#mitch just sweating bullets

[deltamusings]

Is it just me or did it look like Mitch was sweating bullets while he was up there lying to protect Pelosi?  First, it’s not a mistake to release footage that could keep people out of prison.  Why is it so important that certain members of Congress destroy so many lives?  Rather anti-American that.  Second, the Capitol Police Chief took the job almost a year later.  He wasn’t there so his opinion doesn’t matter.  Kentucky, it’s time to throw this turtle back.  Team Tucker

[department-shoe-stud]

Mitch and Erik’s First Tutor Session

Well, unofficially.

As the class filed out, the Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher's Assistant raised his voice to call over the din. "Mr. Hodge -- would you stay after for just a moment. I'd like a word." His voice wasn't stern exactly, but it was predictably blunt.

Mitch paused in his steps, tension in every muscle as he turned to face Mr. Apollo, eyes going wide behind his glasses as he nodded. Watching his classmates leave, Mitch’s thoughts spiraled, thinking back on any possible missteps he could have made.

Erik settled himself on top of the desk at the head of the classroom and patiently waited for the rest of the class to file out and for the door to close behind the last student. Once everyone else was fully gone, he lightly crossed his arms over his chest and addressed Mitch. "Mr. Hodge," he said levelly, "I would like to see you attempt the Disarming Charm on that dummy, please." He nodded to the black training dummy he'd placed in the center of the room.

Mitch’s eyes darted to the dummy, and back at his teacher. His hands gripped the sleeves of his school robe nervously, the sleeves spooling past them. He blinked in confusion. “P-Pardon, Mr. Apollo?”

Erik inclined his head slightly. "I would like to see your wandwork up close, one-on-one," he explained, his voice remaining very level. He again nodded to the dummy. "When you're ready."

Ready. As easy as that. Mitch looked at the dummy again, and shuffled forward. He grabbed the wand from his pocket — It still felt too big, too long, too clunky — and looked between the wand and the dummy. He could feel Erik’s eyes on him as he stood there. Just stood there, staring and not saying a single word. Oh God. “Um, I think... I think I forgot the spell, s-sir.”

Erik could see Mitch's nerves. As he suspected -- there were insecurities there, getting in the way. His eyes softening ever-so-slightly, just enough that his face became much more casual, he sidled up onto his feet and over to Mitch. "Put the spell out of your mind, for the moment." He took out his own wand, holding it out in front of him just as Mitch was holding his. "Focus on your wand and your grip. I know it seems too big for your hand, too temperamental and wild -- like some crazy wild horse you're afraid to let go of, for fear it'll trample you. But your wand isn't where the magic comes from -- it's merely a conduit for it. The power comes from inside of you, not the wand. Think of it like a lightning rod, helping you focus your power and control it. You don't need to hold it in a vice grip -- you don't need to control it -- instead, see it merely as a tool. Picture the way you hold your pencil in your mind. Your wand is like a pencil. It's a tool -- the only difference is that it helps you express yourself through magic, rather than through the written word." As he speaks, Erik's focus is largely on the dummy in front of him and Mitch: he could sense that Mitch was growing uncomfortable, with how much he was looking at him and thought it might work better to merely show the proper posture by example, holding his own wand out the proper way, rather than staring at Mitch or physically adjusting the Hufflepuff's grip himself.

Mitch took in his instructor’s words carefully, feeing embarrassment come through him. He wanted to do better, he really did, and it was... nice, that Erik seemed to understand, but it didn’t stop him from feeling foolish. He shook his head and looked at Erik’s posture, slowly moving to match. When they did, he took a deep breath and looked back at Erik, nodding to show he was ready to continue.

Erik gave Mitch a curt nod of approval in return, his edges of his mouth touched by the faintest hint of a smirk. “Now then,” he said, keeping his focus on the dummy, “we’ll practice the wand movement next. To cast the Disarming Charm, you’ll move your wrist to the right and then down — kind of like an upside down backwards ‘L,’ see?” He demonstrated the wand movement slowly several times as he spoke. “Get the movement in your wrist, nice and easy.”

Mitch gave a nod back, setting his jaw, tamping down his nerves. He trusted that his teacher knew what he was doing, with the spell and with his help. Mitch watched the movement and repeated, slowly flicking his wrist a few times before taking the wand in it. “Mr. Apollo? Just out of curiosity... How badly can this spell go wrong?”

The question made Erik laugh. His laugh was a low cackle in the back of his throat — one that could’ve sounded evil, were it not for how sincerely amused and honest it was. He looked down at the Hufflepuff with a rather mischievous gleam in his eye. “Worst case scenario for you? You lose your balance and fall over. Best case scenario? You both disarm your opponent and knock them clean off their feet, making them look like an idiot for underestimating you.” The teacher’s assistant looked quite a bit younger, with that look in his eye. His lips spread into a brighter smirk. “Are you up to try the spell with the incantation? I’ll make sure you don’t fall over.”

Mitch let out a small, nervous laugh, little more than a huff of breath. He looked at the dummy and nodded. “If I do fall over, sir,” He said, gripping his wand the smallest bit tighter, “Promise you won’t laugh?” Feeling more confident in his posture and hand movement, he looked up at his teacher once more for support. “Please?”

Erik’s smirk loosened slightly and his ice blue eyes became a little smaller. “I give you my word,” he said, before adding with a broader smirk, “And whether I’m swearing an oath or swearing like a sailor, I mean what I say. Now then...the incantation is ‘Expelliarmus.’ Take your time and remember to enunciate the consonants. Ex. Pell. Lee. Air. Moose.”

Mitch nodded once more, repeating the syllables under his breath a few times before taking one last deep breath. He inhaled, stood at posture and stared the dummy down. “Expelliarmus!” While not the most powerful of spells, the dummy wobbled back a few inches, enough to show the spell had succeeded. “FUCK YEAH!” Mitch shouted in triumph, only realizing after the fact that he had shouted right in his teacher’s ear. “Oops. Sorry.”

The volume had startled Erik, but not long after Mitch had apologized, the TA burst out laughing. His loud, low cackle filled the room as he flicked his own wrist, silently moving the dummy back into its starting position with his wand, and then turned back to Mitch with a more devilish smirk. "So you DO have some fire in there," he said. "Thank God -- it's a pain in the ass, trying to drag students by their ears to their fullest potential."

Mitch quickly recovered from his apologies and headed straight into pouting. “I want to be good at magic, I do! I’m just not used to it like you are! It’s all so, so... weird! I’m used to everything being one way and then suddenly, guess what! Magic is real and you have it! Here’s a stick that helps you make things float but also set things on fire but also turn cats into cauldrons and also kill people. Have fun!” He scuffed at the floor, shoving his wand back into his pocket and sighing. “I want to be good but it’s... scary. Does it... Does it ever stop being... a lot?” He twisted his hands in his robe sleeves again. “I mean, it’s got to get easier, practice and all that but... I’m just... scared that I’ll hurt somebody.” He blinked and screwed up his face. “I’m also scared of the tree that hits you in the front lawn. Seems like a safety hazard.”

Erik's smirk slid slowly off his face, making him look a bit more serious. "You're Muggle-born too, then?" he said softly. He turned, strolling over to the desk at the head of the classroom again. He sat back down on top of the desk, patting the wood next to him as if offering Mitch a seat on it too. "It is very overwhelming, you're right," he said patiently. "Having so much thrown at you, all at once -- having your whole world up-ended, and everything you thought you knew disrupted -- making you feel like you're constantly falling behind...like...it's you, against the whole world." There was something almost haunted in Erik's eyes as he looked at Mitch. The memory of him as a boy Mitch's age standing in front of Dolores Umbridge and the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, cowering under the dark, draining, despair-inducing shadow of the dementors rippled over his mind. "...It will take a while to get your bearings," said Erik, his voice a bit lower in his throat with muted sympathy, "and it will take longer to find yourself and a place that can be all yours in this new World you've been enveloped in. The good news is...along with all of the scary stuff that you don't understand yet, there is also a lot of amazing stuff. And even if everything at once can seem overwhelming...if you take it a bit at a time, patiently making notches in your belt for everything you've learned -- you can look at each thing with awe, not just fear. And if you don't lose sight of that good thought you've got -- that desire not to hurt people -- then you'll be able to work hard to understand that magic as much as you can so that you never do." His mouth then twisted into another smirk. "As for the Whomping Willow, I don't blame you for that. That plant is fucking nuts."

Mitch laughed, nodding. “It’s insane.” He looked at Erik. His advice was sound and it was... nice, knowing that he wasn’t alone in this. That it got better. But he knew a far off look when he saw it, and he hoped that whatever Erik saw, it wasn’t something he had to deal with. He really did hope to be as used to the Wizarding World as everyone else one day, but Erik was just... so much cooler than Mitch, could do SO much cooler shit than him. Whatever haunted Erik’s memories would no doubt make Mitch piss himself. Mitch nodded once more and smiled. “Thank you Mr. Apollo. Do you... um, I heard Jordi, uh, Prewett was taking tutoring with you. Is that... Do I have to sign up for that, is that a special thing for him, should I just leave now and save you the trouble, or...?”

Erik's smirk broadened, revealing white teeth. " 'Save me the trouble?' Mr. Hodge, I *love* trouble -- and I reckon a nipper like you is *exactly* my kind of trouble. I could use more students with both drive and a good sense of humor." He adjusted his crossed arms over his chest. "I 'tutor' on a person-by-person basis, based on when both of our schedules are open. Week-days only -- even assholes like me deserve a good night's sleep once in a while. You may either bring something Defense-related that you would like to practice to me, or I will pick something myself." His ice-blue eyes twinkled mischievously again. "I'll warn you -- I'll expect you to give me 120%, both in class sessions and especially when we work one on one. If you're willing to put in the work, then I will do whatever I have to to make sure you succeed. But you'll need to be ready to kick some ass, got it?"

Mitch nods back, grinning. “Kicking ass is my middle name. That’s what the C really stands for.” Distantly, a bell rang in the hall, and Mitch felt himself blanche. “Potions. Shit.” He scrambled to shove his books away and nodded at the still smirking TA. “Week-days, bring material, 120%, got it.” With his bag haphazardly packed away, he sprinted towards the classroom’s door, only to stop at the threshold and turn back towards Erik. He raised his hand to his forehead and saluted him. “I’ll come back with my A Game, Mr. Apollo, or my name isn’t Mitch ‘Cicking Ass’ Hodge!” He swung the door open and sprinted down the hallway, muttering cusses at himself the entire way down to the dungeons.

