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drabbles-mc · 3 years

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Passing Through

Bishop Losa x F!Reader

Request by @masterlistforimagines: Okay so reader is passing through Santo Padre for some reason. Her car breaks down, and Bish is her mechanic. I’m thinking like super cute and flirty Bish

Warnings: language, alcohol, Bish being a flirt with a capital F

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: I feel like I always let myself get carried away with requests from you. Like they almost always take on a life of their own once I start writing them. Thank you for loving me and continuing to send them to me regardless lmao. We get a few of our other MC boys in this fic too. Hope y’all enjoy! xo

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Bishop Losa Taglist: @sincerelyasomebody @sadeyesgf @thesandbeneathmytoes @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @multiyfandomgirl40 @sillygoose6969 @queenbeered @louisianalady @gemini0410 @paintballkid711 @sesamepancakes @chibsytelford @yourwonkywriter @arveeee @mayans-sauce @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @plentyoffandoms @georgiaaintnopeach @twistnet @themoonandthewicked @garbinge @bucky-iss-bae @encounterthepast @everyhowlmarksthedead @rosieposie0624 @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo @mijop @xladymacbethx @blessedboo @holl2712 @lakamaa12 @kkim120 @toni9 @shadow-of-wonder (If you want to be tagged in fics for Bish or any of my other writing let me know and I’ll add you to the taglist!)

You’d been driving for practically 2 days straight. It was your own doing—you wanted to go all up and down the coast while you had the opportunity. You didn’t know the next time you would get a few weeks off. However, the first leg of your journey you took your sweet time and didn’t really plan things out, which left you in the tiniest bit of a time-crunch as things were coming to a close. It was impressive that your car had made it this far to begin with. It wasn’t exactly new, but it had always gotten the job done. You knew that this was a big ask, though, and the universe was finally coming to collect.

You sat on the hood, soaking up the sun while you waited for the tow truck to get there. Music was playing from the speaker of your phone as you recounted all of the adventures that you had had so far. If it hadn’t been such a good trip already, this mishap would’ve been far more upsetting. You were in too good of a headspace to be upset, though. Whatever the deal was with your car, you’d figure it out one way or another.

When you saw the tow truck approaching, you shut the music off and hopped down off the hood of your car. You stretched out, trying to gear yourself up for whatever the next leg of your journey was going to be. The truck parked in front of your car and one man hopped out of each side of the vehicle. You bit back a laugh at how different the two of them seemed.

“Are you Y/N?” one man approached you with a clipboard.

You took note of his hands but expressly tried not to stare. Besides, the smile he greeted you with was contagious it was difficult to focus on much else as you nodded, “Sure hope so. Otherwise someone else out there is having just as bad of luck as me.”

He nodded as he handed you the clipboard, “Just need you to fill out this form here for me, Miss.”

You smiled as you took the clipboard and pen from him, “I think I can handle that,” you continued to speak to him as you filled out the paperwork, “What’s your name?”

“Chucky.”

Your eyes flicked up from the paper as you smiled at him, “Nice to meet you, Chucky,” you nodded towards the man who was in the middle of hooking your car up to the tow truck, “Who’s your friend over there?”

“The one and only Johnny ‘Coco’ Cruz.”

You laughed, “One and only, huh?” you handed the clipboard back to him, “Seems like you might know a lot of people who are one-of-a-kind.”

The drive back to the mechanic shop was much more comfortable than you thought it was going to be. Chucky never seemed to run out of things to talk about, which was refreshing. Coco was quiet for most of the ride, chiming in here and there but staying silent for the most part as Chucky drove. The two of them made you wonder what the rest of the people were like at the shop they were taking you to.

When you rolled into the lot, Chucky hopped out and motioned for you to do the same while Coco set about getting your car off the tow truck and into the shop. Part of you wanted to watch it all happen, but Chucky needed you to fill out the rest of the paperwork and answer a few more questions. When he asked you about a rental, you asked if you could see what the damage was on your car before answering that.

You walked over to where your car was being worked on. From the angle you were standing at, you couldn’t see exactly who it was that was working on your car. It was just a pair of legs sticking out from underneath your vehicle. You found a stool to sit on while you waited for whoever it was to resurface so you could ask what exactly was going on and if you were going to need to find a new car to get back home in.

After a few minutes, they rolled back out. He sat up, eyes immediately locking onto yours. You smiled, eyebrows raising slightly as you took in the sight of him. He wiped his hands off on the rag tucked in the pocket of his jeans.

“She yours?” he nodded towards the car.

You sighed, “Depends on what you’re about to tell me.”

He chuckled as he shook his head, “Nothing that we can’t fix.”

“Is it gonna cost me an arm and a leg?”

“It shouldn’t, no,” he stood up, leaning back against your car, “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

The simple pet name shouldn’t have made your face feel hot, but it did, “It’s Y/N. But you can keep calling me sweetheart if you like,” you paused, “You?”

He laughed at your response before holding out his hand, “Bishop.”

“Nice to meet you, Bishop,” it was hard to take your eyes off of his lips and beard. You shook your head to dispel the thoughts, “So, what exactly is wrong with my car? And can you fix it in the cheapest way possible? I just gotta make it back home.”

He smiled at you, “Back home?”

You nodded, “Yea. Had a couple weeks off between jobs and decided to take advantage of it. Probably should’ve used that time to go car shopping though, huh?”

He chuckled, “Maybe.”

You listened as he outlined what was wrong with your car and how he planned to fix it. You were focusing on what he was saying for the most part, but it was easy to get distracted as you watched the way the muscles in his shoulders and arms flexed as he moved and shifted. You were practically salivating by the time that he finished talking.

“You got all that, sweetheart?” he asked with a laugh, knowing that you had definitely tuned out at a few different points as he spoke.

“I got the important parts,” you said, not trying to deny that you let your mind wander.

“How long are you in town for?” he asked, a curious glint in his eyes.

“At least until you fix my car,” you laughed.

“Maybe I should take my time then.”

You smiled, crossing your arms over your chest, “I don’t know how professional that would be of you, Bishop.”

“First you want me to call you sweetheart, and now you want me to be professional?” he laughed, eyes crinkling at the edges, “You’ve gotta pick one or the other.”

You smiled, nodding, “Fair enough,” you paused, “How about this?” you saw the curiosity written all over his face as you continued, “I’ll budget an extra night or two in Santo Padre into my plans, that way you don’t gotta drag out fixing my car. Besides,” you smiled, “I can’t afford to pay for three days’ worth of labor.”

He smiled and nodded, “Alright. That sounds fair. In that case I could have you up and running by tonight.”

“Just in time for you to take me out for a drink?”

He smiled, “Yea. But I wouldn’t make you take your car for that.”

“Oh? You wouldn’t?”

He shook his head as he gestured towards the row of motorcycles, “I’ll take you out on the town in style.”

You laughed, “Can’t wait,” you stood up off the stool, “I guess I’ll let you get to work then. I know I can be a bit distracting.”

“You’re a welcome distraction,” he nodded towards the building behind you, “If you wanna get outta the heat you can go wait in the clubhouse. My guys will take care of you.”

“Wow,” you tucked your hands into your pockets, “feel like I’m getting the royal treatment.”

He smiled, “Because you are,” he walked over to his toolbox and started taking a few things out, “I’ll come and get you when I’m done.”

You made your way over to the clubhouse. You glanced back over your shoulder and saw Bishop standing there, watching you walk away. You couldn’t help but to flash him a smile as you continued to make your way away from him.

When you pushed open the door to the clubhouse, suddenly everything began to make a lot more sense. You saw multiple men walking around with kuttes on, which explained why you got the feeling the place was a bit like the island of misfit toys. It took all kinds. However, despite the fact that it was home base for the local MC, it didn’t feel like an intimidating place to be. You felt perfectly comfortable as you approached the bar and took a seat.

“What can I get you?” the young man behind the bar offered you a sweet smile as he asked the question.

You clocked the prospect patch on his kutte as you looked him over, “Just water, please. Just trying to get outta the heat.”

“What brings you here? Don’t think I’ve seen you before,” he noted as he handed you a bottle of water.

You sighed slightly, “Car broke down,” you took a sip of your water, “One of your guys is working on it now, though. Bishop?”

The man behind the bar looked surprised, and the man who was sitting a couple stools down from you couldn’t refrain from making a comment. He turned towards you, “Damn, Bish is working on your car?” he chuckled, shaking his head, “Been a minute since I seen Pres get his hands dirty out there. You know him?”

You shook your head, “Don’t know any of you guys, actually.”

He moved to the stool next to yours, holding out his hand, “I’m Angel,” he nodded towards the man behind the bar, “That knucklehead is EZ.”

You laughed as you shook his hand, giving a courteous nod to EZ, “Nice to meet you both. I’m Y/N.”

The three of you sat and chatted while you waited for Bishop to finish up your car. You laughed as you listened to the two of them banter back and forth. For as much as you wished that your car hadn’t broken down, there were a lot worse people to be spending your afternoon with, so you really couldn’t complain.

“So I met Chucky and Coco,” you said as you sipped on your water.

“The dynamic duo,” EZ said with a laugh as he cleaned the glasses behind the bar.

“Is that right?” you asked with a smile.

“Nah, we all love Chucky,” Angel said, “But him and Coco are on the same wavelength sometimes. Shit’s weird.”

You were listening to the two of them dive into another story when a different voice cut through the conversation, “These guys bothering you?”

You laughed as you turned around to face Bishop, “Not at all. They’ve been perfect gentlemen.”

He raised one eyebrow as he looked back and forth between EZ and Angel, “I find that hard to believe.”

You chuckled, shaking your head, “What’s the verdict on my car, presidente?”

Angel and EZ biting back their laughter was audible. Bishop shot them a look but the serious expression only lasted for a moment as a smile broke out across his face, “So I see the three of you have been talking.”

“We have,” you leaned back against the smile, “I’ve also been informed that I have to be pretty high up on the totem pole in order for you to be the one to work on my car.”

He shook his head with a quiet laugh, “Something like that.”

“You decide to work on my car just because you thought I was cute, Bishop?”

“If I say yes are you gonna be mad?”

You laughed, shaking your head, “Not at all.”

“Then…yes.”

You couldn’t contain your laughter at his response. And you also couldn’t help but to notice the surprised looks on the faces of EZ and Angel as they watched you and Bishop go back and forth. Something told you that the Bishop that you were talking to, wasn’t the Bishop that they were used to seeing. That in and of itself was very interesting to you.

“But in answer to your original question,” Bishop got the conversation back on track, “Your car should be good to go.”

“Perfect, thank you so much,” you hopped off the stool, “I’ll go square everything up with Chucky, then.”

Bishop shook his head, his hand catching you by the waist when you went to walk by him, “You’re all set.”

“Bishop,” you folded your arms across your chest, “I can’t just let you not charge me.”

He nodded slowly, “Alright. First round is on you tonight then. Deal?”

You nodded, knowing that that was as much as you were going to be able to get him to budge, “Deal.”

“Let me go clean up and change. I’m sure these two can keep you amused in the meantime.”

You laughed, nodding, “I think so.”

He let his fingers trail lightly across the small of your back as he walked away. This time it was your turn to watch him, biting down lightly on your bottom lip as you did. You stepped back and found your seat once more at the bar, not able to return your attention to the men in front of you until Bishop was completely out of sight.

“Seriously,” Angel said with a laugh, “who are you?” he shook his head, “Never seen Bish flex so hard around someone.”

You laughed, “It’s because he knows he’s on a time crunch. Can’t play the long-game.”

“Time crunch?” EZ spoke up.

You nodded, “Yea, I’m just passing through. Honestly, Santo Padre wasn’t even really a stop I was planning to make before my car shit the bed,” you chuckled with a shrug, “But now that I’m here I might as well make the most of it. Told Bishop I’d budget in some extra time here if he could make it worth my while.”

“Damn,” Angel shook his head with a smile, “you really put him on the spot like that, huh?”

“He certainly didn’t seem to mind,” you laughed.

“Yea, I’ll bet he didn’t,” there was a knowing smirk on Angel’s face as he lifted his beer bottle to his lips.

Before you could try to pry further into what he meant by that, Bishop reappeared in a fresh set of clothes and his kutte. You couldn’t hide the fact that you were gawking at him as he approached you. He smiled as he approached you, holding out a hand to help you hop down off the stool.

“Ready if you are.”

You nodded, “I was born ready,” you laughed as he draped an arm around your waist and guided you back towards the door to the clubhouse.

“Anywhere in particular you’re looking to go?”

You shook your head, “You’re calling the shots tonight, Pres.” You heard Angel let out a whistle from the bar at your statement and you couldn’t help but to laugh. You turned to look at Bishop as the two of you exited the clubhouse, “Your guys seem pretty happy for you.”

He chuckled and shook his head, “Yea, something like that.”

You let him guide you over to the bikes. You weren’t sure if you should mention to him that you had never ridden one before. But he must’ve seen the look of slight apprehension on your face because he gave you a reassuring smile as he handed you a spare helmet.

“It’s not that bad. Just hang onto me and you’ll be fine.”

You smiled at him as you clipped the helmet on, “That sounds like an easy direction to follow.”

He got onto his bike and helped you to do the same, giving you a moment to get situated. You draped your arms lightly around his waist, but the second the bike roared to life your hold on him instantly tightened, causing him to laugh. He checked one last time that you were good to go and once you said yes, he shot out of the compound. You were holding onto him so tight that you were afraid you were going to crack one of his ribs, but he didn’t say anything.

A few miles into the ride, you finally loosened your hold on Bishop a little, allowing him to breathe with ease. You could feel his body vibrating with laughter as you slowly found your comfort.

“You good, sweetheart?”

You laughed as you leaned against him, “All good.”

Of all the towns that you could’ve gotten stranded in for an afternoon, you were glad that it was Santo Padre. And if there was anyone worth switching up your travel plans for, you had a feeling that it was Bishop.

#mayans mc #mayansmc #mayans fx #mayans mc imagine #bishop losa #bishop x reader #bishop losa x reader #bishop losa x you #obispo losa #obispo losa x reader #obispo losa imagine #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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pascalpanic · 3 years

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Caffeine Rush: Chapter One / Americano

Javier Peña x f!Reader

Summary: Working a dull December morning shift, you meet a seemingly disgraced DEA agent by the name of Javier Peña.

Warnings: Language, talk of death and canon-typical Narcos violence

W/C: 2.3k

A/N: YOU GUYS i am so excited to share this story with you all!! i fuckin love Javi and coffee so this features my two favorite things! big thanks as always to my beta readers for helping me out- especially with chapter 2 (which i was stuck on for 3 weeks lol). I hope you guys enjoy! this story has some twists I don’t think y’all are gonna see coming ;) I’m planning to update this fic once a week! I just wanted to get chapter one out there :)

previous chapter || next chapter || masterlist

Americano: espresso and hot water; has a similar taste to a brewed coffee, but still darker and more caffeinated thanks to the espresso.

Work is blissfully slow on weekdays, allowing you to putz along at your own speed. Today, however, is boring as hell. You’d had approximately seven customers since the morning rush, meaning about seven drinks to make. There weren’t even tables to clean, no customers having sat in the cozy coffeeshop. You and your coworker had joked around, swept and mopped, and cleaned the espresso machines twice each.

At this point, with nothing else to do, you sipped your third peppermint mocha while perched atop two stacked milk crates, leafing through your worn copy of The Great Gatsby. It was a common occurrence when evening rolled around, but rarely so early in the day. Since you were the one on barista duty, Mandy kept watch for customers and allowed you to relax with your book. It was routine for the two of you. She mindlessly fusses with the product wall and the coffee grinder, cleaning everything for the third time.

The door opens and you pop up from your makeshift chair excitedly. The weather is blustery and cold, with heavy snowflakes starting to fall outside the large windows, and the man who enters is pulling his jacket tight around himself. He looks up and you quickly dodge behind the espresso machines before you can make eye contact. It’s instinctual, and you’re unsure why until your brain reminds you of the man’s face. He’s handsome, even though you got maybe a second’s look at him. Dark brown hair and a neatly trimmed mustache, eyes an even darker shade to complement his tanned skin.

You bite your lip and grab a large ceramic mug, bringing it to the espresso machine. No one would be crazy enough to order a cold drink in this weather. Mandy takes his order and a few seconds later, his receipt pops up through the printer at your end of the shop:

Ticket 114 - 12/3/93

Name: Javier

LG-Redeye

!memo: darkroast

Javier. The name suits the man, you think to yourself and smile as you begin prepping the espresso for his drink. As you walk to Mandy’s station to fill the mug with drip coffee, she smiles and nudges your side. “Isn’t he cute?” She murmurs. You look at the printed ticket then at the coffee warmers: there’s no dark roast.

“Very,” you giggle a little and fill the mug with light instead. He’s seated in the corner. “I call dibs,” you tease, and Mandy shakes his head. She’s married, but she knows your type, and it’s exactly the man sitting there, staring at a newspaper.

“Yeah, okay,” she shakes her head but smiles at you. “No wedding ring either. I think you should bring his drink to him instead of calling out the order.”

Staring down at the filling mug, you shake your head. “We’ll see,” you chuckle softly and return down to your end of the bar, pouring the two shots of espresso. “Javier?” You call in your barista voice, and the man lifts his head and walks to the bar.

“That’s me,” he says, a small begrudging smile on his face.

