even Bill Hader) oneshots if anyone’s up for that? Drop me a request if you’d like!

(Btw, dumblr didn’t really let me edit this baby, I hope it shows up the way it’s supposed to?? Please, let me know if the paragraphs are off)

Pairing: Richie Tozier/Female Reader (Pennywise/Female Reader)

Summary: You own the Derry Town House and are caught off guard by a group of friends who check-in. You get closer than anticipated with one of them.

Warnings: explicit language, smut, oral sex, unprotected sex

Word Count: 4,322 (sorry, guys)

For your convenience, here’s Chapter One, Chapter Two, and Chapter Three. If you’d rather read it on AO3, go here.

   Chapter Four

It felt like your entire body had gone taut. How was this possible? Maybe Pennywise had found a way to fully conceal himself from you? And now he was playing with you again. Playing an evil, irreverent game that you would think beneath him.

“Don’t question this. I’m not one of his apparitions and we don’t have a lot of time so you need to concentrate,” your mother said, urgency in her soft voice. She looked just as beautiful as you remembered her to be. The pain of missing her struck you fiercely, ripping open wounds that had healed a long, long time ago.

“He will be here any minute. You must listen closely to what I have to say.” You didn’t think that Richie would believe his eyes or ears if he would see this. “I’m not talking about him,” she clarified, “But I’m glad your heart has found its way to someone else. Away from danger.”

“You know about Pennywise?” you asked, ignoring the fact that she could read your mind. She nodded curtly. “It’s my fault the group of friends, your friends, have fought him when they were children.” A chill danced down your spine and you blinked. “How so?” 

“It was my task to maintain the balance. It was me who should have kept the Eater of Worlds in check,” she explained, silver lining her eyes, “But I was too busy cherishing my life. That wonderful, mundane life. You will not make the same mistake. You will restore pride to our lineage.”

The power that had awoken within you at such a young age…it had come from her. “What lineage?” You couldn’t stop your voice from trembling. Back then, your ascent had meant her downfall. Balance, such fragile balance.

“Salem witches. The women of our family were the most powerful amongst them. We’ve kept the line strong over the centuries. While our magic flourished, other witches perished, their magic running out. It’s nature’s way of telling us that we are only here to play one vital part, and I ignored mine. We’re here to make sure that the Eater of Worlds will take his rest. We’re here to make sure that he will not satiate his hunger until there is nothing left.”

Until Pennywise had devoured everything and annihilated existence as you knew it. She didn’t have to spell it out for you. You swallowed hard, an impossible weight suddenly resting on your shoulders.

“Your power awoke that day because you needed it more than me, because you know how to wield it, instinctively. Look at you, even as a child you were capable of containing this creature. And you didn’t even need your magic for it.” A proud smile spread on her face.

Whatever this was, wherever she came from, she truly was not part of the game.

Your chest tightened at her words, at her need to appear to you, and for the first time, you were truly afraid of Pennywise. “Mom, I…I don’t know what to do.”

“Of course you do. Use his love for you to your advantage. But always remember, no matter how tempting it might seem, you cannot end his existence. It’s tied to your own. He has been here before us, and he will endure.”

A thousand questions burned on your tongue, but you could see her image slowly morphing into your own features as if she was melting away. “Don’t leave me yet,” you begged and tried to swallow the lump in your throat.

“I must. He’s too close. Remember that I love you, remember that you’re stronger than I ever was. And remember to guard what you carry. Always guard what you carry.”

“I can’t carry this by myself,” you sobbed. But she was gone before she could utter another word. You pulled in a sharp breath, hugging yourself tightly as you sunk down on the bed.

If Pennywise was tied to your own life, then you couldn’t let the others kill him—or you would die with him.

You thought of the Losers who had paid so dearly for doing what your mother couldn’t. So many had died. Countless people had suffered. And this morning you had been willing to pay any price for restoring the equilibrium. If it was your own life…then so be it.

There was dark, destructive power within you. You had felt it, the first day it had awoken. This, all of this, led to you accessing that place again. Just one last time.

A soft knock on your bedroom door made your head snap up. Quickly, you wiped the tears away, forcing your face into neutrality.

“There’s someone here for you,” Richie said as he cracked the door open, attentive eyes scanning you. Your brows nudged together in confusion at his tone. Stern and sober.

“Who is it?” you demanded, ignoring the voice at the back of your head that reminded you that you would die soon, that your time with this man was limited. So terribly limited.

