#new chapter dropped last week which is cool

[wannabe-fic-writer]

Be Mine - Chapter 4

Summary: A rather normal day is thrown off by bad news. Comfort and relaxation come from not one, but two, redheads.

Warnings: Minor Language, Sexual Themes, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of Shooting

Series Masterlist

* * * * * * *

‘When can I see you again?’

‘You just saw me this morning.’

‘That wasn’t enough.’

‘You saw me last night too.’

‘And the night before that.’

‘And the one before that.’

A little laugh escapes you at Natasha’s texts. She’s right, you two have been seeing each other pretty nonstop all week, but you still miss her. Especially given the way things have been lately.

After your successful first date you became, for lack of a better word, attached. You couldn’t get enough of Natasha, you needed her in every way she was willing to be yours. The emotional connection between you two has only gotten stronger, your chemistry completely undeniable. Plus, since you hadn’t had sex since that night, the tension was palpable. A few moments had come up where things got heated and almost got there but interruptions always came up, leaving you and Natasha beyond frustrated.

This relationship is more than just sex, obviously, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t craving Natasha in that way again. You were craving her in general: her hand in yours, the sight of those insanely gorgeous green eyes, the weight of her on your lap, the low sound of her laugh, her ramblings about spy movies and songs she discovered, all of her.

“Miss Y/ln!”

The sound of your assistant shouting your name pulls you from your thoughts and your gaze snaps up away from your phone. The young brunette stands at your door, manilla folders stacked in her arms as she looks at you.

Chuckling lowly, you wave her in.“ Apologies, Miss Bishop, my mind was elsewhere.”

“Everything okay?” Her brows pinch together in worry as she steps further into the office.

You nod.“ Yes, everything’s perfect actually. I was just daydreaming a bit, kind of like you do from time to time.”

Kate scoffs in faux confusion, a chuckle following.“ Wh- I- no. I don’t daydream at work, that would be a waste of company time.” She lifts her eyebrows a bit, smirking at you like she knows she said the right thing.

“Right, of course.” The look on your face lets her know you don’t buy it one bit.“ Because there isn’t a certain blonde who runs through your mind like a marathon?” Her jaw drops, her hold on the folders slacking which makes you laugh.“ Don’t act shocked, if it weren’t for me, you and Yelena wouldn’t have met.”

With a wink her way, you grab the folders and begin flipping through them, quickly recognizing them as documents you have to sign in order to finalize some business deals and financial changes.

It takes Kate another second to find something to say and, to your surprise, it’s not a rebuttal to your words.“ Right well, I also came in here to let you know Steve is here.”

“Oh? And he didn’t just come waltzing in?”

“Well I assumed you were actually working,” the blonde man comes in then, blue eyes on you like he knows something,“ turns out you’re just dreaming about Natasha.”

Kate’s eyes widen in intrigue.“ Who’s Natasha?” She smirks like she’s about to get good gossip.

“No one,” you respond in the same instance that Steve teasingly says,“ her girlfriend.”

You give him an incredulous look and he smirks, all while Kate’s face lights up.

“You have a girlfriend?” Excitement laces her tone and you groan lowly.“ Oh my god, this is so cool. We could so go on a doub-”

“No.” You don’t even allow the thought to continue. Her mouth snaps shut at the look you give her.“ One: I’m seeing her, but she’s not my girlfriend. Two: you’re my employee, my mentee at best, so double dates are far out of the picture. And three: you shouldn’t spread rumors, especially not about your boss.” The last part is directed to Steve who unseriously raises his hands in surrender.

It’s from that moment that you dismiss Kate and return to your work or rather, you actually start working. You’d spent a little too long thinking of and texting Natasha.

It turns out Steve didn’t come just to tease you, he also brought coffee which is all you're grateful for at this point because the teasing starts back up.

Halfway through your coffee, and after you’ve finished signing all those documents, he pipes up.

“So, she may not be your girlfriend but things are pretty obviously going well with you two. If all the dates and overnight stays weren't enough, your face usually says it all.”

Brows furrowing, you look up at him.“ What’re you talking about, Steven?”

“I’m talking about the near constant smile you’ve been sporting. You haven’t been this happy and excited about someone since college,” he says.

A teasing tone carries your response of,“ oh, you mean when I dated Sharon, only to discover that she was really just trying to get close to you?” The question makes the man across from you blushing furiously at the memory.

Back when it happened, both of you were beyond amused. In truth, you felt bad for Sharon even though you were the one who had been used. The girl had no clue about Steve’s sexuality. To this day, you remember the look on her face when Steve told her he’s gay.

You also remember her still trying to be with you after that as well. Safe to say neither you or Steve kept in touch with her.

“That’s not what I meant, I was actually referring to your thing with Carol.”

Now that… that was a good, and very fun, relationship.

It never progressed to anything serious, like exclusivity, but you both learned a lot from each other: emotionally and sexually. She also remained a really good and close friend of yours though you don’t see each other that often due to her working over in Brooklyn.

A fond smile forms on your face at the thought of the blonde.“ Yeah, being with Carol was fun.” “Yeah I know, I often heard.” His bored expression clues you in to what he means and you snort amusedly.“ Still, this seems a little different. Like it could be more than just fun.”

Nodding, you take a deep breath.“ It already is. I know this thing with Nat is new and we’ve both agreed to take things slow in a sense but,” another smile adorns your features,“ I can feel how real this is, ya know.”

Your best friend pulls a smile of his own.“ Yeah, actually I do know.”

Before you can respond to that your phone buzzes and you’re quick to grab it.

“Let me guess,” he smirks,“ it’s Natasha.”

As you read the message though, your face drops and Steve frowns in concern.

“We need to go. Now.”

* * * * * *

The instant you walk into the warehouse a hush falls over the people inside. Scared eyes watch your every step, take in the way your face projects controlled anger. Yeah, you’re pissed, as anyone would be after receiving the message you just did.

When your eyes land on the man who sent it, two measly crates at his feet and a familiar blonde standing beside him, your jaw clenches.

“Clint, what the hell happened?” You ask the second you’re within hearing distance.

The brunette man sighs, head dropping for a second.“ Like I said, the shipment was stolen.”

“If you said it already, you don’t need to repeat it. Obviously I’m looking for more than you already told me,” you grit out, annoyance flaring inside you.“ Who the hell took it? Who was in charge of escorting it and why didn’t they protect it?”

Yelena casts a glance around the warehouse, noting the fearful looks coming your way. She understands your anger but she also doesn’t think this is a conversation that should be had out in the open.

“Hey,” her hand gently grabs your elbow, directing your angered gaze to her,“ let’s take this into the office, yeah?”

Taking a deep breath, you square your shoulders and turn, heading towards Clint’s office. Steve, Clint, and Yelena follow after you, filing into the space and shutting the door behind them.

“What. Happened?” You ask again, your tone of voice making it clear that if you don’t get answers now, someone just might die.

“The shipment was ambushed. My guys picked it up, it was all routine, but they ran into trouble coming out of West Village.” Clint sits in his office chair as he explains what happened, Yelena and Steve propping themselves against walls.“ The crew that hit them was quite big and seemed to know what they were doing, all we managed to hold onto were the two crates.”

Sucking your teeth, you lean back in the chair, sighing heavily.“ Was there anything we could use to ID these guys?”

“I’m looking into it. My guys are being questioned, we’re lifting prints off the trucks, tracking down the serial numbers on the bullets-”

“Bullets? There were shots fired?” You get upset all over again, that part of the incident wasn’t included in the text.

Clint nods.“ One of my guys got hit but he’ll live, nothing that some pain meds and stitches won’t fix.”

“Are the police involved yet?”

“Not yet but, gunfire in the middle of the day? I’m sure someone called it in.” It’s Yelena who answers that.

Your mind is reeling, a million thoughts circling all at once. Starting with who could’ve done this. There’s been relative peace for the past few years. Treaties that were brokered by your father are still in place and, given the way you and the other families have been coexisting and handling your business with zero interference from each other, you don’t see why anyone would make this move.

Everything about it screams desperation and recklessness, all things that the Guardians and Odinsons are not. Plus, the location in which they were hit is so far from the others’ territories. Hitting you in West Village would mean driving all the way back through Manhattan just to get to Queens or Brooklyn, they would run the risk of being caught by you before they got away with the stolen shipment. Which leaves you with one theory.

“Hydra.”

All eyes snap to you as the word leaves your lips. No one is surprised, not at all actually, but their looks are similar to yours. You all know what it means if Hydra is making moves like this.

Yelena breathes shakily.“ Dreykov wouldn’t be that stupid.”

“He usually isn’t, but if he’s stealing weapons and doing it in broad daylight?”

Clint completes your thoughts,“ he’s desperate.”

“Or maybe someone’s making moves without his orders,” Steve adds.“ Rumlow is his second and he’s always been pretty audacious. Could be him.”

You sit up, eyes glued to the desk as you keep thinking.“ Maybe. Whether it’s him or Dreykov, or someone else, still doesn’t clear everything up. There’s still the question of: how did they know where to hit and when?”

“I don’t know. I rotate the drop locations and pickup times at random,” Clint tells you,“ and I don’t tell my men unless they’re a part of the transport.”

His words cause a loaded silence, looks exchanged between all of you.

“Which of your men ratted us out, Barton?” Yelena asks, accent thicker and lower due to frustration.

The man’s brows furrow, jaw clenching.“ You think one of my men told Hydra where to hit us?”

“If you only tell certain people and the transport schedule is randomized, it could only come from someone who knew when and where to be,” you shift your gaze to him.“ Time you turn that questioning into interrogating. If there’s a rat, I want em found. I don’t care how you do it, just call me when you get it done.”

You rise, making for the door now that things are in motion.“ Oh,” you stop, looking back at Clint,“ work with Yelena to double your details, we can’t afford to take losses like that and we certainly can’t let anyone think we’re vulnerable now.”

Before you can fully leave, Yelena calls your name. When you look at her, hazel eyes looking shiny from what you know to be unshed tears, your heart clenches.

You know Yelena’s past with Dreykov, her involuntary involvement in his business. When Melina brought her around, you saw the damage that had been done, you helped her repair that damage. Now, after having earned her trust and having become one of the people she considers family, you’d never let Dreykov get his hands on her again, or anyone you care for.

“Whatever he’s doing, I’m gonna stop it.” Your voice holds a determination she’s all too familiar with, one that lets her know you won’t stop until the job is done. Crossing the space to her, you gently cup the back of her neck with your hand and she closes the gap to rest her forehead against yours, the moment connecting you.“ I won’t ever let him hurt you again.”

The blonde takes a slow breath, inhaling and exhaling, then she nods.

Parting, you squeeze her shoulder gently before giving Clint a look.“ Get to work. I want to be updated the second you know something.”

“Gotcha boss.”

* * * * * *

The bass of the music thrums through you, almost beating in time with your heart as your eyes catch on the woman on stage.

Red hair cascades down as she hooks a smooth leg over the pole, back arching as one hand holds the pole and the other slides down her chest. Hoots and hollers sound from the men crowding the stage and scattered around in chairs, your eye twitching when she gets close enough to the edge for one to slip money into the waistband of her underwear.

You’re not jealous. . . it’s a lie you try and tell yourself. It’s a lie you’ve been trying to make true.

It wasn’t until three days after your second date, which happened to be a mere two days after your first, that you realized the predicament you were in. Dating a stripper is certainly not for the faint of heart and you quickly realized that.

The woman you have been getting to know, intimately, spent most of her nights scantily clad and dancing for men. It’s how she makes a living and she’s not interested in these men, you know that, but that only slightly makes it better.

You’d considered asking her to quit one night when she pried herself from your arms in order to get ready for work. It wasn’t easy watching her dress and then stuff an incredibly sexy black lace number into her bag. But you knew Natasha wouldn’t and you knew it wasn’t your place to ask, not with things being so new between you. Also, the last thing Natasha would want is to live off the money you make while she did nothing, being a trophy wife obviously wasn’t something she wanted. Nor did you want that for her.

Still, it’s a struggle at times, knowing other people got to see what you wish was for your eyes only.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts. You didn’t come here to stress yourself out anymore, you came to do the opposite. Seeing your girl was always the perfect remedy to a stressful day.

Natasha catches your eyes as the music fades and her scarlet lights fade to purple. You nod towards the hallway filled with private rooms and the slight quirk of her brow is enough to let you know she understands.

“Hey,” you turn to Steve as he calls for your attention,“ are you okay if-”

“Go see your guy.” You chuckle while nodding to the brunette man standing outside his office, obviously waiting for Steve.

With a nod, Steve lightly squeezes your shoulder and heads over to his boyfriend. You watch as they share a smile, fingers lacing together before they slip into Bucky’s office.

Just as you’re about to head to a private room, you feel a hand slide across your lower back.

“You look like you could use a dance, sugar.” The words pull a chuckle from you and you look down at the redhead, green eyes just as bright as always even in the low light of the club.

“As much as I’d love a dance, I was really just hoping we could get away for a bit, maybe go hear some good music and have a drink,” her eyes soften the second she hears the tiredness in your voice.“ Are you off soon by chance?”

Natasha nods, eyebrows pinched with worry.“ That was my last dance actually. Let me get changed and we can go, yeah?”

The lack of hesitation from her to be there for you warms your heart and you can’t help but lean down and press a soft kiss to her lips. She hums softly against your lips, her hand caressing your cheek softly.

While waiting for Natasha to change, you go to see Bucky and inform Steve that you’re going to take Natasha somewhere to which he says is fine since he can just go back to Bucky’s when the club closes.

After brief hugs with the men and assurances that things are going to be fine, Steve having told Bucky about the situation earlier, you leave out.

Natasha is just stepping out of the back room when you get into the hallway, a pair of jeans and one of your dress shirts adorning her body.

“Is this what I can expect from leaving you in my apartment unattended? Stolen clothes?”

Her cheeks tint a light pink and she smiles bashfully.“ I didn’t want to wear the exact same thing I had on yesterday.”

You hum.“ I won’t complain. You look better in it than I ever could.”

“I think you’re severely underestimating how good you look in dress shirts,” she rebuttals as the two of you leave the club.

The ride to the piano bar consisted of Natasha telling you about her day, prior to work and you telling her about yours. Obviously you didn’t go deep into detail but she wanted to know what had caused you so much stress and you told her something rather unfortunate came up to which she took your hand and told you things would work out and you were grateful for her reassuring words.

When you arrive at the piano bar, you realize this is the first time Natasha had ever been. Sure, it was a bit of a hole in the wall spot, a lowkey bar you stumbled upon, but you love it here.

You tell her so as you walk in, the musical stylings of one Phil Coulson flowing through the space.

There are a few more people here than usual; some booths are occupied by groups, a couple of tables taken by couples, and about half of the stools occupied by others. Still, it’s not packed, the atmosphere calm and relaxing like you remember.

Guiding Natasha to a booth in the back corner, you wait for her to settle in before asking what drink she wants and heading to the bar to get it.

To your surprise, as you’re waiting for your drinks to be made, you’re approached by a familiar face.

“Hi.”

A small smile forms on your face as recognition flashes over your features.“ Well if it isn’t Miss Wanda Maximoff. Long time no see.”

“Miss Y/n Y/ln. You’re a hard person to find.” That accent hits your ears like a melody and you can’t remember how you forgot she had an accent.

You tilt your head.“ I wasn’t under the impression that you were looking for me.”

She shrugs, glancing away as her drink is sat in front of her.“ I mean, I wasn’t,” her cheeks flush,“ I just came by here a few times expecting to see you and I never did. But I guess a multimillion dollar company keeps a person rather busy.”

“That it does. But I’m here now, would you like to join me and my date?”

Her eyes snap to yours, face reddening even more.“ I couldn’t possibly-”

“You can and will.” The bartender sets your drinks down and you grab them, turning and nodding for Wanda to follow you.

She hesitates for a moment but chooses to follow.

At the booth, you slide in beside Natasha, setting her drink in front of her and wrapping your arm around her shoulders. All while Wanda slides into the booth across from you both.

“Nat, this is an acquaintance of mine, Wanda. Wanda, this is my date, Natasha.” You introduce the women.

They share a look, eyes surveying each other, then small smiles form.

“Lovely to meet you, Natasha.” Wanda sticks a hand out.

Nat takes her hand and shakes it.“ You too, Wanda. How did you and Y/n meet?”

Wanda looks at you, eyes seemingly twinkling a bit as she remembers.“ I just so happened to stumble across this place and she was already here. It wasn’t a long meeting really, we both had a drink and talked about the pianist. Miss CEO here was rushed away by her shadow.”

“Shadow?” Natasha questions.

You laugh a little, sipping your drink as you start to relax against the seat.“ She’s referring to Steve. He was on duty that night. It was actually right after you and I met.”

“Interesting,” Natasha’s eyebrow quirks and she looks at you.

There’s no jealousy in her eyes, nor anger or irritation. But, you catch a glint of something you can’t quite name and it makes you curious, however you push it aside for now.

Instead, the three of you fall into easy conversation. You talk about the basics: your interests, things you do on your down time, hobbies, and favorites.

While one might assume things would be awkward, given your romantic relationship with Natasha and the slightly suggestive nature of your first meeting with Wanda, they aren’t. The romanticism between you and Natasha remains and Wanda fits in as if she were an old friend, having even complimented the two of you, saying how cute you are together.

In the end, it’s a fun night and it’s exactly what you needed to unwind from the rather stressful day.

Yes, there’s still much to deal with regarding Hydra and the nonsense surrounding today’s incident but right now, with your girl under your arm and a new friend across from you, you decide to push the worries away and relish in the happy feelings the two redheads give you.

[sashimi020]

chaos meets guitarist p1 [manjiro x reader]

p2 | p3

a/n: i hope you guys like this series! i'm prettyy excited about this, already have ideas for the next chapter brewing but i'd love to hear all your thoughts on how i should take this!!

CREDITS FOR THE BANNER ART (do comment if you liked reading, its basically my food atp LMAO) LMK IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE TAGGED! tags: @dollrndo'

moving into the new apartment was tedious, you’d spent the entire day unpacking, cleaning and buying necessities. you were just about so ready to drop everything and sleep for a whole day. thankfully, the weekend was right around the corner so you had all the time in the world to wind down and adjust to the new setting before getting back to work the next week.

empty and half filled cardboard boxes cluttered the living room, you trudge on over to the bed and collapsed. you stare at your phone for a bit and sigh. you should probably meet the neighbours soon, this wasn’t a very large apartment complex after all and it wouldn’t hurt to make some friends in the new area. additionally, moving into a place that was completely foreign to you, while exciting, left you with no sense of direction. the only place you knew how to get to was work.

in any case, you pushed all these thoughts and worries aside, you could deal with them another day. to de-stress you grab your guitar that was leaning on the wall and wonder if you should play something.

__ “you know, i heard our new neighbor moved in today!” emma squeals excitedly. “oh yeah, i noticed furniture being moved in but i didn’t meet them” draken responds, looking up from the stove while preparing dinner. “mm..  everyone has been so busy recently” emma muses, “i hope this new person is nice, i could use a new friend, honestly” draken hums in agreement and the pair continue cooking. “oh! i just had a great idea, what if we bake them cookies? you know, like a.. welcome gift kind of thing” “that’s not a bad idea, should we do it tomorrow or something? i have the day off anyways, so i could help” “sounds like a plan!” emma responded.

in all honesty she was feeling pretty alone of recent, not that draken wasn’t enough company of course, she was ecstatic to be living with him and be able to wake up beside him every morning, but the rest of her friends certainly weren’t as free and she didn’t see them as often as they all saw each other when they were kids. kazutora and chifuyu were planning the opening of their pet shop, baji was cramming to get his medical degree, hina and takemitchy were running their bakery, mikey was busy with his motorcycle racing career. she was overjoyed that everyone she cared about was doing so well but seeing them less and less certainly seemed to make her life slightly more dull. due to which, she was very much looking forward to this new person who just moved in.

‘would they get along well with me?’ emma thought as she was getting ready for bed. oh! she was so looking forward to meeting them. she’d heard that her new neighbor was a woman around her age. it would be so exciting to have a friend who lived right across!

draken got into bed as well. emma immediately wrapped her arms around him and sighed tiredly. the sound of very very faint strumming of a guitar could be heard near their window. “new person’s a guitarist?” draken muttered. “oh.. that’s so cool!” emma responded softly. it could barely be heard but it was still there. the layout of the apartment was such that their bedrooms were next to each other. draken chuckled “looks like we might be hearing a lot more of this” “mm.. i don’t mind, it’s not too loud, plus, we have something to talk to them about now!” draken smiled at her excitement.

__ the next morning rolled around and you woke up with a blaring headache. god. you felt so tired. you’d fallen asleep with your guitar next to you, seemingly have been too tired to put it back in it’s place last night. you groan and drag yourself out of bed. you make your way to the kitchen and make yourself coffee. you want to meet the new neighbor but.. maybe that can wait for a while. the only goal for today was to finish unpacking and most importantly, rest. __

emma woke up a little later in the day at around 9, she woke up to an empty bed, loss of her personal heater and frowned. ‘did draken wake up earlier than me?’ she got out of bed and walked into the kitchen to the very comforting sight of her husband preparing breakfast for the two of them. he picked up on the noise and turned around. “morning, sleep well?” he smiled warmly. “yeah” emma responded in a similar tone. her phone pinged noisily due to on onslaught of notifications. 

___ mikey: EMMA

mikey: emmmaaaaaaa

mikey: can u and draken pwease make something yummy for me

mikey: I’M VISITING TODAY (if you guys r free, i’m assuming you both are. you both better be free pleasepleaseplease)

emma: yes you dumbass

emma: could you not notify us earlier

mikey: ummhmmuhhughugh my manager just let me have the next few days off after last weeks race to rest

mikey: she says im being too reckless, which is just… dumb.. i’m totally not..

emma: alright whatever. we’re making cookies

mikey: LETS FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  ___

“mikey’s coming over today” “oh that’s nice, haven’t seen him in a few days” “we need to make a larger batch this time i think,” emma hums “cookies? why?” “well, i need to give a generous amount to our new neighbor of course! and of course it goes without saying that we’re basically responsible for feeding mikey” draken laughed “yeah alright. we’ll get started then?” “mm.. after breakfast” emma places a chaste kiss on his cheek which makes him flush sheepishly. same as ever. __

you finish your coffee and sigh. you didn’t think it’d be this boring. building up to this moment, moving in to a new city, starting a fresh chapter always seemed so exciting but right now you just wanted to sleep for a good two weeks with no interruptions, but alas, those frustrating boxes are practically yelling at you to be emptied and organized. seriously? aughhh.. so annoying. you think maybe your discomfort and frustration might be coming out of hunger, you didn’t eat anything last night and it was 11 right now. surely you could find some nice restaurant to have brunch in right? maybe after treating yourself, you could force yourself to do the more daunting task of the day.  you get ready and as you’re about to head out the door, picking up your keys, you hear loud shuffling outside. __

mikey just reached the apartment about an hour earlier and yawned as he made his way up the stairs. the exhaustion from the race was definitely hitting him now. thankfully, he had emma's wonderful cookies to look forward to. he rubbed his eyes tiredly. pulling up his phone, he shot emma a text, "i'm here" 

"are you kidding me? how is this guy already here?" emma looks up from her phone "should be obvious by now, the second he hears anything food related nothing stops him. especially when it comes to your food and desserts" she sighed, they weren't even ready. at least now they could talk to him for a bit before he started scarfing down cookies.  __

she opened the apartment door for mikey

at the same time, you open your apartment door to leave for brunch and walk out

at the same time, mikey runs up the stairs. 

"BANG" suddenly, you're knocked back and straight onto the floor. "OH MY GOD I'M SO SORRY!" you heard a high pitched voice yell and rush over to you, immediately you feel an arm on your shoulder and a tug on your wrist to help you get up. "erhh.. i'm fine.. it's okay…" you mumble, you make eye contact with the culprit, a relatively short young man, maybe around his 20s, his black hair cut short with an undercut and a dazed slightly lost expression on his face, as if he didn't even realise what happened. 

you glanced at the kind person who picked you up, she also seemed to be around the same age, luscious blond hair framed her face and she had an apologetic expression. her demeanor instantly shifted when she addressed the man next to her, "mikey you absolute idiot! i was trying to make a good impression, i can't believe you ruined it with your stupidity, gosh, can't you even look where you're going-" "you're really pretty" he said, directed to you, he still seemed to be in a daze. "h-what?!" you yelp. 

emma's eyes widen in surprise but she quickly masks it and turns to you, "i'm so sorry on his behalf, he's my stupid brother" she pauses "you know, but you are really pretty! uh, i'm your neighbor by the way, my name's emma! nice to meet you" your face flushes. "y-yeah- i.. umm.. my name is y/n. it's nice to meet you too.." you choke out. "thank you by the way, you're really pretty too" emma laughs brightly. "thank you! gosh. we need to meet properly some other time, would you be free today?" "oh- yeah" "great! i'll meet you then!" she promptly yanked mikey's hand, dragging him into her house and gently shut the door, leaving you startled and flushed from the interaction. 

well. that certainly was not how you expected this to go. 

that guy was pretty cute though. hopefully you'll run into him again. 

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

Paradise (Winchester men x female reader) - Chapter 1

When you're kicked out from home, you move in with your boyfriend Sam – and his brother and father.

After that fateful night, the encounters with Dean and John, your new living arrangement promises to be a lot of fun. Fun that's going to require stamina. And the ability to handle three very different men.

Read it on AO3

Series masterlist

Rated E. Dean has been suffering since you moved in.

Chapter 1 - Dean

Things have been bad. For weeks.

Dean's not doing well, having you around all the time now since you moved in with the Winchesters. It bothers him how you come out of the shower only wearing that silky blue bathrobe that's almost see-through when the light hits just right. Or when you do your stretching exercises in the yoga pants with the cut-outs. Or when you scold him for leaving his clothes lying around the entire house. That last one, especially, he can't get over. He started leaving his things out on purpose. So you'd do it more often. 

He's been having a tough time focusing on anything, really, and sometimes he worries he's going to suffer from a circulatory collapse, with all of his blood rushing downstairs when he's too close to you for too long. It really has been hard.

Sure, he takes care of the raging boners you give him on a daily basis just from, well, being you. But it's getting more and more difficult to live off those scraps when you're so, so close. All the time.

It's the worst at night. When everything's quiet, and he hears you and Sam going at it like animals. During the day, he can just find something else to do. Get out of the house. But when he's lying in bed, eyes firmly pressed shut, and he hears that high-pitched moan that's seared into his brain by now, it drives him crazy. Once, on a Thursday night, he almost came without even touching himself, just from listening to the sounds you were making. You had a tiny little bite mark below your jaw the next morning, one that he only saw because he had to pick up the fork he dropped at breakfast when you bumped into him. He wondered what other marks your long-sleeved shirt was covering.

Somehow, having you living with the Winchesters is making things so much better and so much worse at the same time. The place has changed since then. It's livelier, lighter. You got a lamp shade for the living room, threw out all of the dusty rugs. Bought new decorative cushions for the sofa, which are hella cozy to nap on, even though Dean would never admit that to your face. And you got new sheets for the whole lot of them, saying something about wanting to set the old ones on fire. They're cozy as well, and they kinda smell like you. Somehow, most of the laundry does since you moved in. 

When you all have dinner together, which seems to be happening more often than in the previous three years combined, the atmosphere is light. You laugh at Dean's jokes, even though you always keep close to Sammy. You ask him how his day went. You even get John to chat sometimes. About himself. About his youth. About Mary. That's the good part.

The bad part is that Dean can't seem to get you off his mind. That very first time he met you he had thought it was just the fascination of something new. His little brother's older college girlfriend. But it wasn't. The more he got to know you, the more infatuated he had become. And instead of imagining you at the sorority charity car wash he had started daydreaming of you doing mundane things. Making coffee in the morning. Reading a book. Stroking his hair. It's innocent though, he tells himself. He wouldn't want to snatch you away from his brother. Sam seems so happy since he met you.

When you're not around, because you have classes, or are out and about with your friends, the mood in the entire house changes. Everyone seems on edge, aching for you to come back, even John. For you to cool down the flames that easily burn too hot when left unattended.

Dean stopped looking at the weather girl on page 13 a while ago to take care of his needs. He doesn't need her anymore. The picture of you in his head is all he wants, and it's so much better than anything a nudie mag could provide. 

Today, Dean sneaks off to the bathroom early in the morning, to go pee. He's gotta go whenever he gets the chance when he wakes up, because either his morning wood or the boner he's going to get when you and Sam start fucking might make it impossible at any given time. He quietly moves through the hall to go relieve himself, but then he notices that someone must've forgotten to turn off the light in the dining room. He moves over to the light switch, reaches out, and then he sees you. 

Lying on your back, sprawled across the dinner table. Illuminated only by the low-hanging lamp. Naked. Well, not technically naked, because that damn silky bathrobe is still on your arms, under your back. But it's open, and the sight of your tits, chest heaving, nearly makes him lose his mind. He barely notices Sam's head bobbing back and forth between your legs, because the way you're writhing on that table is just everything he's been dreaming of.

Dean reminds himself not to hold his breath. It's a good thing he's so used to the adrenaline pumping through his veins from hunting. It makes him go into hyper-focus mode. His eyes roam over your skin. Soft, glowing. There's a birthmark on the side of your right butt cheek, one that he'd never have seen if it weren't for… well, this. Now he knows. And he'll never forget. 

His gaze wanders up, over your stomach to your bellybutton and higher even. Your entire torso is moving up and down with how heavy you're breathing, and he just wants to run his tongue over you. All the way up to the valley of your breasts, he wants to know what it tastes like, what you taste like. Take a bite. Leave his mark on you. Right there, on the soft flesh beneath your collarbone. 

His eyes trace the natural lines of your body, up your neck that is so beautifully stretched with how your head is tilted back. So inviting. He wants to kiss you there, make you giggle. He's seen Sam do that to you twice already. He wants that for himself. Wants to explore you with his mouth, learn every curve and dip.

Your lips look so beautiful, plush, parted, he just wants to run his thumb over them, let you taste him, too. And just above those beautiful, rosy cheeks are your eyes. Big. Colorful. Vivid. And, he can't believe he's only noticing it now, they're looking right at him.

His first instinct is to hide. But he instantly realizes there's no use, you're looking straight at him. So he just freezes and stands there, quietly staring at your nakedness. You tilt your head a little more to him, your gaze soft. For a second he's scared you'll jump up, cover yourself and start yelling at him. But you don't. You smile. And you bite your lower lip. All while firmly holding his gaze.

Then your eyes flutter shut and a soft little moan leaves you, Sam must've done something you very much appreciate down there, and Dean thinks about just using the moment to vanish. Maybe you're still a little drowsy, maybe you'll think you just imagined him standing there, watching you while his brother is having breakfast early. But he just can't. His legs won't budge, he's hypnotized by the way your tits are moving up and down. 

You must be grinding yourself against Sam's face, because there's a tiny swaying motion to your body that's only explicable if you're doing something. He looks back at your face when your eyes open again. That's it, the moment for his escape has passed. And he's still standing there, mouth watering, pitching a tent.

He swallows. His eyes are glued to your lips, and then you speak. Not making any sound, but Dean has no trouble at all reading what you're saying off your lips.

Like what you see?

He blinks. His breathing is shallow, mouth dry. He must be dreaming. Wouldn't be the first time he dreamt something like this. He pinches himself in the arm, but he doesn't wake up. You're still lying there, watching him, and you look like you're waiting for him to answer. So he does. Nods.

Your smile widens. You like it. You fucking like being watched by him, in this vulnerable state, so close to being your most primal self. It makes Dean shiver. And then you speak again.

Touch yourself.

Dean's breath hitches. He's sure that's what you're mouthing. One hundred percent. He still hesitates.

For me. Please.

The way your lips move, silently, is so sensual, so pure and just the right amount of dirty at the same time. He's never seen anything like it. It compels him. And he knows he has to obey. He wants to. You're in control.

His hand finds its way into his boxers. His fingers close around his length, and he starts stroking himself immediately. He sees you inhale deeply, licking your lips as he follows your command. He can feel the muscles in his face twitching, his mouth drops open as he quickly feels release approaching. He'd be embarrassed by how quickly he's getting there if the whole situation wasn't so absurd.

You throw your arms up over your head, arching your back violently, writhing with pleasure. Another moan drops from your lips, betraying the intense pleasure you must be feeling. But you fight to keep your eyes open, focused on him, rubbing one out to the sight you're providing him with.

Dean comes when you do. He just shoots his load into his boxers, panting, but aware enough not to make a sound. It's taking everything out of him not to moan, but he knows he just can't. Even though this scene playing out right in front of his eyes is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. 

You, blissfully sighing, breathing heavily,  and that gorgeous little smile on your lips. It's better than it ever was in his imagination, and you're prettier like this than you've ever been. Cheeks flushed, eyes now finally fluttering shut.

Finally, Dean manages to snap out of his stupor. Looks down at the mess he made, wipes his hand off on his already stained boxers. Out of the corner of his eyes he sees Sam's head moving up just in time to turn around and finally move out of sight. He shakes his head, trying to clear his mind. To understand what just happened. And then he quickly and silently moves away from the dining room. He really should go pee now.