“Hi,” you chuckle and hold up the mug. “We’re out of dark roast right now, so I had to use light. Could I put some flavoring or cream or sugar in there for you?” You offer. “Otherwise, I can most definitely make you something else. An americano maybe?”

He pauses for a second. “Yeah, an americano would be great,” he nods. “What kind of flavors… are there?” he asks.

“Oh, we have a ton,” you say enthusiastically, grabbing the syrup rack and pulling it your way. “Any of these. Hazelnut, vanilla, raspberry,” you smile, rattling off the flavors, “otherwise we also have caramel and any flavor of chocolate.”

Javier raises an eyebrow as he looks at the small display. “Never been somewhere with so many options. Could I do dark chocolate and cream?” He asks, and you nod.

“Of course,” you tell him, dumping the previous mug and grabbing another. “I’ll have that right up for you. You can head back to where you were sitting,” you inform him.

He shakes his head. “I can wait here. Save us both a trip.”

You nod. “Sure,” you say with a smile, prepping more espresso. “The redeye and americano are pretty different in caffeine though, the americano is going to have more since there’s more espresso.”

“I just need as much caffeine as I can get. Tough day ahead,” he nods.

“I’ve been told bartenders and baristas are wonderful ears to listen,” you offer, a sweet smile on your face.

His guard has fallen like a wrecking ball through a house of cards at the way you smile. “Well, I’m with the DEA.” It feels strange, openly admitting that around here. Colombians weren’t exactly welcoming to American agents, but it felt like citizens around here saw them as some kind of superhero.

Your eyes light. “Shouldn’t it be a fantastic day for you then?” you ask. “I mean, it’s all over the news. Escobar. Do you know the guys in the photo?” You ask with excitement in your voice.

He nods. Escobar was killed yesterday, and it’s all over the news, including the paper back at his table. “Yeah. The blonde guy in the red shirt is actually my work partner. It’s a tough day because I didn’t get to be there when it happened. I’ve been down in Colombia for years now, and they catch Escobar two days after I leave.”

The smile on your face turns to a frown. “That’s… awful,” you nod, eyes full of sadness for him. “I’m so sorry. At least it must be nice to be home?” you ask, tilting your head slightly and pouring the espresso shots into the mug.

He shakes his head. “D.C. isn’t home. I’m from Texas,” he admits, and the way he speaks finally registers as a slightly slowed speech pattern from the area. “I’m happy for Steve though. The blonde one, my partner. He deserves it. We’ve been down there for… Jesus,” he sighs and looks at the ceiling as he counts the years, “well, a while now. Couple of years. I fucked up, bad. Honestly, I think I’m up here to get fired.”

You frown slightly as you pump the chocolate into the hot espresso and water, swirling it around with a spoon. “You worked on Escobar for years?” you ask, and Javier nods. “Well, then I personally doubt you’d be getting fired. You guys just caught him, everyone must be in a good mood. I guess it depends on how bad you fucked up,” you shrug as you tap the spoon into the sink and bend down to grab the cream.

“I… do you know who Los Pepes are?” he asks. You shake your head as you stand, pouring some cream into the steaming drink. “Well, they’re a radical group who did some crazy shit to try to weaken Escobar, and I got involved with them. I have a meeting today with the review board.”

You finally make eye contact with him, wincing for him. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound great,” you admit with a chuckle, putting the cream back in the little refrigerator beneath you.

“It’s not.”

“It’s not necessarily why you got called up here,” you shrug and grab a saucer, putting the mug on top of it and on the bar for him to take.

“Well, I don’t know, I suppose,” he agrees and takes the drink from you.

You shrug. “Best of luck, Javier,” you tell him with a genuine smile of encouragement.

He nods, looking at your name tag attached to your apron. He murmurs your name before looking back up at your face and into your eyes. “Thank you.” He takes his drink and returns to his table, and you sigh and return to your makeshift chair in the corner.

Mandy pulls up two crates next to you, sitting down across from you with gleaming eyes. “Did it go well? You two talked for a while,” she asks, raising her eyebrows and encouraging you to tell her more.

“A little, but just… how I would with anyone, I guess,” you shrug as you sip your mocha for a moment, drinking the last of the warm coffee. “Not like I got his number or anything.”

“He’s sitting down to drink his coffee. Go offer him a refill when he’s done.”

“That would require me to stare at him, Mandy, and I think he’d notice that,” you shake your head as you stand to make yourself a new drink.

She stands with you, pushing the crates out of the way. “I’ll keep an eye on him for you. I’ll signal to you when he’s done or getting low on coffee, and you can bring him a refill. How does that sound?” she asks you.

You nod with a sigh. “Since you’re apparently not going to let this go, fine. I will.”

Mandy claps her hands together excitedly. “Yay!” She sings. “Oh, will you make me a drink while you’re at it? I’ll have a-”

“Skim hazelnut latte with no foam and light whip,” you recite before she can finish her order.

“You’re a babe,” she sings and heads over to clean the tables that haven’t even been touched since she wiped them an hour ago.

You make her drink and set it aside, then work on your own, fourth coffee. The peppermint and the coffee swirl together deliciously in the air, fitting the weather and the time of year. It’s December, and the snow outside and the warm feeling from the man across the coffee shop contrast in your heart. You sneak glances at him a couple of times, biting your lip to hold back a smile as you admire the handsome face peeking above the newspaper he reads.

About ten minutes later, you look up from cleaning the machines to see Mandy tucked behind a wall where he can’t see her. She’s frantically waving at you, pointing towards Javier once she catches your attention. Go, she mouths excitedly, beaming at you.

You wipe your hands on your apron and walk to where she stands. “Fine, I will, but you’re making the drinks if anyone else comes in.”

“Oh no, how will I handle it?” She asks in a deadpan, eyeing the shop that’s empty except for the two of you and Javier. “Go,” she says, giving you a light shove and giggling.

You shake your head but walk over, placing a hand lightly on the table. “Coffee’s looking low. Could I get you a refill?” you offer.

Javier looks up at you, and you feel like turning to jelly as you look into his big brown eyes, filled with confusion but also admiration. He furrows his brow, creating small creases between his eyebrows. “Uh… sure. How much is it?” he asks, reaching for his wallet and setting down the newspaper.

You put a hand on his arm, giving a gentle smile. “You need it. It’s on the shop,” you tell him.

“No, seriously, what, like $5?” he asks, but you put a hand over his.

“No, Javier,” you chuckle lightly. “Don’t worry about it. Another americano with chocolate and cream?” you ask.

“Uh… make me whatever you like best. And bring one for yourself too.” He says, well, really asks, nodding to the empty chair across from him. “It’s not too busy to talk, is it?”

You swallow hard before you break into a grin. “No, not at all. Uh… do you like peppermint?” you ask.

“Peppermint is good,” he says, giving you a small smile.

“Perfect,” you smile softly at him, picking up his empty mug and saucer. “We have a peppermint mocha, it’s seasonal. It’s my favorite, I’ll be right back with them,” you say, giggling softly and biting your lip as you turn and walk back to the bar.

You’re hidden behind the espresso machines as you finally grin and giggle, and Mandy rushes to your side. “Oh my God,” she laughs happily. “He’s so hot. What were you guys talking about?”

“He asked me to sit with him,” you giggle excitedly, preparing four espresso shots.

She nearly squeals with excitement, grabbing your arm closest to her. You scoop some chocolate chips and pour milk into a pitcher, putting it under the steam wand. “Holy shit. What has he told you so far? What’s his story?”

“Well, he said he’s a DEA agent. He’s on leave from work right now, but the guy in the red shirt in that picture of Escobar after they killed him? That’s his partner,” you tell her, letting the excitement speed your words up. “He’s been in Colombia for a couple of years working on it. Isn’t that cool?” You laugh.

“So cool,” she nods in agreement. “And he’s so fucking cute. Girl, you need to get your ass back there before I steal him myself.”

You laugh as you pour the shots and then the steamed milk into the mugs. “I’m trying, but you holding onto one of my arms is holding me back, love,” you tease her and she breaks away. You top both mugs with a perfectly peaked whipped cream layer, then sprinkle candy cane pieces and chocolate chips on top. “Wish me luck,” you practically sing as you walk back with a mug for each of you.

Javier’s holding back a grin himself as you make the drinks. He can see your head bobbing along behind the bar, the other woman chatting with you. He’s more transfixed than you than he should allow himself to be, but all fears fade as he sees you approaching with a grin and two large, whipped cream-topped drinks.

You set the drink down in front of him and he smiles at you. “Wow. This…” he looks down at it and smiles a little. “Well, it looks sweet.”

“I have a sweet tooth,” you admit with a soft laugh and sit down, taking a sip and sighing softly. “It tastes like winter. I love it.” He nods and takes a sip too. It’s sweet, but not as bad as he expected. “I added extra espresso to yours,” you tell him, a shy smile on your face.

“A woman after my own heart,” he chuckles and sets it down, licking the foam off of his mustache.

You smile a little wider at that and hold back a laugh. “Did you want to talk about the meeting?” you ask him, tilting your head, your expression softening.

Javier’s already falling, and he curses himself as he looks at you. Not a thought except him. He’s already thinking of a sly way to get your number. “No, not really. I just spilled basically my entire life story to you.”

“Then you’ve had a very short and boring life. That was hardly anything. I’ve had customers come in and cry over divorces or lost family members; the whole job situation was mild,” you chuckle and admit, tracing the rim of the mug with your fingertips and staring down at the steaming drink.

“Really? You seem like a therapist and a barista in one,” he teases lightly.

“Well, I did just graduate with a Masters in psychology,” you shrug. “I just graduated with it from Georgetown. That’s why I’m here,” you tell him and look up. “Working here part-time while I decide what I want to do.”

“No shit. I did my undergrad in psych and sociology,” Javier says with a small smile, making your smile grow too. “Texas A&M though. Nothing as prestigious as Georgetown.”

“A&M isn’t anything to sneeze at,” you chuckle as you look over at him. His eyes are deep-set, deeper than they probably normally are. They’re bloodshot and hold bags beneath them. After a breath, you bite your lip and look him in the eye. “You look tired. I don’t know you normally, I understand. Maybe you shouldn’t finish this,” you tell him with a concerned smile, scooting his mug towards you. “Too much caffeine.”

“No, I need it, please,” he says, tugging it back and sipping at it again. “Just… until after this meeting. Then I’ll know what my future holds, then I can rest.”

“What time is it at?”

“5:00.”

There’s a beat of silence. “I don’t have any plans tonight,” you say gently, looking at him with a question in your eyes. “Would you like to get dinner? Talk things out, once you know what your future holds?” You offer, a soft smile and hopeful eyes. “I already know enough about you. This could be practice therapy for me,” you tease softly.

Javier thinks for a second, though he knows what the answer will be. At least pretends to think, surprised that you could hear all he had said about Los Pepes and working in Colombia and that you still offered. “I’d like that,” he nods, his voice soft when he looks at you. “I don’t know the area well. You’ll have to tell me where.”

“Do you have a car up here?” You ask him, and he shakes his head. “I can pick you up,” you offer. “Where are you staying?”

He grabs a napkin and pats his pockets for a pen. You hand him the paint pen tucked on your apron and he quickly thanks you before writing down the address to the hotel. You take the napkin and the pen and grab another napkin. “And this…” you say and write down your phone number, sliding it to him, “is where you’ll call me when you’re ready for me to come get you. Okay?” You ask.

Your voice is so soothing, Javier thinks. More than sleep or reassurance or even a hit of Escobar’s private stash or really anything could be to him right now, it’s a comfort. You must be a miracle, he thinks, some kind of blessing for something he isn’t quite sure of, but he must have done something right in the eyes of the Almighty to be here, right now, talking with you. “You know, I was raised Catholic,” he tells you and leans in a little. “I don’t know that I am anymore. But still… I think you might be an angel in disguise.”

Biting your lip, you giggle and look down. “I don’t know about that,” you chuckle as you look up at him again. “Just… right place, right time, maybe. I’ll see you tonight, okay?” you ask him, placing your hand over his and standing.

Javier nods as he looks up at you. “How should I dress?” he asks and tilts his head. His eyes are so expressive, you notice and smile a bit. They betray exactly what he’s thinking.

“Um… what you’re wearing now would be fine. A button down and jeans would work,” you tell him with a nod, patting his hand and picking up your mug. “I’ll see you then. Good luck,” you tell him with a sweet smile and retreat to the back. Javier can’t say anything in return, just sips his peppermint mocha.

Three minutes later, you return with a muffin. “Eat this. You can’t have all that caffeine and no food.”

“Thanks,” he chuckles and looks down at it. You’re gone when he looks back up, and he breaks off a piece. What a weird day. It’s only about to get weirder.

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notmrskennedy · 3 years

Text

Friendliness

A/N - ha so i just wrote this - no editing we die like men. here’s the alternate ending to my other post Likeability (this one is the more predictable one y’all will probably like whoops) if you’ve read the other one, just skip to the end it’s all the same in the middle

Summary - The Team meets a very unfriendly scientist which Spencer’s taken a fancy to

W/C - 2.9k (whoops)

Warnings - Mild Anatomy/bones/etc discussion, a pinch and change of swearing

----

Luke is holding his stomach in his hands. He could usually pride himself on keeping his cool, keeping his head—and stomach—together during a case. He’d seen enough dead bodies that this shouldn’t have thrown him like he’d just sailed twelve foot waves in a dingy.

But he is, after all, standing over a mass grave. Watching a too giddy scientist dig up the bodies.

You’ve captured everyone’s attention, for various reasons. Rossi is vaguely amused by your joyous shouting of bones and your rat moustached assistant. Luke can’t tear his eyes away from the car wreck—are you supposed to swing bones around like baseball bats? Reid seems more interested in your bad jokes and coveralls than he is in solving the case.

The rat assistant—Stewart Walsh—squeezes between Luke and Reid, scuttling like some kind of diseased turtle. “Doctor Y/L/N!”

You barely stop pouring over the mud covered pelvis in your hands to even acknowledge him.

“I just thought you should know that Dr. Evanston just got here.”

You look up, toss the bone to him, and snort. “Tell him the soil samples are four miles due east from here.”

“What’s wrong with Evanston?” Luke asks to no one in particular it seems, waving Stewart off to run for a group of approaching nerds in coveralls.

Ignoring the question or maybe Luke, you just turn back to your search. Elbow deep in mud, being nice must not have been on the to-do list. Reid leans over, hands in his pockets, and whispers, “Evanston stole one of her research papers. I thought he was going to get his teeth kicked in—“

“Skull!” you holler. Luke isn’t stupid enough to miss the glare reserved for the sheepish Dr. Reid.

He clears his throat. “Thoughts so far, doctor?”

“I’m thinking beetles,” is all you say before turning back to your skull. Luke might not know many scientists, but he doesn’t think that most of them look at human skulls like its the Mona Lisa. Like this fat piece of bone held the answers to the universe inside its empty eye sockets.

“Beetles?” Luke coughs. Rossi just shakes his head. Pretends this isn’t a conversation he’s having. Reid is still studying you like Luke might study infiltration schematics. Stewart runs up, out of breath, very rose coloured.

You’re eyes are sparkling as you wade over to them with a new radius bone in your hands. Everyone bends like they know what they’re looking at and you point along the edge of the bone. “It’s a subtle difference but these bones have been cleaned before being buried. My guess is carrion beetles. They’re very hard workers. And—“ you switch to pointing at the radial head— “minute scoring and kerf marks. These look pretty old, so I’m assuming we’re getting close to the bottom.”

“So our unsub dismembered his victims,” Rossi begins, “then cleaned the pieces?”

You nod and hand off the bone to a very blushing Stewart. “I won’t know for sure until I’ve had a chance to examine all the bones. There’s nothing definitive yet. What a hobbyist though, right?”

You chuckle to yourself and dive back into fishing out more finger and wrist bones. Luke turns, runs his hands over his face, and hikes a thumb over his shoulder. “Where did we find her?”

Rossi shrugs, “FBI easter egg hunt.” Luke blinks, while Rossi chuckles at his gullibility. “Come on, the doctor’s the best in the field. Good kid, I can tell.”

“Y/N’s great,” Spencer absently adds on, too busy staring at you. You’re explaining different types of dismemberment to Stewart like you’re discussing the rain. Luke grips onto his stomach just a little tighter.

“Y/N, huh?” Luke teases, momentarily forgetting the unsettling feeling in his gut about you. “You two, uh, friends or something?”

It’s Reid’s turn to stumble. “Yeah, but it’s—we’re just—we’re just—.”

Rossi shakes his head, slaps Reid on the shoulder. “Oh yeah, just friends. So, tell me. Do you talk about dismemberment before or after you make out?”

JJ wants to beg Emily not to make her go down into the basement. You’re down there. She knows it’s childish to be this avoidant—you are just a person after all. A creepy, psychopathic weirdo that makes JJ’s gut churn. She gets why Spencer’s taken to you—shared love of science and random trivia. She does. But that doesn’t mean JJ enjoys the cold ass morgue, smiling along as you ramble. Most of everyone’s limited contact with you has involved random facts and Stewart’s too intimate knowledge of fracture patterns.

There had been ten minutes of reassurance from Emily that you were, in fact, not a horrible person. Ended with JJ making the cold and dark trek down to the morgue. She couldn’t imagine working down here all day long. No one to talk to, no one to strategise with, no where to go. Maybe it suited you. No one would have to listen.

