#it’s too tall for me and I can barely reach the pedals

[freefolkfightorflight]

Making soup.

I put away some laundry

Answered a phone call.

Need to go to dmv 🙄 dreading it bad. Need to just try to make it happen tomorrow but it’s iffy with everything closing. Gotta get the kids by 11 from school.

I know this sounds like nothing but it’s a lot for me right now. I’m overwhelmed and weepy and struggling somethin fierce. But god damn this broth is exquisite.

#It’s really hard having just one person in your whole life. #I want a family sob #I need a mom and dad #siblings #I need help and it’s non existent #I don’t know what I’m going to do #re car #driving my bfs but I hate it bc I’m so scared I’ll mess it up somehow #it’s too tall for me and I can barely reach the pedals #I’m so scared of literally life right now and I’m not sure how to function in society #I’m drowning #I can’t afford a new car #I can’t afford anything #how do people make it? #my bf got me groceries so I’m not utterly desolate #the language culture barrier is real though #I’m lucky I’m not dead #I know that #but I’m in a head space where I wish I had atleast been placed in a coma for like a year 😳😫 #I know it’s awful #I’m not going to hurt myself.

[astroboots]

EVERY YOU EVERY ME: Issue #1

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You are falling from the 44th floor of the Chrysler building when you're saved by the unfriendly neighborhood Spider-man: Miguel O'Hara.

Word count: 930 words.

Astroboot’s Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

[Next Issue]

You are falling from the 44th floor of the Chrysler building towards certain death. 

Life doesn't flash before your eyes. Maybe your life was too unremarkable to have stand out moments worth a replay. 

A run of the mill childhood. An unsatisfactory office job. Single, no kids, just a toxic relationship with your phone and a tiktok addiction. It's no surprise there is no reel of Kodak moments as the brick cladding whizzes you by.  

The only image in your head is a blur of shiny red and blue spandex, shoving into your side that split second before you were flung out of the skyscraper. 

The wind rushes past you and into your eyes. Arms sprawling to your side, instinctively trying but failing to clutch to anything solid.

You try not to think about how much it's going to hurt when your skull hits the pavement. Instead you think about how statistically, every year in New York alone an average of 3,000 people either die or is so gravely injured that they cannot rejoin the workforce due to Supes incidents. Something you learned on your first day as an insurance underwriter. 

And now here you are, falling through the sky, about to become a statistic. Head first like you are diving into a swimming pool from a trampoline. Except instead of water it is going to be the hard, punishing concrete of New York. 

Fuck. You are going to die. 

This can't be the end. You've barely lived. 

The wind beats against your face, the grey concrete grows wider and nearer, eating into the rest. You're not ready. 

You don't want to die. 

Oh god, you don't want to die yet.

You want to live. You want to live. You want to live. You want to-- 

Everything slows to a halt like you've stepped on the break pedals in a car and the view from the windows no longer speeds past you. For a moment you think it must be a trick of your mind, trying to spare you from the pain. 

Then everything goes in reverse, pulled back into the air as the grey concrete recedes again. Instead of falling it feels like you are flying. In your vision grey concrete is replaced by red and blue. 

You don't know what's happening but a firm solid weight wraps around your torso that reminds you of an embrace. 

"I got you," an unfamiliar voice tells you. You reach out and instead of empty air, the welcomed warmth of the man's broad shoulders and firm chest meets your touch. 

"You're safe," he continues, reassuringly. His voice is calm and deep and even though you don't know this man, haven't even seen his face, you trust him. 

You're saved. 

The two of you descend. Not falling. It's controlled, like you're gently floating downwards and this time without the threat of impending death looming by your feet, you have a moment to take in your surroundings, of New York spread out below you.

Dots of people and cars are gathered in awed commotion. They are pointing up while you slowly descend in the air. When the two of you land on the ground, it's so soft you don't even feel it until he sets you down on your tippy toes. 

He's tall. Now that you're standing on your feet the height difference is inescapable. His body frame towers you and practically blocks out the sun. 

He's clad in dark-blue spandex from head to toe, not an inch of skin bared. There's an emblem of a red and angry looking death-metal spider etched on his chest, and an outline of the same red where his eyes are supposed to be. 

You've just been saved by a superhero.

"Tha-thank you," you manage to stutter out. 

He lets you go, and doesn't say anything. Doesn't acknowledge your gratitude. Even though you can't see his eyes, you can sense him staring at you. 

Did you do something wrong?

It's your first bona fide superhero experience. You don't know what's customary here. Why is he not speaking to you? Why is he just standing there like he's waiting for something. Are you supposed to tip him or something? 

Out of nowhere, his hands fling out to grip at your shoulders. You barely have the time to wince, because he's already leaning closer. His masked face is so close that his nose is almost touching yours. Close enough that he'd barely need to tilt to kiss you. 

"Uhm... wait I-- " 

The mask disintegrates, tanned skin eating into the red and blue material as it reveals his face, and you find his dark eyes staring down at you like he's seen a ghost.  

Wait wait! Do Superheroes do this? Can they reveal their face? Aren't they supposed to keep their identities secret. 

You blink up at him dumbfounded. 

He's handsome. A crown of cotton-soft curls that cascades over his forehead. Cheeks so sharp, you wonder if he uses them as weapons to defeat whatever villain of the week he faces. 

He's very handsome. But something is wrong here. There's no smile on his face. He's glaring down at you, his mouth twisted into a snarl as if the sight of you turns his stomach. 

"Shit," he growls. "This was a mistake." 

You're confused. The gentleness in his voice when he saved you mid-air has been replaced by a sneer. "I should have let you fall." 

Without another word, he turns away from you. The mask materializes out of thin air to cover his face. He swoops into the air and then he's gone. 

~ Next Issue

Dedications & Credit: Guess who finally had a chance to see the new Spiderman!!!!!!! Dedicated to my poor beloved clown sister @thirstworldproblemss who has been kept up three nights in a row listening to me screech about this movie and then I held her hostage as we outlined this story together.

Without her, writing would never be as fun as it is. I am so grateful to have her as a friend, a confidant and hostage victim.

I don't have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

#across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #spiderman #marvel #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #mcu #oscar isaac #spiderverse

[3minsover]

Tunnel of Love - a Steddie drabble

Steve’s eighteen years old when he visits a carnival for the first time.

It pitches up on the outskirts of town; bright lights and whirling rides and twinkling music, shrieks of delight and clanging of metal. He and some friends, finished with school for the summer, venture towards the gleaming archways and painted boards, barely containing their childlike excitement. They go on near every ride, try every game - fixed as they may be. He and Robin take turns smashing a cartoonish hammer down on a metal plate, he and Jon cast rings over bottle necks, win teddies and toys for the girls.

Evening creeps around them soft and warm, as they head towards the bumper cars, sugar fizzing like glitter through their veins. Steve doesn’t notice the man working the attraction until he’s sitting in his little car, ready to twist and bump and laugh.

“Right pedal means go, left means stop, don’t hit anyone too hard if you can help it.” Steve looks up, takes in a tall, slender guy about his age with waves of dark hair crushed into a knot at the back of his head. He’s bracing one foot against the hood of Steve’s bumper car, leaning his elbow on his knee. The man’s eyes are huge and dark, darker than his hair, and all at once Steve’s breath is swept from his lungs. His heart sets to pounding faster than any ghost train could manage. He’s beautiful. Rugged and sharp-jawed and the tip of his nose is rounded just so, and Steve simply gawks, swallows, nods. “You gonna be alright there, big boy?”

“Y-yeah. alright,” Steve forces out, and then the guy tilts back, shoving at Steve’s car with his booted foot to send it sweeping over the metal plane and out into the arena.

Steve tries to focus on having fun, tries desperately not to whip his head around to catch another glimpse of the man whenever he’s not being actively prevailed upon by Nancy, or Rob. He manages it a couple times, manages to snatch a glance towards him where he stands, a cigarette pinched between two fingers, leaning against the wooden frame of the ticket booth. And each time, the man’s gaze is already waiting for him. Steve forgets to have fun, forgets to breathe between jolts and jerks, and when the cars grind to a halt again, he finds himself leaping up from the low seat and clambering out of the car, heedless of his friends’ confusion.

“What time dyou get off?” Steve asks as he reaches the man’s earshot. He smiles, drops his cigarette to the ground and pushes up from the wall.

“Give me an hour. You been on the Tunnel of Love yet?” The man raises a quizzical eyebrow. Steve’s breath catches at the implication, and he shakes his head. “Meet me there. Lemme show you why it’s got that name.”

Steve parts with his friends, leaving them suspicious but satisfied with his cheerful grin and enthusiastic wave, and waits. He waits by the Tunnel of Love, lulled by the twang and lilt of the music from within, and hopes his man will come. Sure enough, he appears, sauntering through the dust and diesel, the shrieks and shine. Steve feels the thrill of electricity sparking static between them as he nears, as his face splits into a soft smile.

“I didn’t get your name,” Steve states cautiously once he’s close enough.

“You didn’t ask,” the man smirks, taking Steve’s hand and leading him, walking with easy backwards steps, towards the tunnel’s entrance.

“Tell me?” Steve’s voice is light, twinkling like the flickering beams above.

“Eddie. And what’s yours, pretty boy?”

The night slips away, sand through fingertips, and Steve is thrilled, exhilarated by Eddie’s gentle voice and easy touch.

The first time Steve kisses Eddie, it’s under the red-pink glow of tunnel lights, pressed close on a tiny boat fit just about for two. The first time their bodies intertwine, it’s under the silver-white glint of the stars, laid bare on the bed of Eddie’s truck. Over the six weeks that follow, in the comfort and and freedom of summer, they have more first times, more and more; Steve visits the carnival most days, seeks out the smiling kisses and eager hands behind backboards, knowing that each first time draws them closer to the last.

And so it comes.

It comes creeping, with the quiet understanding that this too must pass. Their last kiss is not like their first, not fumbling in semi-darkness or through smile-tight lips, but slow and delicate, as though either one might break if the other presses too hard. Their last kiss says words they never dared speak aloud, speaks apologies for all they’ll never do, chants promises to which neither can remain true.

Steve goes to college in the fall.

The carnival has left town, and with it, the magic. The enchantment is broken, yet the spell remains. Steve studies, parties, comes home for Christmas, but the phantom twinkle of funfair music, the shimmer of lights seems always just out of sight.

All that never was lingers in Steve’s soul, the yearning for a man long gone, one he’ll never see again. Steve tries to move on, tries to forget, but in his dreams, night and day alike, he’s back there again under the stars and the lights, there with the man for whom he fell hard and without reservation. To whom no one ever quite compares.

It’s ten years before the town sees another carnival. Steve’s certain it’s not the same one, not Eddie’s one, but he and Robin visit all the same, for old time’s sake. They arrive just before dusk, when the sky is pink and peach, and the grass begins to sparkle with dew. Steve wanders for a while, knows where he wants to go but fears what he’ll find. Or, what he won’t.

But when robin suggests they take a spin on the bumper cars, Steve simply nods, follows her there. His heart pounds, and he can’t look, can’t focus, can’t breathe. He clambers into a little red car, drops his chin to his chest and attempts to plaster on a joyful smile, when-

“You alright there, big boy?” And there he is. With a couple more tattoos, a little more muscle and a few more crinkles by the corners of his eyes, but there’s Eddie, leaning down as he had all those years before, smiling in that mischievous way Steve used to love. Steve nods, swallows, smiles back.

“Y-yeah. alright,” he whispers, and he knows that now, here, he is.

#steddie #steddie au #steve harrington x eddie munson #originally posted on twitter #twitter crosspost

[krisingtons]

For the visual prompt game I give you: a reunion hug in a wild flower field at sunset (and can I request it to be dadmight)

I love your work and your stories and one-shots are amazing

Thank you so much for the kind words and the prompt, Jar! This is a really good one for this ask game, because my first thought was, "I wonder what the flowers smell like..." But I will stay on task!

(And yes, I had to look up many visual references for this!)

Careful Steps

Toshinori took long, measured steps in the tall grass, careful not to disturb any of the precious petals all around him. Pink had never been his color, but something about the tiny flower blooms scattered in the thick, green grass reminded him of Izuku's cheeks when they blushed in surprise or embarrassment. Besides, this field was a sacred space to him.

A space for family.

Unlacing his large hands from where they had been clasped behind his back, he let his right hand trail over the soft pedals with great care as they blew in the evening breeze. Glancing up, he found himself nearing the tree he told Izuku to meet him at, illuminated by the setting sun. It was the perfect place for Izuku to tell him all about the Provisional Licensing Exam.

The perfect place to bask in the pride he felt in his successor.

"All Might!"

Toshinori whipped around at the sound of the oh-so-familiar voice, his bangs fluttering in the wind as he did so. He had no way of knowing this, but his position from Izuku's view perfectly silhouetted his golden hair against the orange sun, causing Izuku to slow down in wonder. But Toshinori barely noticed the hesitation. He headed toward the boy with much less care than how he started his journey, a rush of something sending him forward. Reaching his thin arms out, Toshinori wrapped Izuku up in the biggest hug he could manage, lifting him off the ground.

"I missed you, my boy," All Might said without thinking. A thrum of fearful excitement over the confession radiated throughout him.

"You saw me this morning," Izuku said, which would have had Toshinori backtracking, except Izuku held on tighter as soon as he tried to set him down. Toshinori shifted enough to kneel before him, the tall grass and pink anemones reaching both of their shoulders, then brought him back in tight.

"It was a long day," Toshinori sighed, bringing a hand to the back of Izuku's head.

"What happened?" Izuku asked, worry evident in his voice. Toshinori pulled out of the hold and stood up.

"I'll tell you later," he said, holding out his hand to Izuku. "Why don't you tell me about the exam?" Toshinori watched as Izuku stared at his outstretched hand, as if he was trying to comprehend the offer. For a minute, Toshinori thought to pull away, worried he was being too forward. He had dared to hope that Izuku's text to him right after receiving his license was out of something more than being a teacher. It almost seemed like the kind of text a kid might send to their parent, but perhaps he had been wrong.

All that panic melted away, though, the instant Izuku placed his hand into his own. Izuku began his long story of the exam as they each took careful steps together through the flowers to reach the green, spindly tree not far ahead of them. They let each other's hands go when they went to sit on the grassy earth and lean against the sharp, brown bark. Side by side, they looked out at the sunset before them.

Toshinori listened to Izuku's tale, his hands clasped before him in his lap while Izuku gestured wildly with each exciting detail. Affection bubbled in Toshinori's chest at the sight, a soft smile ever-present on his face. It only fell when Izuku reached the end, an uncertain look in his eyes.

"I'm so proud of you, young Midoriya," he said, bringing a hand to Izuku's hair to ruffle it. Then, to Toshinori's delighted surprise, before he could pull his hand away, Izuku leaned in so that Toshinori's arm was forced to come around him in a half-hold. The boy wrapped his arms around Toshinori's torso, carefully yet somewhat desperately.

"I missed you, too," Izuku admitted, "and I wish you could have been there."

Toshinori let out a smiling sigh as he brought his other arm around to hold Izuku fully, leaning his hollow cheek against Izuku's head.

"I wish I could have been there, too. But I'm here now."

"How did you even find this place?" Izuku asked, his green eyes gazing out at the field before them as the sun hit the horizon. Toshinori let his own gaze follow to the sea of pinks and greens and oranges, humbled by its gentle, quiet majesty.

"My master showed me this place long ago," he said wistfully. "I've been meaning to bring you here for a long time." He turned his head back to Izuku, who continued to gaze out at the expanse. "Thank you for meeting me here." Izuku held him tighter.

"Thank you for..." Izuku paused, his chest expanding from a deep breath before closing his eyes and leaning his head fully against Toshinori's chest. "Thank you," he concluded with no further explanation.

"No thanks needed," Toshinori replied as they watched the final rays of the sun disappear from the sky. "The pleasure is all mine."

#bnha microfic #bnha fanfic #dadmight #dad might #toshinori yagi #yagi toshinori #izuku midoriya #midoriya izuku #bnha #all might #my hero academia #bnha fanfiction #ask games #fanfic ask game #jarofemotionss #no spoilers

[boop-le-snoot]

main masterlist ☀️ taglist & faq

hot wheels | natasha romanoff x reader

explicit, 5,2k words, f/f. meet-ugly but still very much wholesome. we love a girlboss. natasha catches some random woman keying her brand new car but decides to be the better person for once and hear the woman out. turns out, being the better person can even get one laid! warnings: singular use of the d-slur, references to an abusive ex, lesbian sex.

[no y/n, no "you", nickname only, no reader description - race/age/body type neutral, she/her pronouns]

Natasha gave the tall, lanky boy an unimpressed look as she side-stepped the arguing couple to avoid colliding with the annoyed, teary-eyed woman the boy was groveling to. It was nearing rush hour and there was shopping to be done before the heavy NYC traffic could steer her already busy schedule down into an unmanageable chaos.

"But, Foxy, you know I didn't mean it! I love you, more than anything!"

The items on the spy's list were checked off methodically, item after item landing in the cart with a quiet thud as the redhead maneuvered through the isles with tactical precision. The usual afternoon crowd began to fill the store, taking up the so-needed breathing space; Natasha's shopping trip wasn't a moment of leisure and with her neverending to-do list full, she hurried to the self-check-out register, flying through the motions mindlessly.

Scan, place, beep, boop, pay, load up the bags, make way to the car, load up and pedal to the metal.

Scratch that. No, scratch - Natasha's eyes bulged as she neared her shiny, brand new Charger, seeing the obvious defects even from a mile away: the paint, previously cherry red and gleaming in the sun, ruined by a series of thin, gray lines, standing out unpleasantly on the otherwise pristine vehicle.

And the culprit, who's tuft of hair peeked over the hood of the car on the other side of the Charger, almost fully hidden between her car and the large Chevrolet in the next parking spot over.

Natasha's fingers clenched around the handle of the cart as she fought the urge to reach for her knife safely holstered under her leather jacket. "Excuse me?" Tone quiet and deadly, the spy prepared herself to fight or at least slightly shake up the hooligan.

The figure froze, vaguely familiar clothing and a puffy, tear-stained face slowly rising from behind Natasha's car. "In my defense, he deserves it," the girl - Foxy - the one that was arguing in front of the store earlier, declared through a stream of angry tears. "Call the cops if you want, I don't care." It was unclear if the girl recognised her, the Black Widow, as she made no move to run for the hills, just pathetically sniffled, pocketing the keys she used to scratch Natasha's car.

"That's my car," The spy responded flatly, a great deal of amusement crawling into her face as Foxy's eyes bulged, jaw fell slack, horror plain and evident overshadowing the waterworks. Natasha quickly pieced two and two together but patiently waited for the initial shock to subside before popping a question. "A word of advice, if I may?"

Foxy nodded, dumbfounded, frantically scrambling for the contents of her pockets, searching for something with the agility of a panicking cat, more than half of the contents spilling out onto the ground.

Natasha unlocked the car, popping the trunk and loading in her bags as she raised her voice to be heard over the noise of a busy parking lot. "Don't mess with the paint, the insurance will cover it. Slash three tires - not four - or take a swing at the front bumper and the headlights," the trunk slid shut with a quiet click as the spy inspected the damages close-up. Her Charger looked like it was attacked by a pack of aggressive, feral cats with nails of steel. "And always check the number plates before committing acts of vandalism to make sure you're enacting revenge on the right person." The last part was said with a smirk.

As the spy stepped closer to Foxy, she noted the excessive puffiness of her cheeks and the shaking fingers that held a checkbook and a pen. The woman looked torn between terrified and apologetic, worrying her lip between her teeth. "I'm so, so sorry. Todd just got his new car, it's identical to yours and I didn't get the chance to memorize the number plate yet," the offending man's name was said with a pitiful growl. "How much?" She weakly motioned to the ruined bodywork.

"What'd he do?" Natasha didn't resist her curiousity, leaning against the driver's side door and sizing up the other woman. She was pretty, well-dressed and reasonably wealthy on the first sight. "Yeah, he looked like a Todd," The quip slipped from the redhead's lips as she remembered the man from earlier. Foxy looked way too good to be wasting her time on someone who looked like an adolescent that hadn't outgrown his skater boy phase.

Foxy chuckled shyly at Natasha's remark, smoothing a hand over her face. "Lord, where do I even begin..." The sigh was loud and long. "He lived in my apartment rent-free, made me give up my cat by lying about his allergies, went through nine low-wage jobs in two years, did nothing but play video games in his free time and developed a pot addiction, thus spending all his money on it," she began steadily but her tone grew in pitch with every added offence as Natasha's eyebrows climbed higher and higher. "My last straw was when he took out a loan he couldn't pay off to buy his brand new cool car," the words were spat out with venom. "I threw him out last Saturday. He's been following me around all the time," Foxy continued, growing dark in the face. "And then I found out he had been cheating on me for I don't know how long. I just... I just lost it," she finished pathetically, all but crumbling into a pile of human misery.

Natasha's face had frozen into mute disbelief somewhere around the first half of the story, repulsion and astonishment mixing into a flurry of quiet rage on the random woman's behalf. Menfolk were bizarre animals, and as much as the spy felt herself annoyed by her roommates at the tower, she couldn't help but feel relieved that the men surrounding her were far from douchebags of the casual variety. This Todd, however, was no amateur, and had done Foxy really, really dirty.

The redhead made up her mind rather quickly. "That's a lot to unpack," she carefully studied the micro-expressions on the other woman's face. "I have a couple of nice bottles of wine at my place and nobody to share them with. Care for a glass?"

Foxy's eyes widened once more. "I don't- I don't want to take up your time, I mean, I'm sure you've got more important shit to do, like save the world and y'know..." The stammering was followed by a shy look to the side.

So, Foxy had recognised her. And she didn't go running the other way like most people that encountered her in disadvantageous situations did. "I actually don't, I was just getting my shopping done for a lack of better things to do," Natasha lied seamlessly, motioning to the other side of the car. "Hop in." Mission reports and Barton's pizza date could wait.

The woman made quick way around, buckling into the seat in seconds, right before Natasha peeled off from the parking lot towards the Avengers tower at breathtaking speeds. The car was a gift from Tony - one of the rare things he managed to get right - and an absolute pleasure to drive.

"What's your name?" The redhead asked, juggling the steering and her smartphone effortlessly.

The woman rattled of her first and last name on between attempts to fix her runny make-up and wipe the dried snot and tears off her face. "Foxy is a nickname my gramps gave me, said I used to excessively play with fox pelts in the attic when I was a kid," the woman added with a snort, totally oblivious to Natasha's eyebrow raise as the spy read the information on her in-between overtaking slower cars.

Good student, good family life, stable income and good career growth in a prospective sector. What did Foxy even find in a guy like Todd? The most important information, however, was also most pleasing. No ties to any kind of intelligence gathering organizations.

As Natasha parked and popped the trunk once more, the other woman offered a hand with her shopping bags. Friday acknowledged the newcomer, startling her, causing Natasha to roll her eyes and mention, loudly, that if Tony decided to pay them a surprise visit, he may end up castrated or shot on sight, much to Foxy's bashful snickering.

Once the shopping was put away and the wine opened, the spy let herself curl up on the couch opposite the woman who studied her Spartan style apartment with curios eyes. The lack of knick knacks must've been a surprise for her: Natasha's apartment looked bare compared to what she'd seen in other's people's homes but the desire to make the environment more cozy had never been strong enough to actually act upon it. She wasn't used to staying in a place for very long.

"Do you still want to get back at the bastard?" The redhead asked once the first bottle was coming to an end. The alcohol was sitting low, pleasantly warm in their bellies and the food that they'd ordered in the middle of a casual chit-chat lulled them into a state of comfortable stupor.

"I want to gouge his eyes out and wear them as a battle trophy," Foxy was slightly slurring her words, much more affected by the wine than the stoic, experienced agent. "But I guess I can settle for petty crime or arson."

"I'm sensing you didn't tell me the whole list of grievances," true to her words, the spy felt as it there was a possibility quite a few things were being left unsaid.

Foxy sighed once again, placing the empty glass on the table and using her palm to prop her flushed face against it, blankly staring off into the far end of the room. "I came out as bisexual last year and he was giving me so much shit for it. Todd kept pushing for a threesome and when I refused, started accusing me of cheating during our fights, called me a whore a couple of times," the more she spoke, the higher Natasha's anger levels rose.

Not only was a Todd a dick, he was an abusive one. Truly, the grand prize of Asshat Lottery. "I have an idea or three," the spy twirled the remaining red liquid in her glass before downing it. "But it'll have to stay between us two."

"I'm listening," Foxy turned to meet Natasha's face, eyes considerably more alert than seconds before.

A few days past their amicable wine-and-revenge get-together, Natasha's doorbell rang as if she wasn't already had been made aware by Friday that a visitor was coming up to see her. Boxes of hair bleach and dye laid stacked on the living room table, surrounded by jewelry and assorted accessories. A pitcher of fresh sangria topped the ensemble, two clean glasses placed neatly on the tray next to it.

"Hi, Nat," Foxy's smile was a mile wide - a far cry from the sniffling sad sack of a woman the spy had first met. The nickname flowed freely from the woman's lips, as calm as Natasha's own answering grin and greeting. "I gots the stuff," waving her purse about, the woman kicked off her shoes by the door, approaching Natasha with the same smile that seemed to be more effective at lightening up the room than Tony's expensive designer lamps.

As Natasha's plan achieved a solid state, the two women had quickly come to a realization that Natasha was far too recognizable with her signature red hair and over a flurry of text messages, the decision to switch to a warm caramel blonde was made unanimously. Foxy had rebuked any and all Natasha's attempts to affirm she'd be able to do it herself and the spy gave into the other's chiding, relenting to have her hair dyed by a person who at least had a possibility of seeing the back of her head without having to perform acrobatic tricks.

Foxy was an easygoing, non-problematic person. She was fun to have around, quiet but witty, with intelligent eyes and a realistic view on the world. It was something Natasha valued, alongside the lack of probing questions regarding her past or her job - her insides clenched uncomfortably at the thought of having to lie about those things, or even worse, having to admit to the wrongdoings in her past, however Foxy carefully steered away from topics that were sensitive and never gave Natasha as much as a side-eye if the spy appeared to lack some minor detail that normal women her age all seemed to be aware of.

The curiosity had her ready to burst. Nat's natural defense mechanisms were quite confused, not sure what to make of the woman who almost too friendly to be true, but the kindness in her eyes and the sometimes shy, awestruck looks she gave Natasha when she thought the redhead wasn't looking made up for it in spades.

"What do you think?" The noise of the hair dryer finally ceased, Foxy's voice echoing in Natasha's luxuriously large bathroom.

The newly-blonde spy studied her reflection with a tilt to her head. The ombre was a nice touch - her own hair was naturally darker than the caramel and honey blonde she had chosen, so the almost-brown shading at her roots took much away from the contrast between her lighter hair and darker brows. It was just another disguise for the spy, but somehow, this one felt more like home than any of the previous faces she had worn.

"I like it, you were right about the ombre," Natasha voiced her thoughts, eyes sliding over to the smiling woman behind her, feeling the corners of her mouth begin to creep upwards in involuntary response.

"You looked good with red hair, don't misunderstand me," Foxy briefly raised her hands. "But you have a light complexion and lighter colors do wonders for bringing out the youthfulness. Even if we don't have much joy these days, a good hair color is an opportunity to showcase the bit," she briefly touched her own hair in an exaggerated attempt at driving her point home.

The fun part was done, the time came to execute the revenge. It wasn't exactly anything special; rather, the plan was quite simple - let Todd make a fool out of himself in front of his friends and perhaps (a slightly, teensy possibility) get himself arrested. The two women took their time to get dolled up, not too much - but rather, adding just that little bit to themselves to easily attract moderate amounts of attention from men.