Dean skips breakfast. He takes the Impala's keys from the little bowl you make everyone keep their keys in and drives it a couple of streets down to an old lot next to a gas station. He gets out, walks a couple of steps, going in a circle. Stares at a cloud. Then he rolls up his sleeves, opens up the Impala's hood and gets to work. He's not entirely sure what he's looking for, but there's gotta be something he can fix. Right?

He spends at least an hour on the car, maybe two. It's a good distraction from the very vivid images of you, coming, that are playing on repeat in his head. But his mind keeps drifting back to the sounds you made, to your smile, to the way you ensorceled him to pleasure himself while you were staring at each other. You really cast your spell on him. 

He's going to have to talk to you. But how would that even work? Just talk to you, now that he's seen you like this. Now that the two of you have shared that. Behind Sammy's back.

He finally slams the hood shut, wipes sweat off his forehead and grease off his fingers. He sits in the car for a couple of minutes, hand on the ignition, but lacking the courage to actually start it. Then he shakes himself out off it and drives back home.

When he comes back, the house is quiet. There's nobody home. One of your coats is still hanging on the rack, but he knows you like to take the padded one when it's windy like today. Dean sighs in relief. Not that it changes anything, but he gets a little more time to gather his thoughts.

He throws his jacket onto the sofa, kicks off his boots. You're going to give him shit for that later. Or are you? Will things still be the same when you get back from wherever you are? Or has he broken this precious little thing you have going on? The thought alone makes him nauseous.

He shuffles down the hall, right to his room. Throws the door shut behind him and flings himself on the bed. He stares at the ceiling, not really thinking, but trying to. To come up with a way out of this mess that's not going to hurt Sam. He lets his gaze roam. To the framed picture of the three of you that you got him, from the day you took the boys ice skating. Dean had landed on his rear more times than he could count, but he had gotten to hold your hand as you tried to teach him how to stay on his feet and all of you got hot cocoa spiked with rum afterwards. It was a good day. He likes the picture, it gives his room a much more… composed vibe. Then his gaze wanders over the door and he finally sees the note stuck to the inside of his door.

He immediately recognizes your handwriting. He jumps up, crosses the room in two strides and rips it off.

It's written on one of those purple sticky notes that you keep on the fridge, the ones you use to write down the grocery list or to leave cute little messages for your boyfriend sometimes. But this one, this one's addressed to him. 

Dean. Meet me back here at 11 pm. xx

His heart starts racing. He just keeps staring at the note, as if somehow, if he stared long enough, it would change its meaning. You want to meet him. In the middle of the night. In his room.

And you're sending him kisses. You've never done that before. Well, you've never written him a note before. Except for the grocery list. It feels intimate. He likes it. It also feels wrong.

Dean swallows. What does this mean? Do you just want to talk? And keep it hidden from Sam? Or are you… suggesting something? Are you trying to get him to do more of whatever this was? 

He racks his brain. Do you know? That he's been listening to the sweet, sultry sounds you make when Sam gets to work on you? That he's been fantasizing about you non-stop? It sure looked like it this morning, like you knew exactly what was going on. 

He shakes his head. Continues staring at the note. xx. You want him. And he's not sure that's something he could deny you.

Dean's on edge for the rest of the day. He spends most of the time outside. Lounges around at the diner with the brunette waitress that always lets him peek at her bra when she pours him coffee. Gets himself a second slice of blueberry pie. But nothing seems to be able to distract him, no matter how hard he tries.

He knows he's gonna have to go back home and face the music sometime. He is going to have to talk to you about this, and sooner rather than later. But he just doesn't know what he would say, if he could get the words out. Is he even sure what you're going to say? Is this really you telling him that you want him? That you want to fuck him? Or is he starting to confuse porn with reality again?

Sure. He's been fantasizing about you. About being the one who gets you to make all of those sultry sounds he's been hearing without cease. It's been your face he's been superimposing on the women he has had sex with ever since he laid eyes on you. But that was just it. Those were fantasies. This? This is really you. You, his little brother's girlfriend. Someone who's strictly off-limits. 

He walks along the road to the house in the dark, kicking a soda can all the way up to the doorstep. At the door, he fidgets with his keys, trying to postpone the inevitable for as long as he can. Then he takes a deep breath, unlocks the door and goes in.

He's going to tell you. That you're the hottest little thing that has crossed his path in a while, and that he wants you, like, really wants you. That he wants you to have him. But that it's just not something that can ever happen. It's something he could never do to Sam. Because he knows how much Sam cares for you, how much you've already changed the lives of all the Winchesters, and that's something Dean can't ruin. Even if it means he's gotta put his happiness behind Sammy's.

He looks at the clock as he kicks his boots off. 11:17. He stares at the ceiling, mumbles an ejaculatory prayer and goes to his room.

When his hand lands on the door handle, he hears it. It's a quiet little sigh, but his ears have been trained to it. He can't believe it. Are you really in there, maybe even in his bed, touching yourself?

He should have just turned around and gone out again. Left you there. But his body is quicker than his brain, and his hand presses down on the handle, and then he's standing in his room.

There you are. On his bed, shirt pushed up a little so your belly is exposed. But the hand pressed firmly into your crotch isn't your own. It's Sam's. 

You giggle as you see him, push Sam's hand away and you both straighten up. Dean's sure that the look of confusion on his face must be more than evident.

He looks at you, then at Sam, then back at you. Opens his mouth, furrows his brows, closes it again and tilts his head.

It's Sam who speaks first. He chuckles and asks Dean to sit. Without looking away from you, he pushes all of the clothes piled on the stool next to the door to the floor and sits. Then he buries his hands in the pockets of the jacket he forgot to take off.

Dean's cautious. Watches you and Sam. He's not sure what to make of this entire situation, but it seems like both of you are in a good mood. On the same page even. At least it doesn't look like Sam's going to punch him for, well, jerking off in front of his girlfriend. 

“I thought you weren't coming,” you say, a look on your face that one could almost describe as hopeful. “Thought I might have scared you off.”

Dean huffs. He's careful about the words he chooses. “Scared ain't the right word, sweetheart.” You and Sam exchange a glance that he's not sure how to interpret. Then Sam gives you a tiny nod and you clear your throat before you speak again.

“So, Dean…”  He watches you like a hawk as you speak. All of his senses are on alert, he doesn't want to miss a single cue that might give away what you're thinking. The first one he notices is a small twitch of your upper lip.

“I know you've been thinking of me. I see the way you look at me. And after this morning…” Dean's eyes dart to his brother. But Sam's face is calm, relaxed even. He's got his hand low on your ass. Right where he saw that little mark this morning.

“Well, Sam and I thought, maybe you'd like to try the real thing.” Dean's mouth drops open. He blinks at you. Somehow, he feels incredibly joyous and immensely confused at the same time. 

“You mean, you want us to hook up?” Dean feels he might be gesticulating a little too wildly, but he can't stop himself.

You bite your lip as you slowly nod. So he was right. About you wanting to fuck him. He's just not entirely sure how Sam figures into this. 

“I…” Dean's thoughts are racing, and everything around him feels like it's been dipped in honey. Sticky. Like every action requires a tremendous amount of energy. He knows this is one of these moments that decide everything. 

He looks at his brother. Tries to read him. But Sam still looks completely unbothered. Does this really mean what he thinks it does? That he'll get to have you, he'll finally be able to feel you like he's been craving for all those weeks, and with Sam's blessing?

“...and you're cool with that?” He asks his brother, just to make sure. Sam tilts his head, scratches the back of his neck.  “Well, it kinda was my idea.”

Dean's eyebrows go up in surprise. Another twist he did not see coming. It must be evident to Sam that Dean is completely and utterly lost for words, because his brother starts to explain.

“We've been… trying new things. And turns out, we both liked the idea of you being in the mix. Just listening, catching us at first. So we thought, why not take it to the next level?”

Dean can't believe what he's hearing. Have you been thinking about him all this time? Have you been using him for your pleasure and he didn't even realize it?

And then it hits him. “Is that why you're so damn loud all the time?!”

You just giggle in response. And it makes Dean's heart skip a beat. Of course it is. He knows you can be quiet as a mouse if you want to. He saw it this morning. Damn. You really want this.

Dean shifts as you suddenly get up and start making your way toward him. When you reach him you extend your hand, and when he takes it you pull him up to you. He can already feel the growing hardness in his pants, and now that you're pressing yourself up against him, he's sure you can feel it too.

You stand on your tiptoes, one hand entangled with his fingers, the other on his chest. And you smell so damn good. As you look up at him your nose touches his jaw, you trace a line up to his ear. You let your cheek brush over his, and when your lips are close to his ear he hears you whisper, “is that a yes?”

His lips crash into you like a force of nature. Hot like a blaze, powerful like a storm, sweeping like the ocean. He grabs you with both hands, runs his fingers into your hair as he pulls you close. He needs to feel more of you. Touch more of you. Taste more of you. 

He knew it. You're not shy. You take charge of your pleasure. Just as your tongue is demanding entry in his mouth. Your hands are already tearing at his jacket, trying to pull it down his shoulders along with the flannel he's wearing underneath, so he lets go of your head for a second to shrug it off.

Since he's not touching you anyway, he uses his free hands to start ripping at your clothes as well. He pulls your shirt up and over your head, revealing a crimson lace bra underneath. Your tits look so perky, his hand immediately goes to squeeze one of them as he throws your shirt to the floor. He realizes he's never imagined taking your clothes off before, in his mind that used to be just something you had to get through to get to the good stuff, but getting to peel one layer off you after another? That's fun, too. He can't wait to finally get to the last one.

His lips are back on yours as his hands find the buttons on your jeans. He can feel you grinning into the kiss, probably at how much he is rushing things, but it's okay. He has been waiting for this for so long. He just needs to feel you. And it's not like you're not into it.

When he's got your jeans loose enough, he just shoves his hands into them, desperately grabbing at your ass. Your skin is so soft and warm, it makes him furious he can't touch all of it at the same time. Then he starts shimmying the fabric down. He's got a goal to reach here. 

He shuffles you backwards to the bed to make things easier, and then he sees a shadow moving out of the corner of his eye. Shit. Sam.

He got so caught up in the moment, reveling in your touch that he completely forgot about the circumstances of all of this. The fact that you're not only his brother's girlfriend, but also, that Sam is right there, in the room with you.

He throws his brother a nervous look, as if he's asking for permission when clearly he doesn't seem to be objecting to any of this. It still reassures him when Sam chuckles.

“Dean, it's fine. Just enjoy it.” And Dean decides that's all the encouragement he needs. This is not a time to worry. This is a time to savor. And savor he will.

He hastily helps you down on the bed, pulls your pants off you as soon as your feet are in the air. Then he takes a moment to look at the tableau. Of course, your panties match the bra. And funnily enough, so do the sheets you picked out for Dean. You just look like you belong there, in his bed. What a coincidence. 

He starts taking his shirt off, then his pants, and when he's finally in his boxers he crawls onto you. The way your eyes blink up at him has him forgetting everything around him. His head dips down, his lips going to your jaw, teeth nibbling their way down to your neck. When he reaches your pulse point and bites down a little harder, your entire body twitches under him, making him shiver. 

You arch your body into him, giving him more access to your neck and Dean starts to double down. The trail of his lips over your body is wet and warm, his touch making your body quiver with lust. Those sounds he's been hearing through the walls for weeks? This time, it's him doing that to you. It's you responding to his touch. You being blind with lust from the way he's handling you.

His heart almost stops when he suddenly feels your hand on his boxers. He buries his face in the valley of your breasts, trying to stifle the low groan that's escaping him at your touch. When he moves his mouth to the side, finding one of your nipples through the thin fabric of your bra, you moan that sinfully high pitched moan he's been dreaming about, and up this close it's even more divine.

He nearly loses it then and there when you take him out of his boxers, your small fist closing around his length, the pressure so perfect it makes him want to curse. When you start pumping he has to stop what he's doing to take a moment to look at you. He's already breathing so heavily that he's worried he won't last long. And the way you're licking your lips, the way you're enjoying how you're making him feel… he needs to do something about it. He needs to be inside you. Right now.

Dean pushes himself up, skin already burning with the ghost of your touch. His hand snakes under your back, finding the clasp of your bra and pulling it off you in seconds like a magician. He calls the move the Copperfield for a reason. He's just as quick removing your panties, shimmies out of his boxers and without any of the cumbersome fabric left on either of you, he can finally dive in.

He looks you deep in the eyes as his fingers trace a line from your bellybutton, ghosting over your mound and finally finding your entrance. God, you're wet. Sam might have warmed you up a little before he came in, but this is on Dean. You're entire body pulses as he pushes two fingers in. It might just be a tiny wave slowly reclaiming the shore, but he knows the high tide is right around the corner. He's going to get you there.

Dean starts exploring your body with his fingers, mapping the points that make you shiver most. This is what he's good at. He's already got the pulse point in your neck, your breasts, obviously, and he's found another spot inside you that made you throw your head back in ecstasy.

He likes the way you whimper when he pulls his fingers from you, and he knows he's rushing things, but you're ready to take him. And if he plays his cards right, doesn't hog you the entire night, maybe there's a chance he'll get to do this again.

He's towering over you, his face so close to yours that he can feel your warm breath on his lips. “How do you want me?” There's a sudden glow to your eyes, and within an instant you've got him turned around on his back.

He's lying there, his hands on your hips, so ready for you to be in charge. He can feel his cock already leaking as you tease him against your entrance. And then you sink down on him, slowly, your eyes fluttering shut. Your chest heaves, he can see you relishing every inch he's giving you. Dean knows that this is it. The thing that all the songs are written about, you're the kind of girl that makes men throw everything overboard, quit their jobs, sell their car, rob a bank. He'd do all of these things if it meant he could watch this face slowly twisting with pleasure forever.

When your eyes open again he's fully seated inside you and there's a delicious little burn on his chest from where your nails are digging into his skin. Your gaze is heavy on him, and he's not entirely sure what you're thinking, not until you turn around looking over your shoulder. 

The movement makes Dean sink even deeper into your pussy, which is good because otherwise his ego might feel a little hurt that instead of looking at him you're now looking at Sam.

He pulls you firmly against him and starts thrusting up, making you gasp, your mouth dropping open as you look at your boyfriend. And then he suddenly gets it. He gets what this is about. He runs his hands over your body once more, pinches your nipples, commits the face you're making to his memory.

Then he takes your chin into his left hand and turns your face back to him. “Why don't you turn around, sweetheart?”

You think for a second, and then he sees a content smile spreading over your lips. You're quick as you get up and turn around, leaving Dean outside of you for only a couple of seconds, and then you're on him again. And while it's a shame that he can't see your pretty face in this position, your back is just as much of a sight to behold. He has to close his eyes and take a deep breath for a second as you wiggle left and right to get him perfectly seated again because the way your ass is looking against his abs is just sinful. He feels you steadying yourself on his knees, your back arching, looking like goddamn cello. 

He hears you moan as you press yourself down on him, and then you start moving up and down. Dean holds his breath for the first couple of times that you're bouncing on his dick. The way he gets to watch you, to see him entering you over and over again is more than he could ever have dreamt of. His hands are firmly holding on to your ass, and it's the only thing grounding him, reminding him that he's an actual person with a physical body and not just a soul floating in paradise.

Nothing could ruin this moment, this peak of pleasure, not even your voice cracking as he hears you moaning his brother's name. Saying that you love him.

He sees Sam moving toward you at the same time as he feels you leaning forward. The new angle has him straining against your walls, but you keep your movement up, the stimulation so intense that he's scared he'll come any second now.

He can hear you gagging, moaning with pleasure as Sam shoves his dick down your throat, throwing you slightly off your rhythm. But you're quick to catch yourself again, and you violently clench around him as the sounds you're making with your mouth become filthier by the second.

It's like an out-of-body experience when he hears himself cursing, saying he's going to come, seconds before he pulls you flush against him, hips bucking up. He's not sure he's not marking up your skin with how hard he's holding onto you, but you seem to enjoy it every bit as much as he is, because the sound that's trying to leave your body through your full mouth is more than unambiguous. All of your body shivers, you whimper and tensen up, and when he hears Sam cussing as he grabs a fistful of your hair he knows that all three of you just came at the same time.

You don't immediately try to get up from his lap. You're still shaking, coming down from high, trying to catch your breath. But you sit up, core still wobbly, and Dean's right there to catch you as you let yourself fall back against his chest. You're still looking at Sam, your boyfriend, an impish grin on your rosy cheeks as he feels himself growing soft and finally slipping out of you.

Sam's kneeling in front of the bed now, his chin resting on his forearms between your legs. He's looking up at you like a puppy in love. Dean hears his brother saying something, you giggling in response.

Dean tilts his head down, pushes his nose into your hair and takes a deep breath. Closes his eyes. Shudders slightly.

Things are good.

[superblysubpar]

<- part three | part five -> | series masterlist

chapter summary: Steve drives you to work all week.

the song: Smoke by Caroline Polachek

also for your listening pleasure: Do You Believe In Love by Huey Lewis & The News, We Are the Champions by Queen, and In Your Eyes by Peter Gabriel

6,475 words | please see masterlist for gen warnings / wearing steve’s clothing, but size isn’t mentioned / for the purposes of this fic, you drink coffee and you take it sweet / alcohol mentions/consumption - you are tipsy in this / brief descriptions of car accidents/injury with some blood/ slight descriptions of panic/anxiety happening to Steve | my blog is 18+

Hawkins, Indiana - Tuesday

You slam the alarm button down when it goes off on Tuesday morning, sitting on your bed, fully dressed, one hour too early. 

Your knee bounces up and down, your teeth rip at the skin next to your thumb, and you stare at the clock, counting down, literally, to when your ride will be here. 

Steve had offered, when he dropped you off last night, to pick you up all week. It was supposed to rain off and on till Friday, you shouldn’t have to bike so far, it was the least he could do all babbled out of him as you sat in his passenger seat still wearing his clothes. 

What was the surprise, to both of you, is that you’d said yes to his offer. 

He’d blinked at you, you blinked at him and he nodded, fingers fiddling with the radio dial as he murmured, “Cool, cool.”

You’d sat in his passenger seat in silence, both staring out the windshield at your apartment complex until Steve cleared his throat and looked at you with raised eyebrows.

“Oh!” You quickly snapped off the seatbelt and pushed the door open, pausing to look down at the clothes you had on and the wet ones in your hands. “Um, I’ll, I can change quick and-“

“No!” 

He snapped his jaw closed and rubbed at his temple, blowing out a breath before he gestured, “I meant, like, don’t go to the trouble. It’s late, and, I’ll see you, and it’s fine, I don’t even wear those pants to sleep in because they’re too hot and-“

“Steve?” You interrupted, lips twitching against a smile. 

“Yeah?” He replied limply.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Robin.”

“Tell me about it.”

He smiled. You smiled. Something was definitely wrong with your stomach and so, sure you were about to be sick in his car, you mumbled something about seeing him tomorrow and quickly closed the door, then climbed the stairs up to your front door. 

Steve waited to back out of his parking spot until you were safely inside where he couldn’t see you fall backwards against the door with an exhale and you couldn’t see him rubbing his face at the exit of the complex mumbling the word ‘idiot’. 

Which is what you felt like, when you woke up with the sunrise, still wearing Steve Harrington’s clothes. 

And you were still feeling like it after you showered, scrubbing at your skin till it stung because you felt like you needed to wash off any evidence of the smell that clung to your body like it was supposed to. But somehow that didn’t stop you from spending longer on picking out an outfit, or taking more time to get ready. Reasoning with yourself that it was because you didn’t have to bike, that you woke up early, it’s nice to dress up and take care of yourself every once in awhile, it feels good to be put together for no one but yourself. 

This is what you’re currently telling your reflection, avoiding eye contact with the sweatshirt as you stomp out of the room towards your kitchen. 

But as you move down your hallway, something, or rather someone, outside the window catches your eye and you grab your bag and leave your apartment to figure out what he’s doing. 

Steve’s crouched down next to your bike, large fingers working on something with the chain with a furrow between his eyebrows. He doesn’t hear you approaching, which is probably why he shoots up at the sound of your voice, the back of his head smacking right into the metal bike rack.

“Harring-“ his name cut off with a sharp empathetic wince as his eyes shut tight and his jaw pulses after he curses under his breath.

“Sorry,” you rub at your elbow, scuffing a converse on the ground as you squint at him, “Believe it or not, that wasn’t on purpose.”

Steve exhales what you think is supposed to be a laugh, as he blinks at the ground, “Yeah, I…” 

His words get lost somewhere between his brain and his mouth somehow because all he can think now is:

Pretty.

The word makes his tongue feel too big for his mouth, like he needs to say it or it’ll just keep sitting there and he’ll suffocate as it swells.  It’s not like he’s not thought that word around you before, he has. But the urge to say it hasn’t ever quite made him feel like this, like he’s gonna die.

“You…?” Your head tilts, eyes squinting to inspect him more, heartbeat thrumming faster as Steve stares at you intensely.

“Don’t,” Steve finishes, standing up slowly, your red helmet swinging in his fingers. 

“You don’t?” The two of you blink at each other.

“Believe you,” Steve offers.

“Oh, right.” 

You hate that you feel so warm under his stare, hate that you’re wondering if he likes your outfit. You hate-

“I, um,” Steve gestures to the bike, “I didn’t want you to feel like you had to say yes to me driving you. Since you, you know, hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

The words slip off of your tongue so easily, you bite down on it in fear that more lies will fall out. 

The words to Steve are, however, exactly what he needed to hear to remember who the hell he is. 

Steve grins, two freckles lifting as he asks, softly, fondly, “Yeah?”

“I,” you swallow, wondering if it’s possible that Steve Harrington possesses the power to erase ‘how to speak’ from your list of skills and abilities simply because he’s got nice eyes and smells good.

His grin settles, a smug smirk keeping his lips in a flat line before he whispers, “What’s the matter, baby? Cat got your tongue?”

Your eyes narrow, arms crossing over your Journey t-shirt as you snap, “I don’t hate you. I despise you.”

Steve’s gaze darts over your face, before golden iris’ are settling on yours. He takes a step closer, dangerously closing the gap between your bodies as he whispers, “Yeah? Well I detest you.”

His chest rises and falls, bumping your crossed arms, the toe of his Nike’s touching the tops of your converse. So close you can count freckles on his nose and see green in his eyes.

“Wow,” your words hushed, but dripping in sarcasm, “Another big brain word and it hasn’t even been a week. Would you like a prize?”

Steve’s eyes flash, his lips twist up as he leans in even closer, “Yeah,” murmured as the tip of his nose almost touches yours, mint toothpaste fanning over your lips, “I would.”

Your breath leaves your lungs, held somewhere so it can’t escape as his nose brushes the bridge of yours before it’s suddenly gone. 

“Come on, we’re gonna be late,” spoken over his shoulder with a grin as he heads towards his car. 

Steve faces his car again, biting the inside of his lip out of your sight as you close your eyes out of his. 

Were you just going to let him kiss you?

Your legs feel wobbly as you make your way across the pavement towards the maroon car, and even more so when, nestled inside and buckled, Steve’s hand rests on the back of your seat as he says, “You look really pretty today, by the way.”

His forearm flexes in the corner of your eye as he looks over his shoulder to back out of the spot, spinning his steering wheel with the other hand effortlessly. The movement and skill makes your legs press together under your skirt, and you bite the inside of your cheek, adamant on ignoring what your body wants to tell you.

Steve fiddles with the radio dial as he comes to a stop sign.

“You know,” you bite, mad at yourself for falling for this, mad at him for starting it, just mad, “I haven’t forgotten that you have five days left to get me, of all people, to sleep with you. And as much as it pains me to say this, we’ve been in each others lives for quite awhile now, and I know you, Harrington. This isn’t working, it’s not going to work, and the fact that you think-“

He says your name roughly, tight, like the word burns his throat to say it. He leans over the console, ducking his head to catch your gaze causing a strand of hair to fall over his forehead. 

“Have you ever thought, for one second, that maybe, just maybe, I’m not as much of an asshole as you think, but because I know you hate me, I’ve never even tried to give you a compliment because that’s just not what we do? Tell me, honestly, if I’d have told you that you looked pretty, before today, before this bet, you wouldn’t have bit my head off then too? Or, god forbid, would have believed me?”

His breath is sharp, his gaze pierces into you, making something in your chest spark and sizzle, it’s not unlike the swell of pride you get when you win, and it’s better. 

It’s addicting. 

A horn honks and Steve blinks, facing the windshield and moving the car forward again. 

“I don’t hate you,” the words are a whisper, not as easily said as earlier.

“Right,” Steve clears his throat. He glances over at you with a small smile, then back at the road as he sighs, “Just despise.”

You hum a feeble agreement, and let Huey Lewis & The News fill the silence, asking if you believe in love. 

Steve’s fingers tap along to the song, his lips part, every other word softly exhaled as he sings under his breath. Which makes it hard to convince yourself that his words were just words, they meant nothing, and yours weren’t true either.

Steve Harrington doesn’t think you’re pretty and you hate each other. 

Despise. 

Whatever.

Your hands rest in your lap, thumb catching on a loose thread in your skirt that you are indebted to now. 

Not because Steve thinks you look pretty in it. 

But, because, if you instead search for where the loose thread begins, that brain space cannot be occupied by trying to figure out other times Steve wanted to call you pretty, or how you would have reacted, or how there’s two coffees in his cupholders next to your elbow. Focusing perhaps on, how the snag happened in your skirt could even make it so you don’t think about how, somehow, the leather of the seats and the coffee in such a tight space only make his normal scent of something minty and woodsy better and-

“Before you ask, no it’s not poisoned, and no, this isn’t me trying to woo you or whatever.” He gestures to the coffee, as if he’s reading your mind, “Could you hand me mine? Think it’s the front one.”

You’re shocked to learn that one of them is for you, and even more so when he grabs the cup from you and sips, grimaces, then coughs. 

“Ugh,” he licks his lips and holds it over to you, “That one was yours.”

You hand him the other cup, staring down at the one he handed back to you.

He bought you coffee and seemingly knows how you take it. 

As he pulls into the Family Video lot, expertly avoiding the kids skating and running around in front of Palace Arcade already, he sighs.

“You know,” he puts the car in park and looks at you, “I don’t have cooties.”

Haven’t even thought of the fact that if you took a sip, your lips would be where his had been, your body warms at the ‘kiss through contact’ possibility like a thirteen year old girl with a crush, heartbeat erratic still from the gesture of getting you the coffee.

“Actually, I was wondering if you did in fact poison this, because you despise me.”

“Detest,” Steve offers quietly with a smile.

“Detest,” you agree.

“I took a sip of it though. How would it be poisoned?”

“Maybe you’re like Westley and built up some sort of tolerance to this particular poison.”

Steve stares at you, blinking in silence until finally he asks, “What?”

“The Princess Bride?” You unsnap your seatbelt as he starts to get out of the car, talking over the roof of it. “Harrington, you have to have seen The Princess Bride?”

Steve swings his keys on his finger as he follows you to the front door, squinting. Both of you loving to have something to discuss that feels like easily navigated territory again. 

“Is that the one with Daisy?”

“Buttercup,” you correct immediately, stopping on the sidewalk to face him, “That’s our first movie today. No ifs, ands, or buts.”

“Fine,” Steve shrugs, but then nods to the cup in your hand, “If you take a sip and say thank you really sweetly.”

You scoff, “I don’t have to do shit, I’m the manager. And that was an if.”

Steve nods, holding his hand out. “Okay, then give me the coffee.”

“But...” you hesitate, the smell of cinnamon and vanilla wafting up to your nose. 

He definitely knows your order.

“Thought you said no ifs, ands, or buts?” Steve grins.

Your lips scowl before you mutter, “Don’t be cute.”

“You think I’m cute?” He smiles wider than he has all morning, showing off perfect, dazzling teeth. 

You roll your eyes and lift the cup to your lips. His eyes remain on yours, drinking you in just as much as you drink the coffee, gazes unwavering upon each other. 

It’s hard to swallow the perfectly made to your specifications coffee when he whispers, “That’a girl. See, was that so hard? Now, what do we say?”

“Thank you,” you grit, but Steve’s hand stops yours from unlocking the door.

“That wasn’t very sweet…” he tsks, sing song lilt to his voice.

With his hand over yours on the handle, you sigh, focusing on getting to watch a favorite movie instead of the way it engulfs yours. Batting your eyelashes, you force out a cheery, “Thank you, Harrington.”

Steve smirks, shakes his head no. He leans in, just like he had at your apartment. 

Just like when you almost let him kiss you. 

“First name, honey.”

That sparking, sizzling, simmering feeling is happening in your chest again.

Steve’s breath in is yours out as you murmur, “Thank you, Ste-“

“Jesus Christ! Thank fuck you’re alive! I’ve been…”

Eddie’s shout drifts off as he jumps out of his van, his eyes darting between you and Steve who’s starting to stand up straighter, hand dropping from the top of yours.

You clear your throat as Eddie grins at you, then Steve, then you again as he steps closer.

Eddie’s gaze looks over your outfit and your cheeks warm as he hums, raising his eyebrows over bright brown eyes that see right through you. 

“Well, don’t you look nice today.”

  Hawkins, Indiana - Wednesday

  He was already on thin ice, and now, you were planning to fully cut a hole in said ice and let him meet his demise in the cold, dark water beneath it.

  Eddie doesn’t seem to care, as he winces with fake sympathy, and tosses an M&M in his mouth as you glare at him with your arms folded over your chest. 

  “What do you mean, you can’t take me anymore?” 

  He shrugs, but takes a step away from you, seemingly out of harms way.

  Physical harms way at least.

“I have to go back into the shop, Wayne needs me. I’m really sorry, I’ll make it up to you?” He puts on a nice, big, Munson level show - hands folded in prayer, big pouty lips, and blinking sad doe eyes. 

  You stand in front of the counter, rubbing your temple from the fluorescent that’s been blinking all morning. 

  “I didn’t eat lunch, I didn’t pack a lunch, because you promised the diner, you made a big deal about tradition,” you start towards him, hangry and looking for vengeance. 

  Eddie quickly sidesteps around the corner, standing directly across from you as you both go in a circle around the main counter where Robin sits, typing at the computer. 

  “Beer, on me,” he pleads, quickening his pace, “Tomorrow. A whole pitcher, just for you. I won’t even make fun of you when you get a gutter ball every turn!”

  “I don’t want beer, Munson! I want a strawberry shake and a damn cheeseburger!”

  “I can take you.”

  Steve’s quiet offer makes you freeze, Eddie grins and backs out quickly towards the front door, pointing, “What a wonderful idea Steve! I wish you both a lovely first date!”

  “Eddie!” you shriek, stomping towards the door, but he’s gone. 

  The bell chimes as he dashes through it with a salute, Steve clears his throat while you stand frozen, staring at the closed glass doors. 

  After Eddie had found you yesterday, and thoroughly bothered you about your outfit, and what he didn’t interrupt, because there was nothing to interrupt, he’d shown up at your apartment with far too many questions and far too much of an opinion on your relationship with Steve Harrington.

  Not a relationship. A friendship.

  No. 

  A mutual understanding. A common ground. An agreement of ceasefire of your overt…hatred. A, maybe, slow ascent to friendship, one day, perhaps. 

  Which seemed to please the idiot who was betting against Steve winning, well into the night. So, he agreed to take you out to lunch the next day, honoring your tradition, yet assuring you that the conversation was in fact, not over. 

  Robin finally breaks the silence, calling your name, then, “You good?”

  “Yeah,” you mumble, crossing your arms, “Just debating sleeping with Harrington so Eddie loses three hundred dollars.”

  There’s a choking sound behind you, and you spin to see Steve’s mouth stuffed with Red Vines.

  Your Red Vines. 

  “Are you kidding me? What did I say!”

  You stomp towards him and he holds up his hands in surrender, talking around the candy, “Hey, remember me? Steve,” he swallows, backing away and tripping over his heels. “I’m the guy who brought you coffee two mornings in a row and has the ability to bring you to a delicious, cheesy burger, fast?”

  You’re inches from him and he yelps, wincing before you even attack, then a shouted, “I’ll pay!”

  Stopping in front of him, you snatch up the package of Red Vines and growl, “And a shake.”

  Robin gapes at the two of you, then looks at Steve, “You brought her coffee? You never bring me coffee.”

  Steve glares at her while he grabs the package of candy back and holds them high above your head, ignoring your protests. 

  “You can have these back when you learn to say please.”

  “Can you pass the salt?” You speak around the fries in your mouth.  

  Steve sits across from you, eyebrows raised. 

  “Please,” you grumble. 

  You shake the salt over the basket sitting between the two of you after he hands it to you. The basket holding the fries he ordered immediately and flashed the waitress a smile and wink for so you got some food fast while you waited for burgers and shakes. 

  He watches your shoulders relax after a few bites, and decides he can attempt conversation, “Better?”

  Your head nods, fingers covering your mouth full of food as you say, “Yeah. Thank you.”

  Steve nods too, looking anywhere but you while you lick salt from your thumb or suck on the straw in your glass of coke. 

  “Glad I could help.” He risks stealing a fry for himself, his stomach grumbling in protest as it watches you eat and it gets nothing. 

  “Sorry,” you fiddle with the straw wrapper in your hands, shrugging, “I know I much more resembled a ravenous wild animal than a normal human being back there.”

  “Glad you said it,” he mutters, ducking when you throw the folded straw wrapper at his face. He catches it, playing with it between his own hands, staring at the table. “You were pretty upset though, what’d you mean about tradition?”