Richie met your gaze, a muscle feathering in his jaw. He was angry—and disappointed. “Someone who introduced himself as your boyfriend.” You closed your eyes and massaged your temples. “He’s not my boyfriend, I promise you,” you hissed, “No need to get jealous. I’ll throw him out on his ass immediately.” Pennywise would not come between Richie and you. Not now.

With determination, you strode into the living room, finding Pennywise with a bored look on his face. He was in his human form, not a hair out of place or a crease in his black three piece suit. Perfection. Walking, breathing, utterly dangerous perfection.

Instinctively, you checked your mental guards. He had probably always known that you were a Salem witch, had known about your strength. What he didn’t know, what he shouldn’t know, was that you had released that strength. That you were preparing yourself for using it.

Mike and the others wanted to get this over with as soon as possible, but Pennywise wanted to play. As long as he didn’t play dirty you would try to keep the others from attacking him. From attacking you. You would try to buy yourself time. Time to prepare. Time to spend with Richie.

“You need to leave,” you said through gritted teeth, folding your arms in front of your body protectively. A serpentine grin spread on his full lips. “Such harsh words for a man you love so dearly?” His smooth voice seemed to slither around you like a snake. “You wouldn’t know love if it spat you in the face,” you snarled.

Pennywise’s smile faltered ever so slightly. He had expected you to crumble, to give into him in front of Richie’s eyes. But you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction, you would stand your ground. “Please,” you started, “Please just leave. I can’t do this right now.” Tears burned behind your eyes again and you failed to stop them from pooling over.

His handsome face softened when he saw you crying. Pennywise hadn’t seen you cry for a long time. After all, he had always ensured that there was nothing to scare or harm you, nothing that could give you any pain. He lifted a hand as if he wanted to reach out to you, but when you immediately took a step back, he lowered it.

“I’ll see myself out,” he said flatly, sapphire blue eyes finding yours. I’ll be there when you need me. I’ll give you today. A temporary truce. His voice was nothing more but a whisper in your head, a soft caress that brought the tears to a stop.

Terribly aware of Richie lingering somewhere behind you, undoubtedly a scowl on his face, you mouthed a thank you. Pennywise inclined his head ever so slightly and then sauntered towards the door. “I lied,” he said to Richie before stepping over the threshold, “I’m not her boyfriend. Although sometimes…I wish I was.”

Your heart stopped in your chest as your mother’s words echoed in your head. Love. His love for you. All this time, you had waited for Pennywise to admit that he loved you. And this, this was probably as close as you would get to hear him say it. You sucked in a breath, unsure of what words might tumble out your mouth. But before you had the chance to speak, he walked out, the door falling shut behind him.

“Sorry for the drama,” was all you managed to say instead, rubbing your face. Strong arms embraced you from behind, pressing you against Richie’s chest tightly. “I can tell that you’re upset.” His voice was gentle, an unspoken invitation for you to speak about what was troubling you. Richie placed a kiss on the top of your head.

“This might be over before we know it,” you muttered. “You could leave Derry. You could come home with me,” Richie offered quietly, “Let me take you away from here. Let me take care of you.” It sounded tempting, and you wanted to believe that you could get out of this alive. With him.

“I want to say yes.” You paused, afraid of making promises you couldn’t keep—promises that would break his heart. “What’s keeping you?” He whispered his question into your ear, his breath tickling you, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Instinctively, you tipped your head to the side, letting go of a shuddering breath as his lips brushed against your neck.

Richie’s hand wandered up and cupped your breast through your top. “You could start by saying yes to this and then we’ll take it from there,” he suggested, “We could take it slow this time. Would you like that?” He kissed your neck again, teeth grazing over your skin tenderly. “Yes,” you got out and wound yourself out of his hold so you could face him.

Losing yourself in him, even if it was just for a little while, was exactly what you wanted. “Whatever you need. I’m here for you,” Richie said as if he had read your thoughts.

“I think you know what I need already.” You bit your lip and started unbuttoning his shirt.

Before long, a trail of clothes led to your bedroom.

Hands were busy roaming naked skin when Richie broke away from you just to say, “Lie down. I still owe you.”

More than willingly, you obliged and relaxed against the smooth sheets. Intuitively, you opened your legs, making room for him as his kisses slowly trailed down. Richie stopped at your collarbone for a moment, sucking hard enough to leave an intentional mark on your body.