“—don’t know what to do!” echoes across the bottom of the stairwell, the morgue’s doors cracked open. The distress breaks JJ’s heart. Your voice stops her dead in her tracks.

“They don’t hate you,” Spencer’s voice comes after. Gentler, softer. “They—they just don’t know you yet.”

“They don’t want to, Spence!” and JJ winces with the words. It always hurt more when the truth came out in that tone. “I get it! You know? I work with human remains and don’t bring my people skills with me when I’m on the job, but—that shouldn’t matter!”

JJ winces again, tries to ignore how those are nothing short of teary sniffles echoing through her ears. She leans back against the wall and has no idea what to do. Spencer had obviously been down here for hours. Knew you well enough to get the teary truth. What could she do now? Interrupt?

She’d walked into hostage situations less freakin’ stressful than this.

“You’re right,” Spencer soothes, steadfast and strong, “it doesn’t matter. This isn’t—“

“It’s not your fault,” you sigh. JJ doesn’t want to hear the strangled touch to your voice. Doesn’t want to hear the break. “They’re your friends and I’m just your—“

“Doctor!” Stewart calls and JJ could scream. You’re his what?

At least, it’s as good as any moment to intrude.

“What, Stewart?” you snapped, already broken away from Spencer with wet cheeks and stained glasses. You wipe them off haphazardly with the tail end of Spencer’s sweater sleeve—JJ couldn’t help but smile, even if it’s a little strangled.

Stewart jumps like a wet cat and tosses a bundle of files into your hands. “Beetles.”

One word snatches the tears from your face. Snatches you away from Spencer’s side for one of the dozen skeletons on the tables. There was no reason to think that she’ll get her report from you now. With a rib bone in one hand and contemplation in your features—JJ can’t decide how unnerved she is—you’re a little too concentrated.

Stewart scuttles around you. A little too attentive. A little too cherry tinted. Yep. No reports to be had from either of you. JJ turned to Spencer instead, hoping that maybe he’d be helpful. Plastered up like a billboard, JJ knows that saccharine smile isn’t going to get her anywhere.

“Spence?”

He hums, halfheartedly tearing his eyes away. “Yeah?”

“I need the latest report for Emily, but I don’t think—“

“I’ll—just a second, JJ.” Spencer grins, sugary sweet, and slips away. JJ doesn’t miss how he places a hand on your shoulder as he passes. How you barely even notice that quite intimate contact. She also doesn’t miss how Stewart’s face sours at the action, how his eyes narrow enough that Spencer feasibly should’ve noticed.

Reports in hand a minute later, JJ leans over to Spencer. Elbows him in the arm. “Stewart seems pretty jealous. Any reason for that?”

Spencer shrugs. “Wouldn’t know a thing about it.”

Rossi doesn’t have an opinion. Everyone keeps asking—oh Rossi, you’re the wisest of us all, what should we do about poor little Y/N? He doesn’t know, doesn’t care. You are just some scientist who is doing a thousand percent better job than any other forensics ‘expert’ he’s had the pleasure of working with.

Your lab doesn’t smell. You don’t smell. Is there anything more to ask for?

But he does get the brute of having to make the trek down to the morgue—god, his knees alone—and receives most of the reports from the not as horrible as everyone thinks Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. Who is joyfully humming while squinting over one of the skeleton’s hands.

“Hey, doc,” he calls and you look up at him with an adorable sort of grin. “Got anything new?”

“Sure,” you chirp. Hesitate to wave him over. “If you want the details, that is.”

Rossi shakes his head, pulls up a stool to sit next to you and your subject. “I like to have as much knowledge as I can. You never know what will lead you to your un-sub.”

You settle your elbows on the table, straighten a stray finger bone. The team shouldn’t be worried about you being a psychopath. You’re dedicated, careful, attentive. Rossi hopes that if he ever gets turned into human remains, you’re the one looking over him. There’s been more care put into one skeleton than into his three combined marriages.

“You’re in luck,” you answer, “I’ve got a lot to tell you about our attacker. You’ve got time, right?”

Rossi nods, smiles. “Plenty.”

Penelope still hasn’t met you and that kind of pisses her off. You haven’t made it upstairs once? She flies into some dingy Wyoming hovel of a police station for like a week and no one’s thought to bring you upstairs? Rude.

She’s sitting in JJ’s desk chair, waiting for her and Luke to get back from interviewing a potential lead—some ex-felon who fit your makeshift profile. Reid’s scouring over some boring geographical profile, trying not to get annoyed as she nervously—angrily—rants about the case to him. She knows he’s tuning her out, but her work’s been put on the back burner until someone comes up with something to give her.

There’s only so much a computer can find and she’s no profiler.

It’s about five minutes after Reid snapped and left to get a coffee refill, when she picks up a call from the desk. “Hello?”

Creaking metal and shuddering breathing comes first. “Set the scalpel down” comes second. She swallows, silent, and panicking. What the heck is she supposed to do? Paying attention to those hostage negotiation seminars that she definitely didn’t go to would’ve come in handy right about now.

Said scalpel clatters onto some metal table, followed by a strong, “You really don’t want to do this. Please put the gun down.”

Oh god, this is happening.

“You just—“ a male voice snips, bellowing out, “YOU DON’T LOOK AT ME.”

“I do look at you, Stewart,” you plead just as JJ and Luke clamour through the bullpen’s door. Penelope puts the call on speaker, mutes it, and screams for them.

“I don’t know what to do,” Penelope sobs professionally, “someone’s got a gun.”

JJ runs for Emily’s office while Reid returns heedlessly. Luke puts a soft hand on Penelope’s cold one and squeezes. Newbie or not, it’s appreciated as the man’s voice returns. “I’ve tried for so long to get you to—to just—just look at me! I’ve done so much!”

“I know, Stewart,” you ease and Reid tenses. Nearly drops his coffee. “It’s not your fault. You’ve worked so hard.”

“Yeah,” Stewart sobs; Penelope can only imagine how crazy this kid must be.

“Did you leave all those bodies for me, Stewart?” you question and everyone holds their breath. Luke squeezes harder on her hand. Reid’s twitching like a rabbit’s nose, a death grip on his mug, frozen as a Michigan pond.

Stewart sniffles. Probably nods. Penelope doesn’t know whether to run or sit or cry. She decides it’s probably cry, but instead her fingers start moving to record the call, trace the office origin.

“It was a great puzzle, Stewart, it was really genius. It was a fun case to follow, you know that.” You swallow hard, metal tinkles through the speaker. Please, Penelope begs, don’t let them kill each other. I haven’t met the doctor yet!

“Why did you kill these girls, Stewart?” your voice is so gentle and lulling Penelope almost forgets that she’s listening to you try to save your own life.

“I wanted you to look,” he says, sniffles. “I wanted you. I want you, Y/N. I want you to love me.”

It’s either her computer beeping or someone falling through a table or a gunshot. She doesn’t know. She’s crying too hard to care.

Tara doesn’t know when she started to run—probably just after JJ, Luke, and Reid barrelled passed her by the bathroom shouting about the situation—but she’s almost to the morgue doors, right on Reid’s heels. Lord almighty, she feels so stupid. She’d had enough little one on one chats with Stewart to know he was some sort of psycho in disguise. To know that something was wrong with that kid. No one could last more than three minutes with your grad student assistant without wanting to take an eyeball out—his or theirs it didn’t matter. She’d let herself believe you when you told her that all forensic anthropologists seem like that. That there was nothing to worry about.

Nothing to worry about her ass.

Luke’s the first to storm the morgue, expecting what Tara is: you, dead, on the floor with Stewart on the brink of killing himself. But they stop and they stare and Reid beams on with the absurd look on your face.

You’re shaking with rage, pointing a gun at a very unconscious, crumpled, bleeding Stewart Walsh. Your teeth are bared in what Tara would consider out of a comic book—ludicrous and of someone who’s completely lost their mind. JJ makes the mistake of asking if you’re alright.

“Alright?” you chirp, feral and ravenous. JJ and Luke shrink back as you shout, “I lived in Honduras for three years! This isn’t even the worst thing that’s happened to me. It’s my third fucking kidnapping!”

“T-third?” Luke croaks.

“Third!” you shout again and recklessly set your gun on the table. Spencer grins, which sets you off further. “I’ve been nice. I’ve been accommodating. But this is my fourth psychotic grad student! I fucking swear—!”

Stewart groans—thank god he’s alive—and Spencer, thankfully, rushes forward to catch you before you can take anything else out on the kid. Tara’s heard rumours about mysterious other instances of your being under arrest. Illegal transportation of goods was one thing, police brutality was another. The scalpel sticking out of his knee is bad enough.

She helps Luke haul Stewart to his feet, reeking of desperation and a much needed psych eval. JJ follows close behind, closes the morgue doors behind them. But not before they hear your muffled sobs and Spencer’s smiling.

“You got him, Y/N.”

“No, Spence,” you correct, and Tara can’t help but be proud, “I kicked the snot out of him.”

Emily is barely awake when she sees it. JJ’s soft breathing next to her is lulling by itself, let alone if you add in Rossi’s rhythmic snoring and Luke’s idle whispers of sleep talk. Emily could do with some sleep and maybe a few days off. They could all use a few days off, especially after coming to terms with the fact a grad student had killed 12 women just to get a little action.

From a scientist who freely admitted to enjoying the company of bones over real people.

Alive people.

No wonder Stewart had done what he’d done.

Emily turns in her spot, lays back against the wall of the airplane and the seat. After nearly five decades—she’s never thinking about that again—of plane rides, she can comfortably say she can sleep anywhere. With any amount of noise, or cold, or pain.

But her eyes are accidentally open when she peaks around the seat cushion. Spies the Wild Dr. Reid in his natural habitat, reading some ridiculously long book and…carding his fingers through your hair? He’s got a lock curled up around his finger, gently twisting it as he reads. You’re sleeping—knocked the fuck out—in his lap, gripping loosely onto his leg.

You deserve the sleep, Emily decides with a smile. You’d worked the hardest on the case, up for nearly four days with as little rest as you can manage. How Stewart managed to stay awake enough to attack you is beyond Emily. She’s missed out on a few hours just today and she’s losing the battle with her eyelids.

No one ever asked her opinion of you. Probably didn’t have to. You were not the easiest to like, but you’d captured her respect and a bit of her heart when you’d said at the beginning of the case: “I’m an excavator by trade—I’m at archeological digs most of the time—so it’s hard to wrap my head around the fact that these ladies are murder victims. I don’t think I’ll sleep until I’ve got names for them. And maybe the murderer on my table.”

Emily understood the unease, the apprehension. Why everyone was relieved when you’d turned down the plane ride she’d offered you. How they all bit back groans when Emily had insisted. But they’ll have to get used to it, Emily thinks and she settles again. Because they’ll see you again. No doubt about it. The way you’re wrapped up around Spencer, how you hold tighter when the jet bounces a touch, says just that much anyway.

#no editing lads #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #reid #reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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itsjustmyfantasyroom · 3 years

Text

Unlikely Lovers Chapter Two

It was been so much fun writing this series with @beccabarba . Thank you for putting up with my bad grammar and horrible spelling mistakes just to be thirsty with me over this amazing man.

Master List

Warnings: Slightly cranky Nick, Smut: Male receiving.

WC: 2713

Enjoy x

Neither of you were back at work until Monday morning, and you made the most of not working the weekend. Not much sleep was had on Saturday night, as you explored each other’s bodies, revelled in the sweet relief of finally acknowledging how you felt about each other. Nick eventually left your place on Sunday afternoon, with lingering kisses on the doorstep. Both of you were well aware that this wasn’t just a friends-with-benefits hook up, although neither of you were quite ready to admit to any deeper emotions yet. But you ended up messaging most of the evening too.

All of which made seeing him on Monday morning, in the bullpen of the 16th precinct, where you’d seen him so many times before, seem very surreal. He was already there when you arrived, getting his typical early start. He was standing at his desk, in a burgundy shirt and dark suit pants, his thumbs hooked in his belt as he teased Amanda about her taste in movies.

“I can’t help it if y’all are cowards,” Amanda was saying, as you approached. She leaned back in her chair and grinned at you. “Morning, Y/N, Nick was just telling me you couldn’t make it through the movie.” She shook her head good naturedly. “Cops who can deal with a crime scene but not a few zombies…”

You narrowed your eyes at her. “Next time, I’ll pick the movie,” you retorted, looking at her but refusing to meet Nick’s eyes. You didn’t trust yourself to look at him, especially while your movie night was the topic of conversation.

“What’s it gonna be, Dirty Dancing or something?” Amanda smirked.

“Maybe. I haven’t decided yet,” you retorted, going to sit at your desk. If Amanda had noticed that you’d not so much as greeted Nick, she didn’t say anything.

After you’d checked your emails, you watched Amanda get up from her desk to make a call on her personal phone, rolling her eyes as she walked towards the exit. You glanced across at Nick, but he was reading a paper file on his desk and didn’t look up. Probably just as well, since you had no idea how to talk to him in this setting, everything had changed. It was exciting, but it was unnerving too. A pang of nerves hit you in the gut: what if being around you at work made him change his mind? What if the reality of this was too much for him – or for you? What if he wasn’t sure, and just looking for comfort? He’d not dated much since his divorce, after all, and you were an unlikely pairing. Was that why he wasn’t acknowledging you now?

To calm your nerves, and take the edge off your tiredness, you got up to make a cup of coffee. There was a fresh pot ready and waiting. You were just pouring it into your cup when you felt – with your detective’s instincts – someone close behind you. Just before you turned, you felt his hands slide onto your hips, his fingers slipping just under the waistband of your pants. He was very close behind you, but not quite touching.

“Want a coffee, Detective Amaro?” you said, hearing the edge of nerves in your voice.

He leaned forwards, so his quiet words were close to your ear. “I had an amazing time on Saturday night,” he said, his voice warm. All the tension in you melted away at his words, his touch. “What’re you doing after work?”

You put your coffee down and turned on the spot, finding yourself face to face with him, his eyes meeting yours, his desire for you very apparent. “I don’t have any plans…” you told him.

“Would you like some?”

You smirked, your face growing hot. “What kind of plans?”

His mouth twitched into a cheeky smile. “I know what sort of plans you’re thinking about,” he teased. “But join me for a drink first? Maybe dinner?”

“Like a date?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, exactly like a date,” he nodded. He looked so handsome you just wanted to kiss him.

“And after the date…?” you asked.

“We can do whatever it is that’s currently going through your mind,” he winked and turned away before you could reply, heading back to his desk. He stood behind his chair, one hand on his hip, looking back at you. You shook your head, grabbed your coffee and started in his direction.

“Ah good, Y/L/N, Amaro, you’re both here. I need you to go out to Riker’s…” Liv walked through the bullpen, stopping near Nick.

You took a gulp of your coffee and put it on your desk. “Sure thing, Sergeant,” you said, glancing at Nick. “What for?”

“Barba needs you to revisit the confession you got yesterday. Make sure the details still check out. He wants to take it to a Grand Jury, but he’s worried it sounds too good to be true, like he was coached by someone on the inside.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “So Barba doesn’t trust us?”

Liv looked at him, “he just wants to make sure, Nick. It’s not about trust.” Nick nodded, though he was still frowning.

“We’ll get going now,” you said. “Come on Nick, I’ll let you drive…” You saw his face change when he realised he got to spend some time with you this morning, away from prying eyes. He grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his chair and slipped it on, following you towards the doors. You passed Amanda on her way back into the building.

“Where’s the fire?” she demanded, looking at you.

“Liv wants us at Riker’s,” you told her. “Checking the confession.”

Amanda rolled her eyes. “Barba’s being thorough on this one? I suppose it’s fair enough.” She paused. “Hey, are you guys free tonight? My family have finally decided to leave me be – we could catch up since we missed Saturday. Get a beer or something?”

“Oh, er…” you managed.

“Afraid I can’t. I’ve said I’ll go see my mom,” Nick said. Amanda turned to you.

“I’m really sorry,” you added, thinking quickly, “can we make plans for later in the week? I said I’d helped my cousin with his biology homework tonight, I can’t let him down.”

Amanda looked from you to Nick and shook her head. “Sure, guys, just me and my horror movies, I guess. I forget you both have families you actually want to see… See ya when you get back from Riker’s.” She turned and disappeared into the bullpen, as you and Nick hurried to the elevator.

It was usually only a half hour’s drive to Riker’s, but Nick took the Williamsburg Bridge and you hit traffic near Greenpoint that added another thirty minutes to the journey. By the time you arrived, Nick’s jaw had set impatiently. What had been flirty conversation for the first part of the journey had become professional preparations for your visit to Riker’s and then a settled silence as you reached the island. Visits to Riker’s always felt bleak; even hardened detectives weren’t immune to disgust at the conditions of the inmates there, many of them for minor crimes, or remanded awaiting trial.

As luck would have it, you were kept waiting, for reasons the corrections officers didn’t really explain. Nick, already frustrated, only got even more wound up, pacing the floor of the small room you were given to wait in. You already knew well enough that it was better to just leave him be when he was like this, so you sipped a Coke from the vending machine and just watched him walk back and forth, unable to help running your eyes up and down his form, enjoying just how well his clothes fit around that body you now knew intimately.