Erik cackled as the Hufflepuff dashed out of the room. He liked this kid. It was going to be a lot of fun, training him.

~~~

Thank you so much @carewyncromwell for the rp session to help flesh Mitch and Erik’s dynamic out! It was so much fun having the Sour Patch and the Anxiety Boi interact and I hope we can do it again sometime!

I hope everybody else enjoys this exchange too! I really need to upload more original content for Mitch, my poor son :’(((

[watermelonsugacry]

harry being asked in an interview who is the better guitar player? mitch or yn??

w-why would you put him in this position?

you know this is the type of question h*werd s*ern would ask him. The 2nd time he's on.

They would just have finished talking about Mitch and Sarah’s relationship too.

"Speaking of which, we all know that you, Mr. Styles, the ladies man, are actually dating your old band mate YN YLN. Isn't that right?"

"You are not wrong." Harry chuckles, already sweating bullets from the bright stage lights in the studio and for bringing up his love. The couple tries their hardest to keep their private life private so after their relationship was exposed two years ago, its inevitable that either person would come up during their interviews.

H*ward probably makes some inappropriate comments about her, say that's she hot and stunning and asking who wouldn't want to date her and all that.

"Alright, alright, that's my fi--girlfriend. Come on, now." Harry lifts his hand towards the host with a small smile, trying his best to hold himself back from saying anything further. YN understands more than anybody that Harry's version of defending her is more than enough when it comes to this show, knowing he can't really break out from this image him and publicity team have built and tried to maintain. He hasn't really found the need to speak out and defend her often because other interviewers weren't as crude as this one.

"And as we all know, YN is actually a really good guitarist for a woman. You just don't see a lot of talented musicians like her, playing her guitar like that."

"She's pretty great, yeah." A smile grows itself on Harry's face.

"Ok so here's a question for you. Who's the better guitar player? Mitch or YN?"

"Erm," Harry lets out a nervous laugh, wrapping his arms around himself as he looks up. He just wishes this interview would be over already. "Don't wanna answer that." And everyone in the room, including Mitch just laughs.

"What's the worst that can happen? Your girlfriend breaks up with you or you lose your lead guitarist?"

"Y'know, both are just crazy, wicked talented musicians. I'm just in awe at what they do with their instruments, it's certainly something that I can never amount to. So both are just superior guitarists."

...it's YN. Obviously.

[writingsbychlo]

better half | mitch rapp

word count; 5480

summary; you get sick, so mitch takes care of you. but, you’re a little stubborn.

notes; well, its mitch week and im sick. what did you expect?

warnings; none.

“I’m not ill.” You muttered, stirring at the tea in your mug gently, and Mitch only snorted in response, your eyes narrowing on him as you turned to look at him. “I’m not.”

“Sure, sure.” He nodded, leaning back against the counter, raising his one mug to his lips as you tapped the spoon against the edge, before placing it down on the counter. You hummed, the sound cracking a little as you did, and he smirked into his cup, you could tell by the crinkle at the sides of his eyes. “So, you’re drinking what exactly?”

“Uh, tea.” You smiled falsely, picking up your mug possessively and snatching it closer to yourself when he leaned over to take a look inside, and you shot him a false glare. “With lemon. And a little honey. And no tea.”

“So, you’re having hot honey and lemon?” He grinned, eyebrows raising once again as he teased you, and you scoffed, sitting down at the counter. Sniffling as quietly as you could, Mitch nudged the tissues over to you from the end of the counter, and you ignored the gesture, because ignoring it made you hope your threatening sickness would go away. “You know, nobody would blame you if you just took a day off. Or a few. You work hard.”

“Oh, and let you keep working, so you get an edge on me?” Taking a sip of your drink, you winced, the hot water already hard for you to swallow as the back of your throat had begun to swell up, even without the added heat you were hoping would soothe it. “I don’t think so, Rapp. I want to hold my reputation here.”

“I think you’ll be able to cling onto it, anyway. Besides, isn’t it our reputation? We’re supposed to be a team.” He pouted falsely, legs carrying him across the took, sitting next to you on the stool at the counter, and you huffed. Everything had already seemed exhausting today, simply getting up and getting yourself ready had been a chore. Leaning over, you rested your cheek against his shoulder, sighing as the muscles flexed a little under your face, face slipping to rest closer on his chest as his arm wrapped around your shoulder.

Your cheeks warmed a little, the smell of cologne leaking off of him, but it wasn’t fresh. No, this was a subtle smell, the special aftershave that he reserved only for days when he knew he wasn’t going to sweat it all straight off on a day of training, but it tended to linger for days. You allowed yourself a few more minutes, his fingers smoothing up and down your arm softly, a comforting act that you wanted to sink right into, and let yourself remain in all day, all week, or for however long he would have you.

“I seriously think you should go back to bed.”

“I seriously think I should go for my run.” You scoffed, the moment cracking as you refused to let the tickle in the back of your throat become anything more than that. You were an assassin, you were a badass, you didn’t get sick. A slight chill wasn’t going to bring you down, if a bullet didn’t, then the flu wouldn’t either.

“You’re going to go for a run? Is that about proving that you’re not sick?” You stuck your tongue out at him, the stretch of the muscle pulling on your sore throat, and as you pushed yourself up from the counter, taking a final large chug of your herbal remedy. Standing up and letting the ache in your knees fade away, you stretched them out a little, a few subtle movements on the spot as you tried to break action back into stuff muscles.

“No, I’m going for a run to stay in shape.” Lifting your arms up and over your head, your neck rolled from side to side, a series of loud clicks sounding out, and your jaw dropped a little at the unexpected noise. His brows rose, and you shook your head at him. “It doesn’t mean anything. I probably just slept funny.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Uh-huh.” You mocked him, rolling your shoulders and he simply watched you, twisting a little more in his seat. The first of the recruits were filing in, eyes still lidded with sleep as two began to clatter with pots and pans, the dull throbbing headache you’d woken with not feeling comforted by the sounds, and you huffed. “You and me. Sparring, later. It’s been weeks, and you’re probably getting rusty.”

“I’m getting rusty at sparring like you’re getting sick.”

“I don’t like you very much.” Your eyes narrowed on him, stepping backwards in two large reverse lunges, stretching out the muscles of your thighs as you did, and Mitch hid his chuckle in his coffee.

“Tight yoga pants. Nice.” The voice wasn’t Mitch’s, and it certainly wasn’t Stan’s, and he would never make a comment like that either. Standing up straight, fast as a bolt of lightning, your head whipped around. The ache seemed to be gone, the flaming heat of embarrassment coating your cheeks once again. You gaped, staring between the recruits who’s eyes were now wide, gripping his cup, halfway to his mouth, and he seemed frozen. “I, uh-”

“‘I- uh-’ shut up. You just earned yourself extra laps.” You scoffed, and the recruit only nodded, waling away in fast steps as the one cooking eggs at the stove snickered at his friend’s embarrassment. Turning back to Mitch, your brows still risen high and your lips parted, Mitch only shrugged, but there was a frown sitting on his face now.

“He’s not wrong.” His eyes scanned down you, frown becoming a teasing smirk once again, and you grabbed your phone from the counter, tucking it securely into the pocket on your hip once you’d untangled the wires of your headphones. “Nice.”

“You’re a pig, and I hate you. I’m leaving.”

“Enjoy your run.” He waved, standing up himself, long enough to dispose of the rest of his coffee in the sink and place his mug there, clearing yours away. The sight was the last you caught of him and the two earliest recruits, before turning your back. The sun had already come up, an early rising morning but the air was still holding a chill. It was enough to make you shover once the door was open, but soon enough, once your feet started pounding the dirt and you started to sweat, it’d be perfectly temperate.

Recruits were milling around the place, already, beginning to wake up into their mornings and get ready for a day of training. You remembered being one of them, setting your alarm for half an hour before the sun ever rose just so you’d be able to get a little privacy at the showers. You and one other had been the only women in your group when you’d arrived, and she’d dropped out only a few weeks in, unable to take the pressure.

It was the same time you’d met Mitch. One year later, arguing before the sun ever came up over the horizon as he arrived halfway through the recruitment group year, over who was going to get to shower first.

You didn’t miss the queues you were seeing now, steam rising up from inside of the building as the men and women huddled outside, towels over their arms and wash-bags in their hands.

The farm had always been beautiful in the mornings, there were times on your days off that you’d gotten up early enough just to sit on the porch and watch the sunrise, coming over the tops of tall trees and spilling golden light over the countryside. Despite everything that happened here, and everything that it made people into, it was still beautiful. There was something unnerving about the contrast, seeing the beauty a place could hold but the horrors it had seen.

The rooms were marred, the pathways were scared, and hidden behind every beauty was a tragic tale, that all brought forth the serene obliviousness of the rest of the world.

The trail you were following faded away into the woods, and once you knew that you’d finally cleared the sights of everyone else, that you were alone for one of the fleeting moments you were ever able to grasp. The trees were shadowing overhead, a degree lower than the open air of the rising sun, and your brisk walk came to a steady stop. The rapid and beating drum of your running playlist was beating away in your eardrums, a lower volume than usual as not to aggravate your headache, which only seemed to be getting worse instead of going away.

Now, you took time to really stretch. Every muscle was aching and sore, the same way you felt when you had worked a long day in the ring with recruits trying to teach them the unpredictability of sparring, or how you felt on the plane after returning from an assignment which had given you a real beating. The only issue was, when you felt like this, you usually ended up with a friend. Slumped out on the couch with Mitch, who felt equally as crappy, and you had a buddy to sulk with.

Now, you simply felt like you were falling behind, like you were going to be left in the dust. Everything you had worked so hard to prove about being here, about demanding respect from the same male recruits who felt it appropriate to make comments about your yoga pants or your sport bras or the way you threw a punch was going to be undone. You hated the feeling of falling behind, and getting sick just wasn’t an option.

Your hands were on your hips, and you were stretching weakly, legs flexing up behind your back as you stared at the trail ahead. Four miles, all around, through the bumpy and uneven countryside, marked with the fences and bands painted to guide you. Your usual route, and yet suddenly it was feeling overly daunting.

Chasing the thoughts away, you set off, starting the journey with a slow jog as you forced yourself to pick up the pace, building up to a speedy run as you broke into your exercise for the day. Your heart was pounding, deep breaths that filled your lungs to the maximum with the clean country air, and you were already feeling better as you left the farm further and further behind. The way you felt was exhilarating, a thrill you were constantly chasing, bursting through you and lighting up every nerve.

You felt so much better, and so you picked up the speed. Less than a mile in and you were already beginning to fill like yourself. There was a stinging in the back of your throat that came from the deep and panting breaths of a good run, and there was an ache in your body as you pounded away, treading uneven ground as you trained. There was a layer of sweat on your skin as you worked, breaking yourself into the day, and leaving behind whatever funk you had somehow managed to wake up in.

Every step felt liberating, and every breath felt refreshing. The shock of cold air in your lungs was like dropping straight into a bucket of ice water, enough to wake anyway up and shake them out of a sleepy haze.

Soon, the one-mile marker was on the horizon, every step taking you closer and closer, the trees melting into a green blur as you went, getting closer and closer to the tall marker that signified your progress so far. You were so close, everything in your sights was set on it, a point to prove to yourself, as well as everyone else, and then, everything as a new kind of blur.

Your leg cramped, the exertion obviously too much, and the sudden gasp you took in as the pain shot all the way up to your hip and all the way down to your ankle wasn’t refreshing at all, it was painful, like sandpaper on your throat. As you tumbled, your arm got caught beneath you, another painful and loud popping coming from your shoulder as it was pressed during your roll, much like the unhealthy sounds that your stiff neck had made that morning.

It wasn’t until you were laying in the dirt, slightly off the rack in the leaves and the twigs and the bugs that you realised what had happened, staring up at the green shades in the canopy as you processed the incident. Everything hurt, there was a stick digging into your lower back, and your head was still spinning. The throbbing behind your eyes had only gotten worse, specks of sunlight flittering between the leaves were now irritating to your eyes and so you screwed them shut, letting go the breath you’d held onto as a groan.

Maybe the soreness in your throat was from swelling, because as you pressed at it now, there was tenderness around your tonsils and under your jaw that made you wince as you pressed at it.

And, okay, maybe the ache in your body and the heavy panting was the exertion of your body trying to heal itself back up, when you’d clearly ended up run-down in some way. It was probably the stupid recruits all sharing a cold and passing it onto you. Or, maybe, it had been falling into a fountain during a firefight in Verona two weeks ago. It was really an unknown.

So, that meant that the sweat you felt wasn’t from your run at all, but instead, it was sticky and uncomfortable and clammy, and now it was making the dry and flaky mud of the forest floor stick to you as lay a mile out from the farm, utterly exhausted, filled with pain and barely able to stand back up, twigs and leaves digging into your lower back.

Alright, so, you were sick. Fuck.

It was a while before you gained the motivation to move again. Laying there, on the forest floor, openly considering the consequences o just becoming a part of the woodland scenery, before the aching you had subsided enough to allow you to find your feet once again. The jerk of your fall and the effort you’d put into the run had come to form big regrets. The sun was higher in the sky now, you weren’t sure how long had passed but it felt like an eternity, and you still had a mile to trek back just to get to the farmhouse.

Your feet were dragging against the floor, the adrenaline completely drained away, now simply leaving you to feel not only the exertion of the run and the fall, but also the general aches and pains that came with being sick. Several recruits passed you by on your way, your cheeks warming further each time at the assortment of odd looks, smirks, or both that you received as they took in your defeated state, and your slow walk along the edge of the trail in the wrong direction.

When the clearing in the trees became apparent and the open fields of the farm were back within your vision, which seemed like it was starting to grow blurry, you could already hear the ruckus of the day. Gunshots made you flinch as your head throbbed, target practice taking place off the edge of the tree on the other side, and you were more than glad you weren’t assigned to that detail today.

Your legs were barely able to hold you as you dragged yourself up the three steps of the porch, supporting all of your body weight on the bannister as you climbed. By the time you had the door open, the couch was looking more and more appealing, and your eyes focused right on it. You didn’t even bother to kick off your shoes, dropping straight down onto the couch, yet another groan leaving you as you took the weight off of your stressed joints and pained muscles.

“Oh, pumpkin,” You jumped, the deep and raspy voice you hadn't expected to hear was close, booted footsteps on the creaky hardwood floors, and you rolled your head to the side. Fluffy brown hair that was almost black in this lighting, and bright eyes, a smirk on his face, quickly falling away when he took a moment to scan his eyes over you. “Jeez, what happened?”

“I fell.” You pouted sadly, and he mocked the expression, leaning over for a second to pick a twig out of your hair and drop it to the floor, and you sighed as you watched it go, staring at the piece of wood laying on the floor. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, you’re sick, so I sent my group to go and do a run. Twice. Then find Stan.” Sitting up a little further against the cushions instead of being slumped, Mitch handed you a warm mug, steam still curling out of the top. Floating on the top of the clear water was a slice of lemon, and your lips curled up at the sides.

“So, you were just waiting for me to come back? If you say I told you so, I’ll kick you.”

“I told you so.” He grinned, jumping backwards out of the way as you reared your leg up at his ankles, stubborn despite the pain you had, and he chuckled at the scoff you gave off. Blowing at the steam on the top of the mug, he took a seat on the arm of the couch, nimble fingers raising up to tuck loose threads of hair behind your ear. “Besides, we’re a team, and if you’re not feeling so good, I gotta’ take care of you. That’s the deal, remember?”

“That’s the deal when I get stabbed, or something. It’s just a cold, I can take of myself.” You sipped at the edge of the mug, hot liquid almost burning as it went down, but the honey within soothed your throat, even if it was a little too sweet.

“Yeah, well, I like taking care of you. In all forms.” Your cheeks warmed again, and you blamed it on the steam still billowing up into your face, letting the mug linger on your lips a second longer than necessary as you tried to think of a response. The silence filled in, and he took the initiative, continuing to speak anyway as he broke the building tension. “I do prefer it when you don’t get stabbed, though.”

“Yeah. I prefer that too.”

He snorted, letting you take another sip of your drink, before he was standing up once again. As soon as it was lowered from your lips, he plucked it from you, placing it down on the side and ignoring your protests, offering two large hands out to you instead. “C’mon, let's get you cleaned up. Stan will have your head if you get dirt on his new cushions.”

Slipping your hands into his, you knew he was right, and you let him pull you to your feet, taking a lot of your weight from you as his arm slipped around your waist once you were steady. You considered fighting it, you considered being stubborn again, but there was no judgment with Mitch. You didn’t have to prove you were good enough or hold up a reputation, he appreciate you for everything you had, and that was what made you such good partners.

So, you sank into it, resting against his side and folding against him, taking slow steps in tow with his own, eyes fluttering a little in exhaustion, and he guided you along. It wasn’t a route you didn’t know, you could do this walk blindfolded, but you were more concerned about tripping again. Your ankle and arm were still sore, you were pretty sure something - or multiple somethings - were bleeding, and you just wanted to get back into bed. Your nose was getting more and more blocked, sniffling becoming the norm as you struggled to breathe that way, and the tickle in your throat was becoming more like a nagging pain.

He reached above the door, the location of your key during the day, knowing you all too well, and unlocking it. The perks of not being a recruit and sticking around the farm meant a private cabin and a private bath, no more queueing up rain or shine just to wash off.

Navigating you straight through to the bathroom, he sat you down atop the counter, quick hands tight against your hips to lift you, and with your mind not quite working at its usual capacity, you couldn't stop the gasp you let out as he did. One you would usually be able to hide. It only made him smirk as he turned away.

Twisting on the taps at the bath, you watched him plug the tub, before turning to rifle through the medicine cabinet over your sink. “You know, it’s rude to go through a ladies private things.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t really think there’s anything in here you’ve got hidden from me.” He pulled back with your eyebrow pencil, his brows shooting up a little as he stared at it, and then at you. “Except maybe this. I thought your eyebrows just, y’know, did that.”

“I tint them now.” You teased, and he nodded, face still the portrayal of curiosity, before putting the pencil back inside. The tinkling and crinkling of various bottles and packets continued, before he found what he was looking for, a victorious cheer under his breath, and he pulled back with it. Steam was beginning to curl up into the room, fling the air with moisture, and the wet heat was already starting to make it easier to breathe.

As though he had read your mind, Mitch sealed shut the bathroom door, making sure the steam was locked inside, making your bathroom into a makeshift sauna, before uncapping the bottle he had located. Sprinkling a few droplets into the bathwater that was building, the somewhat minty smell of olbas oil began to drift around the room.

“I forgot I had that,” You let your head fall back, eyes sliding closed, and you finally had a chance to take in a deep breath, lungs expanding more than they had all day as the varied essential oil blend began to soak into the air. Your airways were already feeling clearer, and the warmth was helping to soothe your muscles and joints, enough so that you were able to use your toes to kick off your shoes, flexing your toes and wiggling them inside of your socks. “I could just sit here all day, this is so nice.”

You had lost your filter entirely, every thought you had was threatening to spill from your mouth, and you had to clamp your lips shut to resist that urge. “That would be nice, but we still need to get you cleaned up.” Mitch chuckled at the groan that you let out, and you raised your head just enough to watch him switch on the cold tap, cooling the bathtub down as it was almost filled, with nothing but boiling hot water. “How’s your head?”

“Pounding. Feels like my eyes are gonna’ pop out.” He winced at the somewhat graphic description, before turning back to the cabinet, and producing a box you did remember owning. You popped out two of the tablets, taking them with a sip of water from the cup beside your sink, and hoping they’d kick in soon.

Your eyes had fluttered shut once again, the squeaking of your taps as they were shut off and the silence that replace the sound of running water was only a momentary break. A burst of sweet-smelling bath bubbles that you recognised, and the swishing of Mitch’s hand within the water to mix it. When you peeled your eyes open again, it was with a snap, Mitch’s hands sitting on your waist, one normal and one a lot warmer, damp from the water, inching your shirt up a little until his fingertips were brushing bare skin.

“What are you doing?” your voice was a cracked whisper, and you were too shy to care, your heart beating erratically inside your chest as his thighs pressed to your knees.

“Helping you.” His tone was equally as soft, but a lot sweeter and more assured, inching your top up a little higher for you. Raising your arms, you let him peel the material away, throwing it to the hamper in the corner, and your skin rose with goosebumps under his gaze. One hand skimmed down to your ankle, lifting your leg so that he could peel off the sock on your foot, repeating the action on the other side, and you swallowed thickly, hoping he couldn't sense your nervousness. “Relax, sweetheart. You’re all stiff.”

Busted.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. I mean, we’re partners, and we’ve been on a lot of undercover assignments together. In fact, I’ve seen a lot more than this, before.” He smirked to end his sentence, lifting your arms to sit on his shoulders as his hands went back to your waist.

You never registered him lifting you from the counter, your mind was too busy spinning wildly, thinking back through every case you’d ever worked together. As his fingers hooked into the edge of your yoga pants, tugging them down and away from your underwear carefully, your hands followed his shoulders, balancing yourself down until he was peeling them from your ankles, and standing back to his full height.

It clicked, you knew exactly what he meant, and splotches of heat began to blossom all over your face and chest, every inch of skin that was exposed. The coloured lights of the strip club, the eight-inch heels that had clicked your feet and left you with blisters for weeks, the smell of tobacco and weed and the overly scented cologne Mitch had worn. The taste of sticky cheap lipstick and body glitter-

“You said you didn’t see anything that night!”

“Well, I lied!” His outburst was just as abrupt as your own, pink forming on his pale cheeks to match your own flushed feeling, but he was much better at dealing with it. “I saw, like, a lot. Pretty much everything. But, I don’t want you to feel embarrassed around me.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a little bit late for that now.” You turned your back on him, but let him offer his hand, stepping over the edge of the tub and into the water, sinking down until you were seated with your back against the edge of the tub, eyes sinking shut once again. You heard him move, taking a seat beside the edge of the bathtub, but not before he had grabbed the cup from beside the sink.

Filling it up with water as his hand dunked in beside your leg, he mumbled a warning, your eyes closing, and a second later, he was tipping warm water over your head, soaking your hair and washing away the dirt that had been beginning to grow itchy on your skin.

You let yourself be encompassed by the quiet, not having the strength or the will to break the moment just yet. Selfishly, you wanted to milk it. You anted this attention, you wanted this intimacy, and you anted it all with him, so you were allowing yourself these few moments, as his fingers worked through your hair, humming a sing under his breath and rinsing out the shampoo and conditioner, to relish in how it felt to be doted on by Mitch Rapp.

He helped you to clean your hair, and handed you a sponge full of body wash to clean yourself down with slowly, simply brushing back your hair from your face and sitting beside you, until the water was growing cold and you were no longer comfortable. With a reach of your arms, he helped you from the tub, and he helped to dry you down. Averting his eyes but not without making a joke, so that you could wrap the towel around yourself.

Through the closed bathroom door, heat and steam escaping as the water drained, letting cold sink in to fill the absence of warmth, he handed you a fresh set of fluffy pyjamas. When you were dressed in the cosy items, hair combed and dried, and skin cared for, he was sitting on your bed, jumping up to his feet when you emerged.

His shoes were toed off, you noticed them now sitting beside the bedroom door, and he had pulled the curtains closed, A fresh glass of water from the kitchen was on your bedside table, and he had already folded the sheets back to expose the mattress that was practically screaming your name.

“Y’know, I figured you’d have left by now.”

“Where am I gonna’ go, huh? I got nowhere more important to be than right here.” His voice was sweet and words sweeter, and the question you’d been dying to ask but had resisted for fear of breaking the moment just couldn't be held back any longer.

“Why are you taking such good care of me, Mitch? It’s just a cold.”

He smiled, the kind of rare smile he only ever wore when it was the two of you, alone, and even then, it was saved for special occasions. You didn’t know that this qualified as one. Stepping closer, he brushed the hair from your face, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and you leaned into him. As he moved to rest his cheek against the top of his head, the scrape of his stubble along your skin made you shiver, and you wrapped your arms loosely around him as you were awarded a hug. “Gotta’ take care of my girl. It’s my job.”

He had lingered for a while before finally speaking, and your breath was shaky as you released it, squeezing him a little tighter as his hand smoothed up and down your back, before letting him go, long enough to pull back, and catch his seemingly nervous gaze. “That’s a boyfriend’s job.”

Instead of the panic, or fear, or laughter, or anything else you’d expected, he gave you a bright smile, like he knew something you didn’t and he couldn't wait to share it with you. It was the same face he got when he wanted to show you a cute video he found online, or when he brought you back a souvenir from assignments you didn’t go on with him, or when it was a sunny day that you both had off, and you had fun plans already booked. “I know we haven’t exactly put a label on it, but there’s no pretending. We both know we’re a lot more than just partners and friends. You’re like my better half, my best friend, and you take up, like, ninety percent of my thoughts.”