  You shove fries in your mouth, buying time to respond, wondering how much you should tell Steve. 

  “Um,” you cough into your fist, squinting out the window at the sky turning gloomy. 

  “It’s okay,” Steve waves it off, “I didn’t mean to pry. You don’t have to tell me.”

  He shoves fries into his own mouth, right as the waitress brings two burgers over, sliding a strawberry shake onto the sticky tabletop. Steve’s chewing becomes frantic, holding up his hand and you’re saying the words before you can even register what you’re doing.

  “Could he get some extra pickles please?” 

  “Of course, hon,” she sways off, delivering another shake at a different table while Steve blinks at you. 

  “What?” You avoid his intense gaze, looking at your burger as you lift it to your lips. 

  “Didn’t think you were paying that much attention to me,” he finally says, smiling at the waitress when she drops off a small container of pickles. 

He looks at his burger, not you, so maybe that’s why it’s easier to keep talking about it.

  “Kind of make it hard to not pay attention, Harrington.”

  The pair of you sit in silence, chewing your burgers as rain starts to tap softly against the window, the red neon sign next to you flickering and making his yellow tshirt orange. 

  “Wish I knew you were watching sooner,” Steve looks up to find you already staring, “Wouldn’t have acted like such an idiot, maybe this would be a different story.”

  Your heart thuds in your ears, too warm under the softness of his eyes.

  “Acted?” You manage to push past your lips, tilting your head. 

  Steve smiles, and grabs for the shake, waiting for you to protest him putting a second straw into it. When you don’t, you surprise yourself by offering up, “It’s from the night we met.”

  He blinks at you, wrinkle forming between his brows as he sucks on the straw between his lips. You look away from them as you clarify, “Eddie. The diner. It’s a tradition from the night we met.”

  “Oh,” Steve nods, pushing the shake away and returning to his burger, adding another pickle. 

  “Yeah, I,” you close your eyes, then open them to look down at your food, blurting out, “Met him, after I threw that beer. In Brendan’s face. He took me to the diner, here, for pie, and I sort of spilled my guts to him.”

  Steve’s jaw pulses, the furrow of his forehead only deepening as you explain, not lessening. He takes another bite of his burger, ketchup smearing against the side of his mouth, offering you a reprieve from staring at his lips as he speaks around his bite, “Got it. That’s when you guys started dating, right?”

  You blink, lips parting but nothing comes out other than a shocked, “Ha!”

  Steve looks up at the scoff, taking in your wrinkled nose and how your eyes stare at his lips as you laugh, “Eddie…Ed,” you giggle, “No.”

  “You and…never?” Steve sits up straighter, eyes bouncing between your own. 

  “Not even a little bit,” you laugh, touching your lip, “You’ve got…”

  Steve swipes at his lips while he asks, “But you said you spilled your guts, I just assumed after what that asshole said and did that Munson like comforted and you and…”

  He trails off as you lean forward, rolling your eyes. 

  Your thumb swipes over the corner of his lip as you shrug, “Yeah, we bonded over assholes and crushing on people who’d never give us the time of day while sharing cherry pie. Best friends ever since.”

  Steve’s heart thrums as your fingers linger on his jaw, before you sit back again.

  And then you lick the ketchup off of your thumb. 

  He finally stumbles over the words, “I love pie.”

  “Yeah?” You grin, grabbing the shake.

  Steve nods, keeping eye contact as your cheeks hollow around the straw. But then he rolls his shoulders back and grabs the shake out from your lips and back across the table.

  “Except cherry. You’re delusional for choosing that over lemon.”

  “You’re delusional,” you yank the shake back towards you, “If you think you’re having any more of this.”

  Steve leans over the table as you begin to sip the shake again, only to wrap his lips around the second straw, noses bumping as he tries to drink it faster than you at the same time. 

  Your feet are intertwined under the table as you push at his shoulder and he tugs on the glass, both of you making a slurping noise as you get to the bottom, then grabbing at your temples from brain freezes while laughing.

  “I can’t stand you,” you push the glass towards the middle of the table. 

  “That’s better than detest, I’ll take it.”

    Hawkins, Indiana - Thursday

  Steve holds out the bag of popcorn to you, and you grin, taking some as you lean into him, a little tipsy, in the backseat of his car. 

  You, because you were last out to the car, and Steve, because he doesn’t do well in the front seat when Robin is driving. 

  Which is saying something, because Eddie isn’t doing so hot as it is.

  “No, Buckley!”

  “Give me a break, Eddie! It is super dark outside, and I’m a new driver, never attempted driving in the rain, and I don’t know wiper speed to rain droplet ratio!”

  You snort, nose in the popcorn bag as your shoulders shake. 

  Steve shushes you, mumbling, “You’re kind of a menace tonight.”

  “Eddie’s,” you hiccup, blinking up under heavy eyelashes at Steve’s profile, mesmerized by the freckles that dot it, “Fault. Got me all that beer.”

  “No comments-” Robin begins to talk over her shoulder.

  “Ba-ah-ah,” Steve points forward, stepping on an invisible brake in the backseat while Eddie grabs her chin and keeps it locked straight ahead.

  “From the peanut gallery,” she finishes loudly.

  “No peanuts back here,” you throw a piece at Eddie’s ear, “Just popcorn!”

  Steve remains facing forward, watching intently as Eddie directs Robin on slick roads towards her house. “You didn’t have to drink it all.”

  “Oh,” you sigh, sliding over to the window and pressing your forehead against the cool glass, “But I did, Harrington. For I am the champion of bowling night!”

  He opens his mouth, but you sit up straight again, and press your finger to his lips, softly saying (but thinking you’re singing), “No time for losers.”

  Steve smiles behind your finger, eyes soft and melting you a little. 

  Which you almost say out loud, but the song on the radio grabs your attention. You squeal, which makes Robin jump, which makes the car sway and Steve grab your shoulders, pushing you back on the seat as you yell, “Turn it up!”

  “You’re such a loser,” Eddie grumbles, but does as you request. 

  Peter Gabriel’s In Your Eyes plays a little louder, but no one can tell, because you’re loudly singing over him.

Eddie rolls his eyes at the way Steve watches you, and Robin bites her lip, fighting back laughter as you shout, “You all love this song, don’t lie to me!”

  You scream into your fist, dramatically singing, tossing your head, pointing at each of them. 

  “And all my instincts,” you take a deep breath and whip over to Steve, kneeling on the seat, “They return!”

  You shove your fist into Eddie’s face, who pretends to bite it, refusing to sing. But finally melts at your pout, mumbling along with you, “Without my pride.” Robin happily joins in, in a high falsetto, when you whip your fake microphone over to her, “I reach out from the inside.”

  As they all join in with you for the chorus, you fall backwards, laughing, catching Steve’s eyes. 

  You’d like to blame the beer, the cozy dark backseat, the way Steve smells, the rain, the fucking song. And while you can’t blame them for something that was inevitable, you can pretend that without this specific combination you never would have. 

  If you were sober, and In Your Eyes came on, you never would have touched the two freckles on Steve’s cheek, your fake microphone falling limp, palm flat against his chest. 

  If it weren’t dark, and he didn’t smell so good, you never would have let those same fingers drag down his jaw, only to linger on his lips. 

  And if it weren’t raining, and Robin hadn’t taken a second to look back in her mirror and say, “Holy shi-“

  It never would have happened. 

  Eddie shouts, Robin screams, and something heavy and warm is on top of you as the car spins on the water that’s flooded the streets. 

  Your ears are ringing, muffled words lost in the sound, and you can’t move, something holds you down. 

  It takes a second to realize the car isn’t moving anymore, and there’s hands on your cheeks. When your eyes blink open, there’s golden hazel ones that remind you of a scared boy looking at you intently.

  “Are you okay?” He gasps from on top of you where you’re both horizontal in the backseat now.

  “I’m fine,” Robin says sarcastically from the front seat, “Thanks for-“ Eddie shushes her.

  “Of course,” you grumble, hands that were clutched in Steve’s shirt loosening and pushing at him.

  His hands shake on your cheeks, fingers touching a spot on your forehead that has you wincing and his chest moving up and down faster.

  “Harrington,” you push at him more, his hand cups your cheek, eyes turning glassy as you insist, “I’m fine, get off.”

  “Hey,” you shake his shoulder as stares at your forehead, breathing harder still, “Harrington, relax. We’re all fine.”

  The side of his face flashes with red and blue, his heartbeat thuds against your chest as his breathing continues to ramp up. Your hands cup his jaw, thumbs delicately swiping over his cheeks. 

  “Steve. Look at me.”

  His shoulders shake with a stuttered breath and then his hand quickly reaches forward, gently cupping the back of your head as the door behind you opens. 

  Someone speaks, but neither of you hear them, eyes remaining on each other as you whisper, “Take a deep breath, Steve. Please?”

  You nod as he does, your hands loosening on his cheeks as he starts to let his weight hover over you instead of pushing you down. 

  A voice from behind you asks Steve to get out first. He’s held back as paramedics help you out of the car and lead you over to the back of the ambulance. Robin stands next to you and you shake your head, the words I’m so sorry easily able to read off of your lips and Robin stops them with her hand up. 

  Eddie stands next to him, watching, just as intently, and he clears his throat. 

  “That was…” he starts, looking at Steve, then back at you, now getting your forehead looked at. “Glad you were back there, man.”

  Steve nods, numb, as he watches you wince and say, “I’m fine,” to the EMT stitching you up. His fingers graze down the bridge of his nose and his swipes underneath it, nodding when Eddie says he’s gonna go check on Robin. 

  Everyone is fine, save for your head injury. His car is fine, save for a ding on the back bumper.

  Your side. 

  He saved you.

  He protected you. 

  He was scared for you. 

  Your heartbeat picks up as your gaze on the wet asphalt beneath your scuffed sneakers catches bright Nike’s approaching. 

  “How’s the patient?” 

  Steve’s voice is soft, scared, not a thing like you’ve ever heard before. 

  Which is maybe why when you look up at him, nothing comes out of your parted lips.

  Rain drips from the tip of Steve’s hair, curling around his ears, a droplet caught on his cupid’s bow, darkening the green shirt he wears. 

  The EMT stares down at you, waiting, then she smiles, staring at your forehead as she offers, “She’ll be okay. No concussion, probably a little sleepy from the pain meds she just took, but overall just a little dinged up. Nothing a little night of tender loving care from her boyfriend can’t fix.”

  “Oh, no, I’m-“

  “He’s not, we’re not-“

  Steve and you talk at the same time, stopping when the other speaks. 

  “Oh, my mistake,” she hums. She looks down at you as she inspects her last stitch, smiling softly, “Well, maybe some tender loving care from a friend then. Can I count on you handsome? Get her home safely?”

  Steve nods, cheeks pink as he waits for you to stand, his hand resting by your elbow just in case, then hovering near your lower back as he walks behind you towards his car. 

  “Dingus!” Robin shouts from Hopper’s truck. 

  Steve turns to look at her, and as he holds the door open for you, he leans down and murmurs, “I’ll be right back, you’re…you okay?”

  “Mhm,” you nod, blinking from the pain of the movement. 

  Steve doesn’t look like he believes you, but nods, and closes your door softly, running over to the truck, squinting in the rain. 

A soft tap hits the glass of your door and you jump, rolling the window down for Eddie, the boys swapping places without you realizing.

  “Hey sweetheart, how you doing?” He folds his arms on the frame of the door, bent down to take a closer look at your head. 

  “I’m fine,” you answer without thinking.

  Eddie’s lips twitch, fighting the urge for the joke, “Of course you are. You okay with Harrington taking you back? Hopper always can? Need me to stay over?”

  You watch Robin grab Steve’s jaw, pushing and pulling him to inspect him while he rolls his eyes and pushes her off. A much more physical approach, but the same as Eddie’s nonetheless. 

  When you don’t say anything, he follows your gaze and sighs. “Yeah, you’re okay. Fucking hell, I gotta figure out where I’m getting three hundred dollars from, thanks a lot you Peter Gabriel loving dork.”

  “Eddie, I-“ you protest and he waves his hand, smiling.

  “Save it, you’re hook line and sunk for him. You have been since the day I met you, fine.”

  He kisses your temple, opposite of your cut, and taps the hood of the car before jogging over to the truck, swapping with Steve again. But he pauses in the middle, grabbing Steve’s shoulder and pointing at the car, then pats him and jogs off again. 

  Once Steve is back in the car, you wait for him to drive, to say something, but he looks at you expectantly and then you realize-

  Your seatbelt. 

  “Sorry,” you murmur, and then it’s silent. 

  No radio. 

  No talking.

  Just the swish of rain on the pavement under spinning wheels. The rhythmic pit then pat of it hitting his windows, the slosh of the wipers back and forth. Steve’s breathing. 

  You don’t realize you’ve been soothed to sleep from it all, the combination of alcohol and adrenaline fading, until the car is coming to a complete stop, engine off, and your door is being opened. 

  Steve leans over you, unbuckling the seatbelt, whispering, “Come on, trouble.”

  “Mmm,” you protest, eyelashes fluttering, head hitting the headrest with a frown. “Steve.”

  “I know, just a few more minutes then you’ll be in bed, come on.”

  His hands slide into yours, gently pulling you from the car, guiding you towards the stairs. Your lead filled eyelids blink with each step, as you mumble, “Keys.”

  “I got ‘em, come on,” his hand presses to your lower back, then roams higher, pressing lightly when you sigh from the feeling. 

  A door opens, a hand wraps around your waist and a shoulder supports your head. 

  Steve blinks in the low light of your lamp that must be on a timer, taking in your space for the first time. He closes your door, keeping his hand on your waist to steady you as you sway while he bends down. 

  He watches you, as he unties a sneaker, patting your ankle as he quietly says, “Lift your leg up for me, honey.”

  You do as you’re told, blinking down at the boy who gently removes your shoe, then the other as you rest your hands on his shoulders for balance. 

  “Steve,” you gulp around his name, blinking back tears.

  He looks up at his name, frowning as he stands, large hands cradling your jaw as he tuts. “Hey, what’s the matter? What’re these for, huh?”

  His thumbs swipe over your cheeks, catching big tears that spill over your lashes as you blubber, “I’m so so-sorry. Everyone could have been really hurt. I hate Peter Gabriel. I’ll ne-never listen to hi-him again.”

  Steve laughs, and you frown, blinking at him through tears, “It-it’s not funny. Stop laughing at me.”

  He clears his throat, nodding, “Right. It’s not funny.”

  His lips twitch when you frown more, fingers curling around his wrists that still support your cheeks.

  “Bedroom?” He asks softly.

  “Harrington,” you sniffle, eyes rolling, “I hardly think this is the time to try to make a move.”

  He shakes his head, “I meant so I can set you up before I leave, smartass.”

  You point down the hallway, but then sigh, “Can you get me a glass of water.”

  He raises his eyebrows at you expectantly.

  “Please?” you pout your lips out.

  Steve nods towards your bedroom, “Yeah, I can do that.”

  He watches you wander down the hallway, and click on a light in your room, before he heads to your kitchen. As he fills the glass up, he takes the opportunity to glance around at pieces of you he’s not normally let in on. Wondering where certain trinkets are from and what they mean to you. He notices the large collection of vinyl. He grins at the stack of Family Video tapes that are clearly over the rental limit, even for employees. 

  And he’s ready to say something sassy to you about it, when he reaches your room, but you’re already laying in your bed, eyes closed and curled up on your side.

  In his sweatshirt. 

  He sets the glass of water on the nightstand, then lifts your comforter, pulling it over bare legs exposed from small sleep shorts. He leaves a quick note about leaving your front door key in your mailbox. 

  Steve hesitates before clicking off the light, taking in your slow, even breaths, the shadows on your face, peaceful with sleep. 

  He kisses your cheek as he turns off the light, lips lingering against your skin for a moment longer than he probably should have. 

  “Goodnight, honey.”

AN: thanks for your patience in this chapter and the next! This chapter is actually what sparked the core of this whole series, and I’m excited to finally share it with you. It was originally being written in the winter, and the events of this chapter are heavily inspired by a moment that happened between my parents before they were married! My dad and mom were in the backseat of a car, an accident happened, and my dad had leaned over to protect my mom, and she says that's when she knew she was in love with him. Take that for this story however you'd like 🤭 So while it’s not exactly what happened anymore, the essence is still there and I hope you love it, it definitely holds a special place in my heart. Also, I simply can’t help myself from including The Princess Bride in all of my series it seems. Thanks for being here!

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[callsign-muffin]

Heal Together: Chapter 13 (Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw fic)

I feel like this is the first time in a while that I've posted a chapter in a reasonable amount of time. I'm so grateful for everyone's patience with me while I write. I appreciate every single like, comment, reblog, and tag request so freaking much. As things slowly get better in my personal life, I hope I can continue to post for you all regularly.

Masterlist + Playlist

Word Count: 2.4k+

You weren’t sure if you were going stir crazy on the unit, but you swore all eyes were on you when you walked on to the unit for your next shift. But it wasn’t even 7am yet, you hoped that maybe your coffee just needed to hit. Word spreads fast at the nursing station, you knew that much. Maybe it got out that you weren’t renewing your contract and took a staff job elsewhere? You weren’t necessarily well liked, especially by the older nurses and some of the resident team. But you were respected, or so you thought. 

You looked up at the board to see your assignments, two walkie-talkies… this was gonna be a hard day.

Lisa, the career night shift nurse, who ran strictly on caffeine and spite, raised her eyebrows at you, “don’t go starting a fling with your patient assignments today, Y/L/N.”

Your stomach dropped but you had to play it cool and just ignore it, “I’ll receive report when you’re ready.”

The day was absolutely exhausting, with two patients that could walk and talk but were not fully orientated to their environment. Half of your day was spent cleaning them up since they were incontinent and the other half was spent trying to keep them from getting out of bed on their own and falling. And in an understaffed military hospital, there were no sitters who could watch over them, just you and the coworkers that were willing to help… which wasn’t all of them.

Madi nudged you, “Hey, are you working tomorrow?”

You shook your head, eyes laser focused on the computer. You were so behind on charting, you were drowning.

“Let the girls and I take you out for drinks tonight.” She said, “To celebrate your new job.”

Your eyes darted to her, “How did you know I got another job?”

Madi smiled weakly, “Word travels fast when you’re surrounded by a bunch of boomer mean girls.”

You snorted, that was the perfect way to describe the older nurses on the unit. “Okay. But nowhere fancy. I just wanna shower and throw on a nice pair of jeans.”

“Hard Deck?” She suggested, “Maybe that cutie boy with the mustache will be there and can drive you home.”

Your voice dropped lower, you didn’t want to be heard, “You mean my boyfriend?”

Madi’s face lit up, “So it’s true.”

You bit your lip and kept my voice quiet, “How did it get out? I swore Carly to secrecy.”

“Dr. Parks is fucking a nurse down in the ED, the one that took care of Bradley…” she matched your quiet tone, “She told him and he told Maggie, the certified yapper, and it spread like wildfire over the past couple days while you were off.”

You buried your head in your hands, “The last two weeks of this contract is going to be absolute hell.”

█ ✪ █▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█ ✪ █

Y/N: Shit day at work. I’m gonna meet the youngins for drinks after I shower and change. Carly’s driving me, will you drive me home?

Bradley: Of course, sweetheart!

Y/N: We’re going to the Hard Deck, you should make an appearance if you’re feeling up to it. 

Bradley: Drinks with my favorite girl, at my favorite bar? Abso-fucking-lutely

“How ya doin’ kid?” Maverick asked, he and Bradley finally had a moment alone after the last briefing before breaking for lunch.

Rooster smiled, “Besides still being sore as fuck, better than I’ve ever been.”

“The nurse?” Mav inquired.

“Y/N,” He corrected his uncle-like figure, “She’s more than a nurse. She’s like… my favorite person in the world.”

Maverick smiled, “Your dad used to say that about your mom. He’d say, ‘Yeah Pete, you’re one of my best friends. But Carole, she’s my favorite person in the world.’”

“There’s no one better to be second best to, I guess.” Bradley chuckled.

“Third best, once you came along.” Maverick shrugged, “And that was absolutely okay with me.”

“I think we’re gonna take a trip to her hometown soon, before her new job starts.” Bradley said nervously.

Mav nodded, “Which means you’re probably gonna meet her parents… Does that scare you?”

“A little, it just hurts a lot that she can’t meet mine… she’s so much like Mom but not in a way that’s, like, weird. But in a way that she’s comfortable and familiar.” Now Bradley was really opening up. Maverick tried not to look too excited. “The first time I ever brought her back to my place, I offered her a drink before things… happened. And she looked at me and said ‘Take me to bed or lose me forever’. I don’t remember much of Mom and Dad together but I remember her saying stuff like that and it made my dad laugh so hard.”

“Do you have any pictures of her?” Maverick asked curiously.

Bradley pulled out his phone and pulled up a selfie he took with Y/N at the Hard Deck a few weeks ago, just a few hours before that amazing night they spent together. 

“She’s a pretty girl, Brad.” Mav said, “She seems sweet too.”

“She is,” Bradley agreed, “she’s also smart as hell, full of attitude and wit. She’s… she’s everything.”

Bradley sat down next to Bob at a table with Phoenix, Fanboy, and Payback.

“We’re going to the Hard Deck for Thirsty Thursday, Roo.” Payback said, “You coming or are you gonna be too busy hanging out with your girlfriend?”

He smiled at his friend, “I’ll be doing both.”

“Yeah, Y/N and the nurses are all gonna be there tonight.” Phoenix added.

Bradley was taken aback, “How did you know that? She just texted me about it…”

Phoenix shrugged, “She texted me too. Is that allowed, Bradshaw?”

He chuckled, “Of course it is, she loves you.”

“See any other cute nurses for the rest of us during your last hospital visit?” Fanboy asked, “Time to spread the wealth.”

“You know how Phoenix loves a woman in scrubs.” Bob added with a wink in her direction.

Nat kicked him swiftly under the table.

“Unfortunately, no.” Bradley chuckled, “I was too busy having my ass handed to me by Y/N for not calling her.”

Fanboy choked on his water, “You didn’t tell her you were coming to her place of work after being ejected from a fucking plane?!”

“I had to call her and tell her.” Phoenix rolled her eyes, “Because I had a feeling he fucking wouldn’t.”

Rooster shrugged, “I have since learned the error of my ways. It’ll never happen again.”

█ ✪ █▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█ ✪ █

You loved that your weekend was being kicked off with a Thirsty Thursday. Since you knew you had a safe ride home and no one at work respected you anymore anyways, you decided to let loose a little bit. Carly brought a round of tequila shots to your high top table, Sam followed closely behind with a round of hard seltzers.

Madi laughed, “We’re chasing our shots with more alcohol to drown our sorrows about Y/N’s contract ending.”

“And because she’s leaving us for labor and delivery!” Carly passed you a shot and a High Noon, “It’s only right that we get her fucked up!”

“Cheers to Y/N surviving the next two weeks being the talk of the unit!” Sam held her glass up.

Everyone did the same and clinked the shot glasses together, tapped them down on the table and then choked the shots back and chased with the sweet yet still alcoholic taste of High Noons. It was the first time since college you had a head rush like that.

“Lisa told me not to hook up with any of my patients when I got report from her today.” You rolled your eyes.

“Fuckin’ bitch,” Sam snorted, “Maybe if she got laid for once she’d be a little more tolerable.”

You, Madi, and Carly all burst into a fit of giggles. Sam was known for always saying the quiet part out loud, even if it got her some glares. Her strong backbone is what’s helped her survive as a new young nurse starting out in a military hospital’s intensive care unit.

As the silly conversation went on, you found yourself peering at the door every once and a while, waiting for Bradley to walk through it… You also noticed Carly doing the same thing, a hell of a lot more than you were. There was an air of nervousness about her. Who was she waiting for? It better not be some shit head straight out of basic training, or worse, Hangman. 

“Next round’s on me, girls!” You pulled your card out from your wallet.

Carly slapped your hand away, making you drop your credit card, “No way, Y/N! We’re treating you all night.”

You tried to argue but Madi talked right over you, “We’ve already decided this. You’ve done so much to help all of us during your contract, more than the nurses who were supposed to train us.”

You shook your head, “Not really…”

“You taught me how to give report without shitting my pants and to organize my lines.” Carly said.

“You taught me to talk to patients whenever I’m assessing or doing anything to them, even if they’re intubated and sedated because it helps with agitation.” Sam added.

“You taught me to double tourniquet for tough IV placements to help the veins really pop out.” Madi said, “I almost never miss now!”

You puffed out your lower lip, “I’m really glad you all are saying these nice things while I’m sober. If I had anymore alcohol in me, I’d be ugly crying.”

All the girls’ faces lit up and then a familiar raspy voice said, “Sweetheart, you couldn’t do anything ugly if you tried.”

You jerked around and jumped into Bradley’s strong arms, “I’m so happy you’re here!”

He held you for a moment, rubbing your back, “The day didn’t get any better?”

You shook your head, “Not until I got here with these girls.”

“Now that you’re nice and distracted, I’m gonna go grab us another round.” Carly smirked at you and Bradley, finally releasing each other from your embrace. “Can I get you anything, Rooster?”

Bradley passed her his card, “You can put it on my tab and let me help you carry stuff. The usual suspects are at the pool tables and would love to see you guys.”

“Meet you there?” You suggested.

Carly and Bradley nodded and made their way to the bar.

Sam took your hand, “I’m so scared of all of them, the guys are so fucking hot.”

You giggled and gave her hand a squeeze, “Don’t be scared, they’re all really nice. And don’t let them know you think they’re hot, it’ll go to their heads.”

You were catching up with Bob and Phoenix when Bradley and Carly appeared with seltzers, beers, and shots. Their hands were so full.

“Aw, let me help you.” Phoenix cooed and walked up to… Carly? She kissed her sweetly and took half of the drinks from her hands.

In that moment, everyone stopped and stared. Processing what they just saw.

“Surprise!” Carly squeaked and smiled awkwardly.

“How did I not put this together?” Bradley chuckled, handing you a High Noon.

“You’re gay?” You asked the two of them in disbelief.

Bob cut in, “Natasha’s gay and grass is green… we’re stating the obvious, right?”

Everyone burst into hysterical laughter.

“Hey, hey,” Phoenix said, “I think she directed that more towards Carly than me.”

Carly looked at you with concerned eyes, “I only just kind of figured this part of me out. Are you mad at me? For not telling you?”

You shook your head, “No! Of course not!”

“So let me get this straight… or gay,” Hangman started.

Coyote rolled his eyes at his best friend, “Here we go.”

“I’m called a total creep for chatting up the cute young nurses but Phoenix starts dating one of them and doesn’t get any shit?”

“That’s ‘cause you are a fucking creep!” Payback called out, making everyone laugh again. 

You walked over to Carly and wrapped your arms around her, “I’m so happy for you, kid.”

█ ✪ █▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█ ✪ █

Bradley flipped through all the tracks on the jukebox on the other end of the bar. He peered behind over his shoulder and saw Y/N, drunk and happy by the pool table with his best friends. She was talking to Fanboy about something that had her really worked up, Bradley could see the passion all over her face and in her gestures. She was setting Mickey straight on something, wagging a single pointer finger in his face as she spoke. 

God, she’s the fucking cutest. Rooster thought to himself before turning back to the jukebox.

Y/N had asked him to pick a classic for her. He had to find something that was giving old school, 1970’s joy. And he found it. After adding the song to the queue, he swaggered back over to his girl, walking up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist mid rant.

“What’s got you all fired up, Sweetheart?” He chuckled and pulled her close.

“Fanboy thinks that Legally Blonde isn’t a feminist masterpiece!” She spat and glared at his teammate with disdain.

Bradley chuckled, “Grow up, Mickey. Everyone knows that Legally Blonde is an excellent movie!”

“Yeah!” Y/N cried out, snuggling her back closer into Bradley’s chest, “Grow up!”

Fanboy was getting a kick out of riling Y/N up, “It’s not realistic!”

Before Y/N could bite back, the starting lines of Bradley’s jukebox pick started playing. Her eyes lit up and she turned around in Bradley’s arms to face him.

“This is a classic!” She squealed happily.

Bradley sang to her and let his hands wander down into the back pocket of her jeans, “You can rely on the old man’s money! You can rely on the old man’s money! It’s a bitch, girl, but it’s gone too far, ‘cause you know it don’t matter anyway. Say money but it won’t get you too far, get you too far.”

And just like that, everyone in the bar was boppin’ along to Hall & Oates. When the next chorus came around, everyone was singing. Phoenix playfully bumped Bradley and Y/N as she danced and sang with Carly. Hangman, Coyote, and Bob used their respective pool cues as microphones and sang their hearts out like everyone’s own personal background singers.

Y/N sighed happily in his ear.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, baby girl?” He asked softly as the song came to an end.

She pulled back to look at him with her big doe eyes, “How happy I am, here, with you.”

He rested his forehead against hers, “That’s so funny, I was also thinking the same thing.”

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Dear Daddy Long Legs - Chapter 5

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Also posting on AO3 which you can find here.

Might have to take a few days off so I can catch up on some writing. I am very happy with the direction this story is taking. (If you couldn't tell, this is more of a slow burn piece because I can't imagine Jason as anything but someone who yearns.)

TW: Minor depictions of violence

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Chapter 5

You dropped your letter off the following morning before heading to your first class of the day. The first two weeks at Gotham University passed in a blur as you tried to orient yourself. You liked school when you were a kid. It distracted you from the harsh realities of the world. College was a different beast entirely, especially one as prestigious as this.

It was hard not to feel othered here. Other students came from old families, ones with money and prestige. You recognized some of their faces from interviews or social media. It was their seats that went vacant in class. They had nothing to prove. There were no consequences when you had money to throw at a problem.

You settled in your seat of your history class. From Goddesses to Witches: An Overview of Women’s History. With a title like that, how could you not sign up for it? There were a lot of cool classes here, and you wanted to take them all, but there were only so many hours in the day.

The blonde who usually sat on your right had already arrived. Her purple hoodie was branded with the University logo, though you don’t recall the school store selling purple apparel. She offered a friendly smile as you sat. You failed to return it as you sifted through your bag.

Sure, you wanted to make friends. It would be nice to find like-minded people who liked to discuss classic literature and the relevance of the oxford comma, but you weren’t entirely sure where to start.

Returning a smile might have been a smart move, but the moment had passed. Your table mate shifted her attention to her phone, so you decided to do the same.

A text awaited you from your manager: Rosa quit last night. I need you to come in tomorrow night to cover a party.

You suppressed a groan. Seriously? Rosa had wanted to quit for a while, but now it fell to you to pick up the slack. You shot back a quick text though you knew it wouldn’t make a difference: I have a night class.

Bubbles appeared instantly.

Shit.

His response was exactly what you expected: I wouldn’t be asking if we had options. I hired two new waiters that need a veteran to show them the ropes. You’re the best I have.

Flattery would get him nowhere, but you’d be stupid to turn down an extra shift—especially as an event lead. That role usually went to Rosa who had a kid to consider. Now, the title would shift to you, and the boost to your salary would reflect it.

With a defeated sigh, you replied: I’ll be there.

I’ll send you the details tonight. You’re a lifesaver, he shot back.

Hardly, but you weren’t about to argue. This decision was entirely selfish on your part. If you did this, you’d have a valid argument to ask for Christmas off in a few months.

Your professor arrived and class began. As she talked about your assigned reading, which you’d already finished and annotated the night prior, your mind wandered as you considered your options. Skipping one class wasn’t the end of the world. It was a philosophy class that didn’t count toward your major, but allowing this set a dangerous precedent. Your boss got what he wanted this time. What would stop him from trying again?

Some students might get away with skipping class, but you weren’t one of them.

Glancing back at the blonde, you noticed meticulous notes she’d started in glittery purple ink. She was also in your philosophy class, though you didn’t sit next to each other.

In hindsight, maybe you should have returned that smile.

Your fingers drummed the table. It’s not like you were asking for a lot if she was already taking notes. She might be cool to talk to, to hang out with. Friendships had blossomed for less.

Or maybe you were asking for too much?

Ask for notes and leave things there. After years of doing things for yourself, it felt like cheating to rely on the kindness of a stranger like this. Not to mention, you were a little rusty at making new friends. The ones you had came from work and the shared trauma of working in catering.

Do you even know how to make friends?

You warred with your pride until the professor dismissed you. The blonde hopped out of her chair, swung her bag over her shoulder in one fluid motion, and hurried out before you mustered the courage to speak. You were moving before you realized it, abandoning your bag to hurry after her.

“Hey! You in the purple. Wait up.”

It wasn’t the best identifier, but she stopped anyway, peering over her shoulder. Her surprise gave way to something friendlier as she grinned. “That’s me.”

You approached, your heart pounding. “So, I hate to ask this, but I got called into work tomorrow night. Since you’re in my philosophy class, I was wondering if you could take notes for me?”

“Yeah, no problem,” she said as she pulled out her phone, “What’s your number? I can text you a picture of them once class let’s out tomorrow night.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary. I can just grab them when I see—”

“Don’t sweat it. Professor Edwin is an ass. He failed me last year because I slept through our final exam and refused to let me retake it for partial credit. Like, come on man, it’s not my fault I overslept. I’m not going to let anyone fall victim to his shit if I can help it.”