When you finally got to interview your suspect, he was resentful and much less in the mood for talking than he had been the day before. You let Nick take the lead; interrogation being one of his specialist skills, and one you’d had much less experience in during your time working Cold Case. Even without your attraction to him, you had a lot of admiration for Nick as a detective, one of the most intuitive and hardworking you’d ever met. His gut was usually right; today was no different and he found the holes in the supposed confession that could’ve made Barba’s whole case come tumbling down.

You were just ready to leave when deafening alarms sounded and two corrections officers hurried into the secure interview room. One grabbed your suspect and hauled him off towards the depths of the jail, the other came to talk to you and Nick, a sense of urgency in his words. “We’re going into lockdown, can I ask you both to come with me? I’m afraid you can’t leave the island until we’ve resolved the issue.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Nick protested.

“Afraid not, Detective,” the officer said, showing you into the small waiting room you’d been in before. Nick signed and slumped into a plastic chair, taking out his phone to call Liv with an update. You could see how tense his shoulders were, his brow settled into a frown as his call ended. You were frustrated too, but more because you were worried this would lessen his enthusiasm for tonight’s date. You did manage to lure him into conversation, as the time ticked by, but he would keep pacing the room, not happy with the enforced captivity.

Several hours later, it was already dusk as you finally got back in the car, heading back towards Manhattan, Nick muttering something about taking the Robert F Kennedy Bridge and the FDR as you set off. Although he was glad to be leaving, Nick was clearly still on edge. You watched him, driving, looking at his hands on the wheel, remembering what those fingers felt like on your body. Eventually he glanced over at you.

“What’re you looking at?” he said, a tiny smile curling his lips.

“You,” you replied.

“Why?” he asked “See something you like?”

“I think you know the answer to that” you purred reaching over resting your hand on his thigh.

Nick looked over at you for a moment taking his eyes off the road. He reached down grabbing your hand bringing it to his lips kissing the back of it and then moving to thread his fingers into yours, bringing both your hands down to rest on his thigh.

“I do know” he smirked. The car fell silent, the music filling the inside and you both looking out the window at the darkening sky and bright moon. Nick broke the silence first “Sorry about tonight, I was hoping we would have been back in the city way before now. I was looking forward to taking you out,” Nick sighed giving your hand a squeeze.

“It’s ok,” you squeezed his hand back. “But the night isn’t completely lost” you grinned “Around the next bend pull over.”

You saw the big grin pull to Nick’s face and he licked his lips. Nick drove around the bend and signaled to pull over on a small dirt clearing. He let go of your hand throwing the car into park, turning off the engine, and you both unclipped your seatbelts. Nick adjusted himself in his seat spreading his legs wider. You moved in your seat onto your side to face him, your hand resting back on his thigh running it up to his crotch.

Nick’s breathing hitched and he hooked his arm around your neck pulling you into him is lips landing on yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth twisting with yours. You swallowed his groans as your hand came up to cup him through his slacks, his cock instantly hardening at your touch.

Nick pulled back from your kiss and started to kiss along your jaw, down your neck in big wet open mouth kisses, nipping and sucking ever so lightly as he made quick work of undoing a couple of your shirt buttons, your red lace bra on full display. You reached up with both hands undoing Nick’s belt buckle, pants buttons and zipper sliding your hand down into his boxers and your hand wrapped around his long thick cock, pulling it out, his pre-cum covered tip glistening in the moonlight.

You turned your head, your lips ghosting his, Nick’s hot breath fanning your face and his right hand ran around to run up and down your back,

“I told you the night wasn’t completely lost,” you ran your lips against his while your hand lazily jerked him off.

“You’re such a good girl for me. You know how to make things better,” Nick said through hooded eyes, proving he’d remembered how you enjoyed his praise. You felt a hot throb of pleasure.

“Tell me why you were frustrated today Nick,” you purred into his lips as you twisted your wrist, making your way back up from his base.

“I told you,” he moaned bucking his hips up into your hand “I wanted to take you out.”

“And?”

“And-” Nick groaned loud, his head falling back into the seat, biting his bottom lip. “I have wanted you so bad all day”

“Is that so?” Nick nodded, his eyes closing and his mouth going slack. “I have wanted this amazing cock in my mouth all day.”

You pecked Nick’s lips, nipping his bottom lip before leaning down to take his tip into your mouth, your tongue flat, licking around him and taking him fully into your mouth relaxing your throat to take him as deep as you could and then making your way back up to his tip again. He reached over with one hand, pulling out your hair tie letting your hair flow down over your back and shoulders.

Nick rested his hand in the hair on the back of your head, threading his fingers into it, guiding your head up and down on him with no pressure, while his other hand worked its way down your shirt. His big warm hand running along your skin and slipping into your bra, massaging your flesh and toying with your nipple between his fingers,

“Y/N, you take my cock so well- that’s it, baby, just like that,” Nick moaned and groaned, his mouth open and eyes closed.

Nick started to roll his hips up into your mouth when he hit the back of your throat, his hand balling into a fist in your hair and he squeezed your tit, when you reached up cradling his balls, squeezing him lightly. You could feel your panties damping, your body on fire from Nick groping you and the feel of his cock on your tongue.

Nick pulled his hand out of your bra, both his hands going to the back of your head pushing you down on him, his thick curled hair tickling your nose while the car windows completely fogged up from his heavy breathing. Nick guided your head back up to his tip and then pushed you back down, your name, god and Spanish you didn’t understand spilling from his mouth, when his hot salty cum filled your mouth, running down your throat. You sucked him clean and pulled off him with a pop, using your pointer finger to wipe the corner of your mouth dry before sucking the tip of your finger.

You heard a growl rattle through Nick’s chest as he watched you and you gave him a wink. Nick’s hand went to the back of your neck pulling you down to him, pulling your lips onto his, the kiss deepening straight away and Nick groaned into your mouth when he tasted himself on your tongue. You broke the kiss and Nick tucked your hair behind your ear, his thumb brushing over your cheek,

“Let’s go back to mine so I can get a change of clothes and then I’ll take you home.”

“You’re inviting yourself for a sleep over?” you raised an eyebrow at him with a grin and he chuckled back at you.

“I don’t know how much sleeping we will be doing, but I can promise you baby, I will return the favour, hopefully more than once.”

Tags: @wanniiieeee @lovebishoplosamiguelgalindo @randofando-spoonie @alwaysachorusgirl @amorestevens @harryssxnflwr @teamsladsandgents @thatesqcrush @storiesofsvu @skittle479 @bisexual-dreamer02 @glimmerglittergirl @witches-unruly-heart @berniesilvas

#nick amaro #nick amaro x reader #nick amaro x you #nick amaro smut #detective nicolas amaro #nicolas amaro #svu x reader #law and order svu #SVU fanfiction #SVU FANDOM #svu fan #svu smut

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leupagus · 3 years

Text

I'm trying really hard to just finish the whole fic and post it in one go, so in exchange I'm posting snippets here, sorry/you're welcome

It's already at 45K so... yeah I don't know.

***

There’s a few familiar faces in the press box, and they seem pretty pleased to see Ted when he waves from the barrier. Trent, down in the front row with his laptop and that little screen they have for the replays, doesn’t notice him yet, so Ted calls out, "How y’all doing?" as Constantin lets him in.

That gets Trent’s attention, although sighing, "Oh, for fuck’s sake," and putting his hand over his eyes isn’t the welcome Ted’s been hoping for.

But Ted hasn’t gotten this far by turning back at the first fence somebody throws up at him, even if this is more like the seventeenth fence Trent’s heaved in his general direction. He takes the seat next to him and tries a smile, which is decidedly not returned. "So! This is what a game’s like up here. A lot different — down on the pitch you don’t get the height advantage, harder to see the players. Last game I lost track of Richard for five whole minutes in the last half."

Trent’s still looking at him with that sort of flat look he's got when he's waiting for Ted to stop making jokes at a press conference. "Do you need something?" he asks.

Ted shrugs. "Just enjoying the pre-game atmosphere." There’s a stack of magazines next to Trent’s computer; the top one’s open to a big glossy picture of Mikel, looking as handsome as ever. Maybe Trent’s already moved on from his crush on whoever it is at Richmond, although that doesn’t seem like Trent’s M.O. "Doing some research on the new coach? Or new to you, I guess, Mikel’s been here a year and a half now, right? I got to meet him in March at that away game last season — nice guy, even though Arsenal cleaned our clocks."

Trent seems to be doing his level best to ignore him, hunching further and further over his laptop.

"Look, Trent," Ted says, a little quieter now. "I just wanted to clear the air, you know?"

"Clear the air," Trent repeats, still not looking up.

"Just seems like you’ve been avoiding me, is all, and I hope I didn’t say anything or do anything to make you uncomfortable, and if I did—"

"Are you trying to apologize for making me uncomfortable while I’m in the middle of preparing to write a match report?" asks Trent, still typing even as he turns to look at Ted with a fairly irritable expression, it's got to be said.

Since that’s exactly what Ted’s done, he tries smiling again. "Sorry?"

"Sorry," Trent echoes, and turns back to his laptop. The last word he typed is ARGHJK, but Trent shuts it before Ted can inquire further. "I need to go do some interviews before the game, so." And with that very unsatisfactory end to the sentence, he high-tails it out of there.

"Was he sitting on a thumbtack or what?" Ted asks. The folks around him give him looks ranging from annoyed (which, fair enough, he’s probably not supposed to be in here) to amused (which he gets a lot) to pitying (which is more than a little confusing). Ted leans over to the row behind him, where Charles is typing with one hand while texting with the other. "You know what’s going on with Trent?"

"Yes," says Charles, not looking up.

"Game’s going to start in a bit," pipes up a reporter Ted doesn’t know.

He gets the hint. "Okay, well, thanks for all the hard work you guys are doing," he says as he gets up. "Best of luck. Break a pencil."

There’s a chorus of thank-yous and kind of pointed good-byes. He passes by Alicia on her phone; she covers the mouthpiece and says, "Nice seeing you, Ted, sorry nobody can chat."

"That’s all right, I just came to talk to Trent a little bit, see how he’s doing. We miss him over in Richmond." But she’s already gone back to her phone call. "All right, well, have fun guys."

"No, seriously Ted," says Alicia, covering the mouthpiece again and favoring him with a warm smile. "Get out."

"Okey-dokey," says Ted, and gets out.

The next morning, Ted reads the paper before heading out for the day. Trent's article about the game is great — it's always great — but there's a kind of pointed reference to the Arsenals doing so well this season that even Ted Lasso attended this last game, presumably because Richmond needs all the help they can get.

Whoever Trent's got a crush on isn't going to like that, he decides with a certain amount of satisfaction as he loads up his travel mug with coffee.

#ted lasso mothereffers #ficcage of interest #sports geezers in love #trent crimm: the independent #look it's not that I think Ted is dumb #it's that I think... I mean #he's smart in a lot of ways #maybe not this SPECIFIC way

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the-irken-pony · 3 years

Text

Hi I wrote a self-indulgent copperright fanfic based on a daydream

I totally didn’t learn the rules of poker just so I could write this fic what are you talking about

Quick summary: (Takes place during Terrence Suave’s time) Four Toppats opt for an afternoon of poker, but the group notices their friend acting unusual after a brief conversation with the chief’s right hand man.

Word count: 1998

Warnings: Gambling

“Alright, Macbeth, how much are ya putting in?” Gordon Smith smirked, fanning himself with the playing cards in his hand. “Unless you’re doing the wise thing and dropping out now.”

Mr. Macbeth huffed, skimming over his current stash of bills. “Hold yer horses, I’m tryna think.”

The man directly across from Macbeth grunted. “Let ‘im take ‘is time. He wouldn’t wanna drop out if he didn’t ‘ave to.” He gave a quick glance down at his hand; luck had favored him enough to grant him a straight flush, one of the best possible hands. “Could afford to think a little faster, though.”

Mr. Macbeth growled. “Alright, alright, fine.” Macbeth downed the rest of his soda and pushed forward half of his current earnings. “$600.”

“You sure about that?” Sledge MacRush raised his eyebrows. “When did you get so bold?”

“When y’all decided that rushin’ me was a better idea than just waitin’. Six hundred, final answer.

“Hm. Very well then. I’ll match you up on that. What about you, Smith?”

Smith chuckled sheepishly. “Aw man. I’m gonna have to drop out on this one. Promised Charlotte I wouldn’t bet more than $500 at a time.”

“What!? Come on, mate, you shoulda said somethin’ sooner!”

“Haha, yeah, I guess…”

“Well, after this round we can establish a limit.” Sledge gave him a sympathetic smile. “That leaves you, Red. You droppin’ out, too?”

“Nah, might as well stay. $600 for me as well.”

Of course, Red wasn’t actually the man’s name. People only called him that because of his naturally orange facial hair. People called “Red” all sorts of things, since he never gave his name out to anyone, not even close friends. He had to admit that he was hoping to have gotten a more consistent nickname by now, much like other Toppats. Even so, constantly changing nicknames was still better than telling someone his real name.

“So then, everyone else has bet already, eh? Alright, then, reveal your hands… now!”

Everyone around the table booth (except for poor Smith) laid their hands out on the table. Seeing the straight flush that the mustached man had laid out on the table, Sledge and Macbeth groaned as the nameless man chuckled.

“Maybe don’t put in half your cash next time,” he sneered.

Sledge huffed. “Remind me why we invite you to these things again?”

“Because you wouldn’t admit defeat if it left you stranded on an island with no way off.”

Sledge glared at the ginger from across the table as Smith let out a small chuckle.

“Touché.” He gathered up the cards and began to shuffle them. “Macbeth, you goin’ first this time?”

“Ahem. Excuse me.”

The group looked up from their game to see who had spoken. Standing next to the table booth was the chief’s new second in command, holding a clipboard and pen. He had only had his job for a week, but some Toppats were already calling him “the chief’s only good decision”. Admittedly, it was easy to see why just from a glance; he always stood in a very dignified manner, and every aspect of his appearance gave a sense of formality and professionalism--save for the bags under his eyes.

“Oi, Reginald, can it wait? We’re kinda in the middle of somethin’ ‘ere,” Sledge said as he continued to shuffle.

“Well, can you put it on hold? This is kind of important,” the right hand man replied, tapping his pen onto his clipboard.

Red shot Sledge a glare from across the table, prompting the latter to set down the deck of cards.

“Ignore him. Whatcha need, then?”

“What? Oh, right, right…” Reginald flipped through a couple of pages of his clipboard. “Mister Gordon Smith, the leader is sending you undercover tomorrow, and would like you to spend tonight preparing.”

“W-wait, tomorrow?” Smith stammered. “Why!?”

“Don’t ask me, I wouldn’t know,” Reginald yawned, rubbing his eyes. “He hasn’t given many details, he’s just said that he’s sent one other person already.”

“Why not pick someone else!?” Mr. Macbeth snapped. “It ain’t like everyone else’s busier than he is.”

“Easy, easy. I don’t mind doing it,” Smith assured him. Macbeth grumbled something under his breath as he crushed his empty soda can in his hand. Sledge crossed his arms and pouted. Seeing how tense the table was, Red cleared his throat to speak.

“So… one week into the job already, eh? How’sat been goin’ for ya?”

“I probably shouldn’t answer that,” Reginald muttered, looking over his clipboard. The redhead sat in uncomfortable silence, trying to think of a good response.

“…Cool.”

“Anyways,” Reginald said, “that’s all I needed from you. I won’t take up any more of your time.”

“Alright, thank you,” Smith replied. The group watched as the man left the table while staring at his clipboard.

“Guess we’ll leave it up to you, Smith,” Sledge said. “Do you wanna keep goin’ or would ya rather get an early start on prep?”

“Well…”

As the others discussed Smith’s plans for the day, Red watched the chief’s right hand pour himself a cup of coffee, drink the whole cup in one gulp, and then pour himself a second cup before putting in additives.

He furrowed his brow. How little sleep was the man getting? Given the chief’s current track record, it did make sense--other elite members often said that Reginald was eager to please, after all, but it seemed that the whole clan rested on his shoulders. He had only gotten brief glimpses of the right hand man in the past, but when he did he was always by himself hunched over a series of papers.

Yet, despite everything, a mere glance at him would give no indication of a struggle. He kept himself so professional-looking and neat; he always wore a fancy suit, and his mustache was styled to curl upwards at the ends. And that wasn’t even mentioning his delicate yet dignified posture whenever he stood or talked to--

“Oi!”

Red felt a sharp flick against the back of his head, yanking him away from his thoughts. He turned and glared at the man responsible, rubbing the spot where Sledge had flicked him.

“Ya awake over there, Foggy Eyes? We’ve been talkin’ at ya for like a solid minute now!”

“Oh, uh, were you?” “Foggy Eyes” sheepishly cleared his throat. “What’s up, then?”

“We were discussin’ plans with Smith.” Macbeth nodded his head in Smith’s direction.

“I’m good with going for one more round, if everyone else still wants to,” Smith said.

“Oh. Well, deal me in, then.”

“Alright, nice!” Sledge picked up the deck and began to shuffle.

“So what were you staring at over there, anyway?” Smith asked, lifting his head up to see over him.

“What? I wasn’t starin’ at anything.”

“No, ya definitely were,” Sledge chuckled as he combined two partial decks of cards. “You kept starin’ in the same direction since that guy left.”

“I-I just… zoned out, is all.” The ginger was starting to get nervous. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter.”

Macbeth squinted. “You’re actin’ awful strange…”

“Keep talkin’ and you ain’t gonna be actin’ anything,” Red snapped.