���The bruises from last night aren’t enough, huh?” you checked and gasped as his mouth closed around your nipple, your comment resulting in him biting you playfully. “Last night you said you were mine. I’m just reminding you of that,” he answered and his territorial touch, this newfound tone, kindled the hunger for him like never before.

Slowly, fingers danced up your thigh as his mouth wandered down, past your abdomen. Lust threatened to consume you. “Please, Richie,” you urged, squirming under his touch. “Please, what?” He looked up at you, blue eyes alight with power—power over you. Now, you were at his mercy. And he was enjoying it immeasurably.

“Please, just get your head between my legs already,” you got out, fingers weaving into his silky curls. A wicked smile appeared on his face. “I’m in no rush.” Provocatively, he kissed the inside of your thigh, his stubble burning against your skin.

“I don’t remember treating you so viciously at the arcade,” you reminded him. “Such a greedy girl,” he chided. And yet, you felt his hand wandering up, up, up where you wanted it. A clever thumb started to massage your bundle of nerves. “Is this what you wanted?” he demanded.

In response, you pulled at his hair gently. “Ow, a simple ‘yes’ would have done it, [Y/N],” he said and you could hear the smile in his voice. “Who said that little tug meant ‘yes’?” you teased, a surprised moan escaping you as he intensified the pressure at your sassy remark. “Use your clever tongue for something else,” you suggested.

This time, he finally did as you asked, his mouth moving to where his fingers had been only a moment before. You tipped your head back and gripped the sheets as he started to lick, his tongue stroking you expertly.        

Richie drew idle circles over your skin, slowly moving up to give your breasts some attention. Reacting to your body’s needs instinctively, he changed his pace, and you let out a little yelp when he pinched your nipple gingerly. His touch slowly moved down the slope of your breast again, moving south.

You bucked your hips slightly, wanting more of him, but a strong hand pinned you down decidedly. His tongue didn’t stop its perfectly choreographed dance when he finally slid a finger into you. He let go of a moan himself, content with how wet you were for him, wet enough for him to add another finger. Unhurried, he started to plunge in and out of you, driving you positively insane with his rhythm.

A well-known feeling started to build deep inside you and just before you went over the edge, Richie pulled away. It was like a bucket of cold water and you took a deep breath before propping yourself up on your elbows. “Seriously?” you panted, a pleading look on your face.

Richie chuckled and sat up. “I thought it was up to me whether or not you deserved to find release.” You slumped down on the mattress again, cursing under your breath. “I wouldn’t have said that if I knew this was coming.”

You rolled onto your side, the need for him still pounding relentlessly between your legs—and seeing just how excited he had become while pleasuring you only made you want him more.

“I also said that I would tie you up and straddle you.” You arched an eyebrow, a vicious smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “But I’ve reconsidered. Your hands are far too gifted to be—” Richie silenced you with a sensuous kiss and you could taste yourself on his tongue. “Then let’s skip the tying up,” he suggested.

Richie sat up against the headboard and helped you ease onto him. While you got used to the delicious fullness of him, he kissed you lovingly, strong arms cradling you.

Now that you were in control, you started to move up and down, savoring each inch of him. Your movements were slow at first, allowing him to kiss you, to fondle your breasts, to grasp your behind. But although you relished this intimacy, this loving touch, you were desperate for the release you hadn’t gotten earlier.

Richie met you with a thrust every time as you started to bounce up and down. The sound of skin meeting skin mixed with your noises of pleasure roused you to increase the pace until you felt your thighs burn.

More. You wanted more.

You moved your hips in circles until you indulged in grinding fully against him. The friction this gave you made you tip your head back, your body tensing as you felt yourself approaching the edge.

Stars danced before your eyes when your climax finally ripped through you. When Richie heard you call out his name, your walls contracting around him, he found his own release, emptying himself inside of you.

Catching your breath, you rested your forehead against his, your hands cupping his face as he held you close. “If we survive this,” he said quietly, caressing your back, “promise me that you’ll come with me.” His lips found yours and his words settled like dust after an explosion. This was a promise you could keep.

If we survive this.

“I promise I’ll come with you if we survive this,” you finally answered, brushing some hair away from his forehead that was beaded with sweat. “I don’t want to leave you.” It was the truth. You didn’t want to leave him. Because if you wouldn’t die, you knew you’d fall in love with him, deeply and unconditionally. It was only a matter of time.