You leaned forwards, resting your forehead against the tip of his nose, and his hands were still sitting on your waist, squeezing lightly as you tried to process your thoughts. Deep down, somewhere, you’d always known it was true. He didn’t exactly hide how he felt, Mitch may be a hard-ass on the outside but he had a heart of gold and nothing but love to give on the inside, and you weren’t exactly shocked by his words.

“Your silence is a ‘wow, you’re totally right, Mitch’ kind of silence and not an ‘I’ve been playing with you this whole time, dumbass’ kind, right?”

You laughed, nodding against him lightly and he gave a breathy laugh in relief, cuddling closer to him until your chin could hook over his shoulder. “You know, it’s not official until you make a move.”

“Yeah, well, later I’ll make you some soup, and when you feel better, we’ll talk about that move.” He shuffled, pulling you back toward the bed, and letting you clamber under the sheets. He followed, crawling in beside you as his head found a place beside yours on the pillow, and you were unable to help the smile on your lips. “I’ll take you to dinner, somewhere nice, not the farmhouse surrounded by recruits. I’ll get you flowers and everything.”

“That sounds nice.”

He let you get closer, arm slung over your waist, and your eyes closed, embracing yourself in his warmth. “Yeah, and afterwards, I’ll bring you home and blow your mind. I like to think I could make you feel real good.”

“Oh, you’re so awful.” You scoffed, and his laughter reverberated through you at his own joke, but despite it all, you still found him endearing. Maybe he was your better half, too.

[mymedicine]

Alocasia

or, 7.5k words of blushy harry and sassy y/n

moodboard/inspo tag + my masterlist

sum - y/n doesn’t like people, but she likes harry—even though he keeps fucking this up

warnings - language, alcohol, mentions of sex (not explicit), lots of banter, excessive use of parentheses, umm... veganism?

notes - hiii! for once i don’t really have anything to say other than welcome, to a very fluffy and kind of chaotic one shot. hope you give her a chance and a reblog if you enjoy! <3

Upon moving into his charming downtown apartment, Harry was feeling a lot of things.

He was excited at the prospect of living there, of waking up in his cozy new bedroom, of flipping pancakes in the kitchen with a stunning view of the city skyline, and of lounging on his soft gray couch while watching reruns of Criminal Minds. He was also anxious, and a little annoyed. There were groceries to be bought, chores to be done, bills to be paid (Fuckin’ landlord was an ass for refusing to include utilities in the rent). The cabinets in the bathroom were a little creaky (Do I need some WD-40? Can I afford WD-40?!) He even had to walk up four flights of stairs to get to his door, a task which Harry was keen to count as his daily exercise.

Above all, Harry was lonely. Living alone was a blessing and a curse, he reckoned. He could lounge about without any clothes, dance in the kitchen to the sounds of Folklore (a guilty pleasure), and watch creepypasta videos on YouTube until three am (and consequently stay up til dawn, for fear of nightmares) without worrying about anyone but himself.

But after just two days in the new place, he was concerned that the cost of privacy may not be worth it. Loneliness and boredom weighed heavily on his conscience as he laid on the couch and stared at the ceiling. Not only did he live alone, but he also didn’t have any friends in the city yet. No one to see, nothing to do. Lost, he decided. No direction, no purpose…Only four walls and a bunch of empty cabinets.

And yet it wasn’t even social interaction he craved necessarily—it was purpose, company, and…perhaps some cuddles. He briefly considered the idea of a pet. Maybe a friendly little French bulldog to chase around and be responsible for? Or a fluffy Maine Coon kitty to scratch behind the ear and snuggle at night?

But the bills…the responsibility…The prudent adult deep within Harry knew he was hardly ready to support himself, let alone a helpless animal. He’d have to feed it and walk it and make sure it didn’t shit all over the floor—not to mention the landlord would raise hell if he found out.

Meanwhile, the soft, gentle, maybe a little naive man who dominated Harry’s conscience was craving a friend. Pets were a no for now, so what’s the next best thing? He grappled with the question…Surely, a person was the obvious answer. He wouldn’t mind a pretty body to warm his heart—or, at least, his bed.

Harry stretched his legs out over the arm of the couch—the only furniture he had at the moment aside from his mattress on the floor of the bedroom—and snuggled into his cozy corduroy blanket, craving warmth in the cold apartment. A rainbow cardigan adorned his chest today, draped over a plain white turtleneck that warmed his neck. He liked to keep it cold so he could be snuggly wrapped in his sweaters without sweating bullets. He dug around in the pocket of his cardigan for his phone, eager to receive affection from something other than his clothes.

In retrospect, Tinder had given Harry far more unfortunate encounters with other people (lots of younger girls just looking for a plug and toxic guys who left him on read) than pleasurable ones. But hindsight was always 20/20 and isolation had already planted the seed in his head.

He quickly examined his own profile. It consisted of two photos of him smirking softly (not too serious, but not too eager either), one with his sister and his mum (to show he’s a family man), and a group one with his mates (because sure, he was lonely, but he didn’t want people to know that). There were also one or two shirtless photos (thirst traps, according to Niall) that he’d sprinkled in between the tame ones even though it made him feel kind of icky. Weighing the odds, he’d decided that desperation for matches outweighed the cringey-ness of it all.

His very last photo was the only one where he felt like himself. He was smiling wide in it, wearing a baby blue sweater with a little chick popping out of its egg on the front that Mitch had teased him for back home. His bio, too, showcased his wholesome values.

Harry’s eyes widened as he observed on the first person he saw upon opening the home page—Y/N. She only had two photos—a shot of her perched on a car hood and smiling wide and one far away one with her figure drowning in a sea of…plants. Fittingly, her bio read: “I love plants and I hate people.”

She was beautiful and every bit as anti-social as himself. It was perfect.

Harry laughed softly to himself and swiped right immediately. He was giddy when the familiar It’s a match! popped up on the screen immediately. His thumbs hovered over the keypad, brow furrowed as he frowned at the screen. Matching was one thing, but actually starting a conversation was another entirely.

Ultimately, he decided honesty was the best policy:

you had me at ‘i hate people’ :D

Now what? Matching was one thing, starting a conversation was another, but having a whole conversation was another thing entirely. He hated the waiting, especially when he had absolutely nothing to busy himself with in the mean time, aside from fiddling with his fingers and doing laps around his living room.

Seven minutes later (not that he’s counting), a ding came through on his phone.

y/n: you had me at ‘treat people with kindness,’ mon petit :)

Harry smiled wide. He was pleased she’d noticed not only his bio, but also the sweater he was wearing in his favorite photo of himself. It was the perfect response from a perfect girl.

harry: so what do you do?

y/n: i work at a plant shop on Main

Figures, he thought. He imagined her carrying a watering pitcher, tending to a plant with gentle fingers. She’d be surrounded by them like she was in the photo on her profile, green on all sides. God, he thought. What a beautiful scene with a beautiful star.

harry: wanna go for drinks tonight and talk about plants?

y/n: sure ;)

Nightfall brought a chill to the air that made Harry desperately want to curl up into his warm bed and snuggle into his pillow. But here he was, shuffling his feet outside the crowded bar and absently wearing another tiny hole in the sleeve of his striped sweater. It was a decent bar in town. They didn’t water down the drinks and they kept the lights dim so she wouldn’t have to see him flushed beet red after one drink. That is, if she would show up at all.

“Hey, you’re Harry?”

He turned quickly toward the sound of the voice, and there she was. And holy shit, he thought. That is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Her two profile photos did not even begin to do her justice. The idea of a mere photo on a screen couldn’t even compare to the real thing. He would never be keen to look at a photo again, he reckoned. It wouldn’t make his heart bloom and flutter like the vision of her in front of him did. Was this love at first sight?

“Y-yeah,” he stuttered, and not because the chilly night, “Y/N, right?”

Harry didn’t think he really believed in love—certainly not love at first sight, but this girl was throwing him into another world. Before, he couldn’t seem to stand still, but her presence in front him planted his feet firmly on the ground.

“Yep, that’s me!” She smiled wide, speaking cooly and confidently. It was obvious she knew how beautiful she was and, even more evident, how enamored Harry already was with her.

“I—you’re absolutely beautiful,” The words slipped out of his lips before he could catch them—not that he was really making any effort to hide his attraction for her. Still, he enjoyed the way her eyes brightened and teeth gently nibbled at her bottom lip in response to the compliment

And suddenly, the idea of merely kissing her soft flesh, tickling her sweet bud, and ultimately burying himself inside her tonight didn’t seem like enough. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to smell her hair and hear her laugh. He wanted to make her pancakes in the morning and kiss her lips, sweetened lightly with maple syrup. He wanted to love her.

No, he couldn’t possibly ruin his chance with a girl like this by fucking her on the couch in his cold, lonely apartment, never to see or hear from her again.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“Of course.”

One hour and four and a half drinks later, (whiskey cokes for Y/N, vodka crans for Harry) the cramped bar was hot and they were floating on air. He’d learned that she worked at Main Street Nursery, usually by herself, sometimes with her cousin who owned the place. She was an avid vegan, but only because she hated meat and dairy made her sick. She’d learned that Harry was new in town and lived only a block away from Main. Also, Y/N managed to learn that Harry had no friends here and was very lonely in his new apartment, but only after his third vodka cran when the already weak filter in his throat began to crumble and embarrassing things spewed out of his lips like a spout.

“Let’s dance, H.” Y/N requested, gently caressing his bicep from where she sat beside him.

Oh god. No amount of alcohol would let him embarrass himself like that. “I don’t really… uh—“

But Y/N was having none of that. She thrust his half empty glass in his face, eyebrows raised in a pointed look. “Come on, baby!”

He hesitated for only a moment. Her fingers were soft and warm and distracting against his arm and it was very dark in the crowded bar, but he could easily see her bright eyes and the mischief dancing around in them. Somehow, she looked just as beautiful after putting away five whiskey cokes. Ah fuck. How could he possibly say no to her?

Harry tipped the glass against his lips, downed the bitter beverage, and finally let her tug him to the middle of the room.

A few people were dancing raunchily to the loud music, and the combination of the alcohol and the darkness and Y/N’s effortless beauty gave Harry the confidence to join them. He placed his hands gingerly around her waist, nearly flinching at the warm feeling of her skin against his. Y/N flashed him a blissful, slightly drunken grin and squeezed his bicep more firmly, relaxing in his hold.

Y/N led them in a giggly dance, letting her hands wander Harry’s body and ultimately settle around his neck. Brain foggy with an alcohol induced haze, she swayed her hips against his.

Minutes turned into an hour or so and Y/N had grown quite comfortable in the circle of Harry’s arms, fronts flushed together impossibly close.

“Wanna get out of here?” Her whisper in the shell of his ear was alluring, seductive, sweet, and almost irresistible. But Harry was on a mission—one that only included seeing her again after tonight and, ultimately, making her his. Five vodka crans weren’t quite enough to outweigh his desire for something more. No, this plan didn’t include fucking her. (At least, not tonight).

“Um, I think we should…er—slow down…”

“You don’t...you don’t wanna hookup?” She looked up at him with something like disappointment (or maybe anxiety? insecurity? He wasn’t sure) in her eyes.

“No, it’s just… I—I wanted to get to know you?”

Y/N subtly stepped away from him, just an inch or so, but more than enough for him to notice and consequently panic. “Oh um, It’s okay...I just thought—well, I didn’t think we’d really be getting to know each other…”

Ouch. She obviously was not on the same page as he was with the whole I WANT TO LOVE YOU thing he had going on at the moment. The alcohol thickened his skin a little, easing the sting of her words.

“But if I’m like...not pretty enough or nice enough I—uh...” she was rambling a little—and oh god, she must be wasted if she’s questioning her beauty. Harry’s heart hurt. How could she not see that she was perfect inside and out?

“No, Y/N! You’re perfect…it’s just—“

“I get it, um...”

“I’m sorry, you don’t understand!

“I understand, Harry…I guess I’ll just—go home now.”

Well, fuck. In an effort to prolong his time with her, he’d managed to cut it short and blow his shot to see her again at all. He kicked himself for hoping. Hope for the best, expect the worst, he reminded himself. He was just fine at the hoping part, but the disappointment in the aftermath bit even deeper than his desperate loneliness.

Back to square one.

I’m going for a plant…if Y/N happens to be there then…Harry thought as he approached Main Street, then Y/N will be there. His heart skipped a beat at the thought. He tugged nervously at the sleeves of his sweater—this one white with a “my life is crap” graphic that he found quite funny—wearing another tiny hole in the fabric. He absently regretted not taking a shot or two before impulsively jogging across the block to the plant shop, but he pushed the thought out of his mind. I’m just here to get a plant.

Truthfully, he didn’t know shit about plants, but how hard could it be? Surely, all it took was a little water and a sunny spot. Optimistic, he wandered into the cute little shop. Upon entering, he found it wasn’t really indoors at all—just four walls of greenery with only a few wooden beams as a ceiling, allowing rays of mid-morning sunshine to illuminate the space quite beautifully. Harry couldn’t help but notice how one such ray shone directly on the most beautiful creature in the shop.

The scene was even more delightful than he’d imagined. She looked ethereal doing even the most mundane tasks, he thought. The way her skin glowed in the sunlight in front of a backdrop of lush greenery? Heavenly. He took a few more moments to absently admire her as she lifted a watering can above her head with skilled hands, squinting at the sun while reaching up to water a large, leafy looking plant that hung from one of the beams.

The plant was hanging just low enough to block her view of Harry, so when he gently cleared his throat to call her name, she leaped backward. A loud thud rang out and suddenly, the watering can was no longer grasped between her fingers and her pale pink apron was stained crimson—completely drenched.

“Oh my god!” they both screeched at the same time.

Harry felt the weight of the world on his shoulders as he ran over to her. “I’m so sorry angel,” he said, picking up the now leaking can from the floor. “I really didn’t mean to scare you, oh my god, are you okay?!”

She looked a mess, quite honestly. But even covered in water and sprawled out on the concrete floor, she was cute to him, like a little bud sprouting out of the pot. She looked up at him with a contemptuous stare.

“Harry!” She cried from the floor, “What are you doing?”

While he did appreciate how adorable she looked, Harry was horrified. He hadn’t known her long, but he’d never heard her stutter or seen her blush like that. Even in their brief text exchanges and one night together, she’d always seemed so confident, so effortlessly graceful and calm. “I’m so sorry love, I really didn’t mean to—“

“Why are you here?”

“I-I just...I just wanted a plant and—and… I know you love them, and I thought there wouldn’t be anywhere better to go...”

Y/N’s expression softened as he rambled. “Okay, well, feel free to look around,” She stumbled to her feet, murmuring as she went. She wiped her hands on her soaked apron, trying to clean them but actually just spreading the wetness. “And um…Let me know if you need anything.”

She pressed a tight lipped grin on and her voice went a tinge too high pitched. She was clearly putting herself in customer service mode, but Harry caught a playful glint behind her bright eyes.

Harry flushed red and turned away from her, kicking himself for being so clumsy. He craned his head around the shop, feeling hopelessly overwhelmed. He wanted to ask her for help or at least a gentle push in right direction, but he figured he’d already bothered her enough.

Even with his back to her, Y/N’s presence was distracting. He could hear her feet shuffling around softly, the light clang of the metal watering can against the counter, even the pinging sound from her phone as he wandered the store.

Harry made a few aimless circles around before particular plant caught his eye. It was a modest looking plant, no where near as big as some of the hanging vines and rubber trees that littered the store. It had large, dark green leaves with jagged looking edges and sat pretty in a terra cotta pot near the front of the store.

He decided this plant would suit his needs perfectly (what are those needs again? He asked himself, company? responsibility?). He ultimately ignored his thoughts and the fact that he wasn’t even himself clear on what he wanted and picked up the plant in both arms. He shivered upon realizing that Y/N was probably watching him the whole time as he brought the plant to the counter where she was waiting. Watching him struggle and make a fool out of himself, that is.

“Did you find everything okay?” she asked cordially.

Harry nodded stiffly, unsure what to say. “Mmhm.”

“Have you got others?” Y/N continued making conversation while punching some numbers into the cash register, smiling and avoiding his gaze.

Harry looked up at the same time she looked away from the register. He was a little startled by her question, not expecting her to actually speak to him after what he’d done earlier. “Uh, no. I just moved here, remember?”

“Oh, right—well, you know this is an alocasia?” she said it very gently, with a patient smile. He didn’t like that she was avoiding his gaze before, but now that she was staring at him unwaveringly, he felt like he was under a microscope. Heat rose is Harry’s cheeks. Did the name of the plant matter?

“Uh, yeah? I mean, uh—I had a few back in my old place…” Why Harry? Why is your first instinct to lie?

“So you know what to do with this kind of plant?’

“Um…yeah?” He stammered, speech as rushed and clumsy as the beating of his heart. His sweaty palms further confirmed the obvious—Y/N made him nervous. She wasn’t just beautiful, she was perfect. He felt desperately out of place in front of her here. How could he possibly impress her? After he’d already fucked up more than once?

“I, well—nevermind,” Y/N replied finally, shaking her head. She was still smiling, but now he felt like she was giggling to herself because she knew something he didn’t.

“Did you want to add some Miracle Potion to your purchase today?” she asked, back in customer service mode once again.

Harry did not know what the fuck Miracle Potion was, but it sounded like a rehearsed line she was required to say during every transaction. She was looking at him so pointedly though, and the brightness of her eyes was distracting. How could he say no when she was looking at him like that?

“Yeah, why not.”

And seeing her beam at him with that lovely smile was so worth the extra eight dollars.

Harry cradled his new plant—Franklin, he’d decided—in both arms, awkwardly body-slamming his apartment door to get it open without his hands. First order of business after setting Franklin down on the coffee table was to quench his thirst. He still hadn’t gone on a real grocery trip for the new place, so he’s been living off of trail mix and kombucha. Harry craved kombucha like plants craved water.

Which brought him to the second order of business: research. He sat on the couch with his trail mix, kombucha, and laptop, quickly opening up a search for “alocasia plant care”

And suddenly Y/N’s behavior made sense.

Of course, of every plant he could have chosen at random, Harry’d gone for one of the most difficult, demanding, and definitely-not-for-beginners house plants in the shop.

He had a funny feeling it wasn’t the last time his optimism would get him in trouble.

Harry was frustrated.

It’d been less than twenty four hours since he became a father, and his once green-leafed baby was already browning at the edges. He frowned, peering at Franklin’s crisp leaves as he meticulously sprayed the Miracle Potion into the soil. The once dry dirt was starting to look a little better, but—holy shit!

Harry leaped away from the table, dropping the spray and nearly knocking himself onto his ass. His eyes were wide and his heart was pounding. He felt betrayed and horrified. Y/N never mentioned that there’d be bugs crawling in the soil! But Harry could not unsee the tiny worm-ish looking guy slithering up from the depths of the pot and onto the base of Franklin’s stem.

This was a mistake. A huge mistake. Who has he kidding?

He couldn’t help himself. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone, dialing the plant shop’s number without a second thought.

“Hello, you’ve reached Main Street Nursery! We’re not available right now, please leave a message and we’ll call back as soon as possible.”

“Y/N! S’Harry and, oh my god there’s a bug in Franklin! I was sprayin’ the potion stuff on the soil like ya said to but then there was a big worm thing and I dunno what to do now? I’m scared Y/N, why didn’t ya tell me there’d be bugs?! Holy shit, Franklin’s gonna die, what the fu—“

A beep interrupted his ramblings, which Harry would later be grateful for. He was always a sort of ramble-y type, but adding a pretty girl and a bug-induced panic was more than enough to make him insufferably talkative.

He begrudgingly opened the Tinder app, his only other means of communicating with her. He typed out a lengthy message with rapid fingers, explaining the bug situation in between a series of colorful emojis.

thought you knew what you were doing? Y/N’s reply came in three and a half minutes later.

harry: I lied :(

(No use in lying now).

y/n: that’s alright bub. just relax, I’ll bring you some bug stickers

Bug stickers? What the fuck? He’d already made a fool of himself, so he might as well ask, he reasoned.

harry: why would I want a bug sticker?!!

y/n: just send me your address

He did as she asked, blushing profusely at the thought of her being in his apartment. Oh shit, he realized. She’s gonna be in my apartment. Realistically, he knew she probably wouldn’t even come past the front door. She’d just give him the damn stickers and then go off to whatever better things she had to do. But if Harry has any dominant personality trait, it’s optimism.

So he quickly started to tidy the living space—careful to avoid the coffee table where Franklin and his new worm-ish adversary sat. The plant aside, it’s a cute little place that screamed an unemployed single man lives here. Once the kombucha bottles and gum wrappers are thrown out, he puts way too much effort into swiping the trail mix crumbs off the couch and carefully arranging a throw blanket across the arm of it—she won’t even be coming near the couch, Harry, chill out.

When would she be coming? She hadn’t given him a time. She’d asked for his address…did that mean she was coming immediately? Maybe she’d asked for it to come by later? Or tomorrow?—

A loud knocking at the door interrupted his thoughts.

He should have expected this. Even after only meeting twice, he should’ve known she’d barge right into his living room, skirting right past him to find Franklin. The first thing he learned about her was that she owed plants and hated people.

“Um, hello love,” he said awkwardly, trailing behind her. “Thanks for coming over.”

Y/N looked up from where she was examining the plant’s leaves as if she’d just noticed him lurking behind her (very on brand for her, Harry noted to himself). He was taken with her sudden eye contact. Her eyes had that same sparkly glow as they did in the shop—they got that way when she talked about her veganism and her cousin and her plants.

“I’ve got a bone to pick with you, mister Harry Styles. You’re a liar.” she said plainly. She was frowning at him (Is that a playful frown? He hoped so) “You’re a liar and it almost cost Franklin’s life.”

Harry was, once again, horrified. If he hadn’t proper fucked it up the first two times they met, he’d surely done it now. Y/N loved plants more than she loved breathing, and he’d almost killed one. And he lied to her! Fuck you’re such an idiot Harry...get it together.

Y/N must’ve seen his turmoil, (how could she not? He always did wear his heart on his sleeve) for she cracked a happy grin and smacked him playfully on the arm. “I’m just kidding Harry, for gods sake!”

“But...but the plant—“

“—will be fine.”

“And the...the bug?”

Y/N turned back to the plant and squinted into the soil. She put her hands on her hips over the fabric of her wide pants (Palazzo? Harry wondered absently. They were like those gypsy looking pants that looked super comfy—like, one step above pajamas...and damn where could I get some of those?)

“Is the bug on my ass, H?”

“W-what?” He replied, snapping out of his reverie with wide eyes. No! He blubbered, tearing his eyes away from the yellow fabric to her face, where her lips were pursed and her eyebrows were raised accusingly. He didn’t even mean to be staring at her ass (though it did look cute and peachy in the palazzo pants, he couldn’t help but notice now), but, feeling caught, he blushed sheepishly anyway.

She dropped the accusatory glare, replacing it with a wide smile. “Only joking,” she interrupted his ramblings. “Still reckon you were lyin’ about the bug jus’ to get me over here, though.”

Harry sighed exasperatedly, heart racing as he meandered around the couch toward the table where she was leaning. She kept him on his toes and it was as exhausting as it was enticing.

He got right up behind her and peered over her shoulder at the soil. “There!” He cried, almost having another heart attack at the sight of the little black bug. In a rushed attempt to show her the worm so she could get rid of it, he’d probably put himself way closer to her than necessary. He could feel the fabric of her long pants brushing his toes and her sharp breath hitch against his chest.

“Oh Harry,” she laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls of his apartment like beams of light. Looking away from the danger, he focused his attention on her instead. He couldn’t help but notice how her hair smelled like flowers and freshly mowed grass and ...honey? Something sweet and enticing and natural, like the earth. Like a sprawling meadow or rose garden or—

He’d been effectively distracted by her that he’d almost forgot the reason for his fear, the reason she was even here. That is, until the little bugger was out of the soil and crawling on her finger.

Harry screeched and leaped backward, and this time, he did fall on his ass. Right in front of the couch he’d cleaned for her while she giggled profusely. The gentle melody of her laughter and sweet little coos at the bug softened the sting of embarrassment—a little.

“Aw he’s so cute!” She prodded her other finger at the creature, which really was no bigger than her fingernail, but horrified Harry anyways. “Can’t believe Harry wanted me to come and kill you, sweet little thing.”

He was once again struck by how gentle and nurturing and sickened-sweet she got with plants and animals. Meanwhile she laughed at him and teased him ruthlessly for his dramatics.

“Here,” she said “Hold him.”

She thrust her finger into his hands from where she stood above him. Harry flinched away, but couldn’t move far enough from where he sat with his legs folded and feet planted on the ground. The worm fell into his palm. The tiny impact of it on his skin ignited an explosion of fear through him.

A millisecond passed and it crawled through the hole in the wrist of his sweater, causing his panic to quadruple.

He screamed out loud while Y/N continued laughing at him. “AH!” Harry screamed and flapped his wrists violently, throwing himself against the couch with wide eyes as he felt the horrible tickling of the creature crawling on his skin.

“Stop! Stop Harry, let me!” Y/N stepped closer, ducking between his outstretched legs. She shielded her face with one hand and desperately groped around for Harry’s wrist with the other. Finally, he paused to breathe and Y/N caught his arm in both of hers.

She wrestled his arm to still and calmly plucked the creature from his skin. “Thank God,” she sighed dramatically in relief, holding it on her finger between them. “The little fighter survived your temper tantrum!”

“No!” Harry cried, now shielding his own face from the wrath of the worm.

He watched her get up and drop the bug back into Franklin’s soil, all the while laughing at him.

“You’re such a baby, Harry,” she cooed as she turned back to where he was still sat on the floor, “And no wonder you’re so cold in here. You’ve got holes all in your sweater!”

“I’ve got holes in all my sweaters. My mum used to fix them f’me.” He frowned, missing her and his friends suddenly. Living alone was hard.

“You’re hopeless,” Y/N shook her head as she bent down to sit on the coffee table next to Franklin and sent him endeared smile. “I could fix them for you?”

Harry reeled back and blushed, “You—you could do that for me?”

Yes, living alone was hard and lonely and boring. Harry had been shamefully making excuses to see her for several days now, and yet he was completely oblivious to her doing the exact same thing.

“Sure! Come over tomorrow and bring all your sweaters.”

Harry saw absolutely no reason to object. He could never say no to her, anyways. “Okay, then.”

“In the meantime, take these…” She reached into her pocket and fished out four yellow squares of what looked like...tape?

“These are bug stickers,” she explained. “You tape them around Franklin’s stem and it’ll catch the gnats and aphids and stuff. Won’t kill your new little friend though.”

