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sheisjoeschateau · 4 months

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"Oh, so we DO love Steve... | PART VII

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

CHAPTER VII WARNINGS/NOTES: t.w.'s - strong language, ruthless banter, mentions of death, injuries, end-of-the-world terror talk, newfound shared codependency (but like it's healthy imo also it's valid lmao) jealousy. 18+

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this chapter is honestly a gahdamn MF feast. a favorite of mine NGL, for a multitude of reasons. Murray high key pops the fuck off like the boss bitch he is and takes us on a long lecture of a journey to visit the lordt of truth bombs. Eddie has zero chill. Robin is the bestest-best-fwend and platonic-with-a-capital-p soulmate to our boy. Dustin is a dingus. LUCAS BE SEEIN' THINGS. Hopper is Joppering. Nancy and Jonathan get a clue. Mama Steve and the kids are in full swing. We get a cutie cameo from Harrington's signature yellow sweater.

And our lovebirds finallyyyy......well.....say the magic word that they're feeling hehehe:)

ISSA LONG ONE. PROOFREAD UNTIL MY EYES BLED. IF THERE ARE STILL TYPOS, SORRY BOUT IT. 18+

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Steve knew he would have to face downstairs again at some point before the morning. Definitely before everyone else went to bed. But he couldn’t bring himself to. Not yet.

Because right now, you were fast asleep in his arms. Laid carefully on your back for the sake of your bad shoulder, with your head turned into his chest. Steve was propped up on an elbow, facing you with his other hand gliding his fingertips to trace your arm draped across your chest. He drew shapes up your arm, now adorned with his yellow crewneck, up to your jawline so that he could tuck your hair behind your ear.

And all the while, he just stared at your chest – comforted by the steady rise and fall. It kept him sane. It kept his eyes open. It kept him from letting the nightmare return. You slept so peacefully, he might never have known you’d been dead in his arms earlier that day.

“You are beautiful, Steve Harrington.”

Your words from last night ran through his mind on a loop, like a VHS tape on replay.

“I can’t stand you.”

You’d said it in the warmest voice Steve had ever heard in his life. Somehow, those words meant more to him than I love you. Because when he said it back, he realized it meant the same thing.

“I can’t stand you either.”

I love you too.

Steve carefully placed his forehead against your temple, eyes fluttering shut and breathing you in. Something danced inside of his stomach. It ached, it burned and it warned him of all the things he feared feeling the most for anyone except the girl downstairs who had made love seem lost. He never wanted those feelings to return again for anyone else but her – Nancy. And yet here he was: every one of those feelings rushed back tenfold, for the girl upstairs in his guest bedroom lying beside him. The girl who had ruined the chance at a life for him with Nancy Wheeler. The girl he swore was the reason he was robbed of all things good. Robbed of love. True love.

But he no longer loved Nancy Wheeler.

Steve Harrington loved you.

Downstairs, everyone is quiet but productive.

Joyce is organizing the last of the stashed supplies. The kids are eating some bowls of hot soup, served up by Murray. He had to stay busy and shake off the frayed nerves. Otherwise, he’d go berserk. Completely berserk. Joyce gently helped him but knew better than to baby him. She was surprised to find Erica walking over, offering to help serve up some glasses of water or sodas for everyone. To everyone’s surprise, they operated well. Like chef and sous-chef. What an unlikely duo.

Hopper and El were talking in the living room about the potential new plan, and Mike moved from the table where he sat with the kids and teens to join them.

Steve could hear them all down there, the ambience muffled on the other side of the closed door separating you both from the rest of the world outside of each other's arms. He could have fallen asleep right there with you if he let himself.

But a soft knock on the door made him crane his head to look towards the source of the noise. With one last look at you, he carefully slipped his arm out from underneath you. You never stirred, the rhythm of your breathing still intact and your mind lost in sleep.

Steve wasn’t sure who to expect on the other side of the door. But as he ran a hand through his hair, he found himself not caring.

Turns out, it was Murray. He stood with two bowls of hot soup, now staring into the eyes of Steve Harrington — who he begrudgingly noted still looked dashing, despite his towel-dried bedhead and tired eyes.

Seriously, no one should make a t-shirt and sweatpants look that good.

Your uncle cleared his throat. “Uhh, I made some soup.”

Steve gave him a timid but grateful nod, taking one of the bowls. Glancing back over his shoulder, Murray followed Harrington’s gaze — back at you, sleeping in bed.

“She’s still out,” Steve told him.

Murray nodded. “I’ll keep hers warm downstairs.” An awkward silence fell over Murray and Steve, but finally your uncle continued. “Listen, why not come down? Let her rest, get yourself some water or — a sandwich maybe, to go with the soup. Erica says she’ll make them but I'm reallllly not feeling confident about that.”

Steve allowed himself a soft chuckle at that, biting his lip and glancing back at you.

“She’s alright,” your uncle assured Steve. “Trust me. I keep having to remind myself that, too.”

Steve was glad that the two of them could relate on that — endlessly worrying about you. He was also glad that your uncle wasn’t giving him shit for it, and honestly Murray was extremely pleasant when he wasn’t being an ass. It took Steve by surprise. No wonder you two were related. With a reluctant sigh, Steve agreed to follow Murray downstairs for some more grub.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Steve’s eyes first landed on Nancy sitting with Robin and Joyce. She looked over at Steve with her big blue eyes, which danced with longing. Steve’s doe brown eyes didn’t return it, but he lightly smiled in her direction anyway. Robin immediately perked up, jogging over to Steve from her seated position on the floor. She grabbed him for a tight hug, and he made sure not to spill his bowl of soup.

“Sorry sorry, I’ve just — been worried sick.”

“S’okay, Robs,” Steve murmured, appreciating the comfort. She pulled back to look at him, giving him a sad smile. She wanted to ask him a million questions, but knew it best to save it for later.

“C’mon,” Robin told him, tilting her head towards the kitchen. “Let’s go grab some crackers or something to go with that soup, which you need to eat. Don’t even think about not eating, Steve. I’m serious, okay?”

Steve listened to her keep rambling on as they walked into the kitchen, where Erica and Lucas were bickering about PB&J’s, and Murray stepped in to take back his title as head chef. Eddie and Jonathan were sitting at the dining table, clearly in deep conversation but ceasing once they noticed them walking in. Jonathan gave him a pitying look, while Eddie flashed a dopey grin to try and hide whatever serious talk was just going down.

Dustin, Mike and Will all rounded the corner as Steve moved to sit at the bar. They all sat next to him happily. YAY, MOM’S HOME.

Steve ruffled Dustin’s hair absentmindedly as he sipped on his soup and stared down at his spoon. Erica was shoving a very haphazard looking sandwich in front of him while Lucas told him he’d spit it out after the first bite, which sent all the kids into a frenzy of bickering, lighthearted insults and witty comebacks. Steve sighed, content as he ate several mouthfuls of the sandwich while listening to his kids squabble.

Jonathan was shaking his head over in the corner, observing this. “Guy’s a hero to those kids,” he murmured, only loud enough for Eddie to hear.

“Babysitter turned full-time mom turned hero,” Eddie smirks, amused. “Dude’s a legend.”

Jonathan scoffs, amused but also not. “Wasn’t always...”

Eddie clocks what he means by that. He knew King Steve, too. But Eddie can see a twinge of something else in Joanthan’s eyes, surprised to see it. Jealousy. It’s subtle. Not toxic, or even remotely a threat.

That is, until Jonathan sees Nancy moving to take a sandwich from Erica — her eyes wandering over to Steve and the kids. She looks enchanted, melancholy. Is she sad? Why is she sad?

…why is she sad looking at Steve?

Jonathan’s brow furrows. Eddie decides he better speak up and interrupt whatever he’s thinking. Because he sees it too. Uh oh.

“Trust me, he was a dick. I know. Told him so myself.” Eddie tries to make light of it, grinning. “But I think sometimes…some folks just need a big thump on the head. Shit, I did. I used to run away from alllllll my problems. Hell, I…I’ve even had my share of making others feel small, just so I can feel big. Not in a bad way, though. Never mean. Just…immature. Y’know? Point is, I’ve been there too. Maybe not as big a dick as Harrington…” He snorted. “No pun intended.”

Jonathan whipped his head in Eddie’s direction. What did that mean?

Eddie quickly tried to cover up his reference to the Hawkins High heartthrob’s manhood. “I just mean, I just mean — like — we’ve all been dicks. You know? Big ones. Small ones. Medium…sized…ones.”

He counted at least 5 perplexed blinks from Jonathan. Eddie sighed, exasperated with himself. “The point, the point. We uhh…we live and we learn. Right?”

Jonathan finally let his tense shoulders loosen up at that, but he glanced back at Nancy – who was still watching Steve as she got herself a glass of water and letting Robin ramble to her. And Jonathan also watched Steve, who was now telling Dustin to share the box of crackers with everyone and not hog them from everybody.

It began to click for Jonathan. The longing stares. The unusually strained affection between him and Nancy, ever since he got back. He knew that was partially his fault, if not entirely his fault, given him pulling away from her after moving to California. But then he got back to Hawkins, and realized the second he saw her that he’d been a fool to think he would ever be better off without her, or convince himself that she could be better off without him. One look at her made it all go away. They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, and Jonathan was definitely aware of that now.

But had it made Nancy’s heart grow fonder, too? For Jonathan?

…or had distance made her heart grow fonder for someone else…

Someone else who she had distanced herself from once before, when she found love and comfort in Jonathan Byers’ arms. Harrington had been away from Nancy when she was around Byers, and then Byers was away from Nancy when the world went to shit again, putting her back around Harrington again. No Byers in sight.

…was this karma? Jonathan Byers was beginning to wonder that. Was this what he got for so confidently whisking Wheeler away from Steve back in high school? Is this what he got for thinking he was safe?

…maybe that is what Steve meant when screaming at him earlier, as they tried to pump you back to life.

“DON’T YOU DARE FUCKING STOP.” Jonathan would never forget the way that Steve’s sounded as he spewed at him. Broken, anguished and betrayed.

“IT’S NOT WORKING,” Jonathan had wept bitterly. “IT’S TOO LATE.”

When Nancy had chosen Jonathan, Steve never got mad. He never got mad at either of them. He told Nancy he got it; that it was okay. And he never said anything to Byers about it. Next time they ran into each other, it was just tense silence. Steve might have picked a fight with Jonathan once before, that damn morning in the alleyway when Will was still missing. But that was 2 years ago now, and it felt childish compared to everything that had happened since then. Steve’s anger then was so subdued to what it could have been, and he never explored anger towards Jonathan once he had successfully managed to take his girl.

But the way that Steve Harrington looked at Jonathan now, while you were dead beneath their hands, was fueled by anger. Red hot and flaming. He looked ready to finally unleash on Jonathan, ready to blame him for his existence and how it only brought Steve grief. For once, Steve Harrington looked rightfully angry with Jonathan Byers for being the source of his pain. Steve looked ready to punch him square in the jaw and beat him up the way he’d had his own face beat up by not just Byers, but also Billy Hargrove and the Russians.

“DON’T SAY THAT. NO ONE GAVE UP ON YOUR BROTHER, YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST GIVE UP ON US NOW? THINK ANY OF US WANTED TO STOP WHEN WE THOUGHT IT WAS TOO LATE? FUCK YOU, BYERS. FUCK YOU.”

Jonathan deserved it. He completely deserved it. All of it. It had been a long time coming, and while it was over 2 years past due…he took it. All of it. Even what was still left unsaid. Jonathan let Steve verbally rip him to shreds before Eddie took over and brought you back to life with Steve instead of him.

And that’s why now, as Jonathan watched Nancy catch him staring at her — looking caught as she tried to give him a smile — he let it happen. He just gave her a reluctant smile back, accepting his fate. Because now, after what he had seen today, he realized that Steve wasn’t even a threat. Maybe a month or so ago, he would have been. But that wasn’t the case now, which he only knew after seeing the way that Steve clung to you and sobbed uncontrollably over your lifeless body – then afterwards, when you were alive again.

Steve no longer pined for Nancy Wheeler. He pined for you.

Not for long, though. Honestly, it was as clear as day that whatever was going on between the two of you was mutual. The way you held Steve earlier, comforted him — assuring him that it was alright, you were alright — and how you stroked his leg in the living room before he helped you upstairs and disappeared for a couple of hours into your assigned guest room… Jonathan knew, along with Eddie, that Steve Harrington’s heart was in your hands, and yours was his.

It’s what Jonathan and Eddie had brought up at the table. Not the whole “why hasn’t Steve unleashed his anger on me until today” aspect of things. But the fact that you and Steve, who seemingly could not stand each other, now seemed like a pair.