The bar was busy, noisy and full of people when the two women stepped through the door. Natasha's eyes scanned the room out of habit, easily spotting the tall, lanky Todd in the far end of the bar, laughing and boozing with equally pathetic-looking man-children. The urge to gag was almost irresistible.

The spy let herself to be led to the bar by Foxy who looked mildly uncomfortable. Natasha was sure that if she was to touch the other woman's face, it would be flaming under the circumstances. "Try to relax a little, I won't bite," with a quip to her companion, Nat ordered them a vodka cranberry each, sitting down with her back to the men. "Tell me when he notices us and starts moving this way."

Foxy nodded minutely, clutching her drink for dear life and taking generous sips to calm herself down and relax like the spy had requested. They talked about everything and nothing in between, Natasha's hand on Foxy's knee crawling closer to her hip as minutes passed by without interruption. Loud noises of men playing darts and drunkenly cheering reached the womens earshot every now and then, causing Foxy to throw increasingly infuriated glances towards her ex-boyfriend and the Black Widow's current victim of choice.

Sitting opposite the perfectly composed, smiling woman, it was clear as day she was, indeed, best of the best. Despite knowing Foxy for only a few days, Natasha managed to pull off a very convincing girlfriend: her body language was nothing short of absolutely besotted and the googly eyes the spy was making had Foxy constantly remind herself that it was only for show. There was no way this gorgeous, incredible human would be interested in someone as plain and ordinary as herself.

"Heads up," Foxy's smile suddenly grew a mile wide as she stared directly at Natasha, eyes alight with fury at the scene about to unfold. Natasha's reply was to briefly tighten the grasp on the other's leg in silent support.

"Hey, baby," Todd was drunk enough for the stench of his breath to reach both women. "Oh, I see you're with a friend," his attempt at flirting only made Natasha scrunch up her face like a cat that accidentally smelled a lemon.

"Leave me alone," Foxy stated firmly, knowing the phrase wouldn't do anything to deter her overzealous ex, but this time - she counted on it.

"It's okay, I can share," the slurred words had a couple of people nearby raise their eyebrows at the audacity.

"I'm not interested," Foxy snapped. "In fact, there is absolutely nothing your freeloading, cheating ass can bring to my table."

The woman radiated satisfaction as gasps sounded out around them; Todd was a regular at this bar and most people there knew him in one way or another. The moment of joy, however, was brief.

"Listen, bitch, you have no business talking to me like that," full of drunken bravado, the man spat angrily, taking unsteady steps closer to Foxy. "What you need is a decent man that can handle your outbursts, not some dyke..." before he could even utter another offensive syllable, Natasha had his wildly gesturing arm twisted painfully behind his back, easily forcing the inebriated man to his knees.

"Wanna try that again, champ?" Sarcasm flowed freely from the spy's lips as the patrons in the bar gasped. The civilian clothing and the new hair color might have been an effective short-term disguise but once the crowd had seen her neat little party trick and had taken a good look at her face, nobody was doubting her identity. "Call the cops, will you?" She addressed the shocked bartender who immediately scrambled to obey.

"I didn't do anything!" Todd cried out, eyes drunkenly darting between the Black Widow's quiet rage and Foxy's grim stone face.

"Huh, that's weird. Because I clearly heard and saw an attempted hate crime," Natasha's voice attained a sardonic tint. "And I have a bar full of witnesses," the spy shrugged, letting go of his arm but keeping a boot firmly planted on his back to prevent him from escaping. "I hope you have a lawyer."

Foxy snorted, reaching for her unfinished second drink. "Tough luck."

Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Todd's friends inching closer to the exit door second by second, as if they could stand a chance against a professionally trained secret agent. Luckily for them, Natasha wasn't interested in the remainder of Todd's gang of losers and merely raised an eyebrow when the other men reached the door, a tiny smirk appearing when his pleading eyes didn't cause any reaction in his friends, the spineless worms, hopping out of the door without as much as a goodbye to the man laying face-down on the dirty floor.

As soon as the police arrived, awestruck by one of the NYC's most famous superheroes just casually standing in a bar, they eagerly collected the inebriated offender, briskly escorting Todd to the squad car. The bartender and several other patrons confirmed Natasha's words that an attempted hate crime had taken place. Cops were in and out in less than fifteen minutes and the otherwise-pleasant hole-in-the-wall bar returned to its usual evening bustle.

"Celebratory shots?" Natasha laughed as Foxy exhaled, deep and slow, once her racing heart calmed down.

"My treat," the other woman motioned for the bartender and soon, a line of colorful glasses appeared in front of the women. Each downed a glass easily, slamming it back on the table. "Man, this is everything I never knew I needed," Foxy confessed with a shy smile. "Thanks, Nat. You're the best."

The spy responded with a satisfied smile, picking up another glass and holding it out for a toast. "To revenge well-deserved," the glass clicked, alcohol slid easily down their throats. "So, what now?"

Foxy's eyes shone in the bright lights of the bar, relieved and tipsy. The small empty glass twirled easily between her fingers. "Dunno," the shrug came and went. "Maybe go on vacation. To Florida."

Natasha let out a belly laugh, downing her last shot without as much as a stutter in her movements, Foxy's eyes lingering on the stray drops of alcohol running from the spy's plump lips. "A vacation with the crackheads? Romantic," the quip was received with an eyeroll from the other woman.

"Spoilsport," Foxy, too, finished her booze and placed the money and a hefty tip on the bar, tapping twice to get the bartender's attention. "I meant more like - lay on the beach, sip mimosas, look at sexy people in swimsuits..."

"Florida is for old people," Natasha objected, pulling her leather jacket back on and leading them both outside. The evening air was crisp, bringing a clearer head and re-arranging the thoughts back into a more sensible state.

Foxy easily picked up her pace to match Natasha's precise strides leading them in the direction of the former's building. The warm buzz of vodka coupled with the fresh air and her desire for retribution well-fed, Foxy settled into a comfortable silence next to the spy. They reached the building quickly, their pace brisk and distractions lacking.

"Care for a nightcap?" She didn't know what prompted her to blurt out the words; as soon as the words registered in her brain, they were already out and Foxy's face heated, fingers fumbling for the keys in her pocket, Natasha's touch still warm and lingering on the side of her leg.

The spy seemed amused, studying Foxy's nervous habits with a crooked smirk. "Sure," she agreed amicably, following the woman into the apartment building, not missing both the rigidity of her back and the added spring to her step.

A moderately sized, well-decorated apartment revealed itself behind the open door, scarcely illuminated by the NYC lights coming in from a glass wall in the living room, reflecting the vast living space furnished with a large couch.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Natasha turned around, stepping into the other woman's personal space with the grace of a predator. Two shining eyes stared back at her in the darkness, framed by fluttering lashes. Foxy's bottom lip disappeared behind her teeth, skin gleaming with perspiration.

The recently-turned blonde spy wasted no time caging the other woman between her body and the door, chests almost touching. The air around them was charged, Foxy's heart thudding loudly in her chest as she gulped. Natasha studied her expression, "You want this?" she whispered against her lips, sharing the oxygen between them.

"Ye-yeah," a short nod and a gasp later, the women were devouring each other, grasping at their hands and shoulders like they were drowning. Hot and wet and sharp from the booze, the kisses were as graceless as their fingers haste in removing each other's top layers of clothing.

The sharp corner of the living room archway dug painfully into Foxy's back, bringing an additional sense of awareness: this was real. This was happening. Natasha's blonde locks flowed through Foxy's fingers, soft and silky, a contrast to the teeth pulling on her lip in impatient hunger. Foxy grunted in response, parting from the other woman to send her t-shirt flying somewhere in the direction of the kitchen.

"Bedroom," mere minutes in and she already sounded utterly and throughly ruined.

"Couch," Natasha was equally feverish to get to the good parts. Her belt was unbuckled and the nice button-up she'd worn hung open, a plain white bra iriscendent on her alabaster skin.

Letting herself be led to the couch, Foxy could barely take her eyes off the woman in front of her, making sure she wasn't ogling Natasha outright yet secretly hoping to be caught anyway. The blonde was like a porcelain doll, unreal, firm and soft at the same time.

The moment Foxy gracelessly landed on the couch, Natasha was all up in her space, straddling the other woman with the grace of a savage cat; lips once more attached to her flesh, Natasha left a trail of hot, wet marks starting at the jawline and ending at the cups of Foxy's bra.

Not knowing what to do with her hands, Foxy grasped Natasha's hips, unable to hold back a moan heavy with lust as the spy ground down with her hips. It was exhilarating to see the other woman affected by their heavy make-out session; nothing short of absolutely smitten to see Natasha pull back, panting and disheveled, to shed her shirt and her bra.

Unable to resist the urge, Foxy's hands reached out to cup the spy's round breasts, tugging her closer to pop a rosy nipple into her mouth. Natasha shivered, arching into the caress, holding onto the other woman's hair and tugging it in the direction only she knew.

Natasha wasn't loud, she wasn't wild; her moans were more like muted gasps but her body spoke for her louder than any words: the grinding was getting more impatient, Natasha's hold grew stronger. As Foxy fumbled for the button of Nat's pants, she felt the soft, delicate lace underneath. Natasha had come prepared.

"Hold on," the spy mumbled, hopping off Foxy's lap to quickly push her pants and panties down her legs with practiced ease. The other woman followed suit, leaving herself to be bare besides her underwear, the attempt to remove them intercepted by Natasha. "Let me," quiet words tickled the skin of her throat where Nat had immediately attached her mouth.

Foxy scrambled to intake the oxygen she needed, letting herself feel the hot glide fully, having lost herself in pleasure, missing the exact moment Nat's fingertips breached the waistband of her panties. Soft and nimble, so different to a man's roughened skin, the sensation was as strange as it was sweet. The urge to arch and rock her hips against the nearest surface intensified and Foxy could only keen, quiet and high, causing Natasha to chuckle to herself.

"Enjoying yourself, sweet girl?" The miniscule trace of coyness seeped into the blonde's voice. The engorged, puffy, moist flesh of Foxy's lower lips parted eagerly to Natasha's experimental dip.

"Yeah, yes," the woman slid down, spreading her legs in invitation. "Please, touch me," begging to be filled in all the empty spaces, Foxy threw her head to rest against the back of the couch, watching Nat through unfocused eyes.

"Oh, I will," the spy purred, sliding lower to put her face next to Foxy's dripping cunt. The spy's fingers glistened with arousal and she popped them into her mouth, licking them clean before doing the same to her lover's swollen folds. The response was instantaneous and loud, Foxy shook under Natasha's expert teasing. "Stay still," she ordered quietly, patting Foxy's belly.

Molten, honeyed waves of bliss overtook common sense and awareness, tiny sparks shooting up Foxy's cunt every time Natasha suckled at her clit. The spy read her body like an open book, following the movements of her hips with her mouth, always a step ahead and slightly south. Foxy's peak was imminent, approaching rapidly, as Natasha's sweet merciless assault wrung every single drop of the thick, precious liquid out of her cunt.

It only seemed to gush more, the woman pushing her cunt into Natasha's face as the latter doubled down on her efforts to bring her to ecstasy.

The waves began deep in the pit of Foxy's stomach, making her legs tremble, her toes curl and the flutters of her cunt increase in speed and intensity. Silky soft and typhoon wet, her orgasm crashed her mind into million pieces and Nat dutifully extracted everything until the last drop with the skillful touch of her tongue and fingers.

"Tash," Foxy moaned. Her legs quivered at the slightest touch to her oversensitive cunt.

"Mhm," was the blonde's reply, contented humming getting closer and closer until the womens lips met once more in a fierce, passionate kiss.

Foxy's hands immediately sought purchase on Natasha's hips, searching for the spots that would make the spy's body song in the same way she'd done to Foxy; seemingly much more reserved, quiet but happy sighs broke past Nat's lips in response to gentle hands stroking where she was most sensitive.

"I've got a vibe in my bedroom," clarity finally broke through the orgasm haze, Foxy's brain slowly coming back to reality.

"No, I want your fingers," Natasha's reply was assertive as she moved her hips in tandem with Foxy's hand, dripping the sweetness of her around all over.

The urge to pop the fingers into her mouth was strong, so Foxy did just that, moaning at the tangy taste, Natasha's breath quietly stuttering at the sight in front of her.

"I want to eat you out," the words barely had left Foxy's mouth as Natasha flipped them so she was the one laying on the couch, spread-eagled and open for the other woman's eager mouth to explore. Wet, sloppy and so, so tender, Foxy let herself taste the arousal of her lover.

"Yeah," so soft, one could easily miss it, the approval didn't get lost in the headrush nonetheless. With grace, Foxy sought the spots that would force Natasha to break her silence with slow, broad motions until the blonde had no choice but to arch her hips into the sensations, chasing her pleasure, losing the aura of restraint she'd so carefully cultivated.

No time for self-control. The temperatures were climbing steadily with every single movement, both lost in their imperfect shared rhythm, the soft of Foxy's tongue and fingers like finest silks on Natasha's eager cunt. Two fingers slipped in without resistance, immediately seeking out the soft, spongy spot that made the blonde's toes curl and mouth open in a silent scream.

Foxy's free hand groped around for Natasha's ass hastily, bringing her hips closer to her mouth, tongue never ceasing its assault on the blonde's clit as her body grew more rigid, fingertips going white with the force she was gripping the comforter.

"Gospodi bozhe," came the mumble, the only warning before Natasha's powerful thighs locked Foxy in place as the blonde rode out her orgasm, violently shivering, dousing the other woman's face in her sweet release. Dutifully, Foxy stroked the silk of Natasha's skin everywhere she could reach, her hot breath on the blonde's pussy easing her back to Earth through the aftershocks.

Natasha's eyes opened, feeling her lover's look of adoration, and she cracked a reluctant but genuine smile. There was something about Foxy that was just so-

Natasha taglist (open, see fic hat for info; crossed out nicknames are the ones I couldn't tag, please update your info):

@mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @persephonehemingway @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @xoxabs88xox @marvelsbanner @sapphicnoodle69

#bun writes #bun writes: drabbles #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #black widow x female reader #black widow smut #black widow x reader

[lesbianrobin]

hi bestie can u rank the st characters most to least likely to commit vehicular manslaughter

hey bestie i love u <3 here u go!!

1. nancy. i feel this needs no explanation. nancy’s hit the same exact pole in the hawkins high parking lot three times and still doesn’t understand why steve wouldn’t let her drive his car while they were dating. jonathan doesn’t let her drive his car either and she’s like what the fuck it’s already a piece of shit what am i gonna do to it and he’s like nancy if you wreck it i Literally can’t afford to fix it and she’s like well i’m NOT GONNA WRECK IT and then the next day she borrows her mom’s car to go to barnes and noble and she hits a weird speed bump while going 70 in a 45 and later when she sees a story about a hit and run on the news she’s like wow that’s so terrible!!! can’t believe people these days smh 🙄

2. hopper. he drives drunk and we all think we’re doing him a favor by turning a blind eye but actually we’re just enabling him and one day he’s gonna do something he can’t take back and we’ll all be personally responsible for the tragedy because we didn’t have the balls to say something. we’ll face our judgment in hell.

3. joyce. she can barely even see over the wheel. she also regularly applies mascara while drinking coffee and eating a burrito and adjusting the radio all at once. she does this while going like 80 mph. hopper would cover it up for her though <3

4. erica. she Definitely can’t see over the wheel and she would still try to drive anyway. steve would take the fall for her but his daddy’s money would keep him out of jail so she wouldn’t even feel too guilty about it.

5. dustin. prone to panic. probably closes his eyes whenever he makes a risky turn. definitely turned onto an offramp one time and just screamed about it before pulling an insane u-turn that nearly caused a ten-car pileup. once again steve would take the fall except dustin would feel INCREDIBLY guilty about it and probably blow the whole thing by telling the truth and then steve would get tried for perjury rather than vehicular manslaughter.

6. will. we all know gay people can’t drive. i think will specifically is too confident in his driving for his actual degree of ability like he wholeheartedly thinks he’s a good driver even though he tailgates people all the time and gets like five speeding tickets within a year of getting his license and has to go to a safe driving course at the community college so his license won’t get confiscated. however i think he’s probably more likely to rear-end people and get into small fender benders that drive up his insurance payments than he is to commit vehicular manslaughter.

7. mike. he seems like he’d be a pretty average driver tbh and i don’t think he’d ever drive drunk or anything so he’s pretty unlikely to commit vehicular manslaughter. shit happens though!! i also think he’d be one of those bitches who gets a little Too into his music while he’s driving and he prioritizes acting out the music video in his head over checking his mirrors. unlikely to commit vehicular manslaughter though he just sometimes Almost kills himself and everyone in the car but he catches it just in time and then for the next ten minutes he drives with both hands on the wheel and his jaw clenched in silence while his music continues to blare so loud that he can barely even hear the engine.

8.  steve. he’s the designated chauffeur for all of his friends and i think he’s probably been driving since he was like twelve. i just get that vibe like he has an uncle or something who owns a lot of empty land so he grew up driving around way before he was legally allowed to do so. he’s a pretty good driver. however he DID hit somebody with a car on purpose because the situation called for it and while i don’t think he’d drive under the influence he might drive with a head injury which leaves a narrow possibility for vehicular manslaughter.

9.  lucas. pretty low odds on vehicular manslaughter. he seems like he’d be a responsible driver although he might sometimes speed or fuck around with the wheel and swerve a bit on purpose to mess with whoever’s riding with him. he only does this on empty country roads. he might hit somebody with a car on purpose if the situation called for it though because that’s what heroes do.

10. jonathan. he’ll be damned if he has to stop his car to be polite to a cop and then pay them money afterward. he’d rather go 30 in a 45 than get a ticket and beyond that he drives will around all the time and it’s very important to him that he’s a good influence so he tries not to play chicken with yellow lights even though he wants to. extremely low odds of vehicular manslaughter.

11. max. this is going to be controversial but i think that despite being a speed demon and probably being one of those bitches who slides across four lanes at once she’s genuinely a good driver once she’s like tall enough to reach the pedals. like she’s VERY confident and cocky in her driving ability but it’s earned. she can parallel park in one smooth movement and not even break a sweat. everyone who ever rides with her is afraid for their life at Some point but she never actually gets close to getting into an accident.

12. robin. okay i KNOW she’d be a godawful driver but hear me out: you can’t commit vehicular manslaughter if you never drive. if she can’t make steve drive her somewhere, she just bikes instead. one time he tries to help her get over her driving anxiety by practicing in a parking lot and driving through downtown hawkins but she gets scared once they go over 30mph and slams on the breaks and steve hits his head on the dash and he says it’s fine and they can try again but she refuses. 

13. el. i will not take any criticism on this. when she kills it’s on purpose. el would never be caught dead committing vehicular manslaughter.

#asks #em talks #stranger things #han tag #lesbianrobin.canon

[missinghan]

caged in this lullaby ⤖ lee felix

❖ genre : assassin au; cop au; action; fluff; angst

❖ word count : 7,2k.

❖ warning : explicit language, mentions of blood, arson & violence 

❖ summary : felix ultimately lets go of all and allows himself to drown in the ashes of bitter tragedy to see what stays. the last thing he’d expect is a stranger with his greatest secret. 

❖ dedicated to @blueprint-han​ : a continuation of aria of an assassin. song used — the lullaby by sophism, all credits to the owner. 

prologue.

Fire cares not for the time it vanishes, only that it gives the world heat and light.

The entire building burns deeply in red, orange, and yellow. The cries of the neighborhood echoes into the night with sirens blaring in the background. Your frozen figure can only watch in terror as glowing embers dance and twirl, searing through the ground, ripping through the roof in despair. Tendrils of smoke are reaching into the sky desperately as if attempting to escape the blazing inferno below.

“Kid, I wanna have Chinese for dinner today.”

“Okay, and I should care because…?”

“Because I’m housing your ungrateful ass.”

No. No!

You drop the plastic bags in your hand, your muscles move before your mind can register what’s happening. The next thing you know, you’re racing to the heart of danger, utterly unfazed about the fact that fire is the most beautiful weapon of them all. Powerful. Destructive. Heartless. In mere moments, everything you love can be reduced into nothing but sheer ashes.

“But we always have Chinese!”

“Who’s paying again? Was it you? No, I don’t think so.”

Tears blur your vision and you elect to ignore every white noise buzzing at the back of your head. Each step you take is rather a negotiation than an order. Your limbs move like they never belonged to you. This agony has an unpleasant warmth to it, eating at your stomach and searing inside your rib cage. Your body concedes to the torment, unable to bring a single thought into consideration. The entirety of your existence yearns to curl into something fetal, something primeval, and all while the pain burns and radiates.

“Officer! Stop her! She’s running into the fire!”

“Child! What are you doing?! It’s dangerous!”

But what you’re going through is nothing compared to his torment. He’s in there. Writhing and suffering alone. It must be so painful, so cold despite the enraged flames around him. 

When a strong pair of arms slip around your body and every motion comes to a stop, there is a scream of the mouth and lungs, the sound of his name lingers on the tip of your tongue. Because a response is impossible, there comes a scream of the eyes and soul, the kind that bypasses the ears and speaks right to the heart. 

You forget how to scream from that day on because you are either left with dead silence or punished with cruelty. 

Because you couldn’t save him.

one.

The housekeeper wakes with a tight knot in her stomach. Her body topples the sheets over to reach for her nightstand, flickering on some source of light. Only silence accompanies the hard throbbing inside her chest until a loud thud comes from the hallway. Her body jolts up instantly, a hand over her chest as a soft string of melody saunters into the emptiness of the night.

“When the night is falling, and you have lost your way.”

Her quivering figure quickly exits her room with a flashlight. Her right hand clutches at her other one as an attempt to stop the shaking as adrenaline sears through her vessels. With dreaded steps, the housekeeper manages to reach the staircase, approaches the end of it, and proceeds toward the living room.

“When the rain is storming, and your world’s turned to gray.” 

The voice smoothly slips through the chilling nightfall like an allure yet there’s nothing musical about it. The lullaby sometimes goes off-tune or comes out in broken waves as though whoever’s singing genuinely doesn’t care. They sound more dead than angry, more tired than irate, making her innards shift uneasily. 

“When the wolves await outside, and you feel like you’ve nowhere to hide.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, just remember. Remember when I said.”

And they stop. The housekeeper musters up every bit of courage left. A breath in. A breath out. 

In the darkroom, even the ticking clock has a relaxed feeling, as if it’s merely a heart-beat at rest. She feels as though the air moves like cool water and the aroma of the house owner’s scented candles infuse her far more deeply than it did in the light of day. The hollow space is etched with charcoal, the fabrics are muted hues as if they too await dawn to ignite their colors for all to see. The moment she heaves a sigh of relief, her eyes make the mistake of averting to the ceiling, unveiling a scene of unimaginable terror.

Fear floods her system, it pumps and beats like it’s trying to escape. Her heart might as well explode right now because even her jaw is shaking non-stop. Her body urges her to either run fast, away from the horror laid out flat in front of her eyes, or to stay quiet and do the right thing, calling the police. But instead, she remains where she’s standing. 

There is Mr. Yuuki, the house owner she’s been working for over three years, hung upon the crystal chandelier. His limp body lets its limbs stick out awkwardly, white eyes rolled to the back of his head as blood drips to the floor, forming a dark pool. The flashlight drops to the floor, and so does her trembling gaze. She gasps sharply when a thick smear of crimson is splattered across the wooden tiles, sinking into the cracks like poison. 

Her adrenaline surges so fast she almost vomits, she can taste saliva thickening in her throat and beads of sweat trickling down on her forehead. At some point, she’ll have to move and risk the chance of getting herself killed.

Just then, a shadow comes into view and her legs go weak, letting her body collapse to the ground like a crooked puppet. Incoherent pleas pour from her lips as she screws her eyes shut, bracing herself for whatever comes next. “Please! I’ll do anything! I won’t call the police! Just don’t kill me, please! Please!”

Footsteps are advancing toward her, getting louder by the tick of the clock. They echo listlessly until the sound slowly fades away, only a soft response comes afterward.

“Greetings to his boss for me.”

two.

The mansion has been his home for decade upon decade, embraced by nature on the outskirts of the city, away from all the noises, the buzzing flow of time people have signed their souls up for. It is all concrete and tall glass windows that give overlooking views of the clear horizon, a chance to relax and take in the changing of the seasons from the comfort of an easy chair.

Yet coming from the hollow building is a strange sound, a melodic voice of pain and sorrow, of heartache and loss. The tune is soft, like grass on a summer day, or the tenderness in the air in which only spring possesses. It can fill one with warmth while weaving a sad tale of indescribable, rather forgotten memories.

“Darling, close your weary eyes. Everything will be fine.”

“Let the breeze wipe away your tears. There is no need to cry.” 

He’s seated at the edge with his back straight, he no longer feels dwarfed by the grand piano as he used to as a kid. His fingers are limber as they glide on ivory first and ebony after, his neck slightly bent down, tousling his hair to the front while his eyes flutter shut in serene. 

“You can lay down. No one will hurt you.”

The music stand lies empty, has been so for years. He only ever reads the notes within his mind because he goes as far as playing the instrument to this day for this peculiar lullaby. Slowly, the music seems to fill the room to the brim, then spills out through doors and windows and the cracks in the walls, while at the source trembling fingers dance sweetly on.

He knows that he needs to calm down. 

“Let your fears be carried by the streams. The twilight gleam watches over you.”

In his head, he reads through the music scrupulously as though he’s practicing during the old, innocent days, beat by beat, bar by bar, note by note. His fingers know precisely where to go and how each key reacts when he applies the same, adequate amount of pressure. It’s as though he can make the hammer hit each string in a way to resonate with the most beautiful of sounds. 

The thought of playing as a kid eases the spike in his heartbeat and clears his mind. He can still vividly remember the first time he got lifted onto the bench on his sixth birthday, his tiny legs dangled over the edge and his figure completely overwhelmed by the mammoth-sized instrument. His arms could barely span the length of the keyboard, his feet could only do so much as graze the pedal below.

“And when the morning arises…”

He recalls the mounts of sheets cluttering his father’s old bookshelves in such ways that he himself can’t remember their initial color. He recalls the tall figure seating beside him each time, guiding his hands across the keys, ones that were unfamiliar to music and the swell it can bring to one’s chest. He recalls those starry eyes staring down at him, the outburst of laughter, and the cat-like smile that brings love and harmony to his fragile soul. 

“I shall be by your side…”

Yet he never recalls a proper goodbye, only tears.

“Minho.”

The melody pauses sharply, his body stiffens at the name. Minho isn’t here.

“Minho, is that you?” Minho isn’t here, a voice inside him snaps.

A deep breath. He elects to ignore the strings that are bound to break inside his chest before pushing himself off the wooden bench. With a swift turn, he sees Mrs. Lee standing by the door with her hair in her face, her soulless eyes lighting up once they graze the sight of him. “Minho, my sweet child. You’ve come home. You’ve finally come home!” Her voice echoes in joy, a hand clamped over her mouth as her eyes brim with tears.

Minho isn’t here! His heart yells aloud, yet his mind can’t comply.

He doesn’t know what’s urging him to approach her, to let her lean on him. Perhaps, it’s guilt. Or the yearning for the warmth of a mother who abandoned him long ago. “Yes, mother, I’m home,” he sighs softly when she clutches at his shirt. “I’m never going to leave you again.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be here.”

Hurried footsteps flood the hallway rapidly until the housekeeper barges through the door, simply breaking the agonizing silence. “Good gracious, Mrs. Lee! Goodness, she must have forgotten about her sleeping pills again.” She then hastily rushes to his side, supporting Mrs. Lee by her waist while bowing continuously. “Young Master, please, allow me.”

“It’s alright, you’ve done enough,” he waves his hands with a small smile. “I’ll tuck her back to bed, today is my day off anyway. You may go home and rest now.”