Despite her teasing tone and his lingering fear, Harry couldn’t help but smile at her while she demonstrated how to tape the bug sticker on. He’d deal with all the goddamn bugs in the world if it meant she’d be pleased with him.

She finished taping it on and turned back to him with an adorable little flourish, as if to say ta-da!

“Can I offer you some kombucha for your trouble?” Harry suddenly blurted.

What the fuck Harry? Who the fuck says ‘can I offer you—‘

“Ew, no!” She interrupted his self-loathing, face twisting in disgust, “Kombucha tastes like dish soap.”

Hurt, Harry reeled back again and a shocked expression graced his face, “You don’t like kombucha?! Don’t vegans like, live for that shit?!”

“This vegan has taste,” she replied with a snarky smirk. “And besides, I’ve got to get back to the shop for work like, now.”

“Oh, okay no problem.” Harry stuttered, “Thanks again.”

“Sure thing!”

And as quickly as she’d busted in, she was gone, leaving the apartment as cold and lonely as ever. Harry frowned, feeling as if he’d blown it once again. No ‘see you tomorrow’ or ‘thanks for having me.’ Chance after chance and still he made a fool out of himself. She hadn’t even told him where she lived! Maybe the offer to come over and get his sweaters fixed had been a pity invite and she actually wanted nothing to do with him ever again. The thought made his stomach churn. Where was his customary optimism when he needed it?

Grumbling, he grabbed a fresh kombucha from the fridge, wishing it was something stronger.

Franklin and his little worm friend’s (Harry didn’t think the bugger deserved a sweet name like the alocasia did—it was still a disgusting creature that made his skin crawl) company did little to satiate the aching loneliness he was feeling throughout the following day.

Finally, a message came through his phone from an unknown number.

unknown: hey harry, it’s y/n! did you still want to come over today?

harry: howd you get my number

Even through a screen, Harry managed to blurt out the first thing that popped into his head. Fuck. Shit. She’s gonna think he’s avoiding the question! He rapidly began composing a second message, but the three little dots appeared and interrupted his flying thumbs.

y/n: your message on the answering machine at work.

by the way, that was hilarious

harry: right, well. sorry for that

and yes, id love to come over.

y/n: no worries, i saved it to listen to when i need a laugh.

haha cool here’s my address

harry: should i bring food or wine or something?

A new wave of anxiety washed over him as he looked at the address she’d sent. Now what? What would they do? Would he just drop off his sweaters and leave? Or would she invite him in? What would he say then?

y/n: just bring yourself and your sweaters, mon petit!

Harry was speechless. Much like the shop she worked at, Y/N’s apartment could rival an actual jungle. Greenery of all different shapes and shades and sizes lined the walls, and while they had the exact same floor plan, it was an entirely different world than the one Harry was living in.

Y/N, meanwhile, effortlessly sauntered deeper into her space. She looked like she belonged there, obviously, but Harry felt like a fish out of water.

“They won’t bite, you know,” Y/N giggled, noticing his apprehension. She was watching him patiently with something like fondness in her eyes. Harry felt her careful gaze on him, but the magnificent green scene around him claimed his attention—but not for long.

Gently, Y/N took his fingers between hers and pulled him deeper into her space. Harry stumbled over his feet, craning his head to look at the plants hanging from the ceiling. How the hell did she even water those?

Y/N couldn’t help but smile. He looked adorable, like a child at Disneyland. She swore his eyes were actually twinkling as the greenery in the room made the color pop against his skin even more than usual.

“This is…incredible,” He said, finally turning back to meet her eyes with his own. “You’re incredible.” He set down his bag of sweaters on the floor by his feet. They could certainly wait.

Something about the praise and the way he was looking at her like she hung the moon was making Y/N absolutely swoon for the man. It was impossible not to notice how much he adored her. He looked at her the same way she looked at Delilah, at all the things she loved. Things. She wasn’t sure she’d ever actually loved a person before. But this man with the holes in his sweaters and the permanent flush in his cheeks was planting himself deep in her heart.

But she’d never let him see that.

“…I make lots of my clothes myself…” She was talking about how she learned to sew from where she was sitting on her couch. Harry noticed that she’d arranged her living room differently than he had. While he had a single gray couch in the middle of the room, her sofa was against the window, inviting the evening sunset to gently warm the pale pink cushions.

“Did ya make those pants you were wearing the other day?” He asked with genuine curiosity, continuing to poke around the plants and knitted blankets and woven fruit baskets that littered the entire space.

Harry turned to face her just in time to catch her flashing a knowing smile. “Yes. Should I make a pair for you as well?”

“Yes, please.”

“I’m sure your ass will look great in them, too.”

“Ah—shut up!” Harry laughed, fiddling with the leaves of one of her hanging plants. He recognized this one.

An easy smile still graced his lips as he murmured “It’s a philodendron,” half to her and half to himself. Now that some of the extensive plant research he’d been doing over the past few days had indeed stuck, it was easy for him to identify by its telltale heart shaped leaves.

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up, “That’s right,” she said, sounding impressed. “She’s called Delilah.”

Harry hummed, unable to focus on words when she was giving him her full attention like that.

“She’d be cute next to Franklin, don’t ya think?” She continued, tiptoeing closer to him. She stood behind him, peering over his shoulder at the plant much like she’d done to Franklin a few days earlier. The fabric of his brown sweater was soft against her fingers as she wrapped her arms around him. Harry tensed. He had longed to do the same thing to her when their positions had been reversed a few days ago, but chickened out. But as always, Y/N’s actions were confident and smooth. The thought of her face against his knit-clad back and the feeling of her soft hands around his middle made his head spin.

Yes, he thought, she’s cute next to everything. She’s fucking adorable…

And again, Harry was struck with the thought that he should have seen this coming. It was such a Y/N move—the way she confidently pressed on his shoulders to sit him on the couch and proceeded to smoothly kneel over his thighs. His heart raced as she sank to his eye level, straddling his lap.

“You’ve got pretty eyes,” Harry said almost absently, as if lost in them. Y/N looked kind of surprised that the words came out of his mouth. She’s sort of confused by him, by the way he makes her feel. He had this nervous, chaotic energy surrounding him, as if his mind was going a mile a minute at all times. It didn’t make any difference to him though—a racing heart didn’t stop him from enjoying the feeling of the insides of her thighs against his.

Y/N suddenly grabbed one of his flushed cheeks in her palm and turned his face to hers, letting him get a good look at her eyes. “Think so?” She grinned with a hint of her customary cockiness.

Harry nodded in response to the playful question, caught up in her smirk. He reckoned it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. Once again, she proved him wrong when she licked her lip. She studied him seductively while his own eyes, of course, flicked down to where her tongue was swiping over her lips. Her tongue was pillowy, gentle, and…distracting…In the next instant, she’d pulled his face to hers and met his lips with her own.

Despite having been mentally begging for her to kiss him since the moment they’d met, he was still a little caught off guard. Quickly, he began to relish in the feeling of her warm hand holding his cheek and soft lips pressing tenderly on his. He kissed her back gently, but with urgency—as if he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He let his hands wander slowly from her knees up her thighs, her hips, settling comfortably on her waist. His heart skipped a beat when she pulled back a millimeter.

“Is this okay?” Harry let out a concerned whisper.

Y/N smiled effortlessly and nodded. Of course it was okay, it was better than okay.

“Thought I’d proper fucked up my chance with you ages ago,” he murmured against her lips. Now that he’d gotten a taste of her sweet lips, he was truly a fucking goner.

“I thought so too, frankly,” she laughed fondly at him, “But you reeled me in with your charm and wit...” She shook her head and furrowed her brows sarcastically, “...Your true gift for horticulture, your brilliant sewing skills, your excellent taste in beverages...” she continued lecturing him in between sweet pecks on the lips.

Harry giggled at her mock-compliments, tugging her impossibly closer by the waist. She relaxed her chest into his and easily wrapped her own arms around his neck.

“You’re an absolute pest you know?” Harry teased her, confidence growing as she caressed his skin, “I oughta get a buncha those damn bug stickers to catch you!”

“You sure about that?” She smiled bigger, eyes wide and innocent as sat back on his legs. She continued to feed him sweet words as she trailed her fingers down his sweater, the mock compliments melting into sincere ones. Harry’s own smile grew as she mumbled how she adored his soft hands and blushy cheeks and gentle disposition…

Her words were innocent, but her fingers began tracking a sinful course downward, and he twitched in his sweatpants as she cheekily palmed him through the fabric. He was putty in her hands, reduced to a pile of mush by her eyes that twinkled with playful innocence and mischief and unmistakeable lust. The soft hands and gentle, innocent praises falling from her lips were making his cock bloat and head spin. Just as he was getting into it—moaning and whimpering for her to please don’t stop…she shoved her arms between his body and the couch cushion and delivered a firm squeeze to his ass.

“That’s for calling me a pest, you pest!”

She roared with laughter and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tight to her chest.

Harry’s desperate, high pitched whine quickly melted into joyous laughter. He couldn’t help it—she was so lovely and beautiful and playful and cheeky and of course, he should’ve seen a stunt like this coming. She was a pest indeed, but Harry had already decided to love her. Perhaps decided wasn’t the word—no, his love for her sprouted and grew like a strong and beautiful vine holding them together.

“Now how about I make you come for real and then fix the holes in those sweaters like you fixed the holes in my heart?”

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

thank you for reading <3

talk to me about harry and y/n and franklin and delilah!

[bluefirewrites]

Merry Ex-Mas Epilogue Sneak Peak

I gotta show you a lil’ something while I’m still working on it. You guys have been so patient waiting for this epilogue and it is going to be massive. 

So I shall present you this. Thank you! From my exes to lovers (again) Christmas Juke fic ‘Merry Ex-Mas’. Here on AO3 --------------

“Luke with sleeves? I’m sorry, Mrs. Patterson, I just assumed Luke just came out of the womb with a muscle tee. Can you confirm or deny?”

Emily laughed, “No. You can thank Julie for his… choice in attire,”

Luke sat up, “Mom-”

This was news to Julie, “What? Me?”

“Didn’t he tell you?”

“Oh now you have to tell it,” Flynn urged, leaning in.

“Well, around when Luke was 12 or 13, you know, in the throes of adolescence and puberty-”

“Mom!”

“He used to sweat a lot, especially when he was nervous,”

Mitch nodded, corroborating the story, “It’s true. Almost couldn’t hold the guitar. Didn’t Rose have to wipe his fingers before playing?”

“I’m dying. I’m dead. I’ve passed on-” Luke moaned, shrinking into the couch. Julie cooed and stroked his hair, finding his embarrassment adorable... 

“I remember one day,” Emily began, “he came home, after lessons, and he was just fidgeting and sweating up a storm. You know what he told me that day. ‘Mom, I think I like Julie’.”

Julie peered at Luke, “You never told me this part of the story.”

“Because it was embarrassing,” Biting the bullet, Luke ended up explaining the rest of it, “But basically, I nearly sweat myself to death because I kept chickening out when trying to tell you how I felt.”

She emitted a drawn out ‘ohhhhh’, beginning to see where this was going, “That explained why you’d cut lessons short.”

There was a faint memory of a prepubescent Luke ducking out of the studio whenever Julie stopped by to say hello. She had thought it was weird, since when had her best friend ran away from her. She might have pouted about it to her mom, claiming that “Boys are the worst!”

“Not gonna let you see my gross underarm stains. I was 13. I reeked!” Emily certainly didn’t refute that, “So fast forward some weeks, about 10 ruined shirts later, I finally came to my senses-”

“And he proceeded to cut off the sleeves of all his shirts,” Mitch piped up.

Flynn hummed, “Yup. Sounds about right,”

“And I rolled up in the studio the next day, much more confident now that I don’t have sweat stains, and just… went for it”

Oh that was right. Their first kiss.

They had been left alone in the studio, after Luke’s session. Her mom had been teaching them how to write songs.

Their first song written together must have been terrible. She couldn’t search her memory for what it could have been about. That wasn’t what she remembered that day anyway.

Julie smiled all goofily, reminiscing the way Luke had scooted closer to her on the bench, her doing the same, this dance they would do until someone pulled away. But that day, Luke didn’t draw back. And neither did she.

Quite the ballsy move for a couple of 13 year olds.

Heart beating so fast, Julie had looked at him, right when he had asked- he asked- if he could kiss her. She had said yes, and it had been short and sweet and chaste.

Then the rest was history.

It really was ironic how the kisses that were the inception of their relationship happened in the same spot, on that piano bench, but life was like that sometimes.

“Maybe it was association, but if these shirts were gonna get me a kiss from a pretty girl?” he nudged her, “Then I’d be happy to wear them.”

“And to think it’s because you want to show off your arms,” she teased.

“The arms still get me that kiss now don’t they?”

[spacebubblehomebase]

About the A.U.

Five and Mitch have switched. That's the basic idea when my friend made this A.U. Five is a pro-gamer with the right skills and XP to his name. The top dog of the leader board and the local legend. Still the very best at retro games and still the kind nerd we know & love. Just more confident.

(They switched places in age, but the personality is all the same.) Mitch and Zahra takes Five & Miko's place as newbie techs here. With Mitch being a tsundere Hi_5 fanboy and Zahra being her bad*ss gamer self, albeit a bit shy as she's still young.

(To make it simple, it's MitchFTW and a Zahra that have yet to prove herself with older Five being their amazing role model.)

One day, the newbies found out that another pro-gamer from out of Bailey will move in to join the techs and they were very psyched. Five was confident that he could still keep his top score, until they reveal the gamer tag that labels our no-new-player newcomer: Me_K.O.

THE Me_K.O. who had beaten his avatar to a bloody pulp at his amateur online gamer days? THAT Me_K.O??? Mitch being the fanboy with a celebrity crush he was, got jealous of this pro who made Five sweat bullets before even stepping in to show their face. But his silent respect was immediately earned after he heard of how she beat his idol. Ofc, pros would know other pros!

Finally, the day had come that Me_K.O. would make her grand entrance in their establishment and Five did NOT expect her to look so... SO... So COOL! He feels like a noob again. It didn't help that she recognized his gamer tag and challenged him infront of everyone rather bluntly. Eyes sparkling with competitive fire that no noob would be able to stand up against. Good thing Five was no noob. (Though he felt like it at that time.)

The Bailey techs listened to her as she spoke (dramatically) of how she enjoyed playing with the guy who was once willing to go on for the ENTIRE day with NO breaks just to keep trying. Who helped satiate her ADHD for a good while and her need for a worthy challenge; despite how many other anonymous gamers called her brutal and quit aggressively early on with just a defeat or two. This one didn't go down as easy.

Sure! Hi_5 may have cursed the heavens after rows of defeat, but he later on applauded her win. Being the good sport he always have been. Admitting he had fun, to her great surprise. So yeah... Of course Hi_5's gamer tag stuck with her! It truly was a good game... Best one she have ever played before, despite joining a number of online tournaments she would become known for.

Making all the other techs around them admire their top rank player even more and be ecstatic about the clash this two would be bound to showcase.

Five being the good-natured pro he now is in this AU, could at least gather enough wits to bring his game face on and accept the challenge with a solid hand shake given with his own dramatic flair. Playing along, much to Miko's delight (and despite the nerves secretly crawling underneath his skin). Establishing a bond that have never before been seen from a dream duo such as this.

Everyone else feeling like they had just witnessed history and the origin story of two legends crossing paths. That day, famous pros Five & Miko were officially named rivals. Both rising to unparalleled heights on the leader board; being the best of the best of Hinobi. A sight to behold!

Mitch was stuck being fanboy jealous and fanboy squealing at the battle royale before them and Zahra is shipping like crazy along with the other techs who saw the two interact so familiar despite being perfect strangers. Having never yet seen the bluenette boy act that way before. All the while, life goes on as glitchy as it always have, but with these techs around? Things are about to change... For better or worse.

-Bubbly💙

[the-cookie-of-doom]

If Mitch was angry earlier, he had nothing on the fury that consumed Ronnie when Mitch told him what he’d done.

“You were reckless!” Ronnie snapped at him, pacing around the room. “You could have jeopardized everything we’ve been working towards!”

“She’s my mom.”

“Exactly!” Ronnie took a deep breath. He knew Mitch loved his mother. That was something he could use. “And you’ve just put her in jeopardy you stupid brat. What did you think, that you could tell Lewis to back off and he’d listen? No. They’re gonna know you spoke to her, and they’re gonna have all their eyes and ears on her, waiting for you to do it again. What were you thinking?”

“That instead of keeping their mouths shut and letting her believe whatever she wanted, Kennedy and Lewis had to break her heart and tell her I was dead. All so that Lewis,” Mitch spat the name, “Could insinuate himself in her life and wait for me to turn up. She was crushed, Ronnie. They used her.”

“And you’ve played right into their hands,” Ronnie sneered. “I thought you were better than that.”

“Fuck off,” Mitch snapped. He grabbed his coat, fully prepared to storm off, and he didn’t care if Ronnie thought he was acting petulant. Let the bastard think whatever he wanted; Mitch knew he did the right thing.

“Do not call her again,” Ronnie warned. His voice was low and serious, barely more than a growl.

“Or what?” Mitch challenged. He threw his arms out in open invitation. “What are you going to do?”

Mitch knew what he was doing, challenging Ronnie like this. Ronnie knew it, too, and he didn’t disappoint. He stalked across the room, grabbed Mitch by the front of his shirt, and slammed him so hard into the wall a framed picture cam crashing down to his left.

“You will do what you’re told, boy.”

Mitch leaned in just enough to hiss, “Make me.”

***

After, when he was thoroughly sore and aching, with new bruises to litter his body, Ronnie chased delicate fingertips over the scar on Mitch’s shoulder. The bullet wound that started it all, Mitch’s descent into madness and rage. There was another on his thigh, a match set. He had other scars, of course. Ronnie had even caused some of them himself.

Mitch didn’t know how old Ronnie was. Ten years older, maybe, but still definitely in his prime. That was never more apparent than when they fucked. Ronnie could always keep up with him—no easy feat, when Mitch was a world class athlete until only a few short years ago, and his stamina hadn’t slipped one bit—and he had the kind of skill that only came with experience. Mitch kind of hated him for it, for how easily he could take Mitch apart. Accomplishing with pleasure that which he hadn’t managed with pain. Well… the pain was a part of it, too.

They didn’t make love—Mitch scoffed just thinking it. That kind of tenderness was reserved for only one person, and she was taken from him. No, they fucked. Primal and violent and unkind, with as much pleasure as pain. It worked for them. It made Mitch feel alive with the thrill of it.

Mitch had always been amazed at how Ronnie's hands on his body could be at once so cruel, the source of his suffering, and yet so kind. Gentle, even. The rough, calloused, callous hands of a sailor and a killer, and they soothed something ragged and raw inside Mitch. He didn't like to examine those feelings too closely.

As enjoyable as it may be to lay in bed with Ronnie and enjoy the afterglow, let the man keep touching him, maybe coax him into another round, Mitch didn’t. He didn’t care for Ronnie to turn this into something it wasn’t. He didn’t want gentleness, and he sure as hell didn’t need kindness. Ronnie had taken him with sharp teeth and sharper knives, and that was how things would remain between them. It had to, because Mitch couldn’t afford to surrender any more of himself.

Ronnie’s hand fell away as mitch threw back the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. He raked his sweat-damp hair out of his face. Part of him wanted so desperately to stay; his partner echoed the sentiment.

"You don't have to leave," Ronnie told him, with the resigned toned that meant he'd already accepted Mitch would. He always did. He always came back for more, too.

Mitch didn't respond. Anything he said would be a lie. He just quietly dressed, not looking at Ronnie.

“Don’t call her again,” Ronnie said to his retreating back.

“She’s my mother,” Mitch said quietly. Mitch had no intention of sitting idly by while his former employers fed her whatever lies about him suited their purposes. Mitch wouldn’t let her become another pawn in their games.

Ronnie didn’t stop him again. Mitch left him in the bed, pretending, just for a moment, that he was leaving for good. It was a nice fantasy.

[keanuvibe]

Bodyguard (John Wick x Reader) Pt. 4

A/N: Hi! sorry im awful at uploading lol. my personal life rn is on fire and i haven’t had all the time in the world to write, but managed to pull this chapter together so :) thats coolio. 

Words: 4.7k

Warnings: swears, violence, a lil fluff

“So, tell me everything.” June smirked, leaning over the table towards you. You had managed to meet the girls on time, only a few minutes past twelve- thirty. The three of you got seated shortly after, and ordered your cocktails; beginning the rounds of catching up you had to do. The restaurant is diner themed, set in the 1950’s. One wall of the building was a bar, fit with barstools, an ice cream machine, as well as a soda machine. There was even a section where you could order homemade candy. Little booths scattered the wall across from the bar, and tables separated the two. The floor was checkered design donning many muddy footprints and the walls were covered in old-timey photos of local streets. You and the girls sat at a booth, June and Dottie sitting across from you.

“Okay, get this,” You began, leaning in towards your friends, “Santino, you know, mio cugino pazzo. He’s mad at my father and is trying to kill me for it.”  ‘[My crazy cousin.]’ You finished and took another long sip of your cocktail. June and Dottie stared with their mouths agape. You calmly set down your drink and smiled shyly, eyes bouncing between the girls. You loved your friends, honestly. The three of you have been close since you were young teens. June and Dot also had connections to the Italian mafia, their fathers having run a section of both New York and New Jersey; although they aren't as intertwined as you. June is the oldest, one year older than yourself. She’s an old soul, that you know for sure. She wears dated clothes and uses dated household items; in fact, you can't recall June ever purchasing something new from the stores you and Dot go to. Hell, even her car is a 1978 AMC Pacer. Dottie is only a few months older than you, on the other hand. She is the spitting image of a pinup girl. She wears her hair in elegant waves and has bangs, she even wears button up dresses and has big hair bows for when shes feeling fancy. You can’t recall a time when she didn’t wear red lipstick nearly everyday.

“Should you even be outside?” Dottie whispered, leaning closer to your figure. Her New York accent was a little amplified by the drinks she’s had already. You shrugged as your answer, and June scoffed. 

“You, (Y/N), are unbelievable.” The waiter to walked up to your table, halting your conversation. The three of you blinked at the other, little grins holding back giggles ready to erupt. The waiter asked for your orders, then as soon as the young man had left, you jumped right back into it. 

“You guys should see my bodyguard.” You spoke, a smirk donning your face. Your mind wondered as to what he was up to right now. Maybe he's still sitting waiting for you to exit the bathroom, or, maybe he's already begun the witch hunt. 

“Ah, yes. John? As you've mentioned. Show us! the way you've described him- He sounds gorgeous.” Dottie eagerly bounced in her seat, urging you to show them a picture. You pulled out your phone, stomach dropping at the several messages that donned the lock screen; John’s contact name on each one. Witch hunt is it. 

12:47: Very funny. Where are you? 

12:59: Where are you. 

1:13: (Y/N). This isn’t a game.

1:21: I’m coming to find you. 

At least it took him almost an hour and a half to notice. You bit your cheek, looking up at June and Dottie. The two girls were engaged in conversation, talking about something or another. You cleared the notifications and unlocked your phone, hoping to god you got to finish your lunch before John caught up. You opened the camera roll and scrolled through until you found a picture of you and the bodyguard. Somehow, you'd gotten him to agree to a photo. He was bent over so his head was level with your own. Due to the lighting, the man was squinting, however the dark gaze caused a chill to form down your back. You cleared your throat and flipped your phone around to show the girls. Dottie stopped talking and immediately looked at the screen

“Oh my god.” She murmured, sitting back and putting her hand over her chest. “He’s so handsome.” June grabbed the phone from you to get a better look. 

“You have to fuck him.” The eldest commented with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders. You let out a short laugh, snatching your phone back from the girls grasp. The two girls giggled at your embarrassment, Dot even took a coy sip from her drink. 

“Was that gray in his beard? How old is he?” Dottie asked, looking you in the eye and sipping on her own cocktail. 

“Don’t laugh, okay? He’s mid fifties.” A blush crawled across your cheeks as your words escaped your lips. June and Dottie blinked a couple times before Dot finally let out a snort. 

“Going geriatric, now? hm?” June spoke, raising her brow and taking a gulp of her drink. While Dottie laughed at June’s question, you glanced over their shoulders, witnessing two burly men sit down at a table across from yours. One of them made eye contact with you, glare evident in their gaze, before looking back to their buddy. You felt your skin crawl and cleared your throat, pushing the feeling away. June’s laughter brought you back, now looking between the two girls again. 

“Well, He- He really doesn't feel old. Not when we're together.” You shrugged, playing with the condensation on your drink. 

“I mean, you’re only twenty-six,” Dot spoke, her eyes glancing between you and June. “You’re young and hot. I don't see an issue.” Your eyes shot up to meet Dottie’s. She smiled at you, her dark brown eyes warming your core. 

“Who are we to judge,” June began, a laugh escaping her throat. “I slept with that old guy, remember? He was, like, almost sixty and I was drunk as hell.” You and Dottie laughed, remembering that night. It was June’s twenty-third birthday. You three went to the club to celebrate and the eldest of your group ended up getting too wasted on absinthe. Which resulted in her sleeping with Mitch Johnson, an old friend of your fathers. Small world. 

“And you,” June pointed to Dottie, “Are a homewrecker.” 

“He never said he was married.” Dottie responded, sticking her tongue out at the woman. The three of you chuckled amongst yourselves before a silence took over. Your eyes once again scanned the room, not being able to shake the eerie feeling those two men implanted. They still sat across the diner and occasionally their eyes would make contact with your own, causing a chill to run up your spine. You quietly flipped your phone over, checking for any more messages from John. The screen remained blank, setting panic to freely course through your veins. His previous message was sent fifteen minutes ago, which meant the man was probably on his way right now. Plus, your parents didn’t live far from Coopers. 

The men both stood up now, locking eyes with you. They then looked at the other, as though confirmation was in order, before beginning to walk in the direction that you and the girls sat. Anxiety courses firmly through your veins now, and you could feel your palms gather sweat. 

“Girls,” You murmured, gathering their attention. “There are two men walking in our direction now, and I’m pretty sure they are after me.” You kept your voice low, trying to pretend as though you are oblivious. June and Dottie became physically uncomfortable, now shifting in their seats and looking over their shoulders. You felt guilt cross your person, now realizing how serious the situation is. You put your two best friends in harm's way. I mean, It’s not like they’re completely useless; they have parents in the Mafia, they’re trained in combat and weaponry. However, the guilt still bothered you that it was your fault.