Nancy moved to sit next to Jonathan, who awkwardly poked at his soup bowl and did his best to fake a smile. Eddie watched them, knowing. Man, he could really use one of his guitars right now to pluck out the tension…

Lucas was saying something about Max needing to be checked on upstairs, which made Steve quickly shove the last of his sandwich into his mouth so that he could come help him and Erica along with Will, El and Mike. They all made their way up, and Dustin stayed behind. He moved over to the big kids table, bringing the box of crackers over with him. He plopped down next to Eddie, who was grateful for the comic relief after the tense talk at the table. Robin moved to bring over fresh cups of coffee, sitting between everyone.

“So uhhh, we gonna talk about it?”

Dustin’s question made everyone freeze.

Robin cocked an eyebrow, leaning onto her elbows to sip her coffee. “About what…?”

“About Bauman and Steve, and how we all clearly did not see it coming.”

Robin choked on her coffee. Nancy stiffened next to Jonathan, which he didn’t miss — considering her hand was resting on his forearm. Eddie drummed the table awkwardly while nodding and staring straight ahead at absolutely nothing.

“Yeeeeeee-up, caught me off guard,” Eddie said. “I’m normally good at picking up on that shit.”

Robin was still working on clearing her throat. “Look, we don’t know anything yet —”

“He’s literally your best friend, Robin,” Dustin accused with an eye roll. “If any of us know, you do.”

“Well my strange, tiny friend,” Robin quipped wryly, “I’m afraid I’m just as in the dark on this as you are.” She sighed, leaning back in her seat with a flash of concern in her eyes. “I really should have seen it coming, though. I was so sure he was just gonna keep on hating her guts.”

“I still don’t understand why he hated her at all,” Dustin said, adorably naive.

Eddie smirked, uneasy. “Meh, not important.”

“Seriously, they got along just fine whenever we fought the demodogs,” Dustin continued, oblivious. “And at the snowball, but then after that he just – went at it with her all the time, even though they would both still hang out with us. Like an old married couple.”

Nancy listened intently, trying to keep up and put the pieces together. Because truly, she herself had been wondering what changed. But she had been so focused on her life, in her own world with Jonathan and their jobs, she really hadn’t paid much attention to the fact that you and Steve had gotten along at the start, then not at all, and now…well…

Robin puffed out a breath of air. “Maybe they’ve just…gotten closer. You know, found a way to get along. Murray’s an ass, and even though she’s not and I love her, Steve’s not exactly the easiest to get along with even though I love him —”

Dustin scoffed. “Robin. He kissed her.”

Eddie clicked his tongue, trying to think of Metallica lyrics and avoid looking in Nancy or Jonathan’s direction.

Robin stared. “What?”

“When?” Nancy’s voice startled the room, and Jonathan seemed to cringe at it.

“Dustin,” Jonathan sighed.

“Today,” Dustin kept talking. “Whenever we…brought her back. He — he kissed her. He literally bawled on top of her and wouldn’t let her go.”

Dustin’s eyes lost all of the annoyance, now looking sad as he thought back on it all. Robin stared at him along with Nancy, barely breathing. Even Eddie looked over at him.

“I’ve never…I’ve never seen him that upset,” Dustin murmured. “Steve’s never sad. Not like that. I’ve never even seen him cry. Not once. Robin, did he ever cry while you both got tortured in the Russian chambers?”

Robin thinks back on that, gnawing at her lip, deep in thought. She shook her head, realizing… “No. No, he didn’t. Just – panicked, but not…he didn’t cry.”

“Exactly,” Dustin says. “Because he’s awesome. He’s brave, and cool, and awesome. Steve doesn’t cry. Today? He bawled.”

“Seeing someone die in front of you does that, man,” Eddie pointed out, melancholy. “I know I did whenever Chrissy died… You cried today. I did. Byers did.”

“Not like that,” Dustin insisted, voice firm. It made everyone go quiet again. “Not like that,” he repeated. “That’s how I would have cried if…like, if Suzy died. Or how Lucas did when Max died before we got her back. How Hopper and Joyce would. How Jonathan and Nancy would.”

That made the present couple go stiff. But Jonathan nodded, eyes boring a hole into his coffee mug. “S’true,” he mumbled. “If that were you, I would.”

Nancy looked at him, eyes guilty. Of course, it was the same for her. But she couldn’t focus on that right now. Not now that her collective thoughts and observations were confirmed. Now that she knew for sure…

“It’s not a matter of if they’re into each other,” Dustin kept going, certain. “It’s a matter of when. When did it start and how were we blind?”

But no one could answer that. Robin couldn’t, and she was shocked that she couldn’t. She knew her best friend all too well. How had she not seen this coming? How could she not have sensed that his never ending hatred towards you was slowly developing into liking you? Maybe even loving you…?

Eddie had only started sensing it that day. Until then, he had been the one to encourage Steve to go after Nancy. To get her back, win her over. But that stopped whenever Jonathan came back into the picture, of course. He knew better than to cross that line. Still, he knew that Harrington loved her and pined for her. He also knew why Harrington couldn’t stand you, along with Robin. They adored you, hoping at some point that you both could just become friends who tolerated each other. Eddie never thought it would become more than that: a civilized friendship.

And Nancy felt something heavy sit on top of her chest that she really could not seem to accept yet: the truth. She lost Steve.

“Alright, guessing game is over.”

Murray’s voice rounding the corner made everyone jump, and he eyed down everyone at the table as he walked in with his empty soup bowl. He made for the sink, turning on the faucet with his eyes still glued to the five people seated at the dining table, who stared back awkwardly. Finally, he looked down as he washed his dish.

“Take it from the witchdoctor of love: those two had it coming.”

Eddie cocked an eyebrow, completely amused.

Jonathan, however, was not. This was so karma.

“...had what coming?” Dustin asked.

Robin shot him a look — bless his little naive heart.

“Psh, c’monnnn,” Murray said, rinsing the bowl. “The sexual tension. The incessant arguing. Harrington’s personal utmost disdain towards her.”

Nancy spoke up, unable to help herself. “But…why though? She didn’t do anything wrong. Why would he have disdain towards her…?”

Jonathan hated how irritated Nancy’s question made him feel towards her. It irked him deeply, but he just let it fester quietly as he sat there staring down at his cup of black coffee and having no choice but to listen.

Murray looked at Nancy with the most condescending expression, uncensored as fuck. “Honey…really?”

Off Nancy’s clueless expression, Murray rolled his eyes in the back of his skull as he slapped the faucet off before whirling to face them.

“Once upon a time, two years ago: you and Jonathan came over to my bunker — uninvited — waltzing your way into my business, along with my niece’s. Thankfully, to our benefit, you helped us crack the case and — not so much to our benefit — onboarded us into your mess. But rewinding back a few slides, you two stayed over because of the vodka coursing through all of our veins and tried to convince the two of us — AKA yourselves — that you two were just friends. Which was the biggest load of unbelievable bullshit you both could have told me, and that’s after you told me everything pertaining to the absurdity and pure insanity regarding the upside down. But really, it was a great belly laugh for me and my niece, so thank you. Thennnn, my niece offered to let you both take her bed — not buying a lick of it, and suggesting you both stop being in denial. On top of that, as a former student at Hawkins High, she knew King Steve very well. She knew how Wheeler and Harrington both started dating, and how much closer the two of you —” (he gestured between Jonathan and Nancy) “— had gotten since Will Byers went missing then got rescued. Because my niece isn’t stupid. She could’ve been class valedictorian if she’d wanted to, but — being like her cynical uncle — she didn’t wanna. She’s a street-smart annnnnd booksmart cookie. She knew you both were bound to let the trauma bond get you both together, and that genuine love had formed between the two of you way more than it had between her and Steve. So she called it out, after being fed a bunch of coo-coo-bananas nonsense from you guys in my casa about being 'platonic.' "

Eddie's jaw was practically touching the table. This was literally the best story he's ever heard, and it had just freaking started.

Robin felt like she was watching a movie in her mind, one in which her best friend was the main character and she was rooting for him like life depended on it.

"Fast forward to the lab, El’s grand return, Will’s exorcism, the demodogs, the Snowball, and our little house party that followed —” (he pointed at Dustin) “— you forgot that part — turns out, Jonathan Byers can’t take his liquor, so what does he do? He goes over to my niece, who’s standing in the kitchen — like so,” (he gestured to himself) “ — and starts profusely thanking her in a string of loud, slurred, drunken words, about how he was chosen one, and how he got the girl, alllllll thaaaaannnksss toooo myyyyyy niiiieeeeeccccce."

Nancy's blood ran cold. What?

"And because it was such a small house, no offense Henderson, unlike Casa Harrington — the king himself heard it all. Every lick of it. So of course, who’s he gonna hate with a fiery burning passion more than he ever could hate Jonathan Byers for stealing his girl? The person who told him to do it. Myyyyyy niece. Because he can’t hate Nancy Wheeler, never-ever-ever could he hate the girl he swore was the love of his life. And he couldn’t even hate Jonathan, because what had he done except be the victim of King Steve’s incessant bullying and his horrible posse of friends in high school while his brother was missing in another dimension? But Steve had to hate someone. To loathe someone, blame someone, more than himself. So he chose her. He chose my niece — and by extension me, but mainly her. Because she was a part of the gang now, and around way more than I ever have been around you kids. Which is to be expected. So blah-blah-blah, hate-hate-hate, fight-fight-fight — soooo muchhhh traaaauma.”

Murray paused for dramatic effect, soaking in everybody's faces, then continued.

“...and what happens when there is trauma?... bonding. Trauma bonding. Forced alliance. The need to put aside your differences, so that you all can just get along and survive. And that leads to talking…which leads to more fighting…eventually, tears. Lots of ugly words that can’t be taken back. And then…suddenly…” Murray snaps his fingers. “Common ground.”

No one has made a sound, hanging onto Murray’s every word.

“Vecna ends the world. At least, Hawkins. We all somehow manage to survive it. We all need somewhere to goooo…and we wind up here. In a house, all underneath the same roof. Forced to coexist. Therefore, newfound respect and understanding is acquired when in close quarters. Just as the two of you, Ms. Wheeler and Mr. Byers, found in my bunker. Steve and my niece found themselves forced to live with one another, the space between them closing in. Gap by gap, inch by inch…until…”

Murray made a gesture that looked like that of a magician, everyone’s eyes following. “Magic.” He walks closer, slowly. “Some small talk becomes bigger talk. Some childhood trauma that decorates the walls of Harrington’s house becomes the topic of conversation. My niece just so happens to be a really good listener, and Steve happens to be in need of one. They both discover they’re the only child in both their families. His parents are absent. Hers were barely ever present, before surrendering her to both mine and my mother’s care. But she doesn’t mention that yet, no — why? Because she’s listening. Relating. Understanding. Meanwhile, Steve feels heard. Seen. Relevant. Important. Like maybe whatever he has to say matters. Fast forward some more, blah-blah-blah…some more co-parenting later…which honestly, is the only reason those two maintained some sort of peace in the first place — aside from the inevitable perils that we all have had to face and be paid to keep our mouths shut about…”

Murray points to Dustin, who stares at him — agape.

“You kids are the damn glue holding those two doomed enemies-soon-to-be-lovers together. Not that you knew that. You’re kids, and you don’t know that shit yet. Which is good. And they love that. Steve might hate her, but he’s not gonna make you kids hate her. And she finds him infuriating, but she isn’t gonna let you all know that by persuading you to feel the same. Because he loves you rugrats, and you all love him…and you rugrats love her, as she loves you. Fast forward to a night when all the kiddos are fast asleep, and the adults get a night to themselves with some cups of chilled vodka that fuels everyone’s laughter and newfound liquid courage — but just enough to give a light buzz, rather than sloshed drunkenness — the enemies, who’ve now become somewhat of friends…realize that they feel more. Or at least, that’s what I observed. Grilled my niece about it, that night before bed — and next thing you know — she is the victim of Uncle Murray’s love-talk lectures. Just like you two were. She’s swearing up and down that she cannot stand Steve, and that he cannot stand her. She insists they are mortal enemies. That he hates her. Will forever hate her. And then…that rambling turns into truth. Admittance. Denial, still. But it’s enough to go off, allowing me to paint the picture and speak the truth into the world out loud: WE DO LOVE STEVE.”

Nancy freezes at that, eyes wide and heart blue. She swallows thickly, and Jonathan feels sick.

Murray's conductor waving hands settled down, ready for the grand finish.

“...someone had to love Steve. But it wasn’t you, Ms. Nancy Wheeler. Not forever, anyway. Not in the desperate, novel-esque ways we all read about or see in the cinemas. But it was her. You liked Steve, so that she could love Steve. And he loved you, so that he could hate her…only to realize that he loved her. Deeply...madly...and truly.”