He can’t forget how much lighter Mrs. Lee has gotten, how paler her face has been. He’s afraid that one wrong movement and he might send her frail body flying to the floor. Only when she’s fully covered by her blanket, the stars come out to play and the evening takes on the aroma of a breezy night. He likes this, the softness, the quietness of the sense of resting. Moonlight is streaming through the windows yet his mind, clouded with grey, throbs uncontrollably when he realizes the sudden pang inside his chest. 

It’s been fifteen years…

His phone rings. “Sergeant Lee Felix, Seoul P.D,” he keeps his voice from shaking. Suddenly, his eyes grow wide. “I’ll be there.”

And I still couldn’t do anything for you.

three.

Light fog seeps into the depthless night when Felix exits his car, throwing on his blazer in a hurry as he staggers toward a water fountain. There’s barely any vehicles operating at this hour, leaving the streets chilling and empty. He quickly checks his watch one last time. One AM on the dot. Another sleepless night.

“Lix! Over here!”

His blank expression breaks into a grin when two familiar faces come into view. “Changbin? Hyunjin? You both got called in too?”

“Yeah, can’t believe the Chief had the audacity to interrupt my beauty sleep for a simple homicide,” the taller officer, Hyunjin, has his face contorted in faint annoyance, brushing through his long locks of hair with his gloved hand.

“The night duty squad is handling another case on the other side of the city. We know the neighborhood like the back of our hands,” Changbin gives him a hard smack on the chest, only to wince quietly later to himself. Ugh, I’m so out of shape. “If anything, we have the best chance to catch up to the culprit.”

Hyunjin protests with a forced smile, “Shut up, Lieutenant, I know that.”

“Alright, let’s review,” Felix hops into the conversation, clasping his hands together in feigned excitement. “Someone dialed 911 with a murder case on the line. The culprit, escaped or not, we’re still uncertain of. But they did leave behind a witness.”

His coworkers nod simultaneously as he recaps what Seungmin told him on the phone earlier and the three of them find themselves standing right before the provided address.  The house seems oddly quiet for someone getting murdered. “Right, chances are they’re still in there. We’d better-”

The front door comes flying open. A woman dressed in her nightgown collapses to the ground instantly, fear echoing through the rumble of her voice. “Help! P-Please! Mr. Yuuki! He-He’s dying! Please, I beg you! Save him!” With her face buried in her hands, a wave of laughter bubbles up her windpipe, shaking her core tremendously. “They did it again! They’ve claimed another victim!”

Changbin is the first one to step up, helping the housekeeper to her feet. “Miss, please try your best to stay calm. Everything is alright now, we’re here because you did the right thing of calling us. You’re safe with us,” he gently supports her by the shoulders, his voice soft but serious. “If it’s okay for me to ask, what exactly happened to Mr. Yuuki? Is there anyone else inside?”

The housekeeper seems to still be shaken. Tears are threatening to fall but she bites them back, shaking her head to answer the second question first. “N-No, Mr. Yuuki has a son but he’s currently studying in Europe so I’m the only one other than…” 

Her voice trails off, the pools of tears in her eyes are clouded with those moments of horror she wishes she could erase forever. “It was horrible! I-I was having trouble sleeping before a strange sound woke me up completely. Someone was singing. Th-The culprit was singing. And there was s-so much blood. Mr. Yuuki was hung upon the chandelier when I went downstairs! So-So much blood. I didn’t know how- or why- I- I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t know!”

“Miss, please try to stay calm. I won’t ask you any more questions, I am not here to interrogate you,” Changbin exhales deeply, looking over at his underlings. “Hyunjin, go check up on Mr. Yuuki. Felix, look for the culprit. I’ll call Seungmin for more back-ups.”

The two officers comply, “Roger that.”

Entering the house, Felix is bathed in a whirlwind of chilling silence and utter darkness. The smell of blood makes something inside him twitch, prompting him to look over at his friend. “I’ll go upstairs, you stay down here and handle the body until Jisung or Seungmin comes.” 

The Sergeant advances up the long flight of stairs with his gun clutched between his hands. Almost immediately, he takes notice in the stream of moonlight illuminating the end of the hallway and rushes toward the wide-opened door. His figure barges into the room with caution and is met with the night breeze kissing his face and white curtains fluttering gently. 

Just then, a loud bang is heard in the distance. 

Felix feels himself tense up, eyes darting from one place to another in hopes of finding- there! On the rooftop from across the streets. 

In a heartbeat, he picks up his transceiver and speaks, “I have eyes on the suspect. Pursuing on foot.” With his feet on the window frame and his arms on the tiles of the roof, he manages to lift himself while his muscles contract in pain. Facing forward, Felix begins to sprint. 

The wind screams into his ears, his feet flying over steel and leaves. His shoes pound heavily across the hard surface, causing what’s remaining of the downpour this morning to slash up his legs. From one rooftop to another, his calves burn tremendously yet he keeps darting past houses, buildings, and trees with his eyes glued onto the shadow before his eyes. 

Adrenaline courses throughout his system; he can feel his whole body working, his leg muscles running warm, a thin layer of sweat covers his nape. The cold air keeps biting at his blood and lungs but he keeps his breaths as steady as he can, pushing harder and going faster. For a split moment, his foot slips when his mind is frantic with cloudy thoughts. How is it possible for one to move this fast?

The hooded figure a few feet ahead of him speaks volumes in the silence; they’re running. They’re running like the devil himself is in pursuit. Only it’s worse because the felon is flesh and blood and means to send people straight to hell just the same way. His breathing quickens at the thought process, trying to appease his need for oxygen. 

Several thuds of footfalls later, he finally decreases the proximity although fresh air now shocks his lungs, making him want to spurt and pass out in exhaustion. His body trembles from the consistent pace he’s forced himself into, yet his hands lift the firearm swiftly, his gaze shaking with the pounding inside his chest. 

It only takes so much strength to pull the trigger. He shouldn’t be hesitating like this. Felix stops himself completely, regains his composure, and raises his gun once again. He elects to ignore the blood roaring in his ears, the throbbing of his anxious heart, and squeezes the trigger. 

The bullet cuts through air and comes flying toward the wanted figure, missing them by a strand of hair. His face contorts in anger as he mumbles out a curse word. He missed. He shouldn’t have. He can’t miss. Missing isn’t an option. 

Felix pumps his legs, gaining momentum with each push. But it feels gut-wrenching all of a sudden after a few thrusts forward—his body is giving in. He watches the culprit quicken their pace until their steps turn into leaps. Just a few more feet and they’ll jump the other side of the neighborhood. 

He won’t make it in time. 

Three. Two. One. The figure gathers enough strength and takes one final leap into the night. His heart immediately drops to the pit of his stomach, every movement comes to a full stop like the sudden stretch of silence within his rib cage. 

“Shit!” He perks up at the scream and glass shattering. “Ow! Ah! Ouch! Ugh…” And...dogs barking?

“Oh come on!”

four.

His feet slip outwards on the wet autumn leaves as he rounds the corner, his breaths coming out in spurts, hot and nervous as he inhales deeper, faster. With each footfall, a jarring pain shoots ankle to knee, ankle to knee. Perhaps jumping off someone’s rooftop in a time crunch wasn’t the smartest decision. 

“Give me a break. Do you have any idea how much time it took me to outrun those dogs?”

“I won’t let you slip away. It’s best for either party if you cooperate. Don’t do anything foolish and mercy might be an option,” Felix clicks a bullet into the chamber, gaze falling onto the hooded figure.

In the dim light that oozes through a narrow gap lies the alleyway. It's the underworld of any town: gloomy and unpleasant. Darkness is lurking in every corner inside the labyrinth of narrow passages and dead ends. Litter is dumped on the street and birds nest amongst the sprawling rot. Moonlight lights up the pathway for him, making it easier to back the felon up into the corner. 

“One more step, officer, I dare you.” A warning like poison pours into his ears.

Although something seems different this time. They sound more frantic. Is there something that’s bothering them? “You just committed murder, you filthy scumbag. One more step, I dare you.”

“Oh, you’re so unoriginal,” they clutch their right arm and chuckle lightly. Felix squints his eyes with the limited source of light; inevitably, they go wide upon seeing crimson dripping to the ground. But as the second ticks by, less and less blood pour from the wound as though the muscles and skin are simultaneously closing up the seams. 

What the hell am I looking at?

A smirk. “Don’t mind if I do.”

What are they... Wait, shit-

At the kind of speed he never thought humans could acquire, the hooded figure approaches him in what seems like seconds. The sudden whiplash blows the hood back and allows them to bathe in the moonlight raw.

 “Say, what are you going to do with a filthy scumbag like me again?” Something sharp and shiny comes into contact with the warmth of his flesh but he can’t bring himself to register or counter it.

Your features flash before his eyes, glowing from within, leaving him in complete awe. Although you’re talking nothing but venom, pain is evident in the crease of your lovely brows and the way your lips are pressed into a straight line. Your eyes are deep pools of restless gold, an ocean of hopeless grief. There’s something so damn familiar about you. Felix almost finds himself resonating within your agony. He almost gasps.

In this growing light, your dark silhouette becomes full colors. 

But why aren’t you moving? He’s completely open like this.

“You!” Your voice suddenly trembles and so do your pupils. “You-You’re-”

Snapping back to his senses, Felix leaves no time for you to finish your sentence and grabs your armed limb with one hand while striking a harsh blow at your stomach with the other. You let out a hushed wince at the impact, falling to the cement ground along with the blade in your palm. He swiftly flips you over, cuffs your hands, and puts his gun at the back of your head. 

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law.”

“Oh, spare me, Robin,” you involuntarily snort. “I’ll be gone before you can finish reading my rights.”

He nearly sneers, “Move an inch and I’ll put a bullet through your head. Your hands are cuffed, don’t you try to make your face worse than it already is.”

“I’m an Ace, darling. It’d be insulting if a pair of handcuffs and your scrawny little ass could stop me.”

His grip on the gun grows a fraction tighter, his heart starts beating faster at the name. “You work for the House of Cards?” The name rolls off his tongue bitterly, leaving a lick of fury consuming the rational side of his brain.

House of Cards—thieves, terrorists, assassins, dealers—the largest criminal organization that has been the dread of the country for decades. Just like the playing cards, the organization consists of four main groups: Diamonds, Clubs, Hearts, and Spades. The Kings and Queens lead these groups for they’re either new or incompetent for the higher ranks. The Jacks come second in commanding and are often advisors while the Jokers remain anonymous to all as messengers. The four Aces are the most trusted by the chairman and only take orders from him themselves.

“I do,” you reply flatly, a sigh going unnoticed. “Shouldn’t you be fleeing by now upon receiving this information?”

“A murder. A gunshot right across the street. A living witness,” he grits with a timid smile. “All that and you call yourself an Ace? We’ve encountered worse than amateurs like you. You’ll be rotting behind the bars before you know it.”

“I like your optimism, officer. Genuinely, it's a blessing for you to bring us light in this time of darkness,” you turn sideways, smirk, and make sure that he sees it. “Ignorance is truly bliss sometimes.”

Something inside him snaps, water overflows the cup and he instantly grabs you by your head, burying it further into dust and cement. “I don’t know who you think you are. But you clearly don’t know what I’m capable of and the fact that I will stop at nothing to bring your boss down. I will make him face justice as you’re hearing it from the news in prison. I’ve promised. I’ve sworn.”

“Oh?” You dare to glance at him again. “I never knew cops detested my boss so much. Or is it just you? Is your hatred personal? You’ve broken a protocol from the get-go, haven’t you? Is it the reason why you even became an officer in the first place?”

Shit, Felix curses inwardly as your words stab him in the chest, twisting the tip of the blade deeper and deeper as though you’re not allowing him to breathe properly. His hands start shaking; the vibration against your nape makes you exhale, drawing yet another grin on your lips. “Tell me, who did they kill?”

To hell would he ever tell you.

“A family member?” Focus. 

“Your loved one?” Cover your ears. 

“Or a close friend, perhaps?” One wrong move. 

His shaking freezes midway, his voice comes out monotonous. “Shut up.” And you’ll die. 

“Bingo,” you feign excitement before clearing your throat. “Also, I wouldn’t pull the trigger if I were you. Because I am your best asset to get to my boss. You and I aren’t so different, trust me. After all, we both want his head.”

He yelps in surprise when you twist your back slightly, swinging your arm and elbowing his jaw while disarming him simultaneously. With a swing of your leg, he loses his balance on the knees and lands harshly on his back. 

With your knife pointed at his neck, your orbs bore onto his like you’re about to set him on fire. He gulps nervously, “What? How did you?”

“Listen up, I have a deal for you.” 

You were injured, how could you risk tearing your wound up like that? His chest rises then falls inconsistently, eyes darting to your forearm. It’s no longer bleeding. There’s no way! 

“...what are you?”

“Call me what you want. Murderer. Killer. An assassin. A monster.”

Felix squirms under your grip, spatting in aggression, “If so, you’re daydreaming if you have the audacity to believe that I will get my hands bloodied with you.”

“I’m not telling you to pick a side, officer. I’m just trying to say that I know something you don’t and you know something I don’t. If we pool our information we might actually have a good shot at capturing the bastard. If you brought me back to headquarters now, I’d escape either way and you’d get nothing from me. But if you pretend like our encounter never happens, you’ve got yourself a new partner.”

“What feud do you have with your boss so bad that you’re willing to work with a police officer like me?”

“I never considered him as my boss. I never considered the organization as a place that I belonged to. No one knows who the leader is. I’ve been tracking him down for years already.”

“...what? That’s-“

“They killed someone very important to me, too.”

five.

Chan murmurs tiredly at the knock on his door, “Who’s there?”

“Sergeant Lee’s present to report on the assassin from last night, Chief.”

“Come in.”

Chan fixes his collar as Felix closes the door shut, strides straight into his office, and collapses on the nearest armchair. Usually, he’d be complaining about the lack of sunlight in the Chief’s working space. Because like any other civil office, there are enough windows for one not to choke to death but Chan has made a habit of keeping them close. Now, he decides to open the blinds and lets the light in completely, prompting Felix to throw an arm over his eyes dramatically. 

“Shut it. The lights are killing me,” he groans aloud, forehead creasing in frustration. Focus. 

Chan says pointedly, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms, “But you look like shit.”

“Of course I look like shit. You should try chasing down an Ace yourself some time. Really, it’s been a pleasant distraction from my unfinished paperwork and impotent stress,” the junior officer mumbles, dropping his arm and staring blankly at the space ahead. 

“Yeah, I’ve heard,” Chan sighs, sitting back. “It just makes sense, you know. Yuuki and his neighbor were moles the Yakuza planted in that filthy organization. No wonder their leader had to send one of the four Aces to finish him off.”

Felix closes his eyes for a moment, resting his arms on his knees, the muscles are still aching from last night’s incident. His fingers unconsciously reach for his bare neck, tracing the shallow cut as goosebumps bubble upon his skin. Focus. “Enough being mopey,” Chan grins and slaps something cold against his cheek, causing his friend to jolt up in surprise. “Aren’t you here to report?”

He flashes Felix a cheeky smile when the younger clenches the cold towel on his face in annoyance. Nonetheless, there’s a twinge of faint nostalgia and affection lighting up inside his stomach—the kind that comes from long-time friends. “Alright, I gotta come back to my desk before Changbin goes off about my productivity anyway.”

“Good, elaborate,” Chan whips out a pen with his crusty notebook, eyes narrowing and turning serious. 

“The Ace escaped,” Felix starts, “After checking in with Yuuki’s housekeeper, Hyunjin and I went inside the house. He handled the body while I was heading upstairs. I pursued them as soon as I heard the gunshot from across the streets. I only managed to wound them from afar, but it’s not enough to slow them down. They were too fast so I was outpaced at the end.”

The Chief raises a dark brow, eyeing the cut on his throat, “I can see that you’re injured, too. Did they shoot you? Seungmin only found a semi-auto pistol next to the second victim.”

“No… I did this to myself during the chase,” Felix touches his wound again, gulping, “They only carried a knife, of all the things.” Don’t be obvious. You can’t risk getting them to suspect you. 

“You couldn’t get close enough to see if we’re dealing with a man or a woman, right?” Chan then casts a meaningful look at the mountain of unfiled paperwork upon his desk, feigning interest in the light reading that awaits him for the rest of the day. 

“Unfortunately, no. They have a good physique, clearly well-trained and more skilled than the little fries we’d managed to throw behind the bars,” Felix shakes his head, eventually pushing himself off the black armchair. “What about the housekeeper? According to what I’m able to recall, she did, in fact, see the Ace.”

Chan wants to scream at the mention, fingers massaging his temples. “That woman is far too traumatized to even speak a word right now. She’s been giving Seungmin headaches all morning.”

“Yeah, about that...sorry, I couldn’t be more helpful,” Felix bites his lips as he can feel his own lies suffocating the space around him, filling his lungs with water and squeezing at his windpipe. He needs to get the fuck out of here. 

The Chief chuckles lightly and waves his hands, “No, no, we’re all kinda impressed, actually. No one has ever been able to propose a mere chase with them before. It’s already a miracle that you came back alive.”

His heart instantly sinks, his fists curl up unconsciously. Felix could have died. He should have died last night. But you hesitated. Why? Why would you spare him? And why were you looking at him like that? “Hey.” A hand on his shoulder snaps him out of it. “Don’t worry about it. You should take a day off today. You look unwell.”

“But-”

A figure lands soundlessly on Chan’s balcony, swiftly turning around to face Felix.

His brain stutters for a moment and his eyes take in more light than they should, still, they widen when shock riddles his senses. Every part of his body tries to catch up and his thoughts go on a dreadfully long pause. It’s you. Standing in broad daylight without anything to cover up. Distanced a few feet from his grasp. 

One shout and you’ll be cuffed in mere moments. It’d be insulting if a pair of handcuffs and your scrawny little ass could stop me. His precinct has been desperate, ramming into one dead-end after another for a single lead to House of Cards. 

Felix can turn you in right here. Right now. If you brought me back to headquarters now, I’d escape either way and you’d get nothing from me.

“That is an order, Sergeant,” Chan grins, not noticing how pale his friend has gotten in such mere moments. “You’ll collapse the moment you head out for patrol, trust me.”

“No, Chan! You don’t understand, I-”

“Do it,” you mouth, sealing his lips instantly. 

“I just didn’t get enough sleep last night. I’ll take a nap in the infirmary.” You slap on a devilish smile at his words, wiggling your phone high enough for him to see.

As soon as Felix closes the door behind him, the spike in his heartbeat finally falls with the stiff smile on his face, his breaths short and uneven. The urge to punch something is cut short when his phone vibrates timely. A message from an unknown number: “Ten PM. The waterfall in Yellow Woods. You’ve got one chance.”

six.

Felix has underestimated the cold since nightfall. His muscles ache and shiver all at the same time, momentarily yelling at him to turn around to head back to the comfort of his family’s mansion. Yet the dark Yellow Woods seems to silence time and space, only leaving him with the urge to march forward. 

He lied to Chan about your encounter, lied to Changbin so he wouldn’t have to go on his night shift, lied to Hyunjin that he’d go home and rest like his friend always told him to. Humans have been taught not to lie but deception still exists and one cannot escape its grasp. Even Felix never knew there would be a day where he’d become this desperate. Just thinking about it makes him want to vomit, utterly disgusted. 

Clutching his gun tightly, he begins walking faster into the light fog. 

“My my, look who it is.” His frantic steps come to a halt, his head snapping back immediately. “Someone was so hellbent on giving me a headshot the last time we met. What changed?”

Felix raises a brow in confusion. “What the- Didn’t you ask me to meet up at the waterfall?”

“The waterfall is the other way, you fool,” you jerk your head back, clearly unimpressed. 

“Cut me some slack, my phone was dead! Wait, how did you- were you stalking me?!”

You can’t help but stifle a chuckle; his face is priceless. “Tracking sounds more appropriate, don’t you think?”

“You-”

“You’d better pick up the pace if you want to survive this little partnership of ours, officer.”

Eventually, he complies and stumbles through the woods with you, his feet feeling like they’re being dragged across cement. During the day, Yellow Woods is alight with the serenity one yearns for at their lowest, birds chirping and leaves rustling to one united song of Mother Nature. In contrast, it is now hollow, colorless, almost empty to a sense with all this darkness around him. 

“I never said that we had a deal,” Felix says while trailing after you, cautious not to trip over any branches. 

You turn around for a meager moment, giving him that sly grin of yours. “Suppose that you do, we need a contract. Some simple protocols between comrades. What do you expect from me? Keep it simple. Excessive details bore the shit out of me.”

“First, no with-holding information. If you know something, I need to know it and vice versa. Second, no personal questions. I don’t want you in my life nor do I want me getting my hands dirty with you.”

You hum in response, “Hmm, short and sweet. But I have my own as well.”

He gulps, “Go on.”

“I don’t work with dogs. I don’t care if it’s licensed as emotional support. I won’t hesitate to shoot if you even let one do so much as breathe in the same room as me.”

“...that makes way too much sense.” So that explains why-

“What about you? Afraid of the dark?”

“I wasn’t born this morning.”

To the East lies the waterfall you’ve mentioned this morning, which you lead him down a dirt road and right behind it, straight into a small cave. There are two paths diverged that catch him by surprise but there’s nothing he can do other than taking the left side, hastily following the source of light from your phone. Your final destination unveils before his eyes as a small, underground lair.

Felix suddenly feels cold for no reason. “How do you even sleep?” He scrunches his nose while rubbing his hands together. 

“I don’t,” you say without looking at him, exhaling and shrugging off your coat. “Make yourself at home. I’ll go heat up some tea before you freeze to death.”

Not knowing what to do with himself, his eyes roll around the seemingly confined but commodious space in curiosity. Your working desk is as big as the one in the conference back at headquarters, mounted with an overwhelming amount of files. To the right, the wall is lined with weapons, target boards, and rag dolls; you seem to prefer blades over firearms. The whole place is lighted up with candles all around, giving it that eerie feeling like something straight out of an old movie. 

Still, not bad.

His careless feet drag him across the concrete, subconsciously reaching out for the files on your desk. He can’t fight the urge, he can’t resist it. Before his mind can register and his conscience can yell at him, the plastic binder is already yanked open. Experiment #180108–Y/N, it reads. “What the hell… Enhanced strength and agility… Instant self-healing… Metamorphosis? Is this what they’ve been doing under our noses all this time?”

“No, only my parents.” Your voice snaps him out of it, prompting him to drop the files. “Your office was giving me anxiety, by the way. Thank god for home sweet home.”

“What the hell were you doing in my-“ A dagger flies past his head, missing him by a strand of hair and ending up embedding itself on the bull’s eye of a nearby target. “Daughter of a bastard,” he breathes out in disbelief, eyes boring holes on you. “What kind of tea was that?!”

“Lee Felix. Only son of the Prime Minister. Ranked Sergeant at the eighth precinct, Seoul P.D. The precious heir to one of the five great families.” Words leave you. You only stare into those bright, brown eyes burning with anger, his heart almost falling silent. “Gosh, you’ve got quite the profile. Shouldn’t you be worried about the image of your family instead of shaking hands with the devil like this?”

Felix clenches his jaw, everything is slow and warbled as he looks down, shaking violently. “And yet you still thought I’d be crazy enough to make a deal with an Ace?”

“You’re not crazy,” you sigh, grinning internally. “Just extremely desperate-“

“I am not desperate!” A lie spats out, leaving him with a bitter aftertaste. “I have no reason to be.” Focus.

A mocking shrug. “Right, you’re not desperate. You just followed me all the way here without taking out your gun or rambling on with your boring death threats. Like a little, perfect pet. Exactly what I needed.” 

“Death threats don’t work on monsters,” he croaks, fists balled and eyes wide. Even so, the way you gaze darken still goes unnoticed. “I’ve seen your kind kill anyone without hesitation. Getting blood on your hands without even blinking. You, all of you, aren’t humans anymore. You’re all a complete write-off of a species.”

Felix lifts his head, pupils trembling at the sight in front of him. For a moment there, you look sad and broken. Raw, naked, and vulnerable like the rest of humanity. It makes him ponder, how can humans be so weak yet so cruel at the same time?

“...why? Why are you doing this?” he inquires shakily, head racing with a thousand thoughts. “I don’t understand. Actually, there’s a lot that I don’t understand about you.” No! Focus, you idiot!

“You don’t have to.” Finally, you speak after the long dread of silence, combing a hand through your hair tiredly. “You know. It’s funny how the same thing happened to us. And now look at where we ended up individually.”

His brain pauses and chokes up. “What are you saying?” Cover your ears. Do not be misled!

You look away, simply knowing that you won’t be able to hold it in if you’re making eye contact. “I know you’re not the rightful heir of the Lees. You weren’t part of the bloodline in the first place. You’re simply a replacement. A second option. Nothing but an afterthought-“ 

“No! Shut up! Just shut u-“ Cover your ears. Do not trust anyone!

“—the real heir supposedly went missing during the Eiji Station tragedy where my organization ordered a bombing fifteen years ago. It’s been over a decade and they’ve already concluded his death even though a body was never found. Am I right, officer?”

Choose the wrong path. 

Felix buries his face into the palms of his hands as streaks of silvery tears burn his cheek. His exhausted shoulders shake in each rake of emotion through his frame, the fire of anger and despair boils past the seams he can no longer hold together. With his knees weak, he can only sob and drops down on his knees, screaming with all his might. 

And you’ll die. 

But even you, the devil itself, can’t save the man who’s drowning himself in his own tears of hell. 

“Welcome to the team. The name is Y/N,” you offer him a hand, blankly eyeing his quivering figure. He finally picks himself up with difficulties, eyes glowing with tears and fury. After a split moment of hesitation, his hand reaches for yours, firmly clasped and sealing your deal. 

Because he’s falling down the same bottomless abyss with you. 

Because you both couldn’t save him. You couldn’t save Minho. 

epilogue.

__ fifteen years ago

“Hey, Minho, you’re really good at playing the piano. Are you gonna be a musician?”

“Hmm, I do like music. But I’d rather become a police officer. 

“Why? Didn’t you say that you like music?”

“I’ll become anything for my mother.” 

“Then, I’ll be a doctor when I grow up! And we can save people together.”

“Okay. It’s a promise, Lix.” 

#skzwritersclub #inkidz #stray kids #lee felix #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #lee felix imagines #lee felix scenarios #lee felix fanfic #lee felix fluff #assassin au #stray kids assassin au #bang chan #lee minho #seo changbin #hwang hyunjin #han jisung #kim seungmin #yang jeongin #to dawn #there wasn't a particular reason for this #but ig i just wanted to give back to you #it's not much but i hope it does the job

[heyitssmiller]

Clandestine: Chapter Four

The espionage boys go to Slytherin. Chaos ensues.

Content Warning: Some violence towards the end.

@lumosinlove

Clandestine Masterlist

.

Finn reached over the center console of the car to grab some M&Ms from the bag in Logan’s lap. Logan slapped his hand away playfully, not taking his eyes off the Slytherin police station they were parked down the road from. “Why don’t you eat your own snacks?”

“They’re salty and I wanted something sweet.” Finn said with a shrug, popping one of the candies into his mouth and grinning.

Leo sighed from the backseat, letting his head rest against the window with a thunk. He stared out at the full moon as a lonely cloud passed in front of it, moving fast. It was the most interesting thing he’d seen all night. “Why didn’t y’all tell me stakeouts were so boring? This is horrible.”

“But we’ve learned so much already!”

Finn got an arched blond eyebrow in response. “Have we?”

“We’re downtown, so we’re going to have to be extra careful about being seen. Shift change is at 6 pm, so we need to avoid that time frame as much as we can. There’s fewer people on the night shift, so our best bet is to wait until nighttime.” Logan rattled off, still not looking away from the building. “There’s a side door on the west side of the building, so that’ll be your best bet when you need to break in. I can see at least one security camera there, so Loops is going to need to help you out.”

Finn motioned to Logan dramatically. “That’s how you do it, Peanut Butter. Take notes.”