“How do we go about this?” Dot asked, reaching for her purse. Your eyes watched as the woman dug into her bag. The pop of a gun chamber sounded as she began to fill it with bullets. June tied her hair back and began to stretch her arms. You sometimes forget that June is trained extensively in Jiu Jitsu. You also looked back to the men who were still making their way to you, passing through the crowded dining room floor. 

“Should we leave the public space?” You murmured, “I don’t want civilian casualties.” 

“Yes.” June agreed, standing up. “Gather your things, quickly.” She added. The oldest tossed a fifty dollar bill onto the table to pay for the drinks and the food you didn’t get to eat. You led the way, pushing through the crowded dining room to the exit. You glanced back, seeing the men become more frustrated. You are aware of the other, knowing what little cat and mouse game was occurring. 

Your palms shoved the door open, the three of you stumbling over onto the sidewalk. You looked both ways before leading right. You didn’t know what to do, whether you should try to outrun them, or stick up and fight. Maybe if you kill them it’ll send a message to Santino. Though, he may not even care. As he’s got twenty more men to fill the space those two would leave. You made sure June and Dottie still followed, checking over your shoulder occasionally. The three of you pushed through the crowds of New York, your main destination being Dottie’s vehicle. Your eyes also kept a lookout for John. He probably tracked your phone, you knew he had the ability anyways. You’re just glad the little ploy worked for as long as it did. You turned right down an alleyway, taking a shortcut towards the parking garage that Dot’s car was in. June looked over her shoulder, alarm blaring through her veins as she spotted the men. 

“They’re still behind us.” She spoke, looking between you and Dottie. You took a deep breath, placing your hands on your hips. 

“Va al diavolo!” ‘[Go to hell!]’ You cursed, throwing your hands up. Dot quickly grabbed you by the arm, pulling you as she began to run to the end. June grunted as the three of you approached a dead end, meeting a chain link fence.

“Fanculo. Okay, you two climb over.” ‘[Fuck.]’ You spoke, gesturing to the fence that stood in front of you. Your eyes met those of your friends, all breathing heavily from the sprint. Echoed footsteps could be heard at the entrance of the alley. You glanced over your shoulder, seeing the silhouettes of the men headed in your direction.

“Go!” You spoke with a harshness towards your friends.

“Not without you!” Dottie raised her tone, hands on hips. You turned your head again, seeing them get closer.

“Dot, just go!” You finally yelled. The girls hesitated, however respected your wishes and quickly climbed the fence, hopping to the other side. They stood now, staring as the men approached, getting ready to jump back over if need be.

“Santino it ha Inviato?” ‘[Did Santino send you?]’ You asked the men, slowly walking towards them.

“Si.” ‘[Yes.]’ One responded, their faces finally becoming clear from the backlight. You looked at them, noting how they both looked like average Italian men. Dark hair, olive eyes, and warm skin. Their faces were covered in a few scars, and you noted how they both wore suits with visible holsters resting on their hips

“It ha mandato per uccidermi?” ‘[Did he send you to kill me?]’ You asked, the men now only ten feet away from you. The darkness of the alley sent a chill down your spine, and you glanced back at the girls to make sure they were alright. Dot had her hand in her purse, most likely gearing up for when shit turned sideways. June held a stoic look, almost a resting bitch face, staring down the two men. 

“Si.” The same one answered again. They now stood only five feet away, stopping in front of you. You felt the sweat drip down your forehead, the buggy summer heat beginning to take claim of your body. You took a deep breath, wondering where John was, and how now would be a good time for him to suddenly appear. The men cracked their knuckles, rolling their shoulders and looking at you with sinister smiles. 

“Di ‘a Santino: E un peccato che sia troppo codardo per uccidermi.” ‘[Tell Santino: It’s a shame he’s too much of a coward to kill me himself.]’ You spoke, remembering the moves that your bodyguard had taught you. You leapt forward, first knocking one of the men down by pushing in his kneecaps. You took the moment to quickly hit the next guy, however, he blocked your blow, sending you back a few feet. The second man took advantage of your hesitation and grabbed you, throwing you into one of the walls. You let out a yelp, feeling the brick scrape bare skin harshly. The first guy stood up, and threw a fist at you, however, you quickly dodged and used his own momentum to toss his body into the wall. 

You felt as the second lackey quickly punched your gut, causing you to double over in pain. June and Dottie stood yelling which you could hear through ringing ears. You recovered quickly, countering the second man with a swift kick to his shin. He groaned, but recovered and swung a fist at you. You managed to dodge the blow and delivered a hearty boot to his groin. He quickly dropped to the ground in pain and you grabbed the pistol from his holster, pulling the trigger and placing one bullet into his skull. The second man used this moment to grab your loose shirt, and throw you into the brick, scraping your skin once again. He lifted his foot and conveyed a kick to your gut, sending you to double over. He used his fist to hit the sides of your face, throwing your head back and forth. You could feel blood begin to drip down your face, the pain that each snap of your neck caused, you could hear June and Dot yelling but it was faint. Time felt slowed, your heartbeat was like a drum in your ear. Then, a gunshot. 

All movements stopped, followed by the thud of a body hitting the ground near your own. You slowly slid down, ignoring the burning chafe the brick left. Hot tears stung your eyes as you covered them with your hands, a harsh sob leaving your throat. Your body ached, your face burned, and blood was the only taste that donned your mouth. You heard the chain link rattle as somebody climbed over it, as well as a huff when they landed. A gentle hand placed itself on your shoulder, and you saw as they knelt down, due to the shadow.

“(Y/N).” John. A hoarse cry escaped your throat upon hearing your bodyguards gentle voice. He wasn’t angry, like you expected. Instead, his tone seemed more worried than anything. You managed to look up at the man from your hands, your eyes greeting the sight of his own.

“Oh my god, (Y/N)!” You heard Dottie yell as she approached your side. The two girls quickly examined your body, nearly shoving John out of the way. 

“I fucked up.” You didn’t even recognize your voice as you spoke— your throat burned. June dotted your bloody forehead with a napkin from Dot’s purse.

“We should get her back home.” Dottie murmured, looking up at John. The dark haired man nodded, agreeing with the woman. June moved out of the way so he could scoop you into his arms. You lay your head onto his chest, faintly hearing the sound of his heartbeat and breathing. The man carried you out of the alley with June and Dottie close behind. You felt the summer sun warm your face as you exited the cool shade of the alleyway. The fresh breeze brought your attention to the cuts on your face, feeling the coolness from the semi-dried blood. Dottie opened the vehicles door and John placed you in the passenger seat, buckling your body firmly in. The two girls hopped into the back, John promising they’d be returned to their car later this evening. You heard the rumble of the engine, and closed your eyes, feeling tiredness numb the pain that ravaged your figure.

——————

“How long have you been employed by the (Y/L/N)’s?” Dottie’s gentle voice quietly echoed throughout your bedroom. Mellow sun rays shone in through the window, casting a warm haze throughout the space. After the incident in the alleyway, John brought you, Dottie, and June back to your parents estate. However, after you all got back, John discovered they'd left on business to Rome for a few days. He carried your figure all the way from the car to your bed, carefully depositing you. Dot and June then got to work, bandaging your wounds, though after you seemed stable and well asleep, they backed off and let you get some rest. Now, John watched as Dottie cared for your sleeping figure. His heart couldn’t help but ache to see you so helpless laying there. Your face had been drained of some of its color, leaving it more pale and sickly. Your hair stuck to your skin, and a thin layer of sweat covered your body. Your bodyguard wanted so badly to climb into the bed with you, stroke your hair from your face, tend to your bandages, hold you, kiss you. 

“Month and a half.” John answered, looking over to the woman. She nodded at his answer, dotting your forehead with a wet washcloth. The woman sat next to your bed with a rag in hand, occasionally cleaning your skin of sweat and dried blood specs. June was asleep on the small couch you had in your bedroom next to one of the windows. John stood on the opposite side of the bed from Dottie, watching her every movement when it came to caring for you. Occasionally your body would stir, but you still hadn’t woken up since the car— four hours ago. 

“Are you liking it?” The vintage dressed woman asked, a smirk crossing her red lips. She cast her eyes between John and your sleeping figure, hinting as to what she was meaning. 

“I am.” He responded. Dottie noticed his softened gaze when he looked towards you. She glanced back down at your face, wiping your skin with the washcloth gently. Your brow bone contained a nasty laceration and your cheekbone held a nice bruise with a cut as well. There was also a gash on your bottom lip, and your left eye held a hefty black bruise. That man really got ahold of you. 

“They're a good family. I know Francesco means well,” Dot murmured, “Speaking of, have you let them know?” John watched as the woman stood up and walked to the bathroom retrieving a fresh bowl of water for your face. 

“I called Francesco shortly after we arrived here.” The dark haired man spoke. He sat on the edge of the bed, leaning towards your figure. He brushed away a few strands of hair that had fallen in your face. His thumb caressed your cheek afterwords, carefully avoiding the wounds that donned your skin. He felt your body stir, and a quiet groan escape your lips as you started to wake up. Dot walked back into the room, noting Johns figure looming over your own. A little smirk crossed her lips as she set the bowl down on the nightstand. You peeked your eyes open for a second, wincing at the brightness of the room. 

“Good afternoon, sleepy.” Dottie smiled, sitting beside your figure again. “Careful.” She murmured, watching as you shifted to sit up a little better. You knew Dottie was next to you, but could feel the weight of somebody on your other side. A large hand quietly placed itself on the side of your arm and you looked to see who it belonged to.

“How do you feel?” John’s words were gently spoken. His fingers squeezed your arm slightly before he released. 

“M-my throat hurts.” Your voice came out scratchy and withered sounding. Dottie quickly placed a cool glass of water into your palms, hers then wrapping around yours before releasing entirely. You gave her the best smile you could manage, due to your cuts, before sipping the drink. John stood up from the bed and made a comment about going to grab pain medicine before he exited your bedroom. 

“I'm going to wake up June.” Dottie spoke, walking over to her sleeping position by the window. You blinked your eyes, feeling the pain from the cuts, and groaned silently. It was stupid of you to think you could take on both of them. Your training with John was going fine, you figured if you at least got one down… No matter, at least you were still alive. The footsteps of your two friends caught your attention as the girls returned to your side. June immediately began to gush over how happy she was you were awake and okay, hugging you tightly. 

“We thought you were a goner.” The girl whispered, worry still evident in her tone. You raised your brows but winced as the sting from the cut became overwhelming. 

“I'm glad John showed up when he did. Like a superhero. He stood there with his gun and you should've seen the animalistic look in his eye.” Dottie sighed dreamily, “You are one lucky girl.” 

“I know about your ‘no dating’ rule, however, I don't think you should let this one get away.” June commented quietly, brushing some hair from your face. Dot agreed, shaking her head vigorously. The three of you cut the conversation short as John's footsteps echoed closer. He entered the room quietly and padded over to the bed, handing you a bottle of painkillers. Your fingers brushed as the container was passed and you felt a longing for the touch to remain; however just as the warmth arrived, it left. 

——————

June and Dottie stayed over for another hour before leaving. They helped you change your clothes and settle in for the night before they left you in the capable hands of John. The two of you remained in your bedroom the rest of the evening. You went in and out of sleep a few times. One time, you woke to the man humming quietly while sitting in bed next to your figure. Another, he was checking your bandages and cleaning the sheen of sweat from your skin. Maybe what June said is right, you can’t let John get away. Nobody has cared for you like he has. But that begged the question, would he even want to be with you? You’re half his age and apart of a mafia family. Plus, you still don't know much about him; his past, his home life, etc. He is a mysterious being, quiet too. It only made you want to know more.

“John?” You murmured, gathering the strength to sit up. It was late evening now, just past eight. The summer sun had just set, leaving a gray tone to cover the space. 

“Yes?” He answered, turning to face you. He had been sitting at your desk, cleaning his gun. 

“Parlami di te.” ‘[Tell me about yourself.]’ The man responded to your request by putting down the parts in his hand. He then quietly cleaned his fingers of grime before standing up and padding over to you, but not sitting. 

“What would you like to know?” He murmured. You studied his face for a moment, taking in the features he donned. His normally combed hair was disheveled now and he had bags under his eyes. He wore a suit and shoes too, obviously still dressed for work. 

“Everything.” You replied, ignoring the throb of pain that coursed through your body. John nodded, then loosened the tie from his around neck. He shed off his suit jacket next, leaving him in a black button up and vest on top. You admired his figure in the darkening room. He stood tall, confident, maybe a little tired, but didn't let it show much. The man settled on the edge of your bed, by your feet. The room remained silent for a few moments; you not daring to speak, and John taking the time to gather his thoughts. 

“I was married.” John’s voice was so soft, you had to lean towards him to hear better. The man kept his gaze towards his hands, fidgeting with his fingers. 

“Was?” You asked, pushing aside the slight feeling of jealousy that rose. 

“She- she passed due to an illness years back.” The bodyguard paused.

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” You let out quietly, as to not bother John’s story process. 

“I was retired and wanted to live my days as a widower, however I was dragged back into the business by an old friends’ idiot son.” The man sighed, pushing some fallen hair behind his ear. You caught a glimpse at how sad he appeared, and felt an urge to comfort him. Pain shot through your body as you scooted down the bed until you were close enough to John. You grabbed his hand and his fingers instinctively intertwined with your own, making you realize just how large his palms actually were. It felt right, his hand being wrapped with your own. 

“Ever since then, I haven't left the business again. I see no point. I can't seem to leave anyways, I keep getting dragged back in.” He sighed heavily and you began to rub your thumb along his hand, as your way of comforting him. He fell silent, but you didn't push anymore questions just yet. He was being open and raw, which was probably difficult for the man to do. If he wanted to tell his story, he would. You wanted to know more, obviously, about the kind of work he's done; his jobs, the people he’s met, and if he knew anyone in your family. You wanted to know why the man was so troubled, and why it seemed everybody is against him. 

“Will you stay with me tonight?” Your voice escaped softly, barely above a whisper. John's hand squeezed your own, before he finally made eye contact with you. His dark gaze caused a chill to slither down your spine.

“Yes.” He spoke softly, “I need to go change.” He gave your hand one last squeeze before removing it and standing up. You watched as his figure walked across your room and disappeared behind the door. It only took him about five minutes before he returned, ready for bed. Sure, it was barely nine, but you figured you could put on a movie. You drank in the sight of him, admiring his pajamas. Blue with plaid stripes, and a plain white t-shirt. You’ve never seen him in anything but a suit, nevermind the sweatsuit outfit from when you train. This is different than that, this is a side of John that doesn't say ‘Hey, i'm a killer!’ This side is domestic; make you coffee and toast in the morning domestic. 

“Would you like to watch a movie?” You then asked, watching him tidy up his mess from cleaning his gun, which he didn't finish. 

“Sure.” He responded, walking over and climbing onto the bed next to your figure. You turned on your TV, and picked a movie from a streaming service, before fully settling in. You scoot your body close enough to John’s that you were able to lay your head on his chest. The man wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you even closer, but gently as to not cause you more pain. You listened to his heartbeat as it slowed to a resting rhythm, and then closed your eyes letting sleep overcome your senses.

--

Masterlist

[ericsonclan]

I am Darkness, I am the Night

Summary: Minnie continues to watch over the people of Gotham when she returns home one night and sees that Sophie is late.... She is never late.

Notes: Was watching @stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale ‘s stream last night of Telltale’s Batman and it got us inspired to write a Batman AU one shot!

Read on A03:

It was far past midnight. The town of Gotham stood a bright beacon in the night’s presence. Never resting, never ceasing, never breaking free from the chain of crime. The vigilante crouched on top of a gargoyle stonehead staring down at the city below her. Her body felt exhausted; it was no surprise she’d had trouble sleeping over the last few nights. Fearful memories of the horrific night that had befallen her and her two siblings nearly seven years ago plagued her dreams. The images of her parents lying dead in the dirty alleyway, their eyes a vacant mixture of fear and nothingness. Their blood oozing from their bodies, slipping out and pooling in front of her feet while she tried to be brave. Her arms trembling as she stood there, the eldest of the children in front of her younger siblings. The gun slowly rising and pointing directly at her head and then… nothing. She always woke up in a cold sweat, her chest heaving and her brow furrowed and laden with sweat. She was nearing the age of twenty three and yet here she was still plagued by that tainted night.

“Minnie,” the earpiece crackled to life with the sound of her twin’s voice. “Minnie, I need you to focus.”

“Right, sorry,” Minnie shook her head violently and turned her attention towards the building she had been scoping out.

“Okay, now according to the information I’ve gathered it seems like it's a group of five that have infiltrated the Gotham City Bank. You’ll need to get closer to get their exact locations since I’m still struggling to bring up the cameras on my end.”

“On it,” The vigilante rose to her feet and with a gracious dive lifted up her arms, causing her cape to open and glide safely to the next point. She moved cautiously step by step until she was on the perimeter of the bank. Turning on her thermal vision she immediately picked up all members of the group. Two stood on the second floor, slowly pacing back and forth in their designated lookout spots, while two others seemed to be covering the front of the bank. The last member was busy stacking the cash and placing it haphazardly into the bags they had brought. They were nothing special. From the quick glance that Minnie had gotten that much was clear. This new thermal gear was quite impressive though; she’d have to thank Mitch and Prisha for that later. As for now, she had work to do.

Shooting her grappling hook she moved to the roof and carefully broke inside. Dangling from the ceiling Minnie watched her prey, careful for an opening. One of the men turned around, leaving his friend free to take out. With a well-timed shot the vigilante tied up the robber and knocked him out with ease. One down, four to go. Minnie moved over and quickly decided on another stealth takedown. Moving from spot to spot, she made her way to the floor before sneaking up behind the robber and chokeholding him. With a few seconds of pressure she felt his body go limp.

The second floor was clear, now on to the first.

She figured there was no need to be overly stealthy anymore. The robbers had failed to pick a time of day where they could’ve held hostages which made Minnie’s job much easier. Taking out one of her batarangs she tossed it, embedding it into one of the men’s shoulders. He let out a pained cry, causing the other two to look up.

“Holy shit, it’s the Bat!” One of the men’s voices wavered as he tried to get out his gun. But the vigilante was already upon him, sending a volley of punches and knocking him out. Dashing over she took out the injured one, leaving only the cash grabber left. A small clicking sound appeared from the vault. The robber held up his gun, his hands shaking.

“Don’t fucking move or I’ll shoot!”

“Doubt it,” Minnie’s cloaked voice replied simply before dodging the bullet and running forward. Her hand grabbed onto the man’s arm then sent her fist up, crushing his elbow. He stumbled back yelling in pain until the vigilante gave him the mercy of unconsciousness.

Minnie stood over the unconscious body, her chest heaving slightly when she heard a whistle. Turning sharply on her heel, she noticed Catwoman standing there will a small pouch full of diamonds.

“Quite impressive, Batty,” She smiled teasingly at Minnie who seemed shocked for a mere second before her face hardened.

“Catwoman, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Who, me?” The cat thief walked over toward the vigilante, her hips swaying back and forth with each step. “I’m just treating myself.”

“That’s not yours to take,” Minnie lunged forward but Catwoman simply backflipped and looked back at the vigilante with a flirtatious smile. “Oh, but it is finders keepers. That’s how I’ve always been.” She looked up and down at the Bat. “We really have to stop meeting like this,”

“Then stop stealing, “ Minnie hissed, sprinting forward once again and throwing yet another punch.

Catwoman blocked it before sidestepping and appearing by Minnie’s right ear. “Now where would be the fun in that?” she purred into the vigilante’s ear. Her hot breath tickled the side of Minnie’s face, causing her to freeze for a moment. Catwoman was about to take advantage of that and slip out when Minnie grasped her hand, her grip tightening around the cat burglar’s wrist. The vigilante pulled her closer.

“You’re coming with me,”

“Oh, I’d love to,” Catwoman stared directly into Minnie’s eyes. She kept moving closer to the Bat and Minnie felt herself getting confused once again, her guard dropping as Catwoman’s face moved closer to the vigilante’s own. All of a sudden Catwoman reached toward Minnie’s hip and grabbed a smoke bomb. “But I'm afraid I can’t,” She bopped the vigilante’s nose before tossing the smoke bomb. Minnie backstepped but was quickly overwhelmed by the sheer amount of smoke.

“Until next time - we’ll make it a date! But for now,” Catwoman shook her bag of diamonds, “I’ll be enjoying the labors of my work.” With that Catwoman disappeared without a trace, leaving Minnie alone and frustrated. She never could get a read on Catwoman and tonight made it even more unclear. But for now she needed to leave and return to the manor before the police arrived.

----

“You need to be more careful,” Tenn’s tone was serious as he applied the alcohol swab on Minnie’s side. She had just come back from western side of the city where a transport truck was on route to the prison when it crashed. It had taken her a while to take down all the prisoners that had been trying to escape.

Minnie let out a small hiss. “I know. I just didn’t see that knife, but I will be more careful, I swear,” Minnie looked up at her brother with an apologetic smile. Tenn stared into his sister's eyes before giving a nod, his usual kind smile reappearing on his face.

“Good. It’s just Sophie and I are always worried about you,” He moved to thread the needle, doing it with ease before beginning the stitches.

Minnie’s face fell. “I know,” she paused when she realized something. “Hey, where is Sophie?”

Tenn looked up from his work. “I think I heard that she was heading over to Violet’s place for a bit. But she did say she would be back by seven for dinner,” The youngest sibling glanced over at the tall grandfather clock that ticked away quietly in the room. “But it’s already seven.” Minnie could hear the tension and worry in her brother’s voice.

“It’s not like her not to text us when she’s running late,” Minnie felt her own fear bubbling up inside her. “I’ll call her as soon as you’re done patching me up.”

Tenn smiled and turned his attention back to his work. It only took a few more minutes for the stitches to be complete and the wound bandaged. Minnie ruffled the top of her brother’s head and gave an appreciative smile before walking over to her phone. With a few button presses Minnie put the phone up to her ear, hearing the dialing tone beep again and again and again.

“Hey there, sorry I missed your call. Knowing me it’s probably because I’m busy painting, eating or taking a nap. But leave a message and I’ll get you after the-” A beeping sound emitted on the line. That’s weird. Sophie’s phone rarely goes to voicemail.

“See ya later, Vi,” Sophie gave a final friendly wave to her friend. Violet quickly gave a wave back before shutting the door to her apartment. Sophie turned and started making her way to the exit, a happy bounce to her step as she strolled out to the street. It had been a really pleasant and chill time with Violet. It always was with Violet; she seemed to be doing well. She’d been happy, a soft blush on her face when Sophie had brought up Prisha. She told Violet the honest straightforward truth. That she should go for it, and Sophie really hoped that she would. The two would be good for each other.

Sophie pulled out her phone and cursed under her breath. It seemed like the trains were down which meant she would have to walk home. She should’ve just taken the car like Tenn had suggested. Oh well, Sophie stuffed her phone back in her pocket. I shouldn't be too late for dinner. Maybe if I’m fast enough, I won't even be late. With that thought in mind to fuel her determination she strode forward, excited for what was sure to be a fun dinner with her siblings and delicious food.

“Damn it,” Sophie shook her head. There was no way she’d make it back in time, even with cutting through the alleyways. Her eyes looked down at her phone screen that read 6:58 on the screen. She’d have to text Tenn and Minnie and let them know what happened.

“Excuse me,” An unnerving voice appeared from behind her. She felt her blood run cold. She knew that voice. She had heard it over Minnie’s earpiece not that long ago. It was Joker.

Spinning around, Sophie felt a wave of pain enter her gut as a warm, wet sensation flooded her chest. Looking down she noticed the gunshot wound. The blood was already seeping deeply into her clothes. She tried to steady herself but fell flat on her back, causing her phone to get knocked out of her hands. Barely moving her eyes, she glanced over to see that it was out of reach. The Joker let out a maniacal laugh as he ran his fingers through his greasy green hair. His pale skin made his brown eyes and red lips stick out more prominently on his sunken face. His lips twisted into a wicked smile. “It’s such a shame,” He strolled over and hovered over Sophie who was gasping as she tried to stop the bleeding to no avail. The blood was slipping through her fingers. “You seemed to be in such a chipper mood. But!” He gestured to himself, “Just think about how happy I’ll be when I see the Bat’s reaction to the death of someone she cares about.”

Sophie’s lips quivered as she tried to summon her courage but the fear must have been obvious in her eyes as the Joker's smile grew with slow, low chuckles. The smile disappeared for a second, however, when he heard Sophie’s phone play a bright and happy tune. It buzzed energetically against the cold, hard pavement. Sophie’s eyes widened when she looked over at the phone. Desperately she tried to get the Joker’s attention back on her.

“I-I…” Her voice was shaky.

“Shhh,” Joker put his finger to his lips. “I’ll take care of this. You don’t need to worry,” He pulled out a cane and sent it crashing down against the phone, cracking the screen. He hit it again and again until it was destroyed beyond repair. “Now, where were we? Oh yes. Your death. It’ll be too boring for me to watch and wait. So I’ll just have to drop by tomorrow to see just how broken I’ve made the Bat.”

With a twisted chuckle he disappeared down the street, twirling his cane before tucking it away and disappearing down the street.

Sophie felt her heart pound in her ears and she looked over at the remnants of her phone. Short, fearful sobs left her lips. She had to find a way to live. She couldn’t leave Tenn and Minnie. But it felt so hopeless.

Minnie’s fingers dialed the number again. A slow trickle of uneasiness started to dwell within the redhead’s heart which was only amplified when she got sent to voicemail again and again. Something was wrong. Had Sophie run into trouble? Had she come across one of Minnie’s enemies? The very thought sent a shiver down her spine. Wordlessly she moved to the Batcave and put on her suit. Tenn appeared, out of breath, a minute later.

“Minnie, what-”

“Sophie may be in danger. Can you pull up her last known whereabouts based on her phone’s GPS?”