Murray leaned back, letting his rant come to a full stop. The air was so thick, you could cut it with a knife. Mouths agape, brains fried and heartbeats racing. They were stunned into shocked silence. With a sigh, Murray made for the fridge.

“Do me a favor…” He grabbed some juice, along with the vodka, pouring himself a cup. Then, with a severe look in his eye, he faced the group again.

“Don’t make a damn fuss about it yet, yeah? Not yet. Not to them. Wanna do it with each other, go ahead. But maybe lay off them for a bit, will you? Hmm?”

Everyone was surprised at the uncharacteristic parental tone in Murray’s voice and the look in his eyes. They felt parented now.

“Maybe let the shock of this newfound realization they both just came to accept barely before my niece stopped breathing today…I dunno…simmer down a bit, yeah?”

Dustin gulped, nodding. Robin did, too. Eddie had pretty much bitten his nails down to stubs at this point, and Jonathan had shrunk so far down into his chair he was practically on the floor now. Meanwhile, Nancy looked like a heartbroken child who’d just been told that Santa Claus wasn’t real. With that, Murray raised his glass of jungle juice and exited the kitchen — vanishing, leaving the group to sit there in their own unsettled energy.

So when Lucas, Erica and Steve all shuffled back down the stairs, it alarmed them. Robin stared at Steve and the kids, while Eddie rose to stand and grab the box of crackers from Dustin. Jonathan swigged his coffee. Nancy just stared at Steve helplessly.

“Alright, who needs more food before we all turn in for the night?” Steve asked as he moved to put away the sandwich fixings with Erica.

Nobody spoke, making Lucas look at them with a quizzical expression. Erica did the same, stopping as she went to put the sleeve of bologna back into the snack pan. Steve had been busy picking up discarded bowls and plates before he finally looked at everyone, too. He cocked an eyebrow, confused.

“You, uhhh…you guys okay…?”

Robin tried to speak, choking on air. Steve squinted at his best friend. Finally, she found her voice. “Sorry. Got the jitters. Too much coffee.”

She stood up hastily, collecting everyone else’s cups — even Jonathan’s, who was mid-sip. Robin avoided Steve’s gaze as she dumped them into the sink with a very fake, wide toothy-grin. She hummed while rinsing the cups, and Eddie clapped his hands together when rising to stand himself.

“Better, uhh, go re-dress my, uhh — dressings.”

“I got you,” Robin said, splashing the hot water and dropping the sponge so that she could hurriedly dry off her hands and follow Eddie out of the room – giving Steve a quick kiss on the head. He watched her go, curious.

But then he saw Jonathan and Nancy sitting over at the table still, along with Dustin — who was staring back at him sheepishly. The curly-haired kid stood up, clearing his throat and shuffling over with the now very-empty box of crackers. He whistled while tossing it into the garbage and moved to finish the dishes. That definitely made Steve raise an eyebrow. But he figured it was out of pity, so instead he just gave the kid a pat on the back and ruffled his hair before going back to tidying up the kitchen.

Nancy felt queasy. Really queasy. And looking at Steve was not helping, especially being seated next to Jonathan. She rose to stand, making him look at her back with queasiness of his own. He watched the back of his girlfriend as she started to turn to look back at him…and when she couldn’t, it made his heart sink. She walked towards the living room, disappearing behind the wall. But not before passing by Joyce, who made her way into the kitchen to give Steve a motherly touch on the arm.

“Dr. Owens will be here first thing in the morning,” she told him, reassuringly. “Real early. Probably 6AM. Hopper’s letting Murray know.”

Nancy refused to let herself cry that night about Steve Harrington and her newly unrequited love.

Jonathan watched his mom comfort Steve, and while it made him grateful it also made him sad. Steve sighed with relief as he thanked Mrs. Byers, and when his mother began to help him find some temporary pain medication that Dr. Owen’s instructed her to give you, he decided he couldn’t listen anymore and left.

“You don’t think there’s anything wrong with her, do you?” Dustin asked. “You know, heart-wise or anything…?”

“She’s gonna be fine,” Joyce told him sweetly, rubbing Steve’s back as he leaned against the kitchen counter with a tense back. “Her heart, her shoulder, her mind. Everything.”

Steve took deep breaths, and Erica would have hugged him if she weren’t so profusely against giving anyone any sort of physical affection.

Lucas, however, did move to squeeze Steve’s shoulder next to Joyce. After all the comfort he’d gotten from him after Max died, then got brought back…and still received, with her being in a coma…Lucas understood Steve’s pain.

No one knew it, but Lucas had secretly caught onto Steve’s feelings for you whenever he went to visit Max in her room one morning but heard you both sitting in there. Selfishly, he’d stayed behind the cracked door to listen in…and it made him freeze in place. They way you and Steve bonded, despite all the rivalry between you both. The way you both spoke to one another in Max’s presence, like she was keeping the storm at bay despite being asleep. Lucas felt as though he was listening to a conversation taking place between two fighting parents, who were finally finding common ground. He had secretly listened like a little kid, leaning against the wall, giddy and heartbroken at the same time. Lucas wasn’t sure why, but he knew. He just knew. You two were crazy for one another. Maybe because he and Max had their struggles, too. Maybe something about the way Steve pushed you, and you pushed Steve — maybe it reminded him of them, just as older teens. Steve was his hero, and you were Max’s. He would give anything to talk with her about it, to hear whatever she had to say about the two of you…the unlikely duo…

But he didn’t say anything about it. He felt it best not to push anything. Not yet. When Max woke up, he would. But maybe now, he wouldn’t have to. Because Steve had been faced with the possibility of losing you. And if he was gonna mess that up, then that's preposterous. Then Lucas would say something.

***

That night, Steve crawled back upstairs and ran into Robin coming out of his bedroom, having just discarded Eddie’s only wound dressings in the hallway bathroom and changing into her pajamas. She was staying in Steve’s room, per usual. And she wondered if she might have just caught him coming upstairs to sneak into your room and not his. At this rate, nothing was a surprise anymore. Thanks, Murray.

“Hey, dingus,” she grinned. Steve grinned back.

“You gonna finally get some sleep?” he asked her.

“Yeah,” she nodded, gesturing to the blankets in her hands. “Was just gonna go give Eds some fresh blankets.”

“Lemme know if you need help with that, seriously. His wounds, I mean. I’ll have Dr. Owens check on him tomorrow too, whenever he comes to check on Bauman.”

Robin nodded, biting her lip. God, she wanted to ask him so many questions. Hug him. Tell her best friend to spill the damn beans. Demand him to cry, to break down in front of her. To scream. To laugh. Anything.

“Robs, you good?”

“Steve, I love you,” Robin blurted. “Like – love you to death. Best friends forever. Just — just…” She bit her lip some more, trying really hard to think before she speaks. Steve waited patiently, a bit nervous. Robin sighed. “Just know that…I’m here. And I’m always gonna be here. Supporting you, with…whatever you need. Even if that’s to shut up and just help you with something and not ask you any questions. Alright…?”

Steve’s eyes sparkled, and he stitched up the distance between them to give her the tightest of hugs. His best friend of a soulmate. Platonic with a capital P. Robin hugged him back fiercely, dropping the blankets. She sagged with relief. Thank God.

“Don’t wait up for me,” Steve mumbled into her hair.

“Cool.”

“Bed’s all yours. Spread out. Starfish. Steal all the covers.”

Robin snorted into Steve’s shoulder, squeezing him tighter. “Okay. Cool, yay.”

Steve chuckled too, squeezing her to death. He really did have the best friend in the world. They swayed a bit like that for a moment, content and comforted in each others’ embrace. Then finally, Steve pulled back and Robin ruffled his hair. He rolled his eyes, swatting at her lightly as she grinned wide. Scooping down to pick up the blankets, he handed them back over to Robin. She smirked.

“Is she a cover hog, too?” Robin teased.

“Didn’t you say you wouldn’t ask questions?”

Robin saluted, making her way towards the stairs. “Sir, yes, sir.”

Steve could finally breathe for the first time all day, aside from whenever you were safely in his arms. Knowing that he had his best friend on his side without needing to have a full blown conversation about anything yet…that really helped lighten the load a bit. He exhaled deeply, letting the relief seep into his bones as he made his way to his bedroom door.

***

Once inside, Steve felt his heart swell. There you were, tucked in bed still, sleeping peacefully. Steve walked over to crouch over and kiss your forehead, gently stroking your hair. He noticed you seemed to still be in the same position. Almost like you hadn’t moved at all. He looked at the clock. It’s…been hours. Several hours. At least 4. He looked back down at you, seeing how still you were in the dark.

His heart stopped. Were you too still?

Steve placed a trembling hand underneath your nose, too shaky to be able to tell. But when he felt nothing, he frantically grabbed your wrist — yanking it off your chest to feel for a pulse —

You moved, stirring awake and looking at him groggily. Steve just about collapsed, clutching your hand and bringing it to his lips as he sunk down onto his knees.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand and another to your palm.

You groaned lightly, moving to turn towards Steve and yawning. He melted.

“How long have I been out…” you asked him sleepily.

“Hours,” he told you. “Which is good. You need sleep.”

You sighed, eyes fluttering tiredly. “M’hungry.”

That made Steve grin ear to ear. “I can fix that. Want me to bring it up here?”

A grin slowly made its way onto your face too, and you nodded gratefully. Steve squeezed your hand, leaning forward to peck your forehead and your nose and your lips before promising you he would return.

When he did, he came back with the bowl of hot soup that your uncle had kept warm for you along with water and some pain medication. You were sitting up now, leaning against Steve’s chest as he sat with his legs caging you in and leaned up against the headboard. You had just taken the medication a few minutes earlier, now sipping on the hot soup and a tall glass of water that Steve held onto for you.

The little bedside table lamp cast a soft glow in the Harrington’s upstairs guest bedroom, and the sound of light rain outside of the window filled the room along with the plink of your spoon against the soup bowl. Steve felt grounded as he kept his arms around your waist, circled around you as he held you close. His chin sat on top of your head, and the scent of his lavender shampoo in your hair filled his senses with peace.

“What’s your favorite color?”

Steve’s question surprised you as you slurped another spoonful of soup, but you swallowed and felt the corner of your lip twerk up into a little smile.

“Yellow.”

Steve felt himself smile at that, squeezing you a little tighter. “Guess this shirt was a good choice, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m glad you bought two. Rich kid perks ain’t so bad.”

There was lightheartedness to your tone that Steve found himself adoring. Craving, and yearning to hear more of – should time be on all of your side, in this godforsaken town.

“I wonder if Vecna’s rockin’ my other one down there.”

“Nah, the dogs are.”

Steve snorted, giving your hips a little squeeze and pressing a kiss to your temple. You sighed against him, sinking back and placing the bowl of soup onto your lap.

“What’s yours?” you asked him curiously, watching the shadow of the raindrops on the ceiling as they slid down the window.

“Blue. Sky blue.”

You hummed, placing one of your hands that sat on your stomach onto his and interlacing yours fingers. “Like a pretty, non-upside-down clear blue sky?”

“Schyeah, that.” Steve rested his chin back on top of your head as he glanced out the window, the black sky and rainfall sending a shiver down his spine. He wondered if the world would ever feel normal again…

Steve decided to ask you more normal questions, wanting to pretend that none of the dystopian reality just outside his house was real — just for one night. He asked you what your favorite movie was, shocked to find that you loved romcom’s. Especially Endless Love, Pretty in Pink and Working Girl. He wasn’t sure why he thought you’d say dark movies, or maybe sci-fi hits. Maybe Steve didn’t know what he expected you to say. But regardless, your answers fascinated him. He loved learning why you thought Sigourney Weaver’s character was misunderstood in Working Girl, which led to you both discussing women in the work force and how they should receive higher pay – equal to the men. Steve agreed with you, liking how passionate you were about it yet graceful and humble at the same time. You were smart, but somehow underestimated. It was strange. You were strange. Turns out, he loved ‘strange.’

And it also turns out, Steve liked not only action flicks — but dramas, too. Footloose and Baby Boom were on his list of guilty pleasure movies.

“Baby Boom??” you asked incredulously. But you weren’t mocking him, rather genuinely intrigued and amused.

“Hey, it’s adorable,” Steve defends himself with a fake scoff. “She adopts a damn baby and raises her as her own. Be nice.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, tilting your head back to look at him. “God…no wonder you love those kids so much. You’re a natural born mother.”

“Okay but seriously, since when did I become mom and not dad?”

“Apparently, I’m dad.”

“Again: since when?” Steve's tone made you chuckle deeply.