Next to him, Smith was deep in thought. “Sledge… say that last part again…?”

The ginger could feel himself getting warm. “W-wait, no, don’t--”

“‘You kept starin’ in the same direction’?”

“Nono, after that.”

“Don’t--”

“‘Since that guy left’?”

“Yeah, heh. That.” Smith nudged the hunched up man sitting next to him. “That have anything to do with anything?”

“Uhhhh…” The man slightly lowered his hat to try and obscure his face, which was already turning noticeably red. Sledge snickered.

“Oh, I see what’s goin’ on here,” he said with a smirk. “You don’t happen to fancy the chief’s right hand man, do ya?”

“I-- O-of course not!” he sputtered. “I-I just-- M-Macbeth, c’mon, back me up here, will ya?”

“Man, you were red as a tomato ‘fore anyone even said anythin’.” Mr. Macbeth leaned back in his seat. “I couldn’t defend ya if I wanted to.”

“Shut up, I was not!”

“Come ooon, admit it already!” Smith gave the flustered Toppat a light shove. “It’s not like we haven’t already caught on.”

“I-I, um-- I--” He pulled his top hat down over his face, which had risen to an unbearable temperature by this point. “I-I don’t-- I dunno, I…” he mumbled, getting quieter with every word, “I-I guess he’s, uh… k-kind-- kinda… sorta… r-really… c-cute…”

Sledge burst into a fit of laughter. “Oh man, I knew ya had a thing for ‘im, but I didn’t know it was that bad!”

“I-it is not…” By this point, the man’s face had turned to a brighter shade of red than his mustache.

“Well, go on,” Smith urged. “Whaddya like about him?”

“Mmmmrrrmmmppphhh…”

Mr. Macbeth couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “Gotta admit, never woulda ‘spected to see ya like this any day of the week.”

“Shutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutup…”

Smith laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “Well?”

“Ohhh my goood…” Red swallowed, trying desperately to compose himself. Knowing there was no way he was getting out of this, he forced himself to speak. “W-well, there’s, uh…” He couldn’t help but smile as he recalled the right hand man’s various features. “Th-there’s his-- his mustache, I-I guess… and-and his voice…”

Remembering that he was with three other people, he cleared his throat.

“Alright, all of you, listen.” He glared at the three Toppats. “Word of this gets out to anyone, and I’ll blow all your heads off. Understood?”

“Alright, alright,” Sledge laughed. “Wasn’t plannin’ on tellin’ anyone anyway, lover boy.”

Red froze. “I-- L-lov--!?” There were at least one hundred different insults he wanted to retort back, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get a single word to come out.

“Aw, don’t take it too hard, man,” Smith said. “If it means anything, I’d say you’ve got a shot.”

“Would ya?”

Smith placed a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, sure. I bet you two’d be really cute together,” he sang while nudging the ginger, who buried his flushed face in his hands.

“Oh my god, I hate you so much…”

“Alright, you two, enough already,” Macbeth told them. “Y’all’re gonna kill ‘im at this rate.”

Smith giggled. “Okay, okay. Really though,” he told Red. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. Take it from me--it took me years to ask Charlotte out on a date, and just last week we celebrated our second anniversary.”

The man smiled a little. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Smith looked down at his watch and frowned. “Oh man, I completely lost track of time, I gotta get ready.”

Sledge rubbed the back of his head. “I suppose that’s gonna mean you’ll need your phone back, then?”

“Yes, Sledge.” Smith crossed his arms. “Yes it will.”

Macbeth rolled his eyes. “I really don’t understand why ya keep takin’ it from ‘im.”

“It gets better signal than mine…” Sledge replied, hunching his shoulders defensively.

“There are better phones than his, y’know,” Red snickered.

“I can get his easier,” Sledge huffed. “Whatever. I’ll come along just in case it got lost in my room somewhere.”

“Thanks.” Smith glared. He turned to Red. “Anyways, keep your chin up, mate.”

As the group gathered their earned cash and got up to leave, Red’s mind drifted back to the chief’s right hand man. Whenever he saw him during work hours, he was always by himself. He didn’t ever see him not working either. Did he not have anyone else to help him with the workload? Or even to talk to?

Maybe Smith was right. Even if they didn’t start going out, he at least deserved someone to talk to and help him manage his workload. There was no good reason for him to have to do it all alone.

“Ahem.”

The group turned to Mr. Macbeth, who was standing next to the table, which was covered in scattered playing cards.

“Any of ya gonna help me get these?”

The group exchanged glances with each other.

“Nah.”

#thsc gordon smith #sledge macrush #mr macbeth #right hand man #reginald copperbottom #copperright #henry stickmin #the henry stickmin collection #thsc #fanfiction #tw gambling #shipping #oneshot #mine #ask to tag anything else

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pishufics · 3 years

Text

study date(s)

"Bertholdt knows that he needs to start trying. It’s junior year, and he’d rather not stay stuck in the same class next year as a senior. If he fails the next test, he’s in some shit. So, he's going to ask you for help."

pairing - bertholdt hoover x reader

tags - high school au, fluff, humor, texting

warnings - none

author’s note - this was just a one shot but i kept writing lol it kind of switches between you and bertholdt, but i don't directly say his thoughts, it's kind of like 2nd person omniscient if that's even a thing LOL

lmk how the texting reads, i'll change it if it's weird

reblogs and comments are appreciated ! mwah

ao3

chapter 1 - two days

reinah: I swear if you don’t just ASK her

Do you want to be held back?

bertoto: relax okay i’ll do it :(

r: Okay, okay

Lmk how it goes

b: i never said i was asking today

Bertholdt sighs and locks his phone once he sees Reiner start to type a reply.

Bertholdt is struggling with English, which surprises him. He’s a good student in every other class, but the moment Mr. Ackermann starts talking, he finds himself dozing off, missing the lecture. Recently, though, he’s awake in class, but still not paying attention. All his focus is on you, who sat in the middle of the classroom while he sat in the back, due to his height (he didn’t really mind, though; better chance of not getting caught asleep).

One day, due to some miraculous occurrence, the short, stern teacher actually had the boy’s attention, but not for long.

“Does anyone have number three?” Mr. Ackermann asked. Bertholdt definitely didn’t. He hoped someone would raise their hand so the teacher wouldn’t resort to calling a random name.

To his relief, you did.

“I think what the author was trying to convey was…”

Bertholdt didn’t really get what you were saying, but he admired your intelligence. You knew the material and could explain it in detail, while he couldn’t even recall the book's name in question.

He started to admire more of your traits - he gazed as you would lightly, but briskly, tap your foot in frustration when you didn’t know an answer and smile at the way your face relaxed when you finally got it. Seeing your motivation in class kickstarted his.

Bertholdt knows that he needs to start trying. It’s junior year, and he’d rather not stay stuck in the same class next year as a senior. If he fails the next test, he’s in some shit.

So, he's going to ask you for help.

...Tomorrow.

“Girl, I don’t have any more fucking gum. I drove up to Costco, bought the value sized pack, and you somehow managed to chew all of it.” You say exasperatedly, shutting your locker.

Sasha pouts. “Are you sureeee? There’s prolly half a stick left in your front pocket…”

You swat her hand away. “There’s. Nothing. Left. I promise.” She continues to stare at your bag.

“Fuckin-” You mutter, reaching into your bag and pulling out a snack-size bag of Cheezits. They’re one of your favorite snacks, but you know you can’t win when it comes to Sasha and food. You reluctantly hand the bag to her.

“Thanks, y/n!” She smiles and tears open the bag.

“Yknow, you can be annoying as shit, Sasha.”

She winks at you and eats her stolen prize. You turn to leave and head to 3rd period. English.

Hm. You’re usually greeted by your other best friend around now-

“Yeoooo!!” Oh, there he is. Connie daps you up before wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “What’s good?”

“I don’t really wanna go to 3rd," you answer. "Sasha stole my Cheezits."

“Does anyone really wanna go to any class? And that's your fault, you know you can't bring food without Sasha's fatass taking it,” Connie replies, and Sasha punches his shoulder.

“Okay, I know...have you started studying for the test?”

He blankly stares at you. Guess not. You have the same teacher, but different periods, so you can’t keep an eye on him.

“Nevermind. I’ll see y’all later.” You throw up a peace sign and head in the opposite direction.

It’s not like you’re bad at English, but you just don’t like school in general. You go to class to get your participation grade, then go home.

There might be another reason you tolerate 3rd period, though, and it isn’t the professor. (He is pretty fine, but he's an adult, so you don’t let your thoughts escalate).

Mr. Ackermann didn’t like assigning things online, so most of the work in this class was on paper, contrasting your other classes where everything was digital. Kind of annoying, but you’ve learned to deal with it.

You mainly use mechanical pencils because you hate the way wooden ones write, but one day, to your slight dismay, you forgot them at home. Just your luck.

There’s a container of pencils and a sharpener in the back of the classroom, so you stand up to go retrieve one and notice a tall boy asleep in a desk not too far back from yours.

Bertholdt Hoover.

You knew him, of course. You find it a little rude to not know your classmates' names; you’ve dealt with numerous “who?”s in previous years and don’t want to put anyone through that, so you make sure to pay attention during introductions.

You chuckle at sight. The class has barely even started, and the guy is already dozing. In an awkward position, at that. One of his long legs is across the other, cramped underneath the desk. His head was laying on his right arm with his left against his hair. You thought to wake him up, but he looked so peaceful, you couldn't bring yourself to do it, plus, it's not your business. Mr Ackermann somehow didn't notice either, so Bertholdt always had a good rest in 3rd period English.

Every time you walked into class, you checked to see what weird position he would be sleeping in. You found yourself looking forward to it- he looked kinda cute when he was sleeping- but he stopped one day. You were a little disappointed, but glad to know that he was starting to pay attention in class. You still glanced at him as you walked in- he's a pretty attractive guy. No harm in just looking...

You shrug your backpack off and sit at your desk, stretching your legs out a bit. The walk from your locker to this classroom was kind of far. You reach into your bag, get your mechanical pencil out, and wait for Mr Ackermann to pass out the first assignment.

Just then, you hear someone walk up to your desk, and you glance over.

‘Oh, it’s Bertholdt. I don’t think we’ve ever spoken.’ You feel your face heat up, wondering what he wanted from you.

“Hey, y/n…” He nervously starts.

“Hey. Need something?”

“Yeah, actually...about the upcoming test.”

You hum in curiosity. “What about it?”

He clears his throat. “I’m lowkey failing this class, and if I mess up this test, I’ll have to retake this class next year. Do you think you could, uh…”

Bertholdt inhales in an attempt to calm himself down. It doesn’t really work.

“Could you help me study?” Phew. He managed to get it out pretty well and made a mental note to give himself a pat on the back later. But he hasn’t fully succeeded yet; you still need to agree.

You weren't opposed to the idea. You kind of figured he would be struggling in class a bit since he used to sleep all the time. It’s alright with you, and you wouldn’t mind a potential new friend. Sasha and Connie were exhausting at times.

“Yeah, sure. When?” You pause. “Actually, just text me.” You hold out your hand, asking for his phone.

Bertholdt was practically shaking in his sneakers as he reached into his pocket and handed you his unlocked phone with the contacts app open. You actually agreed! And you were giving him your number! Reiner was going to be so proud, he smiled to himself.

As you type in your info, you appreciate the cleanliness of his phone. That shows you that he’s at least hygienic.

“Aight. Here you go,” you return his device. “See you later.” You smile.

Bertholdt can’t believe this is happening.

Mr Ackermann’s voice interrupts his thoughts. “Oi, Hoover. Sit down.”

Startled, he jumps back a bit at the sudden acknowledgement. He was focused on you and tuned everything else out.

“Sorry, sir.” Bertholdt gives you a quick grin and turns to go back to his desk. Once he sits, he looks down at the new contact:

y/n :)

xxx-xxx-xxxx

Bertholdt can’t help but smile. Just seeing your name and number on his screen made him giddy, and he thought that the smiley face you added was adorable.

His thoughts are interrupted yet again, but not by the teacher. He looks down at his phone, which just buzzed.

| Messages

reinah

Did you do it yet bruh

Good timing. Bertholdt taps on the notification and goes to type a reply, but decides to send him a screenshot of your contact…with your number scribbled out. Reiner was a flirt, and he didn’t want to risk anything.

r: YOOOOOOOOOO HOLY SHIT U ACTUALLY DID IT

Bertholdt rolls his eyes and puts his phone in his backpack. He was going to pay attention- for real - today. He didn't want to seem too clueless when you tutored him.

“Can anyone tell me what rhetorical strategy is being used here?” Mr. Ackermann asked.

Bertholdt certainly could not. But that was changing soon, with your help.

“Okaay, we got Ms. Tutor over here now,” Sasha smiles in between bites of a burger.

“Do you even know how to, like, teach, though?” Connie gives you a skeptical look.

“It prolly isn’t too hard. All I gotta do is help him study. If he needs help understanding a concept, I’ll just explain it,” you defend yourself. “We still have two weeks. Ion mind making flashcards or something.”

“You’re getting into it, huh?” Sasha laughs.

Your face heats in embarrassment. “Girl, you know it isn’t like that.”

“And why not? You’re always bitching about how lonely you are. High school isn’t gonna last forever…” she replies.

“I have no recollection of saying anything like that.” You glare. But she isn’t exactly wrong. You’d like to experience the “high school romance” you’ve heard so much about, and Bertholdt is pretty cute. It’s not like dating is a significant concern, though.

“I’m always here as an option, y/n,” Connie winks as he takes a sip of his soda.

“Hell nah.”

Across the cafeteria, Bertholdt is trying to eat a sandwich, but Reiner won’t leave him alone. He was right about Reiner being proud, but Bertholdt almost forgot how persistent the jock could get.

“I didn’t think you had the balls, dude. I was ready to see English 3 on your schedule again next year,” He grins, arm around his taller friend's shoulders.

“...Can I eat?” Bertholdt sighs and shrugs his friend away.

“Have you texted her yet? What day are you gonna hang out with her? You gonna bring her anything? Flowers or somethin’? Girls like that kinda stuff.”

Bertholdt didn’t really think that was true.

“First off, no, not yet. I need to see when I can actually go. Second, no, I am not bringing her anything. I didn’t say it was a date. She’s going to help me study.”

“Fine, man. At least try to seem more interesting, yknow, so she can like...be interested in you.”

“Are you saying I’m boring? Ouch,” He jokingly pouts and rolls his eyes at Reiner’s double usage of ‘interesting.’

“You said it, not me.”

“Okay, I don’t wanna hear that from you...if it came from Annie, then I’d believe it.” Bertholdt looks in the blonde’s direction. She took a bite from her burger, looked up from her phone, and shrugged.

“Damn, for real?” Bertholdt sinks. He didn’t think he was that dull. He did lots of interesting stuff, like…

Like…

Bertholdt sighs in defeat.

“It’s fine. Maybe y/n likes boring,” Bertholdt huffs, taking another bite from his sandwich.

“Yeah, okay, keep telling yourself that and see where it gets you…” Reiner mumbles.

“Come again?”

“Nothing, man…”

School's been over for an hour or two. You’re aimlessly scrolling through your phone when you feel a buzz, and glance towards the top of the screen.

| Messages

xxx-xxx-xxxx

hey

it’s bertholdt 😁

where should we meet up?

Your heart starts to beat a little faster. ‘Relax, girl… don't act like he's asking you out or something,’ you tell yourself.

y/n: hey!

how abt the library?

+ what day/ time works for you?

You add his number to your contacts as you wait for his response.

bertholdt :^)

is saturday at 3 okay?

y/n: yep

do you need a ride or anything?

b: no, but thank you

see you then ☺️

y/n: alrighty :)

You smile at his use of emojis, send what he requested, then swipe down on your screen to check the day (what? It's normal to forget sometimes.) Wednesday. Two days.

You feel like it would be awkward to study with Bertholdt considering you aren’t really friends, so you decide to text him a little more so it isn't too bad when the day arrives.

----

“See? That wasn’t so hard!” Reiner exclaims. “You could’ve tried to talk to her more, but it went good!”

“I think it would’ve been weird if I did say anything else. Best to leave it at that…” Bertholdt exclaims, trying to calm himself down. He had two days.

He wonders what he should do now. Study so he could impress you? Do something to make himself seem more interesting? What would he even do...?

Bertholdt taps back onto the conversation to reread it for the 6th time. Was there anything he could’ve said different? Should he try asking you someth-

Oh, wait-? You’re typing?

“Oh shit- Dude, she’s saying something else. What do I do?” He begins to panic. Did you suddenly decide he wasn’t worth your time? Were you cancelling?

y/n: sooo

how’s your day been?

Whaaaaaatttt?? You actually...care to ask?

Bertholdt stared at his phone in surprise.

“What’d she say? Cmon! Don’t just look, dude!”

“She...asked how my day’s been-”

“-You gotta reply now! You were on the chat when she said it, so she knows you’ve read it!” Reiner urges.

Shit. He doesn't have enough time to think of a good reply.

good, but better since i’m texting you 😉|

The hell? No, that’s weird. And too soon. He tries again...

pretty good, thanks!

kinda stressing over the test, haha

how’s your day going?