Tenn immediately ran over and with frantic typing pulled it up. “Looks like she was in an alleyway near the center of Gotham,” Tenn pointed to the screen, his finger shaking violently. Minnie put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze before putting on her mask. Jumping into the Batmobile, she headed straight to that location. She parked a few blocks away, jumping the rooftops before landing in the right coordinates. Her eyes searched the alley below frantically until they noticed something. Minnie’s heart jumped up to her throat, her breath short and rapid as she looked at the sight before her.

“Sophie!” Minnie landed next to her sister, her eyes darting back and forth at the pool of blood that covered her twin and the weak movement of her sister’s eyes. “Fuck,” Minnie pressed her earpiece. “Tenn, called an ambulance and send them to this location.”

“Is Sophie….” Tenn’s voice cracked and faltered out.

Minnie didn’t answer. Instead she placed her hand firmly on her sister’s gut where the bullet had entered.

“Minn…...ie,” Sophie’s head flopped over as her eyes tried to find her sister’s.

“I-It's going to be okay, I’ve got you now, just hold on,” Minnie tried to put on a brave smile for her twin.

Sophie smiled sadly up at her twin. “I’m sorry. I-”

“Just focus on staying awake, okay?” Minnie snapped, her voice shaky. She needed to be strong for Sophie. She needed to make Sophie believe she would be fine. Because she had to be fine.

Sophie gave a short nod, tears started to fill her eyes. “I love…..” her head fell to her side. Her eyes shut and her body went limp.

“Sophie! Sophie! Fuck!” Minnie felt her hands tremble as they became coated in more and more of her twin’s lifeblood. Please…. Minnie felt tears fall down her face and onto her sister’s. Don’t die.

Minnie and Tenn sat in the waiting room, both of them utterly silent and shattered by their fear. Violet, Prisha and Mitch showed up an hour or two later, all of them were shocked and worried for their friend’s wellbeing. They stayed by the siblings’ sides even though they were in no condition to speak. It was only after several hours that a doctor walked out towards them. Minnie and Tenn rose abruptly to their feet. Tenn’s hand gripped Minnie’s, both of them trembling as they waited for the news.

“She’s going to pull through,” The doctor stated. All of them let out a collective sigh of relief when Minnie noticed the expression on the doctor’s face. The doctor instantly felt the pair of eyes on him. “It’s still pretty early so it’s hard to tell, but it seems highly likely that she has lost both feeling and use of her legs. I’m afraid she may never be able to walk again.”

Minnie and Tenn felt their hearts stop, completely broken by the news. Minnie took a few shaky steps back and fell into one of the chairs. Her mind and heart struggled to accept the news.

Sophie would never walk again.

[venactricisfics]

Training Day

Part 1

The Unit Based Story

"Did you kill it?" I smile at Beau's crate filled with the fluffy guts of the stuffed squirrel Charlie gave him. Beau gives me a look that confirms he did, in fact, destroy the intruder. I open and clean the crate. Beau watching me intently. 

"It takes you being surrounded by all this sweat testosterone to bring out your inner puppy?" I clip his leash to his harness. "PT time." 

I step out the back of the cage, dressed in a grey army t and black shorts and walk with Beau toward the track.  The run was invigorating. Opened up my mind to all the new that happened since I came to Fort Griffith. It was still me and my dog. But for the first time, I was falling in sync with people. Or at least I hoped I was. 

Beau ran through the obstacles three times before it was time to head back to the cave. We were running drills before our next mission. I had to prove how I meshed with the team with and without my dog. 

"Shit, " the locker room was full of guys, I wouldn't be able to change before the drill. I get Beau settled and grab my weapon from the locker. I didn't go overlooked by any of the men there. 

"It's true, " I hear a man scoff, "they have cracked and are letting women in here." 

"Women shouldn't be trusted with heavy firearms, " another says. 

"Really?" I cock a brow turning towards him, "Why is that?" 

"Women just have bad aim, " he stumbled over his words. 

"I have four brothers, I guaran-damn-tee you that men have worse aim than women, " I look between the men. "But you don't have to worry about Lil' old me. I don't fire a gun with my pussy so it's all good." His mouth falls open. 

"Damn, " I hear Charlie's voice smiling from behind me as I slam my locker closed. "That would be an interesting party trick." 

"Probably, " I relax a little and tighten my holster strap around my thigh and tug it tight to keep from rubbing against my skin. Once I had my kevlar on I was happy to only have shorts and a t-shirt under. The training area is hot as fuck. 

I listen as Mack runs through the drill instructions. Jonas and Col Ryan would be watching, judging. I supposed to see how well I actually fit. 

The room was divided into five sections. Mach assigned us our spot. We were responsible for taking out the pseudo threats without hurting the pseudo hostages. The hostages I noticed was the other team, including the two men who doubted me. 

I pushed all the shit from before away. I'd known guys like that my whole life. I couldn't let them get in my head. I didn't have shit to prove to them, just to my team. 

"Bet she's shit without that dog to protect her, " I heard one say as the door swings open. I push it down. No fear, no anger. I couldn't express it, at least not until the job was done. 

Bullets flew, expertly, each one of my teammates taking down their assigned targets. I aimed and fired. Narrowing my eyes at the target. Instead of a hole being blown through the paper target, an explosion of pink paint erupted. The two men just laughed as target after target was covered in pink paint. I changed my clip and fired again. More of the same. 

My cheeks burned with anger but I didn't react. They wanted to see me cry. To see me wash out of the Unit. 

"What in the fuck happened in there, Mitch?" Mack shouted as we left the staged room. "We run drills with live rounds." 

"I know, " I told him, "I loaded both clips with live ammo before I went for my run this morning." 

"And you left your clips in your locker?" Bob asked his voice calmer. 

"Yes, " it started to sink in, "Laurel and Hardy were in the locker room when I got back." 

"We'll take care of it, " Mack stated. "Come with me." He leads me back into the staging room. He scans each of my targets. The pink paint splatter a perfect bullseye. "Give me your weapon, " Mack says to me. I nod pulling my gun from its holster. He slides the clip open and pops the round out of the chamber. He drops the trick bullets in the laps of my hazers. 

"This is not a fucking game, " Mack inches his face closer to them, his fingers curling tight into the man's shirt. "You feel me?" 

"It was just a joke, " the man responded. 

"Does it look like any one of us is fucking laughing? You do shit like that in the field you get her and the rest of us killed," Mack pushes him back hard and draws his fist back landing it in his face. 

"Enough, " Col Ryan's voice barks from the doorway behind us. "Let him go Mack." Reluctantly Mack releases him.  "As for the two of you, " the Col's eyes narrow. "You pull a fucking stunt like that again you'll be booted so far out of the Unit you'll forget its existence." 

"Yes, sir, " they say in unison. 

"Get the fuck out of here, " Col Ryan orders. The two stumble over each other to leave the room. 

"You alright, Mitch? " I'd been watching the entire scene play out in shock, I barely heard Hector's voice over the noise in my head.  

"Yeah, I'm fine, " I told him. "No one other than my brothers has ever defended me like that." 

"We're your brothers now, " Bob said.  The rest of the guys nodded in agreement. 

"Carlito, " Mack grins, "is like that stepbrother that wants to fuck you." 

"Why you gotta make it sound like that?" Charlie scoffs. Though his lips curve into a smile. 

"I'm strangely ok with it, " I felt the weight of everything lifted from my shoulders. 

[daisyxbuckley]

Afterlife//Mitch Rapp Series

A/N: Here is my normal 4K+ words lol. So the next chapter will be the last part of THIS series but there will be an epilogue for the end...and its insane.

Warnings: Smut. Just dirty smut.

Description: It’s been six months since Mitch and Ophelia took down Ghost. Six months since Ophelia had to kill someone that she thought she once loved. Now a new threat is back and the only question is…with they both make it out alive? @cxddlyash @xceafh @dylan-obrien-fanblog @stiles-o-dylan24 @n0rdicstar

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Ophelia got back to the compound almost three hours after she left Mitch in town. She had to double back to make sure he didn’t follow her and get himself killed. The girl hated lying to him about what was going on but she knew that in the end it would all make sense. 

Getting into the giant house, Ophelia walked past the men sitting in the living room and headed up the stars to the part of the house that her room was located in. She had been there since she left the cabin that night four months earlier and though Ophelia hated being there, she knew that it was better than Mitch dying. 

Her room was dark when she opened the door and she flicked the light on walking in. “You’re home late.” The voice made Ophelia tense up. Putting on a blank face, she turned around and stared at Kiernan, crossing her arms. 

“I had something to take care of.” Was all she said as she shrugged out of her jacket and laid it down on the chair at her desk. “I’m back aren’t I? Just like I said I would be.” Ophelia leaned against the desk crossing her arms again. She watched Kiernan as he walked slowly over to her. He wasn’t exactly an ugly man and he knew it. His dirty blonde hair had grown out a bit but he still kept it cropped. His blue eyes were bright as he got closer to her, and she could see that it wasn’t from something good. It scared her honestly, Kiernan wasn’t exactly the most stable man and she was not about to piss him off. 

Kiernan stepped close to Ophelia, pinning her against the desk. “I know he’s here.” He said in her ear. His breath tickled her neck as she closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to look at him. 

“I got it handled.” Was all she said finally opening up her eyes and staring at him. “I really hope so love.” He said as he gripped her chin and forced her to stare at him. “I would really hate to break the deal we have.” 

Ophelia rolled her eyes as his hand moved to the back of her neck and squeezed. “I said I had it handled Kiernan. He won't be an issue.” Kiernan let go of her neck and stepped back, walking around her room. Ophelia kept hardly anything personal in her room. Some books and her makeup on her vanity was all the proof that she actually lived there. Picking up a red lipstick Kiernan looked at it before looking back up at her. 

“Wear this with that red dress tonight.” He said setting it next to her before heading towards the door. 

“Wait, why?” Ophelia snapped out of her haze and looked at him. As far as she knew nothing was going on tonight. 

“We have a meeting. Well I do.” Kiernan said casually. “I’m not allowed to bring back up so that’s where you come in.” Ophelia stared at him till he elaborated. “You need to act like you’re out having a good time, but you’re there to be my back up.” 

Ophelia nodded as he walked out. She wanted nothing more than to put a bullet through his eyes but she couldn’t. Instead she watched him shut the door before heading to her bathroom and getting ready. 

*************************************************

Mitch had followed the tracker that he managed to slip on to Ophelia earlier to a house that was secluded in the woods. He knew he shouldn’t of done it, but he couldn’t just leave her there. The compound was huge and Mitch knew that this was where she was staying. Parking his car deep in the woods, Mitch managed to get past the guards guarding the front gate and into the garage where the cars were kept. He looked around and saw the sedan that was in the market earlier and placed a tracker on it. Looking to his right he noticed the bike that Ophelia had used to get away earlier that day and had his hand down the side. Before he regretted it, Mitch reached out and stuck a tracker on it before heading out and back to the car. 

An hour after he got back, the tracker started moving and Mitch knew that he needed to follow. And that’s how he found himself outside of a nightclub. The beat flowed out of the building and into the car that he was using. Mitch noticed that the sedan was making another loop and figured he should head inside before he lost Kiernan in the club. 

The music was so loud that you couldn’t hear yourself think. He sat down at the bar and ordered a beer before just looking around. He figured he would try and get an eye on Ophelia before he moved around. The last thing he needed was for her to see him before he saw her. He could feel eyes on him as he looked up and over towards the end of the bar and rolled his eyes at a girl who waived and tried to flirt with him. The music switched to a sensual song with a strong beat and he groaned wondering what the hell Ophelia was doing in a place like this. 

“Bruh, she’s back.” He heard the man next to him say to his buddy. They both looked towards the staircase and laughed. Mitch sighed and turned around on the stool with his beer in his hand, looking over to where they were pointing. “I would so her a good time.” The buddy said laughing. Mitch rolled his eyes as he scanned the entrance. 

What he was not expecting was Ophelia standing there. The beat in the music dropped as she started walking down the steps and Mitch realized that his eyes weren’t the only eyes on her and it wasn’t hard to see why. 

Her hair was swept up in a curly bun with her bangs falling in her eyes. Her make up was darker than she would usually have it and the red lips she had on seemed to look plumper than usual. But that wasn’t what stole the breath from his lungs. The red dress that she had on stopped about midway down her thighs. It was tight against her body and laid so her shoulders were exposed, the tan skin was practically glowing in the club lights. His eyes traveled down her legs to the heels that were on her feet and then scanned back up towards her face. Though she had a blank face on, he could tell she was scanning the room with her eyes. When she hit the bottom of the stairs the crowd parted like it was the red sea to let her through. He could see men get scolded by their girlfriends when they lingered a bit too long on her ass as she walked by.

Getting up, Mitch started heading into the crowd keeping his eyes on her. Watching her walk over to the corner of the club, his body tensed up as she stopped. Kiernan was standing there and put his arm around her waist as she flashed that smile that Mitch loved so much. Holding her hand out, she shook the hands of them men in front of her and played coy as she chatting with them for a minute. Leaning towards Kiernan, she whispered something in his ear and nodded when he shook his head. With a kiss on her cheek, Ophelia was off and making her way towards the bar. 

The girl leaned against the bar ordering a shot of whiskey and beer, trying to ignore the looks that she was getting from the guys around her. Feeling a hand on her backside, Ophelia took the shot that was sitting in front of her before turning towards the ofender. Before she could do anything though, the amber colored eyes that she had fallen in love with were standing in front of her. Ophelia quickly looked over to where Kiernan was deep in conversation before pulling Mitch down the hall and away from prying eyes. Slamming him against the wall, Ophelia pressed her body against his while keeping her arm against his throat. 

“What the fuck did I tell you earlier.” She hissed. “You need to leave. Now. If he catches you here then you’re a dead man Mitch.” Ophelia was legitimately terrified that this was going to be the night that everything comes crashing down. 

“You’re out of your damn mind O.” Mitch said glaring down at her. “In here dressed like that, hanging all over him? You were protecting him earlier, what does he want you to be his arm candy that can protect him?” 

“You don’t know shit.” Ophelia said letting go of him. Backing up a bit she sucked her bottom lip in through her teeth and chewed on it. “You need to get out of here. I’ll explain everything to you later..but right now you need to leave.”  Ophelia quickly reached up and kissed him on the lips before she stepped back and ran down the hall. Mitch stood and watched her go as she rounded the corner wondering what the hell was going on. 

**********************************************************

It had been two days since Mitch had seen Ophelia in that club. Two days he spent worrying about if she was okay or if Kiernan had figured out that Mitch was there. He had just stepped out of the shower and threw his sweats on when he heard a knock at the door. Quietly creeping over to it, Mitch picked his gun up and held it as he looked out the peephole. Noticing the person on the other side of  it, he quickly put the gun down and opened up the door. 

Ophelia was standing in the doorway looking like a dream that came to life. Her grey jeans were tucked into her boots as they laced up her calves. The white sweater that she was wearing clung to her figure as it fell right below her ass. Her hair was curled lightly and falling on her face as she smiled at him slightly. 

“Are you going to let me in or are we going to just stand in the hallway.” Ophelia said chewing on her lip as Mitch quickly moved out of the way. She could tell that everything that had been going on took a toll on him and it broke her heart knowing that. Walking further into the hotel room, Ophelia set her bag down and looked around before facing Mitch. 

“Look..obviously telling you to get the hell out of here wasn’t working so obviously I need to tell you the truth.” She said quietly. Mitch nodded as she sat down and he leaned against the wall in front of her. When he didn’t say anything, Ophelia took that as a sign to continue. 

“Irene knows.” Was all she said. Before she could get anything else out, Mitch had pushed himself up from the wall and walked over to her with a glare on his face. 

“Excuse me? Irene knows that you’re working with a man wanted by both the US and Interpol who wants to kill you?” Mitch had to restrain himself from yelling. He didn’t want to scare Ophelia off by fighting with her, but who the hell was this happening?

“Look, when we got back to my apartment Kiernan called me. He told me that he had been watching me since he got out.” Ophelia said picking at her nails. “He wants revenge for something he thinks I did.” 

“What does he think you did?” Mitch asked her quietly. 

“Kiernan had a daughter. She was 4 when I met him...when I was extracted and he was arrested she was taken into custody. Something happened and she died.” Ophelia whispered. “He thinks that I had something to do with it...but I didn’t. When he contacted me that day he told me that he wanted to kill you and I couldn’t let that happen Mitch.” Ophelia stood up and walked over to him. Taking his hand in hers she sighed. “I called Irene when we stopped the first time..before we ditched the phones. She told me to do whatever I had to do to get him to trust me again. We needed to catch this man and I was the only way to do it.”  

“So you drug me..run off on your own  and leave me worrying for four months thinking you’re dead all because Irene wanted you to catch this guy?” Mitch felt his hands tighten around hers and felt his blood boil. Irene had done some pretty shady shit since he joined, but this was insane. 

“Mitch i’m so sorry. But he needs to be stopped and if that means I work with him for the time being then I am. If we can get enough information then we can take him down and a lot of the big guns that he sells to.” Mitch yanked his hands out of Ophelia’s and paced across the room. 

“No, this is insane, O.” He yelled. “You are in danger. For all we know this man could be plotting your death and you don’t even know it.” 

“He wouldn’t kill me. I’m too valuable now.” She said flatly. “I’m currently the only one he can trust.” 

“Right, because you’ve been traveling all over Europe killing men that he has grudges with.” Mitch spat out to her. 

“It’s not like they were exactly angles Mitch.” Ophelia replied shrugging her shoulders. Watching him get irritated she sighed. “Look, I came here today so you knew what was going on. So you could go home and let me do my job. The whole reason this works is because he thinks that i’ve cut off all ties with you.” 

“Nope. No fucking way. I’m not leaving you here with that psychopath by yourself.” Mitch said shaking his head and crossing his arms in front of his chest. Ophelia's eyes went to his arms and how the flexed as he was trying to control his anger. Sighing Ophelia ran a hand through her hair and closed her eyes sighing. 

“You don’t have a choice Mitch. Either you leave willingly or I shoot you.” She said grabbing her bag. “Your choice.” Ophelia hated to put it that way but she would rather wound him and send him home then have him be dead. Walking towards the hotel room door, she was about to leave when Mitch grabbed her hand and spun her around.

“You wouldn’t dare shoot me.” He growled as he pressed her up against the wall. Ophelia let out a gasp when her back hit the wall but continued to stare at him. His hands were against the wall on either side of her head and he was so close that she could smell the aftershave he used after the shower. To say she was weak in the knees with it was an understatement. Mitch was like a drug to her and she hated that he had that effect when she needed to focus. 

“You really want to test me on that right now?” She asked glaring at him. She would do whatever it took to keep him safe. “Mitch let me go now.” Ophelia whispered. She could see his eyes darken when she said that and didn’t know if it was out of anger or lust. Honestly it didn’t matter at that point because all she wanted was him. 

“Do you want me to let you go Ophelia?” Mitch asked with a raspy tone. He stepped closer to her body, pressing himself against her as his hands moved from the wall and trailed down to her hips. Digging his fingers into her sides he pulled her as close as humanly possible. But it wasn’t enough. Ophelia let out a whimper at the contact and closed her eyes as her hands trailed up his arms wrapping them around his neck. Mitch leaned down and started pressing light kisses against her chin, slowly trailing down her neck. “I know that you miss this.” His voice was husky as he moved to the hem of her shirt tugging it off. The sweater fell to the floor and Ophelia was left in only her  red lace bra and her skinny jeans. Mitch stepped back and looked at her standing against the wall breathing hard. She was just as beautiful as he remembered. 

Pressing back against her, Mitch laced his hand in her hair while the other one wrapped around her lower back moving her away from the wall and started walking her towards the bedroom. Ophelia’s hands moved into his hair and pulled as he groaned into her mouth. Sliding his hands down her ass, he gripped her hips as she jumped up around his waist. Slamming her against the wall Mitch’s mouth left hers as he pressed hard, wet kisses all over her shoulders and neck. Moving his knee so she was pinned as he moved his arms up and removed her bra. Throwing it behind them he moved his lips down to gently nip and bite at the hardened buds that were before him. Ophelia’s moans of approval were all he needed to egg him on as his hand slipped down to her jeans and unbuttoned them. Slipped his fingers in past the waistband of her underwear, he slowly started drawing figure eights on her clit, eliciting a moan from her as she pulled his hair. 

“Mitch, you need to stop teasing me.” She whispered as she pulled his lips back up to hers. Nodding, he pushed away from the wall with her and walked to the bed pressing one more kiss to her mouth before he laid her down on it. Kissing down her chest, Mitch left a wet trail going all the way down to her stomach. Sliding her pants off he moved up to position himself between her legs. Blowing air on her clothed core, Mitch revealed in the fact that he could still make her squirm. Quickly shoving a finger inside, Mitch slowly started pumping as he left kisses on the inside of her thighs. 

Ophelia moaned and gripped the sheets on the bed so hard that her knuckles were turning white. Her eyes shot open when she felt him take her underwear off and slide another finger in while attaching his mouth to her clit. “Jesus fuck Mitch.” She gasped out as he shot her a crooked smile. “You’re and asshole.” 

“Yeah, but you like it.” He said removing his fingers before putting them in his mouth and licking them clean. Taking his sweatpants off, he quickly moved so he was hovering over Ophelia again. Pressing kisses all up her side she felt her shudder from the touch and knew that she was putty in his hands again. Ophelia reached own and wrapped her hand around his shaft and started pumping slowly as their lips met in a heated kiss. Lining him up with her entrance, Ophelia broke the kiss as he pressed himself inside. It had been too long since she had been with him this way and Ophelia wanted nothing more than to just lay here with him forever. But she couldn’t so for now she just enjoyed his body against hers. 

Mitch wasted no time picking up a rhythm. His hips rolled against hers as she lifted up to meet him. The position they were in and the length it’s been since they had each other this way was making it hard for Mitch to keep going for too long. Ophelia knew that so she wrapped her legs around his waist and clenched her walls around him, gasping at the feeling of him hitting her g spot and making her come undone. Pulling her lips back to his, she smiled. “Let go Mitch..” She whispered. Mitch picked his pace up and realized that they were going to hit this high together and he wanted nothing less. A few more strokes and Mitch felt himself release inside her as Ophelia felt herself let go.

They laid there together for a few minutes just trying to recatch the breath that had been lost. Mitch played with Ophelia’s hair as she laid on his chest and wrapped his other arm closer around her body. Kissing the top of her head, he smiled was she looked up at him. “I love you so much..do you know that?” He whispered. Ophelia’s mind stopped working for a second when he muttered those words. They had said I love you before, but they never said it like that. It was usually when the other was half asleep or an absentminded thing as they walked out the door. 

“I know..and you know I love you too..and that means I need to keep you safe.” She whispered. Mitch shook his head, moving the hair out of her face. 

“No.. that’s my job, love. I’m supposed to keep you safe and I need to.” He said quietly. “I love you so much it hurts, O. And I can’t do this without you...I won't.” Reaching over, he grabbed the phone from his nightstand and dialed a number. Ophelia looked at him with a confused look as he waited for the person to pick up. 

“Irene. I have her.” Mitch said as Ophelia quickly sat up. “Yeah, she's right in front of me. She told me what you guys are planning.” Mitch put the phone on speaker phone as Irene was silent. 

“Mitch, you need to leave Ophelia be.” Irene said quietly. “Ophelia if you’re there you need to leave now. We have come way too far for you to be compromised.” 

“I know Irene.” Ophelia said quietly. “There’s a gala going on tonight. We are going and ill be able to meet who he's selling to. There’s a few guys there that are on the radar for us that we can nab, I just need to make sure they are there.” 

“Good. You know what to do Ophelia. In and out.” Irene said. “Once we do this and get that proof you can come home.” 

Mitch was about to say something when Irene spoke again. “Mitch, you will see that I got you an invitation for the gala as well. You’re her back up, but do not be caught.” She said. “The invitation is under Mitch Kruse. Make sure you get a tux.” Was all Irene said before she hung up. Ophelia looked at Mitch and shrugged as she started getting up, grabbing her clothes and getting dressed. 

“Looks like you’re getting your way.” She grumbled walking away from the bed and looking for her bra. Mitch quickly got up and threw his sweats on and followed after her. “Are you seriously mad that I'm going in as your back up?” He said his voice rising a bit. 

“Yes Mitch!” Ophelia had found her shirt and threw it back on, trying to get her hair to look presentable again and faced him. “I have spent the last four months with Kiernan trying to make sure you don't get yourself killed..and now you’re going to be at a place that you could possibly die at.” He could see the tears welling in her eyes and he stepped closer, putting his hands on her cheeks. 

“Hey, hey. Nothing is going to happen to me tonight. I promise you that we will both be walking out of there.” He whispered as she closed her eyes and leaned into his hand. “I will bring you home and when I do I'm making sure that we are going to be together for the rest of our lives.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss gently to her lips as he wiped a tear that had fallen down. Ophelia grabbed his hands in hers pressing soft kisses against his knuckles. 

“I need to go. I still have to pick my dress up for tonight and take care of a few more things.” She whispered looking back up to him. “I love you.” Ophelia smiled at the grin that broke across Mitch’s face. Bringing her to him one more time, he pressed a kiss to her lips before she turned around and grabbed her bag. Sending him one more glance, Ophelia slipped out the door. 

[joshquagmire]

For those of you who are aficionados of old time radio – run away, very fast! As we present a script for the most awful radio western ever – The Clorox Kid Rides Again!

The radio show opens with a rousing theme, it's the William Tell overture played backwards on a kazoo…

Announcer: "Out of the west, with the speed of a rabid armadillo – and almost as intelligent – a cloud of dust and a hearty "Hi Yo Chlorine!" rides Tex Trump, the Clorox Kid, and his GOP back-shooting billionaire bandits!!"

Someone (off stage) tosses a handful of kitty litter (for dust) onto the stage as we see Tex Trump, wearing plaid chaps, a bandana tied across the back of his head and wearing a huge 22– gallon hat with a spigot on one side and "MAGA" sloppily lettered with a leaky marker, across the front… He's riding Mitch McConnell, resplendent in a silver ruble – studded saddle and little else (a truly repellent sight! You're lucky that you can't see it)…

SFX: Retching and (cat calls) from the studio audience, someone yells, "Every man for himself!" followed by sounds of stampeding feet…