You and Steve talked until your tongues were tired, eventually having moved to lean back onto the pillows. He rested his head into his palm, propped up on an elbow and stroking up your side as you both enjoyed innocent pillow talk. Softly spoken voices, hushed just enough to hear one another. Real hearty laughter that you both muffled into your palms, or each others’ necks, so that you wouldn’t wake anyone. Sweet confessions about food preferences, least favorite holidays, questioning religion while wanting to believe in a god. How Steve thought that vodka was the kiss of death, while you found cigarettes to be disgusting. Steve craved strawberry ice cream, while you were a sucker for plain old vanilla. He loved diners, and you did too. He swore pancakes over waffles, and you made it very clear that French toast was the clear winner. It was a give and take conversation, and you both found it resulted in far more agreements than not. It was the loveliest conversation that either of you’d had in years. Maybe ever. Not just with each other…but with anyone at all.

“So…six kids and a Winnebago, huh?”

Steve’s eyes danced in the moonlight, looking at you with pure adoration. Shyly, he tucked your hair behind your ear, slowly nodding. “Heard that, huh?”

You gave him a little smirk. “It was a pretty small Winnebago.”

He shook his head fondly, then — “Yeah. Turns out being an only child gets to you.”

You nodded sadly. “Yeah. It does.”

Steve hated that you knew that same loneliness. But then again, was that what made you both see each other so clearly? Is that why you knew his deeply rooted longing and misery better than anyone else? Is that why maybe, just maybe…in telling Nancy to run off with Jonathan…you were protecting him? He wondered these things as he looked into your angel eyes, not knowing how in the world he could have not looked at them like this before…especially right when he met you.

You told Steve how you’d always wanted a dog growing up, which led to his immediately confessing he wanted a lab or golden retriever. You nodded eagerly. Yes. Those, or a border collie. A dog that felt like a true family member. Even a stray mutt who needed a home. You both laughed at the funny names you both wanted to name them as kids. Winston, Jeffery, Petunia, PeeWee, Pumpkin, Count Duku. When Steve suggested pancakes as a name, you had to literally turn your head into the pillow to keep your laughter from roaring through the room and waking the household. Even Steve felt like he’d pee himself from laughing so hard, watching you laugh so hard.

God, you were beautiful. You were so beautiful.

…when you smiled up at Steve, bashfully, he realized that he’d said it out loud. “So are you,” you breathed.

Steve shook his head. “I’m not, though.”

Your brow creased. “Yes, you are. You know you are…and if you don’t –”

“I don’t.”

“Well, you are,” you said simply.

Steve pressed his lips together, self-conscious. How had he felt so damn confident all those years in high school, even middle school, but not now? You reached up to push back some of his perfect hair, caressing his cheek.

“I haven’t been,” he confessed, almost in a whisper. “Not to you. I’ve been ugly. Really ugly.”

You looked into his guilty eyes, but Steve couldn’t find any anger or sadness in yours. Just understanding and forgiveness.

“I was, too,” you admitted.

“No,” Steve shook his head, adamantly. “Not like me.”

“Steve, I wrecked your life. Well, your love life. But still, I wrecked it.”

“No, you only wrecked it when you left it,” Steve confessed, bitter at the memory but not at you.

Never at you. Never again.

“Telling me I deserve better, and I…told you that you deserved…nothing.” He visibly winces at his own words. “God, I’m so sorry —”

“Steve,” you stopped him softly, cupping his cheeks. “Don’t. I’ve forgiven it. Really. You didn’t know. You were hurt.”

“Doesn’t make it right,” Steve whispered, looking at you with those beautiful doe eyes that shone in the moonlight. “I actively made a point to stop hurting people, and I did it again anyway. Worse. Way worse than my stupid King Steve days.”

You shrugged, trying to make him smile again. “King Steve was pretty amateur compared to the hard ass you became.”

Steve bit back a laugh, maybe even some tears. Still, he let the joke land. You crane your neck up to nuzzle his nose, making him sigh and return the eskimo kiss. Then you hissed in pain, letting out a little groan.

“What's wrong?” he asked worriedly, brow pinched.

“Stupid shoulder,” you muttered. “My ribs, too, damn…”

Steve looked down at your ribcage sadly, splaying his fingers there against your skin underneath his yellow crewneck. He sighed. “That’s because of me,” he confessed sadly. “Pounding on you nonstop today with the compressions.”

“Well in that case, I’ll take it. Pain’s good.”

You winked at him, and Steve tried to let that comfort him. It did, for the most part. Your oxygen intake really made it worth it, in the end. He leaned down to press his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as you did the same.

“I don’t know where we’re headed,” Steve whispered against you. “Hawkins. The country. The world.” He paused, breathing you in. “Just know I want you there. All the time.”

You smiled, eyes still closed, heart fluttering. “Good. You’re stuck with me, Harrington. Bothering the ever-living shit outta you.”

“Bother me till I go insane,” Steve breathed, nuzzling his nose against you and grinning like an idiot. He felt happy. Absurdly happy. Who thought that was possible?

“...Steve?”

He opened his eyes slightly, finding yours were already looking into his. He waited, pulling back nervously. Which is stupid, considering you’d just told him you felt the same way. That you wanted to stay by his side, no matter what happens. So why was he thinking that just changed within a 3-second timespan? Why was he suddenly worried that you —

“I love you so much.”

19 years flashed before Steve’s eyes at that moment. His childhood. His pre-teens, and all the teen years that followed. He thought back to every single I love you that had been spoken to him. It hadn’t been many. At least not many that meant anything to him. He could count on one hand the amount of I love you’s that meant something to him over the course of 19 years. But now, he could count on one finger the one that meant the very most to him.

“I love you so much, too,” Steve breathed, eyes glassy and mesmerized as they looked back into yours. “God, you’ve no idea, I…”

Steve felt overwhelmed. He scrunched his eyes shut, resting his forehead to yours again and caressing your cheeks. He pecked your face, every inch of it, slowly. Little kisses peppering your face. “I love you so much.”

He could have bawled on the spot if he weren’t so completely entranced, swept up in the tidal wave of joy that splashed across his heart, mind, body and soul. Steve could bawl about it later. Right now, he simply leaned into your touch and vowed to never let you go.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

bless Murray and his impeccably uncensored madness. about time he set everyone straight, damn.

as alwaysssss, thank u for reading :) this series is so much fun. please comment, it always makes my day.

TAG LIST [if I forgot u, pls lmk and pls forgive me]

@xprloki @erastourvip @get0ut0fmyr00m @Eddiemuns0nl0ver @marrowfrog00 @poppet05 @wiltedflowersundertowers Originalthingparadise Pleuviors pumpkinonice Ihaveproblemsihaveproblems Brinleighsstuff Definitelynotherr sucker-4-angst @goosy-goose

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington one shot #stranger things fanfiction #enemies to lovers trope #joe keery #baron marmalade #jkeeryedit #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #mishas masterlists #Steve Harrington is a mother #mom steve

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not-alpharious · 1 year

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The Fire Warrior novelization is wild

For anyone who doesn’t know, Fire Warrior was a game from 2003 where you play as a Tau Fire Warrior trying to rescue a kidnapped ethereal before it’s revealed that the planetary governor that kidnapped the ethereal was secretly a chaos cultist and you have to deal with that too.

What’s more unusual though is that the game actually had a novel tie in and it’s wild. It’s not perfect obviously, there’s a lot of parts where it skips from the main character, Shas’la Kais, starting to do something to after it’s been done with maybe a fight scene with the boss. But to be fair it is a novelization of the game and constant variations “He then turned the hallway and shot some guys” would get old fast.

What’s even more wild is that the book treats everything you do in game as something Kais actually does. As a result Kais becomes this freakishly hyper competent killing machine fueled almost purely by daddy issues. Like he is a genuine blood drenched cryptid and there’s practically no characters that aren’t at least slightly terrified of him. And that is not an exaggeration.

Like from everyone else’s perspective Kais is just a fresh recruit on his first ever battlefield and out of nowhere he’s gunning down hundreds of guardsmen. He takes out a tank with a hijacked imperial turret, kills an attack helicopter single handedly, saves the ethereal completely by himself from a heavily fortified prison, two shots a space marine, fights off two attempted boardings of his ship (which includes killing four more space marines completely by himself), counterboards the Imperial ship where he kills even more space marines and even more hundreds of guardsmen crippled the ship with a bomb and nearly kills the entire command crew all by himself, fights off a demonic invasion in the ship while completely lost to his blood rage, cripples the imperial ship even more, killing who knows how many CSM and demons the entire time, solos a chaos dreadnought, goes back to the planet to kill even more chaos marines and demons, fights his way through a titan to blow it up, solos a warp spawn, and a demon prince, falls to Khorne for a bit and eventually even kills a greater demon.

Within the book the entire time he’s doing all this he never has a mech or supplies, he’s constantly forced to fight God with guns and ammo he’s scavenged from the countless corpses he’s left in his wake. He rocks up to the Tau ship in orbit before he sneaks into the prison literally drenched in human blood and there’s nothing they can do about it because he’s basically the single best person at killing in their entire army at this point

These are all the things he does in the book because he does them in the game and it’s a just amazing to see the rest of the world react to this video game character played straight. Usually in other game novelizations, the sheer number of enemies your guy kills is usually brought way down and is just chalked up to the enemy numbers being inflated in the game for the sake of gameplay. But Fire Warrior decided to say fuck that, our blorbo really is just this much of a hyper competent war criminal and you should fear for your IRL life.

And honestly?

I don’t think I could respect them more for that decision.

#tau empire #fire warrior #shas’la kai my psychotic beloved #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #I honestly kind of wish they made him canon so that he Tau could just have this random doomslayer who gets pointed in a direction to kill

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fave-fight · 10 months

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ROUND 2, MATCH 33

NO MAGIC, POWERS, WEAPONS, OR ADDITIONAL HELP FROM OTHERS

Volo:

“Peopel want to think he’s buff as if he isn’t a fucking twig look at his model”

“He loses to the player character in a pokemon fight, and player character is like 15 years old - and this is with him getting 8 pokemon when you include Giratina stage 1 and 2. If you took away the pokemon and made him fight with his fists he would still probably lose because he has wet cat energy. Talks big game but can't always follow through with the threat type vibes.”

“He could stab everyone with his hair”

Jonathan Sims:

“It would be really funny if he and Jonah Magnus both got in so John could literally strange his boss to death. That would be so much fun. He should lose to everyone else tho bc he is doomed by the narrative to always take the L”

“Listen. Listen this is a fistfight, im not sure if his all knowing fear god bullshit powers will work here. If he can’t smite people. If he can’t Know things about them and scare them to death. If it’s just a fistfight of pure ability. He is going to get beat up so badly but I think he’ll live. Jon’s sturdy. He had a rib taken out. Was kidnapped and forcibly moisturised by an evil ringmaster puppet. He is… the fandom interpretation is that he’s skinny. Thin. His boyfriend is the strong one. Jonathan Sims would probably lose in a fistfight -he’s Just A Guy without the antichrist shit- but it would be so fucking funny. He might win. He might lose. It’s 2:18 AM here and I cannot sleep.”

“He has an endless supply of disdain and is so willing to use it Especially if there's Martin He HATES Martin Martin can do no good Let me tell you, that Martin... Wait, where'd you go?”

#fight fight fight #round 2 #poll tournament #tournament poll #poll #polls #volo #volo pokemon #pokémon #jonathan sims #the magnus archives

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arbiterlexultionis · 8 months

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Poltergeist

So, Danny, who’s blood is composed of mostly caffeine because the Box Ghost just WON’T FUCKING STOP attacking on the middle of the night, God Dammit this is the SEVENTH Time tonight how the Crap Baskets do you keep escaping the Thermos!! So, when he wakes up one morning needing both caffeine and ectoplasm in his sleep deprived state he just mixes a 4 pack of monster and beaker of ectoplasm in a jug and starts chugging to try and get it down before the taste hits and then stops. Takes a sip. Takes another. And realizes that it actually taste way better then either do individually.

So he starts mixing them up regularly, and eventually starts just phasing ectoplasm into still sealed cans so he can grab and go for the sake of convenience. Then some other ghost get a taste, like it, and start asking for more. So Danny gets some new friends and starts making ghost money selling his concoction, and as a joke based on the original name of the energy drink, paints over the can and relabels them Poltergeist.

For a while, business is booming but then a problem pops up. Real world items are contraband in the zone according to Walker, and most of the drink itself and the container it comes in is real world matter. Cue prohibition era shenaniganery as Danny and his allies became energy drink bootleggers, running from Walker, smuggling cases of Poltergeist, hiring ghost to help them with all of this, the whole nine yards.

I think this could work out pretty well with Danny and The Spooks, him and his boys mass producing and shipping out illegal ghost energy drinks could be a really cool plot line in my opinion, producing it, figuring out how to get it to the zone and all that as a group. I also feel this idea is just the right amount of wacky to work with the DP verse and serious/sensible enough to not be complete crack fic unless you want it to be.