There we go. He twiddles his thumbs as he waits for your reply.

y/n :)

oh, dw, it’ll be fine !

my day was okay

sasha took my last bag of cheez its :(

b: ah, i'm sorry abt that :(

+ yeah, you're right

have you as my tutor :)

“Nice job man! That was...kinda flirty? You’ll get there!” Reiner ruffles his hair in encouragement, and Bertholdt shoos him away. He stares at his phone in anticipation. Was that too much?

----

i have you as my tutor :)

You lean your head on your pillow and feel your face heat up at the compliment ( was that a compliment?)

It’s not like you’re dumb, so he’s not wrong to think that. Your lips curl into a smile as you reread the message. But how do you reply? Should you compliment him back? You don’t really know.

if you’re saying i’m smart, thank you :))

hoping that wasn't sarcasm lol

You wait a minute, and he doesn’t reply, so you decide to ask another question.

is there anything specific you wanna focus on?

You cringe at the double texting, but hope that it doesn't make him think you're weird. You swipe away from the conversation and scroll on various apps as you wait.

b: ofc it wasn’t sarcasm, you're really smart, y/n!

i'm mainly struggling with rhetorical strategies and logical fallacies, but i could

use a general review too

if that's okay with you

You bury your almost overheating face into your pillow. Why is something like that getting you flustered, you wonder. You sit up, take a deep breath, and focus on the second part of his message. You're pretty good with what he needs work on, and a general review should be easy to put together.

y/n :) okay, we can focus on the first 2 on saturday

we can review the unit on other days

see you at school:)

At this point, you really don’t know how this conversation could go any further, so you ended it. Bertholdt returns your goodbye.

You exhale and sit up in your bed. Hopefully tutoring him won’t be too awkward now that you’ve spoken to him a bit, and there's still tomorrow at school to speak to him. You find yourself excited for the study date tutoring session, since you could get your homework done too.

"Two days," you smile.

#bertholdt x reader #bertholdt hoover #bertolt hoover #bertolt fubar #high school au #texting #aot #attack on titan #shinkegi no kyojin #bertholdt fubar #ao3 #fanfic

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kaywinchester · 3 years

Text

Dark Power Pt. 5

Read Part 4 Here!

Summary: Sam goes off to help Dean with the hunt. In the process, Y/N and Jody run into some trouble.

Word Count: 1,857

A/N: I really hope you guys somewhat like this series so far. I might have this one be longer than the other ones I’ve written before, which is why it’s going by slower. My requests are still closed but I will let y’all know when I am opening them again. It will be soon!

“This is Jody, she’s going to be staying with you while we’re gone.” Dean introduced Jody as she came through the motel door.

“Hi, Y/N! It’s so nice to finally meet you.” Jody stuck out her hand for Y/N to shake.

“Nice to meet you.” Y/N shook Jody’s hand with a small smile. Dean gave Jody a run down of what hunt they were doing, then told her about Y/N a little bit. Sam walked over to his daughter to say goodbye.

“Promise you’ll be back soon?” Y/N asked innocently.

“Promise. The sooner we get to work on this thing, the sooner we can be done with this, and I can get back here.

“Okay...” Y/N lowered her head.

“It’ll be okay. Jody is pretty cool from what I’ve heard. I’ll call you guys later tonight.” Sam said as he placed a kiss on Y/N’s forehead. The two men grabbed their things and walked out.

Y/N sat down on one of the beds, staying quiet. All of this was so new to her. It was a little scary and stressful, she also worried about her dad going up against monsters. Although, she didn’t know much about the actual monsters yet, she still worried about her dad and wanted him to come home safe so they could both go back home.

“So? Is there anything you want to do to pass the time?” Jody asked, breaking the silence.

“I don’t know.” Y/N mumbled and shrugged.

“I know this stuff, your dad and uncle are going through is a little weird. Hard to believe even.....” Jody said.

“Are they actually serious? Or is this just one big joke?” Y/N asked.

“It is real all right. I know it seems crazy since we’re all told as kids that monsters aren’t real and neither are ghosts. As much as I’d like to think they aren’t, unfortunately that’s not the case. Your dad and uncle are hunters and there is a whole community of people out there that do the same thing as them. Not a lot of people know about hunting, which is for the best.” Jody explained.

“Why don’t most people know about what they do?”

“Because, there's a lot of bad things out there that are very dangerous. They can be smart and fast. Most of the time, these monsters are inhuman, so they can do things that we can't. If everyone knew these things were real, they would most likely be going after everyone. So it’s just better for a few people to go after them in silence.” Jody said.

“Is that why we haven't seen Dean in so long? Because he was out hunting?” Y/N wondered.

“It’s really not my place to talk about these things....” Jody trailed off.

“That’s the reason though, isn’t it?” Y/N knew the answer already.

“See, your dad didn’t want to hunt the rest of his life, so he wanted to live a normal life with you. That made Dean a little upset, since he thought they would be hunting together for a long time. They just disagreed on things they wanted to do in life, that’s all.” Jody said, hoping Sam wouldn’t be mad for explaining these things.

“Is my dad going to start hunting again?” Y/N asked.

“Well, his plan was to just help your uncle out with this one and then get back to reality.”

That was Sam’s plan all along. But plans like that for hunters usually don’t get to play out so smoothly. Sam knew there was going to be more trouble after this hunt, but he wanted to try his best to keep it from affecting his life with Y/N

...................

The next three days for Sam and Dean consisted of going back and forth, talking to the police, victims, families, witnesses. Collecting information on everything and everyone. Dean started to have a little bit more luck with Sam around, the two of them were really a team.

“Y’know, I think I know what I’ve been missing from these hunts.” Dean thought.

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” Sam asked.

“Your dorkiness.....” Dean stated. Sam rolled his eyes. “I guess your smarts count too.” Dean added.

Sam gave a small smile and looked back at his laptop. “It would be great to have you back, doing this again.” Dean brought up.

“You know I can’t Dean, this is a one time thing. Just like that weekend trip to look for dad was a one time thing.” Sam sighed.

“It’s in your blood, Sam. You’re good at this, you’re meant to do this.....” Dean said.

“I’m meant to keep my daughter safe. Which means no hunting. I gotta do what I gotta do.” Sam said. He then sat up a little straighter, a worried and confused expression formed on his face.

“Something doesn’t feel right about this.....” Sam said

“What, what do you mean?” Dean asked.

“The weekend trip I took to hunt with you. After that, Jess died. This is another short hunt, it’s meant to be just a few days..... What if this is the same thing that killed Jess? What if it’s after Y/N too?” Sam’s expression started to grow more worried and angry.

“Uh, I don’t know.” Dean thought about it. He didn’t know what to say. Sam pulled out his phone as quickly as he could and dialed Jody’s number. “What?” Dean asked, not knowing what Sam was trying to do.

“I promised I’d call.” Sam said as the line rang.

“Hello?” Jody answered.

“Hey! How are you guys doing?” Sam asked.

“We’re uh, we’re doing fine...” Jody said.

“How’s Y/N? Can you put her on the phone? I promised I would call.” Sam asked.

“Sure.” Jody said. The line was silent for a while until he heard some small breaths.

“Hi dad.” Said a small voice.

“Hey sweetie. Sorry it’s a little late, but just wanted to see how you were doing.” Sam said.

“I’m fine, are you almost done with the hunt?” Y/N asked eagerly.

“Kind of, we found some more leads these past few days. We’re getting there.”

“Okay. Please hurry back!” Y/N said in a shaky voice.

“Don’t worry, we’re working on it!” Sam said in a hopeful voice. Before Y/N said goodbye to him, the phone call ended from the other line. Sam set his phone down with a confused look on his face.

“See, they’re doing good....” Dean said.

“No..... Something doesn’t seem right.” Sam furrowed his eyebrows. “She didn’t sound like her normal self. She sounded scared.”

“Maybe she was just worried about you?” Dean implied.

“We need to go check on them.” Sam said as he got up abruptly.

“Sam, we’re not driving all the way back out there, you just got off the phone with them.” Dean argued.

“Dean, we’re going back there wether you like it or not. I have a bad feeling about this.” Sam urged as he grabbed his things in a hurry.

...................

Jody’s phone rang in her pocket. “Well what do we have here?” The man in front of her said as he reached into her pocket to pull out her phone. A smile spread across the mans face as he looked at the caller ID.

“Listen here. I’m going to answer this, you’re going to talk as if everything is just fine. If you say one wrong word, I’m killing you both.” He talked slow. He answered the call and put the phone on speaker next to Jody.

“Okay. Please hurry back!” Y/N said a little too scared sounding. The mans face grew sour as he hung up the call. “What did I say!?” He yelled as he punched Y/N across her cheek. Her head fell down as she winced in pain.

“Fuck. Now they’re probably on their way.” He said to the other man. They both glanced around and whispered to each other.

“Bring them in.”

“To the nest?” He whispered. “Isn’t it too soon for that?”

“We’ve waited long enough. Lets just finish these two so that we can go grab the WInchester’s”

It was apparent to Jody that these were definitely vamps. She needed to keep a close eye on Y/N as she was already scared enough.

The two men broke into the motel earlier with force after looking for Sam and Dean. They found Jody and Y/N instead and panicked, grabbing them instead. The two grabbed them and walked them out to a truck where they were driven away to some vamps nest.

Y/N and Jody sat on the floor in the back of a truck. It was very dark, with some dim light coming from the windows.

“Are they going to kill us?” Y/N asked fearfully.

“I don’t know what their plans are, but I just need you to stay as calm as possible, okay? Can you do that for me?” Jody soothed. Y/N nodded.

“When we get there and we’re not in the truck anymore, see if you can wiggle out of those ropes, you’re hands are probably small enough, then if there is a point where they aren’t looking, grab the knife in my back pocket.” Jody whispered as quiet as she could.

“I thought I said no talking!” The guy shouted from the front seat.

Y/N sat there terrified for her life. But she knew she had to be strong for Jody and for her dad. She sat up straight and sniffled her watery eyes away, determined to get out of here alive.

...................

Sam and Dean busted through the motel door to find nothing but two chairs on the ground with a roll of rope.

“Damnit!” Dean yelled, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

“Look around, for anything!” Sam demanded.

Sam looked around as well as Dean. “Nothing.” Dean breathed out. Sam walked out into the parking lot in frustration. Dean followed. “What now? We have NOTHING on them.” Sam yelled.

Dean just happened to look down and saw a folded up piece of paper. He picked it up, unfolded it to see it was a map. It had markings and places circled on it. Studying it more in depth, he looked at the locations, realizing they were the places that he had visited through out town to get information.

“Sam, look. I’ve gone to all of these places while on this hunt. This must be their map if they’ve been tracking me...” Dean scanned the piece of paper. “I’ve been everywhere except here, I don’t remember going anywhere over here.” Dean pointed out one spot on the map that was further away from everything else.

“That must be their nest.” Sam guessed.

“I hope you’re right.” Dean jingled his keys as they took a chance on the one location from the map.

Sam sat in the passenger seat and looked at the map, letting out a sigh, he knew how scared his little girl must have been. In his heart, she knew she was strong, but he was still worried as hell. Dean said not to worry, and that Jody is with her. Regardless, they knew they didn’t have much time and needed to get there fast.

Requests Are Closed Read Part 6 HERE!

Tags:

@mersuperwholocked-lowlife @gracie-and-the-superwholock-gang

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bouwrites · 3 years

Text

Role of the Hero

It’s the Miraculous Ladybug/Tokyo Afterschool Summoners crossover. Daisuke goes to Paris.

I’ll be honest with y’all, if even one person asks me for more of this, or content like this, I may be forced to do it. I didn’t even get to the core conceit which sparked this crossover in the first place, so my inspiration bug for this is sleeping for now but one poke and I promise you it will be frothing at the mouth.

And honestly? I don’t know whether I want that poke or not.

Anyway here’s the story.

Ao3.

10043 words. Story under read-more.

Daisuke Ikusaba does not want to be here.

It’s not that there’s anything wrong with Paris at all, it’s just that he has friends and a budding career and… and Taurus Mask back in Tokyo.

Daisuke gently rubs the horns of the mask, hidden in the bag at his side. He caresses them like an old and precious childhood toy.

It’s okay. Right? He can do this. All his friends, even the Berserkers, are all just a phone call away. He may not be able to see them in person anymore, but it’s not like he doesn’t have contact with them anymore. And… and he can bring Taurus Mask to Paris! He has the mask, after all, so all he really needs is to look for an opportunity. Or, failing that, make one himself.

There has to be someone else here interested in wrestling. Daisuke Ikusaba might not be able to stand boldly and do something as brash as make his own wrestling team, but Taurus Mask can.

And he will. As soon as Daisuke is settled in. So… so he should probably… do that.

…He has to go into the school to do that, doesn’t he? His stomach flips as he looks up at the gates. It’s worse than his first day at Yoyogi. Back then, he at least had the wrestling team. François Dupont doesn’t even have one of those, much less one that Daisuke knows anyone in.

Pathetic as it is, Daisuke wants little more in this moment than to run around the corner and call someone who can give him a good pep talk. Wakan Tanka is good at those. Or Horkeu Kamui. How can anyone feel bad when Horkeu Kamui is there encouraging them? Hell, he’ll take Durza at this point.

Actually, Durza is a good idea. Not to call – oh god, no (What time even is it in Tokyo right now?) – but her whole deal. I’m an athlete! Daisuke thinks. What am I going to do, let some stone walls beat me? No way! I’m going to march in there and win at… everything, I guess? But I’m not that smart, so I’m probably out of luck with academics. And there isn’t a wrestling team, so…

So… I don’t know what I’m trying to win at, but I’m going to win! I just have to go in there and do it! Yeah. That makes sense.

With a deep, shuddering breath, Daisuke steps forward past the school gates. Even though it feels like they should come crashing down on him, they don’t. In fact, everything is a little easier when he’s inside, if only because he’s not standing outside the door like an idiot drawing everyone’s attention.

But marching through the school courtyard feels very much like winning right now, so Daisuke is going to take what he can get.

But though Daisuke has fewer eyes on him inside the school for his more casual behavior, he does not go unnoticed. What he doesn’t know – can’t know with this being only his very first day here – is that this François Dupont is far more different than his old school of Yoyogi than he expects.

Timid though Daisuke may be, Yoyogi is a school which caters to his interests. It is filled to the brim with athletes, all of whom want to get better, stronger, and encourage their peers to do the same. It is a place where rivalries are synonymous with friendships, and that common bond of athleticism connects everyone regardless of sport.

This François Dupont, however, has no such common bond connecting the students here. There is not the same understanding underneath every conflict, lighthearted or serious, and there is not the same passion that is generated from such a large group of people with similar interests.

No, while Yoyogi is a school where everyone wants to be the best, François Dupont is one where the contenders for that position are much fewer and far crueler. After all, at a school of athletes, even those with the greatest drive to be greater than everyone else desire just as strongly to do so on fair ground. It is not a fair assessment of who is the best, they believe, and thus a pointless victory if they cheat to get there.

The queens of François Dupont have no such moral inhibitions.

Chloé Bourgeois watches with… something like interest when a new student enters the school. Down her nose, from her perch on high up on the second-floor balcony, she sees an older-looking student.

He only catches her attention because he barely looks like a high schooler at all and might fit in better at a university somewhere. Asian, clearly, and darker-skinned. Chloé wrinkles her nose at the scruff of hair on his chin. He’s not the only student here with unfortunate hair on his face, but he’ll soon learn to shave it off, if only so that Chloé doesn’t have to look at it.

(She might consider leaving it alone, except her daddy asks her to play nice for a while, which means that he knows a new student is arriving, and if the principal takes the time to inform her daddy of something like this, it can only be because this new student will be in her class. And if he is in her class, then that bush on his chin must go.)

Oh, and the green hair – if he must dye it, can’t he pick a better color?

Hair aside, Chloé notes his physique. Muscles like that don’t come easy and aren’t just for show. Even though he dresses modestly (and he’s going to need to work on that… fashion travesty) there is simply nothing he can do to hide the dense muscle on his frame.

Sort of like Ivan. Muscle like that has its uses, and if the way he ducks his head and fiddles with his bag strap is any indication, he’ll be child’s play to manipulate.

Well, he’s definitely not a threat. That’s something. He looks stupid enough to be dragged into Lila’s orbit, though, which is… fine. Lila isn’t making any major moves against Chloé, and Chloé thinks she knows her place, but Chloé also knows better than to trust a liar and Lila’s eyes look far too much like Chloé’s own.

It’s only a matter of time before they come to metaphorical blows. Whether this new kid is worth crushing under her heel, or whether she should allow him to fall under Lila’s… that’s the real question.

Then again, Dupain-Cheng does have a way with the cowards, Chloé admits in the privacy of her own mind. If we’re not careful, he might get attached to her.

A morbid curiosity wells up in Chloé’s chest. This is the first real chance for Chloé to see how her rivals will play when a new actor steps onto stage. Goody-two-shoes Dupain-Cheng will definitely do everything she can to protect the poor guy, and Chloé honestly can’t imagine him being smart enough to see through Lila, so… she wonders just how desperately those two will fight.

Dupain-Cheng pisses Chloé off, yes, but Lila… if Chloé doesn’t know any better, she’d say that Dupain-Cheng is her weakness. Spite, hate, just a true loathing that Chloé can respect. Chloé isn’t that different, after all. But Chloé… she isn’t the kind of queen who needs everyone to adore her. That he fears her, that he will listen when she speaks, that is enough for Chloé. At least, for now. Whether Lila can suffer him befriending Dupain-Cheng with that hatred inside of her… Chloé is very interested in finding out the answer to that.