McConnell gasps, chokes and collapses in front of the mic… Tex Trump gets off, kicks McConnell a couple of times… "Get up ol' boy – Up an' att'm! Ya got House bills ta ignore, unqualified Judges ta certify"… McConnell just lies there wheezing - out of breath… Trump does a fakey bowlegged waddle around the microphone as he chews a large glob of licorice – pretending it's tobacco…

Trump spits on McConnell, as he steps up to the microphone, smiles insincerely (a little bit of licorice dribbling down his chin)… "Wall howdy thar li'l saddle pals, this h'yars yer ol' compadre Tex Trump, the Clorox Kid, with another handy–dandy bogus cure fer that sneaky li'l Covid 19 fella… Yup, do lak the ol' Clorox Kid, jes dip yer silver bullets in Bleach…" He pours liquid out of a large furry canteen labeled "Clorox" – misses the bullet and spills it on a prairie dog, which shrieks and melts…

Trump chuckles, "heh eh eh, don't worry none saddle pals, we got plenty more of them li'l critters back stage, in the same cage we us'ta keep the kids in…" Yells at someone off–camera, "Get me another prairie dog, this time put it in a plastic bag!" He kicks a cardboard tumbleweed and then McConnell again, then seems to remember… "Where was I? The script, who's got the script?"

SFX: Shuffling and off-mic whispers - the rattle of paper…

Trump: "Whazzat? Who asked for a script, I didn't want that, you know I don't read, just whisper in my ear…"

SFX: More whispering…

Trump: "Oh that's right, Ah recalls now… Li'l Saddle-chumps, ta bushwhack that nasty li'l corona 19 critter, ya gotta sneak up on it… ah, sneaky like… Which ol' Tex Trump is reeeal good at... Jus' dip yer bullet in clorox, then…" He pulls a gleaming chrome Uzi out of his holster, shoves the barrel in his mouth and… *CLICK*

Trump's eyes shift from side to side, he lowers the Uzi, chuckles sheepishly… "Seems ol' Tex Trump forgot ta load the thing, but…" (Points dramatically at audience) "Don't you fergit, Saddle–chumps! Ol' Tex an' his billionaire buddies all need ya ta get back ta work pronto! Lick that Corona critter an' get your slacker selves back ta the factories an' sweat shops! Ya owes it ta us mega-wealthy, ‘cause didn't we take yer healthcare, deny ya medicare? An' ain’t we workin' hard ta take away yer Social Security an' Post Office, an' deny ya the right ta vote? Yer lives is shit anyhows, so jest git back ta work, so's ya kin make us more millions 'cause we ain't never got enough!! We don't care if ya dies in yer own puke, Ya owes us!!

Trump then whistles tunelessly, while attempting to twirl a lariat, tangles it around his boot – trips – falls on a cactus…

Announcer: "And that's our thrilling Western Adventure for today… Be sure to be here next time, Saddle Pals, with your piggy banks handy, when Tex Trump explains how you can invest your life savings in his fraudulent Tex Trump University and Cheat'um Charity… Learn valuable lessons, like how to tell when you've been hoaxed and swindled (it's in small print on your diploma) and above all, don't forget to ask your Mom to add a spoonful of Ovaltine to your breakfast glass of bleach, for that refreshing chocolaty household cleanser flavor!! This show has been sponsored by the GOP – NRA and KKK…"

Music plays off – "Hail to the Chief" on a cracked record which repeatedly skips, till we hear the needle screeching across the shellac… then Dead Air…

[mf-despair-queen]

Jigsaw Pieces - Chapter 4 - Mitch Rapp

Author: @mf-despair-queen​

Characters: Mitch Rapp/Reader

Word Count: 4,715

Summary: Mitch has changed since the in Ibiza. After some fearful words, Mitch disappears without notice. She’s determined to find him - no matter the cost.

Warnings: None Really?

Notes: JUST LET ME POST ALREADY TUMBLR. JFC

Eighteen Months Later…

Mitch changed.

After spending countless weeks in the hospital for his injuries, he was forced to undergo physical and mental rehabilitation. You couldn’t count how many times the doctors had called because he had awoken in the middle of the night screaming at the tops of his lungs from the trauma on the beach. You couldn’t count the number of times you saw him collapse from pain, the wound in his leg throbbing with unyielding agony. You couldn’t count the number of times you stood outside his hospital room, staring through the window at his broken figure, fingers running over the scar on his shoulder.

Yet, he never said a word of it to you. Not once did Mitch say anything about his pain or his distress, keeping a cold persona that made your skin crawl and your wrist ache.

After graduating with your masters, you moved down to Rhode Island with Mitch, despite his silent protests. He never actively pushed you away, but you couldn’t help feeling that he was trying to distance himself from you. Writing it off as part of his painful loss, you stayed with him, caring for him just as you always had.

Every night, you would show up at his apartment door, letting yourself in with the spare key he never complained that you had. He would be shirtless at his computer or in his bed, reading some book in which you weren’t sure the contents were. Every once in a while, you would find him knee deep in exercising, his fists pounding away at the punching bag hung up from his roof. His eyes, dark and mysterious, would glance up at you, never truly acknowledging your presence in his messy home. He would follow your form across the apartment until you found the kitchen, placing the groceries you got for him in his fridge, making dinner for the two of you.

He would grace you long enough to sit at the table for an awkward, silent meal, words rarely being shared. The clink of silverware against the plates filled the apartment, sometimes Mitch being preoccupied with a book. He never gazed at you for long, your eyes lefts to linger on his form, taking in the changes he had undergone in a year and a half.

His hair had grown out, the once shorted chocolate locks having grown out to something that was reminiscent of his high school days. The ends curled towards the roof unless they were wet with sweat or a shower. His luscious locks had lost some of its sheen, mirroring his depressed form. You only knew that it was the same fluffy locks he always had because he would sometimes fall asleep after dinner and you would sit with him, running your hands through his hair. It seemed to calm him, a wave of relaxation washing over you almost like you were able to feel his aura seeping through your system.

To add to the longer hair, the man had grown out his beard considerably. It felt like the first true sign that he was a man now, no longer the teen you went to highschool with. A thick brush of hair covered his lip, chin and cheeks, hiding the constellation of marks that were spread across his jawline. It saddened you that they were invisible to the naked eye as the hair got longer. Recalling the nights you could just say next to each other talking, you had counted the number of marks and moles he had strewn across his fair skin countless times, memorizing them without realizing it. Though, staring at him now, his slender digits stroking the length of his beard, tugging at the end strands

His body had changed. The fact that he strolled around his apartment shirtless helped you to admire his newly improved physique. His arms had bulked up from incessant training, the same veins you were used to running alone paled skin. His pecs had tightened, showing off his collarbone more pronouncedly. His shoulders had broadened with his increased muscle tone, his sheer strength of will resting on them. The thing that made you frown the most was the star that glared across the room on his shoulder - from either side - from the bullet wound he incurred. It was the bitter reminder of what had happened; it was the imperfection that seemed to keep him going.

The cold man sat across from you, you heart breaking at the sight. You never stopped caring; you never stopped loving him. If anything, you cared for him more than ever. From the time you saw him lying in the bed, broken and lost, you wanted to be there for him. And over time, as you watched him recover - watching him grow strong physically and mentally - you couldn’t help but feel your rapid heartbeat pounding against your ribcage, a clammy hand placed over it when you were alone. Your body burned, yearning to touch him, hold him and tell him things would be ok. You wanted to feel loved, even if it was a simple friendship once more.

The burning intensity that spread up your arm, however, worried you.

An uncomfortable knot typically sat inside you, something unsettling egging at your insides. Your mind screamed that something wasn’t right - that something was off. But what it was, you couldn’t say for sure. The only sign your had was the constant sizzle the ran through your veins, resembling adrenaline and determination that didn’t feel like your own. The source: the puzzle piece. Everything seemed to radiate from it and resting a hand over it at night, it felt like your skin was n fire under chilled, icy hands. Whenever your eyes fell upon Mitch, the burn seemed to increase, your thumping heart speeding up without the feeling of love.

Swallowing thickly one night, you placed your fork down with a loud clatter than caught Mitch’s attention for once. Dark whiskey eyes glanced up from his own food, a brow raising. Your hands fell into your lap, fingers fiddling together anxiously. Your eyes squeezed shut, unsure why you felt so nervous. It felt like it had been forever since you spoke to him. It felt like you hadn’t had a normal conversation with the Mitch you knew and loved. His gaze now felt like it was piercing your soul, your blood running cold. His warming presence now teetered over you, intimidating you with just a glance.

“Mitch,” you breathed, finally daring to look up at the man. “Are you ok?”

The question was honest, and you could see Mitch waver slightly at the sudden inquiry. His hand shook, the fork placed on the table slowly. His reddened lips pursed together, rubbing together in thought. His eyes narrowed before falling to the table, pondering whatever words he would spout off. Cocking your head to the side, you waited, no immediate answer coming. Your hand unconsciously rubbed at your irritated wrist, a sense of dread and anguish beginning to wash over you. Your lip quivered, eyes glistening with unshed tears you had withheld for years.

“Please,” you let out quietly, voice cracking under the weight of worry. “Please, Mitch. Just answer me honestly. I’m so worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” came his quick reply. His sultry voice made you shiver, the man returning his gaze to you across the table. A fire burned in his orbs. His hands curled into tightened fists, knuckles glowing a ghostly white from the tension. “I promise, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure-”

“Yes,” he cut you off, giving a small smile that screamed fakeness. “I promise, I’m fine. I will make things right, I swear.”

His words sparked a sense a distrust - a feeling you never thought you’d feel. Something felt off with the way he said it. Something wasn’t right because the mark imprinted in your skin burned hotter with determination. Yet, behind the fire was a cold wave that told you one thing.

Mitch lied about being fine.

But…

He wasn’t lying about making things right.

The words lingered in your mind ever since. You wanted to piece together what it meant. You were scared your friend - your crush - was going to do something he may regret one day. Nightmares plagued your mind of the reckless things he could attempt, the result always the same. He would lay on the ground in a pool of his own blood, the crimson liquid spreading out in every direction. Finally, it would settle around your feet, staining your bare feet. His lifeless eyes would bore into you, head giving a sickly crack as it tilted in the wrong direction in a zombie-like manner. His mouth would part, the same words making you scream yourself awake.

Why didn’t you help me? Why did you let me die?

In your state of panic, you began to use your days ff to tail the man. Taking note of his odd behavior as the fall and winter weather approached, you bundled in the warmest jacket you could find, a bean on your head and gloves on your hands while following him, keeping a safe distance so he wouldn’t pick up on your presence. His head occasionally would whip around, as if he felt eyes on him at all hours of the day.

You hid in a corner of the gym, sipping on a bottle of water while watching him wrestle and fist fight with the other men. Mitch seemed to be oblivious to your form watching over him, too focus on the punches he would throw, the kicks he laid and the aggressive grappling he had become fond of. One too many times, you saw how violent he would become, spinning his body around in a way that made his butt stick out in the black and red gym shorts. His legs would wind around a man’s torso, hands gripping at the shirt to begin choking the defenseless trainee. Only when they were red in the face and on the verge of passing out would Mitch be ripped away, his opponent gasping for air with the mumble of low curses under his breath.

The increased violence furthered your worry. Mitch could be a hard ass growing up, but before your eyes, this was new extreme. He seemed primed to kill, his sight gone red with one thought: fulfill the task at hand. Even in training, he seemed to be prepping for something, not caring who was in his way of becoming strong. His steps never tangled and his hands never wavered, the intent to end a life sickening.

Your head snapped up one cold afternoon, the straw of your coffee between your lips when you heard the yells of Carlos from the mats. The pen in your hand fell into your notebook, straightening up where you sat to see what was going on. Mitch was swiping his thumb across his nose, cheek red. His eyes had narrowed as Carlos’ booming voice carried.

“That’s it, Rapp. You’re done. Get out,” he told the sweaty man. Mitch glanced between the gym owner and the guy gasping for air on the ground, cursing out Mitch. Noticing he stood stagnant, Carlos’ voice raised, pointing at the door. “Get out!”

Mitch rolled his eyes, an air of annoyance exuding from him body. He reeked of it, not caring who knew he was pissed off. Ripping off the gloves, Mitch trotted to his belongings, removing the leg pads before pulling on his shoes. His hair stuck to his forehead, clothes clinging to his limbs. Whipping his jacket onto his shoulder, he stood from his seat, gym bag tight in hand.

“Have a nice fucking day,” was his bitter remark. You winced when the clang of the door banged open, Mitch disappearing into the cold while the door clattered shut.

Gathering your stuff, you rushed over to Carlos, giving him a sad smile. “I’m so sorry about him, Car. He’s just… he’s been on edge.”

Carlos sighed, rubbing his chin. “I know he’s your friend, but you can’t keep making excuses for him, Y/N.”

“What? I’m not-”

“Watch out for him,” Carlos said. “He’s going to get hurt with this reckless behavior. Or worse - he’ll get someone else killed. And I’d rather not hear that it’s you.”

You frowned, tightening your grip on your bag. You stared at the ground, biting at your lip. “He wouldn’t hurt me.”

“I don’t know about that anymore.”

You left without another word, following Mitch to his next destination: the gun range. With every step you took, all you could think was, He would never do that.  

Walking down the packed street, you slid past people as fast as you could, trying to keep pace with the ever vigilant man. Your hands were stuffed in the pockets of your jackets, only pulling out glove-clad hands when you moved by people while uttering low apologies. Your eyes never left the man through the gaps in the crowd, a considerable gap to keep from being noticed.

Through the entire process of tailing your friend, you missed the shutter of a camera going off, a man in black clicking photo after photo of Mitch as he hastily sped his way down the Rhode Island streets of gray brick and cobblestone. The circle with a distinct crosshair narrowed on the man for a flurry of pictures before turning to you. The man in black taking the photos stared at the image of you he had captured, clicking the radio on his ear.

“Candidate is on the move to the gun range. The girl is on his tail.”

“Does she know anything?”

“I don’t think so. I think she’s just concerned.”

“Well, make sure she doesn’t pick up on his habits. If he makes a move, we can’t drag her into this.”

“Yes, ma’am, Director Kennedy.”

~

You didn’t know that the last time you would would see Mitch was that day at the gun range. You had stood worried near your coworker who agreed to cover for you as you watched Mitch. It started out normal: shot after shot making your ears ring, even through the noise cancelling headphones you were designated to wear in the pit. Each shot that was fired nailed its target, the paper cut out of a human being displaying holes in the head and chest.

The noise picked up when he swapped guns, the hand gun exchanged for a high powered rifle that struck through the air with a sickening crack. The constant ‘boom, boom, boom’ made you wince, watching the slaughter of the target in progress. Dust was flying, bullets hitting the wall behind the target as it was torn to shreds. People stopped at stare at the man you called your longtime best friend, his form unwavering and unflinching.

You stood from your seat in panic when the alarm sounded, blaring into your mind clearly. Each step into the gravel Mitch did made you heart jump, clammy hands gripping at the bottom of your shirt. After swapping guns again, the even more high powered pistol firing off into the air, Mitch was attacking other targets. When he moved forward, the gun dangled at his side, the former athlete swapping to a handheld pistol as if he were finishing off a target after he ran out of bullets.

You wanted to run after hi, hugging him from behind to stop him. But Jeremy held you back, shaking his head. Sadly, you were forced to watch Mitch get escorted from the premises.

You didn’t follow him after that. You headed home, soaked in a bath, and never heard from him again. He seemed to vanish, leaving nothing more than a note on his fridge door that said he was on a trip and not to worry about him. The words didn’t calm you, your worry building each day that passed. Phone calls went unanswered, going straight to voicemail after a while. Texts went unread, no reply attempted. No sign of life lingered in his apartment, the mess the same very time you walked in, walking back out immediately after. Dust was gathering on the surfaces. Mitch’s landlord asked every time you walked in what was going on.

All you could tell him was you didn’t know before passing him the payments Mitch neglected while he was away.

Sitting at work one afternoon, Wendy, you seatmate, slide over to you, leaning on her elbows as she eyed you. Her long black hair draped across her shoulders, tips brushing against the tabletop. Her dark eyes narrowed on your form, bright red lips pursed together. Manicured nails drummed against the polished table, the click clack making your nerves rattle. Amidst all of your stress, you were on edge from lack of sleep. Hearing her chair squeak when he shifted into a different position to stare at the side of your face, you let out a deep sigh, turning to her.

“Can I help you, Wen?”

“You look like you haven’t slept again,” she pointed out. Gesturing to her own face, she pointed out the spot just under her eyes. “Your make up didn’t cover the bags. And you look like you haven’t eaten. You’ve lost color in your cheeks.”

“Is my makeup really that bad that you can tell?” you huffed, pulling a mirror from your purse.

“Yes and no,” she mused. “I just know you that well. So, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you mumbled.

“You’re a horrible liar.”

You sighed again, letting your head fall to your lap. You hand instinctively rubbed at your wrist, feeling a brief sting of pain course through your body. It wasn’t nearly as bad as some of the shockwaves you had encountered, but it was rattling whenever the sudden feeling took over. Wendy watched on, waiting for you to answer.

“I’m just worried,” you admitted, eyes darting to her for a second. “Mitch hasn’t been home in over a month. He was he was on a trip, but I haven’t been able to get a hold of him. I’m scared something happened. The last time he left like this, he was shot in Ibiza. He hasn’t been the same since and I’m afraid that he went off to do something reckless. That he’s on some suicide mission.”

You wanted to tell her more. To tell her about the burning sensation that flowed through your veins like fire. To confess about the feelings you felt that weren’t your own: the sense of dissatisfaction that happened days after Mitch vanished, the anger that made your skin crawl, the shocks of pain that ripped through your body nights ago while a sense of determination and focus kept your eyes open. But, you knew she would think you crazy. It was like telling someone you could hear voices. It wouldn’t end well to say something.

“All he left was a note, right? Saying he would be away?”

“Yeah,” you murmured. “I’m sure he left it because he knew I would stop by. I-”

“You always do. I know,” she mused. “You care a lot for that man but it feels like he doesn’t care back.”

“No, he does,” you said, almost as if trying to convince yourself too. “He’s been my friend forever. So, whatever’s been going on - what’s been going through his mind - I don’t think he wants me involved. That’s why I’m afraid he’s going to do something reckless. He won’t tell me so I don’t try to butt in. He knows I will. I feel like he has some death wish.”

“Well, he’s stupid if he keeps pushing you away.”

“I…” you started, letting out a choked sigh. You were fighting back tears. “I don’t know why he’s fighting so hard against me. I know he’s been hurt and he lost Katrina, but all I’ve ever done is been there for him. And he keeps himself so sheltered now. I don’t understand what happened or why he’s being like this. Everything changed, Wendy…”

Wendy rubbed your back, giving a sad smile. “He’s a male. Males do dumb shit.”

“You can say that again.”

“As much as I hate the guy for making you feel so shitty, I want to say that he has good intentions. If you were as good of friends as you say, he must be doing this for a reason. He kept himself away maybe because he doesn’t want you to get hurt by something?” Wendy grinned, trying to lighten to mood. “Or, maybe deep down, he just loves you so much that he is afraid you will reject him.”

You let out a bitter laugh, unable to smile fully. Maybe he does care and he’s pushing me away because of it. Because of Katrina…

“How about you take the rest of today off?” Wendy proposed. Your brow rose at your friend, silently asking what she was talking about. “I will take care of the work you have to do today. You should go to his apartment and snoop around.”

“Snoop around?” you inquired.

“Have you ever actually looked around since he left?” she asked. When you shook your head no, she continued. “Maybe there is some clues around for where he went to what is going on.”

“Isn’t that an invasion of privacy?”

“You have a key to his apartment. It’s not like you are breaking in,” she claimed. “As far as I can see, it’s perfectly fine for you to look around.”

“I don’t know…”

“Y/N,” she cut you off. Her hands took yours, smoothing over the tops. “I know you care about him. I know you are worried. So, figure out where he went. It’s the only way to put your mind and heart at ease. Just look around. Maybe there is something there you never noticed. Something that’ll tell you what you need to know. Anything that helps, I want you to look for.”

You pouted for a second before nodding. “Fine.”

“Good,” she grinned. “Text me and keep me updated if anything happens.”

“I will. Thank you, Wen.”

You rushed from the office, headed straight for Mitch’s desolate apartment. Mr. Hazir nodded at you when you walked in, rushing up the stairs to the second floor where the apartment sat. Your hand shook with the key, making you stop to take a deep breath before sliding the key into the lock and twisting. The door clicked, squeaking open as you entered. The dark apartment made you grimace, the smell of old, sweaty clothes giving off a distinct musk wafting up your nose.

Your bag was left by the door as you wandered the apartment, searching for anything that may give you a clue to his unknown location. The punching bag swung lazily when your hand brushed against it, the chain rattling against the hook with its strained weight. His work out gear sat discarded on his ruffled bed sheets, training gloves and pads full frontal vision for you to see. Dust collected on your fingers when they were swiped along any surface, reassuring to his vacancy.

Sitting on the bed, you flicked your eyes through the apartment, straining to see if there was anything out of place that you weren’t used to seeing. “Where did you go?” you asked aloud, receiving no answer back. You sighed, laying back on his bed, feeling the cold sheets and blankets under your hand. “What are you up to, Mitch?”

Your throat tightened with unshed sobs and tears, choking back the sorrow you felt. You forced yourself to sit up, going through his drawers to find something - anything. Your mouth dropped at the sight of the multiple books on the Arabic language, culture and history you never truly realized he was reading. Balls of paper were in the waste bin near his bed, each one being a different article about the same person: Adnan Al-Mansur. The last article you picked up made you body quiver.

It was an news article about the attack in Ibiza.

“Mitch…” you whispered out, biting your lip.

Moving to his computer, your heart sunk further into your stomach. The keyboard was covered with a transparent keyboard with the Arabic alphabet. More books and papers were piled on either side of his laptop, adding to the confusion of what he was doing. Powering on the laptop, you were met with his login information, the password unknown. You sighed hopelessly, not wanting to attempt to break in. Instead, your fingers brushed across the keyboard, feeling warmth along your tips despite the cold plastic it felt. Your fingers moved like you were typing unsure what you were saying.

It just felt natural.

“What have you been doing?” you asked yourself. “I don’t get it. You’ve been learning Arabic, but for what?” You felt dread seeping in, not wanting to believe the following question. “Were you planning revenge on Mansur, the man who murdered Katrina?”

Nausea began to set in. Your stomach twisted with unanswered questions. You needed to escape before you spewed your lack of food onto the hardwood floor. The chair clattered backwards in your haste, hitting the floor with a loud thump. Your heel clacked against the floor while rushing for the front door, stilling before you got there. Your body froze, eyes directed at the closet that hung ajar.

You tried to push it closed, but something impeded it. Swallowing thickly, you pulled it open, letting your arms drop to the sides. Pasted to the inside of the door were pictures of Mansur, slices and cuts ebbed into the photos. The Wooden door had been punctured, but by what? The knife that still sat imbedded in Mansur’s forehead. The black handle poked straight out, blade sharp and stuck in the wood. The pit in your stomach grew at what you saw, the worst becoming reality.

You ran away, not looking back at the evidence of insanity and maniacal vengeance that was present in that room. You didn’t want to admit what you knew. You didn’t want to believe that Mitch was out for revenge.

Mitch was on a suicide mission to kill Adnan Al-Mansur.

~

The room was dark. The only sound was the clicking of fingers against a keyboard. The multiple screens that were perched along the wall were the only source of light, eyes flittering between the codes that appeared before them. The white letters against a black screen flashed rapidly across the screen until the stopped with coordinates to the destination in question. The eyes blinked, blinded from the constant staring at the bright screens in the dark hour.

It was after midnight.

But the chair sliding against the floor was loud, feet padding across the room to find the first bag possible. Clothes were shoved inside, hygiene products shoved into a small pouch on the inside. A passport sat on the bed, ready for use. A hand grabbed the phone that was connected to the computer, dialling a number rarely used.

It was cheating to do so, but you had no choice. Years in a computer science field and you were well adept in the task of breaking into someone’s phone, tracking the location of its whereabouts. The task was illegal, so you rarely did it. But when Mitch changed, you knew you needed a way to keep an eye on him.

Zipping the bag shut, the phone pressed to your ear, you spoke to the person on the other end confidently.

“I need the first available ticket overseas. Preferably the fastest travel.”

“Where is the destination?”

Your eyes fell on the computer before swinging the bag onto your back, backing towards the door. One hand rubbed the jigsaw piece on your wrist, feeling the determination that spurred from not one, but two sources: yours and the unknown presence that lingered around, giving you a sense of comfort that came from something, or someone, else. You were going to him. If he was still alive - you would be there. Even if he didn’t want you there, you couldn’t abandon your friend. Your mouth parted to answer, accepting what you had to do before answering.  

You would save Mitch, one way or another.

“Istanbul, Turkey.”

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[allthingsfangirl101]

Assassin 2.O Part 5/32

Part 5– Training Gone Too Far

Series Masterlist

"He what?!"

"Hurley, calm down." I sighed as Anthony patched me up.

"Calm down? G, he shot you!"

"Not exactly," I sighed as I hopped off the counter. I sent a look to Anthony and whispered, "Escape while you still can." He laughed before gathering his medical supplies and quickly leaving the kitchen.

"What do you mean, 'not exactly'?" Hurley asked, standing in front of me so I couldn't leave.

"Well, I may have been the one to walk in front of the target he was firing at."

"What?!" He asked through gritted teeth.

"It was part of his training," I sighed. "Lesson 2: always be aware of your surroundings."

"G," Hurley sighed, rubbing his face. He stepped towards me, gently rubbing his hands up and down my arms. "What if you had gotten seriously hurt?"

"Stan," I sighed.

"I'm serious, G." He said lowering his voice.

"I'm fine," I said slower. "Really. It's just a flesh wound."

Stan opened his mouth to say something but froze when someone walked in. I turned around to see Rapp standing in the doorway.

"Let it go," I whispered to Hurley. He mumbled something before leaving the kitchen.

"Let what go?" Rapp asked.