When the Fenton’s and Valerie hear about that no good menace Phantom selling Highly Dangerous Ghost Drugs the flip their shit. The smear campaign is the stuff of legends. And then the truth comes out. It’s just a really Really REALLY tired teenager trying to stay awake and make some pocket money to buy first aid supplies and have some left over to buy food for homeless people.

If it’s a verse where Sam and Tucker are in on the whole ghost fighting thing then they are Energy Drink Kingpin Danny’s right and left hand men. Tucker’s the tech guy, figuring out how to build hidden compartments in vehicles to hide the goods, monitoring and screwing with Walker’s tech, managing accounts for human money he makes/figuring out how to exchange human money for Ghost money. Sam is his badass enforcer who keeps the underlings in line, and also uses her money and rich people connections to launder money and stuff. Proper crime boss stuff.

Eventually, everyone’s least favorite front loop catch’s wind of this. And I see this going one of two ways.

1) He comes to the conclusion that Danny’s not aloud to have nice things, and starts his own enterprise to compete with Danny. Stealing business, sabotaging production, tipping off Walker. General douchbaggery.

2) He is the opposite of opposition. He wants Danny as his Son, wants Danny to be just like him, wants to guide and train Danny the way he never got. So Danny, all on his own, building a criminal empire? Pissing off the authorities instead of being a little goody two shoes? Laundering money almost as good as his old man? It is wonderful and he is Here For It. Either he’s in the distance cheering him on or actively trying to help. “No no my boy, if you do it like that you’ll either end up broke or in jail for tax evasion. You’ve got to send your money through these channels and store it in banks of these countries. I’ll help you set up accounts.”

#danny fenton #danny phantom #dp au #fic prompt #story prompt #writing prompt #danny phantom au #Danny’s a crime lord #and he’s bound and determined to make it everyone else’s problem #Frostbite is at first glance the muscles of the organization but then he throws on a lob calf and goes to his lab to cook up better flavors #this is my first to tagging Danny as a Crike Lord it will not be the last #Walker #Walker won’t admit it but he’s absolutely ecstatic about the whole situation #tickled pink beyond belief #His whole Shtick is to be an old timey cop #getting to do all this prohibition stuff is a litter Al dream come true for the guy #Vlad has a foam finger with Number 1 Crime Boss written on it #he’s never bend more proud of his little boy.#Vlad: *Sees Danny monologing to petty ghost criminals that are trying to take his business* I’ve never been prouder #*wipes a tear*

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furiousgoldfish · 9 months

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Ways abusive parents try to separate you from your human rights:

They threaten to call the police on you if you don't obey them

They threaten you with jail-time and insist that the police will take you away for disobedience

They actually call the police, or emergency services, to create consequences for disobedience

They threaten to 'give you away' to groups of people they deem 'worse' than themselves

They threaten that you'll be kidnapped and sold if you don't obey them

They threaten for you to be put in a home

They threaten you with inhumane living conditions in a home (you won't have you room, you won't have anything, they'll beat you up ever day, etc)

They threaten to institutionalize you if you don't do as they say

They threaten to put you in a mental hospital/psych ward/asylum

They threaten you with court, institutions and government

They convince you that every institution, social service, law enforcement, or any other organized group of people is on their side, and against you, and would fight on their side and enforce their rule over you

They act as if disobeying them is against the law/religion

They insist that nobody will ever want to hire you or pay you a salary

They imply or outright say that it's a waste of space if you were renting out a place or had a place of your own, you do not have the right to occupy your own space in their eyes

They take away your necessities if you disobey them (food, ability to use the bathroom, clothing)

They destroy your property as a form of revenge, and insist it never belonged to you and that they had every right to destroy it

They make sure you're not exposed to educational materials that would inform you that you have a right to safety, food, shelter, and protection from violence and threats

They fight very hard to convince you that what they're doing to you is NOT abuse (saying things like 'you don't even KNOW what abuse is, or 'I'll show you abuse'), and they make sure you're not exposed to any resources or education that would help you recognize abuse

Punishments for standing up for yourself or any attempts to reach justice or point out how unfair, inescapable, hypocritical and painful your situation is

Not allowing you to speak, punishing you for talking back, convincing you that you have no voice and you have no right to defend yourself in any measure

Exposing you to media or real-life situations where children are abused just as badly, or worse than you are, this is a part of grooming they do to convince you that child abuse is normal, acceptable behaviour and not abuse at all

Suggesting that they could do all this to you, and even outright threatening it, implying strongly they know they can get away with it, since others can

Convince you that everyone else has it worse, and repeat how lucky you actually are to have them

They list all of the things that would be happening to you if they weren't so kind to you (you'd be starving on the street, be kidnapped/sold/tortured, die from lack of resources, be abandoned, not survive in any possible way)

Convince you that you're not, in fact, a human being and thus have no business expecting human rights (brainwashing, calling you animal names, calling you demon/satan/monster)

Accuse you repeatedly of being a financial burden, shame you for costing money, demand credit/favours/services/labour/obedience in return for giving you survival resources like food and clothing and school supplies

Neglect to inform you that government is giving them a tax-break for every kid they're supporting and that the society is built so that children would be financially taken care of and do not need to earn their food, shelter or basic necessities

Scare you into believing that every other authority figure (teachers, boss, police, judge, authorities) would treat you even worse and would demand even a higher degree of obedience and submission from you, threaten you with how badly the interaction would go for you if you were to stand up to any other authority figure

Insist that if you were to act with this level of spite, refusal, rejection or disrespect to any other person, they would simply snap and kill you (implied death threat – you're lucky that I'm not ending your life right now)

Act like they own you, to the degree that they feel they have every right to end your life and would not be arrested or blamed if they were to kill you, since you're just their property

Add more if you have lived through other experiences that left you feeling like you had no protection, no rights in the eyes of the law, and no way to recognize your humans rights are being violated. Even one single item on this list means your human rights were kept from you.

#abusive parents #toxic parents #child abuse #human rights violations #traumatic childhood #death threats #threatening behaviour #psychological abuse #it's not enough that the child is tiny and physically helpless #the child also needs to feel like the entire world is set against them #and that they have no rights to safey or happiness #fucking disgusting gross behaviour #their power trips are repulsive and disgusting and they should be shamed for it forever #convincing small children they're a burden on society and have no rights to live or be safe #horrendous awful depraved monstrous sadistic abominable demonic repulsive criminal behaviour #prison for eternity

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year

Text

Business Casual

Yan Hero + Villain-for-Hire Scientist Reader

Something something, villain reader in lingerie. G.N as always, but they are implied to be slightly muscular

Another explosion on floor three.

The ground quakes beneath you on level four; dragging the wide-eyed corpse flung over your desk to to its knees. Head cracking against the sharp edge as they spawn across the floor, their helmet rolls into your ankle. You step over it and gather the scattered stacks of paper into a large folder, using the guard's layard to keep them secure.

While looting their body, you take back the pen lodged in their jugular. Your bosses were idiots if they thought you'd leave behind your hard work and the supplies you bought with your own two cents. You have to plant your foot on their chest to get it out. Turns out they weren't fully dead yet, as when you yank it free blood gurgles from their mouth and throat - eyes bloodshot as their enfeebled limbs dart for the punctured hole. Your shirt was already drenched in enough of their blood you didn't need to stick around. You stand up and over their body, clocking out as you vacate the premises - chaos unveiled behind the glass wall of your office.

Bodies everywhere, most wounds self inflicted. The heroes had yet to make it to your floor and those in too deep knew there wasn't anything better waiting outside. Those hired under false pretenses scrambled for the exits like a wild stampede. The mass panic made up the minority of the casualties as they trampled each other and fought. The sprinklers going off to quench various fires raised the body count. By the time you left everyone was either dead or on their way to the lower floors. You stroll through the field of wasted flesh, checking your bank account with that spring in your step that amount zeros would give anyone. Getting that degree was good for something after all.

Reaching the flight of stairs leading to your salvation, a lone figure awaits you at the bottom; expression steeled with a glare that the press would've just eaten up. Banking on the notion they may not have seen your clothes, you use the rain of the sprinklers to play as your tears.

"Oh thank goodness you came- the evacuation alarm went off and then there were guns and-" Expressing your fright with incoherent words and sobs, you descend the stairs one step at a time. "I'm sorry, I really don't know what's going on since I just started working here. Thank you for rescuing me."

The hero is a little too welcoming for your liking as you fall against their chest.

"You don't have to keep up the act. It's just me here."

That voice. So familiar.

"Nobody else is alive. I'm taking you home this time. Where you belong. We both know you're better than this."

It reminds you of that little hero everyone's been talking about recently. The same one who's flyers kept appearing in your mail. The same one who investigated those disappearances at your old apartment. The same one you sold the information to. You've been paid off for information by so many their faces all blur together at this point.

"In that case."

Teetering back on your heel and planting your foot in the center of their chest, you pour all your strength into a kick them that sends them down the flight of stairs to the next. The hero willingly takes the plunge, but goes down harder than they expect; back breaking their fall and taking on the brunt of the damages. You grab the sleeve of your lab coat with your teeth as you drop down each step, ripping it from your soaked figure and throwing it over their head. If you had to fight your way out of this all the water weight retained in the coat would just limit your mobility. The hero pulls it off and springs onto their knees. They didn't want to do things this way, but their patience had run them. Wiping blood from their lips, they take a double look at you as you hover over them - certain they hit their head harder than they thought.

Eyes lose in confusion at their slack jaw expression, your lips retain a mocking grimace. "What's the matter, hero? Afraid of fighting a civilian?"

The hero opens their mouth, but nothing comes out. They point instead. You look down at your shirt. Oh...

The guard's blood and falling waters had eaten away at the cheap material of your shirt. Through the translucent fabric peaks the garments you wore beneath. A lacey black piece perfectly shaped to your bust with straps cross over your upper chest and cut off at your midriff. The strings of the matching bottom sit high upon your thigh, frills barely hidden at your waistband. You may have a few screws lose, but you wouldn't leave the house without underwear and this was all that you had - was the excuse you stopped using after showing up to work in lingerie two days in a row. The hero swallow the first breath in ages as you pop the first button.

"Like what you see, hero? Well I can show you more~" You take off your shirt and throw it at their feet. They scramble to pick it up as your leg falls onto their shoulder. You ease into a squat, pushing them down with you as you slide. Their hands slide up your legs. You tease them with a slip of your bottoms, fist clenching as they yank your zipper. The salvation of reaching their in goal drags them in too deep as everything goes dark.

The hero wakes up with a splitting headache traveling all the way down to their nose. The bloodstained walls of the laboratory had been switched with floral wallpaper. Your living room wallpaper. They were bound to a chair in the middle of the room giving them a view of different areas in your home. It takes them less than a minute to notice you laying out on the couch. You had changed into dry clothing, but they could still see the single string hugging your hips. They lick at their cracked lips.

"Anything...."

You toss their phone aside as you sit up. "You're awake. Afraid I knocked that nasty little brain of yours out when you fell like that. Looking through your phone I see you have a talent for photography. A hero and a stalker. What a combo."

They bite down until their lips start to blister. "Please.. anything, anything you want is yours if you take off your shirt. Please, I cant- I can't live off pictures alone anymore. I need you... I have since I first say you."

"Anything, hm? That's a mighty brod claim. We'll see if I can hold you to it, little hero."

#scientist reader #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere insert #yandere headcanons #yandere x you #yandere blurb #yandere drabble #yandere writing #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #yandere hero

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gaoau · 4 months

Text

you'll never resemble a human, so stand up on your claws and kill your own God

theory of the two demons warnings — this is set in the bsd beast universe, so if you havent read/watched that, i do not recommend reading this. theres spoilers and it probably wont make much sense anyway if you dont know what the fucks going on for everyone else that has read beast, have fun word count — 5.5k note — bonus 😝😝

prev.

"have you ever heard about the theory of the two demons?"

"i haven't. what does it say?"

"that to combat a great evil, you need an even greater evil. say, for uprisings against the government, the government can suppress the people with forced disappearances, for example."

"so it's bad against worse?"

"precisely. it cancels out. it reaches a point where evil is just the norm. a demon against another demon; do you get it?"

"i see. like… fighting fire with fire. only a demon can kill a demon."

"yeah, that's… that's a good analogy."

"where did you find this theory? it seems interesting."

"that's not important. i just thought you'd like to know about it."

"why's that?"

"so you don't resent me after i'm dead."

"i'd be surprised if you're actually mortal at all."

"now that's a very cursed thing to say, [Name]."

"my apologies, boss."