“I had lots of practice, keeping an eye out while you guys were off being bank robbers.” Logan grumbled good-naturedly, grabbing an M&M for himself.

Finn hummed thoughtfully. “Robbers is a bad way of putting it, don’t you think? You make us sound so evil.” 

“I mean, you’re also technically an arsonist.”

“That was one time. And the other bank heist went off without a hitch.”

“Still doesn’t change the fact that you set a trash can on fire.” Leo piped up, giving Logan a high-five when he held his hand out.

“I knew I liked you for a reason, Nut.”

Leo really tried his best not to read into that statement. He grabbed the small lock in his pocket and fidgeted with the dial to distract himself. He didn’t mean it like Leo thought he did. Like he wanted him to. Besides, that would be so complicated, wouldn’t it? Being a spy was messy in and of itself. Dating two other spies - who were his partners - would be a whole other level of chaos.

But that didn’t make him want it any less.

Which was also ridiculous. He’d known them for, what? Maybe a month? Why did his heart always decide to move at such breakneck speeds? 

“Do you two have to always gang up on me?” Finn asked with a sigh, snapping Leo back out of his thoughts. “What did I ever do to deserve it?”

“Don’t take it personal, O’Hara. You’re just so fun to tease.” Finn threw a barbecue-flavored chip at Logan, causing him to laugh and eat it.

“How long do stakeouts usually last?” Leo asked, desperate to change the subject to something - anything - less hazardous for his heart. 

“Until we have all the information we need.”

“And how do we know when that is?”

Logan shrugged. “Depends on the case. I’d like to stay and see when the next shift change is, just to be safe.”

Leo groaned and settled back in to wait.

***

“So how are we doing this?” Finn asked the next morning as they all sat around the table in the briefing room, propping his chin in his hand. “Sneak Leo in through an air vent? Although you might be too tall for that, Nut. Blow a hole in the wall and steal the whole safe? Create a story like the bank heists?”

“It’ll have to be a distraction again.” Sirius said, looking to Loops for confirmation. “The longer we can fly under Riddle’s radar, the better. The other four drives are on Riddle, in his office, or with trusted gang members. If he starts getting suspicious now, he’ll go on lockdown and we don’t stand a chance at getting the rest of the drives.”

“He’s right.” Remus agreed. “Plus there’s way too many officers in the precinct at any given time. Since the safe is in the evidence room, we can’t risk anyone coming in there and catching Leo red-handed – they’d shoot you on sight, no questions asked.”

Logan watched the color drain from Leo’s face and turned to send Remus a glare. Of course this job was risky – if you didn’t think so, you were a naïve idiot. Getting caught or shot or killed was just a part of the job and as a spy, you had to learn to live with that. But that didn’t mean you had to scare rookies about it right before a big, high-risk mission.

Remus noticed his glare, but simply ignored it and looked away. “Here’s what I’m thinking. There’s another, smaller gang in Slytherin, right?” At Sirius’ nod, he continued. “If we can place an anonymous tip on their location, that all but guarantees a full holding cell inside the precinct. Plus it gets another gang off the streets, so it’s a win-win. Logan, if you can get yourself arrested for something small – public indecency or drunken disorderly or something – you’ll be put in that holding cell too.”

Logan leaned forwards, excitement coursing through him. “I like where this is going.”

“I don’t.” Finn stated plainly. It was his turn to glare at Loops.

“If you can start a fight in there, you can get a majority of the officers’ attentions. Especially if it’s at night when the staff is smaller and more likely to be tired. Leo can slip in the side door unnoticed, get into the evidence room, grab the flash drive, and get out.” Remus raked a hand through his hair, looking thoughtful. “It’s more complicated than the banks, but it should work just fine.”

“That’s the plan?” Leo asked dubiously. “Try to start a riot in a holding cell, hope that all the officers get distracted, steal the flash drive, and then just wait for Logan to be released in the morning? There’s so many things that could go wrong.”

He was right - there was a lot riding on nothing but chance. Sadly, that was part of the territory of working in espionage; it was one of the only things the James Bond movies got right. You had to take risks in order to get results sometimes. Leo’s job was all about planning and precision. He knew exactly how to execute his mission and there usually weren’t any hiccups as long as he had the right tools with him and enough time. Not much risk-taking involved in cracking safes. So he’d probably never been a part of a plan with so many aspects up in the air.

He’d also never seen Logan in action.

“Never doubt my ability to start a fight.” Logan said with a grin. “Man, I’m so excited to go on a mission where I’m not stuck in the car.”

“I want to go with you.” Finn said firmly, leaving no room for argument. His gaze was fierce and determined and if Logan didn’t know him already, he’d probably be just a little bit scared. It was kind of hot. “I don’t like you being in there by yourself.”

Remus looked at him, clearly surprised. “I thought you didn’t like fights.”

“I don’t. But I’m not leaving my partner in there to fend for himself. Hell no.”

Logan ignored the way his heart sped up and asked, “You don’t want to go with Leo? Be a lookout?”

“Normally I’d say yes, but if someone does end up seeing him, one person raises less suspicion than two.” Finn said with a shrug. “It’ll also be easier to start a fight with two people.”

“If you’re getting arrested in Slytherin, you’ll need disguises.” Remus said, looking the cubs over. “They’ll take mugshots of you at the station. We can’t risk it.”

“Ok, so who do we go to for that?”

“Ooh!” Leo piped up with a happy, unfairly adorable smile. “I actually know this one!”

***

When they entered the disguise office the following day a woman with long, blonde hair looked up at them from a rapidly moving sewing machine. Finn feared for her fingers as they inched closer to the bobbing needle, but she barely batted an eye as she took her foot off the pedal and smiled in delight when she spotted Leo. “Nutty! How’s it going?”

Leo smiled back and gave her a warm hug. He looked like he gave good hugs, Finn thought. All tall and long-limbed like that. “Hey, Nat. Good to see you.”

“Kasey told me you’re on a mission. Look at you, all official and taking down the Snakes!” She stood on her tiptoes to ruffle his hair. “So grown up!”

“Stop.” Leo laughed, taking a step back and dodging her hand. “Y’all treat me like I’m twelve.” He seemed to remember Logan and Finn were with him and his cheeks turned red as he looked over at them. “Uh, guys this is Natalie. Nat, these are my partners Finn and Logan.”

“Nice to meet you boys.” She said, shaking both their hands. “So you’re here for disguises?”

Finn nodded, then started explaining the premise of their op, watching Natalie a bit nervously as she looked him over thoroughly. It was a bit unnerving, even when he knew it was just to get a good idea of what she needed to do for a disguise. Her gaze was calculating, like she could figure out everything about them with a single look.

Maybe she could.

Finally, she spoke up. “We’ll have to change that hair. How do you feel about wash-out hair dye? Normally I’d just give you a wig, but if you’re getting in a fight it could get pulled off. And you.” She turned to Logan, taking a second to look him over. “I have so many ideas for you. I have a feeling you’re going to love it. Oh, and Nut?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve got a cop uniform that should fit you.”

He bit back disappointment. Finn was dyeing his hair, (which was a bit of a tragedy, really – Leo thought his hair was really pretty, especially out in the sun) Logan was doing who knows what, and all Leo got was a uniform? “Oh. Ok.” He looked over at his partners. “I’ll meet you back in the bullpen?”

“Sounds good.” Logan responded. As soon as Leo closed the door behind him, Natalie faced Logan again with a wicked smile.

“How do you feel about tattoos?”

***

Logan and Finn found Leo having a staring contest with a small, god-awful painted eagle paperweight on Finn’s desk.

“I see you’ve met Brad!” Finn said happily, giving the eagle a pat on the head and startling Leo in the process. He seemed to jump a foot in the air before he realized Finn wasn’t a threat.

“I’m pretty sure it’s haunted.” Leo said, looking away from it slowly. Those beady little eyes seemed like they were staring into his soul and finding it wanting. “I’m from New Orleans, I can tell- holy shit.” He said when he caught sight of his partners.

Finn’s hair was dark brown, his freckles tragically hidden from view. Natalie had also done some makeup magic to accentuate different lines of his face, changing his profile and making him barely recognizable. Logan’s hair was now a dirty blonde. Both of his arms and one collarbone were littered with dark, swooping ink in varying different shapes and patterns. They were both wearing more casual clothes than Leo had ever seen them in, looking soft and comfy instead of like polished, professional spies.

“If I wasn’t expecting it, I’m not sure I could recognize you.” Leo said slowly, trying to get his brain back up and running as he gently grabbed one of Logan’s arms and turned it this way and that, looking at the tattoos in awe. They looked so real.

Logan grinned. “Yeah, Nat’s a pro.” He followed Leo’s gaze down at his fake tattoos wistfully. “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t a spy, just so I could get tattoos.” He couldn’t have anything about him be easy to recognize as a covert operative – it would make him too easy to track down and get compromised. Tattoos unfortunately fell into that category. His eyes landed on the eagle paperweight Leo was staring down earlier. He laughed. “O’Hara, what the fuck is that?”

“It’s Brad! My brother is a spy, too – works out of Tampa. When I joined, we created this competition: whoever brought in the most criminals in a year got to keep Brad on their desk.” Finn preened, looking fondly at the creepy eagle. “Yours truly has the honor this year.”

Leo glared at it mistrustfully. “That thing needs to be burned. Or I could smoke it out with sage for you. I’ve got some from Marie Laveau’s House of Voodoo back home. That’ll get rid of the spirit for sure.”

Finn gasped in horror. “How dare you? Brad is a treasure and deserves to be protected at all costs.”

“I strongly disagree.”

“It is not haunted, it’s a symbol of being a winner-”

“As much as I’m loving this conversation,” Logan interrupted, looking amusedly between his partners. “We should probably get going if we want to get to Slytherin in time. Loops already placed the anonymous tip about the other gang, so we’re all set. Ready?”

“Ready.” Finn echoed, giving Brad one last loving pat for good luck before heading towards the door, Logan by his side. Leo picked up his pace to walk alongside the other two. 

“Please don’t make me sit in the backseat again.”

“But you’re the rookie.”

“I’m also the tallest. You try being stuck with your knees to your chest for a several hour road trip. Not fun.”

***

Finn laughed as Logan stumbled during their “drunken meandering” in the park near the Slytherin precinct and threw an arm around his shoulder. He spotted a uniformed officer talking on his phone a few yards away, apparently on break. He knew Leo was also out there somewhere, keeping tabs on them and relaying information to Sirius and Loops. Since Finn and Logan were getting arrested, they didn’t want to be caught with mics and earpieces on them. That would really raise suspicions and get their cover blown for sure. So Leo was keeping an eye on them now and Loops would do the same via the security cameras once they were both inside the precinct.

“There’s an officer to our left.” Finn said, leaning close to Logan to murmur into his ear and knocking their heads clumsily together. He could just barely see the curve of Logan’s smile from that vantage point, almost taunting him with how easy it would be to press a kiss there. Just a slight movement of his chin and he could do it. Refraining took all of Finn’s willpower.

He moved away. “Now all we need to do is get his attention and get ourselves arrested.”

Logan leaned in close and eliminated all the space Finn had just put between them, green eyes bright and mischievous and luminous under the artificial light of a nearby streetlamp. “I’ve got an idea.”

Finn simply stared. “Huh?”

“You know how I hate the police?” The brunet-turned-blond asked, grabbing Finn’s hands and walking backwards. Finn followed the siren’s call without hesitation. If he crashed into the rocks and sank because of him – well. Drowning would be worth it.

He had to urge his brain to focus and vaguely remembered that conversation from New Year’s and the rant about abuse of power that came with it. Even drunk off his ass, Logan had made some very good points. “Yeah.” Finn glanced over Logan’s shoulder as they approached the parked police car.

“We’re really going to piss them off today. Go with it.” Were the last words out of Logan’s mouth as he backed himself up against the police car, pulled Finn flush against him, and crashed their lips together. Finn barely missed a beat before he was kissing back, moving a hand up to cradle the back of Logan’s head. On New Year’s – when Finn was convinced Logan was going to kiss him but didn’t – Finn imagined what kissing him would be like. He pictured it soft, tantalizing, and teasing, just like the rest of their night had been. It was somewhat like that, and yet Finn was still off by miles. This kiss was a lot of things – it was warm and feisty and absolutely addictive – but soft didn’t fit the description at all. Logan kissed enthusiastically, if not a little sloppily. Finn couldn’t really tell if that was part of the drunk ruse or not.

Fuck, this was a con. It wasn’t real. This was for the mission, and nothing else.

But then why did it feel so real?

Finn pushed the thoughts away as he angled his head and deepened the kiss, inhaling sharply through his nose as he only then remembered the necessity that was breathing. He might not get this opportunity again, so he was going to use this chance to make Logan weak in the knees. Finn’s brain knew it was a horrible idea, but he wanted Logan to remember this, to think about it before he went to bed that night and wonder what if. If they weren’t spies or partners or on the biggest operation of their entire careers, what if he could have this?

If this was the only time Finn would ever get to kiss Logan, he was also going to make sure he remembered every tiny detail: the way Logan’s breath hitched when he bit down on his bottom lip, the feel of cold hands slipping under his sweatshirt, the rise and fall of his chest against Finn’s.

“Hey now!” A gruff voice shouted, grabbing Finn’s shoulder and pulling the two apart. “Cut it out.”

Finn staggered back – which was not an act. He was just that off balance, mind reeling. The police officer was glaring at him sternly, looking very annoyed. Finn shrugged carelessly, letting his words slur. “I would say sorry, but I mean – come on. Look at him. Can you blame me?”

Leo watched from his vantage point on a nearby park bench, something twisting painfully in his chest.

He could admit he was jealous – that was the easy part. But he wasn’t jealous in a way that made any sense. He was jealous of both of them. He wanted both of them. And yeah, it was a con and they were just making out to get the officers’ attentions, but it sure looked genuine. There were some things you just couldn’t fake.

The way Logan was gazing at Finn was one of them.

Of all people, he had to catch feelings for spies. Not just one spy – two. Two spies who may or may not have feelings for each other.

Fuck.

This is what I get for letting myself speculate, I guess.

“Leo?” Remus’ voice asked through his earpiece. “What’s going on?”

Leo focused back on the mission at hand and forced his voice to stay even. “They’re, uh, making out against a cop car.”

Sirius laughed loudly, while Remus just sighed long-sufferingly. “That’s one way to do it, I guess.”

“They’re egging the cop on, now.” Leo said, watching as Logan’s shoulders tensed and he said something harsh to the cop. “Looks like it won’t be long.”

Sure enough, the cop whipped out his handcuffs and motioned for Leo’s partners to turn around and put their hands behind their backs. They were loaded into the back of the cop car, and Leo allowed his eyes to follow it as it drove off towards the precinct before getting to his feet and walking in the same direction. “They’re on their way. Let me know when all the action starts.”

“Copy that.”

The good thing about being on a mission was that Leo didn’t really have time to internally reflect or try and decipher his feelings. He had a job to do. He couldn’t afford to mess this up because he was too busy stuck in his own head.

He did, however, assume he had enough time to not rush his walk to the precinct. Finn and Logan still needed to be searched, booked, and put in the holding cell before they could even think of starting the riot. So he kept his gait slow and let himself get lost in the sound of the wind sweeping through the trees and the rustle of dead leaves as they danced across the sidewalk.

He shoved a hand in his pocket, finding the old, worn, familiar lock there and fiddled with the dial.

***

Things in the holding cell were… not exactly going to plan.

First of all, there were about half the number of gang members in the holding cell than they anticipated. This wasn’t great, but it wasn’t the end of the world either. It might be harder to get everyone in the precinct to pay attention, but Finn was still confident in their ability to cause a scene. Then it got stranger.

The gang members were absolutely delightful.

Three were sitting by Logan, sharing stories behind their numerous tattoos and rolling up their sleeves to show off more ink. Four more were in a cuddle puddle in one of the corners of the cell, trying to get some sleep. One was even sitting by Finn, although he had made no attempt to strike up a conversation or anything. Finn was usually pretty comfortable with his height – he was tall, by most people’s standards. But the guy sitting next to him was huge. He was at least three inches taller than Leo, and easily twice as broad. With an unreadable face made of stone, the guy was also practically impossible to get a read on. Finn figured he needed to do something to get the ball rolling. Poor Nutter Butter would be stuck outside all night at this rate.

So he braced himself, turned to the guy next to him, and said, “Hey.”

Not his best conversation starter.

The guy looked at him strangely. Finn decided to keep going. “I’m Finn.”

“Tanner.”

“How’s your night going, Tanner?”

Tanner seemed to think Finn was certifiably insane. “Well, seeing that I’m currently in jail, not great.”

“Right… right.” Finn trailed off, cringing internally. He was so off his game tonight. Of course, he knew why, but that didn’t make it any easier to snap out of it. All he could think of was pressing Logan against a cop car and how much he wanted to do it again. But it wasn’t that simple-

“Are you ok?” Finn looked back up at Tanner, who shrugged stiffly. “You seem a little stressed.”

Finn thought about it, then decided fuck it. He’d never see this guy again. And who would Tanner tell? He blurted out, “I kissed my coworker today.”

Tanner blinked, then leaned back against the wall. “Ok.”

“I don’t think he feels the same way.”

He didn’t even bat an eye and the whole being attracted to the same gender thing. His face still revealed nothing. Finn couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not. “Did he kiss you back?”

“Well, yeah.” Finn said, glancing across the cell at Logan and thinking back on the feeling of those lips pressed against his, the texture of the soft curls beneath his fingertips.

“Then what the fuck is the holdup?”

Finn sighed, looking back at Tanner. “It’s not that simple.”

“Look. He either likes you or he doesn’t. What good does it do you to keep guessing when you could get a definitive answer by just asking him? Everyone seems to forget how simple things are when you break them down into components. It’s just simple communication, dude. That’s it.”

“But-” Finn stopped short, taking a second to think when he was struck with a realization. It wasn’t out of the blue, nor was it completely surprising. It still felt like getting hit by a fucking train, though.

Tanner let him stay silent for a second, then prodded curtly, “But?”

“I… I think I might have feelings for another of my friends, too.” Finn thought of sunny blond hair, kind blue eyes, and a warm, dimpled smile.

Shit.

“You know polyamorous relationships are a thing, right?” Tanner sat up straighter, looking at Finn eagerly. It was the first emotion Finn had seen on his face, and also strangely endearing. “I have a ton of articles I can send you if you’re interested.”

Finn couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face. “Thanks, man. I think I might have to wait it out, though. We all work together and it would get so complicated so fast. Maybe once we finish the project we’re working on together.”

Tanner followed his eyes across the cell to Logan. Finn hadn’t even realized he was staring at him again. “Is that the one you kissed or the other one?”

Finn arched an eyebrow, which the gang member snorted at. “You aren’t subtle, bud.”

“That’s the one I kissed. Well, he kissed me, if we’re being technical. But I don’t think he meant it. It was kind of a – a dare, I guess you could say.”

Tanner’s face turned stormy. “He did what now?”

Finn frantically started to backtrack. “It’s fine. I mean, I’m not mad or anything-”

Tanner stood up and pointed angrily at Logan. “You!” He bellowed, voice like thunder. “What the fuck is your problem?”

Logan looked from Tanner to Finn, then back to Tanner, brow knitting in confusion. “What?”

“Did no one teach you about consent you little piece of-”

And then Tanner drew back his fist and slammed it into Logan’s cheek in a brutal cross hit. Silence rang through the holding cell as Logan reeled backwards, raising a hand to his cheek, which was already red. When he looked up at Tanner again, his eyes were a combination of furious and excited.

It looked like they were getting their fight now.

Finn managed to get out the words “holy shit” before all hell broke loose.

Logan threw the next punch, aiming for the stomach first and then the temple when Tanner doubled over, knocking the breath out of him. One of the other gang members took offense to that on Tanner’s behalf and went after Logan, who dodged the first swing easily and collided his fist into the guy’s nose.

The three gang members who were talking about tattoos with Logan instantly jumped to back him up, while the four who were sleeping leapt to their feet and tried to make sense of the situation. There was a charged energy in the air, an undercurrent of adrenaline and anger mingling with it.

Finn hated fights. They were messy and ugly and painful. Plus he was a conman – if his face was all beat up and bruised, no one would trust him and he’d never get any of his jobs done. So he tried to avoid them as much as he could, but he didn’t think he was getting out of this one.

Logan turned his fiery gaze on Finn, making him take an aborted step backwards before he realized this was the plan. They were supposed to be starting a fight. Finn wasn’t sure he could fight his partner, though. Especially since he’d kissed the guy just shy of two hours ago. Luckily he didn’t have to think too hard about it, because Tanner was back on his feet and charging at Logan, along with two other gang members.

Logan moved like the ocean when he fought – smooth and fluid, but also unpredictable and dangerous and wild. He also clearly knew exactly what he was doing, how to exact the most damage on his opponents. He used his size to his advantage by punching upwards and using his leg muscles to land harder punches. With shorter limbs like that, his blows were quick, effective, and brutal. Logan also seemed to be a southpaw, delivering brutal body shots directly to the liver.

It was absolutely mesmerizing.

Unfortunately, Finn was too busy watching Logan to notice the guy coming towards him until he was tackled forcibly to the ground. His head smacked the concrete floor painfully, stunning him for a brief second. When the spots disappeared from his field of vision, he looked up at the guy standing over him.

“Fuck you, man.”

***

“Nut, you’re good to go.” Remus said as he watched cops swarm the holding cell. “I’ll keep an eye out for any stragglers that might catch you.”

“Thanks.” Leo said, and Remus watched the security footage of the side door as Leo crouched by it and began picking the lock. Sirius looked over his shoulder and whistled lowly.

“Damn, Tremblay’s got some moves.”

Remus briefly switched his gaze over to the footage of the holding cell before scanning the hallways for stray officers. “That’s kind of his thing. He gets sent into situations where things are dicey and people need some sense knocked into them.”

“Maybe he should teach O’Hara. He’s already on the ground.”

“What?” Leo asked, sounding concerned as he unlocked the door and slipped inside. “Is he ok?”

Remus watched Finn climb to his feet and face the guy who knocked him down, getting into an admittedly terrible fighting stance. “He’s fine. Head straight down that hallway. The evidence room is the last door on your left.”

“I hate not knowing what’s going on.” Leo muttered, creeping effortlessly down the hall. “Now I understand why Logan hated the bank missions so much.”

Sirius was watching the action in the holding cell eagerly. “I think this mission more than makes up for those. He’s having a blast. Look at him go! He’s a little ball of rage.”

Leo laughed under his breath as he broke into the evidence room seemingly effortlessly. “Ooh, you’d better not let him hear you say that.”

Remus frowned, watching the blond locate the safe and crouch in front of it. Something about him was… off. He’d seemed fine earlier, but now he seemed subdued. His voice was carefully controlled and even, a blank mask on his face.

So the question was: what had happened between 10 am and now that made him feel like he had to distance himself?

The safe opened within a few minutes. Leo switched out the flash drives and pocketed the real one, closing the safe again and rising to his feet. “Headed out now.”

“Coast is clear.” Remus said, looking back at the holding cell. The officers were pulling people apart and seemed to be getting things back under control. “Good timing – looks like the fight is wrapping up. Now all you’ve got to do is pay their bail after a little while and hit the road.”

“Perfect. That’s the easy part.”

Paying bail, it turned out, was not the easy part.

After what felt like the thirtieth time he’d signed a fake name on the forms and having to jump through countless hoops, Leo still had to wait over an hour until Finn and Logan were processed and released. So he sat in one of the uncomfortable chairs in the lobby and waited. And waited. And waited.

When his partners finally walked through the doors, Leo did a double-take. He knew they’d been in a fight, but good lord.

“Y’all look like shit.” He said, taking in Logan’s bruised cheek, the way Finn was cradling his left arm to his chest, and their overall rumpled appearances. He also noticed the way they were steadfastly refusing to look at each other.

Logan snorted. “Thanks, Peanut.”

Leo shrugged, holding his hands up defensively. “I’m just telling the truth here. Don’t kill the messenger.”

“Let’s go home.” Finn said wearily as he led the way outside and towards their car, limping slightly. “I think I might be allergic to this makeup. It’s starting to itch.”

Later that night, when they were all in their separate apartments scattered across the city, all three of them faced a restless night of staring up at their ceilings and wondering, in some variation or another, what if.

#lumosinlove #sweater weather #coast to coast #coops #sirius black #remus lupin #o'knutzy #finn o'hara #logan tremblay #leo knut #clandestine #cw: violence

[kiliinstinct]

Stood Up - Nalu OneShot

I was inspired yesterday and this came from it. And I mean, super burst of inspiration.  Apologies, but I wrote it as soon as the idea entered my head, and it’s not edited.  This story was inspired by this post that came across my dash yesterday.  I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! 

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Ten minutes late. While it wasn’t ideal, Lucy could accept it. Rather than place an order for food, she asked for water instead and checked her pocket mirror for the fifth time. Perfect, but the more the overhead radio switched songs, the more she tapped her foot, patience wearing thin. The urge to check the mirror for a sixth and seventh time was rising. 

Instead, she sipped her water and checked the time again: twenty minutes. 

Where was he? 

Paranoia began to set in as she looked around the small, corner restaurant. It wasn’t the most notable of places. A small business off the corner of downtown that only the locals truly appreciated. She had always wanted to try it, finding the dim lights and cramped walls very homely. Dan, her date, had argued at first. He didn’t think such a place was worthy of a girl in her class. ‘A true beauty deserves a beautiful meal!’ He had stated. While this irritated her, Lucy dismissed his words and pointed out that it was her turn to choose the place. He gave in eventually. It was their tenth date. One that was supposed to be special.  The time she finally opened the door to her apartment and asked him to join her, if all went well. He’d wanted that after the third date, but- 

Lucy felt that a true connection required more time. Trust was earned, after all, and she refused to to be quick to give it.  She sighed and took another glance at her phone, lips pulling into a frown when the time ticked to Seven-Thirty. She couldn’t keep waiting like this!  Pulling up her contacts, she dialed Dan’s number and waited for it to connect. Her glossy, manicured nails tapped against the table in a rushed staccato. 

Were people watching her? No, no, of course not. They had their own dates and families to tend to. There was no way they’d look twice at her. As her phone rang in her ear, the waiter passed again, only to be waved off after refilling her water. The clink of the ice cubes only served to raise her irritation.  Why wasn’t he picking up? The voicemail message picked up, Dan’s boisterous voice echoing through as he requested a name and phone number to reach out to.  Lucy hung up and struck redial. 

It didn’t ring. The start of his voicemail came again and Lucy sniffed, staring wide eyed at the phone in disbelief. 

“Did he just… “ Baffled, she listened to the message all the way through, “hit the f-u button?”

Must have been an accident, she reasoned. Sipping her water far too quick, Lucy grimaced from the blast of cold that shit through her brain as her phone dialed out again. And again. Three more times. Voicemail every time. Either he kept sending her to voicemail or his phone had shut off. 

Lucy wasn’t sure which reason she liked better.

“Excuse me, Miss, but are you ready to order now? I don’t mean to rush,” The waiter was back again, looking uncomfortable. Lucy stiffened and set her phone aside, trying to remain aloof and calm. “Oh, no, not yet.” She said, waving him off. His blue eyes stared into her own. Pretty, all things considered, but Lucy didn’t miss the look of pity that swam in them. Did he know what was happening? Feeling the heat rise in her cheeks, she cleared her throat and tapped the phone, forcing a false smile. “He’s just running late, that’s all. My date should be here soon!”

She hoped her words were true, but the sinking feeling in her gut said otherwise. Her waiter shrugged, telling her to wave him down if she needed anything and shuffled off to the next table. Lucy couldn’t help but follow him for a few seconds, horror setting in when she realized the couple at the next table were staring at her with looks of pity. One even mouthed ‘I’m sorry’ before turning their attention away. 