This was a different love than what you felt for Pennywise. Unlike the ancient creature, Richie could give you a future—could truly answer your feelings.

Richie kissed you lovingly and said against your lips, “Then let’s kill this fucking clown.” 

The smile on your face didn’t reach your eyes so you just kissed him again.

   You had almost fallen into a light slumber, head resting on Richie’s broad chest, when something tugged inside you. A tingling sensation traveled from deep in your gut to your fingertips. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Richie opened his eyes reluctantly when you lifted your head, brows nudged together in a frown as you looked around the room with confusion. “What’s up?” he asked, sounding sleepy. “I’m not sure yet,” you answered, the tingling inside you not subsiding.

It was your power. Your power was stirring—but not at Pennywise. He hadn’t lied when he had called the temporary truce. It was something, someone, else.

“Are the others back?” you asked, climbing out of bed. A shiver danced down your spine as cold air kissed against your naked skin. “I’m not sure. Why?” Richie put on his glasses, curiously watching you as you started to get dressed. “Something is wrong next door,” you explained after pulling on a sweater.

“What—how do you know? Did you hear something?” He looked towards the closed window, not a sound traveling in from outside. “I just…know,” you shrugged, throwing his pants at him. “Come on, let’s go.”

Ben and Beverly were sitting on the stairs in the lobby when you pushed open the door of the Town House, Richie following close behind you. “Did you find your token, Richie?” Beverly asked conversationally, the small smile on her lips fading when she saw the concern on your face.

“Did the clown get you, too?” Ben asked, getting up as if he wanted to help. Richie shook his head, “No, he was nowhere to be seen. She…she dragged me here just now. We were, uh, next door.” Ben pulled up his eyebrows and rubbed his neck in embarrassment when he understood what his friend was insinuating.

“Beep, beep, Richie,” Beverly muttered and got up too, reaching out to touch your arm. “What’s wrong, [Y/N]?” Her voice was soft but urging. “Do you feel it, too?” you asked and looked up the stairs, up to where something tugged, tugged, tugged at you.

“Feel what, sweetie?” she asked. You felt Richie’s hand at the small of your back, but he didn’t say anything—as if Beverly’s words had silenced him.

“Did…someone come in here? Not Bill or Eddie, but someone else.” You looked towards the door that led to the office, although you knew that Olivia wasn’t here either. “Who should be here?” Ben asked, straightening as if he was getting ready for a fight.

Suddenly, someone barged in through the front door, almost stumbling over his own feet. “Eddie, you look like shit. What happened to you, man?” Richie commented and you dared to look over your shoulder, attention shifting from the second level.

Eddie was completely covered in dark grime, panic and disgust flashing in his eyes. He was shaking and tried to push his way past his friends and you. “I need a shower, let me through, assholes,” he said and swatted Richie’s hand away as he tried to hold him back.

“You can’t go up there,” you got out, crinkling your nose at the foul smell that came off him. Everyone turned to look to you. “Listen, I need to get this off of me right now or who knows what kind of shit I’ll catch,” Eddie pleaded, rubbing his face as if he could get himself clean with his bare hands.

“Let me go up first,” you suggested. “No way am I letting you go up first,” Richie interjected. “I don’t need your protection,” you claimed calmly, “I’ll go up there first. You can follow me if you want, but let me go first.” Your voice was strong, unwavering. The friends blinked at your sharp tone and Richie held up his palms in defeat, the look on his face telling you that he was anything but pleased with how you were acting. You decided to ignore him and started walking up the stairs, letting that tug lead you.

Eventually, you came to a stop, holding out your hand so Eddie would give you his room key. No one dared to say anything and you held your breath when you unlocked the door.

Nothing. The room was empty, the bed made and untouched. The window was half-open which seemed slightly odd, but nothing to be too worried about. Maybe you were getting paranoid?

But the tug was still there, tingling and ominous. You tiptoed to the bathroom, opening the door slowly and peeked inside.

The face of a maniac peered back at you, eyes wide with wonder at this unforeseen arrival. “He doesn’t want to hurt you, get away, little girl,” the delusional Henry Bowers purred at you, a silver knife gleaming in his hand.

Pennywise had put him up to this. So much for the truce.

You took a step back, knowing that you needed to stay between the friends and the lunatic. He would jump them immediately, but he knew he wasn’t allowed to hurt you. A human shield, that’s what you were.