[Surname] [Name] is not required for his plans by any means, Dazai knows, but there's a needle of an unnamed feeling pricking him on the back of the head. he sits in Mori's office, reading old newspapers from two or three years ago. it's his latest special interest, so Mori doesn't question it and keeps supplying him with new material. but Mori also questions it, because Dazai doesn't give anything that isn't worth it the time of day. it is an interesting topic, he admits, but it raises his suspicions just as much.

strange murder cases across Japan are not uncommon, what with ability users running wild. he tries not to think much of it. he can't, though, not when Dazai excitedly gasps, "Mori-san! this one could be useful!" as he points to a particular article from Nagoya. spontaneous deaths concentrated in a relatively small radius—likely the work of an ability. an interesting one. one that Dazai knows he doesn't need. one that Dazai hears murmurs of from unilateral memories.

Mori hums, "what is it?" he wonders what could have possibly caught the demon prodigy's eye. but as soon as he glances over to the newspaper and the bold kanji from two years ago, a chill runs down his spine.

"spontaneous deaths, no signs of physical trauma or any diseases, unrelated and irregular victims," Dazai starts listing off. Mori knows this case like the back of his hand. "it's clearly an ability user, wouldn't you agree?" Mori's had his eye on this one for the past two years. "probably a child, too, seeing how erratic they are."

Mori thinks Dazai is aware of a lot more than he's letting on.

"we should fetch them like we did with Q. they might be an ability worth having in the mafia's arsenal."

Mori blinks blankly at the cunning child staring right back into him with an unassuming grin. suggestions of a mind with normal thoughts, those abnormal people wouldn't be able to fathom. because Dazai is not special, however his schemes may play out. he offers him a smile, a bit more strained than he wishes to express. "okay, Dazai-kun, i'll leave that to you."

and a parallel story comes to life—a story where kids can't cry, but they can pray for their lives.

it's easier to find something when knowing exactly where to look for it. Dazai doesn't waste any time paying a visit to the ruins of a research facility in Nagoya. whatever shall be rebuilt from these remains, he'll make sure it doesn't impact his plans. admittedly, he doesn't know what is waiting for him at the next location on his to-do list. among the rubble and the blood, he finds a stainless steel bracelet. he knows who it belonged to and he knows where to keep it for the sake of repentance.

after his short detour, he makes his way to Shizuoka. he's all smiles and innocence when he speaks to the lady in charge of orphaned children. when he's allowed inside and the woman calls [Name]'s attention, he hears the echo of a gunshot ringing in his ear. he remembers cursed words meant to follow him in every new page.

[Name] is sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall and taking up space as their legs are stretched out. one of their little brothers—Dazai doesn't know which one—sits against them, holding a book. as soon as the woman calls their name, [Name]'s head shoots up. they pat their sibling on the shoulder, chuckling at their childish whining, before approaching their beckoning mother. she introduces the two to one another with a warm grin and promptly leaves them to talk in private.

as they're sitting outside, watching children of all ages play with a ball, Dazai presents them with the cheap bracelet. "do you recognize this?" he prompts them to take it, but they don't budge. they scan the jewelry with their eyes briefly. then they shake their head. Dazai sighs, returning the bracelet to his pocket.

he lets silence settle between them, leaving space for [Name] to ask any questions. without stained walls and dying children, he wonders what this version of [Name] has to say to him. how sharp are their teeth? how deep do they bite? how much do they burn? but they don't look at him as they say, "i don't know who you are or what that bracelet is." they flinch when one of their siblings falls face first on the grass. their eyes are soft, without any trace of fear. "why are you here?"

amiability and [Name] are dissonant, Dazai thinks, but truth stands that the looming cloud of anger clinging to their shoulders doesn't exist here. he considers the many paths he can take them down, between violence and comradery. "listen," he starts, choosing to stand neutral where he knows he shouldn't disrupt, "it's your choice, but the ability you have—" [Name] snaps their neck towards him, "—is very useful, and a lot of less than nice people will come to get you for it."

the last time [Name] used Mirror Mirage was two years ago. the last person to ever know about it was a man in a lab coat. "i'm past using my ability. it's been long enough." with their family and their life, they hardly feel the need to steal from others anymore. they look Dazai in the eye with a passive stare, harmless, curious, willing. the stare of an older sibling scolding him for acting so childishly.

"about that…" he trails, rising from the bench. he can't see [Name] from his peripheral vision. he knows [Name] has no hostility within them unless he gives them some. "i was told to burn this orphanage down just to get you. but i'm being nice about it." and he won't give them any reason to bare their teeth. he's learned his lesson. he knows better from his own parallel mistakes. "you're a smart kid, aren't you?"

"are you extorting me?"

"not quite, i'm just looking out for you." a chuckle slips from his tongue. there's a fine line between his lies and his benevolence. it seems he cannot change his ways—he can only make them softer.

[Name] purses their lips in thought as they ponder over his words. "will everyone here be safe if i go with you?" they crane their neck to look up at him. he's not that much taller than them, even while standing up, wearing nothing but black, hiding behind his bangs and bandages. he still feels unreachable, too big and too lonely, like he takes up too much space whether he wants to or not.

"you can watch over them yourself," Dazai reassures them. he takes a step and turns to face them, offering them his bandaged hand.

"okay then." without a moment's hesitation, they reach for his fingers. they rise to their feet. "i'll go with you."

"welcome to the Port Mafia, [Name]."

Dazai feels in their hand the moment they realize exactly who he is and where he comes from. they blink owlishly at him as he smiles back without a trace of animosity. [Name] relaxes their muscles, now knowing they've made the correct choice. later that same week, they meet again with the man in the lab coat; the head of the Port Mafia itself.

it's fleeting, [Name] realizes, but it's very much there—the unadulterated, baseless animosity creeping up their legs. when they walk into the training room on their first day, Dazai is waiting for them while leaning against the wall. they see it in his eye as he turns his head to look at them. it's a hollow stare, a bottomless pit of strife, reaching out in echoes from the sobs of a child. his lips curl into a small smile. [Name] feels the hairs on their nape bristling in alarm, like there's a bigger threat looming nearby, but all they can see is Dazai.

and Dazai, with that look in his eyes and that simper on his lips, is not a threat at all.

when he's standing so close to them, when he isn't hiding in the sunlight, he feels much smaller. it's almost as if they could see his hands shaking. it's almost as if they could see the tears wanting to overflow. there's a stirring in their stomach where pain bubbles, purely and innocently. Dazai is so, so far away.

he pushes himself off the wall and stands across from [Name]. stepping closer, he finds it unusual to not see their muscles tense in alarm. then he remembers the usual hasn't been established yet. "those scars…" his sentence dies down as he tastes the words. they feel familiar on his tongue, so he finds a way to flip them upside down. "do you want to die, [Name]?" his eye casts down to their uncovered arms. they look the same.

"i'm sorry?"

a sigh tumbles from his lips. "your scars, those are self-inflicted."

"ah." instinctively, [Name]'s fingers reach up to touch their neck. Dazai doesn't look at them. "there was a time, back in the labs. i've grown out of it." they speak nonchalantly, shrugging their shoulders and acting like craving death was nothing more than a short phase. a little something they tried for fun and stopped once they got bored of it—it doesn't follow them, it doesn't cling to them, it has left them alone because they don't want to die anymore.

"why?"

"what do you mean?"

"why did you want to die?"

he sees how [Name] stops to give it some thought. their eyes flicker down and to the side briefly, then return to him, alive. "i'm not sure. it was just easy."

"those tests they ran on you," he prompts.

"yeah." they blink and something flashes in their eyes. it's unnoticeable, but Dazai can see it clearly. he considers briefly, just briefly, keeping his mouth shut. [Name] continues with an explanation that only makes sense to normal people like themself and Dazai, "living things became trivial."

"and by consequence, so did you."

[Name] nods. it's odd, they think, how easily he understands without them explaining a jumbled mess of forgotten thoughts. maybe it isn't that odd, especially considering he's read their files already. "do you want to die, Dazai-san?" but they see him as soon as their question slips from their tongue.

"yes."

in a quick answer with no hesitation, [Name] sees the innocent boy on the verge of tears. he's gritting his teeth and covering his ears with trembling hands. [Name] grimaces, because the closer they try to step, the smaller he becomes. so scared, so lonely, so vulnerable. they feel sorry for him. they pity him. he feels just like another little sibling from the orphanage, one [Name] could easily hold until his breathing settles down again. but as soon as they blink, he fades away, melting into the shadows where they can't reach. in his stead, they meet Dazai's hollow stare.

[Name]'s fingers twitch on instinct. "can i ask why?" they think, ignoring the bristling hairs on the back of their nape, that Dazai has been standing alone and alienated for far too long.

"some may call me a fool," he answers, voice light and airy, shrugging it off like it's something he's heard a billion times before. but then [Name] feels it again, when he looks them right in the eye, the unnerving animosity trying to drag them down. it's as if he's looking at someone else—looking at words he's heard from the same voice, but not quite the same person. "others," he emphasizes, "may call me a coward."

[Name] recoils. they take a step backwards. that statement—that complaint—was not directed at them, [Name] understands, but it was directly for them.

Dazai lets a chuckle drift into the silence. he recognizes he shouldn't be speaking anymore. he recedes and takes his contempt off [Name] with him. "is that enough of an answer for you?"

"i think… it's your choice." ([Name] tries—wants—to understand.) "whether you want to tell me or not."

they don't bite. "you're a lot more agreeable," Dazai hums. in a world in which he hasn't stolen anything from them, [Name] has no reason to bite back. if he hadn't been so childish, maybe they could have held a conversation like this in the right story.

[Name] contemplates asking for clarification, but they keep their mouth shut as Dazai steps closer. he feels small again. he's a kid. he's nothing but a kid, all over again.

with weightless steps, he stands a few feet away from [Name]. "attack me with all you've got."

Dazai can recite this scene from memory. [Name] hesitates, argues, and he makes sure they understand where their loyalties should lie from the get-go. he's long decided to teach them the same lessons in a different way. their attack is as predictable as the first time; he wastes not a single second striking his leg against their ribcage. as [Name] bounces off the wall, Dazai sighs to himself.

"lesson number one," his voice echoes through the training room, "don't rely on your ability alone." he watches unblinking while [Name] struggles to pick themself up from the floor. "you're gonna need a lot of martial arts training."

[Name] can barely register any of his words when their mouth is overflowing with blood.

Dazai gives them time to stand back up on their feet. quietly, he turns towards the door. "that's all for today." [Name]'s blurry eyes follow him as he begins heading out. his back is so, so small. "the closest infirmary is on the ground floor. same time tomorrow, yeah?" he stops at the door, glancing over his shoulder.

finding support on the wall, [Name] clutches the forming bruise on their side, stumbling in an attempt to stay balanced. their head spins, but they answer, "…yeah, okay…" despite the sickening taste of blood on their tongue.

"i'll use a gun, so be ready."

"…gotcha."

[Name] listens to their own choked breathing and takes a moment to properly stabilize themself. Dazai hears an echo in his brain, voices from the dead he has never heard, but he nonetheless remembers. it haunts him, whether he wants them to or not, because wisdom only has worth when a writer is dead. he takes it upon himself to not stress [Name] out too much. promptly, he exits the training room, leaving the door wide open for [Name] to follow once they gather their bearings again.

they think, while heading for the door, that Dazai is simply a lonely kid drowning in future regrets.

Dazai knows better than anyone—or rather, he's the only who knows—that he cannot interfere where he isn't allowed. the best example of this is [Name]'s natural gravitation towards Chuuya. he lets the years pass, working for things to play out the exact same way, changing the course only where it's needed for his plan. while he's busy throwing a quiet tantrum in a former assassin's apartment, he leaves [Name] in Chuuya's hands.

Nakahara Chuuya has read [Name]'s files—only the most relevant ones, because it would take him a lifetime to even scan through everything that has been documented since the moment of their birth. empathy simmers in his chest in the face of another humane monster built from experiments.

that which resembles a human. resembling humans, all of them, dancing on a chessboard in someone else's pocket.

however smart Mori may be, however much respect he may have for the boss, Chuuya believes leaving a kid with suicidal tendencies to a suicidal bastard is undeniably cruel. [Name] is nothing like Dazai, because they value life, because they don't regret being born, because they don't taunt death in an attempt to free themself. and yet despite knowing they are so, so different from the demon prodigy, there still is something. there is something, and Chuuya doesn't know what, but it's very much there. something in their eyes, something very deep in a parallel mirror; something on the scar on their neck and something in their voice.

something, whatever it is, making [Name] feel horribly similar to Dazai.