How did that make him an ass? You almost asked, but she shoved her phone in your face and continued, “I’m Steph, by the way. Pre-med.”

You introduced yourself as you punched your number into her phone. “Writing and Classics,” you offered as you handed her phone back.

“Radical.” She gave you a quick once over. “I’m thinking red.”

“Huh?”

“That’s what color I’ll write the notes in. Something about your aura just screams it, ya know?”

You did not. “Black ink is fine too.”

Steph looked at you like you had just suggested slaughtering a small child instead. “Absolutely not. Why would I do that when the world is such a colorful place? I know we live in Gotham, but that doesn’t mean we have to abstain from happiness.” Her phone beeped in her hand, and she gasped. “Crap, I gotta get to class, but I’ll send you a text later.” She hurried off, leaving you to stare after her in disbelief.

Huh.

Maybe making friends was easier than you thought.

***

Your manager failed to mention the party was at Wayne Manor.

Deep down, you knew it didn’t matter. You had catered dozens of his parties over the years, but that was before you accepted his money like a sellout. How working for him was any different, well, you weren’t exactly sure—it just was.

Anxiety bubbled in your belly as you lit the food warmers on the banquet table along the far wall of the sitting room. Every so often, you’d glance over your shoulder like you expected Bruce Wayne to step out of the shadows and yell at you for skipping class.

This was stupid. Bruce Wayne had no idea who you were beyond a name on an application. He didn’t care that you skipped class. Students skipped all the time. Hell, your first letter probably hadn’t even reached his desk.

Still, a small part of you disliked the power he had over you.

“Excuse me.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin as you whipped around to face the elderly butler who’d let you in that evening to set up. He quirked a wispy eyebrow, almost amused.

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Master Wayne asked me to check in with your team to ensure you have everything you require.”

Heat bloomed in your cheeks as you tucked your lighter away. “I’m good on the food end, but I should check with our bartender to make sure. How many guests are we expecting again?”

“Fifty, ma’am.”

“Perfect. I’ll be right back.”

This was a more intimate affair than what you were used to, but intimate usually meant easy.

You tasked the new hires with preparing platters of hors d’oeuvres in the kitchen. They arrived in ill-fitting uniforms and messily knotted hair. They also seemed more interested in their phones than listening to you. If they made it through tonight, you’d be impressed.

Catering was lucrative, especially when the owner never turned a job down. Not a single one, even if the client was far from reputable. Staff turnover was unreal because of it, but you didn’t mind if you got paid at the end of the night (and the mob paid very well for discretion). You had a rule. Keep your head down and do your job. People largely ignored you as long as you did.

It was the same here, among the Gotham elite. No one looked at your face or bothered to learn your name.

You ducked inside the kitchen where Mark, the bartender, sorted through a crate of liquor. Several platters of half-finished hors d’oeuvres sat on the counter, but the new hires had disappeared.

Your eye twitched. “Where are they?”

Mark looked up from his crate. A few strands of strawberry blonde hair fell into his eyes. He ran his fingers through his hair and held the pose to show off the carve of his bicep. It was a well-practiced motion that made the ladies swoon. You have been one of those ladies before you learned he used that move on everyone.

“They mentioned a smoke break and left out the back.”

You scoffed. “Great.”

“Starting to feel a little sympathy for Rose, aren’t ya?”

“Shut up.” You crossed the room to lay out the platters yourself. “Do you need anything? The butler asked.”

Mark whistled softly. “I wish I was rich enough to have a butler.”

“Who knows? You might finally get a sugar momma if you play your cards right.”

“That’s the goal. You could find yourself a sugar daddy if you tried.”

“Hard pass.” You’d accepted enough charity in your life. No one but the Red Hood knew about the scholarship, and you wanted to keep it that way. Accepting handouts went against your morals, and you didn’t want people calling you a hypocrite—even that was exactly what you were.

“I should go track those assholes down,” you grumbled as you finished one of the platters, “I don’t think they’ll last an hour.”

Mark snorted. “Have a little more faith. I bet they can make it to the end of the night.”

You wiped your palms off on the front of your apron. “I don’t bet on anything.”

“Lame.”

You left out the back door to search for your servers. What were their names again? Brian and Jon? That sounded right, but if it was wrong, you weren’t going to feel bad about it. They had spoken less than a dozen words to you since arriving at the manor. You rounded the corner to find one of them with a burning cigarette hanging from his lips.

“Where the other one?”

Jon/Brian (you couldn’t be pressed to tell them apart) glanced up from his phone, his blatant disregard for the job palpable. “Brendan took a lap to stretch his legs.”

Brendan. Fine. Brendan and Jon.

“He’ll have a chance to stretch his legs once the party begins. Find him and get your asses back inside.”

“Bitch,” he grunted as he flicked his cigarette at her feet. He stalked off to find Brendan.

Men, you seethed to yourself as you stomped out his cigarette.

At least Rosa was fun to talk to. That and she made sopaipillas for your birthday. Shame she had to go and quit on you.

You returned to the kitchen as the butler stepped inside. He noted the half-finished platters with an unimpressed sniff. “Would you like some help? Our guests are due to arrive any minute.”

Your shoulders sagged. “Yeah, that would be great.”

An hour later, the party was in full swing, and you were counting down the hours before you could go home and work on your readings for class. You wove through the guests with a full platter of bacon-wrapped water chestnuts balanced in one hand. Some people grabbed them before you had a chance to offer, while others waited for you to present them with a vacant smile and a pleasant, “Would you like one?”

It was automatic at this point. You didn’t think. Jon and Brendan on the other hand…

You searched for them in the crowd, but it was difficult with all the bodies crammed in one room. Fifty people were just shy of too many people for the spacious sitting room, but no one else seemed to mind. You shared a look with Mark, who mixed drinks at the bar in the corner.

You motioned to the crowd, and he shrugged, already guessing your question. He hadn’t seen them either.

Perfect.

Your boss would have hell to pay in the morning because this was ridiculous.

A man knocked into your shoulder as he passed, nearly spilling your platter in the process. You swore as dove to save it. As you did, your attention snagged on familiar tattoo that painted the guest’s knuckles a deep crimson. You’d seen it before, but only ever on the east side and when you did, you knew it was time to run the other way.

A member of the Blood Knuckles—here at Wayne Manor.

Your mind raced as you made a beeline for the bar. Mark passed a glass of red wine to a woman with flushed cheeks. She giggled at nothing as she dropped a crisp twenty in his tip jar.

When she stumbled off to join her partner, you set your platter down and said, “Head back to the kitchen.”

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“Just do it. I can explain everything later. I need to find the—”

A shot went off behind you. Screams rippled through the crowd as you hit the ground. The Blood Knuckle stood with his back to you. He raised his gun to the ceiling, shards of crystal raining down from the chandelier. Three more men removed guns from their waistbands, each donning the brand of their gang.

 Bruce Wayne stood near the fireplace, a trembling hand raised as if he were soothing a wild beast. He wore his usual black on black, his jaw set with a severe expression as he stared the gun down its barrel. “Woah there,” he said as he tucked a younger boy behind his back, “We don’t want any trouble.”

“Neither do we. Well, not with most of you anyway.” He turned his attention to but an aging man in the corner with thinning hair. “Oscar Franz, our boss has business with you.”

Oscar staggered back, the color leeching from his face. “W-Who sent you?”

“Oh, I don’t kill and tell.” He leveled the gun at him. “But we have a few questions first.”

Your ears rang as you scanned the room, weighing your options. If only you’d noticed sooner, you might have gotten Mark and you out of the room before the Blood Knuckles revealed themselves. They usually kept to their territory, so seeing them this far outside of East Gotham unsettled you. They weren’t usually hitmen, and you weren’t too keen to watch a man die before your eyes tonight.

Slowly, you got to your feet and used one hand to flip your platter. It clattered noisily to the ground, drawing the attention away from the target. The hitman locked eyes with you, and you recognized him instantly.

Brendan—now dressed in a tuxedo to blend in with the guests. How had you missed the tattoo before? Did you even get a good look at his hands?

Your manager would hire gang members by accident. To think, you could have been having a deep philosophical discussion about morality and the error of humanity instead. Now, you had to face the reality of your morality as he trained the gun on you.

A laugh bubbled in your throat as you lifted your hands, feigning innocence. And here you thought he was just a shitty server. This made a lot more s—

You sensed someone behind, but it was too late. Jon cracked the butt of his gun on the back of your head and the world went dark.

[orchidsarchives]

Hey babe- I wanted to know how you felt about booknerd!reader x Jason. Because it's been rotting my brain forever now and I need to know what someone as genius as yourself thinks about it. So like- We know Jason is a book girl. He's got huge floor to ceiling shelves in his apartment filled with non-fiction, historical fiction, classics, and maybe a few Si-Fi titles. I feel like he would love Toni Morison, Maya Angelou, Henrik Isben, Margret Atwood, and maybe even Harukai Murakami. He has this beautiful collection of leather bond additions of the Iliad Bruce gave him when he was 16. And when he finally invites you over, he cannot contain his excited smile as you start gushing over his home library. He makes you guys coffee and you spend hours talking about your fav genres, authors, online author drama - and after he's walking back to his apartment after dropping you off, he's smiling down at his phone at the message you sent. 'I had so much fun today! Ur library is so so so cool, was wondering if you would be ok going with me to Chapters next week? Wanted to pick up the new Skyward book' He's kicking his feet and hiding his face in his pillow. So deeply overjoyed that his crush shares in his immense love of literature. After you guys officially get together, he buys you so many fucking books. He fallows your goodreads wishlist religiously and surprises you almost every month with a new addition to your growing collection. He usually collects used paper backs, but for you, he splurges on the hardcover special additions. Of course it's because he loves you but it's also so that, maybe, you'll be more incentivised to move into a different apartment. One with floor-to-ceiling book shelves and a shared bed... just saying.. He branches out into more genres and authors he wouldn't usually read from just so he could talk about your favourite books with you. You do the same - your book collections getting mixed together in the process. Library dates, bookstore dates, used-bookstore dates. Your first couple of dates and realisations of love happened in and around books. You would always leave little messages inside the first page of the books you give him. So that if your every away or he's on a mission and he takes a book with him, he'll have one of your small messages of love as a reminder of something to return home to.

Hi hon!! I’m so sorry for the late response, I’ve been dying with uni and just life in general recently, but I’m back and ready to write again!! But I agree with pretty much everything that you said, like you’ve written it out so well and it’s just so cute! I was literally giggling and kicking my feet at the last one omg. I shall try to add more stuff!!

Jason’s go to present for his loved ones is annotated copies of his favourite books. He only does this when he feels comfortable with a person because sharing his thoughts feels raw and vulnerable sometimes.

Having a significant other who loves to read and appreciates these types of gifts would make him feel happy and very emotional. It’s not often he gets to share this side of himself with people.

When he gifts his copies to his friends or his partner, he feels like he’s leaving a piece of him with the person, so he only does this when he trusts you.

He leaves detailed little messages on the margins of his books. He draws little smiley faces on the cute parts and angry faces on the parts that made him upset.

In the books for his significant other, Jason leaves little notes around the quotes that remind him of you. He highlights them in a different colour and makes sure his notes look extra tidy.

He sucks at wrapping things, so sometimes you’ll get a very poorly wrapped, tape covered novel. You’ll look at the wrapping and laugh, you’d pinch his cheeks teasingly and tell him he did a good job. He’d turn his face away in embarrassment, which leads to you placing a gentle kiss on his cheek.

Then, there would be times where he doesn’t have the energy to deal with the horrible wrapping paper. So, you’ll be gifted a plain paper back with a sticky note on the front cover that reads ‘for you,’ in squiggly lines.

It’s honestly sweet and he gets very shy about it.

Also, Jason’s taste in books is very diverse, he reads anything from the classics to romance to gothic horror. He reads anything and everything and because of that, I think that it would be very easy for you to share your thoughts and recommendations with him.

Even if Jason hasn’t read the book, he listens intently with a huge smile on his face. He loves listening to you talk. If he doesn’t know the author or the book, he will try to familiarize himself with what you’re reading and branch into different genres.

There would be lots of reading and bookstore dates. You’d browse through the different aisles with his hand in yours, only letting go when a particular book catches your attention. He watches you in awe as you gush about the different series.

(Side note, my friends and I always go to bookstores and just point out the worst books we’ve read and I think Jason would do that too.)

As you search through the shelves to find your next read, he’ll come to you all excited, rambling about the book in his hand. From the looks of it, it seems like he loves the book. His hands are moving around, he’s smiling and giggling, but if you pay attention, he’s actually just cussing out the author.

This becomes a tradition in your relationship. You both bring up books that you hate instead of the ones that you really enjoy. You’d spend the next hour of your bookstore visit just giggling at the random passages that the author thought were good enough to share with the world.

I think this would also lead to a book club of reading awful books sometimes just for shits and giggles. There would be weeks where you would read amazing, well written stories together, but then there would be times when you guys would pick up something bad just to make fun of it.

Overall, Jason would love having a book nerd significant other because he finally has someone who he can geek out with.

[deeversuswords]

‧˚₊ Truth Exposer 1: Uncovered — Ch.8

PAIRING — Pro Hero Bakugou Katsuki/Vigilante F!Reader RATING — Explicit CONTAINS — heavy angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), mutual pining, slow burn, eventual smut, moral ambiguity, cheating (not between katsuki/reader), unhealthy relationships, unhealthy coping mechanisms, grief/mourning, dark themes (past abuse, stalking, kidnapping, torture, quirk trafficking), violence, swearing, open but hopeful ending, dual pov (mostly reader), no use of y/n ◆ married bakugou katsuki—not to reader—and has a daughter too ◆ characters are in their late 20s SUMMARY — Running away would be the sensible thing to do. Getting as far away as possible from him, the one person who’s your ticket to losing your freedom. Not searching for him out of stupid curiosity and showing up at the last place you should: his house. They say curiosity killed the cat, but yours seems to always end up as the key unlocking doors that should probably stay locked. Because when you open the door to Bakugou Katsuki’s life, it’s not a loving marriage, not a happy family of three you find, but falsity, forced duty, and a dark secret that threatens his very own life. Bakugou Katsuki, the pro hero tasked with catching you and your downfall. And you, the vigilante exposing ugly truths for a living—his salvation.

➥AO3 LINK // ➥AO3 CHAPTER LINK // ➥TUMBLR CHAPTERS LIST

CHAPTER SUMMARY — You discuss your future steps with Ayumu when you get an unexpected call.

CHAPTER WARNINGS — n/a

WORD COUNT — ~3.4k

a/n: katsuki and his sleeveless turtleneck have been distracting me the whole day once again. send help.

The midday sun kissed your skin as you slouched into the balcony couch, scrolling through social media, the sour twist of your mouth deepening.

“You’re gonna get wrinkles if you keep making that face.” 

Ayumu placed a steaming cup of cappuccino on the small table and dropped onto the couch beside you, cradling his own.

You scrolled faster. Picture after picture. Article after article. Video after video. Everyone and their mothers had been gushing for the last two weeks about the power couple of the moment—Bakugou Katsuki and his villain of a wife. 

The whole circus started when she posted a picture of her new gold ring, flaunting a ruby the size of your anger. The caption blabbered about her profound gratitude for her husband and their never-ending, burning love.

After that, if she wasn’t spotted skipping into his agency with a flawless smile and a cute lunch bag, she was photographed blushing like a schoolgirl on a date that looked about as exciting as listening to someone talk when you already knew exactly what they were going to say. She actively redefined boredom.

And because no kitsch couple show was complete without equal effort, the starving paparazzi made sure to stalk Bakugou too and snap a couple of shots of him shopping in high-end stores, swiping his card with the blankest face in existence. Which worsened your confusion.

You rolled your eyes and tossed your phone to the side. “Pisses me off.”

“Aren’t you gonna tell him?” Ayumu asked as you reached for the cup and brought it to your lips.

“No. I can’t. Guilty or not, it’s too risky, and I don’t even have a proper plan yet.” You blew on the cappuccino to slightly cool it, then took a cautious sip. Vanilla—still Ayumu’s favorite after all these years—sweetened your tongue on its way down. “Did you find out what I asked you to?”

Ayumu nodded and drank from his cup, unbothered by the temperature, a foamy mustache forming on his upper lip, one you immediately pointed at, laughing at how goofy he looked.

He delivered a light kick to your leg as he wiped his mouth. “Bakugou’s chances of getting full custody of Yua are close to zero. Joint custody is possible, but even that could be denied if his wife is really out to ruin him.”

“Because of his job?”

“Partly.” Another sip. “She could argue Yua’s not safe with him. What if duty calls in the middle of the night? What about the villains he’s put away? Some of them might want revenge. Plus, his occasional angry public outbursts aren’t helping. She could even claim her life was at risk just by being with him. I mean, a relationship with a pro hero isn’t exactly safe.” He paused, staring into his cup like it showed him the future. “His situation is…seriously messed up.”

“So if he wants out, he has to choose between his job and his daughter?”

“Something like that.” His eyes met yours. “If the rules are followed. If they’re not, well…all that can change. In his favor.”

You considered him for a few beats of knowing silence before you focused on the fizzing foam of your cappuccino. Ayumu alluded to the only viable solution as of now, but as much as you wanted to lean that way, you couldn’t allow yourself to. 

Bakugou was a suspect. Until you proved otherwise, even if it broke something in your heart, you had no other choice but to perceive him like that. This wasn’t just about him, but about the people you’d seen, too.

“He’d win. It wouldn’t be clean, but he’d win,” you concluded with a weary sigh, head falling against the backrest, eyes closing to savor the gentle nip of fading summer.

“If Truth Exposer said it, then it must be true.”

A faint smile touched your vanilla-tinted lips. That phrase irritated and filled you with a strange sense of pride at the same time.

“He wouldn’t be able to submit whatever evidence you give him, but he wouldn’t need to if everyone knew what his wife is involved in. Public outcry would make the authorities think twice.” His empty laugh rang through the air. “Justice is blind, they say. What a fucking joke.”

“It is blind, Ayumu. When the cash is stacked high, the influence runs deep like roots, and,” you drank the rest of your cappuccino in one gulp, “the lie is sold as truth.”

His hand found your knee and squeezed it, his touch comforting as your mind inevitably leaped into the past. Bad habits were hard to shake off when the reasons to wage war against them were minimal. Quick to get in the way of moving forward, but quicker to wrench you backward in the throes of haunting grief and thorny suffering.

The future stayed blurred, distant, out of reach compared to the clear, loud past, whose jagged teeth gnawed at your jugular.

Years since your parents had died, and the moments of injustice continued to reign in the dark corners of your mind. You could vividly relive it still, like it was yesterday, the stale office air, the frustrating anger making your hands shake, your nostrils flaring as you resisted the deep-seated urge to strangle the licensed building inspector.

He had reeked of indifference as he had reclined in his leather seat, elbow propped on the armrest, thick fingers tapping on his temple. You had been his biggest headache of the day, but had you cared? Absolutely not. Your compassion hit rock bottom when he kept selling you the same bullshit narrative you knew to be false.

“Miss, please. The reports clearly state, in black and white, that during each verification everything was in order.”

“I’m aware, but do tell me, Inspector, how did you write those reports if you never—”

“By law, we’re obligated to verify structural integrity annually. Are you implying I fabricated the documents?”

“No. I’m simply addressing you a common sense que—”

“These are the official records of every inspection since the building was constructed. Signed. Stamped. Filed,” he interrupted you for the second time, slapping a hand over the stack of thick files piled up on his imposing desk. “I’ve got less than an hour left on the clock, but you’re welcome to flip through them, Miss. See the facts with your own eyes. They’re alright, I hope. They seem a bit red.”

Your hands clenched into tight fists before they slammed down on his desk. You didn’t need to check a damn thing. The records were pristine, which was why they could afford to lie that it was a tragic accident, that the building’s structural integrity had deteriorated faster due to external circumstances like combat and quirks being used nearby.

If someone had reported there being problems with the building, it would’ve been fixed immediately, but since no one did, it led to this terrible, terrible accident.

“The building gave way from the inside,” you gritted through your teeth. “The people living there had reported the deep cracks on numerous occasions, but—”

“Are you an architect, Miss?”

“I don’t need to be one. I saw the aftermath, and I have enough common sense to understand that the planning was poorly done from the start. How else do you explain the layers of rust on the skeleton?”

He shot to his feet, going red in the face as he planted his hands flat on the desk and leaned in, trying to intimidate you. “It was the rainy season when this accident happened.”

“Do you know what can rust in a matter of hours and fit your claim?” you asked, lowering your voice to a near whisper. “Iron, Inspector. Plain iron. So if you say the steel frame was perfect before the collapse but rusted from the rain afterward, that wasn’t a steel frame, was it?”

His jaw ticked. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I understand you’re a victim too, grieving your loss, but I’m not obligated to listen to your unfounded accusations, especially when it seems you’re,” his dark eyes flickered to your journalist badge hanging from your neck, “just looking for a story.”

The urge to grab this condescending prick by the collar surged hotly through your veins. 

“Before I’m a journalist,” you snapped, “I’m the daughter of two people crushed beneath the building you deemed perfectly safe. The only story I want is the truth, but I’m starting to doubt I’ll get it. You people are a tight-knit group, aren’t you?”

A dark glint flashed in his annoyed gaze as if to confirm your underhanded accusation. 

“Sleep well while you still can, Inspector. Even if I have to dig out the truth with my bare hands, I will. This won’t slide.” You pushed away from the desk. “I’m looking forward to your rundown of the remote inspection process you seem to favor. Quite innovative, really. Who knows, you might even help ease the workload for your peers.”

You reached the door when he asked, “Is that a threat I hear, Miss?” Something in his voice plunged a blade of dread into your back, forcing your spine to go rigid.

“The definition of a threat, Inspector, is the possibility of something bad happening, not a certainty. Have a wonderful evening.”

You had left that man’s office burning with rotten fury, but also with one crystal-clear truth: no price would be too high to get them justice. Not even your own life.

Maybe it was that point in time when the seeds of your vigilantism had first taken root.

“My word,” you said, turning to face Ayumu fully. “Do you think it’ll hold against what and who we’re up against?”

His fingers curled gently over yours. “I’m more worried about this spiraling,” he admitted. “About you losing control over it and me not being able to protect you.” His sincerity gripped your heart. “We’re talking about a well-organized trafficking ring, sweetheart. Something like this doesn’t fly under the radar without smart, powerful people backing it.”

“We have no proof, Ayumu. None,” you reminded him of your failure to gather evidence. Something in there had shut down your burner and kept it that way, likely an EMP. “Tipping anyone off would do more harm than good. The police have procedures to follow, especially if heroes are involved.”

“And there’s always a risk of a leak. Whoever’s running this won’t wait around,” he said, sucking in a breath through his teeth as he massaged the tension between his brows. “They’ll pack up, vanish. Change locations, change methods. And all those people…they’d be lost. We’d be back at square one.”

“We have one shot at this.”

“I think so too, but are you gonna be okay?”

“Sakai Ayumu.” You smacked your hands over his cheeks, and he straightened instantly at the full-name treatment. “What’s my secret philosophy?”

“Never gamble to lose. Only to win.”

You grinned proudly and pinched his skin affectionately, then jumped up, lifting your arms to stretch. “We can always bring in the police or the heroes if we have to.” Each pop of your joints and the burn in your muscles melted some of the tension. “For now, we keep it hush-hush and do what we always do.”

“Break the law,” he said with a carefree laugh, following you to the railing. A breeze caught in his copper strands. “What about Bakugou, though?”

“What about him?”

“Are you gonna expose him if he’s guilty?”

Your eyes drifted to the watery horizon in the far distance. “Yeah. No exceptions.”

“And if he’s not?”

The clear sky blurred with the glittering ocean, two shades of blue blending into one, yet their nuances remained distinct, unique. Like you and him. Similar, but different in ways that felt more like completion than opposition.

“His truth won’t be buried,” you said from the mind, not the heart. Your heart was too much of a masochist, hurting unnecessarily, caring too much. “No matter what.”

Ayumu’s arm went around your shoulders and pulled you into his side. You leaned into him, returning the embrace with a sincere smile, melting into his warmth. Who said a friend’s love couldn’t run just as deep, just as meaningful as any other? Life without him…was inconceivable.

“Wanna travel the world once we solve this?” he asked out of nowhere. “Truth Exposer deserves holidays too. Real holidays.”

Holidays?

You’d never really had any. Never gone somewhere just to relax and enjoy. Wherever you went, you went with a purpose.

“Hmm, sure?” You gazed at his profile, snorting at his sneaky side-eye. “Yeah. Let’s do that. Who knows, maybe we end up breaking laws in some other countries too.”

“Sweetheart, no!” He whined, and you threw your head back, letting out a hearty laugh.

Your joy was cut short when your phone rang, replaced by wariness as you picked up from between the cushions and saw the unfamiliar number.

“Hello?”

The caller’s voice had your jaw drop. “Hi. Um, it’s Deku. The guy you punched at the beach a few weeks ago? Sorry for calling out of the blue, but the animal shelter gave me your number to talk about the cat we brought in. Is this a good time?”

Ayumu shuffled closer, pressing his ear to the phone. You elbowed him in the ribs and shot him a warning glare. He backed off, out of your personal space, returning to lean against the railing. Watching you.

“Yeah. Sure. Are you adopting her?”

Deku’s easy laugh tickled your ears. “Not me. My life is too hectic, but not my mom’s. She wants to take care of her.” 

“How come?”

“Let’s just say telling her the story ended with me showing her the picture I took. She melted instantly,” he said, then muttered so quickly it almost sounded like a glitch in the speaker. “Something about it being a lucky sign because I met you, too.”

Your breath hitched loudly. “Sorry. Hiccup,” you lied. “That’s…I’m happy to hear, but I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do.”

He cleared his throat. “This call was supposed to come from one of the staff, but I insisted on doing it since we’re kind of acquainted. Hope I didn’t cross any boundaries. If I did, I apologize, and I’ll just—”

“It’s alright,” you gently interrupted. He sounded so flustered you wouldn’t be surprised if his face were beet red. “They would’ve put me in contact with you anyway, per my request. This way, we skipped a step.”

“Yes. That we did.” He let out a relieved sigh, and your teeth tugged at your lip. There was something oddly endearing about how nervous he was. “Are you free this week? Preferably in the evening.”

“Hmm…” You needed some air, to see something other than your apartment. Spending time with Deku didn’t sound too bad. “I’d be free tonight.”

On the other end of the line, he paused a beat before his breath flowed into the speaker. “Would seven work for you?”

*

The bench outside the animal shelter was surprisingly comfortable, though it did little to ease your growing restlessness. Elbows digging into your thighs, you rested your chin on your interlaced fingers and pursed your lips. With the meeting hour approaching, your stomach stewed in anxiety.

“Damn you, Ayumu,” you grumbled. Your best friend couldn’t have been more of a hypocrite in the span of a few minutes.

After the call with Deku, he had paled and delivered a speech on the dangers of becoming friendly with a pro hero, yet in the same breath, he squeaked like a rat seeing cheese, jittery with enthusiasm, exclaiming, “You’re about to meet up with a hot guy!”

Somehow, Deku being Bakugou’s friend or that he was a pro hero too didn’t matter anymore, but as Ayumu so nicely put it, you needed yum in your life, and Deku was undeniably yum. 

He was, in his own way, but—

“I’m sorry for running late. Traffic was awful.”

Your gaze lifted to see the man of the hour stopping in front of you, panting lightly, car keys dangling from his scarred fingers. Not a sports car, but something common. Safe.

“Did you wait long?” he asked, as you continued piecing together the last hour of his life.

The sleeves of his white dress shirt were messily rolled, the rest buttoned to his throat and stuffed into the waistband of his black formal pants. His leather belt was twisted once in the loops, making your eye twitch. Deku had hurried.

“No, not at all,” you replied, noticing the post-workout swell of his muscles and the sweat glinting at his temples and hairline. Deku had hurried…from the gym. “Let’s go?”

You stood, legs weakening a fraction as the mix of cologne and his natural scent drifted into your nose. For a moment, you too forgot who he really was.

“Actually, mind if we stay here five more minutes?” Deku asked, sitting down. His voice was like fine sand all of a sudden. “I want to try convincing you to let me pay instead.”

“What? For real?”

He nodded, the quick, determined movement drawing your attention to his hair. Under the guise of twilight, the green looked muted, dark, but the viridian of his eyes kept the real color alive, highlighted.

“No. I said I’ll pay, so I’m paying. I have no intention of changing my mind.”

“Let me at least try?” Those same eyes pleaded with you as his fingers tapped twice on the bench.

“Why?”

“I’m not comfortable with it,” he said as you returned to your seat on the bench. “There’s one more thing. The lady who gave me your number mentioned your name, and I realized I never introduced myself properly. Not that night. Not on the phone. His hand left his knee to give itself to you. “Midoriya Izuku.”

You couldn’t resist a small smile as you slipped your hand into his, calloused fingers closing over it and shaking. The gesture was careful, gentle, as if you were the definition of fragile, and your body tensed, unaccustomed to the feeling. Not even you were this kind to yourself, and De—Midoriya was making you feel guilty for it.

As you held his hand a little bit tighter and a little bit longer, you entrusted him with your name.

Red dusted his freckled cheeks, but the smile he offered reached his eyes and snuck into your heart like light within forgotten, worn-down walls. This was normalcy. This was what your life would’ve probably looked like if it were different. Meeting new people, telling them your name without risking, connecting and sharing experiences.

“Is there really no way you’d let me? I mean, it’s my mom adopting her, so it’s only fair I cover everything,” he said, letting go of your hand, and you wished he hadn’t.

“No. You’ll have to deal with me paying.” Was your voice always this soft? This small?

“Then, can I make it up to you in some other way?”

“You don’t have to. It’s alright. I’m glad I can help.”

His blush deepened. “How about d-dinner? As a thank you.”

He’d taken you “home” as an apology for you punching him, when he really should’ve just gotten away from you, and now he wanted to take you to dinner as thanks for sticking to your word? What even was this logic?

He was giving you a headache.

You were about to respond when his eyes suddenly opened comically wide. Midoriya sprang up, waving his hands as he stepped back politely.

“Maybe not? Would that be appropriate?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t want to cause you trouble with…with your partner.”

“Partner?” You ended up trailing off as his eyes stole a glance at your neck, the bruise long gone. “I’m single. Uncommitted.”

A smack to your head would be divine right now. What were you doing telling him that?

“Would you like to have dinner with me then?” Midoriya reiterated his invitation, each syllable clear, confident, composed. Even the rosiness in his cheeks lost saturation.

You’d be the worst liar, an amateur pretender, if you tried to ignore the loud way your heart thumped in your ears. Never in your life had you been this thrown off by someone switching gears this fast.

“You’re choosing the place.” You rose from the bench and prowled the short distance to him. A spark of intrigue curled your lips. “Surprise me, Midoriya.”

taglist: @lunaryasha | @tomiokasecretlover | @fiselle | @5oftkitty

[hestzhyen]

Chapter 74 Wow Posting

Holy shit, stuff happened and it was cool as fuck.

Rough TL of the Editor's Notes

First Page: 数年ぶりに現れた幽...!! [suunen buri ni arawareta Yura...!!] "After several years, Yura appears...!!" Last Page: 夜を払い舞い降りる黒翼の剣士- 妖刀三つ巴の死闘が始まる...！！[yoru o harai maoioriru kuro tsubasa no kenshi- youtou mitsudomoe no shitou ga hajimaru-!!] Night is swept away and the black-winged swordsman descends... a three-way battle of life and death between Enchanted Blade Bearers begins...!!

Small TL note before we begin: betting the official EN will translate this as "Dawn" but in case they don't for some reason, the chapter title is 夜明け [yoake], dawn/daybreak, slightly different from last week's- 黎明 [reimei], daybreak/dawn of a new age.

The End of the Beginning

We've pretty much seen everything we need to know about Samura now. The sin of the Bearers is allowing the Sword Master to live in order to spare their own lives. And thanks to Yura dropping in for a surprise visit, we got this lore bomb:

I was expecting a lot but not this.

Yura wants to stop the next calamity instead of ensuring it manifests? Really? I'm not sure I believe him. He wouldn't need to claim Magatsumi for himself if that was the case, unless this prophecy is real and there's more for us to learn about it- which is entirely possible. There's a ton that Samura doesn't know but we've reached the limit of the Hishaku reveals with him for now, probably for good. Anything new to learn will come from a difference source.

The Kamunabi mole also knows some very intimate details about how the swords work if Yura is able to speak about the True Realm and how the Bearers are bonded to Magatsumi and the Master Swordsman. They're someone with some very high level of access, or possibly even one of the Bearers themselves... this little mystery is fun to gnaw on, that's for sure. Not even Azami's squad knew about the True Realm- Chihiro had to explain it to them. And the life bond seems like something that was kept under wraps except for those who really needed to know, like the Kamunabi higher-ups or the Bearers themselves. I wonder if Chihiro knows about it. Kunishige didn't talk about Magatsumi much, so it's a question worth putting in the back pocket to see if it comes up later.

Spooky eyes jumpscare!

The bit about peace not being achievable while the Sword Master's flowers are still around is intriguing to me. It's most directly a reference to how there is always disaster looming as long as he's alive and bonded to the blade, but there's something else too.