Behind you, Beverly let out a small shriek when she saw Bowers following you into the bedroom. “Beverly, call the police,” Ben instructed and probably shoved her back into the hallway before trying to come to help you. Richie’s arm wrapped around your waist, pulling at you, but you dug your heels into the floor. “Time to die, Trashmouth,” Bowers spat, lifting his knife and taking another step towards you. “You get out right now, you hear me,” Richie hissed into your ear, “He doesn’t want you.”

“Exactly, he doesn’t want me. So stay behind me,” you urged, trying to wind yourself out of Richie’s unforgiving hold. Ben snuck up beside you, hands lifted so he would appear as no threat. “The police are on their way, it’s over for you Bowers.” You could hear Beverly whimpering from the hallway as she called for help, Eddie swearing colorfully.

“I’ll kill you before they get here,” the madman said, grinning from ear to ear, “Now get out of my way, princess. Let me do what he sent me here to do.”

“Ben, you need to back off and Richie you need to let go of me,” you said through gritted teeth. But Richie’s iron grip didn’t loosen and Ben didn’t move. Bowers took another step towards you and the tingling in your fingertips turned into an uncomfortable prickling. It was as if millions of small needles pierced through your skin. Blood started to rush in your ears, something inside you starting to push. “One more step, Bowers,” you warned, feeling like your power was suffocating you from the inside.

Darkness. It was the darkness you had felt that day when the children had died, the day of the carnage. You hadn’t been able to control it back then. What if you hurt Richie or the others?

Panicking, you clawed at Richie’s arm around you, thrashing until his grip loosened slightly just as Ben took a step towards Henry Bowers. Crazy eyes shifted from you to the handsome man. Bowers was just about to lunge when you finally wound yourself out of Richie’s hold. He would kill him. First Ben and then Richie. Richie.

You know how to wield it, instinctively.

Your mother’s words rang through you and you made a decision—you let the darkness wash over you, consume you, guide you. Your hands clenched into fists, nails digging into your palms painfully. And you willed Bowers to freeze. The joyful insanity on his face immediately turned into fear. Pure and utter fear, eyes meeting yours. “Witch,” he spat at you.

Power, pure and cataclysmic, rushed through your veins.

Kill him, kill him, kill him.

You barely registered that the other’s were saying things, that someone tried to pull you out of the room again. No, not just someone. Richie.

“You tried to kill him.” The midnight voice that came from you wasn’t entirely your own. Everyone fell silent, the pulling stopped. “I will kill them all,” Bowers explained, a grin on his face. You shook your head slowly, feeling how you descended deeper and deeper into that well of power inside you. “Not if I kill you first,” you snarled and with a simple snap of your finger his neck cracked, the sound crisp and unmistakable.

As his body fell to the floor with a loud thud, the knife clattering to the ground, your power retreated, slowly nestling itself back into its well. You sunk to your knees, seeing how blood seeped from Bowers’ eyes, ears, and nostrils, slowly trickling to the floor.

“What…what just happened?” Ben stammered. “How did you do that?” Richie asked, voice eerily low. You looked at the friends, tears sliding down your cheeks. “I’m not entirely sure,” you admitted, your stomach leaden when you saw the confusion and dread in their eyes. “Richie,” you started but fell silent, unsure of what you should say.

Beverly was the one who snapped out of it first, her steps tentative as she came into the room, taking a closer look at Bowers’ lifeless body. She grimaced at the body before kneeling next to you. “How did you do that?” she asked softly, “Just try to explain it to us.”

And so you did.

Taglist:

@lilwickedred @shockwavee @itssmaugtheterrible @ggclarissa @chillcan @jojo-buttercup @victor-criss-bish @discodeakky @kaetastic @discodiscodeaky @cigarettesandtattoos @ma-ntequilla @tozierskaspb

[saladejin]

Solace (M) | 01

4-part Jimin x Reader | fantasy au, school au, magic user!Jimin | Fluff, angst (basically unresolved), smut with some plot 

Summary: Why not spice up your high school life with a teleporting boy of your very own? You find yourself not having a choice in the matter.

While he figures out how to fix his mistakes, strap yourself in for an adventure to remember…

Warnings: Kat’s early ass writing, nothing smutty in the first chapter (bear with me, it gets there lol). 