Chuuya has seen his friends die time and time again. that's just the way the mafia works. he fears he's going to see [Name] end up being another corpse in a pile of distant memories.

after a strenuous day of training, he offers them a cigarette. the more they take from him, the less they'll follow in Dazai's footsteps—he hopes, at least, because Dazai has a plan. Chuuya doesn't know what it is or why he's so determined to see it come to fruition, but he does know no one is safe. so he leans against the wall, taking another drag, listening as [Name] explains their experience in the research facility. out of curiosity, out of concern.

if there's an input, there's an output.

[Name] shakes ashes off their cigarette. they finish their retelling with a closing thought of, "at some point, the concept of life became trivial, as Dazai-san put it." it sounds natural and it rolls off their tongue with the tone of an older sibling. Chuuya argues that it sounds dissonant; that agreeing with Dazai shouldn't be a willing choice. "i could kill anyone and anything, but i couldn't kill myself. they wouldn't let me."

he sighs heavily, "that explains why you feel so much like that lousy suicidal bastard."

with the way [Name] turns to blink owlishly at him, he'd think he's offended them. their brows furrow in thought for a moment, before they chuckle sardonically. "i think Dazai-san's in a league of his own." as a pained afterthought, they add, "sadly." they cast their gaze down to their shoes, a grimace twisting their face. pity burns on their tongue. "there really isn't anyone out there to feel so much like him."

"hopefully," Chuuya snarls, rolling his eyes, "there really shouldn't be."

"do you hate him that much, Chuuya-san? i know he's a lot to handle, but he's just throwing a tantrum." the laughter that falls from their lips is ironic. they don't mean it. they're at a loss. the cigarette between their fingers slips and bounces off their shoes.

Chuuya clicks his tongue. "he's just a cunning bastard with a plan to fuck everyone over." he flicks his own cigarette off to the side to emphasize his words.

[Name] lets his snarky remark swim into their ears, processing each sound with careful consideration. they stare silently at the floor as they take into account everything the mafia has shown them for the past two years. they're well aware Dazai is always slithering around, a heavy presence looming over everyone's shoulders to make sure everything goes according to plan. they know he's doing something, whatever it might be, and it's very important. that's why he's been gone for over a week already. from where [Name] stands, it simply seems capricious.

"i think he's a little kid," they speak up with a hint of hesitation. a knot in their throat tries to keep them from spitting words a parallel story would set them on fire for. they clear their throat, turning to find Chuuya's eyes. "doesn't he feel like a neglected toddler to you?"

immediately, Chuuya throws his head back and cackles from the core of his chest. he pats [Name]'s shoulder harshly, shaking them in a fit of pure amusement. "ha! that's your best joke so far." he pretends to wipe a tear off his eye. the moment his laughter fades away, a peeved frown pulls his brows down. "that shitty asshole's a demon that's been alive for centuries. i wouldn't waste pity on him." as if it were an unimportant discussion about ants on the ground, Chuuya shrugs his shoulders. he's done with his smoke break and he cares little about sympathy for malicious intelligence.

[Name] watches him head back into the Port Mafia building. the demonic crown Dazai wears weighs on him more and more as the years go by. centuries upon centuries of living in isolation should give a demon like him all the wisdom in the universe, and yet he's nothing but a child. even Chuuya is only a child with issues of his own. they all are. and when kids are scared, some cry, some bite back, and some simply cower in a corner while gritting their teeth.

with a sigh, [Name] crushes their struggling cigarette with the sole of their shoe. they follow after Chuuya once the fire has died.

it's strange, Dazai thinks, and it rattles him for a moment. he only has the memories of what will happen, but he's convinced he can still feel frail bones crushing under the pressure of his foot. the moment he sees [Name] in broad daylight, crouched over in an awfully familiar alleyway, he stops dead in his tracks. his fingers twitch. he almost wishes [Name] would try to hide away in the shadows. he doesn't have to even look past them to know there's a box with three puppies in it.

"what are you doing here, [Name]?"

[Name] cranes their neck back, finding Dazai's eye staring down at them with a blank gaze. "hello, Dazai-san," they greet him normally, because they don't know and they can't guess. they step to the side to let him see the three dying dogs, huddled together for warmth inside a humid box. Dazai blinks. these puppies don't just look frail, they look sick.

"what are you doing?"

[Name] turns back to the box. with one hand, they keep searching for a way to help these dying creatures; the other one offers a sense of comfort—or as much as they can—scratching their heads gently. "i found these guys abandoned here. i was thinking of getting 'em to the vet, they don't look too good." when [Name] removes their hand, one of the puppies stirs. it tries to call out in a faint cry. it barely has the strength to breathe.

"oh." Dazai hums in understanding. he doesn't like dogs. he doesn't care about what happens to these dogs. something is probably eating them from the inside out and he knows for a fact they will not survive a ride to the vet. they're on the verge of death already; [Name], this time, is too late. "yeah, that's a good idea." he doesn't care about what happens to these dogs or to [Name] themself, but he lets them do whatever they want. it is not a dare. it is not a challenge. it's simply him taking a step back.

"do you know of any vets nearby? i can't find anything on my phone."

"…i don't really like dogs so i don't know anything." he lies. he does know. he cannot step back more than this.

it's fleeting, but [Name] feels that same baseless animosity trying to drown them. "i see." they pretend it's fair. they don't pry. with a grimace, they turn again to look at Dazai. "do you think they'll make it? they might be a lost cause."

"you should try."

the longer they consider it, the more pity simmers in their chest. when they scan their eyes over the puppies one more time, they're agitated, struggling to breathe. "i'd rather not put 'em through that… i'll just let 'em pass peacefully." an orange glow surrounds their body as they use Mirror Mirage to steal the dogs' lives from them. painlessly, the three of them grow weaker until they ultimately die.

Dazai glares quietly. he watches with a hollow stare as [Name], with their eyes closed, claps their hands and says a short prayer to the lives they've taken.

"i'll find a place to bury them. excuse me, Dazai-san." picking the box up from the floor, [Name] bows their head to him. he trails his eyes after them while they disappear down the sidewalk.

Mori Ogai knew eventually Dazai would take his place. evil expects evil from others. when he finds [Name]'s hand around his throat, he chuckles. he figures this is exactly why Dazai wanted to take them from their orphanage and bring them into his arsenal. he's not given much choice and lets the children do with him as they see fit.

at age eighteen, Dazai Osamu becomes the Port Mafia's boss.

[Name] doesn't mind the changes in the mafia, especially considering they aided the new boss. there's a hefty weight of unbearable responsibility pressing down on their shoulders. they're aware Dazai isn't their problem, and neither do they feel the need to interfere. he is doing something—[Name] doesn't know what it is or why, but they hope he can accomplish it so he'll finally sit down and breathe. they know better than to meddle. but the duty of an older sibling compels them to at least check in on everyone around them.

(Chuuya isn't content. they've heard all of his complaints again and again over cigarettes and drinks. he says he doesn't blame them for helping Dazai out in taking Mori's head. they hardly believe him.)

Dazai calls them into his office. something feels off when they step inside, bowing as per usual, speaking politely like they did with Mori. he's leaning back on his chair and reading a book. the cover is worn, but they can make out the characters for war and crime. the look in his eye darkens considerably as he lets it flutter shut before dropping it in his trash bin.

he leans into his desk and towards [Name], an empty smile curling his lips. "i have a task for you, [Name]." he gathers documents scattered around, brushing off a paper airplane that falls off the edge. [Name] takes them from his hand with a nod. "i'd like some information on this orphanage."

"of course, boss."

they bow one more time to excuse themself. Dazai considers letting them go with their task, but curiosity gets the best of him. he can't keep his mouth shut. "say, [Name]," he starts. [Name] stands up straight, listening attentively. "have you ever heard about the theory of the two demons?"

[Name] blinks, brows rising. it doesn't ring a bell. "i haven't. what does it say?" Dazai knows it doesn't ring a bell.

"that to combat a great evil, you need an even greater evil." it's taken him years to understand what this theory entails. it's taken him memories that do not belong to him to wrap his head around nonsense such as this. the best experience comes first-hand. "say, for uprisings against the government, the government can suppress the people with forced disappearances, for example." he cannot pretend to laugh at this anymore.

"so it's bad against worse?"

"precisely." Dazai snaps his fingers. there's a childlike ring in his voice, like he's happy to finally hold a conversation with the [Name] he's known. "it cancels out. it reaches a point where evil is just the norm. a demon against another demon; do you get it?"

"i see. like… fighting fire with fire." they're close. "only a demon can kill a demon."

like saying long time no see to someone he's supposed to have never met. like stabbing his own leg for someone he knows doesn't have the choice to stray. like offering lies to someone who cursed him in a different story. like babbling words that are not his. "yeah, that's… that's a good analogy." like a corpse smiling back at him. (like animal blood staining his shoes.)

"where did you find this theory? it seems interesting."

Dazai glances at the trash bin only briefly. "that's not important." [Name] doesn't catch on. "i just thought you'd like to know about it."

"why's that?"

"so you don't resent me after i'm dead." he's always known they aren't anything like him.

[Name] lets an innocent chuckle slip, "i'd be surprised if you're actually mortal at all."

"now that's a very cursed thing to say, [Name]." he offers them a smile. it's the smile of a child, innocent and ignorant. it's heavy.

"my apologies, boss."

Nakajima Atsushi is a mellow boy. it doesn't take a genius to realize he wasn't as lucky as [Name] was when drawing straws in the orphanage lottery. he's been blessed with a powerful ability, but he's also been cursed to never tame it. Dazai seems to have been prepared for this inconvenience since the day he was born. [Name] considers that's probably exactly the case.

they analyze the collar Dazai has given them, before their eyes fall on Atsushi. he's mellow and he's scared. he sits quietly on the floor, hugging his knees close to his chest to make himself small, hiding his face in search for safety. [Name] crouches by him, wearing the same gentle simper they used for their youngest siblings.

"i'm sorry about this, Atsushi-kun," they speak softly, careful not to make unnecessary loud noises, "but Dazai-san said it's to keep your ability in check."

"i know. i understand. it's okay." he lifts his head up only slightly. he meets [Name]'s pitying eyes.

they frown. the theory of the two demons states that, in order to take down a great evil, one requires a greater evil; [Name] thinks this is what Dazai meant when introducing them to such a wicked theory. a sigh tumbles from their lips, "it's not okay, but it's necessary." it burns on their tongue, rotten words they should swallow.

they purse their lips and clasp the collar around Atsushi's neck. somehow, they wince harder than him.

Dazai Osamu has completed his plan.

he hits the ground, blood splattering and staining the ground a crimson red, because even in death, Dazai can't keep himself from being a nuisance. his body twitches as the last remnants of life slip away from him. it's unexpected—not that he managed to fulfill his own goals, but the way he chooses to celebrate. in the moment, [Name] thought their words were ironic. as they catch a glimpse through the corner of their eye, they think they spoke too much.

they freeze, shoulders taut. with wide eyes, they find Chuuya's glare across from them, seemingly just as perplexed. both turn towards the wall of windows; neither dare take a step closer to confirm their suspicions.

"…Chuuya-san," [Name] speaks up with a hesitant tone. Chuuya doesn't answer. "Chuuya-san, was…" their voice trails off, unsure of what to say in the face of suicide. "Chuuya-san, was that Dazai-san?" by the time they manage a coherent sentence, Chuuya is no longer by their side.

[Name] watches from up high in an empty hallway. from this height, Dazai's bleeding body is nothing more than an ant out of line. they sigh heavily, eyes closed. they clap their hands together and say a short prayer for the life that now sleeps forever in solitude.

—あごす (agosu) • 2023

#theory of the two demons #bungou stray dogs #bsd #dazai osamu #dazai osamu x reader #dazai x reader #chuuya nakahara #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya x reader #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #nakajima atsushi #mori ougai #bsd beast #bungou stray dogs beast

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fishy0bishy · 2 months

Text

Mission upcoming

AN:after a minute of bringing up Mrs.Unamed and at one drawing I did of her and Merrit fighting reunited I wrote a little something leading up to that fight (long way of saying I wrote Merrit lore.)

also all of North’s crew is here! And Gilded!

Start of something bigger.

It was a cozy evening and Lizzy was wandering about and stumbling on Merrit in her lab making and testing some Filter soil but before doing or saying anything Merrit pauses and goes “Goggles and coat before doing anything in here”.

Lizzy rolls her eyes and puts on the gear “what did ya parents told you to do the same thing beforehand?”

Merrit smiles and nonchalantly goes “Nope never knew them. But my grandma and my other caretaker did”

Merrit pointing at two photos on a bulletin board. One image is of two tiny elderly women, one a ferret and the other a possum. But the other photo is blurred by a drink spill stain but Lizzy could still make out ferrets one with creme colored fur and the other brown colored.