We don't know the real reason the war started yet, but if the island that appeared is still carpeted in flowers, would that prevent people from setting foot there- and possibly mining/harvesting Datenseki? That super rare material that enhances sorcery, at the cost of a Japanese person's life unless it's worked into a blade by Kunishige? That can be used freely by the native inhabitants of the island? Yeah... resource war is still on the table, baby. If John's wanting to wield Magatsumi so he can get his hands on datenseki then I will reward myself with a cookie.

He could want both things- averting the disaster while getting the ore. He could also want to bring about the second Malediction and get the ore anyway. It might not be about the datenseki at all. We still don't know! John's such a mysterious guy no matter how much we learn about him. I'm OK with waiting on more information since it seems like we are reaching the climax of the Iori-Samura subplot, but I don't want to be edged on his motives for too much longer.

Curious that they only wanted to kill one person too (RIP Misaka, whoever you were). Clearly John could have killed Samura right then and there if he wanted to, and I don't doubt the other Bearers could have been similarly ambushed without their Enchanted Blades despite John's comment that they're limited in manpower. The guards didn't seem to be much of a threat to John at least. But they just wanted the one for the plan then let the rest go!

Samura they obviously had plans for, but leaving the rest alive is another mystery. They had the blades and had caught their foe off-guard so killing the Bearers and ransacking Kamunabi HQ to kill the Master Swordsman would have been easy for the Hishaku to do at that point. Whatever this plan is is quite meticulous and carefully engineered for a particular result. Again, don't edge us on this for too much longer please! At least give us more details when we meet the other two Bearers!

The thing that got me most about their interaction here, though, was this:

Parent vs. Parent for a moment there

John's faint look of contempt/disgust when Samura tells him that he sent Iori away because she was "only being hurt" by being with him is fascinating. It could be because of his stated reason, that they wanted another pawn to use, but given how doting he is to Hiruhiko... well, I think he judged Samura pretty harshly for his decision. A parent so mired in guilt that they can't even do their job properly. But at least he can be manipulated into doing what they want.

Iori

If there's one thing Samura did right, it was trying to love and encourage her.

So it's confirmed that she kept practicing even after she was separated from her dad. Iori's always striving to do her best and look forward despite everything that's happened... I feel like she and Hakuri will be the ones to pull Chihiro out of his "I'm going to hell" funk, or at least walk by his side if he's that committed to the bit. She works so hard to protect what she cherishes even after it's ripped away, all so she can never lose anyone or anything else... like father, like daughter. God, I love her so much. Please let Iori find all the happiness she deserves by the end of the series.

For right now, though...

Emotional damage directly to the heart.

Samura not even being able to see her right before the true end to their relationship is so heart-breaking. He's the guiltiest motherfucker known to man but it's understandable.

The backstory didn't justify his faults or anything like that, it just provided the context on why he thinks and acts the way he does. He's still doing the wrong things for all the right reasons. So it's hard to think of him as a villain, honestly. He's not doing bad things because he's bad like Sojo or because that's how he was raised like Kyora. He'd be a real hero in different circumstances! Still a tortured one, but you could put him in the lead role in a different series and have a compelling protagonist doing doing the right things for the rights reasons and protecting the people he loves.

Iori's finally getting her chance to talk to him at long last though. Not a moment too soon either as Chihiro and Hiruhiko summon the raid boss.

[ominous pseudo-Latin to a rock beat begins to play]

Not gonna post the spread but GOD DAMN THAT'S SO FUCKING COOL HELL YEAH.

I don't think the fight will start right away, if only because Iori and Samura have a lot to say between them. If Samura's willing to talk, that is. He should remember Iori now so, please, please, please let her get all her feelings off her chest. Even if he's not going to turn back she deserves to get her side of things out there to him. Whatever will happen will probably be sad, though- bittersweet at best. Samura's committed to going to hell to make things right.

Depresso espresso for the mind.

He also completely gave up on trying to look towards the future with hope in his heart. Will Iori be able to change his mind? Will her words and feelings finally reach him or is Samura too far gone ever since John tipped him over a mental cliff? I'm bracing for a world of pain no matter what happens.

Hiruhiko and Chihiro

The protagonist and some guy that annoys him.

I do very much appreciate the part of Chihiro's personality that resonates with other people's strong desires. He's such an empathetic guy. Especially compared to Hiruhiko!

They're both drawing their swords with the full knowledge that Samura will come to them. Chihiro does it to give Iori a chance to talk to her dad, Hiruhiko does it because he wants to kill Chihiro that badly. There's a lot of cross motives working at once here and I swear to god if Hiruhiko interrupts shit between Iori and Samura just to get at Chihiro I will kill him myself.

That's the problem with Hiruhiko right now, I guess. He's a distraction to the main plot that not even Chihiro gives a shit about. The intensity of the relationship is all one-sided from Hiruhiko's end while he's trying to become friends via murder and Chihiro doesn't even want to give him the time of day. So it feels like we're wasting space in the chapters whenever we switch to him lately. Cool stuff about being a battle genius because you were SA'd at three years old, bro, but the delivery of that backstory sucked and you're about to get in the way of some heavy emotional moments between father and child.

If he doesn't die here then Hiruhiko will have more to do later on in the story, I'm sure. I just hope it's more closely related to the core themes of the narrative so he stops feeling like an unpleasant interruption every time he shows up on the page. We should absolutely dive into the one-sided friendship angle, how he fits in with the rest of the Hishaku members, and his relationship to John- I'm interested in those aspects of his character! They're great ways to explore Chihiro too! Please, anything but what's been happening since the Rescue Iori stuff started.

I guess he'll be dueling Chihiro in the background while Samura and Iori have their heart-to-heart. Maybe this time he'll win?

Or maybe he'll kill Samura for killing Chihiro like he promised back in chapter 59?

Dumb brat Hiruhiko > genius fighter guy Hiruhiko

Depends on if he's forgiven Samura after finding out Chihiro's alive after all or not. We'll see. Could be a good time to get an explanation of how Chihiro was brought back by Samura's special killing technique too. And maybe a show of Kumeyuri's other abilities! We still don't have a clear idea of what it's theme is, after all. So there are upsides to this as long as it doesn't overshadow the moment between Iori and her dad.

One Last Thing or Two

Now with new and improved Good Scans.

Just a fun note for me. Chihiro, Hiruhiko, and Samura are all speaking in different fonts when invoking their blades! I don't know the names of them, but I like that Hiruhiko says "Kumeyuri" in a more "creative" and "artistic" font while Chihiro's is bold and modern, then Samura's is the Japanese equivalent of stuffy old Times New Roman. Three different people, three different blades, three different motives. All intersecting at this point on the hotel rooftop. What will happen next?! No clue, but I'm vibrating in my seat waiting to find out!

HELL YEAH

No commentary just pure glazing. FUCK YEAH IORI LET'S GO YOU'RE AWESOME FIGHTING BACK TO BACK WITH CHIHIRO YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

WOOF

It's supposed to look cool, and it does, but it's also incredibly sexy to see Chihiro pulling his glove off with his mouth like that lmao. Hokazono knows what some of us like to see.

Alright dear void. Make yourself an Epic Fight playlist for the next chapter and I'll see you next week!

[stevie-petey]

I know you just dropped a new chapter but I have a blurb if you wanna write it. Could we see others perception of bug. Like Mrs. Clicks class, bugs just chilling and doing her work while there are people so entranced by her and she doesn't even know it. Like Robin, Steve, Jonathan, Nancy, maybe Eddie 👀

ooooo i LOVE a good character study thank u for this request !!

enjoy <3

"your book report isnt bad, but..." you sigh, trying not to let your disbelief of how horrible the paper is show. "it could use some work."

jonathan nods at you solemnly. the librarys florescent light burns down upon his shame. "be honest, how fucked am i?"

"... pretty fucked."

the boy covers his face with his head and groans, causing the librarian to harshly shush him. its the middle of study hall, the entire section is overtaken by a crowd of kids either pretending to study or silently mourning their grades.

youre the only one actually doing any work, jonathan has long since given up on his stupid essay. english has never been his best subject, youve always basically written all his papers for him in exchange for math help. its been a good system.

until goddamn mrs. greer caught on and threatened suspension.

"its okay, maybe i could try and copy your writing style?" you suggest, but jonathan only responds by dropping his head onto the table. he doesnt even know what his writing style is. you rub his back in soothing circles, hopeless as well. "okay, yeah. i tried."

robin buckley sits a few seats away from you and jonathan. she watches you curiously, eyes narrowed at the hand on the boys back. she doesnt quite understand your relationship with jonathan. truthfully, she doesnt really pay much attention to the guy. she thinks hes cool, sure, maybe quiet, but youve always interested her more.

jonathan says something to you, which you laugh at, and again the librarian shushes the two of you. jonathan ducks his head down, embarrassed, but you only giggle with a flushed smile on your face. you try to hide the smile, though even robin knows that its impossible to hide a smile like yours.

youre wearing a soft purple sweater today, a flannel far too big for you covers your shoulders, and robin desperately wants to ask you where you got it from. shes always wanted to talk to you, but fear has stopped her from ever getting too close.

she isnt sure if the fear is from your beauty or from how genuine of a person you are. youre known as hawkins sweetheart, youre practically untouchable, and robin doesnt think youd like someone like her. shes awkward and annoying and speaks too fast and talks too loud.

eddie munson really hates the library, but he hates hawkins high even more. he'll be damned if he has to spend another fucking year here. so here he is, pretending that he knows what the fuck hes doing as he starts on one of his long overdue assignments. theres thirty he needs to hand in for one class alone. hes fucked.

it doesnt help that someone behind him keeps giggling.

he turns in his seat, ready to tell the girl to shut the fuck up, but then he sees that its you. he freezes, his anger suddenly gone.

youre the girl who loaned him a pencil last week. eddie had been so nervous for the exam that he had forgotten a goddamn pencil. he had panicked, he really couldnt afford to fail, but mrs. greer wouldnt let him get up to find a new one.

eddie had been close to tears, embarrassed and overwhelmed, when you had tapped his shoulder. "here,"

in your hand was a pencil, offering it to him. eddie took it from you, relief flooding through him, and he gave you a curt nod before frantically starting the exam with five minutes wasted.

eddie never actually thanked you for that. in fact, he had completely forgotten all about it until he saw you later that day talking to mrs. greer to arrange a time for you after school to retake the exam. apparently you also didnt have a pencil ready that day.

you had given him your only pencil, knowing youd fail the exam, just so eddie wouldnt.

so eddie turns back in his seat, grips your loaned pencil that he still has, and goes back to his assignments. your giggling carries over to him, and the sound is a pleasant one now. all things considered, youve got a cute laugh.

nancy wheeler stands in the romance section of the library, waiting anxiously for steve harrington. hes late, he promised her hed be there right after lunch, yet she stands alone.

she can hear your laughter from where she stands. she peers around the corner, sees you with jonathan, and she rolls her eyes fondly. youre always together, but she does find it cute. youre sweet together, in an old, married couple kind of way.

jonathans eyes drift from your laughing frame to nancy. she sucks in a breath, caught, and he raises an eyebrow at her. hes intrigued, wonders why shes staring at you and him, and nancys cheeks burn. she doesnt really talk to you and jonathan, she hasnt for a long time.

nancy turns away awkwardly and pretends that she hadnt seen jonathan at all.

steve sees you first when he enters the library, late and out of breath. well, he hears you first, and he smiles even before he can understand why. he knows you hang out in the library with jonathan, hes expected you to be there, but its still somehow a pleasant surprise.

youre head is thrown back, mid laugh, and steve shakes his head at you. youre always smiling, always kind, always lovely. he sees the paper jonathan has you reading for him and steve supposes that eventually youll be trading english essays in for marriage licenses.

its inevitable.

who wouldnt want to marry someone like you? steve knows he does, and he finds nancy waiting for him in the romance section, and he thinks hes finally met your match.

“COME HOME” BLURB MASTERLIST

if you’d like to buy me a coffee ☕︎

[digi-lov]

Digimon Liberator Novel

[read on the official website] DEBUG.1-1 [Yuuki] - DEBUG.1-2 [HEAVY METAL PLAY] - DEBUG.2-1 [Winr] - DEBUG.2-2 [GOOD GAME]

First spoiler free, then more detailed including spoilers under cut

So the first 2 chapters of the Digimon liberator novel dropped last week! We don't exactly know how frequent it'll update, but most likely not as regular as the comic. First impressions on the main characters, I really like them. I think they are fun and interesting enough to drive the story. They don't feel like exact copies of previous characters, and make me exited for a fresh adventure!

As far as I could tell, the translation seems fairly good, but there was a mistranslation of a card effect. However the translation of TCG card effects can be a bit tricky, and the translators might not have known the official english wording. They also show the respective card right there, so it's easy to see what the effect should be, but it might be confusing to people who weren't already familiar with the cards.

Nevertheless I'm optimistic and looking forward to read more!

So now for a bit more detail

First off, I think they way they incorporate the player's tamer cards is really smart. A player get's their own blank tamer card, and can obtain various effects to add to it within the game, to customize their own tamer card to their play style. Nice! This way it doesn't feel like a weird 4th wall break for Yuuki to have a Yuuki Tamer card for example.

I really like Yuuki , immediately! She's fun, and she definitely has flaws and quirks to work on that'll make her interesting to watch grow. Her relationship with Impmon is nice too. Impmon is not exactly a serious character, but does want Yuuki to be a bit more serious, and recognize the weight of the situation. To an extend, Impmon wants Yuuki to take their partnership more serious in turn, I'd say. The way they talk to each other feels very familiar. You can tell they're close, not holding back complaining about the other. They bicker, but they also quickly drop the fight when needing to figure something out together.

Yuuki's Impmon, as most already know, get's a new evolution line: Punkmon, Loudmon, and HeavyMetaldramon. I love them! I like how it gives Yuuki and her Impmon more of an individual identity, than if they used a previously common Impmon line. The detail about Yuuki being a dancer, and vibing with the cool metal dragon is sweet too!

Also, I wonder if that Altea character is this girl from the poster? It's interesting that Impmon is not a fan of her...

Winr and FunBeemon's introduction was great too. Winr seems like a proud kid, without being feeling too stuck up. The story taking place after he's already known Yuuki for a year, really helps with his walls having started to come down already. I'm curious if his parents will be related to the in universe Digimon Franchise or Game Company in a way, or it they're just generic absent rich parents. Which, I don't think would take away from Winr's character if they are. I feel for him to want to escape from his home life into a virtual world. I love his relationship with FunBeemon. FunBeemon is very attentive to Winr's feelings, and cares a lot about him. And Winr doesn't get annoyed by it, but appreciates it, even though he doesn't quite know how to express it. The new evolutions for FunBeemon are also cool! I've like FunBeemon for a partner Digimon for a while, and I'm excited to see it finally happen!

I'm curious about Winr's real name too, assuming Winr is his username. Winr is a play on "winner", with his Japanese name サイキヨ Saikiyo being a play on 最強 (さいきょう) saikyou meaning "the best" or "the strongest". FunBeemon's nickname "Winnie" is キヨちゃん kiyo-chan in Japanese.

For anyone who's interested: Japanese first person pronouns

Yuuki uses the japanese first person pronoun あたし atashi, which is quite feminine, but as being too over the top girly is sometimes seen as disruptive, atashi also has a do-as-I-please kinda vibe sometimes. For example, it's used by Yuffie from FFVII. The even more cute-girly atai in turn is often used in media by very strong-willed, rough women, such as Plumeria fom Pokémon Sun&Moon, or the Gerudo women from the Legend of Zelda games. It can also be played straight as super cute too thoug, like with Vivian from Paper Mario TTYD.

Impmon uses オレ ore, which is a strong, proud, often masculine pronoun. In formal situations it would be considered rude, but it's normal for guys to use in a casual setting. Very rarely it is also used by super tough women in media, such as Kumatora from Mother 3, or Big Mom from One Piece. Eiichiro Oda mentioned himself knowing women who use ore, but this is quite uncommon and likely a modern developement. You go girls! Impmon also uses it in katakana, which gives it a bit more emphasis.

Winr uses 僕 boku, which is quite common for young boys, or more soft spoken men in casual settings. In media it is also occasionally used by girl characters that have a "tomboy" vibe, but also sometimes by female singers in their songs.

FunBeemon uses 私 watashi, which is technically a polite neutral pronoun, but using it in a casual setting has a feminine connotation.

PS: Sorry this took so long, I'm still very sick, and writing coherent sentences with okay spelling is diffcult.

[eff4freddie]

Touch | Part Eight

You and Ellie grow closer in Joel's absence. Jackson holds its breath for the return of the second expedition.

Words: 6k

Warnings: descriptions of injuries, angst, no smut I'm sorry

A/N: So this is the last big chapter of Touch. I'm planning a smutty epilogue because these two need a proper send off, but the main storyline ends here. Just want to thank you all for your support of this story, which was my first foray into writing fics for a long time. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Part Seven | Series Masterlist | Epilogue

You and Ellie fell into a routine of sorts, occupying yourselves while waiting for news. In the morning Ellie would go down to the stables to ‘check the horses’, which you knew was code for her looking to see if Joel had slipped back into Jackson overnight, but he was her dad, and you didn’t begrudge it. You hated when she came back with her shoulders slumped.

Ellie had already decided she didn’t have to go to school given the circumstances, and you had no authority to fight her on it. Occasionally you would mention that Joel probably wouldn’t be pleased when he got back to discover she’d missed classes, and she had been so dismissive of the very idea that it took you right back to eighth grade, trying to hang out with the cool kids and being summarily ignored. You were basically her roommate. Roommates don’t nag each other to do their homework.

You were doing your own maths, anyway. If Marla had ridden through the night with Jacob strapped to her back it meant that the site of the ambush was a two-days ride away at a normal, non-life-threatening pace. It also meant it was a two-day ride back. If they encountered any nastiness on the way there or the way back that could waylay them for a few days, maybe more if there were injuries. And then, of course, there was the infinitely more complicated mathematics of how it would tally if they died. You weren’t sure what you would count, if that happened, if it wasn’t the days until they came back.

You wondered, if none of them made it back, where you would go. You would obviously have to leave Jackson, the destruction you, Ray and Marla wrought on the small community complete at that point. You just weren’t sure where, in which direction. Salt Lake sounded bad, and you were getting tired of the cold. You wondered if you would be able to make it down to the Gulf of Mexico, if you just headed south for as long as you could until you hit ocean. You knew it was unlikely you would be able to do it on your own, and you also knew that you would have to. That at the end of all this it was always going to be you, alone.

It didn’t hurt to think about. You were matter of fact about it. If they didn’t come back, you didn’t deserve to stay. You were pleased with the almost complete detachment you felt at the thought of it. At the freedom.

--

Maria and Robin dropped by while you were teaching Ellie the muscles of the back and neck, in the hope that she would have some kind of education upon Joel’s maybe-return. She was good at it, too, getting the hang of the Latin despite the language now being even more dead then when you leaned it. When they arrived, Ellie took Robin from Maria and cradled him in her arms, Maria showing her how to support the head while he dozed. For the first time since Ellie had arrived she was still, quiet, over-awed by the tiny, precious life in her arms. You took Maria into the kitchen and poured her some tea.

‘This takes me back,’ she said, and you grinned at her, offering to massage her feet. She demurred. ‘You don’t need to see what I’ve got going on under here,’ she said. ‘I mean, I haven’t seen it for months.’

You knew that Maria was checking on you, and you loved her for it and hated that she had to do it. Robin was only weeks old, barely a month, and yet she was nurturing you. You had barely seen her since the birth, since she had made you feel so necessary, so wanted, and your cheeks burned at the thought of it. The last two friends you had ended up dead or banished. You were just bad at it.

‘Hey,’ Maria said, like she could read your mind. She reached out and put her hand on yours, warm from the tea. ‘It must be weird…no, awful, to be the one left. I can’t imagine.’

You weren’t going to cry in your kitchen with Ellie in the other room holding Maria’s baby. That just wasn’t a thing that could happen. You swallowed hard, heard your jaw click under the strain.

‘I really like Ellie,’ you said, pain blooming from your temple into your eye socket. You consciously stretched your jaw, your hand over your mouth to try and cover it.

‘She’s a good kid, been through a lot,’ Maria agreed.

‘She’s a good distraction,’ you said, and Maria smiled at you.

‘I want you to know you have a place here,’ she said, and you wondered how she always knew the right thing to say, wondered if she could actually hear your thoughts. ‘Tommy…and me, well both of us, Tommy’s worried about you because…not just because of the expedition and the pharmacy and all of that going wrong, he’s worried that…’ Maria gathered herself for a second. ‘He’s worried that you only think of yourself in terms of what you can offer other people.’

You felt the sting of it, the little nerve Maria had unearthed, opened up to the chill of the air. You flinched away from it, but she was still holding your arm, and you realised you hadn’t noticed she hadn’t yet let you go. ‘Listen,’ she said, but kindly, and so you did. ‘When you came here, and we made you stand in front of the town council and basically said you could only stay if you contributed to the community…’

‘I understood that was how it works, of course it does,’ you said, and she raised her hand to shush you. You obeyed, again. She was growing into this mother thing.

‘I realised, we basically told you that all you’re worth to us is what you can do for us. Yes, its important everyone can contribute because that’s how we keep the place running. But I need you to know that’s not your value. I need you to know that.’

It was getting really hard not to cry. You could see her eyes misting over, her mouth in a grim line to bite back the tears. ‘I asked you to help me, to help with Robin, not because I wanted you to do something for me. It was just because…I just like you, is all.’

You didn’t even really think about it, you just grabbed her into your body and held her, and you felt her shaking a little, like she had been so terrified to tell you, and you didn’t want the Gulf of Mexico. You wanted her in your kitchen and Ellie in your loungeroom with Robin. You wanted Tommy chopping wood or storing coal or doing whatever the fuck manly shit needed doing around the place. You wanted Joel standing in his socks at the counter burning the toast and swearing under his breath about it. You wanted what you had always wanted, which was just to belong.

You pulled back from Maria, rubbing furiously at your eyes. She wiped the tears from hers.

‘I like you too,’ Ellie said, from the doorway, and you both startled, which made her jump a little, which jostled Robin, who delivered several pointed arguments about his thoughts on the experience.

‘Fuck, sorry,’ Ellie said, the panic written all over her face. ‘Oh fuck, I said fuck,’ she said, looking at you for help. You looked to Maria, who regarded you both with an amused expression on her face.

‘You two are as bad as each other,’ she said. She took Robin from her, and Ellie settled down at the table. For a second there was just the sound of Robin, grizzling in his mother’s arms.

‘Hey, Maria,’ Ellie said, lifting her hand to point to the muscle at the side of her neck under her ear. ‘Levator scap-yew-lay’ she said. You applauded her; genuinely, warmly, proudly.

--

You weren’t really ready to emerge from your cocoon, would have stayed hermitty and weird forever, except that Ellie wasn’t having it. For one she couldn’t sit still in the house for days on end, but she was still only fourteen and the idea that something might happen to her because you let her go out while you let yourself rot on the couch was even less palatable than having to be social.

The first time she took you to the mess hall you felt the anxiety at the bottom of your lungs, your sternum feeling like it had shrunk in your chest cavity. You were convinced people were staring, resentful of you and all that you brought with you. You didn’t want them to worry for Ellie, didn’t want them to wonder how you were going to corrupt her, end up with her dead or thrown out of the gates. You wanted to sit at one of the back tables, but Ellie was determined not to make any of it easy on you, and steered you over to the main table, the long one in the middle of the room, where a bunch of townsfolk were already chatting. You joined at the end of the row, feeling how you retracted into yourself, feeling your shoulders round over. Ellie sat opposite you and smiled at you, brightly. You realised she was treating you like some kind of project, a rehabilitate-the-crazy-lady experiment, maybe some kind of pet.

‘This is the soup they had the other week,’ Ellie said, gulping it down so fast you were worried she’d give herself indigestion. ‘The chicken one? Do you remember?’

You had no idea what she was talking about, and you stared at her.

‘I brought it round with half the loaf of bread. The kitchen ladies did not want me to have it. So, I swiped it while they were washing up.’

You felt something heavy roll in your stomach. ‘That was you? You brought the food?’ you asked, and you weren’t sure if – when you were finished being flawed – you were disappointed or relieved.

‘Yeah, didn’t you know?’ she asked, and you shook your head.

‘You didn’t leave a note or anything,’ you explained, feebly.

‘I guess not,’ she conceded.

‘I thought it might have been Tommy,’ you lied, unconvincingly, but Ellie wasn’t paying attention.

‘I mean, you were close. It was Joel’s idea,’ she said, and what you now realised was a full-sized boulder turned again in your gut.

‘It was?’ you squeaked, and she nodded into her nearly empty plate. You pushed your soup around, your mind trying too hard to digest this new information to turn itself to eating.

‘Did he say anything else?’ you asked, but you were interrupted by Tommy bursting into the mess hall, his eyes wide and scanning over the crowd.

‘They’re back!’ he called, and several people immediately rose, hustled for the door.

‘How many?’ someone yelled back, and Tommy nodded, but there was something wrong, something grim on his face that you didn’t want to acknowledge, didn’t want to even consider.

‘All of ‘em,’ he said, but then he faltered, and swallowed hard, and you knew, then, were already getting to your feet. ‘Some of them are in a bad way,’ he said, and he was looking at you and then looking at Ellie, and you were tucking her under your arm as you pulled her towards him at the door.

‘She shouldn’t see,’ he said to you, quietly, and you shook your head at him.

‘Try and fuckin’ stop me,’ she said, before you’d even had a chance to speak. He sighed, but you were past him then, your arm on the door pushing it open for her, shoving her through first.

--

The infirmary was only three rooms connected by a short corridor, and in times of serious outbreak or multiple injury it was woefully understaffed, under resourced.

There had already been some kind of make-shift triage for the returned residents, two of the men assigned to one room since they only needed looking over and could then be let go, but Dougie told you, pulled both you and Ellie aside to murmur in your ear, that Joel had his own room. The one next to the surgery.

‘Is he dead?’ Ellie asked, and if you didn’t know her as well as you now did you would have mistaken her bluntness for coldness, for desensitisation, but you knew instead that she was steeling herself, that if there was going to be pain she wanted it now, fast and hard, to rip into it with bared teeth.

Dougie shook his head, and you exhaled for maybe the first time, ever, in your life.

‘He’s not in a good way,’ Dougie said, but Ellie was already marching down the hall to see him, and you were already trailing behind her, your head over your shoulder to offer Dougie your whispered, harried thanks.

But you stopped when you got to his door, let Ellie slip through without you, suddenly considering that you could be intruding, that he had no interest in your being there, didn’t even know you’d been caring for his daughter while he was gone, or that she had been caring for you. You didn’t even really know him, weren’t sure how you felt about him, weren’t sure that you wanted to see him bleeding and broken, weren’t sure that you could handle not feeling his touch on yours again, his whispered encouragements as you came undone underneath him, the rise and fall of his chest under your ear as you both fought back sleep to stay awake together for just a little bit more increasingly precious time.

You’d marched down to the infirmary without even thinking about it, and now you were trapped in thinking too much about it, and what if he woke up and was angry at you again, found something else to throw in your face, and had you forgiven him for that or did that not even matter when he had nearly died, did arguments and anger and hurt just become nullified when the other person endangered themselves to protect you and the community you lived in, because that seemed like a dangerous precedent, and-

Ellie wrenched the door open and stared at you, paralysed, three steps away.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ she said, reaching forward and pulling you in. ‘Get the fuck in here.’

It wasn’t like the movies. There wasn’t a beeping machine, a screen counting out his heart rate, his breaths. He had a little tube up his nose feeding him oxygen but he wasn’t in a white gown, wrapped up neat and tidy under a woven blanket. He was lying, still in his boots, crooked on an old, rusted gurney. Your eyes travelled over him, taking stock; the left eye swollen shut, the abrasion to the cheek suggesting a fractured orbital bone, the red and purple swelling across his brow and up to his temple. The blood under his fingernails, the makeshift splint trying and failing to straighten his obviously broken wrist. You stepped forward and opened his shirt, scanning for more injuries across his skin, found a deep gash in his side and countless bruises, something mottled and purple underneath his ribs. Like he’d been kicked while he was on the ground, while he was already down.

You felt a flash of anger, tears spilling over your cheeks. He was out cold, pale and shivering, and you raised your hands to his midsection, felt the wound there, deep and angry and so close to his spleen.

‘We checked him already, he’s not bit,’ Dougie said from the doorway, and you wiped at your face, set your mouth in a line, intended to turn and address him but couldn’t move from Joel. You felt Ellie standing at your shoulder, observing you as you checked him over. ‘He’s going to need half the supplies they brought back with them,’ Dougie said, laughing a little as if this was funny.

‘They got them?’ Ellie asked, and Dougie nodded to her.

‘Some are dangerously expired, but others are just…expired,’ he said. ‘I gave him some of the morphine, even though he was already out.’

‘He has a head injury,’ you pointed to his collar where dried blood was staining the pillow brown. ‘Are you sure that’s safe?’

‘I stitched him up,’ Dougie said, defensive. 

‘What if there’s internal…’ and you stopped yourself then, because Ellie was in the room, and her eyes kept swivelling back to Joel, back to his body, back to the blood. ‘The mottling,’ you said, without further explanation, in the hope that Dougie had managed to find that part of the textbook.

‘We don’t have many options, if there is,’ he said, and you felt yourself get woozy.

‘What have you done so far?’ you asked, and Dougie just stared at you for a second, and you were going to throttle him, actually kill him in this place of healing, if he didn’t answer at least one question properly in the next twenty seconds.

‘We can give him a transfusion, keep his blood pressure up.’

‘Tommy,’ Ellie piped up. ‘They’d have the same blood right? They’re brothers.’

You nodded at her, and she ran from the room. In her absence, you turned to Dougie.

‘Tell me,’ you said, simply, and he sighed.

‘It’s a wait and see game,’ he said. ‘If there’s serious internal bleeding we’d need to operate but…’ you looked around the room, observed the notable absence of a sterile field.

‘I can’t,’ you said, and you weren’t totally sure what exactly you were referring to, but that didn’t make it any less true.

Joel stirred in his sleep, just enough for you to swivel around to him, plant yourself down on a chair and grab at his hand.

‘Joel,’ you said, not sure if he could hear you, hoping he could, hoping he wasn’t in any pain and knowing it was impossible that he wouldn’t be. ‘Joel, I have Ellie, and she’s doing so well,’ you said, murmuring into his unresponsive face. ‘I have her, Joel, so you just rest, OK? You just get better.’

You reached up and gently, carefully, put your hand in his hair, rested it over his right temple, seemingly more intact than the left.

‘We just need you to get better, Joel,’ you said. ‘We all do.’  

You thought for a second you heard a grunt under the gentle rhythm of his breath. ‘Be OK, baby,’ you said, one hand in his hair and the other gripping his. ‘Just rest, and be OK.’

--

Tommy’s transfusion raised Joel’s blood pressure, which was good but also indicated that he had lost a lot of blood. Dougie showed you how to check his blood pressure manually with a cuff and a watch, and you kept an eye on it every hour. If it kept dropping, there was likely internal bleeding.

It remained stable through the night.

What had happened out there became clearer as the morning progressed, as the other riders were patched up. The group from Jackson had managed to find the pharmacy, had cleared it out and secured the perimeter, before turning back the way they came.

The remaining raiders, those who had managed to escape their pet clickers, had been tracking Marla’s path back to Jackson. They had seen how well-equipped Marla was, how strong Jacob had been, how well he had been able to muster up a defence. They’d figured that meant they were well fed, well stocked, that there would be somewhere worth pillaging if they could get to it.

They were young but they were clever, probably only just born on outbreak day, and they’d managed to circle the group before Joel had noticed them. He’d shot one of them point blank, rearing his horse back to try and get to the others before they could clock what was happening, but the younger men had been quicker. He’d fallen from his horse, or maybe shoved off, it wasn’t clear in the chaos, and they’d tried to drag him, pulled him by the arms away from the group, stomped on his ribs a few times. He’d fought them the whole way, scoring a couple of gashes to his chest and abdomen in the process. It was only when the dust had settled, when the three raiders were dead and Joel was struggling to mount his horse, seemingly unable to coordinate his limbs, that they noticed the blow to his head. He’d been woozy, then, stumbling over his words, but they’d managed to get him upright on the horse enough to limp back to Jackson. They’d almost made it back when Joel blacked out completely, falling forward into his horse’s neck and not sideways, this small stroke of luck possibly saving him from an even worse fate.  

You listened to all of it, this breathless retelling of actual and near death. You could hear, even through the exhaustion and the pain, the awe the second expedition party held for Joel. That he had seen the raiders, maybe heard them, maybe smelt them, that he was so fast on the draw, so accurate with his shot, so quietly deadly. That he had gone down swinging. That he had come back up.

These stories drifting down the hallway to you, to where Joel lay. Your eyes raked over his body, his wrist now properly splinted and bandaged, his wounds sewn up. He drifted in and out of consciousness, aided by the expired morphine, but he tended to come back to the world fighting. The first time he’d nearly knocked Ellie off the end of the bed, had ripped the breathing tube out of his nose so hard he’d permanently bent it, had been wild eyed and terrified and so lethal, so deadly, as you grabbed his face and turned it to yours, told him where he was, told him who he was, while Dougie injected more drugs under his skin. After he had slipped back under, you liked to imagine that before the drugs he had been relieved to see you, that you had eked out a measure of comfort for him, that he knew you were there, that he wanted you to be.