Lucy’s lungs tightened as her ability to breathe became worse. She licked her lips and checked her phone once more, sighing when she read the time. He was late by an hour now. An hour. How long was he expecting her to wait?!  “Lucy, grow a spine. If he’s being this late then obviously he-... he isn’t coming and you should take your loss and leave.” The pep talk she muttered did little to make her move. What if she was wrong? What if his phone really did die and he was caught in traffic? What if she left and more people just stared with those pitying gazes? It was becoming harder to breathe and she gulped down the rest of her water, grimacing. She’d have to run to the bathroom the rest of the night with the amount she’d drank , but what else could she do?

She checked her phone again. And facebook. Even twitter. Dan hadn’t posted anywhere. Where WAS he? Did something happen? Maybe she could call a - that’s it! Lucy swiped to her messages, finding the number of Dan’s room mate, Mary. 

‘Do you know where Dan is?’ She asked, desperately trying to stay calm rather than allow her overactive imagination to run away with her. Lucy began to rummage through her purse again, withdrawing her small hand mirror and lip gloss to reapply her makeup. If he WAS just held up by traffic, then it would be worth it, right?

Lucy was stunned when her phone buzzed just as the lip applicator touched her skin. Not expecting the fact response, she dropped the gloss and checked the reply that flashed upon her screen.  Eyes widened and the phone slipped through her fingers, clattering against the table as it fell to the floor. 

Mary’s reply glowed on the screen in big, curious letters, ‘Didn’t you and Dan break up?’

Break up? Since when? They’d spoken earlier about their excitement for their date tonight. She’d even verified the address with him! What was Mary talking about-? Lucy’s fingers shook and she rushed to retrieve her phone, wincing when she caught the slight laughter of a table a few feet from her. Their gazes were pointed, watching her move as her eyes watered. I will not cry!

Lucy wanted to be angry. To let this moment fall into fires of fury and burn away the tears threatening to fall and distract her from the embarrassment that stabbed her. He stood her up. There was no other explanation, was there? Swallowing thickly, she tapped through her phone again, blinking back the waves of shame that pushed to fall. All her messages to Dan were on read, all her calls ignored. Swiping to her friend’s number, she began to type a quick message. ‘Can I stay with you tonight?’

The message sent and lip quivered. She steeled herself for the shameful walk she’d have to take to the exit. Everyone would know. Everyone did know. Even that waiter, with his dark hair covering half his face (and wasn’t he wearing a vest earlier?), was sending her knowing looks. She noticed his hand clenched to a fist as their eyes met and felt a strange wave of appreciation. He felt the fury that refused to consume her. That was nice, at least. She grabbed for her wallet to set a small tip on the table. 

So what if she hadn’t ordered anything. He’d been nice. It was the least she could do for wasting his time.  Unable to resist the disappointing settling in her bones, Lucy stuffed her things into her bag and slid out of her booth. She wouldn’t cry. Not until she was outside in the sunset with just herself for company. 

Lucy didn’t make it a step from her table when a sudden rush of feet and hurried gasp interrupted her thoughts. Heavy footsteps slammed against the floor as a warm voice melted into her ears. 

“Shoot, I’m sorry! Traffic was a bitch!” The voice said, sheepishly, “you- you’re not leaving, are you?”

Lucy’s heart stuttered and she blinked: confused. That voice…

It was not Dan.

She lifted her head and felt the words die in her mouth. 

While it was not her tall, broad shouldered, brunette of a boyfriend (possibly ex) - it was a man with a smile that made her cheeks warm and eyes that peered into her own as if he could read her mind. A little intense, but she barely noticed the discomfort of his stare, too stunned by the shock of pink hair on his head. A set of barrettes kept his bangs from his face as dark roots shone beneath the lighter colors. Her face burned even hotter when he cleared his throat and Lucy realized she was caught staring. “Uh, I- “ She stammered, looking for a proper response, “I was, actually.”

What else would she be doing? Who was this guy? Her mind and his movements were a whirlwind as he clicked his tongue and ushered her back to her seat. Lucy started to protest, but stared, dubious, when he muttered, “just go with it!” Into her ear.

In seconds, she was back in her seat with her water refilled and the strange guy had sat across from her, lounging in his seat as if he owned the place and hadn’t just sat with a stranger. If Lucy hadn’t been so caught up in her emotions and the oddity of the moment, she may have considered the guy cute, all things considered. 

“Listen,” She began again, finally forcing her mouth to work, “I think there’s been a misunderstanding-”

“Shhht!” He hissed, one finger on his lips to silence her. He leaned forward to keep his voice low, “The name’s Natsu. Whoever stood you up is a dick and I’m gonna fix it!”  When he was met with silence, he rethought his words and slightly back pedaled, “if you’ll let me that is.”

Realization finally dawned and Lucy’s jaw dropped. Natsu, reading her expression as consent, leaned back in his chair and quickly flagged the waiter down. The looks of pity around the room turned to relief and shame at eavesdropping with many onlookers turning their gazes elsewhere. Lucy felt a weight fall off her chest, now that she was no longer the center of attention. Taking in a deep breath, she marveled at the situation and wondered if it was best to end the farce before it started and leave. The waiter had arrived and was sharing furious whispers with the other, both looked irritated before Natsu’s grin grew larger, satisfied with whatever conversation had gone between them. “Oi, just go ahead and get me a coke and - “ he looked to Lucy and smirked lazily, “What do ya’ want? I’ll cover it.”

Wait, was he serious? Looking from him and to the waiter, she cleared her throat and muttered a quick, “Sweet Tea with Lemon, please,” and the waiter was off. Natsu didn’t waste a second of time, opening one of the menus to hold it out to her. “So, what’s your name,” He asked lazily, prodding her fingers until she took the menu and opened it. “I’m sorry?” Lucy still felt like she was missing a few steps in the dark. Natsu snickered, “Well, you don’t have to tell me, but I figured this would look more real if I knew your name. Or I could just make up one?”

Lucy’s earlier horror was being buried beneath amused bafflement. The entire situation felt so surreal, but Lucy was beginning to warm up to the idea. A hint of a real smile curled at her lips and she sipped her water, eyeing Natsu through her lashes. “And what sort of name would you give me?” She asked. 

Was she flirting only minutes after learning she’d been dumped? Something must have jarred a screw loose in her head. Natsu didn’t seem to mind, however, as he scrunched his nose in though and tapped a finger to his chin. “How about… Luigi?”

“What?!” Lucy sputtered, pushing the glass aside. “You can’t call me that, I’m a girl!”

Natsu’s expression looked much like the cat who caught the canary, “Then you got no choice, but to tell me your name. Or it’s Luigi for the rest of the evening!” “No way, you have to pick another or I’m leaving.”

It was his turn to sputter, “Oi, that’s not fair, you already agreed to-” “And I can change my mind at any time.” She asserted, eyes gleaming. Natsu knitted his brows together in thought before he laughed again. Rather than give her a new name, he tapped the menu again. That smirk was making the twisted knots in her stomach detangle and curl in a way she wasn’t expecting. Odd, Lucy thought, she hadn’t felt warm from such a smile in a long time.  “Go ahead and pick something. I already know what I’m having and all the meals are affordable! You’ll like everything, I swear.”

Her attention turned back to the menu and she nibbled her lip, “you haven’t even looked at it.” She accused me.

“Don’t need to. I know everything about it.” He replied flippantly, but gave no further explanation. The smile on his face spoke of mischief, making Lucy wonder if she had failed to notice something about him, but she shrugged and chose a meal to order either way. 

Her phone buzzed and she glanced at it, surprised to see her friend had answered, full of worry towards the conclusion of her date. She began to type a response, but paused, unsure of what to say. Natsu snorted. “Wow,” He teased, “already on your phone. Am I that boring?”

“Maybe you are,” Lucy said pointedly, laughing when he squawked in mock offense. Her fingers quickly ran across the screen, sending a quick, ‘I’ll tell you later. My Date’s still going.’ Giggling, she put it back in her purse and looked to her pouting savior. “I was letting my friend, Levy, know that I would stop by her house later.”

“Oh, is that all?” He propped his chin in the palm of his hand and observed her. “You really just gonna give your friend’s name that easy, but can’t give me yours?”

Oh, crap, she really did do that. Abashed, Lucy turned her nose in the air and said stiffly, “You still haven’t given me a new one.”

Natsu’s grin was nothing short of sly, “Nah, it’s a secret now. I’d rather your real name anyway.”

It was hard to argue with that. Curiosity urged Lucy to needle him for more answers, but she was interrupted by their drinks arriving. Natsu took the opportunity to rattle off his order, a rather large one if she read the menu correctly. In a few seconds, the waiter was gone again, with both menus and Lucy wondered when the tears had stopped trying to fall. 

The pain was still there, dull and throbbing in her chest, but it felt.. Distant, in that moment. Natsu jabbed his straw into his coke before slurping away without a care in the world. It was something Dan would have called “uncivilized” for a girl like her. One of the many reasons her father insisted they date. Had she been fooling herself all this time? The thoughts swirled in her mind and Lucy realized she had much to think about. 

“Lucy.” Her name spilled forth without further prompting. Natsu paused from his drink to blink at her, expression almost slack jawed as the straw dangled between his lips and teeth. “My name is Lucy.”

It wasn’t an immediate fix, but this man had already slapped a bandage on her aching heart. The least she could do was give her name. 

The straw popped from Natsu’s mouth as he laughed, “Hah! Luigi wasn’t too far off!” “H-hey! They sound nothing alike!” 

It was absurd. Crazy even, but Lucy began to laugh right along with Natsu. Their joined giggles filled the space between them and the ice was broken. Her now pseudo date began and with every new topic approached by Natsu, more laughter ensued. Eventually, Lucy did cry, but only from humor. When their meal came, Natsu ate with gusto, leaving bits of crumbs and sauce on the side of his mouth and for once in her life, Lucy didn’t feel the need to constantly dab her mouth with a tissue. It was a comfortable back and forth. By the time they both cleaned their plates, the restaurant was near empty and all the streetlights had lit up the windows. 

It was getting late, and Lucy’s phone buzzed with more messages. Each went ignored. Lucy didn’t think to check the time until the bill had been placed on the table, quickly swept up by Natsu before she could glance at it. “You really don’t have to cover for me.” She said, feeling guilty. Natsu waved her off as he pulled a card from his pants pocket. Lucy didn’t bother asking why he didn’t have a wallet, assuming it was one of his many quirks. 

“You’re right. I don’t.” Natsu agreed, making no move to hand her the bill, “but I want to so I’m going to.”

Leaning back in her chair, Lucy blew a strand of hair from her face and sighed. “You didn’t have to do any of this.”

Natsu, for the first time that night, grew solemn. A growl of frustration rumbled through his frame and he ran his hands through his hair, searching for the right words. “Yes. Yes I did. Or I would have regretted it for the rest of my life.”

“You’re exaggerating.” Lucy accused, ignoring the way his words made her ears turn red. Natsu denied it, shaking his head as his obvious annoyance turned to anger. “No.” He bluntly said. “I’m not. You were being stared at and clearly upset. What sort of guy would I be if I just let you run out to cry like that? Tch.” he reached over the table to tuck the blond strand of hair behind her ear and sighed. “I had to try and make your day better. It didn’t sit right with me not to.”

Lucy sniffed, eyes watering before she could stop them. Natsu reacted with a curse under his breath. “Shit, I didn’t mean to make you cry. The point was to help you smile!”

A watery laugh burst through and she wiped her eyes, smiling widely. This complete stranger saw a girl in distress and decided he had to make her smile. How touching was that? And silly. Most wouldn’t think to do that for someone they didn’t know. Wiping more tears away, she grabbed his hand in gratitude, biting back a choked sob. “You did.” She said, laughing through the tears. “You made me smile more than I had in months.”

Ah, and that was the truth of it. Despite her relationship with Dan, she’d been going through the motions. So assured that they were clicking, without fully realizing how much she pushed aside and pretended wasn’t an issue. And Natsu came and burst through the doors, showing her just how much she’d been holding back. It was uplifting and painful all at once, but Lucy couldn’t have been more grateful. “Thank you, Natsu.” She said earnestly, hoping he could understand just how much his actions meant to her. “I mean it.”

His answering smile was so bright, Lucy felt her entire torso warm up at the sight. Natsu really did have an infectious smile, Lucy thought. His hand flipped to give her own a squeeze before they separated and Lucy caught the faintest hint of red glowing on the tips of his ears. It was cute. Ridiculously so. 

“Then that’s…” He said helplessly, words failing before he tried again, “That’s good then! Guess there’s only one thing left to do.”

Before Lucy could ask, he left his seat and moved to her end, holding his hand out for her to take. Grabbing her purse, she allowed him to lead her through the restaurant and to the exit. While she understood the night had to end eventually, the sudden realization that it came now made her heart stutter. She almost wasn’t ready to face the world again, turning to Natsu just as they entered the parking lot. Natsu didn’t leave the sidewalk, his hand still warm in hers as he fidgeted beside her. “Sorry if that seems a bit rushed, but I don’t want your friend to worry about you. That’s why your phone keeps buzzing, right?”

Lucy blushed, looking to her purse that vibrated from her phone again. “Oh, y-yeah.. That- probably is Levy.” She would have so many apologies to give her friend later for this! She almost whined at the thought, but turned her attention back to Natsu. “Well, I guess, this is it then.”

It was a little awkward, maybe a little silly after the night they had, but it wasn’t a real date so what else could Lucy do? She held her hand out for a shake and smiled. “Thanks for making my night the exact opposite of a disaster.”

Natsu stared at her hand as if it was dripping in goo, scrunching his nose up before he laughed, fished for something in his other pocket and slapped his hand into hers, holding a small card between the two. Lucy tried to withdraw to examine what he’d given her, but his grip tightened slightly as he grinned. “Anytime, Lucy.” He said, face splitting in half with his mischievous grin, “And I mean it. Any time.  And hey, maybe-”

His words hung in the air as Lucy froze, feeling like a sudden precipice had appeared before her and she was about to tumble off it. Was he-? “You know, maybe when you feel better we can do this again sometime.” He finished, releasing her hand. “For real this time.”

The implication did not escape her. A real date. He was asking for a real date. Was it all right to agree to something so soon after a possible break up? The thoughts whirled in her head, but for once, Lucy didn’t feel overwhelmed as she had earlier. Lucy didn’t miss the message: maybe when you feel better.

Natsu was giving her the choice and the time to process her feelings and get herself in order. Just how good was this man? Beaming, she clutched the small card to her chest and nodded. “I’d like that.” It was the most honest answer she could give, and one that took her breath away from excitement. Natsu released a breath, shoulders sagging as if he’d been stone moments before and he dramatically clutched at his own heart. “Thank god!” He cried, “I’ve never just out and asked someone out before, I was for sure you’d turn me down like the weirdo you are!”

“Wait, what did you just call me-” Lucy’s words were cut off by his lips warmly pressing against her cheek and in a flurry, he dashed back to the doors and flung them open, gleefully grinning. 

“That’s the other name!” He said, voice coming out in a sing song, “I was gonna call you a weirdo!”

The doors slammed shut before she could utter a reply, standing a mere twenty feet from her car and astonished. A weirdo? His other name for her was that? “What sort of name is that?!” Hilarity struck her and Lucy laughed as she unlocked her car. It wasn’t until she sat herself inside the vehicle that she realized Natsu had gone back into the restaurant rather than to his own car.

Wait, why did he-? Noticing the sign on the window had changed to closed, she stared at the card in her hand in scrutiny. She wasn’t surprised to see his cell number on the card, but then her eyes read the title of the card. Her jaw dropped again. 

Natsu Dragneel: Head line Cook to the Dragneel Bar and Grill. 

Lucy’s surprised shriek could be heard through the entire parking lot. “HE WORKS HERE!?”

#Mira's Fanfiction #Nalu Fanfiction #FT Fanfiction #Fairy Tail Fanfiction #Nalu #NatsuxLucy #was inspired and i went with it #why cant i write 4k words this fast usually? #fricken brain #anyway #if you thought you were on my tag list #and didn't get tagged #either tumblr wouldn't let me tag you #or your names were changed and i dont know the new urls #SO TELL ME YOUR NEW URLS #sobs

[myundeadgayson]

DC Street Racing AU — Bart Allen’s Backstory

alright, i know practically nothing about cars. i’ve also never even seen a Fast and the Furious movie, but SOMEONE has gotta fill the void on lack of DC Street Racing AUs, and i’m gonna do it. (if there are some out there though, please let me know! i can barely find ANYTHING, and i’d love to see stuff for this kind of AU!)

so,,, i’m just saying,,, the Teen Titans and Young Justice Crews as Street Racers.

we’ll start off with the characters that sent me into this spiral in the first place: Bart Allen and Wally West.

again, i know practically nothing about this kind of stuff. i know nothing about street racing, or cars, but i’m just saying… i really love imagining Street Racer!Wally being Bart’s inspiration for wanting to race.

even though Iris was never approving of Wally’s racing (she’s supportive, but extremely concerned for his safety), Wally would occasionally bring Bart along to the races that he’d have with friends. sometimes Bart would sneak his way into going without Wally realizing, but either way, Bart would come along.

after years of growing up and watching Wally race, Bart decided he wanted to race too. (note: to save myself a headache since this is No Powers AU and Time Travel doesn’t take place, we’re just gonna pretend that Barry and Iris adopted Bart. i want to say that his parents were close family members of Iris and Wally. perhaps one of the parents was another cousin of theirs, but both Bart’s parents ended up dying in some sort of accident. since then, Bart’s been living with Barry, Iris, and their newly born twins.)

i have so much more to say about this AU, but i want to warn you because this is about to be a VERY long post. however, if you wanna know Bart Allen’s Street Racer AU backstory and more about Wally (and his racing group, The Titans), please read more!

      (TW: small car accident — completely non-graphic, no injuries involved, everything is okay, but it does happen)     Bart’s been interested in racing for YEARS. ever since he was a kid, he’s always craved to know what it’s like — to feel the wind in your hair, the rush of adrenaline in your veins, the feeling of your heart racing as you watch the speedometer go up and up and up. the exhilaration filling your lungs as some part of you realizes “this is dangerous”.

he wants those feelings. he wants that experience that makes Wally’s eyes light up like there’s pure lightening rushing through his veins.

he wants to go Fast.

when Bart was thirteen, Wally let him sit in the driver’s seat for the first time.

Wally didn’t let him drive it, of course. Bart wasn’t tall enough yet to reach the petals even if he wanted to, but he was excited nonetheless. Wally had laughed at him as he grinned, asking how to work everything.

the car wasn’t on — Wally wasn’t dumb enough to give him even the slightest chance of trying to start it. it was a good choice. Bart would be a liar to say that he wouldn’t have instantly tried to drive it. instead, Wally let Bart mess with the gears and pretend he was in a race of his own. he’d adjust the mirror to try to see himself. he was too short to fully be seen in it, but if he sat up tall enough he could see his eyes.

years later, Bart would do the same. he’d look into his reflection and see his eyes, sparkling with that same determination that he had all those years ago.

Wally had explained everything to him. Bart started off by eagerly pointing at things (like the gear, the numbers, and all the weird symbols he could see) and ask questions, and Wally would answer every one. Wally explained other things too, like what made Wally’s special car better for racing than some random car. Bart hung on every word, trying his best to imagine all the pieces, even if he didn’t know what some were at all. he tried to commemorate every bit of information to memory bc maybe one day, he could make himself a cool car too.

the first time Bart actually drove a car was a disaster.

he was barely fourteen. it was hardly even a few months after Wally had verbally explained to him how to work a car.

no one expected him to put that knowledge to use so quickly.

somehow he got ahold of Iris’ keys. he would never explain how he got him (they were RIGHT THERE on the counter. how was he supposed to say no when they made it so easy?), but somehow it happened.

his joyride didn’t last long enough. for a short moment though, he was beyond excited to be beyond the wheel. after lots of adjusting the seat and awkwardly shuffling to sit as close to the wheel as possible to be able to see over the hood, Bart started to drive.

he managed to get down the street. he was a little slow at first. the car wobbled in an unsteady line as it trudged down the road at barely 10mph. Bart’s eyes flickered constantly between the road and the mirror, his small hands gripping the wheel like a lifeline.

the anxiousness he felt subsided as he reached the end of the neighborhood. there was no sign of Iris in sight, and he managed to drive just fine. stunned laughter bubbled from his lips as his eyes flickered back down to the road ahead— he was doing it! he was really doing it! he was driving!

with a newfound confidence urging him on, he turned onto a connected street to keep going. he started pressing on the gas pedal more, trying to gain some speed. the car started going from a slow crawl to a decently safe speed. Bart started pressing down on it harder and harder, going faster and faster. he remembered laughing in delight. the windows were cracked halfway, allowing the air to rush in. it tousled his hair, and for a moment he felt like he was flying.

until he wasn’t.

he hadn’t really considered the thought of other cars. he hadn’t considered a lot of things actually, such as the fact it was the middle of the day and people would be driving.

he didn’t crash into anyone, but it was a close call. when he started getting closer to the main road and noticed the cars zooming across, he panicked.

he hit the brakes. he did what Wally said. he didn’t slam them, but he was still going too fast. the cars were getting closer! Bart pressed his foot door harder and finally, stomped on the brakes altogether.

he yanked the wheel away from the road, shutting his eyes tight.

the wheels spun. he went off the road into the grass, tire skidding rough tracks across the grass and dirt. he didn’t hit a car, but he did hit the stop sign at the end of the street.

it was a miracle he didn’t get hurt, or worse. he ended up a bit banged up hitting the wheel and the seatbelt yanking too tight, but he was overall fine. unfortunately, Iris definitely wasn’t happy.

Bart didn’t drive for a long while after that.

occasionally, Wally would still take him on drives though.

some of Bart’s best memories are riding in the passenger seat late at night. along barren backroads and empty highways, Wally would race through the streets. with the windows rolled down, the two of them would laugh, voices carried through the wind that whipped their hair like reckless flames.

under the passing lights, Bart would grin wide and holler his excitement into the night sky without a care in the world.

the world would need to try pretty hard to catch them.

Bart would also get to attend a few of Wally’s races. it isn’t as often as he used to with Iris and Barry watching him more closely, but he still got to go some times.

he’d only really watch Wally race against friends.

they called themselves the Titans. Wally said the name wasn’t planned, it just happened to stick. Bart assumed it was more because as time went on, they really did become like the titans to beat if you wanted to prove yourself as a racer.

it was who made up the team that once surprised him.

Dick Grayson, Wally’s best friend of many years and infamous son of Gotham’s Bruce Wayne, was the unofficial leader of the group. The Dick Grayson, with his car as dark as the night. the darkness of the car was only disrupted by a few brilliant blue decals. the most memorable one was always the striking blue silhouette of a bird on the hood. (“Nightwing,” Dick affectionately called the car.)

Koriand’r, an incredibly kind woman with hair that was almost more fiery than Bart’s own. her car was a vibrant purple with flames racing along the sides as if it’d caught fire. (“they call me Starfire”, she told him once when caught him fawning over the car, awed as ever. “i like to imagine that if i drive just fast enough, i can see flames.”)

Victor Stone, who indulged all his questions and answered every single one with the same enthusiasm. he’d lost an arm to an accident, but replaced it with an amazing cybernetic one. his designed his own car to have similar robotic style. incredibly futuristic and constantly updated with the best parts he could find. (“someone called me Cyborg,” Victor told him once while working on the car. he let Bart sit in the garage with him, occasionally offering whatever help he could. “i think it was an insult at first, but the name sort of stuck, kind of like with the Titans. so i made it my own.”)

and at last, Garfield Logan, the youngest of the group. with his dark green hair and toothy smile, Garfield was always quick to make him feel welcome and make him laugh with an endless amount of dumb jokes. his charisma and bright personality showed in his car. like his hair, it was a deep green. when he turned it on, the underneath glowed a neon green. black pawprints walked along the sides towards the end of the car. (“they’re actually tiger pawprints,” Gar corrected him once, looking excited as ever to explain. “there’s a few other animals too. i wanted it to look like the animals were really here, or like maybe i’m the animal? i dunno. i told everyone to call me Beast Boy, so i guess this would be my beast.”) they had another friend, Raven, that never raced with them. dressed in black with dark hair that he swore shone purple in certain lights, Raven was much more quiet and reserved than the rest of the group. Bart enjoyed her rare company, despite it being more of a companionable silence. he’d take it none the less. sometimes if Bart was able to hang out with Wally and the group outside of racing nights, he’d occasionally he’d bring along homework, a book, or a comic to read if Wally was meant to be busy at some point. he’d end up hanging out in one of their apartments while they were busy, and sometimes Raven would be there. they’d quietly read in each other’s company, never having to say a word. he’d asked Wally once why she didn’t race too. Wally had only laughed. (”we’re lucky that she doesn’t,” Wally told him, “if Raven raced, we’d all be doomed, trust me. you should never underestimate her.” Bart figured that meant that Raven was an undeniable part of the group too. he hoped he’d see her race one day.)

all of them were amazing, but Bart was a little stunned by each of them had their own unique style. they all had their own story and reason for being inspired to race. the one thing they all shared though was that same spark in their eyes Wally had.

needless to say, Bart would try to spend as much time with them as possible to try and learn from them.

his dream was to race, but his other dream was now to become just like them. he wanted to be a Titan.

he was too young at that time, but he would aim to prove that he could be good enough to join them one day. he would be a Titan.

or at least, he’d be close enough to being a Titan, he’d decide upon meeting a few other faces around his age, but that’s a story for another day.             ...and that’s all we have for now, folks!

if you’re wondering why i chose only those Teen Titans, i didn’t want to make the group too big. i originally considered the OG Young Justice group, but found that i really wanted to save Superboy (Conner Kent, my beloved) to be apart of Bart’s friend group later. (not to mention, i REALLY wanted to talk about Street Racer! Kori existing in this AU. Beast Boy’s another favorite that i just HAD to include, thus we have the animated Teen Titans team, just with Wally and Dick having the same kind of friendship as kids like in YJ.)

let me know if you want any more from his idea! i’d love to know what you guys think of all this so far. if you ever want me to talk about anyone in particular, please feel free to ask! i’d totally be up to come up with more ideas! i’d also love to know if anyone has any thoughts about other characters might be like from this AU!

i really just came up with all this on the fly, but i’m honestly becoming attached to this AU already, so i’d be more than excited to talk more about it!

thanks for reading!!

#dc comics #dc street racing au #bart allen #wally west #dc impulse #kid flash #teen titans #i don't really know what all to tag this... #starfire #nightwing #beast boy #dc raven #dc cyborg #i guess??? they're mentioned #but also hella important to Bart's growth in this AU #i love them so much #they're all best friends your honor #jake's rambles

[sigillaria-svt]

Weekend Drives

Pairing: Idol!Choi Seungcheol/S.Coups x Reader

Word Count: 5,654

Warning: None

Genres: fluff, slice of life, weekend together

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Synopsis: For the past several years, you have been working hard in building your career and working yourself near the point of burnout. One person that has always been your stronghold during these times has been Seungcheol. You’ve known each other since you were in college, but it’s only been a few years since you started dating. Although you were completely happy just the way everything is, Seungcheol has something else in mind.

READER POV You slowly push down on the breaks of your car as the stoplight turns red just as you were about to reach the intersection. It was almost midnight, but you’ve just gotten off from work. Your team was preparing for a big project next week, and everyone had to stay late to finish everything on time. Although these busy seasons happened for only about a week or two, it still drained you to drive several miles home late at night only to get up early the next morning.

Tonight in particular, the tiredness was getting to you. You try to keep yourself awake, but your eyes are on the verge of closing themselves shut. When the stoplight turns green, it takes you a few seconds to notice and push on the gas pedal. Thankfully, there were barely any cars on the small road you were on.