If she plays her cards right with this new kid, she might just find the key to getting rid of Lila once and for all.

And wouldn’t that be glorious? Chloé sneers and turns away. She’ll have her fun, definitely, but by and large… it will be more interesting to stay out of this for the time being.

Chloé glides to the classroom, passing Dupain-Cheng with a knowing smirk. Marinette, perturbed by the bully’s expression, can only pray that Chloé will leave their new classmate alone just for a day.

Harried, Marinette hefts the papers and binders in her hands and continues her dash to the principal’s office. As class president, she is meant to greet their newest classmate and show them around, though she’s yet to meet this transfer.

She doesn’t need to wait long. She’s still muttering through everything, consulting with the principal, when the door to the office opens and her new classmate steps inside.

Marinette turns to him with a smile on her face. “Hello! You must be the new student. Ikusaba Daisuke, right? I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng, your new class president.”

Daisuke is frankly surprised that she uses his family name first – he’s more than prepared for the fact that they don’t do that here. Is there a mistake on his paperwork? Do they think his names are switched?

He… isn’t sure he can correct them, if that’s the case. He might just be stuck with this. Not that it would be the end of the world, or anything. “Y-yeah,” he mutters. “That’s me. It’s- uh- nice to meet you.”

Her dazzling grin catches him off-guard. It’s… nice. It reminds him of Wakan, a little. It lets just a little bit of the tension fall from him. “I’ll show you around the school,” Marinette says, “and I can answer any questions you have as we go. Does that work for you?”

“Y-y-yes!”

Marinette smiles, and she cannot help but feel a little bad for this poor boy. He may be built like Ivan, but he’s clearly just as soft-hearted, if not more. She just hopes he’ll survive when the akumas start showing up. She hopes he knows about them, at least, though she knows simply knowing won’t prepare him for it.

Well, she’ll just have to do her civic duty and make sure to warn him herself on the tour.

But first, more logistical work. She’s his new class president and she has to help him get comfortable here at Dupont. Though her role as class president isn’t the same as the same title in the Japanese schooling system he’s undoubtedly more familiar with, she’s happy to help him in any way she can.

“By the way,” she says as they begin their walk around the campus, “what would you prefer I call you? I have another friend from Japan, and I just call her Kagami, but I understand if using your given name is a little too familiar for a stranger.”

Daisuke blinks in surprise. “D-Daisuke is fine,” he murmurs. “That’s how you do it here, right? S-so I’ve got to get used to it anyway.”

“That’s true,” Marinette admits, “but if you’d prefer something else, our class wouldn’t mind. Most of us, at least. I know Adrien still uses honorifics with Kagami when they’re in more formal settings. So long as you let us know what to say, we’ll all be more than happy to do the same.”

“That’s not necessary,” he says. “I don’t care much about that, anyway.” Ever since the transients showed up in Tokyo, that kind of thing has largely fallen to the wayside. This Kagami girl must be from an old family, or at least somewhere else in Japan. Probably the latter, if she’s been in Paris long.

Or from the Land of Wa. Yasuyori is such a stickler for etiquette. But Daisuke hardly expects to run into transients in Paris so that seems unlikely. (It’s… actually a little unsettling to see no transients around. He’s starting to desperately miss Yasuyori’s fluffy face. And Asterius’ horns…)

Marinette fixes him with a curious, earnest gaze, but concedes. “If you’re sure. Just let me know if you change your mind.”

Daisuke just can’t stop thinking about his friends in Tokyo. The hollowness in his chest aches keenly, but all he can do is gently touch the threads of rope around his wrist.

“Oh, and I don’t know if you’ve already heard or not, but I should warn you about the akuma.”

Akuma, Daisuke thinks. “I’ve heard about them,” he says honestly. He wishes he can say his friends are concerned about him moving to a place with weird things like akuma but… well, after what happened in Tokyo, akuma don’t scare any of them.

Then again, they don’t know I’m Taurus Mask, so they should be concerned, shouldn’t they? Unless… No, there’s no way. Only my soul brother knows my face.

It’s ridiculous to even consider otherwise.

“Oh! Good.” Marinette beams. “Well, if you have any questions or concerns, you can always talk to me!”

Daisuke eagerly agrees, sure that he’s going to need the help navigating a new place like this. Not to mention that, if he does decide to try to start a wrestling club, his class president is probably the first one he’s going to need to talk to. It’s good to establish some kind of rapport early on.

So, he does his best to participate in the tour, instead of running off to hide like he really wants to do. Marinette does wonders to make him a little more comfortable and distracts him by pointing out everywhere he’ll need to know on campus, and before he knows it, she’s leading him through the door of their classroom.

And the whole classroom erupts into chatters at once. Simultaneously, Daisuke is rooted to the spot, frozen and unable to draw breath with so many eyes on him, and confused by the complete lack of discipline here.

Sure, Yoyogi can be pretty wild, and Daisuke himself isn’t exactly a model of good behavior, but Yasuyori would be so disappointed in everyone here if he saw this. Just imagining Yasuyori’s disappointed face brings Daisuke nearly to tears.

The teacher makes everyone settle down, thankfully, and Daisuke somehow stammers through his introduction without bolting, then, as soon as he’s given permission, he darts to the back of the class to an open seat.

He sighs heavily as he sinks into his new seat. It could be worse, he thinks. I still wish Horkeu Kamui were here.

…I sound like a kid missing his dad, don’t I? Damn it, it was one time I called him that!

Mercifully, the lecture means that Daisuke doesn’t yet have to answer questions or field a room full of curious classmates. At least not right away. If there is one thing school is good for, it’s excusing him from social situations.

It’s too bad that this sanctuary only lasts until school ends, even if it also comes with math. To think that back in Tokyo, Daisuke could never wait for school to end. In Tokyo, the end of classes means club and guild activities begin. Here in Paris, Daisuke has neither a club nor a guild to be a part of.

He wonders if he’ll have the chance to escape or if his new classmates are going to ambush him. From the looks they occasionally send him throughout the school day, like Bathym eyeing up some new meat in the unranked arena, Daisuke has a sinking feeling that that’s not going to happen.

That’s why it’s no surprise when, after the teacher finally dismisses them for the day, Daisuke finds himself in a small crowd of classmates who want to talk to him.

It’s not hard, even when he’s just meeting these people and on the verge of an anxiety-induced panic attack, to identify the ringleader. While Daisuke thinks Marinette seems popular in her own right, she picks up from their tour that he’s uncomfortable with strangers, and keeps herself and a smaller group of their classmates away from him. (Bless her.) This other girl, however…

“Hello! My name is Lila.” She smiles sweetly, and genuinely. Daisuke unthinkingly rubs the threads of his Sacred Artifact around his wrist. “Your name is Daisuke, right? It’s so nice to meet you! I also transferred here not long ago, and everyone really went out of their way to make me feel welcome. If there’s anything I can do for you to pay that kindness forward, please let me know!”

Through his fluttering gut, Daisuke sighs with relief. At least they’re friendly. As much as he may want to avoid this kind of situation, he’ll never achieve his dreams if he can’t overcome this social anxiety. A group of friendly classmates is, logically, safe for him, as these things go.

So he grins, forced though it may be, and says, “Thanks! I really appreciate that. But you really don’t need to go out of your way for me.”

“Nonsense!” Lila says. “Nothing would make me happier than making sure that you feel as welcomed as I did when I started here. What do you like to do? We should all get to know each other better.”

When Daisuke hesitates, the other classmates in the crowd all start sharing their own answers. It’s really nice of them to do this, but way too overwhelming for Daisuke. He’s not going to remember much of what they’re telling him – he hardly even remembers everyone’s names.

Eventually, he has no choice but to answer himself. “W-well,” he says, “back in Tokyo, I was captain of the wrestling team.”

“Wrestling!” Lila exclaims. “Oh, no wonder you look so strong! Who’s your favorite wrestler?”

Daisuke blanches. This is the other reason why he isn’t looking forward to this question and answer “get to know each other” thing. Even though he’s known about this move for a while, he still hasn’t managed to figure out how to explain his near complete ignorance of broader worldwide trends.

Daisuke apparently takes too long to answer, because Lila starts talking about some famous wrestler who’s name certainly impresses a few of the more athletic-looking students around. Daisuke has, of course, never heard of them.

He chuckles awkwardly. “Sorry, uh… you might’ve heard that Tokyo has been pretty isolated for a while. I don’t know much about celebrities outside Tokyo, even in wrestling.” He smiles, satisfied at having answered without talking about the App War.

It will be such a pain to explain that to someone outside Tokyo. Daisuke doesn’t think he can even explain transients.

“I have heard about that!” Lila says. “Actually, I have a good friend in Tokyo. It’s been so long since I’ve seen them since they were trapped there by that terrible wall.”

The other classmates rush to console Lila, who is clearly the emotional type – already almost on the verge of tears just from mentioning that friend of hers – but Daisuke tilts his head.

Tokyo’s been cut off for his whole life. Sure, there are people who remember Tokyo before the wall, the transients, and it being cut off from the rest of the world, but those are old people. No one their age was born when Tokyo was isolated, so it doesn’t make any sense for Lila to know anyone from before the wall.

Unless…

No, there are no transients or Sacred Artifacts here. Lila being immortal or having some Sacred Artifact to make her appear younger than she is is an unrealistic thought at best. (The fact that both of those things are possible, and that Daisuke has seen them personally, notwithstanding, of course.)

Something’s off here. Daisuke’s gut says so. Daisuke may not be the most intuitive or intelligent person, and his Sacred Artifact may not work outside a battle zone, but he thinks that, after using his Sacred Artifact so much, he has some sense for this kind of thing.

To expose all forms of deception, unmasking all that which is concealed. That is the power given to him according to his Role. All in service of being like that man, the one who inspires Daisuke to take up wrestling. Of being someone who can touch the souls of others and wrest their true worth from obscurity. That is the Role of the Hero.

But without use of his Sacred Artifact, Daisuke cannot see the true self within Lila. She is lying about knowing someone in Tokyo, or at least knowing them for so long, but Daisuke can only assume that she lies in an earnest attempt to connect with him.

It’s sad that she thinks that’s necessary. Daisuke knows he’s shy, but he’s not unfriendly. If he could use his Sacred Artifact, he might glean some insight from what it uncovers in her – not that Daisuke ever used it for such banal reasons even when he could.

Still, Lila cannot possibly know that he is more social than his anxiety belies just as he cannot know that Lila has no interest in genuinely connecting with him.

Lila does, however, know that Daisuke is not so naïve as his shy, anxious new kid archetype implies. There is a certain look in his eye which Lila spots almost immediately. It’s a look she despises, because it’s the same look that burns behind the eyes of every single Marinette Dupain-Cheng Lila has ever met.

Of course, it’s only a gut feeling based on something as superficial as the glint in his eyes, so Lila is happy to give him a chance. But she knows to be careful with someone like him. She hopes he is meek enough to know his place, but that look in his eyes, the spark of someone who looks at problems not as obstacles but challenges… Lila’s gut tells her to watch him very closely.

It’s a quiet lie, a small one, and one that can easily be waved off as wanting to connect with him, but Lila sees how his eyes change. His reaction to the lie.

Firstly, that he recognizes it at all is a red flag. Though he’s not necessarily more perceptive than their other classmates, it does mean that he’s paying attention. That he’s looking for deceit puts Lila on the back foot from the start.

Then, it’s how he reacts to it. The raised brow, the subtle narrowing of his eyes, the look, not quite at her but into her, as if he is laying bare her soul and examining it like nothing more than a cheap, knock-off purse.

It passes. It’s only a moment, then it passes, but Lila notices it and puts Daisuke right to the top of her watch list.

He doesn’t say anything, though, which earns him some credit. It’s likely out of a mistaken belief that she’s just trying to make him more comfortable by fabricating things to have in common – a belief she will eagerly encourage if he does confront her in private about it – but he at least knows not to try to call her out. Marinette still hasn’t learned that lesson.

Even still, she will need to be careful around him. The feeling he stirs in her gut reminds her far too much of Marinette and her predecessors, the other problem children at previous schools and clubs Lila’s attended, so she is not yet convinced that pushing too far in his presence won’t turn Daisuke on her as well.

Despite his potential to be a problem for her, and also because of it, she can’t just leave him alone, either. He would quickly ally with Marinette, which Lila simply can’t allow. The other students have known Marinette longer than Lila – Lila’s influence with them is limited to an extent. She can manipulate and damage, but it’ll take a long game indeed to truly break those friendships. Daisuke on the other hand represents an interesting and unique opportunity for Lila.

She won’t let it slip through her fingers.

It’s a few days into his time at Paris when Daisuke encounters his first akuma.

He’s still walking home from school, on the phone with Gunzo in this short period between him being free and his friends in Tokyo mostly still awake (the problem with all his friends being athletes: they’re health-conscious, and so usually go to bed at a reasonable hour) when his phone alerts him with a chime that, after leaving Tokyo, he never expects to hear again.

His blood turns to ice, and intellectually he convinces himself for a moment that it’s the alarm for that app his classmates recommend to him, which alerts to akuma attacks. He hasn’t heard it yet, so maybe it sounds like the other alert.

But a quick check confirms that the Akuma Alert app is still quiet. The chime comes from another app. A much more familiar app. The App.

A battle zone has opened over his location. He opens the App and nearly drops it when he realizes that he is not the only App user in the city. At the very least, his map shows a few others nearby.

It’s at that moment, while Daisuke is still trying to figure out how and why a battle zone might open now, and when the App spread to Paris (It must be new, he thinks, with some relief, but even then, where are the transients? The gateways?) another alert chimes from his phone. This one is the akuma alert he’s been told to get, and it takes only a moment for Daisuke to piece that particular puzzle together.

(He only manages it because of the map.)

In the exact same locations, moving in the exact same directions, the map in the Akuma Alert app notifies Daisuke of Ladybug, Chat Noir, and an akuma moving nearby.

The heroes and this villain… they’re App users. Daisuke gasps, Gunzo is getting frantic over the phone, worrying over what’s happening, and Daisuke doesn’t have time to explain everything in detail. He stammers that he’ll call back later with the details and takes off at a sprint towards where the battle is located.

Pausing for a moment in an alley on the way, hidden from view, Daisuke takes a deep breath and pulls his mask from his bag. This is App business, whatever the truth of the situation, and so this is something needing Taurus Mask, not Daisuke. The Ranked Berserker, not the still-unknown wrestler.

The horns are still comforting. That’s nice to know.

But Taurus Mask rushes into this battle with a mission. He doesn’t particularly care at the moment of the specifics, he just needs to know why the App is here in Paris, what these heroes and villains think they’re doing with it, and why… why everyone remembers.

Ordinarily, when a battle zone closes, anyone who isn’t a participant – that is, those without the App – don’t even notice. Everything is reset as it was before, so of course, they don’t. It shouldn’t be possible for a city without a significant percentage of App users to have heroes based on it.

Well, Taurus is resolved to figure it out. His Sacred Artifact may not give him insight into the System which runs the App or this world, but what it uncovers in the participants can still give him something to work with. He has to use his power on either the akuma or the heroes, or all of them, and work with whatever information he can glean from it.

It’s a long shot. It’s not like using his Sacred Artifact ever gave him an edge understanding the situation in Tokyo, after all. But it is possible. Most likely, he’ll just memorize everything he can and call someone better suited to this to figure it out. His soul brother knows a lot of really intelligent people who can help, he knows.

Evidently, the heroes of Paris are competent at what they do, since the akuma is defeated just as Taurus manages to arrive. That’s one possibility out, then.

This isn’t going to endear me to the heroes, that’s for sure, Taurus thinks grimly. But I have to figure out what’s going on.

Ladybug picks up a red, black-spotted object, and Taurus thinks that if that resets the damage, it may also close the battle zone and disallow use of his Sacred Artifact. He can probably open one himself if he’s against these two, but to be safe he rushes in. “Excuse me!” he shouts, disarming them just long enough to slip in close enough to stop Ladybug from closing the battle zone if she tries to use that power of hers.

With their attention, he grins. “Sorry to interrupt!” he bellows, in a voice fit to MC this grand event. “Ladybug and Chat Noir! Fabled heroes of Paris! I know you, so allow me to introduce myself. I am…” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Taurus Mask!”

“…Um,” Ladybug tilts her head cutely as her jaw drops in utter bafflement. “Can we help you?”

“Yes!” Taurus says. “In fact, I am in need of information which only you and your dastardly villain possess!” Quieter, he adds, “…Will you please answer a few questions?”

Ladybug and Chat Noir share a look, neither knowing exactly who this strange, masked man is or what he wants. Eventually, Chat Noir says, “…I suppose we can come back after we recharge?”

A flutter of panic wells up in Taurus when he sees Ladybug rear up to throw her Lucky Charm into the air and trigger her other power. The System in place, while close enough to work with the App, is obviously at least a little different, and Taurus doesn’t want to risk not having access to his Sacred Artifact. These are heroes, but… frankly, he doubts they’ll just tell him anything that will help him figure out what’s really happening. “It will only take a moment!” he begs. “Just a few questions?”

Their jewelry, which Taurus has read gives them their powers, beeps, and both shift uncomfortable. “I’m sorry,” Ladybug says, again hefting her Lucky Charm, “but we really need to go. If you can wait a few minutes, we’ll hear you out, but-”

“No!” Taurus reacts without thinking, reaching out and snatching the Lucky Charm from her grasp before she can use her power. He can’t let her close the battle zone yet, but already his gut is sinking.