The second time you sent Ellie away. It was late and Joel was finding new and creative ways to swear the infirmary into the ground, and you could sense the worry in her. You reassured her you’d stay with him, that you didn’t need anything to eat, could sleep in the chair by the bed. That she shouldn’t have to see this, that she didn’t need to hurt herself just to keep him close. You would do that for her. You would reach into yourself and carve away a space for him. Keep yourself hollowed out and aching, should he decide to make a home between your ribs.

You had already decided that when he woke properly you would leave him there, go and get Ellie and Tommy. Not intrude on the family. Go and sit in your little kitchen and run your fingertips over the kitchen table, let the wood grain catch on your skin, scrape the cells from you where you had held his hand.

You didn’t expect to sleep, so you startled awake, confused and aching in places you didn’t know you had from the stupid fucking chair, when Joel stirred again. Judging by the darkness it could only have been 3 AM, maybe 4. You steeled yourself for whatever destruction Joel was about to bring down on his own sick bed, lifted his hand in yours to your cheek, rested your face in his palm, hoped the weight and the heat of it would settle him, would ground him. You heard him clear his throat. This time, however, he was just exhausted, just himself.

‘I can go,’ you offered, too quickly considering he was still orienting himself, and you cringed, started to backtrack. ‘You’re in the infirmary,’ you started again, collecting yourself, watching his face for any hint of fear, any hint of anger.

‘Ellie,’ he croaked, his voice dry.

‘She’s staying with me, she’s OK,’ you said, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder and then pausing, doubting, dropping it instead to the pillow.

‘Thirsty,’ he grunted.

‘Oh,’ you said, immediately snapping upwards and nearly knocking yourself out on the lamp over the bed. ‘Right, of course.’ Dougie had brought you water and a packet of dry ramen noodles approximately seventeen years past their use-by-date. You poured him a glass, cradling his neck to help him angle himself to drink it. You felt the heat of his skin on your arms as you lifted him. You didn’t think about it. Not at all.

‘Do you hurt anywhere?’ you asked, and he grunted at you. You knew it was a stupid question, and you tried again. ‘Do you want me to get Dou…the doctor, to get you some more drugs?’

‘Not yet,’ he whispered. You leant in close to him so that you could hear, and he fixed you then with a gaze sharper than anyone who had been unconscious for as long as he had should have been able to. ‘Makes me fuzzy and I want to…’ he trailed off, his eyes scanning your face.

‘I didn’t come to you about Marla because I think you’re a killer,’ you said, realised you had been waiting to say it to him, hoping he would wake up so you could finally set him straight. ‘I came to you because I knew you wouldn’t be cruel. I knew you’d do it well. Respect her.’

He lifted an arm as if he was going to cradle your jaw in his hands, but his face shifted into pain the moment he moved. You realised his ribs would be screaming in protest, and you grabbed his arm and forced it back to the mattress. ‘Don’t,’ you said, ‘it’s OK, I’m here.’

Joel turned his eyes to the ceiling, and you could tell that he was hurting. ‘I’m going to get you the drugs, you can’t just lie here like this…’ you said, standing up again. He grabbed your arm to stop you turning away from him, his grip strong, as he kept his eyes on the ceiling.

‘Ask me why,’ he grunted, through gritted teeth.

‘Why what?’ you asked, and saw the way he was bracing against the pain, felt a shot of frustration with yourself for prolonging it with your stupid fucking questions. ‘Why?’ you asked him.

‘Wanted to be a good man for once,’ he said. You sucked in a breath. ‘For Ellie,’ he went on, closing his eyes. ‘For you.’

You could feel something coming loose in you, a snapping of a hinge, the whine of a rusted and long-abandoned cellar door.

‘Joel,’ you said, because there wasn’t much else you could say in that moment, trying so hard to hold down the stirring turmoil in your chest. He held up his hand to stop you, almost waving you away, and you knew it was because it was hurting him to stay awake, hurting him to say it out loud, hurting him to hear you upset and not being able to soothe it for you. So much hurting in this bruised, bloodied body.

‘Let me…the drugs,’ you said, pulling yourself away from him, feeling his fingers grasp for you. ‘I’ll be here when you wake up,’ you reassured him, his eyes closed and his jaw tight. ‘I’ll be here,’ you said again, saw him nod, took the permission to finally, finally relieve him.

--

You weren’t there.

Couldn’t bring yourself to be, unnerved by the way his gaze snapped to yours, the way he had grasped for you, the way you felt the fracture of something vital, something that had kept you alive all these years. You sent Ellie in first thing in the morning, told her that he was calmer overnight and that you needed a proper sleep, set yourself up on the couch and tried not to think about it, tried to close your eyes and let sleep take you, felt it abandon you like you’d just done Joel.

You figured he wouldn’t remember it, what you had promised him, what he had said. The morphine would wash it away, would cleanse it from him. You would need to carry it, feel it sloshing around against your legs as you walked, but you were OK with that so long as it was only yours.

You busied yourself, cleaned up a little around the house because living with an un-housebroken teenager was a challenge in itself, went to the mess hall and bartered for a loaf of bread and a parcel of butter no bigger than a quarter, wrapped up in grease paper. That butter was going to cost you two massages but you knew Ellie preferred it, that without it there was so little flavour you could offer her.

You thought about going to Maria’s, thought about lifting Robin’s forehead to your lips and feeling his gentle, simple warmth thaw you out. But you worried Tommy would be there, that he would ask you why you weren’t with Joel, that he would ask you why had been, why you’d spent nearly three days at his bedside only to abandon him the second he was vaguely aware you were there.

You didn’t know how to explain. You couldn’t even get it straight in your own head. You wanted to cower from it, the strength of it, the weight. You took the back way back to your house, hoped you would slip out of everyone’s mind if you stayed out of sight.

Tommy was on your doorstep when you got there. Of course he was.

‘He’s askin’ for ya,’ he said, simply. You felt your shoulders drop, the defeat ripping up your spine, and you shrugged at him, your bottom lip wobbling.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ you said, simply, the six words that could kill you in an apocalypse. Tommy didn’t pretend not to understand. He took the packages from your arms, left you standing on the porch while he went inside and set them down. Came back out carrying a warm jacket for you and a cushion from the couch.

‘That damn ‘firmary chair is awful,’ he said, and you gave him a watery smile. ‘He’s askin’ for ya, so that’s what we’ll do,’ he said. You nodded at him. He took your elbow, led you down into the town.

‘It’ll be Spring soon,’ he said, making conversation, as you sniffed into the midday cold. ‘Jackson’s so beautiful in Spring, the wildflowers, the new leaves on the trees. You’ll love it.’

You nodded again, barely listening, wondering if you would ever be able to form actual sentences again. ‘S’new life,’ Tommy went on, ‘everything feels new. Like comin’ out of somethin’. Like a crack under the door where the light gets in.’

‘I don’t know if I can do this,’ you said.

‘Which part?’

‘All of it,’ you answered, sweeping your arms in front of you.

‘Well, you gotta do somethin’, so it might as well be this,’ Tommy said. It occurred to you that Maria’s ability to drop truth bombs at exactly the right moment was rubbing off on Tommy. You’d need to have a word to her about it.

Tommy led you into the infirmary, as if you didn’t have the place mapped like the back of your hand at that point, and down towards Joel’s room. He stopped at the door, and you realised he’d come as far as he was going to go. You looked at him, hoping for some final wisdom that might push you over the line.

‘What if he’s mad at me?’ you asked, feeble and weak.

‘He’s askin’ for ya,’ Tommy said, one last time, and you finally understood. You felt prickling heat at the back of your eyes, but Tommy had the good grace not to mention it, not to try to comfort or soothe, knew that it would make it worse somehow, bring it too close. With a shaky hand, you pushed open the door.

Joel was propped up, awake and gazing out the window at the street. He turned to you as you walked in, and your breath left you. The swelling around his eye had gone down, he was already looking less purple and bloodied than the night before, was more alert, was more him. You paused in the doorway, took him in as he waited for you.

‘Hi’, you said, barely above a whisper. You were gripping your hands in front of you, shivering in the doorway. You waited for him to yell, to thrash, to chew you out for leaving him to wake up alone and in pain.

You didn’t expect his eyes to mist over, for his bottom lip to tremble. For him to be soft, for him to need you.

‘C’mere,’ he said, lifting his good arm up to beckon you, and you fell into the four steps to him, launched yourself at his bed, gripped him by the waist and lay your head on his good shoulder, ignored his sharp intake of breath as you jostled him. You felt the tears spill over, your face tucked into his elbow while he ran his hands through your hair, and he held you as you sobbed into him.

This time, you knew it was for all of them. For the entire balance sheet, for the grand tally. For your parents, for Marla and for Ray, for Maria who so very much reminded you of your sister, for nearly losing Joel, for Ellie tucked up in your bed pretending she wasn’t counting the seconds until his return. For the love you held for all of them, your collection of losses and grief, for the realisation that all this time you hadn’t been feeling the absence of love but the presence of it, its full force, that it hadn’t gone anywhere, that so long as the love stayed so did they, in just enough of a way to sustain you.   

‘M’sorry,’ you muttered after a while, trying to pull back. He held you firm to him, his chin on the top of your head.

‘Scared ya, I guess,’ he said, and you could only nod.

‘There’s so much that scares me,’ you whimpered, and he grunted his agreement.  

‘M’scared too,’ he said. You raised your head to look at him, to understand, and he gazed down at you. ‘This is somethin’. Right?’ he asked, his voice giving out on the question.  

‘Think so,’ you said. He smiled, warmly, down at you, lifted a hand to rub at his face.  

‘We did it arse-backwards,’ he said, and you waited for him to explain. ‘Haven’t even dated ya, and here we are clingin’ to each other like…’ He trailed off, and you weren’t sure how you wanted him to finish that sentence, were sure you just wanted to continue to rest your head on his chest while he spoke, wanted to hear the timbre of it, feel the resonance.

‘Like it’s the end of the world?’ you finished for him, eventually. He chuckled.

The two of you fell into a silence, a warm one, a silence filled with all the words you were going to get to say to each other, when the time was right.

‘Is there anything you need? Anything I can do?’ you asked, after a long while.

‘Don’t need you to do anythin’ more than you already have. Just be patient with me, baby. S’been a long time since I felt this’ he said.

You reached over and took his hand from where it rested on his belly, turned his fingers over in the grey light from the window, examined the cracks, the swelling, the cuts. You lifted a knuckle to your lips, tasted the copper across your tongue, the tang of it, the life under his skin.

Gently, so gently, you held him there, felt his pulse against your skin, felt his body give, the tension in his muscles unspool. Heard his breathing slow, his other arm gripping tight around you. You let your eyes drift close, not having to see him to know that he was right there, in this moment with you. That he was with you, that this was the two of you.

That you had his touch. That he had yours.

Taglist:

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[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 50)

Frustratingly, even after a week, there was no more sign of Doll. Even with V scouting through the vents more then once and dropping by the Russian’s old, now charred apartment.

There was also the matter of Guy.

He was fine. He'd run off seconds after the bite occurred to go get it looked at, the medical staff had simply wrapped in up to stop the oozing. They'd also told him to “Keep his fingers away from heavy machinery.” Not believing him when informed that a toddler had broken the casing on his fingers, not a hydraulic press.

Thankfully, he seemed to now be avoiding the Doorman family like the plague, if he caught a whiff of N he would make excuses to quickly leave the area, which N was absolutely not complaining about, the less interaction he had with the creep the better.

Right now though, N had been placed on patrol near his own apartment, Hal, and a few other officers that he didn't know the names of, were doing the same, it wasn't only for Doll, there were teams assigned to each section of the bunker. Hal had just assigned him closer to home.

Which he was thankful for, it quelled his worries whenever he went past his own door and saw it shut and secure, sometimes he could hear Uzi moving around inside, and it always made him smile.

He'd always been protective of Uzi, literally since the day they met. Minus the first few hours, He'd always known, almost innately, that she was smaller and more fragile then him just due to their model differences.

But now, ever since they'd “taken that next step” it was like that feeling was put into overdrive, if he was too far away from her, it was almost painful, and his worry got so bad he was irritable, grumbling at small inconveniences he'd normally just wave off with a smile and a laugh.

It was maddening.

But, there was very little he could do until they found Doll. And that was looking increasingly less likely considering that between V and the entire WDF police force, they should have found something!

Even if that was more scraps of cloth, oil trails, blood trails. Heck, even little bits of leftovers from her meals since she had to eat eventually. But nothing. Which meant one of two things.

One, that peice of cloth was old, and Doll hadn't been in the bunker anytime recently.

Or Two, she knew she was being hunted and was deliberately covering her tracks.

Considering the freshness of the blood on the rag when he'd found it, the second was far more likely.

A voice came through over shortrange, slightly garbled due to distance, but not enough to not hear.

“Anything?”

It was one of the officers that N didn't know the names of, he'd probably have to ask them eventually, but for now, all he did was respond.

“Negative.”

This job, the patrolling part at least, was very similar to his last job in a lot of ways. Getting orders over shortrange was nothing new to him, and neither was a lot of the police jargon that broke through the usual chatter. Though, that chatter was new. J and V were usually quiet aside from the occasional update, the workers though, they were more talkative.

The difference though, is that he was actually helping people. He hadn't done a lot yet, mostly just descacalating some irritated workers in a disagreement and the occasional petty theft. But even so, it felt good, there wasn't any guilt associated with watching over people, and even better he felt like he was earning his keep, both the apartment and the oil provided from the nursery. Which had the bonus of cooling him down way more efficiently then oil taken from the dead, as it was brand new, and golden.

Speaking of…

He took a swig of his container as he turned a corner, his audio receptors tuned on high so that he could hear even the smallest noise that came from the vents or otherwise.

“Get off me!”

The voice was masculine, and muffled between it's distance and multiple steel walls in the way. Still, N turned his attention towards it, whoever it was sounded distressed.

He made his way through the halls towards where he thought the voice originated, going left, then right. Entering a section of the bunker that was entirely empty… mostly.

There was a young man, extremely young, 16 at best, with purple eyelights and black hair tied in a man bun, he had aviator goggles perched on his head. A black leather jacket with like 15 pockets and a white undershirt.

“Dammit Chloe, get off!”

“Awww, come on Nico… this wouldn't be the first time~” Chloe was pinning him to the wall, holding one of his hands above him, she was leaned into him, trailing a finger up along his chest. Despite this, he wasn't blushing, he almost looked fearful.

“Fuck off!” He shouted, his voice cracking and ruining whatever intimidation he could have had, Chloe giggled.

“That's not what you said last time~” She slunk a hand under his shirt and out of view, but the way he flinched and the pathetic groan that escaped him let N know exactly where she'd touched him.

“I-I didn't know you were older then me! This is w-wrong!” The poor boys voice was trembling, and he looked like he was about to break down at any moment, N decided that he'd had enough of this.

“Hey! What's going on here?!” He shouted, making both drones jump. Chloe immediately released the boy, and he let out a breath of relief, until he saw who exactly was bearing down on them.

“Uh-! you? You're part of the WDF now?” Chloe's voice came out surprised and wary, she took a few steps back from N as she looked him up and down.

Then her face turned flirtatious again.

“That badge looks good on you~”

“Knock it off. You're my age, this kid's like 16, not cool Chloe.” N said firmly, his tail held far far away from grabbing distance, his posture defensive, though he felt more safe now with his position.

Chloe seemed to get a little nervous, eyes darting over to the teen still pressed up against the wall, she smiled warily.

“Oh! Well… we weren't doing anything… right Nico?” She gestured to him, and his violet eyelights suddenly went hollow, he looked at her, then back at N, before he looked at the floor.

“Yeah, whatever, we weren't doing anything.” He mumbled, putting his hands in his pockets and letting some of his raven hair fall over his eye.

N sighed, looking over at Chloe, who had the words biggest innocent smile he'd ever seen. He didn't believe her, he'd heard and seen enough to pick up that she wasn't innocent, but if the kid wasn't admitting it, there was a good chance he'd deny it if he brought them into headquarters too.

“Then move along. Neither of you should be in this hallway anyway.” He didn't like it, but the best thing he could do for this kid at the moment was to get Chloe away from him.

“Yeah. I'm leaving.” Chloe sauntered off, flashing Nico a look as she left, he seemed to gulp at it, before she was gone and it left the two remaining drones in the hall, looking awkward.

“Thanks…” Nico mumbled, not quite looking at the man in front of him, he kicked his feet as he started to walk away. But N stopped him, hand resting on the younger drones shoulder.

“Where you headed? I can walk you.”

“I-I don't need…” Nico trailed off, huffing a bit to himself before looking back on at N, N felt something tug at his core, those eyelights were strangly familiar, and not just because they reminded him of Uzi.

“Just home… if you don't mind.”

N nodded, following the drone through the halls until they entered familiar territory, where Uzi was clearly just leaving with Tera held in her arm, Nico stopped suddenly, looking at the both of them.

“Hey Zi, where you heading?” N asked his girlfriend, who smiled at his voice and turned to him, Tera did too, looking over at him and shouting “Papa!”

“Dad asked me to head over to the WDF office for something, he wouldn't say what even after I grilled him…” She ended it irritability, like perhaps she'd shared a few choice words with her father.

“That's weird… you think he would have told me when I saw him this morning…”

Uzi turned while he was talking to glance over at the drone who'd stopped, purple met purple, and suddenly the teen drone looked both terrified and guilty.

“Haven't I seen you before?” She asked him and he startled back, looking like he'd just been put on the spotlight.

“Uh… I don't-I don't think so.”

“Hi!”

Uzi looked over at Tera, who not only had said her third new word at a record setting pace, but was leaning off her mother to smile happily at the teenaged drone in front of them.

Nico looked taken aback, before something bittersweet took over his face, like he was both extremely happy and extremely sad.

“Hi there, buddy.” The way he said it was muted, but he did add a little wave in, which made Tera smile and lift her arms up to be held, which took Uzi off guard and had her pulling her away.

“Tera no! We don't ask strangers to pick us up.” Uzi scolded, and Nico gave a half smile in return, rubbing his neck in nervousness.

“I'll meet you at the office? I said I'd escort this young man home.” N smiled down happily, swooping down and giving her a nice big wet kiss on the mouth. She squeaked, and pushed him away, embarrassed.

“Not in front of people!”

“You did it in front of all our freinds?”

Uzi grumbled, hitting him in the arm gently.

“Not the same thing!”

N laughed before turning to face Nico, only to find the young boy had disappeared, and a quick look around the hallways confirmed that he was nowhere nearby.

“Huh.”

Next ->

[wooahaeruby]

Chapter 33: Sparks

Chapter Word Count: 4,270

TW

None, it's cute.

Master List | Prev | Next

“You called?” Sitting at your desk, you were packing up your bag for the day. “Twice might I add.” 

“What are you doing?” Seungcheol asked. “Wait, I mean, hi…How are you? What are you doing?” 

You laughed as you turned the computer off and made your way to the door. “I’m doing okay today, thank you for asking. Currently, I’m about to leave the office, do you need something?” 

“Can I pick you up from your place at seven?”

“I don’t see why not, do I need to dress up or can I change into something comfy?” Waving goodbye to your coworkers, you stood in the elevator, heading down to the parking garage. 

“ Oh, fuck- Um.” You heard him fumble with his phone before he cleared his throat. “ Can you dress up a little, but you don't have to be over the top?”

“I can, I’ll see you at seven.” 

“ Cool, I’ll- uh- I’ll see you then.” 

Hanging up, you chuckled to yourself, seeing Seokmin getting into his own car when you made it to yours. 

“Plans for the night?” He asked, leaning over his car hood. 

“Got a date tonight.” Dropping your bags into the passenger seat, you could see him smirk. 

“Is it with-?” 

“Yep. Just called me before I came down.” 

“Have fun then.” He laughed, moving towards the driver’s door. “Oh, Hao wants to talk with you, give him a call or something.” 

“Ay ay, captain.” You gave him a salute before getting in your car and driving off towards your apartment. 

It would be the first night in a week that someone wasn’t in bed with you to sleep. Wonwoo had come over the other night before Jeonghan showed up, wanting to install panic buttons around the apartments, more as a precaution, hoping you wouldn’t actually need to use them. One was placed on your nightstand, facing your bed where you could reach it easily, another was placed under the counter of your computer desk, and the last was in the kitchen, on the underside of a hanging cabinet. 

Kicking your shoes off, you glanced around the dark living room, staying silently to listen for any changes but nothing peaked so you turned on the lights and continued inside. Glancing down at your watch, you had just over an hour and a half to throw on a nicer outfit and some makeup before Seungcheol showed up, enough time to even do your hair a little. 

With Dreamcatcher helping with your closet clean up, there were some…new clothes you noticed through the week; new business outfits, new…shorter skirts, and some different blouses. There were boxes of new shoes in your size stacked in the corner of your closet as well. 

Then…Then you kinda had an idea and you knew you had to roll with it. 

You pulled items from your closet, a little smirk spreading on your lips.

“So, Seokmin said you asked my girlfriend on a date.” Jeonghan snickered over the phone. 

Seungcheol sighed. 

Of course Seokmin told Jeonghan, he thought.

“I am…Is that a problem?” 

“Where are you taking Mouse?” 

“I…heard her saying to Mingyu that she was craving sushi…so…” He rubbed the back of his neck, going into his shared closet in the penthouse, grabbing a pair of slacks and a loose fitting button up. 

“You are a fucking sap, I love this so much.” Jeonghan laughed, which only made him sigh and groan. “ If we weren’t crimelords, I’d put our lives in a soap opera.” 

“I’m hanging up now, I need to shower and get dressed.” 

“Wah~ You’re no fun. I’ll just get all the details from my girlfriend later, loser.” 

“Whatever.” Seungcheol hung up before Jeonghan could get another word in and jumped into getting himself ready. 

As he stepped out into the living room, checking his pockets for his phone, wallet and keys, Jihoon stepped through the door, backpack thrown over his shoulder, dressed in his gym ware. 

“Where are you going?” Jihoon asked, kicking off his shoes. 

Seungcheol huffed, “I’m going out…” 

Jihoon paused, looking at him up and down. “...With Mouse.”

“I hate all of you.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, “But if you have to know, yes, I am going out with her.” 

“Cool.” Was all he said, strolling down the hall before coming back. “Soonyoung, Wonwoo, Mingyu, and I are going to the fight club tonight. Jeonghan is running a free-for-all for anyone who wants to fight.”

“Yeah, count me out. Don’t get your asskicked and make a joke out of us.” Slipping on his shoes and grabbing a jacket, he headed out and down in the garage. 

Okay – if Seungcheol was being honest, he was praying he wouldn’t fuck up tonight and it would be a step in the right direction. He had been texting her regularly throughout the week, but tonight was the only night he had free time to actually put some action into place. Jeonghan’s little fight club also got some of the guys out of her hair while the youngest three were running Ruby for the night. Minghao and Junhui were out of town on a job and wouldn’t be back until the following night. 

Pulling up to Mouse’s apartment, he parked in one of the visitor spots and made his way towards the garage door entrance. One glance at the watch on his wrist showed he was a few minutes early, but he didn’t bother to worry, stopping at the newly installed security panel and typed in her apartment number. Once the panel buzzed and the door unlocked, he wasted little time getting to the elevator and getting to her door. A simple knock had him hearing her call out for him to wait a minute.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Seungcheol waited, biting at the skin of his lips, even rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. He looked down at his feet, raising his head almost instantly when he heard the lock click and the door open. 

And he blinked, once, twice, and he damn near wanted to pass the fuck out .

Mouse stood before him dressed in a bishop sleeved, scoop necked red blouse and a short black skirt and tights. She lifted her foot and fiddled with the strap of her chunky heels, hand placed against the door frame. Grabbing her jacket, she slipped it on, a smile spreading on her red colored lips. 

She is gonna kill me , was all he managed to think, eyes wide as he took in her beauty. I might die . 

“Hi, hey.” Mouse pulled her purse off the console table beside her door, pushing her hair behind her back. 

“Hey.” Seungcheol cleared his throat, sliding his hands from his pockets and holding one out for her to take. “Ready?” 

She was quick to close and lock the door before taking his hand, letting him lead her down the hall and into the elevator. 

“So, where are we going?” She nudged him with her elbow, keeping their hands clasped together. 

He snickered, shaking his head. “I’m not telling you that, you can find out when we get there.” 

“Hmm, boo.” Mouse rolled her eyes but continued to smile. “I heard the guys are busy tonight?” 

“Yeah, Han is having a free-for-all . Kwan and the other two are running Ruby, but I think Vernon and Chan are going to watch the free for all since Kwan owes them a favor. Busy night.” 

“And you just happened to be free?” As the elevator doors opened, she eyed him curiously, a playful tilt to her head. 

“It’s my first night off in a while.” He admitted, shoulders dropping. “Thought I’d spend it right.” 

Mouse hummed, seemingly satisfied with the answer he gave. She gently swung their hands as he led her to his car, unable to stop himself from chuckling softly.

The drive to the sushi place he had picked was calm. Seungcheol was content answering Mouse when she asked how the days had been, able to express more of the nitty gritty of the group while in the car. 

He had also taken her words two weeks ago into some consideration recently as well. Or well…He had done a lot of thinking since the night Mouse and him talked. If she was going to be here, sitting beside them at least somewhat at their metaphorical table, the least he could do was be honest. And he was a little terrified she’d actually put more effort into hitting him if they fought again. She had done great work training with Chan, but with Minghao and Junhui soon? He’d need a bulletproof vest twenty-four seven. 

She was laughing as he parked, stomping her feet some. “How do you fuck up that bad?!” 

“I’m telling you, Mouse…I don’t even know at this point. Sometimes Mingyu is just too big for his own damn good and he broke the box of the ammo shipment, the actual box… Jihoon was going to kill him…”

“It was a crate! I can’t believe he managed to do that!” 

He simply gave a laugh before exiting the car, quickly rounding his vehicle to help her out. She took his hand the moment it was offered and stood, smiling up at him bright and wide. 

“Shall we?” He closed the door for her, clicking the lock on his key easily. 

“I think we shall, Seungcheol.” 

The place was relatively fancy, many different groups of people and couples littering the fully booked restaurant. Seungcheol had taken it upon himself to pull your chair out and push it in for you before taking his own seat, shedding his jacket. 

“So…” You snickered, picking up the menu placed on the table. “Who told you I was craving sushi?”

Reaching up, he rubbed the back of his neck, sending her a gummy, shy smile. “I…might have heard you talking with Mingyu the other day when he had you on speaker.” 

Looking past the menu, you eyed him for a moment, your lips twisting into a small smirk. “And here I thought you could read my mind.” 

Seungcheol scoffed and he laughed, shaking his head, jostling the relatively unstyled hair on his head. “I wish it was that easy.” 

“Is your hair naturally that wavy?” The question had him running a hand through his locks, brushing them back from his face before shaking his head to let it fall naturally. 

“I mean…Kinda? If I really let it grow out, it gets a little poofy since I don’t really do anything with it. That's why I usually keep it short. I kinda need a haircut soon since it’s been a while.”

“It looks good.” You complimented and you watched him swallow, eyes big, childlike. “I like it.”

“I- Thanks..” Despite the restaurant's dim lighting, you couldn’t miss the reddening of his cheeks. “Let’s- What looks good to you?” 

He dropped his gaze, lifting the menu to hide from you, eyes scanning over the items listed. 

It was cute, seeing him flustered over a simple compliment. You smiled to yourself, scanning over the plethora of options, debating what you wanted. 

The waiter that came to serve you was sweet, a nice young man that looked absolutely nervous, probably one of his first days. He filled the empty glasses before the two of you with water. With a glance between the waiter and Seungcheol, it was almost silently decided that you’d share whatever was ordered, not that it wasn’t expected after the last sushi ‘date’ the two of you had. 

“I’ll get right on that.” The young man hurried off, leaving you with a smile and a shake of your head. 

“I remember when I waited tables in college for a little while.” 

“I can’t even imagine you doing that.” He furrowed his brows together but he laughed, lifting the glass of water to his lips. “Why did you stop?” 

“Because some drunk guy slapped my ass and I punched him in the face.” 

Seungcheol choked on his water, picking up the fabric napkin to cover his mouth as you laughed, trying to keep yourself from losing it. 

“You punched him? So you’ve been doing reckless shit all your life?” He cleared his throat. 

“You really should hear about all the trouble I got Jongho and I into when we were together for two years.” 

“Mouse, I have all night. I’m all ears.”

“You…set off a bottle rocket…into your foster dad’s car exhaust pipe.” Half his mouth was filled with food, pointing his chopsticks at you with a frown on his face. 

“Yeah. He deserved it for beating Jongho.” You don’t see the problem now, just like you didn’t see the problem back then. “For no reason, mind you. Not only were these assholes just taking the government checks, but they worked him and I to the bone with chores, and we got punished if we didn’t. He was told to hand wash all the dishes with a toothbrush because he didn’t sweep the floor since he was finishing his homework.” 

“That’s…what the fuck?” He was taken back, eyes shifting from you to stare down at the platter of sushi between you both. 

“One time, that foster mom locked me out of the house because I was a minute late back  after a school event. She didn’t let me in for two days and Jongho had to sneak me stuff.”

“What-” 

“Yep.” You snickered, grabbing a piece of food. “Then I got Jongho and I out of there. Apparently insulting them was the tipping point. Fucking pricks.” 

“Man, and I thought I had a fucked up childhood.” Seungcheol managed to laugh and you nodded. 

“I’ve…heard a little from Hannie about what happened to the three of you.” 

His eyes were searching for something in the sushi, gaze flitting around with no set destination. He opened his mouth to say something but closed it, leaving you to continue. 

“I want to believe that you and I, and the rest of the guys have done well despite the adversity.” Nonchalantly, you picked up a piece of sushi and popped it in your mouth. “I mean look at you, big business, kicking ass and all. And me, the not so damsel in distress that has fought a few people for the hell of it.” 

That managed to get Seungcheol to chuckle under his breath, a sigh leaving his chest but a smile was present once he lifted his head. 

“And while on the topic, why can parents fucking suck sometimes?” You rolled your eyes, sitting back in your seat, seeing the smile on his lips widen. “But in general people can suck. This is why before all of you I was a homebody. Video games can’t hurt me physically, just emotionally.” 

“Oh my god, shut up.” He laughed brightly, dropping his chopsticks and covering his face in some embarrassment, not sure if it was for you or him. 

“Hey! Whoa!” You kept your dramatic gasp quiet to not draw much attention to your table. “How dare you tell your date to shut up. Here I thought I was out with a nice gentleman that wanted to make me swoon and now he is telling me to shut it. Some men…” 

“Mouse.” Dropping his hands, Seungcheol whined, a pained smile on his lips as he gazed across to you.

You leveled him with a playful look, unable to stop yourself from laughing. “Yes?” 

He held you in a soft gaze, letting his eyes roam over your features before he shook his head, dropping his eyes and picking up his chopsticks once more. “Nothing…Nothing at all.” 

“Good,” You smirked, “Kinda looked like you were attracted to me for a minute there.” 

Seungcheol sputtered out a laugh, covering his mouth so as to not choke on the piece of food he shoved into his mouth. “Oh no, totally not, you’re kinda weird if you ask me.”

“Some say I’m mysterious, but I can also accept being weird in this situation.” Nodding your head, you gave him a thumbs up. “Just don’t let my friends hear you say that. They can be a little overprotective if you ask me.” 

“Hm, I wouldn’t have thought.” 

Between the two of you, a quiet calm settled, letting you eat, taking in the ambiance and the chatter around your table. There was comfort in the quiet, the promise held close to your heart that he wasn’t going to do anything stupid anymore, and hoped that all would fall into place. 

He wasn’t like Jeonghan who loved to talk about everything and anything. He wasn’t Joshua who could make you laugh loudly at the smallest things. He was Seungcheol, a strong leader with a shell that seemed a little hard to break. He was a big softy that was goofy and now wanted to play video games every time he caught you sneaking off with Wonwoo to Pandora. 

He was becoming himself more and more than you already saw and you really liked it…

It wasn’t too long before the platters were finished and the waiter was asking if there was anything else either of you would like for the evening. Seungcheol peered at you, raising a brow but you simply shook your head, leaving your companion to ask for the check. 

You observed Seungcheol now, watching as he grabbed his wallet, sitting comfortably as he drummed his fingers on the table. When he noticed your gaze, he tilted his head, one corner of his mouth raising in a half smile, leaving you mesmerized by how handsome he looked. Part of you prayed he didn’t cut his hair, but it wouldn’t matter over all, he was striking with or without it this length. 

He was quick to pay the check when it was placed down, not even bothering to look at the amount as he slid his card over. He signed quickly before getting up, moving towards you to take your jacket, holding it up for you to slip on once you stood. Once he was comfortable with you bundled up, moving some hair from off your shoulder, he got his on, holding out his hand. 

“Can I convince you to go on a walk then maybe….get just some ice cream?” 

Your heart clenched in your chest, but you placed your hand in his, lacing your fingers together with a nod. “I’d love to, Seungcheol.”