I looked at his confused expression and rolled my eyes. "Nothing." I grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat on one of the bar stools. I took a drink and watched as Rapp stood in the doorway.

"Did you need anything?" I asked removing the beer bottle from my lips.

He reached up and scratched the back of his neck. "I umm I wanted to make sure you were okay." He said looking at my now bandaged arm.

"I'm fine," I said with a laugh as I took another sip from my beer. I looked up at him to see him looking at me weirdly. "What?"

"Why are you laughing?"

I turned around in the stool so I was facing him, my elbows resting on the counter behind me. "You just grazed me," I said taking another sip from my beer.

"I still don't get why you're laughing."

"I'm laughing because you're so freaked out over a little scratch."

"It's not a little scratch, G. I shot you!" He said, walking towards me.

"You grazed me," I corrected. He opened his mouth to say something, but I stood up and walked over to him.

"Rapp, calm down. I've been hurt a lot worse." I patted him on the shoulder as I headed back to my room.

The next morning, I had a training session with Anderson. We were just finishing up when Rapp walked into the gym. "Your new boy toy is here," Anderson smirked.

While he was smiling proudly at the joke he just made, I punched him in the face and swept his legs out from under him. He hit the ground with a loud thud, knocking the air out of him. Several guys in the gym laughed as they saw Anderson struggling to catch his breath.

I smirked down at him before turning on my heel and walking towards the benches where my gym bag was. I took my towel and wiped the sweat from my forehead. I grabbed my water bottle, taking a large sip as Rapp walked up.

"Never walk up behind an assassin, Rapp." I said, not turning around.

"Why?" He laughed.

I turned around fast, pointing my gun right between his eyes. His eyes widened as they focused on the gun now pointing at him.

"That's why," I smirked. I turned around and put my gun back into my gym bag.

"Anyway," he cleared his throat as he put his bag next to mine. "What's on the agenda for today. . ." He paused, unsure of what to call me.

I turned towards him and smirked, waiting for him to say something. "Trainer?"

I raised my eyebrows, struggling not to laugh. "Trainer? Seriously? You're as shitty at coming up with names as Hurley is."

"What am I supposed to call you?" He asked. "Sir?" He scoffed.

I clenched my jaw before punching him in the face, hard. Because I caught him off-guard, he fell to the floor. Several guys saw the punch and laughed as Rapp stood up and wiped the blood from his lip, glaring at me.

"If you didn't catch my answer," I smirked. "No."

I walked past him and headed towards the mat. I whistled, causing him to look at me. I pointed at him, snapped, and then pointed at the ground in front of me. He rolled his eyes and mumbled as he came over.

"The next time you grudgingly walk over to me, mumbling some bitchy shit, I'll kick your ass so hard, you won't be able to sit for a month. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, ma'm."

"Don't call me that," I said through gritted teeth as I walked past him towards where the boxing gloves were.

Instead of grabbing the heavy duty gloves, I grabbed the smaller ones with little padding. I grabbed a pair and threw them at Rapp, catching him off-guard.

"If you can't catch a damn pair of gloves when I throw them at you, good luck dodging a bullet."

"I didn't know you were going to throw them," he mumbled as I walked back over to him.

"Yeah, well," I sighed. "You aren't going to know when the bad guy is going to shoot you either."

I put my gloves on while he just stood and watched. He looked around and hesitated before putting his on too.

"You're uncomfortable with the idea of fighting a girl," I observed.

"I don't want to hurt you," he sighed.

"You won't," I rolled my eyes. I rolled my shoulders and waited as he tightened his gloves. "Show me what you got, kid."

I smirked when his shoulders tensed when I called him kid. He took a deep breath, analyzing how I was standing.

"Stop being a little bitch and try to take me down." I smirked when his jaw clenched. "You know something, Rapp? You should really work on your pokerface."

Without warning or hesitation, I easily punched him in the face. "Wow," I laughed. "You didn't even try and stop me. Come on, Rapp. Show me why Hurley recruited you."

He recomposed himself before half-assedly trying to hit me. I easily dodged his punches, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. After he tried to take me down, I easily over powered him.

"Come on!" I yelled. I took a step towards him until I was in his face. "Don't take it easy on me because I'm a girl."

I punched him again and again until he finally dodged one punch and caught another. I gasped when I felt his fist connect with my jaw. I stumbled backwards as he took a few steps back. He looked at me with wide eyes as I reached up and touched my throbbing lip. I pulled my hand away and saw the fresh blood on my fingers.

"That's more like it," I smirked as I looked up at him.

We were about halfway through the training session when the doors to the gym opened and closed. We both turned around to see Hurley walking in.

"G," he nodded. "Rapp. You two don't mind me watching the rest of your training session, right?"

He looked at Rapp with a smirk on his face as he waited for a response. "No, sir." Rapp mumbled before turning back to me.

"Just because he is here, shouldn't change anything. Don't focus on him, focus on me. I'm your target. Not him."

The second I said target, his whole demeanor changed. His muscles stiffened and his eyes glossed over. Rapp ran towards me. I blocked a few of his punches but he soon got the advantage.

I gasped as he turned me around, wrapping me in a chokehold. I hit his arm a few times, trying to signal for him to let me go. Instead of letting me go, he tightened his grip.

"Alright, that's enough." Hurley said, getting involved. My vision blurred as I heard several men telling Rapp to let me go.

Mitch's POV

"Rapp!" Hurley yelled, jogging towards us. "She's had enough!"

I looked around to see a few other guys running towards us. I looked at G to see her no longer gasping for air.

The second I released her, she collapsed to the ground. I took a step back, unable to grasp what I had done.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Hurley yelled as he knelt in front of G.

"I just. . . She told me. . ." I stuttered.

"G? Can you hear me?" As Hurley tried to get her to wake up, more and more men gathered around. My eyes widened as I watched Hurley start giving G mouth-to-mouth.

"The hell did you do to her?" Anthony glared at me.

"She told me not to take it easy on her," I said, trying to defend myself. I looked up to see Victor shaking his head.

"We may not take it easy on her, but we definitely know when to stop."

We all jumped when we heard G gasp for air. "G," Hurley said letting out a sigh of relief. She looked around before slowly closing her eyes.

"Victor," Hurley said.

"Yes, sir?"

"Take G to the infirmary. Have them make sure she's okay."

Victor nodded as he leaned down and picked her up bridal style. Hurley stood up and caught Victor's arm. "Make sure they tell me the second she wakes up."

Victor nodded as he left the room with an unconscious G in his arms. I looked away to see Hurley glaring at me.

He started to leave, but stopped when he was next to me. "I'm taking you into the field with me. We're have a briefing session tomorrow at noon."

"Yes, sir."

"G is running it," he glared at me. "Hope that won't be a problem. Because if it is, I promise I will pick her over you. Every time. Do you have a problem with that?"

"No, sir."

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

when he smiled [chapter three]

Summary: Louis is horribly wounded after the defeat of the raiders.

Preview: “So, we’re just gonna give up and go?”

“I'm not saying that.” Violet rubbed at her neck. “I just... what else can we do?”

“We can stay and fight-”

“With what? Omar’s been shot, Louis is fucking useless, Mitch can only make so many bombs with what he has, and the rest of us are going to need way more time to recover from last night!“ Violet explained. 

“Vi, do you understand what you’re suggesting?”

“I do, but I’m not, like, saying it’s the right thing to do or what everyone’s gonna agree with, I’m just saying that it’s an option. I mean...” Violet scowled, squeezing her eyes shut and lowering her head. “... if worst comes to worse.”

Warnings: Louis’ sad, beat up face. :( Also, awkward Aasim is awkward, sorry.

Author’s Note:  So... this blog just hit 113 followers? I can’t even believe that! :D So, here's another chapter to celebrate! Also, thank you to everyone who has read the previous parts! I’ve also uploaded this story onto AO3 for those who prefer to read it that way! 

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 [coming soon]

AJ yanked on her sleeve, pulling her up off the bench she sat upon. “Clem, c’mon!” Without another thought, AJ ran over to meet Tenn.

Usually, she would’ve called after him, scolding him for his impatience, but it seemed as though her voice had become wrapped up in a thick, cold blanket of anxiety.  It traveled through her arms, weakening them until they trembled.

Somethings knocked against the carved stick in her hand. She glanced back at Mitch.

“You goin’?” he asked.

She nodded slowly. With tightened fists and closed, Clem took a deep breath to try and prevent the trembling from becoming obvious.

---

Mitch watched her walk away. Her posture wasn’t nearly as confident as it was before.

He absently flipped his knife over his thumb.

It fell to the ground.

Fuck.

Rosie’s bark caught his attention. He watched her jump up onto the couch with Omar, dropping the ball in his hand and resting her head on his knee.

Picking up his knife, Mitch dragged himself over to the couch, plopping down on the opposite side.

Omar’s brows knitted in discomfort as he shifted, hand stilling on Rosie’s side.

“You gonna live?” asked Mitch.

“Planning on it,” Omar smirked. “You?”

Mitch rubbed at his sore, bruised knuckles. “Probably.”

“Heh, don’t sound so confident- ugh,” Omar hissed. He reached under his knee and readjusted his leg to a more comfortable position. He grumbled, “Two seconds into the fight and I got knocked out... what a joke.”

Mitch picked at a scab, grimacing at the fresh blood seeping through. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine the face he wailed on in his fury, but nothing came to mind. The only thing he remembered was Tenn begging him to stop. Even to their enemies, the fuckers who kidnapped Sophie and Minnie, his goddamn sisters, the kid was soft.

Not a good thing.

Then again...

A droplet of blood fell to the dirt.

...who was he to say...?

Omar leaned back, cranking his neck to stare up at the sky. “You shouldn’t be messing with your hand,” he said. “Looks pretty fucked.”

He grimaced. It probably wouldn’t have been so bad if he didn’t over do it. But, dragging the bodies out one at a time and throwing them into a pile did a number on the already painful digits.

Carving with his knife hadn’t helped, either.

But...

“It is,” Mitch agreed. “Hurts like hell.”

“Hate to be the guy on the receiving end.”

Mitch scoffed.

“Did Ruby look at it?” Omar motioned to his hand.

“She’s got better things to do. Y’know,” Mitch scowled, “like making sure Louis doesn’t die.”

“...Right.” Omar closed his eyes. “...Right.”

Mitch grabbed the ball and threw it, ignoring the aches. Rosie’s head perked up, but she made no move to chase it. He shook his head, chewing on his lip.

“We needed you out there.”

“I know,” Omar frowned. “I’m sorry.”

Mitch said nothing.

Omar didn’t know what stung worse; the bullet hole in his leg or the guilt gnawing along the edges of his mind and heart.

---

By the time Clem reached the stairs, AJ was gone, no doubt sprinting towards the dorms and barging into Louis’ room. That would earn AJ an earful about acting like an animal, Clem was sure.

Soon, she found herself hesitating in front of a quiet door. There’s creaking of the wooden floors, then a small whisper from AJ, “Louis...?”

Clem brought her hand up to push on the door.

Her gaze found his face, and it was like someone had grabbed hold of her throat. There wasn’t enough oxygen.

On a single, battered mattress, he lay, visibly trembling. His skin, kissed with bruises, lacked its usual glow. A fresh bandage sat upon his brow and along his temple, only a small amount of blood seeping through. His lip was busted, the gash moving along his chin. His right eye’s nearly swollen over. His shoulder’s wrapped up, but still, blooming welts flower along his collarbone and chest. His wrist had a rope tied around it which linked him to the beaten down nightstand.

A precaution...

Fuck.

Ruby’s there, adjusting the heavy blanket. She placed a hand softly over his damp forehead and let out a little sigh.

And AJ’s slightly hunched over, trying to peer over Ruby’s shoulder without getting too close. His hands were pressed together anxiously.  

When Ruby stepped back and faced them, it’s with a small, hopeful smile. “His fever’s gone down a lot.”

Clem didn’t mean to ignore her. She rushed to Louis’ side, kneeled down and pressed the back of her hand to his cheek. It’s warm, sticky with sweat. Up close, she could see his expression twitching in pain, as though he were trapped in a nightmare. Blotches of deep purple swelled on his skin.

“Oh, God...” she whispered.

His broken lips part with a most, stuttering gasp, followed by a whimper. His head turned slightly into her touch. She had to bite down on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from breaking.

She felt AJ lean against her.

“He’s gonna live, right, Ruby?” AJ asked eagerly.

“We...we’re not quite outta the woods yet, hon,” Ruby told him. “Just to be safe, we’re keepin’ a close eye on him. But, if he keeps fightin’ then I’m sure everything’s gonna be fine. He’s doin’ way better than he was last night, that’s for sure.”

Even without looking at her Clem could sense just how exhausted Ruby was.

AJ grabbed Louis’ loosely bound hand in both of his.

“Clem?” Ruby’s hand rests lightly on her shoulder.

She managed to turn away and gaze up at her, who motioned for the door.

Clem hesitated. She glanced down at where AJ and Louis’ hands connected before she stood.

Ruby leaned against the face of the door and rubbed at her bloodshot eyes.

“Ruby? Are you okay?” asked Clem.

Ruby nods. “Yeah, I just...” she lowers her voice, “I’ve never had to patch up somethin’ that bad before. Honestly, it’s a miracle he’s breathin.’ I can’t believe it. For a minute there, I thought…” She straightened herself out. “Things... were lookin’ real scary, at first. He lost a lotta blood, and by the time I was done stitchin’ him up, he curled over and just...” Ruby made a motion with her hands, and Clem got the idea. “I sent Aasim to clean himself up.”

“Is he okay? I’m sure that wasn’t… fun.”

“’Bout made him sick, too, poor guy.” Ruby sighed. “He’s a huge help. Wouldn’t have been able to do it myself.  I just didn’t want everyone in here crowding around. I’m… sorry about that, by the way.”

“I understand completely.” Clem bit her lip. “…Has he said anything? Like, has he really woken up at all?”

Ruby shook her head. “Not a word. He was in and out for a while after I sent Aasim away. Vi tried talkin’ to him, told him she had a nice, ripe cantaloupe for him, but he just… stared into nothing before dozin’ off again. I imagine with all the pain he’s in and all those hits to the head, he might not be fully aware of anything for a while.”

Clem glanced down at the floor between them, slowly sucking in a deep breath to calm herself.

“Clem?”

She met Ruby’s eyes, her heart swelling.

“Ruby, I... I can’t tell you how grateful I am. You are so amazing...” She couldn’t help herself. Clem threw her arms around Ruby’s shoulders and held her tight.

“Oh, hon...” Ruby returned the hug, patting Clem’s back.

“Thank you...” Clem mumbled into Ruby’s shoulder.  “Thank you...”

“You don’t hafta thank me, Clem.” Ruby pulled back and offered a kind smile which Clem returned with her own grateful one.

“You saved him. You and Aasim, I…” Clem peered back at Louis and AJ. “You should go rest,” Clem said. “We’ll stay here with him.”

“I could use a little shut-eye,” Ruby admitted. She pointed to the nightstand. “There’s some water and a rag if he starts sweatin’ too much, or gets too hot. There’s more bandages and alcohol, too, if ya need. I won’t be far, just in the next room. Holler if anything happens, alright?”

“Of course.”

Ruby gave Louis one last concerned look before leaving.

Clem turned to see AJ, oddly enough, squeezing his hands around Louis’ wrist, moving the rope up and down, and rubbing at his forearm. “Keep fightin,’” he mumbled. “Just like Ruby said.” He noticed her staring at him with a raised, questioning brow.

AJ looked away, sheepish. “I want him to know we’re here. That way, he won’t be scared to wake up.”

A small, shuddering breath escaped her. Clem moved to the mattress, setting herself down beside it and pulling AJ closer to her.

“Me and Clem are here,” said AJ. He fumbled with each of Louis’ fingers, careful not to agitate a cut sliced in his pinky. “We’re gonna watch over you.” AJ looked up at her expectantly.

“Yeah.” Her voice was small, cracked. “Louis, we’re here.”

Clem reached and pressed a hand carefully over his chest. She stilled, waiting, and soon she felt a beating against her palm from under the blanket. A heavy sigh trembled through him. She could see goosebumps forming along his one bare shoulder. AJ let go of his hand, tucking it under the blanket and pulling it up closer to Louis’ chin.

“I’m sorry, Louis,” AJ spoke. “I was just scared that man would come back to hurt us. I-I didn’t mean to get grabbed. I’m sorry.” AJ rested his head against Louis’ covered arm. “When you wake up, I’m gonna make it up to you. I promise.”

AJ then grabbed something off the nightstand, and said, “Tenn left these for me.” He lifted the pale purple box of colors and a pad of paper. “Said I should make Louis a card to get better.”

Clem grinned. “I think that’s a great idea.”

“Here,” he tore off a piece of paper and handed it to her. “You, too.”

AJ got to work, inspecting and testing out every color he picked up to make sure it was the perfect shade. Clem, with her blank paper in hand, glanced around the room.

It was... very Louis.

It made her smile.

Of course, if she were being completely honest she was hoping the first time she entered this room the circumstances would be different. 

The walls were covered in musical posters, some from bands she had and hadn’t heard of, as well as some that clearly belonged in the music room. Above the mattress were a series of drawings, most done by Tenn and a few done by Sophie. Clem noticed one in particular of a cantaloupe, and when she squinted, she saw that it was actually a drawing of Louis as a cantaloupe, signed by Tenn himself. Another was a portrait, one much more detailed of a younger him, signed by Sophie.

There were books and clothes scattered around, and, oddly enough, a strange abundance of pillows. Including the large one his head rested upon, Clem counted a total of twenty-five different pillows of all sizes. Most of them were placed on the couch on the opposite side of the room.

Clem leaned over and set the carved stick Mitch gave her against it, admiring the handy work. She was sure Louis would love it. 

Over the arm of the couch rested Louis’ jacket, covered in fresh, dry blood. Pangs of guilt and anxiety shot through her limbs. She could see the tears where the knife cut through.

The paper suddenly felt very heavy in her hand.

---

Aasim was tying up his boots when Ruby walked in.

He straightened up, eyeing her. She leaned back against the door with a heavy sigh.

“Clem’s with him. Her and AJ are gonna stay awhile.” Ruby thought to herself a brief moment. “She seemed awful eager to see him.”

“Oh,” was all Aasim could think to say. He cleared his throat, fumbling with his sleeve. “Um, well… she’s just worried, I guess?” He mentally cursed himself. “I mean, we’re all worried.”

She tilted her head, considering. “Maybe… somethin’ just seemed different. I dunno. Guess it doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah…” Aasim replied, lamely. He racked his brain for something else to say.  

Ruby didn’t seem to notice his internal struggle. She sat on the bed opposite of him and rested her chin in her hands. She crinkled her nose at the amount of grime covering the floors. This room was unoccupied. She couldn’t remember who used it before, but she knew it’s been a long, long time since then. But, as much as she’d prefer her own bed, this room was the closest to Louis’. She didn’t have time to come barrelling down the halls if Clem called for her.

She glanced up at Aasim, who, she noticed, had taken an interest in the strings of his hoodie. It was different, she noted, a burgundy with some odd logo on it. A nice, complementing shade on him.

“Did your shirt survive?” she asked.

“Huh?” Aasim’s head shot up. “Oh, uh, no. It’s pretty ruined. I’ll just throw it out.”

“Throw it out? That’s wasteful. All it needs is a good scrubbing,” Ruby frowned. “If it’s too much for you, I can wash it later.”

“No! You don’t have to! I can scrub it!” Aasim blurted. “That’s a thing... I can do. Yeah...” Before he could make an ass of himself anymore, he hopped to his feet, straightening out his hoodie. “You should rest. After everything, I can’t imagine how tired you must be.”

Ruby gazed out through the curtains of the window. “Tired enough to pass out while the sun’s still shinin’.”

Concern tugged at his features. “You gonna be okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m just worried ‘bout everything... Louis, the raiders, the rest of us... God, what a fucking mess.”

“Seriously.” Aasim stood, stretching his arms over his head, trying to loosen himself up after a short rest. He headed for the door but was stopped by Ruby’s soft voice.

“Aasim?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you,” Ruby smiled, “'fer steppin’ up and helpin’ me. It’s not that I don’t trust the others, it’s just... I know that they can be difficult, and they wouldn’t always listen to me. I mean, can you imagine Mitch or Vi helpin’? You heard them bickerin’ out there. Anyway,” she glanced up at him, warmth spreading across her cheeks. “It... was very sweet. I don’t think I coulda done it without you.”

Thousands of words.

Thousands that wracked his brain.

Thousands of them that he could’ve picked.

Thousands of things he could’ve said to express what a real, kind, beautiful hero Ruby was.

And he went with, “...Cool.”

Fucking fuckity fuck-

Ruby’s sweet smile turned confused. He was sure that the panic was obvious on his face.

“I-I mean... uh... yeah...” He gave her a thumbs up.

And, suddenly, he wished he was dead.

His head fell forward and his shoulders slumped in defeat. He lazily pointed at her. “You need sleep. And I need to scrub that shirt. So, we’ll do that and... that’s that.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. He was gone, cursing at himself all the way down the hallway, leaving Ruby alone, puzzled, wondering if she said something wrong.

---

A string of hushed profanities echoed in the hall. A little alarming, Clem thought, until she also heard Violet’s voice.

“Woah, Aasim, watch it.”

Violet entered with a soft knock, peeking in.

“Hey,” she greeted.

“Hey.”

“Hi, Vi,” AJ peered up from his drawing, giving Violet a small wave.

She entered the room, arms crossed and the worry clear on her face.

“I thought you were going to lie down?” Clem asked.

Violet shrugged half-heartedly. “I tried. Couldn’t do it. Too much to think about.”

Clem understood completely. She herself was running on about two hours of sleep, maybe. She scooted over and patted the spot beside her. As Violet sat, AJ proudly showed them his drawing.

“What do you think? Looks like him, huh?”

Clem grinned, taking the drawing and looking it over. It was certainly Louis, from the dreads on his head down to the boots on his feet. Clem praised him, “You definitely got his smile right.”

“He’ll love it,” Violet agreed. “You’re becoming quite the artist.”

“Like Tenn?”

“Like Tenn.”

AJ beamed. He went back to work. “I’m gonna add us, too, so that he’s not alone.”

“Great idea.”

A groan vibrated from the bed.

They froze.

Louis peered at them through slitted eyes, unfocused and watery. A tiny tear slowly slid down his cheek as they fluttered.

AJ’s hand was on his arm in an instant. “Louis?” he asked.

Clem quickly reached over and carefully grabbed the bowl of water and the towel. She rung out the towel and pressed it lightly over his less swollen cheek. He flinched away from the touch, grunting. 

“It’s okay,” she murmured. “It’s just me.”

His teeth ground together, locking his jaw as he turned his head away from her. She pressed the cool rag against his neck. 

Violet noticed the tremble in her wrist but said nothing.

“He looks mad,” AJ noted. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” replied Clem. “He’s probably having a nightmare.”

“Probably because he got stabbed,” said Violet. “Twice. I’d be pissed, too.”

AJ reached over and poked Louis’ cheek. 

“AJ!” Clem scolded. 

“What?”

“Don’t jab him like that.”

“I’m just trying to wake him up,” AJ frowned. 

“It’s not that easy, kiddo.” Clem sighed. She pulled the rag away and set it aside without moving away from the mattress. She brushed aside one of his dreads covering his eyes and lay the back of her hand against his jaw. The coolness of her fingers seemed to somewhat relax him. 

Violet watched curiously as Clem leaned back, eyes closed, a look of... 

Huh.

That’s familiar, she thought. 

But, now wasn’t the time to address that...

“Clementine,” Violet said suddenly with a serious look. “We... we need to talk about what happens next.”

“Right...” 

“We need a plan,” Violet started. “Everything’s just so fucked right now, and the others are talking. Mitch is already making more bombs, but he’s running out of materials. And Omar’s leg isn’t letting him move around all that much. He says that he can still cook, but that’s about it. Willy and Tenn are pretty shaken up, too. And Louis...” Violet cursed to herself,  “I mean, fuck, Clem, who knows where he is?”

AJ quirked a confused brow. “He’s right here.”

“What I mean-” Violet let out a frustrated sigh. “Who knows where he is in his brain? He’s barely conscious, and when he is awake, it’s like he’s not… really there. He doesn’t say anything, he can barely move, his eyes....” Violet paused.

“I know,” Clem said. “But, he’s alive. Louis is stronger than you think. He’ll wake up. We’re all just freaked out. But, we won, Vi. Lily and those assholes are dead.”

“Yeah...but, that doesn’t mean it’s over. Clem, there’s a whole community of them.” Violet argued. “If they come back for us, there’s not much we can do to protect him, or ourselves.   And...” Violet stopped, suddenly discouraged.

“What?”

“And...if we leave...”

“Leave?” asked Clem, astonished.

“Yes, leave,” Violet said, “If we have to leave, escape, whatever, how are we supposed to carry him?“

“Wait,” Clem completely turned towards her. “You want to leave?”

“There will be more of them, Clem. They’ll come looking for Lily and the others with more guns and more cages. And when they find out we killed them?” Violet scoffed.  “We were lucky the first time. The odds of us pulling it off again aren’t the same as they were before.”

“So, we’re just gonna give up and go?”

“I'm not saying that.” Violet rubbed at her neck. “I just... what else can we do?”

“We can stay and fight-”

“With what? Omar’s been shot, Louis is fucking useless, Mitch can only make so many bombs with what he has, and the rest of us are going to need way more time to recover from last night!“ Violet explained.  

“Vi, do you understand what you’re suggesting?”

“I do, but I’m not, like, saying it’s the right thing to do or what everyone’s gonna agree with, I’m just saying that it’s an option. I mean...” Violet scowled, squeezing her eyes shut and lowering her head. “... if worst comes to worse.”

Clem was astonished. “Of all people, I never thought you’d even consider that. Vi, you were the one who stepped up, remember? To do what Marlon couldn’t? To protect us?”

“I know!” exclaimed Violet. “Believe me. I want to fight. I want to stay here. We have walls, we have shelter, we have hunting grounds! This is home! And...” Violet hesitated, finally meeting Clem’s eyes. “...You were right. We have no fucking idea what it’s like out there. We’ve been here since the beginning. I don’t know where we’d go or how we’d get there. The odds of us finding somewhere like Erikson…? It’s fucking terrifying. But, the only option is to fight, and I don’t know if that’ll be worth it again.” 

“We’re leaving?” AJ’s panicked eyes darted back and forth between them. He’d been so quiet that Clem actually forgot he was listening in.

“No,” Clem told him. “We’re not. At least, not if we don’t have to.”

“Fuck...” grumbled Violet. 

A knock on the door interrupted the tension. 

“Vi?” Tenn’s timid voice came from behind the door. “It’s your watch.”

Violet groaned. “I’ll be right there,” she called. When she looked at Clem, her face had gone from upset to guilty. 

“I’m... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...” she shook her head. “We can talk later, okay?”

Clem’s expression softened. “Yeah.”

“I’ll send someone to take over-”

“No,” AJ interrupted. “We’re gonna stay here. We’re sleeping over.”

“Oh?” Violet looked to Clem, who firmly nodded. 

“Don’t worry about us, or him. And, let Rudy rest for as long as she needs. We’re okay to stay.”

Something strange crossed over Violet’s features. It looked as though she were trying to put puzzle pieces together. 

“Well... in that case, I’ll have someone bring you dinner later.”

“Thanks, Violet.”

As she left, it occurred to her. That look in Clementine's eyes was one Violet had seen before. 

Minnie used to look at her the same way every time she’d gotten hurt.

---

They spent the night in Louis’ room. Clem ended up on the couch since AJ insisted on sleeping on the floor next to the mattress. He piled up a bunch of pillows and spread himself over them, claiming they were more comfortable than any bed.

Tenn brought them their dinner. AJ tried to entice Louis awake with the smell of rabbit stew, but Louis didn’t budge. Clem told him to not get discouraged. Louis would wake up eventually, and when he did, he was sure to be starving. 

Clem didn’t know how much sleep he got. She could see him reaching over every once and a while to touch Louis’ hand, trying to get some sort of reaction.

And every time... nothing.  

But, that night, angry clouds formed in the night sky and thunder threatened the area. Soon, rain dripped lazily down, scattered and unassuming. The wind barely blew.

By the time morning came, it was a total downpour.