Moments later, your phone rings, jolting you awake as the name of your caller pops out of the small screen just beside the steering wheel. You tap the receive button on the screen, his voice filling your car through the speakers.

“Hey.” Seungcheol says, who also seems tired from the other side of the call. “Are you home?”

“No, not yet. Took us a bit of time to finish editing and reviewing today.” You take a left turn at an intersection, making your way to the bridge that connects you to your home city. “I’m sorry if I haven’t been able to reply to your messages lately. I’ll make it up to you once we’re done with the launching, I promise.”

“No, it’s okay. Don’t be sorry. Keep doing what you’ve always been doing. I’ll be waiting, just tell me if you need anything.” He replies softly. During stressful times in your life, he has always been generous with his time and affection, so much so that you regret not being able to give the same back to him. “Should I hang up? You must still be driving right now.”

“No, you can stay on the line. I need someone to talk to so that I won’t fall asleep on the road.” You say, now near the middle point of the bridge. “How was your day?”

“We just got back to the dorm after practicing for a performance. It would be nice if you could watch us live, but I think it’s going to be on the day of your project’s launching.” You hear a few muffled noises as he shifts in his place over at the other side. “We also got some fruit from our manager today. Do you want me to come over and bring you some?”

“I live an hour away from your place, you should be taking time to rest.” You reply halfheartedly. You really wanted to meet him--it’s been almost a month since the both of you went out together, but you didn’t want him to go out of his way.

After a short pause, Seungcheol continues. “I really wish that we lived closer to each other. I miss you so much.” From his tone, you know that he’s pouting from the other side. “I don’t care how tired I’m going to be, I’m going to come over and visit you once you’re done with your project.”

You finally break out a smile. For such a tall and strong person, Seungcheol had always been soft when it comes to you. Many times have you heard your peers call him intimidating, but you know that he is far from what he shows on the stage.

“I’ll take that as a promise. Let’s eat something nice when you do come over. I heard that Joshua has been teaching you how to cook pasta lately.” You reply, now feeling more awake.

“Sure, sounds like a plan.” He says with a small laugh. “Where are you at right now?”

“At the highway. I’ll probably get home in ten minutes.”

“Alright. Tell your mom that I said hi, and that I’d bring over some oranges when I come over.” He says, remembering your mom’s love for citrus fruits. To be honest, it always made you so happy whenever he’d think about your family. Your family adores him too, so there’s really nothing to complain about.

“I will. See you next week, then. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Over the next few days, Seungcheol starts to call you more frequently. He tries to match the time when you’d be having a break, may it be during lunch or during your ride going home. Usually, those talks would happen for a minute or two, but it was enough to brighten your day--and hopefully, his as well. Although it wasn’t unusual for him to call you, it was a bit odd of him to call you that frequently. Perhaps he’s been getting really stressed out at work. At one particularly stressful period, he stayed over at your house for the whole day just to snuggle and recharge. You knew that if he was particularly close than usual, he was in need of someone to lean on. So, despite your busy schedule, you always made it a point not to miss a single call.

However, one time during a prolonged meeting a night before the launch, you were unable to pick up. You quickly find a quiet spot outside the office and call him back.

“Hey, I’m sorry I couldn’t pick up your call. I was in a meeting.”

“You’re having a meeting this late into the night?”

You check your wristwatch, seeing that it’s already 12:54 AM. “Oh wow, I didn’t know we took that long. We’re just making the final preparations for the launching tomorrow. Thankfully, we got everything settled.” You try to force a smile. “More importantly, how are you doing? You have a performance tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah. The kids and I got back to the dorms a few hours ago. The managers told us to have a good meal so we went out for a bit.” He replies. “Get home safely, alright?”

“Yeah, I will. Good luck on the performance tomorrow.” You shift your weight to your other leg. “I’m sorry that we couldn’t talk long.”

“It’s alright, hearing your voice is good enough for me. I love you, good night.”

“Love you too, sleep well.”

Just like that, the call ends. You can’t count the number of times you had to say sorry to him for not being that available. He assures you every time that it’s alright, but you wanted to actually be there for him, and not just be a voice on a phone call.

With your worries in hand, you return back to the office to get your things and head home to get as much sleep as you could before the hectic schedule prepared for you a few hours later.

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Although the launching event finishes at 4 PM, you take a few more hours with the team to help with the clean-up and logistics. By the time you finally finish, Seungcheol’s performance is long done. You quickly make your way back home tired but relieved that it’s all finally over.

Just as he promised, he’s already at your house, talking to your brother in the living room.

“Hey, you’re home.” He says with a smile, although he couldn’t really hide the tiredness in his eyes. “How was the event?”

You nod with a smile, changing into your house slippers as you come in. “It was good. There were more people than we expected, but we managed.” You take a seat across Seungcheol, right next to your brother. “Do you have a recording of your performance earlier? Let’s watch it together.”

Seungcheol takes out his phone and pulls up a video of their performance that was posted on YouTube. You smile the entire time, happy to see him doing what he loves. When the video is over, you give him excited applause.

“We did great right?”

“That’s was really, really good. I mean it.” You put a hand over his knee. “I mean your performances were always good, but you’ve really given it a big twist this time.”

He smiles and puts his phone back in his pocket. “This was the last performance we had for this promotion period, so we all wanted to end it with a blast.” He gets up and gently pulls on your wrist. “More importantly, it’s about time we make dinner.”

“You guys haven’t eaten yet?” You ask as you get up from the couch and move over to the kitchen corner.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about us,” Your brother says, not looking up from his phone. “I’ll be taking mom and dad to our grandparents’ house for dinner, then we’ll be staying over for the weekend.”

“So we’ll just be cooking for two, then?” You ask Seungcheol, who’s already getting the ingredients ready.

“Three, if you’re feeling extra hungry for pasta tonight.” He says, handing you an apron hanging from one of the walls. “And a movie afterward?”

“Sure.” You reply, a bit too enthusiastic than you would want your brother to hear. You slightly lean into him, but quickly pull away to a safer distance. 

Although you and Seungcheol have been dating for four years, you’ve never been openly sweet to him when your family was around. Even if they were fine with the relationship, they have always been more on the conservative side.

Seungcheol proceeds to prepare the pot of boiling water, reaching up to open one of the cupboards. While he faces his back to the living room, you take a small peek at your brother. You’re surprised to find him looking back at you.

Even without saying anything, he understood what your gaze meant.

“Go ahead and do what you like, the house is yours for the weekend.” He says quietly with a shrug. “Just you know... don’t go overboard.”

You could feel your face heat up. “What do you mean by that?!”

Just in time, your mom and dad descend from the stairs, bringing with them bags with clothes for the weekend. When they see you, they give you a small greeting. Your mom gives a wide smile, but you could feel your dad linger a bit too long on Seungcheol.

“Ready to go?” Your brother asks, getting up from the sofa. “Did you make sure to bring all your meds?”

Your mom nods and moves over to hand her bags to your brother. Meanwhile, your father stands there near the kitchen, unmoving for a moment. Seungcheol looks up from the kitchen counters and gives him a small smile.

Without saying anything else, your dad nods and looks at the both of you before heading out the front door. 

“See you this Sunday, sweetie.” Your mom says, giving you a small peck on the cheek. “Call us if anything comes up, alright?”

“Alright, have a safe trip. Oh, and bring back some strawberries if they have some.” You reply with a hug.

You hear the familiar sound of your dad’s old car, and moments later they’re out of the house and on the road. When he hears the car leaving the garage of the house, Seungcheol puts his hand on your waist and pulls you closer to him. He leans his head on your shoulder and gives a big sigh.

“I miss you so much, you know?” He says softly, almost melting into you.

You put the jar down on the counter and run one of your hands through his hair. “This week was rough, wasn’t it?”

He nods into your shoulder before pulling away. He checks the pot and finds the water boiling. You hand him the salt and the uncooked pasta, and he carefully places them in the pot.

“We had a few fights with the kids this week.” He says, leaning one of his arms on the counter as he stirs the pasta with his other hand. “I don’t know, maybe everyone was getting sensitive because of everything that’s going on.”

“Were you able to talk it out?” You say, putting your hand over his.

“Yeah, it’s all good now. It’s just... you know, that lingering feeling after an argument?” He says. “I feel like it’s my fault for not really going a good job.”

You lean your head on his shoulder, trying to comfort him the best that you can. “But you know you did all that you could, right? I know that you feel disappointed in yourself a lot, but I’ve always been proud of you for everything that you’re doing--perfect or not.”

He gives a nod and turns his head to put a kiss on your forehead. “Thank you.”

You spend the rest of the night cooking dinner and talking about all the things that you couldn’t over your series of phone calls. All the anxieties that have been building up, all the frustrations and disappointments. Time flew by so fast that midnight eventually came without a single movie watched. If not for a random call from your coworker, you would have stayed up until morning without a single dish washed.

“You cooked most of the meal tonight, I’ll wash the dishes this time.” You say as you pick up his plate and walk to the sink. “You still want to watch a movie after this?”

“I want to talk a bit more.” He says as he walks to you and puts his head on yours. “You didn’t finish your story about the broken photocopier.”

You laugh a bit at his pouting. “It’s not much of an exciting story. Just a little inconvenience that made me skip lunch trying to fix it so that I don’t have to pay for it.” You continue to wash the plates even with his weight on you.

“And what about the guy that helped you out?”

“Oh, him? He’s a guy from another branch that was brought over to help with the hectic preparations. And...” You stop in your tracks. “Wait, are you jealous?”

He doesn’t reply, but stands there behind you, shifting his weight from one foot to another. You quickly rinse off the plates and forks and put them over the metal rack next to the sink.

You turn around to see him a bit sad. “You don’t have to be jealous. You’re the one here with me right now, not him. Besides, he already went back to the main office. I’m not going to meet him again.”

You cup his face in your hands and give him a small kiss on his chin. “Are you alright? Do you want to head over to bed?”

“It’s okay, you’re mine for the rest of the weekend.” He intertwines his hands with yours and leans his forehead on yours. “Let’s go.”

The both of you make your way to your bedroom upstairs, but not before making sure that all the lights downstairs are turned off and all the doors locked. You grab your pajamas and head over to the bathroom to change. When you got back to your room, you see Seungcheol snuggled up well under your sheets.

You stroke his hair before getting under the sheets with him. “What do you want to do tomorrow?” You ask him, who seems to already be half asleep.

“Let’s watch a movie for real this time.” He mumbles, pulling you closer to him until you’re completely within his arms. He burrows his nose into your shoulder and breathes in. “Let’s go for a drive tomorrow evening. I want to go to that spot in the mountain with the city view.”

“That sounds great.” You say as you trace circles on his forearm. “Let’s bring my Polaroid camera, it’s been a while since we went out on a drive.”

“Mmmhmmm.” You could feel his breaths become slower and deeper. He must have had a really tiring day to fall asleep right away like this.

To be honest, you’re really proud that both of you held out for this long. Your parents made it clear from the first day of the limitations in place before marriage, and although it frustrated you and Suengcheol, he really tried his best to follow through, out of respect for your parents. Even though there were many times when he disagreed with your parents on the inside, there was not a moment where he didn’t respect them; it made you love him all the more.

“Cheol, are you asleep?”

No reply.

“Well, just in case you are, I want to thank you, really. Thank you for always keeping up with me even when you were busy with all the things going on. I love you so much.”

You feel him pull you even closer to him. “I love you too.”

“So you’re awake after all?” You say with a small laugh.

“I wanted to know what you’d say to me if I were asleep.” He gives you a small kiss on your shoulder. “I’m always more than glad to give what I can to you, don’t think that my sacrifices for you are a burden to me.”

Hearing those words makes your eyes water. Even though you know that he loves you, hearing those words from himself washes you over with a wave of reassurance. Although you’ve never doubted it, during a night like this, you become more certain that you really are safe when you’re with him.

“So stop beating yourself up for all the times when you think that you haven’t repaid my love enough. I do all this for you because I love you, not because I need you to pay me back. Alright?”

At this point, tears flow out no matter how hard you try not to let them. “Yes, I’m sorry.” You couldn’t keep the shakiness out of your voice. “Well... you know, I can’t put it to words. I’m just so sorry.”

“No, don’t be.” He puts a hand over your forehead and you turn to bury your head in his chest. He strokes your hair and continues to speak softly, “I understand that we can’t always be together, but being with you tonight and holding you close is more than enough for me. You don’t know how much comfort I feel just by being by your side.”

“Why do you have to say it like that, you’re making me tear up even more.”

“You don’t like it?”

“No, no, it’s very reassuring. Thank you.” You wipe your tears off, giving him a kiss on his jaw.

“Is that all?” He looks down at you and leans in closer. “Can I get more?”

This time, you let out a bigger laugh. “You’re such a baby for someone your age.” You say lovingly. Despite it, you lean in and meet his lips. He smiles as he kisses you back, all while keeping his hands on your waist.

After a few seconds, he pulls back. “Let’s stop here, we might not end until morning.” He says, planting one last kiss on your cheek. “Let’s rest well, we have the entire weekend, anyway.”

“Alright, alright.” You say softly. “Good night, for real this time.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

With that, the both of you fall into a deep sleep, tangled in each other’s arms.

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When you wake up, you find yourself alone on the bed with Seungcheol’s scent still lingering faintly on the bedsheets. You shuffle in your place, trying to get yourself adjusted as you ready yourself to get up. After a brief stretch, you pull the bedsheets off of you and head over to the bathroom to wash your face.

“You up?” You hear Seungcheol from downstairs.

“Yeah.” You mumble, still half asleep. 

You hear heavy footsteps on the stairs, followed by a pair of hands on your shoulders as you rub your face with soap.

“How long have you been up?” You look at him through the reflection in the mirror, hair disheveled and faint stubble apparent on his jaw.

“Probably thirty minutes or so. I went out and got us some coffee and bread from the bakery down the street.” He rubs small circles on your back. “Let’s eat and go out for a walk.”

“Sounds good.” You say as you wipe your face with a towel.

The two of you spend the rest of the day relaxing in different ways possible. After a small stroll in the nearby secluded park, both of you went back home to watch a series of movies. On his days off, you knew that Seungcheol was the type to enjoy lying around rather than going up and about. You didn’t mind either; cuddling up to Seungcheol was like hugging a giant teddy bear. To be honest, it relieved your stress more than the movies you watched.

After a short nap and a few snacks, the both of you get ready to head out for your promised drive. You take with you some extra snacks and your polaroid camera, making sure to bring his favorites along in your small backpack. You return to the living room wearing a comfortable dress and some sandals, earning a dimpled smile from your boyfriend.

“You look nice.” He says, car keys in one of his hands. “Got all you need?”

“Yeah, let’s go. We have to get there before the sun sets so we can take good photos.” You say excitedly. After all the long hours at the office, going outside was literally a breath of fresh air. “Let’s stop by at the noodle shop at the mountain for dinner afterward.”

“Is it really just about food and photos?” He says jokingly. He takes your hand and the both of you walk out together. Seungcheol makes sure that all the doors are locked before both of you get into his car and drive out onto the highway.

You pull up your phone and connect it to the car, choosing the playlist you reserve for going out on long rides.

“Don’t tell me, you actually made a playlist just for this?” He asks, putting one of his hands on your thigh as he makes a turn to the left. “You even have some of our songs on your playlist.”

“A road trip isn’t complete without music. I’ll be in charge of the song, just focus on driving.” You say as you flip through the playlist.

He says nothing and simply smiles, tapping your thigh to the beat of the song. When one of the old ballads comes on, the both of you burst out singing. When one of his rap songs comes up, you try to catch up to the lyrics, only to get a burst of laughter from Seungcheol.

Even without talking much during the drive, these little moments made you happy. You didn’t want to forget it when the both of you would get back to your daily schedules, so you pull out the polaroid camera from your bag and take a photo of him as he drives.

“Hey! I wasn’t ready!” He says, looking to the side as he drives.

“Eyes on the road, Cheol.” You say, satisfied with the picture as you pull it out of the camera. “What are you so worried about, you look good in the photo.”

“You know, I gained a bit of weight during the promotional period.” He said in a soft voice. “I thought that I’d be able to make up for what I eat by practicing hard, but that wasn’t the case.”

You turn to him and put your hand on his stomach, giving it a tiny rub. “I think you look better and healthier nowadays. So long as you’re in a healthy weight, you don’t have to worry about it.”

You smile and run your hand through his hair. Seeing him putting on weight was much better than seeing him sad and deflated. You remember him back in 2019 when he lost so much weight because of his mental health. It was the time the two of you almost broke up; you wouldn’t want to see him being sad like that ever again.

“We’re almost there,” Seungcheol says, slowly hitting the breaks as he approaches a stoplight. “Give me the camera, I want a photo of you in the car too.”

You hand him a camera and give him your widest smile. Just as the photo was taken, the stoplight turns green. He quickly gives you back the camera and focuses back on the road.

“I’m sorry sir, you have failed your driver’s test.” You tell him, giving him an exaggerated look of disappointment.

“Your fault for being distracting.” He replies with a pout.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

As you go up the sloped road into the mountain, you’re filled with a sense of glee. You press a button to pull down the windows and feel the fresh air rush into the car. Just in time, one of your favorite acoustic ballad songs comes up.

“Today is such a good day.” You say under your breath.

Eventually, you arrive at your stop. At the end of the mountain road, there’s a small garden cafe that overlooks the whole city. At the back, there’s a small open field where a few families and couples have set up their picnic blankets as they await the sunset.

Cheol turns off the engine after parking underneath one of the trees. You hurriedly open the door, slinging your bag behind your back. You run over to the door of the cafe where they’ve set up a small flower booth. “Cheol, come on! Look, it’s so nice over here!”

“I won’t even be surprised if you trip out of excitement.” He says with a laugh. He locks the car and heads over to you.

You take out the polaroid camera and take picture of the both of you. You wait for the photo to come out, only to see the Seungcheol wasn’t looking at the camera--he was looking at you. It makes you a bit flustered, and you quickly tuck the picture into your backpack.

“What? You didn’t let me see it.” He puts his hands on his hips, but you’re already making your way into the cafe. “Hey!”

You can’t help but have a smile on your face. Even though you’re already moving into your late twenties, you still feel like a teenager when you’re with him. It doesn’t help that he also has a childish side to him that makes you want to tease him even more.

“Look, they’ve got all kinds of cake.” You say as you look through the glass counters. “Oh, and macarons too!”

“Let’s get the macarons, then. It’ll be easier to bring out on the field.” He says as he pulls out his wallet. However, you put your hand over his to stop him.

“I want to pay for this one, at least. You’ve been buying everything since yesterday, I should at least treat you just this once.” You say firmly. He opens his mouth to object, but you quickly cut him off. “If you’re saying no, I’m going to leave you behind in the mountains and you’ll have to sleep in a tree trunk.”

He gives you a look of both confusion and amusement, but ends up laughing it off anyway. “Alright, fine.”

You finish the transaction with a box of macarons, some tea, and a slightly thinner wallet. The both of you settle down at a spot near a tree with a wooden table and two chairs. 

You take out your camera and take more photos of him, happy to see his dimpled smile. He does the same for you, smiling as every picture comes out. For a moment, he lingers on the last picture.

“Hey, do you remember when we first met?” He says, putting down the photo on the table as he looks up at you. “We had a very weird way of meeting.”

“You just debuted around that time right?” You say, taking a bite of one macaron. “I was a working student that happened to get lost at the hectic backstage. If it weren’t for you, I’d probably never be able to find my way home that night.”

“I don’t know if I’ve said this before, but it was like meeting a lost cat, for real. I was panicking inside because I thought that I’d end up making you cry.” He says with a small chuckle. “You’re still as clumsy, but at least you’re now responsibly clumsy.”

“I almost made you late for your performance.”

“But it ended up well anyway.” He says with a shrug. “Who knew I’d be meeting you more than once for other promotional activities? It was only when you were transferred to another branch that I didn’t get to meet you as often.”

“We had our first big fight that time. You wanted to live together, or at least closer to each other, but my parents wouldn’t allow it.” You run your finger through the rim of your cup.

He puts his elbows on the table and leans in closer to you. “You’re not going to cry again, are you?”

You wave him off with a laugh. “Of course not. I’m just, you know, happy that we’ve come this far. We’ve had to hide to for quite a while, even going as far as telling people that I’m a staff member.”

“But what if we don’t have to hide it anymore?” His tone suddenly goes serious.

“You know we can’t do that.” You say with a sad smile. You look down at your cup. This time, you really are trying to bite back the tears. You didn’t want to cry, not when the day has been going well so far.

You hear him shuffle in his seat, but you keep your head down. He stays silent for a few moments before sliding something on the table.

“Look at me.” He says gently. You look up and see both of his hands on the table, with a tender look in his eyes. “What if we don’t have to hide it anymore?”

“Then I’ll go to your schedules every day and say cute and embarrassing stuff in front of your members. I’ll post wacky pictures of us without having to worry about all the comments.” You say with a laugh as tears fall down. To be honest, you don’t even know why you’re crying. Perhaps it’s the accumulation of all the times you’ve missed him, or of all the times you wished that he was just a normal person. You’ve always made sure to be careful not to let it show.

He takes your hand and puts it on top of his other hand. After a short pause, he puts both of his hands over yours. That’s when you notice a small box beneath your hands.

Your eyes quickly shoot up to his, and you see a faint hint of tears threatening to fall. “Open it.” He says simply.

You pull out the box, your heartbeat beating faster and louder than it has ever done before. With shaky hands, you open the box to find a silver ring inside with your name on it.

“I’m sorry for making you wait all this time.” He says.

You look up at him, now crying uncontrollably. You love this man so much, you couldn’t explain it. A part of you is in shock at what’s happening, while another part is leaping over in joy.

“I’ve talked about it with the company, had a long talk with the kids.” He says, wiping the tears off your face with his thumb. “I talked with your parents too. It took me a lot to convince them, but they said that they’d allow it.”

You put a hand over your mouth, trying not to let him see the mess that you’re in.

“So what I’m saying is, will you marry me?”

You nod your head, still unable to contain your emotions. “Of course I will.”

Seungcheol tries to contain his smile, but ends up crying along with you. “Ah, come on, we need to stop crying.” He wipes away his own tears and pulls the ring out of the box.

Your vision is blurry, but you manage to give him your hand. He puts it on you and pulls out his own ring afterward. With a shaky hand, you put his ring on him, albeit not without a fit of tears.

Moments later, you hear a loud cheer from behind. When you look back, you see all his members smiling and waving. You quickly wipe away your tears, trying to at least cover up the mess you were in. From now on, these aren’t just going to be Cheol’s kids, but they are also going to be yours.

“Congratulations!” They say, giving Seungcheol punches and slaps on the back.

“Didn’t I tell you guys not to follow us here!?” He says angrily. However, you can’t help but laugh at him being embarrassed. “I made sure to go somewhere far so that you wouldn’t even think of stopping by!”

Nevertheless, he gets showed with calls and cheers.

At that moment, you finally compose yourself. This was going to be the start of the time where you would no longer have to hide. You’re happy. You’re excited.

Seungcheol looks over at you in the midst of the chaos, smiling back.

“Let’s take a photo with both of your rings,” Jeonghan says as he picks up the camera from the table. “It’s a shame to come all the way here just to cry and go home.”

With puffy eyes, both of you stand in front of the camera with your hands up to show the rings. Now, he had more than one ring in his hand--one for his brothers in the group, and one for you.

Here’s to great years ahead.

- END -

#S.coups #Scoups #SVT #Seventeen #SVT Fic #Seventeen Fic #Seventeen Fanfic #SVT Fanfic #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #choi seungcheol

[bisexualhobi]

adding to the bts and their recent releases discourse— am I allowed to say that i am disappointed in my faves because they aren’t taking the risks? Like you mentioned — they’re in a position where their fans (us) will eat up anything they put out so why not be bold? it almost makes me feel … Idk how to explain it. It’s not like they’ve stopped caring because mono, d-2 are such wonderful pieces of art. It’s disappointing to me that they’re (and by they i mean, the artist and it’s management) are chasing the charts to such an extent. I’m kind of over the English releases solely for Grammy purposes. What’s a Grammy going to even prove??? Butter and Dynamite are fun songs but by no means will I reach for them as my favorite BTS songs. And then to of course use the “we wanna reach our international fans that’s why we did this song in English” rhetoric also disappointed me, because we all know that’s not why they dropped dynamite lol. But again… what could they have even said that would’ve been “politically correct” in that situation?

I adored BTS for standing tall, for always marking their own space wherever they went. A song would come on and people would be like “ah yes that’s bangtan” but lately it feels like some of that has been lost along the way along this mission to take over the American industry and then I wonder: do BTS really have no say in what their management does? That can’t be because then every rhetoric they’ve put out about being open with their company and decisions would be false. So BTS themselves want this, which is fine I guess… but it’s just not something I can align myself with.

Anyway, I love BTS, I’ve grown up with them and I’ve watched them grow and I want nothing but the best for them. They seem like good people too. But a part of me is actually quite disappointed with this direction and I’m also disappointed in the fans for defending it so blindly. Loving someone doesn’t mean you have to agree with all their actions and that you shouldn’t criticize where criticisms are due. Too many stans these days see one tiny criticism and start calling you an anti. (This got long im sorry I usually am on stan twt where voicing such opinions is a sure fire way to get suspended)

kpop idols have very little agency to dictate their careers, it doesn't matter what they tell you. it doesn't matter who they are. shinee are owners of sm shares the same way as bts and yet kibum has never been shy to comment on how they're barely able to do whatever they want with creative freedom. ofc contracts vary and saying this is not the same as saying bts are puppets completely controlled by hybe,,, but they have contractual obligations and they can't walk out on them. that includes releasing content they don't agree with on a personal level.

i think hybe benefits a lot from the "bts are independent and do whatever they want" narrative the same way they benefit from the self produced narrative and the underdog narrative. that's why they will keep pedaling it and it's not like the boys are allowed to just say whatever is happening is against their will. that will never happen. ever. both because of legal reasons and also because i truly believe that bts are thankful and loyal to hybe. it's a matter of opportunity costs. will they be better off in another label or will they stay in the label that made them and create opportunities for themselves as the years go by? i would choose the latter.

i'm disappointed by a lot of things they do the same way i'm disappointed in my other idols. but as you say, i still love them and that doesn't mean i have to agree with everything they do. also don't worry, i'm glad there are twt fans that feel the same way because everyday i get messages from twt armys that are scared to voice their opinions in there. this is a no judgement zone so you're welcome <3

#asks #long post// #dramatw

[syilcawrites]

for your zelink prompt,,,how do you feel about a modern AU where the two bike to the beach and have a picnic?

a/n: I added ‘high school’ to the prompt too hope you don’t mind asghjjhas (’: Also this turned out a lot longer than I planned hope that’s okay ;-; I want to practice writing in Link’s voice more so this is in his pov!! Anyway! I hope you enjoy this, and thanks a lot for the prompt <3

ao3

hot buttered apples with chamomile tea

There are two types of monsters: ones that sleep under your bed and ones that sleep behind your eyes. For Aryll, it's the former.

And Link saw a lot in the latter.

He rubbed his eyes to try to erase the bags that rest stubbornly underneath them, but he wondered if he was just making it worse. Probably. But why did it matter anyway? He usually got three hours of sleep tops, so he always liked to think that darkness had become a permanent edition to his features. He tapped his toes against the pavement, waiting, peering around the corner of the school's brick fence, trying to catch a glimpse of the black car that Zelda usually pulled up in. With five minutes left until school started, he was beginning to worry—she was never late. And for the first time in his entire high school career, he was early.

It was a last minute trip they had planned, when they had snuck onto the school roof after class yesterday.

"I want to see the ocean," she had told him, under the summer's unrelenting heat. They were both sticky with sweat, even though they were sitting under a shady area, and the next thing she said made no sense to him. "I've never been to the beach before." Living here and never once going to Hateno Beach? He thought she was kidding at first. But she stared at him dead in the eye with her lips pressed into a thin line, as serious as ever. When he jokingly proposed that they ditch school the next day to go to the beach, she didn't hesitate to say yes.