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 2.7k - first chapter

A/N: Okay, okay. As much as I wanted to edit the absolute shit out of this, and make it 10x better, I stopped myself. This was one of the first smut pieces I ever wrote, and it’s quite old, but I really wanted to have some of my older/first-time writing on the blog so that I could have something to look back on and - better yet - improve from! 

I want to look back on it and just think ‘wow, this is absolute trash’, but in a good way. Ya know?

I apologise in advance, yet at the same time I’m hoping some of you out there might find some enjoyment :) 

»»————- << masterlist | next >> ————-««

  If someone had asked you if you believed in magic a year ago, you would have answered ‘no’ without batting an eyelid. It was simply illogical and plain wrong on so many levels to think greater forces out there actually existed. 

Children’s storybooks, fairy-tales, and fictional novels were already out there appealing to the fantasy-ridden minds of the human race, to name a few. So nope, you would never allow yourself to foolishly believe in such silly myths.

Or so you thought. 

Reader’s POV - 2nd Person

“As you can see, this historical movement meant…”

You sighed. Over time, drowning out your teacher’s monotonous voice had become much too easy for your liking. You listened to the whispers and soft giggles of your classmates as they all mucked around and paid little to no attention to the lesson taking place.

The year is only halfway done. Should I consider transferring schools?

This place had taught you nothing for the five years you had been here. High school was something that was originally meant to be an ocean of opportunities waiting to be discovered, but now it seemed like a mere wasteland holding no promise for the future; well for your future anyway.

“Does anyone have any questions?” Your teacher droned, looking at everyone over the rim of his glasses as if daring someone to waste his precious time.

Yeah, what’s the point of being here?

You tapped your pencil absent-mindedly against the lined paper in front of you.

“(Y/n),” Your class friend whispered to you from the seat beside yours. You raised an eyebrow at her with a bored eye roll as she pursed her lips guiltily and glanced at your tapping pencil.

“Do you know what he’s been talking about for the last half hour?”

You almost laughed. “Does anyone?” came the scoff from your lips almost instantly. Your friend stifled her smile with one hand so she didn’t draw any unwanted attention to the two of you.

“You’re right, but I also want to pass this exam coming up. How are we meant to do well here?” She asked with a light growl edging her tone. You could only shrug in response, because the answer was also lost on you and had been for as long as you could remember.

“Tell you what, we should get everyone together and come up with a plan to get him fired,” Your eyes lit up, hands suddenly clasping together as the brilliant idea blurted from your mouth. Your friend looked like she was about to whoop for joy and agree with you, but an obnoxious voice cut her off rudely.

“Miss (Y/n), do you have something to share?” The teacher wore his stern expression, eyes flashing with irritation as he stared you down with menace. You felt the anger burning hotter and hotter the more you looked at his punchable face.

Oh, I’m about to tell you exactly what we were talking about you piece of shit.

You were about to stand up and lay it on him, but something interrupted your outburst. Your classmates shifted their attention from you to the strangely flickering lights on the ceiling. Everyone fell silent as the excitement from seeing their teacher get sassed died down, the atmosphere was eerie as the room suddenly became very chillingly cold.

“Who’s playing a prank? Show yourselves before you get punished even worse,” The teacher shouted into the stagnant air. Nobody answered to him or his threat.

“What’s going on? Is it that kid from the other class messing with us again?” Your friend clicked her tongue while gradually moving to cling onto your arm. You barely felt her touch due to the intense amount of goosebumps travelling along your exposed skin. Students begun to question things loudly and the nerves shook their voices as the weird power outages continued.

“It’s probably just the building’s power. Can we get help from the office?” One boy asked your scowling teacher after a few minutes.

“Yes, that’s probably a good idea,” The bald man shook his head and finally walked towards the closed door of the classroom to check for any tricksters.

Before the boy or anyone else could make a move to get help, the flickering stopped and the temperature seemed to return to normal. Everyone exchanged confused glances until the weirdest spectacle of all occurred right near the teacher’s desk.

A body appeared from literal thin air and landed heavily on the carpet below. There was a muffled groan from the figure and the room filled with gasps and shouts of alarm as the person sat up straighter. It was definitely male, seemingly Asian and probably the same age as you. You blinked your eyes rapidly as you tried to comprehend what had just happened.

“You! Were you playing this prank?” Your teacher screeched as he turned around. He hadn’t seen what had happened, but had heard everyone’s shock and responded immediately.

You watched in amazement as the randomly appearing boy lifted his head and furrowed his brows in confusion. When you looked closer, you could see his chocolate brown eyes gleaming with fear.