Hand in hand, the two of you left the restaurant, leaving his car behind in the parking lot to return later. The air was frigid but the heat Cheol radiated as you stood close was enough to keep you comfortable. You were lucky you went with thicker tights to keep your legs warm in the short skirt. More or less you let him lead the way, a shy grin spreading on your lips as he swung your clasped hands.

A glance over showed a wide smile, his eyes flicking from you to the path, keeping you close. There was nothing needing to be said, knowing he was happy, probably way more than you were, but you were happy nonetheless. The ice cream place he ended up leading you to wasn’t far, a small hole in the wall shop with two little tables and a singular worker behind the counter. With the change coming into winter sooner rather than later, not many were going out to get ice cream. 

The bell over the door announced your arrival, a loud chime sending the worker to her feet, greeting you. You returned the greeting, approaching the glass to peer at the many options of sugary treats. 

“What do you want?” You looked at Seungcheol, curious as he didn’t even look at the different flavors. “Do you already know?”

“Yeah, I get the cherry-vanilla swirl.” He was serious, lips pursed before he gave a firm nod. When he gazed at you, the purse turned into a childish smile. 

“You know what, can we share?”

A chuckle rumbled deep in his chest, nodding his head once more. “Yeah, we definitely can, Mouse.”

“You are a fucking idiot.” Jeonghan laughed under his breath, removing the gauze from Soonyoung’s forehead, hoping it stopped the bleeding from the cut near his hairline.

“Don’t call him that, at least he won.” Mingyu snickered, grabbing more gauze and holding them to Jihoon’s nose, definitely broke even if it’s just a slightest bit.

“So…should I call Cheol?” Chan asked, raising his hand, sitting on the bleacher-like stands beside Vernon. 

“Do not-” Joshua shook his head, only for Jeonghan to send him a look. “Come on, they are fine.” 

“Soonyoung definitely has a concussion and Jihoon’s nose is broken. He’ll be pissed coming home to this.” Jeonghan sighed, nodding his head to Chan. “Give him a call.” 

Chan was already dialing the number before he finished the sentence, leaning his head back. 

“Hey- yeah everything went fine, but…” Chan groaned. “Yeah, I know you are out on your little date, but Jeonghan told me to call you because- It was Soonyoung and Jihoon…Yeah, but one has a concussion and the other has a broken nose…Mouse- Give the phone back to Cheol- Oh my god- Okay, I’ll see you in a bit.” 

Chan looked around once the line went dead, flattening his mouth into a straight line. “So uh, they are coming.” 

“And now we will feel the wrath of both Mouse and Seungcheol.” Wonwoo huffed, holding an ice pack to his eye. 

They showed up faster than anyone really anticipated. Jeonghan thought they had more time to clean up some blood and patch up Soonyoung and Jihoon. 

Mouse bursted through the door first, one hand holding the skirt as she hurried over, nearly skidding to a stop before Soonyoung. 

“Mouse!” Soonyoung was dazed, flinching at how loud he was, reactions a little slow and eyes out of focus. “Hi.” 

She sighed, taking his face gently into her hands, brows furrowed in sympathy. “Hi, Soon…” 

“You…” He shook his head, taking a deep breath through his nose, a pout forming on his lips. “You look really pretty.” 

“Thank you, how’s your head?” 

“The room is…a little sideways and I’m tired.” 

“You can’t sleep until we get back.” Jeonghan huffed out a sigh, wiping his hands with an alcohol wipe, making sure there was no blood. 

Mouse placed a gentle kiss to the top of Soonyoung’s head before she moved over to Jihoon, shoulders deflating at the already bruising area surrounding his nose and under eyes despite the ice pack.

“You both look like shit.” Seungcheol stepped in, hands in his jacket pockets, stopping not that far from Mingyu who was packing up the first aid kits. 

“Be nice.” Mouse warned and he huffed. She reached out, lifted the ice pack some, and glanced beneath it. Jihoon flinched but overall did nothing. “Damn, is there anything else broken?” 

“Beside the nose, no, but I’ll be sore as fuck tomorrow.” 

“Ah, nothing a little ice and some rest can’t fix, I can make the chicken bake you and Soonyoung like.”

Chan nudged Vernon with his elbow, snickering. “We should get beat up more so Mouse can take care of us.”

Whipping her head around, she sent him a glare. “Don’t you dare.” 

“Your skirt is short.” Joshua commented, grabbing his longer coat and handing it to her. “Put this on.” 

“Ah~ She is fine~” Jeonghan snickered, wrapping an arm around her waist, placing a kiss to her cheek, eyeing Seungcheol. “Sorry for ruining your night~” 

Seungcheol rolled his eyes, moving towards Jihoon to look at the injuries to his face, then to Soonyoung who gave a tired smile, and lastly to Wonwoo. “Can you at least tell me if all of you won your stupid ass fights?” 

“I almost got pinched in the last round but the dude broke my nose and I got pissed so I dropped him.” 

“Gotta stop toying with him.” Mingyu hummed, giving Jihoon a gentle pat to the back. “Soonyoung did great until the guy slammed him into the floor. He managed to get him in an armbar before his opponent tapped out.” 

“What about you?” Seungcheol looked to Wonwoo once more, raising a brow. 

Removing the ice pack, Wonwoo’s eye was a little swollen, definitely going to be bruised more the next day. He couldn’t help the smirk spreading on his lips before talking again. “Cocky asshole that swung before the bell and I dropped him in under a minute.” 

“Good.” Seungcheol broke into a smile, shaking his head. “Alright, load up, come on. We should get them home before they can barely move tomorrow.” 

“Can someone drop me home and I can grab my car?” Mouse leaned against Jeonghan, her head resting comfortably on his shoulder. Joshua’s jacket was folded in her arms, at least covering some of the front of her legs. 

Jeonghan scoffed, the hand he had on her waist tightening some. “Why the hell would we if you can just ride with one of us?”

“Ew, fuck off, no flirting in front of everyone. My poor eyes.” Chan gagged, covering his eyes dramatically with both hands. “They are burning out of my skull.” 

“It’s watching your best friend get with your brother.” Seokmin gagged as well, bringing his hands to his throat to choke himself. “End me.” 

“We could make this so much worse.” Mouse lifted her head, looking up to him with a smirk wide on her face. 

“Do not!” The choirs rang through the warehouse before a following rumble of laughter layered together.

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[peaches2217]

Untarnished

Chapter 2 (TW: Brief but graphic descriptions of burn injuries)

AO3 Link | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

~~~

Bright lights. Distant beeping. Something soft beneath her head, silky and downy and pleasantly cool. Peach’s first conscious thought was a timid prayer of gratitude. She was dead, or she was dreaming a new and unfamiliar dream; both prospects filled her with a peace deeper than she’d felt in months.

Dead, she decided when she opened her eyes and found Toadsworth at her bedside. The strain of her abduction and taking charge of the kingdom in her absence must have killed him. The thought didn’t bring her as much sadness as she felt it should have, because her slender hand in his small, wrinkled hands felt just as it had in life, and fat tears of joy and relief rolled down his round cheeks and dripped from the tips of his mustache, and if only she had the energy, she would have cried too.

No — dreaming, she amended when Toadette joined him. Her lady-in-waiting was still far too healthy and young and feisty to have dropped dead suddenly, unless by some great coincidence. Peach was laying at a slight angle, her legs straight out but her upper body inclined; Toadette climbed up into her lap (which Toadsworth objected to vehemently, but his protests, naturally, went unheard) and threw her arms around her neck, and suddenly she was crying too. Yes, this was certainly a dream. Since when did Toadette cry?

“I made wishes for your safety every single day!” she said between hiccuping sobs. “And I kept your room dusted and aired it out every day and had the maids change the bedding every week because I knew you’d be coming home! But I’m— oh Peach Pit I’m so happy you’re alive!”

Peach's throat suddenly felt tight, almost suffocating. She’d never dreamed about going home. In her dreams, she simply hadn’t been abducted to begin with, or else her abduction was treated as a memory so distant that it scarcely crossed her mind.

She didn’t dare let herself believe this might be real; perhaps waking up would be even harder now, and perhaps it would finally sap the last thread of hope she uselessly clung to, but for now, what was the harm in enjoying this strange dream? False happiness is still happiness, however temporary. So she let herself hug her dear friend back, and she let herself reach out and find Toadsworth’s hand once more, and she let herself feel present in their company and protected by the plush blanket tucked around her. It all felt so fuzzy and surreal and good.

And then the screaming began.

Instantly Peach’s blood froze in her veins. Her surroundings didn’t shift or go dark, as they usually did when she was startled out of a dream, and though she felt cold, everything around her remained warm. Even her illusionary Toadsworth and Toadette reacted to the sound, twisting their necks in alarmed horror in its direction — some room to the left of where Peach lay, it seemed.

By the second scream, a nagging sense of familiarity kicked in. She knew the wall she and her steward and lady-in-waiting stared at, recognized the muted pink wallpaper with white and dark pink accents. Didn’t the castle infirmary have that same wallpaper? She rarely had need to visit, lest she might have been able to place it sooner.

And she knew that voice. She couldn’t quite place it, since the cries were wordless and muffled by a layer of dressed stone, yet it made her stomach turn all the same. It was guttural, it was heart-wrenching, it was—

By the third scream, it all came flooding back.

“Y-your Highness, please—”

“Peach, hey, it’s okay, lay back down—”

“Princess, you mustn't—!”

More familiar voices surrounded Peach, voices she should have been happy to hear, but she paid them no mind. Something was holding her back. A blanket. A body. A wire taped to her hand. She winced as she ripped herself free, her feet moving independently of her mind, which assaulted her with vision after vision after terrible vision.

Mario, collapsing to the cobblestone streets of Toad Town in pure exhaustion, fate catching up to him once more. Mario, his face strained and his spine slumped but his eyes ever sure, wincing and hissing through his teeth but soldiering on anyway, stopping only to ensure that she was able to do the same. Mario, a broken heap at her feet, scorched to the point of disfigurement and motionless in a pool of his own blood.

Mario, screaming in unbearable pain, just out of her reach.

This was no dream.

Something caught her right hand just as she reached the door.

“They’re taking care of him!” Toadette cried somewhere behind her. “You’ve gotta let us take care of you, too!”

Some job “they’re” doing, Peach wanted to snap back. She could help him. How long had she been unconscious? Surely she had enough magic back now — she could continue mending the worst of his wounds, or she could help “them” fix him more quickly, or at the absolute least she could rearrange the receptors in his brain and make him think he wasn’t in pain. 

She tried to yank free of Toadette’s grasp, but she only held on tighter.

“I can help him.” She tried again, throwing her body forward against the much smaller girl’s weight, but it still wasn’t enough. “Just let me help him, and then I’ll return.” 

Then her left hand was seized, just as she tried reaching for the door. “You’re not helping anyone in this state.” Toadessa, head of the castle’s medical staff. She didn’t actively try pulling Peach back as Toadette did, but she remained firmly planted and unmoving. Something hot burned in Peach’s chest and throat, bitter like bile, and though the room was beginning to spin and her legs were already shaking, she tried once more to throw herself forward.

“Let me help him!” she cried. “Please!” She could have easily ordered them to let her go; she was their Princess, and no matter how they wished to help her, her word was still law. But this never crossed her mind. Those agonized shrieks drowned out every last rational thought, and all she could muster were futile efforts to break free and pleas that went unheeded.

Two Toads. It took all of two Toads to hold her back. One more effort was all her body could take before it failed her, and she fell to the infirmary floor with a startled yelp.

By the time she went slack, the screaming stopped.

All Peach could hear now was panicked murmurs behind her and the sound of her own breath, gasping and rapid. Air came too quickly for her lungs to absorb any oxygen. Her hyperventilation only exacerbated her dizziness, and that in turn nauseated her beyond measure, yet she knew vomiting would be of no use, because there wasn’t even anything in her stomach.

Silence rang in her ears. The silence was even more oppressive than the screaming. At least if Mario was screaming, she knew that he was alive.

Not that she could help him anyway. Not if she couldn’t even breathe properly. Not if it only took two Toads to hold her back.

“Your Highness…”

Her hands remained seized, as though she might actually try to escape again. As though she could.

The small but strong hands holding her back were real. The chill where stark tiles met bare skin was real. Mario’s screams, and then his silence, were real. 

Peach’s gasps gave way easily to sobs, yet she couldn’t even do that properly; they came in quiet, punctuated whines, the kinds of sounds an injured animal might emit. She doubled over there on the floor, making her best effort to fold in on herself to stave off the cold and the wooziness and the sheer helplessness that threatened to crush her alive. 

If only it would.

~~~

Peach still shivered as she stood beneath a rain of hot water. Her favorite soap had been brought to her, and while she wanted to revel in this small luxury, its flowery fragrance just made her dizzy. The soap also helped her identify every last scratch and sore on her body, burning with white-hot heat where it touched broken skin, and she wasn't quite sure if she hated the sensation or if she was grateful for it. Whatever the case, she took slow and deep breaths to refamiliarize herself with the way she used to smell, taking care to keep her eyes closed as she scrubbed off.

The lights were just as bright in the infirmary washrooms as they were in the resting rooms. Glimpsing her reflection had been bad enough. She couldn’t bear to look at herself any longer than necessary.

She was even worse off than she’d expected to be. In the first month of her captivity, she had done her best to spread out the single daily meal she was given, eat it slowly over the course of several hours. As despair slowly claimed her, she found she couldn’t even finish her meals at all, and there were days when she refused food outright in favor of curling up on her cot and letting gentler daydreams sustain her. By the time Mario reached her, her skin hugged the bones in her hands closely, and the dress that had been tailored to fit her perfectly hung loosely from her figure. So she had expected to look in the mirror and find herself frailer and paler. Even so, she hadn’t recognized the sickly and bruised figure that stared at her with dull, sunken eyes.

Feeble and filthy and poignantly helpless. She loathed to think that might be Mario’s final image of her.

Another shiver tore through her body. No, that wasn’t the case. He was alive. He was alive and if he was going to die, it wouldn't happen while she bathed. Toadessa had graciously checked and reported back to Peach, and she confirmed his relative well-being with such assurance that she was either telling the truth, or she had suddenly become a spectacular liar. Peach couldn’t afford the energy to suspect.

He was hurt. But he was alive. For now, that was enough.

Toadette was waiting for her when the water shut off, and Peach graciously accepted the oversized, fluffy towel she offered, eager to trap as much of the water and steam’s residual heat as possible. It swallowed her whole while careful fingers worked through her tangled hair, yet she shivered anyway. Still so cold. Why was she still so cold?

The nightgown she donned once her hair was presentable was only slightly better. It too hung from her more loosely than she was used to, but the feel of laundered silk against clean skin made the cold a touch more bearable.

“You oughta have a hot bowl of soup waiting for you by now,” Toadette said from where she knelt on the floor, wrapping the open sores on Peach’s feet in pillowy gauze. Her usually energetic timbre was far quieter, her bright smile more nervous. The brief glimpse Peach caught of her black eyes as she sat back to asses her work betrayed even more unshed tears.

Peach couldn’t blame her. She could hardly stand to look at herself. Toadette had no choice. She tried to thank her, or at least apologize, but the words wouldn't come.

She wasn’t hungry, somehow. Perhaps she had grown too accustomed to starvation. Perhaps she would feel differently in a moment’s time, when presented with her first hot meal in three months. She would at least make an effort, she decided, because seeing her eat would lift Toadsworth’s spirits. She owed him that much after the hell she had put him through.

But it wasn’t Toadsworth that awaited her when she was led back into her room. A much taller figure sat hunched over on the leather loveseat against the opposite wall, his knee bouncing frantically, his cap dangling in his hand by the brim; he looked up when he heard Peach, and for a moment she could do nothing but hold his eyes and hold her breath.

“Princess…!” A smile spread across his face, and he slapped his cap back on his head and held his arms out as he stood, and Peach found herself rushing into those arms before her legs could fail her again.

Luigi’s hugs were light but sturdy, his embrace a beacon of security in uncertain times. The embrace he welcomed her into now was no different, solid and gentle and warm, and for the first time, Peach truly felt that she was home.

“Oh, santo cielo!” he whispered into her shoulder. “Per fortuna stai bene…!”

Peach inhaled sharply. No more tears. She was already so sick of crying.

He never pulled away fully. He kept his hands on her shoulders even as their hug ended, beaming at her through misty eyes. “Th-the doctors say you’ll need to eat soup, soup, and more soup for the time being, but lucky for you, Mama knew a thousand ways to make a good soup! So we’re gonna keep ya well-fed, yeah? You’ll be feeling like yourself again in no time!”

He looked… disheveled, in a word. His neatly-styled mustache wasn’t neatly styled at all, fraying at the tips into a series of split ends, and the hair on his head didn’t look much neater. But most obvious were his eyes. The skin beneath them was dark, and his upper eyelids drooped as he spoke, as if he was struggling to keep them open. Seeing him in such disarray made that feeling of home a bit more distant than before.

It made perfect sense for him to be in such a state, Peach supposed. Between a dear friend being kidnapped and his brother…

Wait. Why was he here?

“What about Mario?” She finished her thought aloud. “Where is he? Is he alright? Has he eaten yet?”

“Oh, Peach Pit,” she heard Toadette grumble not far away. Peach couldn’t bring herself to be annoyed, not when she knew how deeply her friend worried for her, but it was still well within her rights to inquire about his health, and she had half a mind to say as much—

“No, no,” Luigi said quickly, leaning sideways so he could speak over her shoulder, “it’s okay! We'll get her fed! Gotta make sure she's comfortable first too.” Then his attention was back on Peach, and he dropped one hand but still kept a point of contact on her shoulder, and Luigi was notoriously squeamish when it came to extended periods of physical contact… 

The first stirrings of dread came alive within her, dark and heavy.

But Luigi’s face remained cheerful, and though his smile softened, it wasn’t sad. “He’s out cold right now. The doctors gave him the good stuff, so he’ll be out for a while, but I’ll bet the first thing he asks for when he wakes up is a big plate of carbonara, and we’ll take care of that! So don’t you worry.”

The corners of his eyes creased, and not just from his smile. These reassurances were as much for his own sake as for Peach’s. Suddenly her tongue felt woolen in her mouth.

“May I see him?” she somehow managed.

Luigi didn’t break from her gaze to seek Toadette or Toadessa or anyone else who might have been in the room’s approval. He nodded without hesitation. “O-of course. Of course.”

She tried not to hold her breath as she was led to the next room over, focusing on her breath and the grounding sting of each footstep. Growing faint or passing out wouldn’t improve his condition.

Not that his condition could get much worse, she realized upon seeing him.

He’d been stripped and washed at some point, but that still didn’t give Peach much to look at. Whatever wasn’t covered with a blanket was swaddled in gauze. Layer upon layer wrapped across his chest and arms and hands, around his midsection, over his shoulders, and their sterile white made the angry red splotches and scratches that peeked from beneath them look that much more painful.

All she could see in full was his face. Aside from a wrap around his head, partially covered by his hair, it remained unobscured. And the absence of soot and dried blood gave Peach a good idea of what the rest of him looked like: wrecked, his skin dark with bruises or else bright with first- and second-degree burns.

In spite of this, he looked… peaceful. His expression read as neutral and his mouth hung loosely open, the gradual rise and fall of his chest assuring Peach that he was breathing. It was even more obvious in this state that he hadn’t touched a razor in days, if not weeks; the stubble on his cheeks and chin had grown out enough that it looked almost like a proper beard. He looked handsome, even now.

Peach exhaled shakily. The picture of serenity on the brink of death. She wanted so badly to take his hand in hers, yet she feared to find it cold to the touch. She feared for the first time that a single touch might break him.

“It looks a lot worse than it is,” she heard Luigi assure beside her. “You shoulda seen him after this scrap he got into with Scapelli back in high school, or the first couple times he tried parkouring through an active construction zone. He didn’t look much better then than he does now!”  

Peach tore her eyes from one unnerving sight to set them upon another. There was concern in Luigi’s tired eyes, concern and fear and uncertainty, and his shoulders slumped under the weight of those burdens. Yet his voice was friendly, his smile kind, and he regarded her with every bit as much fondness as always.

Why? He should hate her. It was for her sake that Mario was like this in the first place. And if he didn’t pull through…

Her vision went unfocused, and she ducked her head and squeezed her eyes shut, as if that alone could stop the guilt that overtook her, or better yet, make her invisible. One less pitiful sight Luigi would be forced to endure. Hadn’t she already put him through enough?

“Hey.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and drew her close, and she selfishly accepted his embrace, slumping against him. “Hey, h-he’s gonna be okie-dokie, Princess, you know that! He’s a tough cookie. This is hardly all it’s gonna take to keep him down.”

She wanted to believe him. She wanted so desperately to believe him. But she’d never heard Mario scream like she had today. “He sounded like he was in tremendous pain.” She could barely utter the thought above a whisper.

A pause.

“Well... y-you know how Mario is with doctors,” Luigi eventually answered. “He can get the stuffing beat outta him and walk away just fine, but the second a doctor touches him it’s ‘Oh, the pain! The agony! Mamma mia, make it stop!’” And he laughed, just genuinely enough to fool anyone else, but not well enough to fool her. 

The remnants of a smile still lingered on his lips when she found the nerve to look at him again. How could he smile through all of this? How could he smile at her, the one responsible for his brother's potential demise?

“...They put something really strong on the worst of his, uh… everything,” he finally confessed. “Cleaned ‘em real good then slathered ‘em in some mix of Mushroom tonic and crushed Flowers and…” He laughed again, even less convincing than the first time. “The anesthetics had kicked in just enough to make him kinda loopy, but not enough to knock him out. I’ll bet it wasn’t nearly as bad as he thought. He probably just panicked.”

Or he was well enough out of it that he couldn’t hide how badly he hurt any longer. This went unspoken, but the thought hung heavy in the air above them nonetheless. Peach’s mind conjured up a disturbing image: Mario thrashing in agony, his brother pinning him down so the doctors could work, meeting his cries with reassurances stuttered in their shared tongue.

She did her best to force the image from her mind, replace it with the image of Mario resting peacefully before her. She didn’t need to know any more than she already knew. What mattered was the here and now, and here and now, he was alright.

“...I honestly thought it was gonna be a lot worse.” Luigi’s voice was quiet, the slightest bit slurred with exhaustion. “I’m just… happy he’s okay, for now.”

Mario, hurt but clean and on the mend, dozing restfully beneath comfortable sheets— Mario, his face melted and blistering, charred skin sloughing from every exposed plane and floating atop the viscous scarlet that flowed without end—

Peach balled her hands into fists and squeezed until her arms trembled from the force. She had put the younger brother through enough heartache. She alone would bear the truth. It had been worse. So, so much worse. Getting him to the state he was in now — getting him home alive, if only barely — had nearly killed her twice over.

And until she saw him back on his feet, she would continue to wish she had succeeded in giving her life to him. At least then his recovery would be guaranteed.

It should have been her. Why wasn't it her?

Luigi jostled her out of her ruminations, letting go of her shoulders to clap a hand gently against her back.

“How about this: we let him rest, you get some rest too, and I'll come get you when he wakes up. Sound good?"

Peach thought to protest, but she knew any objections would be pointless. Denying herself the chance to heal wouldn't help Mario any faster. She nodded in reluctant agreement, an action which Luigi mirrored.

“Then let's get you some’a that soup, yeah? Toadsworth will have my head mounted on the wall if I let you starve. For that matter, I don’t think Mario would be much happier.”

A new image cut through the morbid memories and visions that weighed heavy in Peach's mind: Toadsworth, chasing a screaming Luigi through the corridors of the castle with a halberd twice his weight and three times his height, a scuffed-up but otherwise healthy Mario looking on from a doorway in some mix of exasperation and amusement.

For the first time since awakening, laughter bubbled in Peach’s chest, fleeting but joyously light.

“‘Ey,” Luigi cheered, his own expression perking up, “there’s a smile! Oh, it’s so good to see you smile again, Princess! C'mon.”

She let her muscles loosen as he led her back towards the door, already prattling on about the hearty tomato soup waiting for her, and his newfound pep made her feel just a bit less heavy. No, martyrdom would benefit no one. To let herself curl up and wish for death, no matter the reasoning, would be to spit in the face of all that Mario had fought so hard for. All that he had nearly died for, too.

Taking one last glance at him as she left the room, she let herself believe for the time being that everything had worked out exactly as it needed to.