It had taken him practically the whole day yesterday to convince her to sneak up onto the rooftop, and yet she was completely fine with ditching an entire day of school to go to the beach.

She was weird and unpredictable and he loved it.

He decided to check his backpack again for the twelfth time in the past hour, just to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. His memory was pretty terrible to begin with. He always found something new that he had forgotten whenever he went to check his backpack. The first time he checked, he realized he didn't bring any cups. Just that one thermal bottle whose lid doubled as a cup. The second time he checked, he realized he had forgotten napkins. If worst came to worst, he guessed he could just offer up his jacket or something, if she really needed to clean her hands or wipe her mouth—would that be any better though? When was the last time he washed his jacket?

"Link?"

Before he could try to sniff his sleeve, Zelda's voice pierced his thoughts.

He zipped up the backpack once more and peeked around the corner again—and finally, he saw her familiar twin braided blonde hair bobbing up and down as she ran toward him.

With… a frenzied kind of pace.

"Link!" she shouted again, breathless, as she waved her arms up and down in panic. Behind her he could hear another person shouting—but it was hard to hear their voice, since it was drowned out by the sound of Zelda urgently telling him to go, go, go.

Fumbling, Link lifted the bike away from the brick fence and rolled it out, hopping onto the front seat.

"I thought you said you had two bikes!" Zelda exclaimed, quickly tossing herself over the second seat without missing a beat.

"I mean, this is kinda like two bikes isn't it?" She only learned how to ride a bike three days ago and he wasn't comfortable with leading her down a rather windy road to get to the beach on her own. The last time he taught someone how to ride a bike was Mipha, years ago, and she almost face planted into a cliff because he let go of her bike and had forgotten to tell her how to brake.

Besides, he had to bribe Aryll fifty rupees to take the tandem bike out today. If he wanted to borrow her regular bike, she would've asked for a hundred. That was equivalent to a week's worth of mowing Tokk's front lawn.

Link was probably getting scammed by Tokk, but he was only 40% sure about that.

"Won't we look ridiculous riding this around?" Zelda scoffed as they began pulling out onto the road. "I thought we were supposed to be discreet? A tandem bike—Oh Hylia!" She kicked his shin with her foot, urging him to hurry. "Impa's coming!"

"Who?" Impa? He didn't think Zelda had mentioned her before.

"Miss Zelda!"

Link glanced at the direction that Zelda had come from, and he saw an angry looking young woman in a black suit racing toward them at an alarming speed. A chill ran down his spine as they locked eyes.

"You!" Impa shouted, pointing a furious finger at him. "Who are you!"

Without a second left to waste, Link clicked into gear and pedaled away fast before that angry finger could intentionally poke out his eyeballs. They shot down the road, with Zelda's exhilarated laughter mixing in with the sound of the rushing wind whistling by them.

For some reason, it was a strange and distinct sound, like it was reverberating all around him; he felt trapped in it.

Until her laughter abruptly stopped.

"Look out—!"

He looked up; but by then, it was too late. An apple that hung low from the tree smacked him square on the forehead with a resounding thud.

——————————————————————

"You know," Zelda said, accepting his hand as he helped her down the rocky cliff that led to the shoreline, "the beach looks different from above."

Link hadn't been to Zelda's home before, but he knew what it looked like from below. It was an odd-looking building that used to be an abandoned lighthouse, but then someone moved into it a couple of years ago, and that someone had hammered on weird platforms and objects to it, so now it looked like Hateno's novelty sculpture.

"Your room's at the top of that lighthouse building right?" Link asked, grunting as he jumped down onto the sand with a hefty thud. He turned around and held out both of his hands to her.

"Mhm. Purah let me have the upper loft when I moved in with her. The view's amazing at night, you can see all the stars." Zelda crouched down and gratefully accepted his hands. Her hands were rough. She jumped down.

Link couldn't see the stars from his bed, because a gigantic tree was right in front of his window.

Her prickling stare withdrew him from his thoughts—she studied his face as if she was observing every detail on it. He could count the sun freckles that had begun appearing around her cheeks; heat climbed to his cheeks as he leaned back a little, finally aware of how close they were.

"I hope that apple won't leave a bruise on your forehead," she muttered, her eyebrows furrowing together, with that little crease appearing between her brows. Always one crease, never two. "You took quite a hit back there."

"I—" he paused, his mouth still slightly ajar.

What was he gonna say? That he was too focused on the sound of her laughter to the point where he wasn't paying attention to the road?

She tilted her head quizzically, waiting for him to speak.

Link let go of her hands to adjust the straps of his stiff backpack. "I know a spot near the rocks," he muttered, turning to a cluster of boulders near the water. It was flat enough that they could place the blanket down and set the lunchboxes and thermal bottle without having to worry about them falling over.

They walked side by side.

"The patterns on the rocks are so symmetrical," she murmured, tapping her chin with her finger. "Like the cliff we just climbed down from—you could tell during high tide the water reaches it, just barely though. I've always found it fascinating that exposure to water erosion could create such beautiful patterns. Don't you agree?"

Link nodded, and a smile quirked up on her lips. The hop in her step was a little higher than usual as she sped up to reach the cluster of rocks faster. He liked listening to her observations of little details, even though he didn't offer much opinion of his own. It was nice to hear and see Hyrule through a different kind of lens.

She was already climbing up the rock by the time Link reached it, and she stood there proud and tall with her hands on her hips, facing the vast ocean.

"We should eat before the food gets cold," Link called up to her, unzipping his backpack to hand her the picnic blanket. It used to belong to his mom. At one point he stole the key to his dad's chest and opened it up to find a bunch of things that used to be hers, probably, because there was a picture of her in there, squished in with a bunch of other stuff. He stole that picture too. And to this day, his dad still hadn't noticed anything was missing.

Link wondered if his dad knew, and just let him... have it.

"Of course," she said, her eyes glinting hungrily. She grabbed the blanket from him, and with it, his thoughts.

She spread it out as he climbed up to her.

Her reactions were always funny whenever Link brought food for her. For some reason, she always tried to mask her excitement—but she was terrible at hiding the anticipation that gleamed in her green eyes, and even more terrible at trying to keep a smile from erupting on her face while he pulled out the two lunchboxes.

"Chamomile tea," Link stated, as he pulled out the thermal bottle next. He paused to watch her, and her mouth formed an 'o' as she greedily grabbed it from him, opening the cap up. He popped open the lid of one of the lunchboxes and slid it toward her.

There were sliced hydromelons, egg pudding, honey crepes and fruits, and her favorite—

"Hot buttered apples!" Zelda exclaimed, reaching for one.

In the other box he had a handful of savory foods—maybe he should've opened that one up first.

"I'm glad you took my suggestion." Her fingers paused just before she picked the slice up. "But first, the tea," she said quickly, as if she was reminding herself. She poured it into the lid of the thermal bottle, handing it to Link.

"I want to see your expression when you try it," Zelda insisted, beaming. She was smiling a lot today—more than she has in the past two years that he'd known her. "You take a bite out of the apple first, and then drink the tea, and then it tastes amazing."

"Just like that?" he asked, eyeing the light crisp color of the chamomile tea she handed to him. It reminded him of apple cider.

"Trust me, Link. You'll want to keep eating it," she promised, tugging down at her two braids. She always did that when she was waiting for something—every time she was standing in line at the vending machines to get the both of them candy pop sodas at school, she did that same little tug. "I'm picky with my food, so you know I wouldn't simply be saying this without meaning it."

Link picked up the slice—the hot buttered apples had turned into warm buttered apples by now, but he figured it wouldn't change the taste all that much. As soon as he took a bite out of it and took a sip from the tea, her eyes sparkled.

The combination of the two warmed his stomach—the pinch of cinnamon she had recommended he put on it really kicked it for him, and he had to refrain from shoving at least ten more into his mouth. Considering how much she was staring at the hot buttered apples, he wanted to save the majority of it for her.

"Good? Right? They both have that toasty taste but it's a different kind of toasty. The chamomile tea, when brewed correctly of course, has that touch of floral kick to it too! And the hot buttered apples with that sprinkle of cinnamon just melts in your mouth and it's the most wonderful thing ever, isn't it?" She quickly thanked him as she accepted the tea when he handed it to her, and she picked up a slice to take an eager bite of her own.

"It's really good." He wasn't the best at expressing himself through words, but despite their simplicity, it seemed to have gotten through to her, as that gleeful glint in her eyes only gleamed brighter. "Did your parents—" He paused mid-chew, realizing just a little too late that his question was going to dampen her brightness.

And it did, just a little.

Idiot.

Whenever he asked about her immediate family, she would tense up—just like now. She cast her eyes down at the lunchbox, eyeing all of the food that he had prepared, her lips pursed. She would always be on the brink of telling him, but then she would turn away in the end.

Maybe… she needed a little push, to talk about it.

"My mom hated apples." The words felt weird in his mouth—he's never spoken about his mom to anyone, and he only brought her up once to his dad. Link raised his eyes to meet hers. Zelda had stopped chewing too, and looked at him with wide, curious eyes.

"That's what my dad told me at least, when I asked him what she hated the most." No one in his family ate apples that much, and it all made sense when he found out about that little fact a couple of years ago. It was hard for his dad to talk about her—time didn't heal the pain behind his voice when he told Link those three simple words: She hated apples.

And behind those three simple words were years upon years of grieving, and he never asked his dad about her again.

He watched as Zelda picked up another slice, her mouth parting slightly. "My mother loved making all sorts of meals with apples."

Loved, Link thought.

Past tense.

They sat in silence for a bit, just munching on those hot buttered apples, while passing the tea back and forth between each other.

"My mother made a snack for me that always involved apples in some way—whenever I was sad, angry, or when she was proud of me." He expected her to look lost in thought as she spoke, but she wasn't. She was as present as she could've been, and he was... it made him feel a little better. Less alone. "Hot buttered apples with chamomile tea was my favorite. She made it for me quite often," she said, chuckling. "What was your mother like?"

She gave him the last slice.

He hesitated; both in accepting the last piece and at her question. The only thing he had was a worn out picture of her, weathered down by age. And that blanket. "I don't know, I don't remember anything," he admitted, taking the slice from her.

Her gaze softened.

Link once punched another classmate in grade school because they asked him, how could he be sad? If he had no memories of his own mom? What was there to be sad about, since he couldn't remember anything? And for the longest time, he didn't let himself be sad over her. How could you be sad about someone you had no memories of?

But one day, Aryll barged into his room—her face red, with snot running down her nose, crying, because she had an argument with their dad. "What if I forget about her, Link?" Aryll had said to him in between her choked up sobs. "I feel like if dad never talks about her, she'll disappear forever."

He knew then that there was pain with memory, and pain without memory. One wasn't more valid than the other.

Because either way, no one won anything in the end.

"I wish I could've met your mother," she said. "I'm certain I could've changed her mind about apples."

There wasn't a lick of a tease on her face. She was serious.

For the first time in a while, Link laughed.

#zelink #botw #breath of the wild #sorry i took a hot second but I just kept adding stuff to it and then it became kinda long LOL #my fanfics #thank u sm for the prompt!!! #the-astrumnauta #syilca answers #one more prompt to go baby!

[beauregard-s]

Take The Wheel (Richie Tozier x Reader)

Pairing: Richie Tozier x Reader (aged up)

Word Count: 3.8K

Warnings: NSFW. Sex, Oral (fem receiving), cursing and light dirty talking. Also mentions of alcohol.

Anon said:  “ alright for whatever reason I can only ever think of Richie concepts but that's okay he's my boy :0 Anyway, So like a Richie x Reader smut where Richie is teaching the reader to drive in an empty parking lot and he sits them in his lap so they're both in the drivers seat. And he gets a boner and then car sex boom that's the concept ”

A/n: I must say it’s some *chef’s kiss* concept. I really liked this one, and had a lot of Cigarettes After Sex’s help to write it lol. Hope I fulfilled your expectations, my dear anon.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Come on, doll, it’s your eighteen!”

“I already said no, Richie.”

It’s been years since you both realized you were too big to share the old hammock anymore, but you acted like it wasn’t an important detail. You and Richie had spent the afternoon laying there, he previously napping and now smoking a cigarette while you went through a thriller book Ben had lent you a couple weeks before and you were taking too long to return to him. 

Richie had his long hanging down, foot on the floor and here and there he’d swing you both from side to side, softly, in a way the had your eyelids fighting not to shut close. 

“What are you doing when I’m not around, then?” He teased once more, and it was enough for you to softly hit his ribs with your bare foot, since you two were so tangled in such little space that your legs rested by his sides.

“You’ll always be around, Trashmouth.”

“Maybe I won’t...” He blew smoke through his parted lips when you shoot a look, narrowing your eyes at him from over the book. The little lopsided smile he had made your insides tingle. 

Next week you’d turn eighteen and, until present days, you had not learned how to drive. That’d be a result of very strict and overprotective parents, alongside a not so irrational - in your thoughts -, but for sure overscaled fear of taking the steering wheel. 

Usually, Richie was the one driving you around on his beat-up truck, blasting Tears For Fears, an arm slung out of his window. Sometimes it was Stan or Bill, Mike and Ben were busier but they were always down to give you a ride if you needed it. Beverly was a heckin' reckless driver, but she was the one who usually took you shopping and even Eddie had rebelled against Sonia Kaspbrak to get his license. 

You were the last “baby” among the grown-ups.  

“Come on, y/n, I can teach you. I’m the best driver-”

“Stan is the best driver,” you corrected.

“Stan is bullshit!” he went, now pointing at you with his lit cigarette. “And you shall never say such fallacy again.”

You laughed his fake offended tone off, but, yeah, he was right. Stan could be the most prudent one, but he was too prudent even for your coward standards. Richie was, indeed, the best driver. Reckless, but not too reckless at the point of almost run over people on the street - like Bev did at least a couple times -, also he was surprisingly skilled, but had some worrisome courage, for sure. And he had got a few speed tickets, yeah, but he always knew what he was doing. 

Those facts, plus the way he kept looking and expecting at you made you roll your eyes and break.

“Fine, Tozier,” it was enough for his smile to widen up “but don’t blame me if I shove your car through a wall or something.”

He laughed and tickled your feet by his side, what made you jump on your place and kick him harder than the last time, earning a grunt of pain from him.

“Don’t worry, toots. I got you.”

**

It was an empty and probably abandoned parking lot behind the library. What on Earth could go wrong?

That was exactly what you thought when Richie set things up the last day, but, now, when you looked blankly at his truck parked there, with its doors opened, just waiting for you, it didn’t seem such a good idea anymore.

“Richie...” 

“No fucking way, doll, it’s the tenth time you call out for my name, not that I’m complaining.”

You threw him a pissed look, but of course it wouldn’t do any harm on those mocking eyes of his. But you looked better at Richie, right there under the golden hour light. His dark curls messed by his fingers and by the breeze that gently hit you, glasses always full of fingerprints on its lenses, but not hiding his narrowed eyes due to the clarity. He seemed more freckled than ever.

All of that made you tingle inside, again. Had been like that for a while now, and every time it’d happen, every time you’d feel that weird sensation, you’d just turn away from his view, not that bold to face whatever it was.

“Come on, toots, it won’t bite you! Let’s go!”

He placed his hand on the small of your back, gently pushing you to the driver’s side. You hopped onto the seat and Richie was so damn tall you felt you were miles away from the wheel and couldn’t even dream about reaching the pedals. He helped you adjust the seat to your height and ran around the car while you buckled your safety belt. 

“Fasten your belt.” You enjoined, the second he closed his door and looked up at you with expectation.

“For God’s sake, y/n, we’re just driving around the lot,” he scoffed, and you rolled your eyes. “Easy now. It’s no big deal, come on, start the car.”

Maybe you’d be able to focus and make your legs stop shaking, but Richie’s hand reaching for your thigh to supposedly soothe you down didn’t make it possible. And he stayed just like that when you turned the keys and the truck roared.

“Okay, now let’s switch the gear and loosen the handbrake...”

You had no idea of the amount of work involving getting a car to move. Richie kept instructing you and, for your disbelief, yes, he was a good teacher. He was clear as water when he told you what to do, and his voice went down to a soft and patient tone that made the tingling feeling hit you wave after wave. But even like that, you couldn’t put the thing on the road. The engine kept dying and you just weren’t coordinated enough to get it to move.

Richie and you switched places and he tried to teach you through visuals, letting you watch him as he drove around. And you really tried to. You focused on his hands but you wouldn’t absorb his moves. You’d just absorb how he firmly gripped onto the wheel and how skilled he moved the gear around. You tried to learn from his feet pressing the pedals, but your eyes would trail up to his sculpted side profile in the fading, cold light. How his lips looked soft, talking to you and dictating how you’d have to switch the gear every time the engine roared in en specific pleading way.

But you were fucking drooling over how handsome Richie Tozier was.

Before you had a chance to actually start paying attention to the mechanisms, he stopped the car like it all was the easiest thing. “See? Just like learning how to ride a bicycle.”

You tittered, not sure if you couldn’t keep up with all the steps on properly driving because there were a lot of them, or only because you just could take your eyes off Richie himself. 

“I don’t know... I mean, I think I just can’t coordinate enough,” you shrugged.

He shushed you immediately.

“No fucking way! You’re learning how to drive, and I’m teaching you, doll!” he raised his brows, his determination making you laugh again. Richie bit down his lip for a while, sitting sideways on the seat so he could face you.

“Do you want to sit on my lap, then? So I can help you?”

You slowly raised a brow and your brain sent off the red alert with a neon sign of “bad idea”.

“How messed up could this be?” You sneered.

“Not messed up at all, that’s actually how I first learn how to drive,” he smirked.

“Richie, you were ten, and no, pretending you’re driving isn’t learning how to drive,” you laughed.

You remembered that story very well, how Mr. Tozier would put Richie on his lap while driving around safe places when he was a little boy. But now this was a whole, dissimilar situation. 

Richie rolled his eyes, leaning in towards you, and you swore you were all hooded eyes at him. 

“Come on, doll, just like the truck, I won’t bite you.”

The red alert in your head went off even louder, but, still, with him that close and with the evening’s darkness engulfing both of you, your lips had a different plan than your mind.

“Okay...” it was what scaped through them.

And the way Richie smiled at that answer warmed your heart beyond what was acceptable. 

You unbuckled your belt as he pushed his seat back and even like that, fitting in between him and the wheel was a difficult task. You propped yourself up from the passenger seat, passing a leg over the gearstick to sit it between his. You both were a mess of legs and arms.

“Okay, toots, careful now-fuck!”

“Holyshit, Richie, did I hit you?”

“No, just my thigh. Big Richie’s okay...”

“I hate you.”

You managed to settle down to his lap, not too comfortably, but enough to access everything around you. To feel all of him beneath you.

“No way, sugar, you love me,” he whispered from behind, very close to your ear.

With a simple turn of neck, you could see Richie over your shoulder, and there was where he rested his chin. He took your left hand and placed it on the wheel, under his own. Your right hands together met the gear stick. 

“I’m starting the car now,” he warned. His hand left yours just for a moment, and his truck roared again. It vibrated slightly and that way you couldn’t help to friction down against Richie’s lap.

You thought you felt him stiffening up, but soon enough his hand was back over yours and he helped you switching the gear. 

“Now can I speed up?” You asked, trying your best to don’t look back at him, or else your lips would almost touch.

“Yeah, slowly. And keep those beautiful eyes on the road, toots.”

You did as he told you, slowly pressed your foot down the accelerator, and the truck slowly and finally left its spot under your riding.

You couldn’t help but smile. It was something really childish to do, but it was unconscious. Richie kept his right hand over yours, helping you through the gears correctly, his left one was supposed to guide the wheel with you, but as soon as he heard your giggles he let go, his arm resting lazily on his open window.

You only sped up to an acceptable speed to keep during a parking lot training, but it was enough for a breeze to blow through the open windows. You felt somehow proud, even if you have been strolling for five minutes in circles behind the library. You didn’t even notice Richie letting go of the bare control he had, but you were pretty aware of his hands falling down to rest on your thighs.

And you were pretty aware of the forming hardness underneath you. You could feel him, and every time you made a turn your hips would be dragged around due to physics causes you never understood while in high school. Every time that happened you could hear Richie sighing really close to your neck.

His thumbs traced circles against the skin of your thighs, right where it met the hem of your skirt. You were already relaxed back against him by now.

“I’m so sorry, toots...” You heard both a certain embarrassment, but also some guts in his voice. He was also pretty aware of what was happening, but you wondered if he was aware of the growing heat inside your chest, and the wetness inside your panties.

Or if he was aware of the way you “helped” physics by dragging your hips down onto his.

“Don’t be, Rich.” You muttered.

His hands went for yours again, and his feet took the place yours once had. Richie himself stopped the car and as soon as he turned the motor down you noticed how silent it was because he didn’t turn on the radio earlier, probably because he didn’t want to distract you.

But he ended up doing way more than that.

It was starting to get dark, maybe a little too dark. Dark in a level that’d be perfect to do hidden things and they’d remain safe under its cover. Maybe that was why you felt it was safe enough to turn your body slightly to the side, just enough to face Richie, and you two kissed in the dim light.

No words needed, not a single trace of hesitation because you both knew you'd been aching for this for a long time now. You parted your lips under his tongue insistence within time, tried to fought him for dominance. Absurdly unsuccessful that was. Richie had a hand through your hair, slightly pulling it so you couldn’t turn your face away from him. Little did he know you wouldn’t do that anyway. 

He was the one who pulled away after a while. You could tell he was smirking, eyes on yours, and then down to check on your already slightly kiss-bruised lips. He leaned in then, his nose softly brushing all the way up your neck, sending goosebumps through your spine just so he could talk lowly in your ear.

“I want you in the backseat, y/n/n.” 

You didn't know if it was how he sounded deep, or how he called you by the nickname that only he’d call you, nothing generical, but he made you whimper untouched. You just nodded and Richie pushed you off his lap gently, helping you to pass through the front seats.

You didn’t think car sex was comfortable at all, having experienced it in other guys’ sedans, but Richie’s car got some valuable space. It was enough for you to be dragged into Richie’s lap without your head bumping into the ceiling, as soon as he joined you there, kissing you as his life depended on it.

Richie smelled like smoke and tasted like mint chapstick and cola, and the way he held you so tightly against him was driving you insane alone. Slowly the darkness was taking over and you couldn’t see much of him, but you could feel him everywhere. Hands on your hips and crawling up your sides, underneath your top inch by inch. You couldn’t help to grind your hips down against his, earning yourself a low grunt every time you did that.

It was happening, and you couldn’t believe it. Richie and you've been friends over the time, but you’d be lying if you said you never looked at him in a messed up way, here and there. Mainly when you’d get drunk together in parties and he started to get extra flirty towards your horny self. And now, what you have fantasized about was happening.

“I want you down on me so bad...” You moaned.

You widened your eyes because it wasn’t meant to escape your lips like that. But it did and made Richie pull away from the spot he had been kissing on your neck, looking up at you.

You expected him to laugh or scoff, but he raised a brow slightly, lips curving in a way that had your legs weak.

“Don’t ask me twice, doll.” He mumbled.

Richie held you by your thighs before pushing you down to the seat. You propped yourself up to rest your back against the side of the car, ready to push shoes and clothes off, but he got different plans. Richie made his best to fit properly in between your legs, hands pushing your skirt up so it was lumping around your waist.

With no warning, Richie just pulled your panties down your legs, taking them off skillfully and shoving them in his pocket. With a smirk, he leaned himself down on you, drawing a bold lick all the way up from your slit to your clit.

You moaned louder than would be safe. Just the vision of Richie in between your thighs like that was enough to make you purr like a kitten, but the way he kept his eyes up just to watch what he was doing to you was top-shelf.

His hands were on your thighs, keeping you as spread for him as the space allowed, tongue flicking through your wet folds. And the motherfucker dared to hum against you.

“Fuck, y/n/n... How can you taste so good, doll?”

Your chest weaved up and down as you panted, a complete moaning mess. Your hands went for Richie’s curls, messing them up even more as he took turns closing his eyes to savor you, and then looking up at your blank pleasured face.

“Richie...” You cried out.

He pulled away for a second, thumb still rubbing circles on your clit to keep your pace.

“What, babe, are you gonna cum for me?”

You did. As soon as he reattached his lips to your heat again, you came by his mouth only.

Richie smirked satisfied at the way your legs were shaking and your eyes shut closed, still lazily licking you down your high, and as soon as your breath calmed down he was sitting back up, pulling you into his lap again, holding you so close you lost your breath.

When you and Richie kissed again, you could still taste yourself on his lips. Your hands fumbled with his jeans, unbuckling it quickly because you needed more of him. He groaned at your eager manners, immediately bucking his hips up so you could pull his pants and underwear down to his thighs.

“Holy fuck, Richie...”

You couldn’t hold it back when you looked down at his cock, fully hard for you. Richie didn’t praise himself for nothing. You felt like some stupid depraved girl, but Richie seemed to like it judging by the melodic laugh he let out. A laugh that quickly turned into a deep moan when you took him in your hands, pumping slowly.

The way Richie’s mouth hung opened when he breathed out heavily and the sounds that came outta there made you clench around nothing. You didn’t delay much before aligning yourself over him, slowly lowering your hips.

Richie cursed out loud, hands gripping onto your waist for his life as he threw his head back. Now you were the one observing how his chest went up and down fast, how he licked his lips with eyes closed in bliss. You had all of him inside you, every inch. He was stretching you out, yes, but he felt too good filling you up like that.

Richie finally looked at you, all hooded eyes and hands going for your shirt. He lifted the fabric enough to expose your breasts, mumbling something about loving that you didn’t wear a bra much often before attaching his lips to your nipple.

Your hands on his shoulders for support must have squeezed too tightly, but he didn’t seem to notice it under the loud moans you gave him. Richie’s lips slid from a breast of yours to the other, taking a time to kiss the valley between them.

“Ride me, doll...” He softly demanded, and you did.

You held tightly onto him when you started to bounce up and down very slowly, trying to adjust to him, but as soon as you picked up your pace the previously silent and dark truck was filled with both your moans. Richie was loud and it was something you expected and now his hoarse groans only drove you closer to your high.

He gave you a hickey on your breast, right before his lips escalated to kiss and mark your neck as well.

“How good you feel around me, y/n/n...”

You melted more in his arms every time he'd fill you up, every little nibble he’d plant on the sweet spot of your neck. You felt your muscles tensing, clenching tightly around Richie’s cock right before you came undone once again.

As soon as you reached the peak, your loud moans were muffled by Richie’s hungry lips on yours. When your legs went numb, he kept thrusting up into you, hands grabbing handfuls of your ass until he came.

Richie came moaning into your mouth, while you drifted away from your orgasm and your fingers caressed back the curls that covered his face. You could barely see him by now, but the few traces you could discern made you smile numbly.

Holy shit. You were in love.

You fucked Richie in his car, and now you were in love.

No, you’ve been in love with him for a long time but only now, when the facts were spread right in front of your eyes, you admitted it. Only now, feeling the numerous small kisses he was spreading all over your shoulder and collarbone, and how his cold hands cupped your breasts gently, only now you admitted it.

Things were silent for a while, while Richie had his face buried against the crook of your neck and you still cockwarmed him. You didn’t want to leave him, you were afraid that as soon as you put yourself together, he’d check you out off his hook up list and drag you back to the friend zone.

“I fucking love you, y/n/n.”

You still breathed heavily when he whispered that, but you immediately felt like your lungs stopped working.

You pushed Richie away from you, making him look at your face in the dark, although you could only see the little reflection of his glasses.

“What the hell did you just say?”

“Nothing, I-Shit...”

“Richie.” You were serious, and that made him bite down his lips, thinking he had messed things up with you.