Lizzy blinks at the photo and turns saying “wait what? You don’t seem like a person to have as trauma as everyone else on this ship.” Merrit exclaims and shakes her head

“Woah woah it’s not like that. I just never knew them and I don’t mind it. All I know is that they’re space riders so I assumed they were always busy”

“But wouldn’t you see them even when you became a space rider?”

“Someone is getting curious are we? You can ask poppy when we’re at HQ”

“We’ll I’m just say-“

Before the conversation (or questioning if you will) continues North interrupts by loudly knocking on the door and yells “Mission time! Suit up we got a big boss on our hands!”

Both Merrit and Lizzy look at the other and they go to the halls removing their Lab gear and Merrit going to her locker to change up and Lizzy leaving with north but a time skip and the whole crew is meeting up and discussing plans. the first to speak up is Zane “i heard we have a big boss what’s that about?” North smiles and leads by excitedly going “I found a lead with the cult and I’ve tracked down a High ranking member! There’s no photos of her, not a lot of information well except that she leads supply raids from our docks and only seen a total of 2 times within 22 years that she’s appeared and apparently there’s a urban legend about her!”

“Woah she’s pretty tough and sneaky if there isn’t anything about her!” Jaz exclaims and stares at an artist rendition of the woman. A red cloaked figure with a twisted smile and crème colored ears sticking out the hood. But North nudges Lizzy’s shoulder and asks “Hey you were a high member ever seen them. If you don’t mind answering of course.”

“A please would work but sure-“ Lizzy looks at the photo and her ears raise up and turns back to north pointing to the photo going “you do know who you’re dealing with? I dunno if the urban legend said something but she’s crazy scary. Even I didn’t get buddy buddy with her.”

They all stare at Lizzy till Zelda breaks the silence and tells North “what’s the legend about? Can’t be that bad.”

“Well from what I gathered from Poppy apparently this lady used to be a space rider. A very honorable one as well. And she had a husband who’s was a medic in the crew she was in but he also disappeared but myth states they had a child but I couldn’t find anything on files dealing with Rider disappearances. Except the crew Zane’s mother was in. The room immediately goes quiet and they all give each other looks but Merrit speaks up “are we even qualified? Sure we are B+ rank but this woman is maybe a S rank cultist. And remember what happened with Gilded.”

Jaz teases Merrit and North by saying “oh the cultists that Merrit has the doki dokis for and the one who whooped North?”

“Jaz this is serious.. but yeah you’re right…But let’s head out crew we don’t wanna lose track of this woman” “oh changing the subject so quick boss? Sunny remarks as the meeting ends with everyone nodding their heads and the crew leaving to their bikes flying to the upcoming red filled planet.Lizzy and Sparky waving bye waiting for their return.

Meanwhile Mrs.Unamed with a treat left by a certain kitsune (cough cough @truelazymaker )

All Ocs Belomg to the listed!:

NorthHeat(@north-heats-stronghold) Lizzy and Sunny(@novalizinpeace) Jaz(@fanofanythingsblog)

Zelda and Sparky(@fandomssvetlanafrom) Zane(@moonspiritleaf) And finally Gilded(@qxurugosk)

And this Au Belongs to @onyxonline!

#space riders au #smiling critters au #jaz #merrit ferret #north heat #zelda #sparky #Zane #Sunny #lizzy #Gilded somehow snuck his way in here

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mapofthemazeinthemirror · 21 days

Note

I have been meaning to yap to you about this because I am a certified mafia jjun enjoyer but….listen!

two things: one (1) reader is hired by said mafia group to protect the leader (yeonjun) gosh I imagine like enemies to lovers? she hates yeonjun at first, and thinks he’s so so mean. At first he thinks “how is she going to protect me?” but she’s protecting him more than physically. he eventually eases up on her and ends up being mean to everyone but her. gahhh something about meanie jjunie that has a soft spot gets me.

two (2) this might be quick but reader and mafia boss tyun being from rival families, but they cross paths and end up falling for each other. aaaah forbidden romance <3

ASH I LOVE YOUR MIND. Thank you for feeding me with this. I’ve been craving gang txt ever since the new gbgb choreo, the part where it looks like they’re fighting 🫢 Number two (2) with Taehyun is so yummy, just imagine the banter they'd have with each other!

words: 1.8k oops

warnings: a bit of workplace discrimination, mentions of attacks, criminal activity, blood briefly, treating wounds, probably too soft at the end

If there’s one thing you’re going to do, it’s do your job damn well regardless of your personal feelings towards the man you’ve been hired to protect – and especially if said man seems to think you’re not fit for the job. It appeared Yeonjun was not pleased when you first showed up to work, pulling a member of his team aside and having what looked like a tense conversation. It only made you more intent on proving your position. You often butted heads, unable to agree on the right approach to many things. Yeonjun prioritized quick gains, confrontations and aggressive plays, recurrently willing to forgo his security or the safety of the more expendable members of his organisation to get what he was after. On the other hand, you wanted him to undertake less risky tactics, ones that were better for his reputation, his long-term safety. There were a couple of instances where he tried to plan some dealings without you, locking you out of his office and leaving you to stand outside fuming and trying to hear what little of the discussion you could through the crack in the door. The men took you even less seriously after that stunt – if the boss didn’t respect you, why should they?

Using your intel, you cleverly plan out routes for the driver to take that steer clear of trouble. At first Yeonjun is annoyed and questions the detour, but later that night, he learns through his informant that police were doing a random car check on the usual route, due to the crimes of a gang in the area. When he thanks you the following morning, you think you've earned the respect you've been craving. However, the good feeling doesn't last. As the day goes on, not only does Yeonjun give you his drink order, as if you're a simple assistant or coffee runner, he also laughs at a joke one of his men makes about you, right in front of you.

And maybe from time to time you fantasize about the young, stupidly good looking, ridiculously well dressed mafia boss getting what he deserved; about letting his laundering fall through, letting his shipment go to the wrong country, or turning a blind eye to the betrayal of one of his most valuable men that you have discovered. But you're a professional, and professionals don't let their sour thoughts derail their career.

It's only when the truth about the disloyalty of Yeonjun's right hand man is laid out for him that things begin to change. You had supplied all the proof, having hired a private investigator of sorts to get the incriminating photos you needed, accumulating dirt on the man who was Yeonjun's favourite, his oldest friend in the business, until there was no room for doubt in his mind.

What you hadn't expected was for the boss to show up at your place a few days after your exposé, looking more exhausted than you'd ever seen him. The betrayal had hit him hard. He seemed despondent as he glanced around at the place you lived, showing no reflection of his opinion. You weren't even sure how much he was taking in with those tired dark eyes. His hair was not to his usual standard, and his coat which was usually tied fashionably at his waist hung open and loose on his thin frame. You felt more awkward standing before him in this state than you ever had when he'd been laughing at your expense. You offered him a seat but he turned it down. All you could do was stare and wait for him to speak.

“I'm very grateful,” he began. His voice was hoarse, bringing a deepness to it you'd never known. Finally he looked you straight in the eye for the first time since he'd arrived. “I never would have seen it for myself. I was blinded by my… If you hadn't disclosed this to me…” It was the first time you'd seen him struggle to articulate himself. You nodded in understanding, and he seemed relieved.

After that, you were given a raise – a silent one, since he applied it without saying anything to you about it – and an office of your own. Not only did the jokes and snide comments from the other men stop, but they seemed to eye you with caution, some with reverence. You had become the one Yeonjun trusted most, the one he came to with his concerns, and nobody would ever question your value again. Not unless they wanted to face the boss's fury.

Things have been good for a while: you love your job – and maybe, as much as you hate to admit it, your boss, just a little bit? – when something unforeseeable happens. You're busy handling communications when you spot Yeonjun's ride pull up in the underground lot on the security monitor. Watching as the two front doors of the vehicle swing open and both the driver and the ridealong dash to open the back doors, your anxiety is thrown into gear. Then Yeonjun stumbles out from the back seat. You're on your feet before you see them check him over, out the door before he can wave them off.

By the time he's in the building, there are more men around him, asking questions and putting their hands on his shoulders in concern. He shakes them all off in annoyance, ordering them to get back to work. As the men fall away he spots you standing by, and he softens. When he approaches, you see the sharp red lines that are scratched into the side of his face, notice the bloody cuts on his hand as it sweeps his black hair up over his forehead.

“What happened?” you ask when he reaches you, even though you have a pretty good idea in your mind. You need to know anyway, as you keep a record of all offenses committed against him.

“It was an ambush,” he says simply. He watches your hands take his bigger ones from his sides and turn them over, inspecting. His hands suddenly feel cold in contrast to your warm skin as you make contact.

“Are you okay?” You glance briefly up to his eyes, indicating that your question does not refer to his obvious abrasions.

“That bullet proof glass might need a touch up,” he states rather matter-of-factly in reply, looking away from you. He sounds so nonchalant, as if it's not a big deal. Your heartbeat has picked up significantly, an unexpected reaction to hearing about danger that has already passed, and you realise that a threat to Yeonjun's safety means more to you than it should; more than a professional responsibility for his security.

You usher him into his office and locate the medical kit. This is the first time you'll be putting your first aid training to good use, you muse silently as you pull the lamp down close to Yeonjun's face. It's an intimate position you've found yourself in; Yeonjun seated on the large plush sofa while you hover above him, one knee on the seat of the sofa to steady yourself. You don't even register that your knee is between his spread legs, so focused on treating his injuries. You've never touched him before, and yet it feels like one of the most natural things you've ever done as you work instinctively, the fingers of your non-dominant hand along his cheek without your noticing. His warm eyes, which had seemed distant just a moment ago, check your face occasionally, until he abandons subtlety and they unabashedly train on you as you treat him, lit by the glow of the lamp. You try not to notice it, though you definitely do.

“I usually do this myself,” he says quietly as you reach for a new cloth and the bottle of disinfectant once more. The tug of a lazy smile appears on his mouth. “This is much better.”

Your eyes meet his, and all at once you feel much too warm. Now that you're not concentrating, you notice the placement of your knee, and your whole body seems to come alive. Retracting it as casually as possible, you hold your hand out to him, hoping your flushed state will go unnoticed. The feeling of his palm against yours sends sparks through you, making you feel like a stupid high schooler. He's still smiling, which makes it even harder to ignore. You suppose he's used to his life being threatened, used to targeted attacks, and that's how he's so calm after the ambush. Unless the starry look in his eyes speaks of an oncoming concussion.

He doesn't flinch once as you disinfect his scrapes and cuts. You're glad there's no glass to be picked out of the wounds. He watches everything you do quietly, and you find yourself having to remind yourself to breathe occasionally. It's new to be this close to him, and you don't hate it – not in the slightest. Most of his wounds are superficial, thanks to the bullet proof glass, and once you've applied coverings to the cuts on his hands, you're all finished. When you go to move the lamp away, you notice that his face has changed. He looks drained now, all his earlier charm and blasé attitude abandoned, maybe a little paler than usual even under the warm light, and you wonder if he's starting to feel the effects of the ordeal.

“I'll get you some water,” you tell him. Before you can move away, you feel his fingers softly grasp your hand. Your eyes come back to his face in surprise.

“Wait,” he says, a little weakly. His eyes are looking away from you, his brow quirked as though he's trying to figure something out. “I'm fine. Can you- can you just…”

There's only been one other time he's not been sure of his words before, and he'd been through something rough then, too. Something inside you begins to warm up and slowly melt as you realise that Yeonjun is not as unbothered on the inside as he plays on the outside. He may be tough, but he's not invincible. He may have had this kind of attack on his life before, he might even be used to it or expect it, but his body still undergoes the shock, even if it’s a delayed reaction.

His eyebrows are still slightly furrowed as he looks up at you. Without words and with the gentlest, smallest tug at your hand which you may not have noticed in another circumstance, which could probably have been played off as nothing if it had been rejected, he asks you to stay. You can't hide the smile that twitches at your lips. With something that feels like courage coursing through you, you step towards him. Turning slightly, you set yourself down on his lap and feel him relax. His arm winds around you to keep you snug to him and you lean your head onto his shoulder, getting a breath of expensive cologne. He sighs deeply before breathing evenly, dropping into a deep rest.

You're content like this, though you never imagined being this close to him, glad that he's resting when he clearly needs it, and proud that you could help. If this is how you can protect him physically, even if it's only in this small way, you'll take it. Though, in your head you've already begun thinking through methods of retaliation to whichever rival faction made this attempt on his life.

#moot ash ♡#mail time 💌#mafia jjun and mafia taehyun 😘😘#you know who would love that forbidden mafia love with taehyun thought? aura <3 #txt scenarios #yeonjun imagines #txt imagines #yeonjun scenarios #yeonjun drabbles #mafia txt

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