As it stood now, they both held a fighting chance for normalcy. Though Peach would have happily given her life for his, she much preferred the thought of them both living, rediscovering their own normals side-by-side, reveling in all of life’s little pleasures together. And if that was selfish of her, well, maybe she could afford to be a bit selfish for now.

~~~

Sleep eluded Peach, which she counted as both a blessing and a curse.

She was tired, so utterly tired, and yet she couldn’t get comfortable. The lights in her room were dimmed, but not turned out entirely for the sake of sporadic nurse visits, confusing her already ruined circadian rhythm. She hadn’t struggled to eat as much as she feared she would; the soup she’d been promised was tangy and sweet and the slightest bit acidic, and she’d scarfed it down while Luigi and a slightly more upbeat Toadette entertained her with lighthearted stories. They’d even managed to draw a few more laughs out of her.

But now her belly felt uncomfortably heavy, and the silence felt heavier still. And she was still so cold. Laying on her back, she couldn’t breathe properly, not helped by her constant shivering. Laying on her side, she could at least pull her blankets tighter around her own huddled form, but curling into herself agitated her full stomach and nauseated her. She'd only had one meal. She didn't care to lose it.

The blessing part of this struggle came from the simple notion that she’d already slept enough. There was little to do in her dungeon but pace and brood and sleep, and she hadn’t even done much of the first two in the past several weeks. No, she decided, folding back her blankets and finding unsteady footing, there was no point tossing and turning. If she was going to remain awake, the least she could do was use her time productively.

This was how she found herself back at Mario’s side in the hour before dawn.

As she approached his bedside, she glanced over at the loveseat against the opposite wall. Luigi was sprawled on its cushions, his cap pulled over his eyes and a thin stream of drool dripping from the corner of his mouth, his legs dangling over the sofa’s arm. How many sleepless nights had he endured in these past months? The room was silent save for his soft snoring and the steady beeping of a heart monitor, and Peach intended to keep it that way. Stars knew she owed him that much at least.

Kneeling beside Mario, she hesitantly reached for his hand, steadying her breath before touching his wrist. A sigh of relief forced its way past her lips at their contact. Her fears were unfounded. He was warm.

She spent a moment tracing her fingers over the back of his hand in contemplation. The dark hair that normally covered his skin had been shaved in the name of finding a good vein for an IV drip, and a piece of medical tape beneath a thin layer of gauze held the needle in place, delivering much-needed fluids to his system. A perfect entry point. Though her magic could penetrate even covered skin easily, she found it was most potent when concentrated directly into the bloodstream. Right now, she needed as much potency as possible.

Resting her palm atop that spot, she closed her eyes and focused. Surely there was enough by now. Maybe not enough to heal, but at least enough to ease the pain, or maybe even seal up some of his lesser injuries. 

But even conjuring her magic in the first place proved a great struggle. Her muscles constricted as she called it forth, a dull ache which grew into sharp, stabbing surges, and she dug the nails of her free hand into her thigh to keep herself focused. No matter how she tried, nothing came of her efforts. She willed it forward once, once more, once again, as if dragging a barbed hook through layers of sinew; she sniffed and gasped each time, biting into her tongue to keep any further noise reigned in, and still nothing came of it.

Only once had her own magic caused her such pain: reviving her dead hero, what felt like weeks ago now. But it worked. Her pain bore fruit, and her efforts were rewarded with renewed life. Why wasn’t it working now?

The ambience of the heart monitor came into the forefront of Peach’s senses, its once-steady tone picking up in tempo and compromising her already fragile concentration. 

Her body relaxed against her own volition, and she cursed beneath her breath. Yet as oxygen poured back into her lungs, as blood flow returned to her brain, her frustration morphed into hope. Increased heart rate. If his heart was beating faster, that meant something was happening. That meant her magic was coursing through him, no matter how little, and his body was repairing itself again. Right?

With one last deep breath, she lifted her eyes to his face.

His eyes were already fixed on her.

Peach yelped out in shock before she could stop herself, slapping a hand over her mouth moments too late. That shock was reflected in Mario’s eyes, already wide when their gazes met, growing wider still as they stared one another down; the brilliant blues of his irises caught the blinking lights of assorted medical equipment, cloudy and drowsy but awake and aware.

The monitor hooked to his pulse went haywire, but its frantic beeping faded into ambiance once more.

“Hey,” he whispered. His voice was hoarse from exertion or disuse or some combination of the two, but it was his, and that single word set Peach’s pulse racing every bit as quickly.

“Hey,” she whispered back. He smiled weakly at this, and somehow, she smiled back.

Peach had never been the impulsive sort. As a politician, she made sure to consider her every move deliberately before acting, a habit that had been drilled into her while she was still in high chairs. So she wasn’t quite sure what force compelled her to climb into his bed, nor was she quite sure what force compelled him to make room for her. Whatever their reasoning, three minutes and several careful adjustments later, they laid facing one another, their heads sharing the same pillow, their bodies separated only by her gown and his blanket.

Peach knew well enough how improper this was, and still she didn’t care. Not with Mario so close, so present, so alive. The exertion of rolling onto his side and scooting a few inches back had exhausted him; with his last ounce of physical strength, he draped an arm over her side, weakly flexing it forward, as if trying to pull her closer. She would have happily met him halfway if it didn’t mean losing her line of sight. She wanted to look at him just a moment longer, just to make sure he was really here.

She drew her hand up slowly, careful not to agitate any of his numerous wounds, until at last her fingertips rested at his jawline. That seemed the safest place to touch. Perhaps the only safe place to touch for now.

Mario muttered something beneath his breath, too quiet for Peach to hear, and she feared that even this gentle touch was too much for him.

“Beg pardon?”

“Sorry about the beard,” he repeated, and though his eyes remained closed, he smirked. He was joking. He was awake and aware and alive and cracking jokes. He really was going to be okay.

Though she lay exposed above the blanket, the bitter cold she had grown begrudgingly accustomed to melted away, and warmth penetrated to her very bones.

“Actually, I quite like it,” she found the strength to tease back, and she swore she felt his skin grow hot beneath her fingers.

“Y’do?”

“Mmhm.”

“Mm. Think I should keep it?”

“I think you should do whatever you want for the rest of your life.”

He chuckled at this, deep in his chest. “I like the sound of that.”

Her touch remained light, just in case, but if his facial hair hid any additional injuries, he wasn’t showing it. He looked peaceful beneath her touch, smiling softly as she stroked her thumb along the curve of his jaw. Had he gone without food, too? His face seemed sharper, his cheeks less plump than she remembered. 

She didn’t have very long to muse on this notion. When he eventually peeked his eyes open, they pulled her back into the present moment; they were heavy with impending sleep, and the pain she feared would remain etched into them eternally was nowhere to be found. All she could see in those eyes was adoration. Adoration so strong and pure that it made her feel impossibly small yet equally unstoppable, so obvious that she wondered how she hadn’t seen it before.

Perhaps she had seen it. Perhaps she had convinced herself it was all in her imagination; perhaps she was too afraid to let herself hope that he might return her affections.

He returned her affections. He was alive, and he would be okay, and he loved her just as deeply as she loved him. The rush that overtook Peach would have easily brought her to her knees, and she thanked the stars that she was already laying down. 

Their words of mutual confirmation comprised the second of two mantras that kept Peach going, even when she was certain she could go no further, and in her fear for his life she hadn’t let herself dwell on them any further. But they’d exchanged that mantra back and forth even as their already limited energy dwindled, even when collapse and failure and death felt inevitable, filling the air between them when all other words failed: I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you…

“I love you,” Mario said now, in that same hoarse whisper as before.

Peach inhaled sharply, and suddenly the tears she’d so valiantly fought off stung at the backs of her eyes. He’d told her those three blessed words ten or twenty or fifty times in the past day, but this time was different. There was no desperation or disbelief in his voice, no heaviness of affliction or regret or uncertainty, no exhaustion holding his tongue. He said it quietly but unwaveringly, unapologetic.

How else had he said it? At multiple points in their journey, he couldn’t find the strength to translate his thoughts into the common tongue, and so he would squeeze her hand and utter a pair of foreign words to her, the same two words, over and over and over.

“Ti amo,” Peach echoed now. Foreign or not, those words felt right on her tongue, effortless.

Mario’s face changed, suddenly more alert than before, and for a brief instance Peach felt cold again. Had she misremembered or misspoken? Just as quickly as he’d reacted, though, he closed his eyes and pushed his cheek deeper into the pillow, that breathtaking smile returning in full force.

“Noooo,” he whined, the syllable broken up by a breathless laugh, “don’t say that, Princess! I’m not ready to wake up yet.”

The arm draped over her flexed again, and his bright smile morphed into something darker, sadder. Something like bleak resignation.

He thought this was a dream. Nothing but a pleasant and misleading dream, perhaps one of many, just as she’d thought her own awakening to be. The first of a new wave of tears forced their way past Peach’s defense, and she swallowed thickly to rid the lump in her throat.

“Then don’t.” She obliged his nonverbal request this time, scooting closer until their bodies were flush, ducking her head beneath his chin. Warm. So present and real and warm. “Just— just sleep for now. Rest with me.”

Mario hummed, and she felt it reverberate in his throat, the vibrations and unshaven scruff tickling her cheek. “Will you… be here?” he managed after a moment. “When I wake up?”

Peach sniffled. He no longer smelled of burnt skin and fresh blood. Medicinal salve filled her olfactory senses now, sharp and clean. “They’ll have to drag me out kicking and screaming.”

This earned another laugh from her hero, her closest friend, the love of her life, and he nuzzled his chin into the crown of her head with a satisfied sigh.

They lay together in comfortable silence after this, and while Mario dozed, Peach took the opportunity to ground herself. The twangy aroma of salve; the rise and fall of his chest against hers; the weight of his arm holding her close; the beep-beep-beep of a heart monitor gone steady once more. She buried her face into a thick patch of gauze on his shoulder and let her tears flow freely, content to tremble in the safety of his embrace.

This was real. She was home. 

She was home.

[eleni-cherie]

a thief's origin✨ || bts • kth - chapter 0.7

"you're afraid I won't wait." "I'm afraid you will."

a criminal and a doctor should be as different as the sun and the moon - but unexpected things happened every day. like him finding his safe haven in her.

© 2024 | eleni_cherie

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masterlist: here

— genre: thief au, gangster comedy, adventure, romcom, humour, angst, fluff, sexual tensiON, slowburn, mutual pining, strangers to friends to lovers s2f2l

ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE. CHARACTERS NOT NECESSARILY LIKE THE REAL PERSONS. ALSO VERY UNREALISTIC PLOT LOL - JUST PRETEND READING A MANGA/COMIC OR WATCHING A FILM, REALLY.

SUGGESTIVE THEMES. MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE & BLOOD (BUT NOTHING TOO GRAPHIC, IT'S STILL A COMEDY!)

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30th December Barcelona, Spain

There was no trace of snow in the foreseeable time and Cassandra's already gloomy mood only dropped more as she averted her eyes from the grey buildings outside.

If it was cold, it should at least snow, she believed. But she knew something like this was impossible for a city right at the mediterranean sea. The only thing they got there was humidity and gusty winds.

It was the day before New Year's eve. The second-last day of the year. One day and eleven hours more and it'd be the next year already.

It was a strange feeling considering to her it didn't feel like a year had passed already. The only evidence it did being the coldness outside that had suddenly picked up in the last two weeks. 

She returned to study a patient's file. Today would be another double-shift. Could be worse, at least she wasn't working the next two days.

After asking one of the nurses to give the patient 150mg codeine, she finished her round right on time for her lunch break. Already spotting Stella and one of the assistent surgeons and Stella's on-off-crush, Julio, sitting at a table in the far back of the cafeteria and bickering over something as usual. And Cassandra gave them a quick wave, signalising she'd seen and would join them, before going to pick her lunch. Her stomach was already rumbling when a different kind of buzzing caught her attention then. It was the phone in her pocket.

doc (6:30am): happy birthday, wherever you are :)

cool guy (1:12pm): you remembered! cool guy (1:12pm): thanks :P

Her lips instinctively curled up. It was Taehyung. 

It had been a week since they'd last spoken, which wasn't surprising considering he had a different kind of busy life.

At least he took time to ressurface at all. Kind of like a penpal, where she had to wait for his letter to arrive and respond before having to wait yet again. Especially since they were indeed one-sided penpals with him sending her postcards from all the places he visited.

She was used to it, but that didn't mean she wasn't worrying a little whenever a longer period of time passed with no trace of him. Unpredictable things could always occur, despite him and his friends being unmatched in what they did.

doc (1:14pm): ofc i did :O

After typing in her quick reply, she shoved it back into her pocket when it started buzzing again. Perplexed by the unexpected incoming call, she hesitated for a moment before eventually accepting it.

"Hey." 

She inhaled with a smile. Something about his smooth voice greeting her so cheerfully always making her a little weak.

"Hey, your timing's as great as ever," she giggled when the line moved and she took a step forward. Hearing his surprised 'Oh?'.

"To what do I owe the honour of this call?"

Taehyung could hear the smirk all the way through the line. Laughing under his breath.

"What do you mean? It's my birthday after all. So I deserve actually hearing your birthday wishes."

She bit back a laugh, having missed his silliness. "Happy birthday, cool guy. Was that all you called for?"

"Almost," he said, his tone turning gentle then,"I also wanted to hear how you were doing."

"Well, I.." she began but paused. 'Fine' was her first instinct, however, she concluded he'd most likely see through her blatant lie, because in all honestly she wasn't doing fine at all. So she settled for a more vague response. "..I'm a little tired. But otherwise everything's fine. How's it there?" She knew he'd never tell her where exactly in the world he was currently at, so she didn't even attempted to find out.

"It's.. yeah, it's great. We're working on something.." His voice faded then and Cassandra was about to carry the conversation to the turn of the year, when he spoke up again. His concerned tone taking her aback."You sure everything's fine?"

She swallowed. No matter how hard she tried, she'd always be an open book to him it seemed. Even when he was miles away. 

No, she thought, nothing's fine. I almost lost a patient because of bureaucracy, almost messed up a chest tube on another one, haven't properly slept in days, I'm gonna spend the turn of the year all alone and I'm an idiot because I miss you. 

She couldn't bring herself to let any of these words slip from her lips though. She didn't feel like making him feel bad and pity her when he was who-knew-where in the world right now and couldn't do anything for her misery anyway. Besides, she also didn't want to embarrass herself.

"Yeah, it's just, you know, work. It's not always that easy." This wasn't even a lie. But she felt he still wasn't completely sold on it. 

"Hm, you sure that's all?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Because work's always tough for you but you sound more distressed than usual."

She froze. Did she? She didn't even notice anymore, but others obviously did. Or at least, Taehyung did. So with a sigh she gave in, elaborating more after all. "It does take a toll on me. And tomorrow's New Year's eve, which I can't celebrate with my family and I have no plans, which could be regarded as sad and pitiful by some, but hey! At least I'm not working like some colleagues, so can't complain." Her casual laugh to gloss over her gloominess probably sounded forced. And she licked over her dry lips. "I just didn't want to dump everything on you.. I know you're busy with your own work." Another small giggle getting automatically added at the last words, another poor attempt to save her pride. "Anyway, it's also a shame you can't see your birthday gift, you know? It's pretty mad after all."

"A mad gift, huh?" He played along with her sudden change of topics. Although he could sense there was more to her previous words. "And what gift?"

The line moved and it was almost her turn at the registry, "Never heard of a surprise? You've got to wait until coming here again."

Taehyung scoffed playfully on the other line. "Oh, that's how it is?"

"Of course."

"Alright. I'll hurry up then, I guess."

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31st December

Cassandra usually celebrated this day by playing cards and drinking with her family. Since it wasn't possible this year, she settled for eating a whole pizza by herself and watching one of her comfort shows. The perfect plan really.

It was past 10pm on New Year's Eve now and she was in the middle of her little rewatch party, when the sound of the door bell startled her and she paused the episode. 

Cassandra didn't expect seeing anyone that night. Especially since there were barely any hours left till the turn of the year.

A knock at the front door followed then, causing her to tense up even more. She wasn't a particularly fearful or easily scared person. However, due to the late hour and randomness her first instinct was to switch off all lights and remain quiet. Only when an annoyed and whiny: "Cas, open up already! It's cold!" was heard from behind the entrance door, her tense muscles finally relaxed.

The last person she had expected seeing standing in front of her door was Taehyung and yet, there he was. Doing just that with furrowed brows and an amused laugh.

"Were you hiding from me?"

"Wh.. no. No. Well, yeah, but I didn't know it was you," she defended herself with a small pout.

His cheeks were slightly flushed and raven hair tousled due to the harsh wind outside, hands shoved deeply into the pockets of his dark brown coat. He looked quite cuddly and inviting.

She instantly shook that thought away, though. Eyeing him suspiciously when also spotting the bare neck and open collar.

"And since when do you feel cold?" she sarcastically snorted then. A knowing smirk on her lips as she let him enter. Meeting his wide boyish grin.

"Maybe I fibbed a little there."

She laughed under her breath, shaking her head. "What are you even doing here? Thought you were working on a job."

"Well.." He let out an awkward laugh when a shiver crept up his skin. He might not freeze, but that didn't mean he wouldn't feel the coldness at all. Especially with the temperature difference inside there. "I don't know actually."

She took a step back to narrow her eyes at the taller man. A puzzled smile tucking on her lips as she tilted her head. "So did you just randomly come here all the way from wherevever you were?"

"It's just.." It sounded too silly, thinking about it now, but frankly, he simply had a feeling of her needing him. And he realised how completely irrational and odd it must sound if he said that out loud. So he stick with another excuse. "We were done with the job earlier than expected and wanted to take a little break, so.. might as well come to collect my birthday gift."

Cassandra blinked. Somehow she wasn't quite buying it. He never struck her as a guy who'd travel countries just for a simple gift. Especially since he should know it wasn't anything of value compared to the actual treasures they were hunting.

"Hope you don't have too high expectations of that gift, though," she mumbled with a coy smile as he followed her further inside, "Might get disappointed otherwise."

Taehyung shrugged with a cheerful, almost childlike grin. "A gift is a gift. I take what I get."

He observed her crunching down at other side of the living room to pick up a rather big square, wrapped in fancy paper, from her desk. She felt her fingers trembling all of a sudden, not having expected to see him this time around after all, so she hadn't had any time to mentally prepare to get embarrassed yet. And the few steps she walked back to him clearly weren't enough.

"It's nothing special, really. I mean, what do you get someone who can literally get anything he wants? But I hope it's not too terrible."

Cautiously, he accepted the object from her with a scowl. Her intention was to lower his expectations but all it did was hightening his curiosity, especially since he didn't have any clue what it could be. He'd appreciate it either way though, whatever it was.

"Happy belated birthday, Tae."

He tried not to rip the paper when opening it, but as it accidentally did, he gave up midway and just tore it off making Cassandra laugh amused at his childish eagerness. Only for her to bite down on her bottom lip and avoid his glance when he finally unwrapped it.

His expression softened, brown eyes grew round in astonishment.

"A painting." He looked up at her in awe. "You drew this?"

She shrugged nonchalantly, still not daring meeting his eyes. "You said you liked my drawings and.. you also said you'd like having one of yourself like, and I quote, 'one of these sleazy rich guys'," she added air-quotations for the dramatic effect. Her hands dropping to the side then. "I know considering you travel around from hideout to hideout, it's not practical, but.. I don't know, maybe if one day you do get that house of your own, you'll find some space for it." 

He hummed, his eyes preoccupied with the painting in his hands.

The detailed strokes, the soft-coloured paint. He wondered when she'd even found time to create it in between of sleeping and working. What amazed him the most, however, was the expression on his painted face. The look in his eyes. It tucked on something in his heart, the way she captured this brief moment of tranquility in them. He wondered if anyone else had ever noticed this kind of expression on him when not even he himself had.

That painting was how her eyes saw him. The way she saw him. And it was beautiful. It touched him how someone could see him like this. So.. human. Not a thief. Not a gunman. Just him.

He swallowed. His silent gaze wandered back to her then, catching her impatiently peeking at him as he was taking quite some time to silently gape at the present, increasing her insecurity about it.

He didn't understand why she was belittling herself so much when she didn't have to make him a gift in the first place.

"Thank you, Cassandra," he breathed eventually. His voice unintentionally cracked at the end as it came out hoarser than expected. She had almost missed it, so quiet that it was. But when she realised, her eyes slowly met his already smiling ones and all the nervousness she had felt before was suddenly swept away when seeing the sincerity in his face. He meant it.

She gave him a small nod in acknowledgment.

"Say.." he said then, taking another glance of the painting in his hands, "You said no plans tonight, right?"

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"Should you not avoid such crowded spaces?" Cassandra yelled over the loud background chatter of half-drunks. One of them bumping into her shoulder, his red glittery party hat slipping from his head and almost poking her cheek.

Spending the final hour of the year at platja del Somorrostro, one of Barcelona's busiest beaches, surrounded by a New Year's crowd of strangers brimming the entire area wasn't where she had expected to find herself at. 

And all because of Taehyung.

His dark waves peeked out from between a couple of people in front of her, him clearly not hearing her nor noticing her absence beside him and she squeezed herself through to reach for his sleeve not to lose sight of him again. He paused when feeling the tug and looked over his shoulder, catching Cassandra puffing out her cheeks. "Hey, wait for me!" she pouted and he laughed.

"Sorry, did you say anything?"

"Yeah, I asked if you shouldn't be avoiding such crowds."

They pushed through the mess and Taehyung made space for her to follow behind him as he navigated them to a low pavement wall, seperating the sand from the street.

They reached the uplifted sea promenade soon and he climbed onto it when spotting a gap between some chatty teenagers. Holding his hand out for her which she accepted, letting him pull her up.

"More the opposite," he clarified then as he let his eyes wander over the sea of funny party hats, chaplets and woolen beanies. He could bearly spot where the actual sea began and where the crowd ended. His eyes then returned to her with a cheeky grin. "The more people, the easier it is to get lost in the shuffle."

Cassandra could only smirk at this. "I assume that's your go-to tactic at heists as well?"

"Hm, maybe. Who knows," he reciprocated her smirk. Knowing exactly how riled up it'd get her whenever he stayed vague and not providing more info. He simply enjoyed teasing her too much to ever let go of it, besides the obvious benefits of her not knowing any details for her own safety.

To be fair, this New Year's Eve was also quite different from what he'd originally planned for it to look like. The original plan foresaw him and the guys to sneak into a yacht party at the coast of Alexandria - something he wouldn't tell her though.

Partially because he didn't want her to ask why he was missing it out, partially because he couldn't let her know any details.

Furthermore, he'd never been a man of big parties and celebrations anyway, everything always seeming shallow and blown-out-of-proportion to him. And that sense only intensified when sneaking into some fancy party to steal idiots' jewelery and money. So in a way, he also did it for himself and not only for her. Besides, if he acknowledged the influence she had on him to just ditch anything at the mere feeling of her needing him, he'd need to apologise to Jimin for all the times Taehyung had scolded him for doing the same exact thing for Arabella.

"I hope we can see the fireworks from here."

Her words interrupted his train of thoughts and he watched her tiptoeing beside him before setting her heels back down and taking a sip from the mojito bottle she'd bought at a convenience store earlier. Cheeks already rosy from the alcohol in her system due to being a light-weight.

He took a swing from his own bottle of red wine. "Don't worry, we got a clear sight up here."

Cassandra hummed, getting tired of standing she decided to sit down on the cold stone next to a woman with a blue wig. Wrapping her arms tightly around her angled legs and bringing them close to her body. The midnight air making her shiver under her coat.

"Oh!" she exclaimed then, holding her phone up.

He narrowed his eyes at the dim display. The clock said six more minutes to midnight. He glanced at his wrist then, making sure his watch said the same. It was precise after all, something necessary when doing a coup. And indeed, six more minutes.

Explained why people around them became more jittery.

"Do you have any New Year's resolution?"

He mused for a moment over her question. Flashing her a grin then. "Not getting caught. You?"

The red-head lightly laughed at this before shaking her head. "No, don't think I got any."

"Huh, didn't expect that," he blurted out and felt her inquiring eyes on him.

"Yeah? Why not?"

He shrugged. For a moment he contemplated how to phrase his disbelief, licking his lips shortly which had become dry in the low temperature. "You striked me like the kind of person who'd have a whole list of resolutions to be honest. That's all."

Cassandra blinked, taken aback as she indeed used to always have some kind of resolutions while growing up and this might've been the first time she didn't. Perhaps she was more obvious than she liked to admit after all. A dry laugh left her lips then.

"Well, I used to -"

"Knew it," he grinned triumphatically and took another sip from his drink, "What happened?"

"Nothing. I just realised none of my wishes or resolutions ever came true. So I stopped."

Four more minutes.

"But if you would have to do any, what would it be?"

She took a moment to genuinely think about it and hummed while doing so. Only obvious ones popping up in her mind. "I guess.. to successfully complete this training year, not lose my mind in the hospital and.." Her eyes lowered and she paused, smiling to herself in a sheepish manner. "The last one is a secret."

His brows arched, but he didn't press considering it must be private.

He looked down at his watch again. 

Two minutes.

Somewhere in the distance behind them someone had already started blaring firecrackers. The loud cracking roaring over the drunk slurring, yells and chatter of the people scattered around them on the sea promenade. As far as the eye could see, streets were completely filled with people choosing spending the turn of the year outside among strangers in the cold. Most didn't seem to mind, Cassandra being the only one shivering.

And Taehyung noticed, scooting closer to her in a poor attempt to shield her body from the wind which had pushed its way through after all.

It was quite unfair, she pouted to herself when leaning into Taehyung's shoulder, how she, with her onion-layers of clothes, thick coat, scarf and beanie, was still freezing while he was out there with nothing but a sweater and a thin coat doing just fine.

"Thirty seconds," he announced when looking at his watch again.

Cassandra tilted her head to take a glance as well. "Twenty."

He sensed her warm breath brushing over his exposed skin. The pink-tinted tip of her nose and cheeks contrasting her pale skin which was faintly glowing under the yellowish streetlamp's light further away.

Everyone around them began counting down at the top of their lungs then.

"Ten!"

"Nine!"

"Eight!"

Taehyung searched her eyes, seeing she was already smiling at him. And they held each other's gaze while continuing counting down with the crowd.

"Seven!"

"Six!"

Their smiles widened.

"Five!"

"Four!"

"Three!"

"Two!"

"One!"

Fireworks errupted from the main square in the distance, splashes of colorful lights painting the black sky and illuminating the crowd with loud popping sound of explosives. The hooting party horns and cheers from the crowd jarred into a deafening wave and everyone fell into each other's arms.

And yet, despite the commotion by the boisterous mass of people, all Cassandra could see was the curve of Taehyung's bright smile. Losing herself in the glittering sparkles in his irises. Just for that moment, it felt as if it was only the two of them there.

"Happy New Year, Cassandra"

"Happy New Year, Taehyung."

They laughed lightly, breaking eye-contact and instead decided to watch the rest of the elaborate fireworks show and its golden rain when some odd - to him at least - customs caught his attention then. "Why're so many people kissing or eating grapes?"

Cassandra tore her eyes from the colourful shapes to briefly glance at him, redirecting them to the night sky again. "New year's traditions. People eat twelve grapes for each month for good luck. Or kiss to save themselves from a year of loneliness."

He seemed intrigued by this. "Are there more?"

"Not sure, I don't believe in this superstitions."

He huffed a laugh at her bolt claim. "Says the girl who bought a lucky charm to a heist with her."

Gasping, she averted her eyes from the fireworks again only to face his shit-eating grin. "T-that's something different. It was my emotional support!"

Taehyung only arched a brow, continuing giving her a doubtful look. Much to her annoyance. "No, I mean it. I don't believe in these New Year's traditions. Or at least I try not to but, who knows.." A rueful smile ghosting over her lips. ".. maybe that's why none of my New Year's wishes ever comes true."

Taehyung looked at her indeciphable expression before looking back at the firework.

"What about you?" She assumed to already know his answer but she was still prying to know.

"I'm superstitious. A little bit at least."

She smiled softly, somehow not being surprised at all. "Oh yeah?"

"I need to, sometimes it's a matter of luck. Especially in what we do." He threw his head back in gleeful joy as another set of fireworks was fired. A cheeky smirk gracing his lips then. "And don't they say luck and timing is everything you need?"

She agreed. Even in medicine where everything was scientific and empirist, they still often had to rely on luck and hope. When it came to a therapy or medication to work or when the surgeons needed to wear their own lucky charms to boost their confidence and succeed in a difficult surgery. But it also depended heavily on the patients themselves, if they believed in it or not.

She laughed under her breath. It was a laugh of self-pity as she felt she neither had luck nor timing. At least not in the way she wanted to. And she emptied her bottle in a swing. A feeling of fizziness and light-headness overtaking her mind.

"You know what?" she blurted out after a short while and giggled highly bemused, "We should kiss for good luck!"

Usually she'd know despite the bubbling feelings for her criminal friend, which she still tried convincing herself didn't exist, that kissing him while being tipsy probably wasn't a good start for anything. But any rationality was clearly last seen 0.5l of mojito mix prior, the very few enzymes she apparently had to break down alcohol, already saturated awhile ago. So her intoxicated mind simply found that sudden idea marvelous and entertaining. She'd never get a proper kiss from him anyway - or any guy in the forseeable future with her work schedules - might as well make him her platonic and amicable New Year's kiss in a desperate attempt for any kind of good luck for that upcoming year.

Taehyung, however, only chuckled when seeing her flushed red cheeks and the empty bottle. Not taking her random request seriously until he saw her face turning into an offended sulk. Bottom lip sticking out. "Wait, really?"

"Yeah, it's the tradition!" she pouted, "I don't want a year of loneliness. So you gotta kiss me!" She had an adorable, almost naive giggle decorating her puffy lips. And for a second his eyes lingered on them before eventually shaking his head.

"I don't think -"

"Then don't think," she grinned. "Let's just do this. Just a quick peck."

"Okay, fine," he dragged a sigh, surprised at himself for giving in so quickly when he and Yoongi always accused Jimin of getting easily wrapped around pretty women's fingers. "O-only 'cause I really don't want you to end up a lonely cat-lady though."

Rolling her eyes, she puffed out a snort. "Thank you. That'd be very kind of you!"

She turned her body fully towards him then, head getting dizzy at her abrupt movement.

Why was he even considering this? Oh yeah, to do her a favour. 

Emptying his own small bottle of wine, he also shifted in his seat before taking a brief look around them.

Kissing in public usually wasn't his style, but this could hardly be considered public as they were practically unnoticable in the amount of people around them. And besides, there'd been several others, whether friends or couples, who had exchanged pecks at the stroke of midnight.

So he exhaled and placed his hands on her arms, holding her in place so she wouldn't accidentally lose her balance as she was already swaying with a silly smile. 

"Alright."

"Mhh, do it."

"I-I'm doing it."

"Fine, then do it."

His skin felt on fire. He shouldn't have drunk that much. He might not be a light-weight like her, but he wasn't a big drinker either.

"Just kiss me already," she began whining impatiently, wiggling under his grip. A couple of loose curls falling from the side and framing her face while doing so. "Or I'll be a bigger loner than I already am."

He frowned with a snort. "That's emotional blackmail," he deadpanned then in an attempt to distract from his irrational nervousness.

But Cassandra immediately paused staring at him wide-eyed as if someone had slapped her and she only now realised where she was and what she was doing.

With an awkward laugh, her eyes fell to the space between them. Perhaps the buzz was beginning to wear off or it was a moment of clarity, but she realised it was pointless if she had to force him. Perhaps that would even give her bad luck in the end. And she already had enough of that.

She shook her head, embarrassed of her tipsy self. "Y-you're right. Forget it. It's a stupid tradition anyway. Can't remember the last time I kissed anyone on New Year's."

His brows furrowed at her sudden change of mind. "No, it's fine. I'm gonna do it."

"No, seriously. We don't have to," she ensured him, her words muffled from her woolen scarf as she tried burying her face in it. Cursing herself from minutes ago for even speaking out that rash nonsense.

However, Taehyung's grip around her upper arms only tightened. Making her grow stiff under his stare.

"I said I would and I keep my word." His voice was calm yet determined, which surprised him considering his hesitation and she dragged a breath, straightening herself under his hands. 

Was it weird that she didn't feel nervous despite it all? Probably. She blamed her low cogitation and the knowledge it wouldn't have any romantic significance anyway. Just friends following a tradition like many others around them.

"Fine, let's go."

He swallowed as he met her warm orbs. And he began fidgeting all over again. "Alright, okay, great. That's what I'm gonna do."

"All right."

His hands left her arms, instead placing themselves around her delicate neck and caging her velvety curls in his palms. A light shiver ran down her spine and she wasn't sure if it was the coldness of his fingers or the warmth of his touch. It was firm yet tender and she sensed her pulse picking up in rate with each passing second.

"Okay, ready?"

Cassandra only nodded, unable to speak all of a sudden. Maybe she wasn't drunk enough to stop her feelings and thoughts taking over her senses after all. 

Her eyes flicked to his heart-shaped lips before making the stupid mistake of glancing back at him and meeting his eyes. His face was open and vulnerable in the streetlamps and fireworks above them and she caught a hint of wonder on it as they stared at each other. Slowly, he began leaning closer. And she swallowed down the tiny gasp that dared escaping her lips.

"One, two.." He paused then, scowling at himself. "No, wait. I'm not actually gonna count down."

"O-okay."

"That's not my style when I kiss."

"Okay."

"I don't count d-"

"Tae, it's fine," Cassandra giggled, interrupting his ramble. She'd never seen him ramble before. Was he.. flustered? She'd always imagined him kissing lots of women in disguise. Even if he always claimed not even Jimin, the actual flirtatious among them, did that.

The thumbs on her cheek gently brushed the stray strands aside then. His eyes shifting to hers again. The last fireworks sparkled in them and for a moment his heart forgot how to beat.

"R-ready?"

"Yeah," she breathed.

He closed his eyes, his face coming close. A deep crease set between his brows then, making his face look rather angry for a kiss. And her tipsy mind ultimately lost focus upon that hilarious realisation.

"What's this face!" she bursted out laughing, unable to contain herself and he backed off, irritated about her laughing fit.

"W-what face?"

"You can't make that face when you try kissing someone," she choked out in between of laughs while pointing at him.

"Oh, so you say something's wrong with my face now?" Taehyung only scoffed, somehow glad about the interruption though. He wondered if his fingers were actually shaking or if it was from the vibrations of her laughter.

"No, idiot! You're handsome and you know it!"

Startled at the unexpected compliment, a timid smirk tucked on his lips at her drunm words. His chest warming despite him downplaying the muddled feeling that was raising. "Oh, so you think I'm handsome now?"

She groaned in annoyance, lightly hitting his chest over the coat. "Don't pretend."

"So, do you want me to kiss you or not?" His teasing smirk returning.

"Maybe if you didn't make that face."

"That's very nice of you considering I'm doing you a favor here," he laughed under his breath. Not remembering any woman having ever made him laugh so much despite complimenting and confusing him at the same time. 

Cassandra inhaled and exhaled deeply, calming himself again somehow. "Alright, let's do this already. No big deal," she nodded to herself, sternly, "Just kiss me."

"Nope."

She gasped at his evil grin. "You were about to, though!"

Taehyung only shrugged unimpressed and abruptly let go of her. "Yeah, before you bruised my ego," he retorted simply, causing her to huff.

"C'mon," she nudged his arm, "I'm sorry. I promise I won't laugh again."

"Apology accepted. But I'm not gonna kiss you." His lopsided smirk torturous, making her frustration grow.

"You're making such a big deal out of it, just kiss me already!"

"I'm not gonna kiss you!"

"Kiss me!"

"No! Not like this!"

Cassandra paused. Her parted lips, ready to counter something back in their bickering, abruptly pressed together into a thin line when processing his last words. She stared at his now bewildered face when he also realised what he had just unintentionally confessed.

"What?" she blinked confused, "What does that mean?"

Taehyung's eyes were wide, panic clouding his mind. "No. No-nothing. I just, I didn't mean it like that," he began with a terrible stutter the longer he looked at her inquiring eyes.

It didn't make sense. He was always capable of staying cool-headed even in stressful situation. It was inevitable in heists and when being in diguise. Then why did he totally blank out with the way her warm bambi eyes were digging daggers into his as the seconds passed. "I just, I mean we can't like that because that's not - it's very - like, you don't.. That's not what -" 

But Cassandra didn't even seem to be listening anymore, staring absendmindedly up at the sky instead, being clearly still tipsy and all over the place - he could tell.

Taehyung stilled then. The beanie was pulled to her brows, scarf hiding half her face. Only her round eyes peeked out, holding a lovely innocent wonder in them.

It was irrational. It was scary. How it was more thrilling celebrating with her and cheap wine from a 24/7 store at the beach, than being in an expensive smoking on a yacht surrounded by millionairs while drinking the most expensive champagne.

Cassandra abruptly shook herself out of her short abstraction then and flashed him a smile. 

"Come, let's leave or you wanna get hypothermia?" She was joking, but he noticed her anew shivering and he realised she must still be cold. 

"Y-yeah, let's go."

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The new year was only a couple of hours old. Quite early to go home for most, but Cassandra felt exhausted despite having completely sobered up by now. Much to her own dismay, she wasn't the night owl she'd used to be anymore.

The air felt colder when she turned into her street. The way home taking longer than expected due to what it seemed half of the city being out on the streets and traffic jams everywhere. Lines of cars, impatiently honking and only moving for a few centimetres before having to stop again.

Taehyung followed behind her, wanting to fetch his gift before leaving the city again. It wasn't unusual for him to only stay for a day there before having to move again, but somehow she'd hoped he'd stay longer. 

The night breeze hit his warm cheeks as they reached the front door and she fumbled with the keys in the dark. Eventually finding the right one and unlocking the door, allowing them both to enter.

The painting was on the coffee table where he'd left it. He picked it up, examining it one more time in silence before tucking it under his arm and heading back to where she was in the hallway. Still busy taking off her shoes and jacket.

"Thanks again for this," he smiled gently and watched her lowering the beanie, ruffling through her curls to give them some of their lost volume back. "I'll make sure to store it in a save place." His voice was almost a whisper when he attempted to open the door, only to sense her tugging at his coat.

"Wait, I-" She pursed her lips, gaze falling as she saw his questioning glance. "I wanted to say thank you for spending the turn of the year with me.. I appreciate you coming all the way here so I wouldn't be lonely tonight."

His lips parted, taken aback. Had it been so obvious after all? However, he chose to pretend being confused and not knowing what she meant instead. "Who says that was my reason?"

Cassandra shrugged, lips curling into a rueful smile. "Maybe I just wished it was.. Whatever it was, still thank you. And I'm sorry."

Taehyung frowned. Gaze falling as well. "No need to apologise," he muttered, instinctively knowing what she was referring to. He swallowed then, shoving his free hand into his pocket. 

In retrospective, it hadn't been such a big deal and yet, he was glad he hadn't proceeded to kiss her like that. He knew he'd have regretted in the long run.

"I feel like it, though," Cassandra continued then with a sigh, "I feel so stupid. I shouldn't have insisted on keeping a tradition. Especially since I don't even believe in supersticious stuff."

He eyed her with a doubtful look, making her roll her eyes and sigh in defeat.

"Fine, I do. Sometimes. Some stuff. Not all."

He chuckled lightly making her smile.

Truth was, Cassandra was disappointed in herself for getting so weak and desperate, putting him in such a position and creating this awkward tension between them.

"Tae, you didn't have to kiss me." She felt like she needed to underline this. Her voice small and filled with guilt and shame. "Please, don't feel bad."

"I know, don't worry," he reassured before they grew quiet. 

In times like this she really disliked his withdrawn and secretive personality. Usually his aloof and coy aura intrigued her, but right now she needed him to speak to her. And the fact he didn't, made her fidgety.

They stood there for a second longer. 

Faint music was echoing from somewhere in the building while the piercing sound of lonely firecrackers was heard from the streets.

"Well, okay good then.. goodnight. And Happy New Year again." She tried sounding cheerful, masking her regret of screwing things over in her irrational state.

She wouldn't see him again for an indefinite period and that was how they'd be parting ways now. She hated herself from two hours ago.

Dragging out a breath, she reached for the door handle to let him out when a grip on her elbow prevented her from doing so. 

Taehyung grabbed her arm and in a swift move, pulled Cassandra into his chest. Strong arms catching her, wrapping around her smaller figure and before she could even properly react, his lips had already engulfed hers.

That was it. All the self-control she'd exerted over the past months went straight out the window in that moment. Her neurological system completely shutting down by the overload of neurotransmitters, hormones and endorphines, simply swiping her mind blank with the only remaining thought being how incredible his warm lips felt against hers.

Her arms instinctively found their way around his neck to pull him even closer. Feeling the cold metal of his necklace against her fingertips. And she kissed him back fiercely, Taehyung wounding his hands more into her long hair at this. It curled around his fingers, silky and fluffy and for a moment he lost any sense of time or his surroundings when all he could feel was the vibration of her skin against his and the bewitching rum-lime taste of her lips full of unspoken feelings and endless promises. 

Their lips moved, molding, melting into one another. Whatever logic and reason there had been, had long gone away. There was nothing left but their intertwined lips and breaths.

Eventually, they slipped from each other after what felt like an eternity but could have only been a minute. Panting against each other.

Their eyes remained closed, not daring opening and letting that moment ending in smoke so soon. Taehyung rested his dazed forehead against hers and leaned in. Planting one last kiss on her lips, this time less heated but rather tender and mellow. Savioring the last bit of the sour-tasting liquor mixed with his sweet wine. And Cassandra leaned into him more before they let go of each other at last.

Her eyes fluttered open immediately, dark lashes lining against her pale skin in a state of surreal haze. He wasn't sure if she'd ever looked more beautiful as in that moment, right after he'd kissed her and he felt the urge to do it again at this sight. 

"I meant something like that."

With that, he stepped back and picked up the painting from where he'd set it on the ground. Brushing past her. And he left without saying anything else.

Cassandra stood there in the empty hallway, stunned. Everything around her was spinning and she feared she was intoxicated all over again.

Her fingers slowly rose then to touch her numb lips. Ensuring they were still there. Along with the lasting sense of Taehyung's touch.

Her New Year's wish had finally come true.

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next chapter: 0.8 here

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