“I’m fucking in love with you, doll.”

You kissed him.

The second he finished that phrase you took his face in your hands and kissed him. A long, slow, and breathtaking kiss.

Richie’s arms wrapped around your waist and his glasses were for sure getting dirtier touching your face, but he didn’t care about it and nor did you.

Only your lips parted away a few moments later, but you kept your foreheads together, eyes closed and hearts going a mile a minute.

“I’m fucking in love with you too, Trashmouth” you mumbled.

You smiled in a cheesy way and somehow you knew he was doing the same.

“Although you’re a bad a drive instructor who ends up fucking your learner”

“Shut up, y/n.”

You laughed together and Richie hugged you against him. That was for sure a not recommend spot to be parked at that hour, but none of you minded that. He was still inside you and you'd keep him like that for at least some moments more because you needed your legs to stop trembling and you also needed to feel more of him against you like that.

"Rich..." You furrowed your brows lightly, curled into his chest. "Where the fuck are my panties?"

He chuckled.

"They are safe, toots. And, by the way, those are mine now."

#it #it imagine #it fanfic #it fanfiction #it smut #the losers club #the losers club imagine #the losers club fanfic #the losers club fanfiction #it fic #the losers club fic #the losers club smut #richie tozier #richie tozier x reader #richie tozier imagine #richie tozier fanfiction #richie tozier fic #richie tozier fanfic #richie tozier smut #beauregardwrites

[adrenalinesaint]

When one departs from under the sheltering wing of one’s benefactor, one must reckon with a sudden and profound lack of money. And while poverty had been a running theme in Jonathan’s life, having to clear out his old laboratory and find a new one, with all of three hundred dollars in his checking account, was more than difficult. Penguin’s people lock the door behind him, and all he’s got are his costume and a few barrels of toxin.

Three years ago, he would have been utterly defeated.

Gotham City, 3:24 AM, on the interstate-405, an armored car bearing the Waynetech logo is maintaining a steady 60 miles per hour. The woman in the driver’s seat and the man in the passenger’s seat are armed with bulletproof vests, stun batons, mace spray, and pistols -- all of which are hidden behind tinted glass. Their destination: Wayne Tower, where their payload would sit under guard for another two days before the weapons and defense exhibition the following week. Developers in the field of defense would be arriving from the world over to see what Waynetech had created for their militaries -- and, with a little finesse, they won’t find what they came for.

On an overpass overlooking the interstate, a tall, thin silhouette stands out against the streetlamps behind it, standing on the edge as though it may jump to its demise. With careful calculation, it’s possible to gauge whether or not human bones will break upon impact -- although there are a few other factors to consider: traction, for one. So, the figure on the overpass, getting a clear view of the armored car incoming, reaches down to tighten the cramp-ons its secured to its feet.

When the armored car comes fully into view, the driver gestures to the passenger. A figure standing on an overpass in Gotham can mean only a few things: suicide, or a heist. The passenger brandishes his pistol first, checking the chamber for a bullet and nodding to his driver when the confirmation comes in the form of a solid click. When they pass under the overpass, the sound of something heavy hitting the roof of their car is followed by a long, shrill scraping sound. From up top, the black-clad figure’s cramp-ons leave long, silvery streaks where they’d gripped into the metal roof.

Footsteps echo overhead. The passenger holds their finger over their lips to the driver, and the driver, now starting to sweat, keeps a trembling grip steady on the wheel. They don’t speak, but there’s a mutual understanding that if they crash this car, this entire section of the interstate is blowing up along with them. The dangers of driving delivery in Gotham. And the driver had just quit their pizza delivery gig.

For a few moments, it seems as though nothing will happen. In hopeful confusion, the driver wonders if whatever had happened was all a bad daydream.

And then the blade of a scythe comes crashing through the windscreen, the point of which stops mere inches in front of the tip of the driver’s nose. Letting out a shriek of sudden fear, she swerves, forcing the passenger to drop his firearm to reach over and grab the wheel to stabilize. They cannot run off the road. They cannot crash. With a heavy foot on the break pedal, the armored car comes to a skidding stop in a tunnel, fishtailing out in the middle of the lane.

The passenger gets out first. The driver is too frightened by the near-death experience to stir for a few moments, frozen in terror, but does only after her comrade is outside the car and appears relatively safe. When she too comes stumbling out of the driver’s seat and into the tungsten-lit tunnel, she finds her comrade aiming a shaky firearm just above the exterior roof of the car. But, when she looks, there’s nothing there.

“Mark, what’s going on?” She asks, out of breath from the adrenaline.

“There’s -- there’s something there -- something on the truck, Esther...” Mark’s pistol is wavering in his trembling grip. Esther can’t see from the distance at which she stands from him, but his pupils are dilated and the veins in his neck are throbbing. His sympathetic nervous system is on fire.

“Let’s get out of here -- “

“There’s a fucking scythe stuck in the windshield!”

From the angle of the handle of the scythe, it appears as though someone was standing on the roof of the truck and impaled it downward. As she approaches, she can see the silvery streaks from where the cramp-ons gripped the roof. Someone was here. But not anymore.

With Mark aiming his firearm at the truck, Esther swallows a mouthful of hot, dry air and resolves to move in. He can cover her. They aren’t going anywhere until this truck is secured. An explosion in a tunnel would cause significantly more damage than above-ground -- damage to not just the tunnel itself but the surrounding infrastructure. For a moment, she debates the virtues of calling GCPD so they can get the bat-signal up.

When she rounds the other side of the truck, she finds nothing but a strange discoloration on the ground. In the orange tungsten lighting though, it’s hard to tell what exactly it is -- probably just some oil leaked out of a passing car. Her feet splash quietly as she walks through it.

“I’m starting to think we may be in over our heads...” Mark is on the other side of the truck, voice starting to quiver with fear. Esther has never seen him like this before -- usually he makes a concerted effort to seem unflappable, but something is under his skin.

“Hey, come on. Robin’s like, what, twelve? If he can do this, so can we.”

“Doesn’t he say he trained all his life with elite assassins?”

“And what are we? Chopped liver?”

“I don’t know about you, but I used to be a schoolteacher before this job. Gotham’s one hell of a town.”

“No shit?”

“No --- “

Esther, while checking the undercarriage of the truck, promptly straightens, kneeling in that puddle, knees wet, ears open and alert like a feline in danger.

“...Mark?”

Nothing.

“Mark, this isn’t funny. We get scythed through the windshield, you can’t play games with me, man. M-Mark?”

When she stands, she finds that the scythe is no longer in the windscreen. For a moment, she stands in the still silence that’s fractured only by the humming of overhead lighting and the distant whooshing of far-away cars on far-away roads. In that moment of stillness, everything around Esther becomes saturated in color and texture. The cracks in the floor are darker. The lines painted on the road seem to wave and breathe in her peripheral vision.

“Mark?” As she utters her partner’s name one final time, the sound of her own voice seems to warp in pitch and tone, like dropping her own voice down a chute. “Somethings --- wrong --- “

“H̸͕͆̍i̴̻͈͂̀c̷̖̾͝k̵̖̖̂o̷̝̅̀ṛ̴͑y̸̺̏̆ ̶̲̋̊d̶͕̑í̵̢̀ċ̴͈͙k̴̭̊ó̵̜͗r̷͉̀̾y̵͖̑͠ ̴̣̊̚d̶̹̎̓͜o̶̥͌č̴͇͠k̷̙̯̈́͋.̶͉̎͠ͅ ̸̡̀T̴̻̥̂̕ḩ̶̡̐ẻ̸̛̟ ̶̐͝ͅḿ̸͙̯̎ô̷͇̯̕u̷̘̹̾s̷͓̖͝e̷̝̕͝ ̴̥́̈́ŗ̷̘͌a̷͙̟͐̚n̷̼̣̒̀ ̸̢̄̆u̸͓͊p̸̩̋ ̶̧͎͗͠t̶̢̆̎ĥ̷̲͕e̵̬͙͗ ̴̠̏͝c̴͉͗̓l̷͇̍͗ȯ̶̬c̴͓̥̔̑k̸̹̳͐.̷̡̃“

As though she were in a movie, she feels the world come into focus centered around her. In a radial blur all around her, all she can see clearly are her hands, so she reaches for her pistol. But what she finds there instead is a cold, wet slab of meat in her holster, forcing her to drop the thing in disgust. When it clatters to the ground with a metallic sound, she watches in horror as it sprouts several non-uniform spider legs and scurries away.

“Mark -- ?“

The world is spinning. Esther stumbles backward and trips, landing in that strange-smelling puddle. It’s all over her hands clothes now. The smell is overpowering -- her nose is burning -- where’s Mark?

Several gunshots echo through the tunnel, and in a whizzing ricochet, several overhead lights explode, showering Esther with sparks and shards of glass that, as they fall, transform into ash and blood and salt water. In a warp of psychadelic colors, her stomach turns and she vomits. When she comes back up from it, the tunnel is full of crows. So many that she can no longer see the pavement under her feet. The writhing mass of black feathers moves and sways like an ocean, and she’s deafened by the sound of them all screaming in unison.

Her mace. She has mace spray.

As the mass of feathers overtakes her, forcing her to the ground and pressing her face into the puddle where she sputters for air, she manages to barely pull her can of mace out of her belt and -- there! The birds wail in agony as she sprays them back. Several more gunshots go off -- and this time, when the last one echoes through the tunnel, she feels something.

Something in her side -- right in the weak point of the vest.

She looks down: her flank is black in the tungsten lighting. Maybe it would be red under white light. Is this real? Or is this part of the dream? Stunned and already in shock, she can’t feel it yet. She puts one hand over the bullet hole and pulls back, fingers stained. So it is real.

As she rapidly loses blood, the hallucinations begin to wane. There are no feathers, there was no chunk of spidery meat. Her gun sits useless on the ground beside her, and her comrade Mark stands over her, huffing lungfuls of air desperately as his shaking hands clutch his gun. Even as she watches him in her final moments alive, she struggles to understand what’s happened to her. He doesn’t seem to see her at all. Already, he’s shooting at random it seems, screaming about “They’re everywhere! My god! Everywhere!”

In an hour or two, Esther will finish bleeding out and die. For now, she loses consciousness as Mark descends further into madness.

“Ì̵͈̈́t̶̼͔̿'̵͔̤͆s̶̖̰̀͐ ̸̯̄͂ș̷̎͘o̷̮̚ ̸͖̈̊ͅh̴̲̮͊̔a̶̹̪̓̾r̵̻͚̍̓d̴̩́ ̸̣̰̂t̶̲̋ơ̶̥ ̴͖͆̚f̶̣̄̄i̴̫̻̾̂n̸̟͒̌d̶̬̃̆ ̸̘̣̐g̸͍̯̀͠o̸͘͜͝o̷̭͒́d̷͇̙͒͛ ̷̨̒͝h̴̞͔͊̿ę̴̱̆ḻ̶̬͌̈p̵̡͎̆ ̶̄͜t̸̜͝h̸̙̆̆ê̸̫͌s̵̪̦͆̈é̵̡̳ ̷̣̭͌̚d̴͓̋̑a̵͇͑̇y̵̼̬̽̑s̵̹̿ͅ.̵̩́”

The fluid on the ground was fear toxin, of course. The tungsten lighting is orange and masks the orange-colored gas that fills the tunnel. Standing perfectly within view, and yet perfectly masked by the effects of the toxin, the Scarecrow watches as the guards tear each other apart. The male shoots the female in the stomach, mistaking her for a schoolchild, as he’d developed quite the phobia of children since working as a teacher in the lower grades. She maces him in the face, mistaking him for a flock of birds from Alfred Hitchcock’s titular film that scarred her for life as a child.

In the end, Mark is left standing, but not for long. Scythe back in hand, the Scarecrow makes one fluid motion powered by whatever slight muscle he may possess and failed to behead the fellow, but does more than enough damage to his neck to ensure a swift exsanguination.

Already, though, the gunfire has drawn some attention. And the idle nature of the truck had triggered a safety protocol that alerted HQ. When the guards failed to respond to their radio pings, the bat signal went up. There are only so many things an armored Waynetech truck can run into, after all. A rogue is bound to be one of them.

Pressing the filter of his mask against his mouth, Scarecrow laughs from the sheer thrill of it all. He feels quite young again.

Hopping into the front seat of the truck, he leaves his scythe embedded in the neck of the dead guard. Let it be a love-note to Batman when he comes to clean up the crime scene.

As the truck peels out of the tunnel, leaving behind two corpses and a trail of exhaust, Crane leaves a handful of sweet Georgia straw in the wind, where it scatters through the crime scene to leave his mark.

And what’s next? Well. Someone just came into quite a bit of money.

#oneshots #pls no reblogs #likes are ok #.headcanons #readmored for length #in which jon finally gets fucking PAID

[wanderingcas]

ao3. 

“Hey.” Sam tilts his chin in the direction over Dean’s shoulder. “2 o’clock.” 

Dean glances over his shoulder. Cas, who is sitting next to him in the booth, likewise cranes his head, albeit a little more obviously because the newly human ex-angel still has no sense of manners. 

He knows what Sam is gesturing to immediately: brunette, leggy, skirt on the northside of too short. He distinctly remembers the predatory face she made when he asked her back to his hotel room. 

“Didn’t you hook up with her last time we were in town?” Sam asks in a hushed voice.

Dean pokes a fork at his scrambled eggs. “Uh, yeah. I think so.” 

“Well, go talk to her!” 

“Why the hell would I do that?” 

Sam scoffs, giving him the Younger Sibling Incredulous Look. “Didn’t you say you liked her?” 

“You’re right, Sam. I did like her. So naturally, the next step is me getting down on one knee and saying I want to have her babies.” 

Cas scrunches his forehead. “I have two questions.” 

“Colloquialisms, Cas,” Dean says shortly. He stabs a sausage link and savagely chews it, pointing his fork in Sam’s direction. “I got a rule and you know that. I don’t double-dip. Comes with the job.” 

To Cas’s confused expression, Sam explains, “He means he never sleeps with someone twice, or he might catch feelings.” Cas continues to stare. Sam adds, “Fall in love.” 

“Why would that be bad?” Cas asks.

“Have you seen our profession?” Dean scoffs. “Ain’t for me, that whole thing. But sex is good,” he adds with an especially leering grin. 

Sam groans into his coffee. “You’re gross.” 

“Love is bad,” Cas says musingly. He takes a bite of his waffle drenched in syrup. “I think I understand.” 

“No, just—” Dean sighs. “Forget it. Maybe when you’re more human it’ll click.”

Cas looks at him curiously as he chews. Dean needs to look away. 

* * * 

“There’s too much of your mother in you,” John used to say. 

Too much empathy. 

Too much love. 

It’s what got her killed, after all. 

* * * 

“You know, you need to define it. Whatever it is.” 

There’s movement by the barn door that catches Dean’s eye; it’s only a flash of bird’s wings glinting in the dark. He makes a noncommittal sound and sinks further into his seat, the leather creaking. 

“Seriously, Dean,” Sam continues, “it’s not healthy. For either of you.” 

If that creepy farmer guy comes back, that’s their man, Dean decides. He’s never trusted anyone with a limp, anyway. 

“Dean.” 

“I heard ya,” Dean barks. “Are you going to focus on this case or not?” 

“We need to talk about this.” 

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. We don’t.” Dean squints in the dark, sees a hobbling figure approaching the barn, a familiar and stolen spell book in his hands. “Knew it was him.” 

“I just worry about you.” Sam loads and cocks a gun. “Both of you.” 

“It’s our business, Sam. Drop it.” Dean opens the Impala’s door, the hinges protesting. “You take his right, I’ll take the left.” 

* * * 

Kissing Cas is second nature now. It’s not like the awkward fumbling when they first slammed together, stuffing themselves into a supply closet so Sam wouldn’t find them, hands shaking and Dean’s ass being poked by a broom as Cas pressed desperately against him. 

Kissing him, in fact, is easy: Dean’s gotten used to the texture of Cas’s lips (soft but unyielding), the way that he can make Cas hitch a surprised breath (biting his lower lip with a soft graze of his teeth), the feeling of Cas’s warm hands pressing against Dean’s back. 

Even the sex has gotten easy.

But then there’s the after: where Cas sits on the edge of Dean’s bed, adjusting his tie against his open collar, frowning at the ground. The pause has become longer and longer, before he finally stands and leaves the room with a soft, “Goodnight, Dean.” 

And Dean’s eyes are beginning to linger on the closed door longer than they should.

* * * 

“What do you want to do as a human, Cas? Anything. Name one thing.” 

Cas looks up from his cereal, hair sticking up in impossible ways and squinting at Sam. “More sleep sounds amenable.” 

Sam’s laugh bounces across the kitchen’s tiles. “No, something fun that you couldn’t do as an angel. It’s time to get out and find something you like.” 

“Like eating crappy diner food,” Dean suggests across the table.

“Or starting a garden,” Sam adds. 

“Or eating crappy pizza.” 

“Or biking.” 

“Or setting the record for eating the biggest cheeseburger.”

Sam flicks a spoon at Dean’s arm. Dean leans back in his chair and grins.

Looking between them, Cas frowns. “I’m not sure what activities there are to do as a human.” 

Dean says, “No wrong choice.” He considers for a moment. “Well, except all of Sam’s suggestions.” 

Sam huffs a frustrated breath.

“Maybe biking?” Cas says, tentatively. “I’ve seen that activity before, and it looks enjoyable.” 

“We don’t have bikes, Cas,” Dean says.

“But we can rent some!” Sam says, pulling out his phone and waving it wildly. “Wichita has a bike sharing program now! You can go anywhere in the city!” 

“Oh, goody,” Dean says. 

The drive to Wichita is mind-numbing, teaching Cas how to even balance on a bike is time-consuming. But finally, after the hundred or so time of Dean lightly pushing Cas’s back to give him a pedaling start, Cas stays upright rather than collapsing to the ground. 

Dean feels stupid for being in a flannel and boots on a bicycle. Sam keeps reaching over and pinching Dean’s cheek while they’re riding. But then they get to a tall hill overlooking the city skyline, sun setting on the backdrop, and Cas turns around to smile all sweaty and bright-eyed at Dean, the happiest Dean’s seen him in well, ever, and Dean can’t suppress an answering smile. 

Looking back, maybe that’s the moment he knew. 

But maybe his heart rate was only fast from the exercise, and his lightheaded, dizzy feeling was him not having enough to eat or the heat getting to him.

Maybe.

* * * 

Dean didn’t intend to overhear it. Cas and the old guy they were interviewing was in the next room, and Dean was in the tiny corner kitchen. The old man’s house was dated, sure, but Dean didn’t expect the walls to be practically paper.

“You know what’s most important in the world, son?” asks the man’s fuzzy baritone.

Cas falters, says, “Uh… no. What’s most important?” 

“Love. That’s what.” 

Dean rolls his eyes. They weren’t going to get anything about the neighborhood poltergeist out of this guy. His brain obviously flew into the cuckoo’s nest a long time ago.

“Oh,” Cas replies. “I see.” 

“When you have something to hold onto that you love, or someone, then it makes life that much more worth it. If a dying old man like me can tell you anything, let it be that. You know what I’m saying?” 

Dean’s not sure why he’s holding his breath; especially not sure why his chest constricts to a painful pitch when Cas replies, softly, “I don’t have much experience with what you’re describing.” 

“Maybe you will one day,” the old man says.

Dean stares down at the countertop, chipped and broken at the edges. 

“Maybe,” Cas tonelessly replies. 

* * * 

He didn’t mean for it to happen.

It just kind of snuck up on him and happened. 

Over time, Cas’s smiles began chain-reacted a fuzzy feeling in his throat. Cas’s rarely-heard laugh made his skin feel like it was on fire. Cas’s hands simply skimming over Dean’s bare skin made him feel like every cell and molecule that made up Dean was reaching for Cas, begging for more. 

Even Cas’s eyes holding his made his stomach do flip-flops.

He didn’t mean for it to happen. 

He didn’t mean to break his own rule.

* * * 

“What is this?” Dean asks between kisses. It’s dark but he can imagine the stunned look on Cas’s face. 

Cas was never one to bullshit. He says, plainly, “I don’t know.” 

Dean threads his hand through Cas’s thick hair, tugs a little tighter so he’ll forget Dean’s moment of weakness. They fall back onto the bed. 

* * * 

“You’re a lot like Mom, you know,” Sam just comes out and says one day. Over reading a book, while sipping his coffee, like it’s no big deal.

Dean puts down his phone. Asks in a steady voice, “What?” 

“She didn’t want the job either. Wanted different things.” Sam pauses. “Like a family.” 

“Why the hell are you telling me this?” 

Sam looks at him with way too much meaning in his eyes. “You know why.” 

Too much of your mother in you. 

Dean pushes against the table to stand and leaves the room. 

* * * 

I love you. 

It’d be so easy to let it tumble out of him; to recklessly plunge headfirst off that cliff without knowing if anything would catch him. 

Instead he presses it soundlessly into Cas’s skin with his lips, his hands, his fingers—I love you, I love you. And I’m terrified.

He’s worried he’s being too loud when Cas looks at him with endlessly blue eyes, seeming to respond, I know. 

* * * 

There’s too much blood on the floor, and Cas’s eyes are too glassy. Dean tears out of his shirt, pressing it against Cas’s wound, but there’s not enough to hold it in, not enough to stop the very essence of Cas leaking out of him—

“It’s fine.” Cas’s voice is raspy. He holds Dean’s wrist in a weak fist. “Stop, Dean.” 

Dean presses the shirt harder against the wound. Cas’s eyes grab his and hold them there.

“You knew this would happen eventually.”

“No I didn’t,” Dean whispers. “I didn’t.” 

“It’s the profession, Dean. You said it yourself.” 

“No,” Dean says.

“Let me go.” 

Dean wakes up with a harsh gasp. It takes endless moments of harsh breathing against his pillow to get his heart rate to slow. 

He walks down the hall to the room where Cas sleeps. He puts a hand on the knob; hears Cas roll over on the bed inside, the bedsprings groaning. 

It’s unclear how long he stands there, forehead pressed against the cool wood of the door, counting Cas’s breaths. 

Cas isn’t in danger, Dean tells himself.

Not right now.

* * * 

He takes Cas to a lake, because he remembers Cas saying that he misses the ocean. It’s close enough. 

It’s a cold fall day, the nearby trees drooping with golden leaves, so it makes no sense to be at a beach. But Cas seems to love it. Dean opts to sit on the sand and watch Cas dip his bare toes into the gentle lapping water.

When Cas gets too cold they huddle under a blanket, shoulder to shoulder, and watch the sun sleepily dip in the horizon.

“What do you think is the most important thing in the world?” Cas asks. 

“Pie,” Dean automatically replies. “Maybe burgers.” 

“Be serious,” Cas demands.

Dean sighs, his breath dancing in front of him. The sun is nearly gone; they’ll have to drive back soon or Sam will have a hissy fit. He gets bitchy when Dean’s not there to make him dinner after his afternoon run.

“Dean.” Cas pokes a gentle finger into Dean’s side.

“Uh.” Dean blows into one of his hands to make it warmer. “People. Family. Love, I guess.” 

Cas nods. He squints into the dying sunlight. “Falling in love can be bad, though,” he says quietly, so soft that if Dean weren’t centimeters away, he’d miss it.

“Sometimes,” Dean agrees.

They stand, brushing the sand off their jeans, and walk back to the Impala. 

* * * 

That night, Dean drags out every moment: every kiss, every caress, every push and pull of his hips against Cas’s. 

Cas gasps, and Dean swallows the sound with his lips. Every nerve in him feels like a firecracker ready to burst. In all his life, he’s never been so focused one one human being, on one beautiful, devastating, terrifying ex-angel sprawled underneath him. 

Too much empathy.

Too much goddamn love.

When Cas leaves his bedroom, like he always does, Dean decides he needs to keep liquor in his room.

* * * 

“You don’t look like you’re getting a lot of sleep. Neither does Cas.”

Dean knows. Doesn’t need the reminder.

“Have you guys talked it out yet? Whatever is going on between you?” 

If they did, maybe there’d be more sleeping.

* * * 

So it goes, Vonnegut wrote. Dean remembers dissecting that line in high school English, reading way more analyses than what was required for the assignment. 

A nod to the existential. At death that inevitably comes. 

Dean wonders if it could apply to love, too.

“I’m going to stop coming to your room,” Cas says to Dean. 

Jesus Christ, Sam is sitting right there, Dean wants to say. Instead he stares, forkful of spaghetti halfway to his mouth.

“I’m gonna go… research,” Sam says, fumbling with his chair and vacating the kitchen. 

Cas and Dean stare at each other. 

“I’m going to stop coming to your room,” Cas says again.

“No, I—I heard you.” Dean puts down his fork. “I just. Why?” 

Cas laces his hands in front of him. “When we began our physical relationship, I thought it was of benefit to you. You seemed happier and more relaxed. However, the past few weeks have taken the opposite toll. You seem anxious and the circles under your eyes are a clear indication you’re not getting a good rest. So I think it’s best if we stop.” 

There’s a simmering in Dean’s gut. “You. You want to.” He clenches his fist against his knee. “You want to end this because I look tired?” 

“No. I want to end this because you look like someone died every time after we have sex.” 

“So fucking dramatic,” Dean scoffs. He stands and grabs his plate roughly off the table. “Well, if you wanna end it, fine by me. Just stop coming to my room.” 

“All right,” Dean hears Cas say behind him.

Dean stands at the sink for a moment. The simmering pitches to a full-blown boil. He throws the plate in the sink, ceramic shattering. He whirls around to see Cas, staring, wide-eyed. “Seriously, Cas? Seriously?” 

“Seriously what?” Cas volleys. 

“How can you act like it’s nothing? Over and over—Jesus.” Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. “I should have known better, I really should have but I—every fucking time, it’s the same.” 

Cas stands. “I’m not acting like it’s nothing.” 

“Yes you goddamn are. Every night, you leave. Every morning, you act like nothing happened. Even now you’re just calmly ending the thing like it was a business transaction. Even as a human you’re as emotionless as a goddamn rock.” 

“That’s not fair,” Cas says, his face contorting. 

“Then tell me I’m wrong,” Dean shouts. “Tell me this all meant something to you.” 

Cas is still like stone, just staring, so Dean scoffs, “That’s what I thought,” and makes his quick exit. 

He’s halfway down the hallway when something grabs his shoulders, pushes him into the wall. Cas leans in close.

“You don’t understand,” he says. “You never did. I feel—I do feel.” 

Dean whispers, on the precipice of something he doesn’t want to name, “Then why did you leave every goddamn time?” 

Cas tilts his head. “Falling in love is bad,” he says. “I understand. Now that I’m more human, I understand.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Dean chokes out.

Too much of your mother in you.

“How did you mean it?” 

He can’t do this now. Not with Cas staring at him like this. Like he’s the singular most important person in the world. “I’m scared,” he says. “I could lose you.”

“I could lose you.” Cas holds Dean’s shoulders tight. “But I love you all the same.” 

Dean shakes his head. Says softly in the space between them, “That’s too much love.” 

“No such thing,” Cas insists, capturing Dean’s mouth with his, not letting him give anymore excuses. 

* * * 

They lie in Dean’s bed, simply holding each other. It’s warm. Dean likes the way that Cas is playing with his hair, likes the feeling of Cas’s breath on his cheek.

“What is this?” Dean asks. Afraid to, but does it anyway.

“Whatever you want it to be.” 

Dean frowns. Grabs Cas’s hand and winds his fingers tight around him. “Don’t leave tonight.” 

Cas presses a kiss into Dean’s hair. “I never will.” 

#WELLP THERE IT IS #hope you guys like it #destiel #destiel fic #inacatastrophicmind #destieldrabblesdaily #woefulcas #starsmish #wanderingwrites #i poured my heart and soul into this pls be kind #angst with a happy ending #miscommunication