He knows just as much as we do…how did this happen?

You being the courageous person you were, got to your feet and stepped around the table tentatively. You didn’t want to approach him just yet because you didn’t know if he was dangerous. Your teacher continued to yell at the boy as you drank in his beautiful night-black hair and perfectly even complexion. You realised just how attractive this person was, but those thoughts had to be swept aside as you recognised the pure terror flooding his gaze.

“I don’t know what’s happening! Please help me, I don’t know where I am,” The boy finally spoke. Well, he spoke, but in flawlessly fluent Korean…

What the-

Your classmates threw even more concerned glances at one another while your teacher just stood still, fully stunned. They hadn’t understood a single word, but you had.

“(Y/n) sit back down, he could hurt you!” Your friend hissed, and you jumped when she grasped at the bottom of your school dress to bring you backwards. The movement caused the strange but beautiful boy to whip his head around in your direction. He was only wearing a casual white t-shirt and loose grey pants with no shoes, but everything looked a little dirtied. How exactly had he appeared here of all places? By what method?

“Hello,” You murmured shakily in his language and squatted down to seem less threatening. You had to muster up what scraps of Korean you knew, as you were known to be the language-centric person of your year level. It was one of your favourite things to do, learn languages, but you never thought it would come in handy for a situation such as this.

“Hello? Do you know Korean?” The boy breathed in a sudden gush of hope and relief. You could’ve sworn tears were pricking at the corners of his eyes, but you weren’t judging because he seemed so lost and scared. You stood up again as he hurriedly got to his feet, his hands trembling and gaze darting around the room from one student to the next.

“I’m calling the principal, we need to figure out what is going on!” Your teacher spluttered before racing from the room, a few pieces of paper from his desk fluttered to the ground as the air rushed past. A few students followed the teacher, and their gazes were terrified from the weird events. You tried to breathe deeply.

“H-how did this happen? I want to be home, argh why did I try that fucking spell?!” The boy cried angrily as he stumbled until his back hit the classroom wall. He buried his fingers painfully deep into his hair and keeled over. You raised your hands, not knowing what to do or how to act. You wanted to help him, but was that okay? Should you even be going near something so strange and unpredictable?

“(Y/n) do you know that language? Maybe you should say something else?” Your friend whimpered from behind you. She had gathered nearby with the other remaining students whose curiosity had gotten the best of them. You felt the overwhelming pressure envelop you whole as your eyes trailed from the group of familiar faces to the frustrated boy.

I have to help him. It’s not something evil, I can tell.

He looked so out of place here, you could see he didn’t have a single clue about what had happened. You carefully moved towards him while ignoring the loud warnings of your friends behind you. You had to know what was happening, and you had to make sure he was okay.

“Um, hello. Who are you?” You asked in Korean, standing in front of him but not too close. You could be as brave as you wanted, but you didn’t want to die just yet.

The boy looked up, his red-rimmed and puffy eyes were the only evidence left of his overpowering emotions. Now he just looked empty with disbelief and shaky with apprehension.

“I’m Park Jimin, just Jimin I guess,” He answered, voice broken and cracking. He seemed weary and emotionally exhausted after all the disorder. You felt seriously bad for him, but still didn’t know how to approach the situation. The only reason all of the responsibility dumped itself onto you was because of your particular skill with language.

“You? What’s your name?” He asked unexpectedly. You looked up from the ground with raised eyebrows, shocked to see that he had taken a few deep breaths to calm himself down. He even managed to smile for a solid second before his full lips pulled into a frown once more.

“Uh, (Y/n). I’m (Y/n), and this is my school,” You tried to explain with your musty skills. He seemed vaguely amused with you, but the humour was lost underneath his crushing anxiety and fear of the unknown. You caught the way he observed you as if he had just seen you for the first time. You could only hope your hair wasn’t too messy.

“This is (Y/c), but how did you get here?” You questioned while using one pointed finger to emphasise what you were asking. He started to explain something quickly, but you only managed to translate a few of the words in your head. He was growing agitated fast, and you regretted asking immediately.

“Hey, hey! Calm down Jimin,” You soothed to the best of your ability, reaching out to touch him but jerking your hands back when you thought about what you were doing. You took one step backwards and sighed, wishing this had never happened.

“Sorry,” He apologised softly.

Before you could protest, your teacher burst into the room with the principal hot on his heels. A few other members of the school’s authority followed, and you winced when you thought about how scary and intimidating the whole thing looked. You turned around just in time to see Jimin’s eyes flashing with more fear.

“It’s okay, they’re okay. They’re teachers, they’ll help you,” You comforted and actually brought one hand up to touch his shoulder. The contact was brief but it seemed to ease some of his worries. He flashed you such an immensely grateful look that your mind short-circuited suddenly. He was really, really handsome.

“Please come here,” Your principal commanded, and to your surprise Jimin looked like he understood to an extent. He pushed off the wall to obey, but looked back as if asking for you to come with him, to be his solace through this hell.

“Do you need someone to help translate and everything?” You piped up hopefully, but you completely expected to be met with the cold hardened stares of the teachers and principal.

“No, we’ll be fine,” The principal assured with a clipped tone, eyeing Jimin as if he were a dirty rag on the side of the street. You clenched your teeth in anger as the party of teachers left with the boy in tow. He saw your frustrated and guilty expression, but only flashed you an understanding smile before leaving the room.

He seems so kind-hearted, I wish he would be treated better. I hope he figures out his shit.

You felt upset, but didn’t know why since you had literally barely met the guy. In all honesty, you should still be scared of him just like everyone else was, but you just weren’t.

“Girl, are you okay? At least that weird person didn’t attack you,” Your friend shook her head in disbelief. The other students dispersed back to their seats and you only noticed then that the rest had returned when the teachers had arrived. Everyone was back and chatting about the strange happening animatedly.

“He wouldn’t. Didn’t you see him? He seemed so afraid, but he was kind,” You argued. You felt angry that nobody seemed to be feeling sorry for Jimin. He was the one that deserved to be scared, not any of you or the teachers.

“I don’t know how you got all that from the small conversation you had, but I guess whatever you say,” Your friend shrugged.

As things seemed to return to normal, you couldn’t push your concerns for the boy out of your mind. Was he okay? What if those cold-hearted teachers shipped him away somewhere just because he couldn’t properly explain how he’d appeared? He could quite easily be sent to the police, or eventually a random orphanage.

“Are you still thinking about him? I’ll admit he was pretty handsome, but that was way too weird! I mean didn’t he just randomly appear in this room?” Your friend grunted, her tone raising as she tried to convince you to think of something else.

“I don’t know!” You widened your eyes, feeling slightly irritated that you couldn’t know absolutely everything, yet you were still expected to. Maybe coming from a family of lawyers did that to you.

Everyone fell silent again and you jerked your head towards the door impatiently. The teachers filtered back in with Jimin, but you blinked firmly when you saw that the boy was dressed in the uniform of your school. His hair was a little neater than when he had appeared, and his eyes were now crinkling along with the striking smile he wore.

“Everyone, please welcome Jimin Park to your class. I’m sure you will all treat this new transfer student with care,” The principal eyed everyone pointedly, just as she usually did, but you sat further backwards in your chair in bewilderment.

“Why-”

“I’m glad to meet you…all. I am (Y/n)’s family friend,” Jimin cut you off and spoke with a broken accent, which in all honesty you and many others found to be adorable.

Wait, my family friend?

You widened your eyes and brought your brows together in sheer confusion. Did you just hear that right? You were about to open your mouth to question him when he flashed you a knowing look. It was a warning, a warning to keep your mouth shut.

“I’m…not good at English. I will try my best, thank you,” He finished and instinctively tried to bow, soon straightening as he remembered he wasn’t in Korea anymore.

“Oh, so this is the dad’s friend’s son you always talk about. Wow, he’s handsome!” Your friend whispered to you with a tiny giggle. You looked at her in shock, mouth hanging slightly open as you tried to grasp what was happening.

The principal left as Jimin moved forward to take the empty seat right next to you. You threw him a glare that demanded an explanation, but you knew it would need to wait for later because your asshole of a teacher was about to start class again.

“Sorry, when we get home I will talk,” Jimin muttered in Korean, leaning towards you so that no-one would overhear. Not that it would matter since you were the only one who could possibly understand him anyway.

“Um, ‘we’? I don’t remember my home being yours too,” You choked out, not even caring if he understood or not.

To sum it up, a random boy had landed in your classroom, caused the whole class and its teacher to freak out, and had then proceeded to alter everyone’s memories somehow.

You were in for one hell of a ride.

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