He has a moment for the two to recover from their shock, and uses it to put enough distance between them to react should they come at him. “I’m sorry,” he says, “but I can’t allow you to fix everything just yet! I don’t want to cause trouble, but I need answers before that happens.”

Both brandishing weapons now, the heroes glare at Taurus. “I’ll give you one chance to hand that back to my lady before I take it,” Chat Noir growls.

“Who are you?” Ladybug asks. “Why would you…?”

“I swear I’m not trying to stop you from doing your jobs,” Taurus says as placatingly as he can while still holding the Lucky Charm close like a football, “but I won’t take no for an answer. I need to figure out what’s happening, even if it means wresting the answers from you by force!”

The heroes narrow their eyes. Neither trust him. In fact, a shared look confirms to each other that they both suspect he is simply another akuma. It’s happened before, though this is extraordinarily fast for another one to show up.

Even so, Ladybug asks, “What do you want to know?”

Taurus sags a little, relieved that dialogue is at least open. But how to ask this? Frankly, he’s not sure exactly what he can ask that will help, their willingness to answer notwithstanding.

Ultimately, the App War was a proxy war for gods of other worlds. Participants, including people like Taurus and the transients, with their Sacred Artifacts, infused with the power of gods and the System of the world which they originate, battle to establish a hierarchy of belief. Which Systems come out on top… determining that is the point.

Taurus wishes he were smarter. Then, he might be able to pinpoint why this situation in Paris is at all like the one in Tokyo, but unfortunately, he is not.

But he knows that the heroes and villains here have magical jewelry which grant them power – Sacred Artifacts, perhaps? – but where does that power come from? Gods? Just maybe… that would make sense.

“Why does everyone remember what happens after you reset everything?” Taurus asks.

Ladybug, completely taken aback by such an odd question, shares another look with Chat Noir. “Why wouldn’t they?”

When Ladybug answers, it’s Taurus’s turn to be taken aback. Maybe something simpler? Something absolutely necessary to know. “Are you using the App?”

“The App?” Chat Noir echoes, face twisted into confusion. “What app? Are you just trying to stall us?”

No App? Then… why is a battle zone open? Can I use my…

Ladybug and Chat Noir jump when their Miraculous beep urgently once more. Ladybug growls. “We have to go,” she says.

Chat Noir nods.

Seeing them both turn to take off, Taurus quickly does some mental math. If Ladybug recharges, then she can summon another Lucky Charm. That’s what he’s lead to believe, anyway. If she does that, she can reset everything and close the battle zone regardless of if Taurus hold on to the one in his hand.

“You can’t!” Taurus shouts. Seeing that neither are going to wait any longer, he groans. “I’m sorry about this, but I won’t allow you to escape!” They don’t listen, of course. Chat Noir is already in the air and Ladybug already has her yo-yo on some far structure to pull her away faster than Taurus can stop her.

Which leaves him with only one choice left. He doesn’t want to use it, because he knows they’ll interpret it as an attack – not to mention the possibility of learning more than he should – but the chance of it giving insight into the situation here in Paris as it relates to the App War in Tokyo is too important to pass up.

Besides… he has a mask on. This mask which means to Taurus to fight on. To never hide in the face of fear. He’s faced plenty of Sacred Artifacts with this mask, so it’s not all that frightening to do this now.

“Role of the Hero!” Taurus shouts. Ladybug and Chat Noir pause, clearly realizing that he’s trying to pull something to stop them from leaving. “Rule of Accession! Engrave mine name of Taurus Mask unto thee!”

“Careful, Ladybug!” Chat Noir shouts.

Taurus really does feel awful about this. “Alight!” He raises the arm where his Sacred Artifact sits on his wrist. “Corona Borealis!”

Ladybug gasps as the cords of the Ring around his wrist unravel and whip about. She tries to dodge, but it happens in an instant. Chat Noir manages to get between them only to be wrapped up in the ropes of the Sacred Artifact as well as Ladybug.

Chat Noir winces, but looks around, surprised that he isn’t restrained. The ropes entwine around him and Ladybug, as well as Taurus Mask, but don’t restrict his movement.

They sort of remind him of the ropes around a wrestling ring.

Well, if they’re not stopping their escape, Ladybug and he really need to recharge.

“A warning!” Taurus Mask shouts. “This Sacred Artifact made from the thread of souls will expose all forms of deception, unmasking all that which is concealed!”

Chat Noir and Ladybug both feel their blood run cold. It can’t be, Ladybug thinks. There have been other akuma that could out our identities in one hit, but…

“Whether my opponent is underground or invisible, it will form the path to allow us to duel! As a wrestler, I will take what I seek from you! If you won’t tell me with words, I will simply wrest the answers from your souls! Within this space, a wrestler has only their body to fight with – no puny tricks! It will be a battle so heated our very souls wil- huh? Oh!”

Suddenly, Taurus Mask pales and stumbles back. “Two?!” he gasps. “I haven’t seen more than one since… no, they’re not inside of you… not like them… but that’s not normal! Are you… Exceptions?!”

Ladybug honestly has no idea what this crazy guy is on about. She and Chat Noir silently debate the ethics of just attacking him while Taurus Mask himself scrambles with the revelations he does not truly expect his Sacred Artifact to grant him.

He can see their very souls. No masks stand up to Taurus’s Sacred Artifact. Of course, exposing their souls gives him an idea of the identities behind the literal masks, too – in large part the reason why he hesitates to use this option from the start, since he of all people knows how important a mask can be – but thankfully the physical mask remains and he’ll only know for sure if he sees their souls without the mask on to compare. Even so, seeing the souls in front of him now gives him guesses – good guesses, he thinks. But still that possible revelation takes a back seat to what he’s looking for in the first place.

Ladybug, Chat Noir, each bear two souls. It’s not like Taurus’s soul brother, who carries myriad souls inside of them. Instead, the two souls each of these heroes bear are simply intertwined, not inhabiting the same vessel.

And that’s remarkable enough, but not all that dissimilar to someone like Musashi. What truly throws Taurus off is that the two souls paired with these people are… beyond him. It’s one thing to find burning souls of passion and determination – which these heroes surely have – but it’s another entirely to find souls so unlike even the transients Taurus has seen that it can only be something outside the scope of reality itself.

Taurus does not comprehend half the souls before him. He perceives them, certainly, but even as he peers directly into the true selves of the people behind the masks of Ladybug and Chat Noir, the remaining two souls float on the edge of his mind, teasing at him, enough to surely drive him mad if he lingers but too much to have hope of understanding from a glance.

It’s as if something, the sheer enormity and gravitas of them perhaps, just can’t be grasped by a mortal mind.

But that utter lack of comprehension tells Taurus more than enough. These souls belong to beings outside the structured System of the App. Exceptions, too powerful and game breaking to be allowed to participate, or even gods themselves. Anything else, save for a Rule and Role opposing his, he would see just as he sees the human souls before him.

If these gods are granting Ladybug and Chat Noir power through Sacred Artifacts – the Miraculous – and they’re fighting someone else powered by another god supplying another Sacred Artifact… then no wonder the App reacts. Taurus can’t know where these gods come from, whether they’re from another world or this one, and if they all come from separate worlds or the same one, but it’s clear that battles between these Miraculous are essentially the same as battles with Sacred Artifacts.

Proxy wars for gods.

Taurus is wrapped up in this same thing again.

(Is he complaining, though? …No. He is a Berserker, after all.)

Ladybug isn’t sure what’s happening, but she has a minute at most left before she detransforms and she doesn’t think she can escape with this Ring around them. Ethics of attacking a distracted opponent aside, she’s out of time. With a signal to Chat Noir, she leaps forward.

And gets a Lucky Charm smacking her in the face in response.

“You’re out of time, aren’t you?” Taurus Mask says, sounding surprisingly sympathetic rather than taunting as Ladybug would expect of an akuma. She also doesn’t expect him to bow deeply to her and Chat. “I’m truly sorry about that! My Sacred artifact revealed what I needed to know, so… you can have that back!” Ladybug, dumbfounded, picks up her Lucky Charm.

What does he know? Ladybug struggles with the dilemma in her mind, again frozen in the face of such an odd encounter. Does he know her identity? What is he looking for in the first place? What does that power of his really do – is he honest about that? What was he mumbling about after he used it?

She has way too many questions and no guarantee that she’ll ever see him again to get them answered, but she has no choice but to run immediately as soon as she sees that Ring he summons disappear.

Ensuring Chat Noir leaves, she takes off as well, not having the time to afford to stick around and listen as he monologues.

It’s not hard to escape, surprisingly. Taurus doesn’t chase them, and she has just enough time left to duck into a hiding spot just a short leap away. Even so, when she transforms back and Marinette can afford to spare thought to the strange encounter, she panics.

She knows almost nothing, but even without confirmation, there is a chance now – a significant one – that an akuma has just revealed her secret identity. Marinette has no idea what that strange power does exactly, but if Taurus is to be believed, she doubts her identity holds up against “unmasking all that which is concealed”.

What am I supposed to do?! she thinks. She struggles for breath, hardly even capable of voicing her racing thoughts aloud as Tikki eats. Clutching at her hair, Marinette trembles. “He knows our identities, Tikki! Hawk Moth has won! How could I have been so careless?!”

“Calm down, Marinette!” Tikki frowns sadly. “It’s true that, if he knows your identities, that’s terrible, but first thing’s first, you need to find him and stop the akuma!”

“That’s the other thing!” Marinette exclaims. Despite the evidence: that weird power he uses, the mask and name, stealing her Lucky Charm and unmasking them, something about this situation isn’t right. Hawk Moth can send out two akuma in a day, yes, but not two at once unless he’s powered up into Scarlet Moth, and Taurus’ color scheme is green, not red. “Are we sure he’s really an akuma?”

Is he an amok instead? But that doesn’t quite seem right to her, either…

“Well,” Tikki says hesitantly, “I guess there’s no way to be sure until you confront him. Either way, if he knows your identity, you shouldn’t let him just get away!”

“You’re right, Tikki,” Marinette sighs. It’s not much, but it’s direction. It’s something concrete that she can do to try to make this situation better, so she’s going to do it. “Are you ready to go?”

With Tikki’s confirmation, Marinette transforms once more into Ladybug to return to the spot where she last sees Taurus Mask. Chat Noir obviously has the same thought, since they meet up on a nearby rooftop just before the location comes into view.

Ladybug isn’t entirely sure what she expects – to find no trace of him is probably the worst and most likely scenario – but she knows for sure that this isn’t even on the list. Chat Noir sends a puzzled look her way, motioning for her to listen closely, and Ladybug hears Taurus Mask even before she sees him.

“…told him, wait until I, too, become a pro wrestler and can join you as a teammate!”

A gasp. Ladybug peers over the edge of the roof, only half-surprised to see Alya there pointing her phone camera at Taurus Mask while he monologues into a microphone. (Where the microphone comes from, Marinette has no idea.)

“What did he say?” Alya asks, leaning in eagerly.

“Great question!” Taurus melodramatically performs for the camera, determination and solemn fortitude pouring off of him like a physical force. “He told me this: if I really won’t give up on my dream to become a pro wrestler… I should fight on. He said I must never hide in the face of fear. That is when I will truly know my opponent. Only then can I touch my opponent’s soul.” Downcast, but losing none of his verve, he adds, “I may be hurt at times, but that is also how I will meet the ones I can truly call friends.” Brighter again, and nearly shouting into the mic with his enthusiasm. “He said that if I continue on that path, one day, I will meet the one who shares my passionate soul! My soul brother!”

Alya gasps again, grinning widely, completely into the story. “How touching! I think I might cry!”

Taurus laughs heartily. “Ha! That reaction… I kind of want to be your friend now. I cried, too! He gave me so much courage that I swore! I swore I would continue to train for that day!”

“Amazing!” Alya cheers. “The Ladyblog wants to know, Taurus Mask; are you still training for that day? Did you ever find your soul brother?”

Taurus Mask’s smile turns a little goofy, the faraway gaze and expression of someone reminiscing about something not present. “I have!” he shouts. “My soul brother is the only person in the world who can see under this mask of mine!” Taurus Mask ducks his head, so Ladybug from her perch doesn’t hear it, but he adds, “Though, I still get embarrassed…” He shakes his head roughly. “But that doesn’t mean my training has come to an end! On the contrary, it’s only the beginning! With my soul brother at my side, it’s just a new chapter in the saga of the future pro wrestler, Taurus Mask!”

“Okay,” Chat Noir says quietly. “I had my doubts, but he’s definitely an akuma.”

“We’ll find out one way or another,” Ladybug growls. This guy jumps in out of nowhere, possibly discovers their identities, and almost stops Ladybug from repairing the damage of the last akuma. Eccentricities or not, akuma or not, he’s not someone they can risk running around unchecked. “Come on, Chat.”

“Way ahead of you, my lady.” Chat Noir grins and pounces ahead of Ladybug, landing not far from the interview with characteristic lackadaisical flair. “Sorry to interrupt,” he says, “but I’m afraid Ladybug and I are going to have to hold an interview of our own.”

Some of the light in Taurus Mask’s eyes dies out when he sees them, but he makes no move to run, or even any motion to fight. “Ah…” he mutters, “yeah, I thought you would. That’s why I stuck around. I’m sorry again for what I did – I hope you’ll understand once I explain the situation.”

“We’ll see,” Ladybug says. “For now, Alya, you should go.”

Eyes darting between Ladybug and Taurus Mask, Alya quickly assesses the situation. “Of course, Ladybug,” she says.

Alya keeps her thoughts to herself for now, but she intends to speak with Marinette about this later. Having talked to him for a minute, and having interviewed akuma before, Alya can’t convince herself that Taurus Mask is on Hawk Moth’s side.

And if he’s not on Hawk Moth’s side… then she might have just gotten the first ever interview – and backstory to boot! – of Paris’ newest hero. She’ll sit on the footage for now, until things between the heroes get sorted out, but… well, whatever way this ends up going, this is going to be interesting, and this interview will remain valuable.

With one last parting look, and humor in her chest that her look needs to be reassuring for Taurus Mask – the poor guy looks ready to cry with Ladybug and Chat Noir looking at him like an akuma – Alya takes her leave.

Alone, Taurus Mask shrinks under the expectant, baleful eyes of the heroes of Paris. The air is thick and heavy, crushing him under its heel.

“Well!” Chat Noir says casually. “Curiosity killed the cat, as they say. Why don’t you start by telling us just what exactly that power of yours showed you, then go into the whole situation, hm?”

Taurus Mask yelps at the interruption of the horrible moment, and sighs as he considers how best to answer. “Simply put,” he says, “my Sacred Artifact creates a forum for a fair fight.”

Chat Noir hums. “That sounds very different from ‘unmasking all that which is concealed’.”

“No, it does that,” Taurus says. “There’s no room for deceit and hiding in a fair fight. A real fair fight is a battle where our very souls trade blows. It’s Rule is Accession, and with my Role of the Hero it manifests in the power to touch the souls of others, to raise them to courage and power just like my own hero did for me.”

“But it means you know our identities,” Ladybug confirms.

Taurus Mask winces. “Not… exactly? I know your souls, and the souls entwined with yours, but my Sacred Artifact doesn’t give me the knowledge of what that means. I mean… I do have a guess, and I’m usually pretty good at figuring that kind of thing out with this power, but… I can’t say with a hundred percent certainty or anything.”

Ladybug shares a look with Chat. Taurus Mask has seen their very souls. If he’s so much as stumbled across them as civilians, it’s likely he can puzzle it out, and he admits to having a guess. While it sounds like his power doesn’t literally unmask them to him, it surely does away with the glamour magic at play that protects them from others.

“Okay,” Ladybug says, “so are you going to explain why it was so necessary to figure out our identities?”

“I wasn’t trying to figure out your identities!” Taurus yelps. “But… I’m new to Paris, okay? That was the first akuma I’ve ever seen. Where I’m from, something… similar, but different was happening. That’s why I have my Sacred Artifact in the first place. But my Sacred Artifact doesn’t work outside of a battle zone, and if you reset everything, you’d close the battle zone, and I knew you wouldn’t just tell some random citizen what’s going on here, so I did the only thing I could think of!”

Something like this happening somewhere else? Ladybug knows it’s not impossible, especially given the power Taurus Mask himself demonstrates. It’s clearly not a Miraculous, not if he uses the power and then sticks around in an interview with Alya while Ladybug and Chat recharge, and he keeps calling it a Sacred Artifact… “What is that rope?” Ladybug asks. “Your… Sacred Artifact? What’s a Sacred Artifact?”

Taurus blinks. “…Oh, um… how to explain it… it’s sort of like your Miraculous, I guess. It’s an artifact of another world which holds the power of a god- I know it sounds crazy! But listen, aren’t your Miraculous the same? Except Sacred Artifacts apply their Rules on the world, just like gods, and your Miraculous are inhabited by gods rather than just objects with similar powers. Right?”

Chat Noir’s eyes widen, then narrow into slits. “How did you know that?”

Taurus ducks his head. “My Sacred Artifact revealed it to me. I saw your souls, but I also saw two others, ones I can only assume at this point are the souls of gods. And they were inside your Miraculous, so…”

Remarkable. He may not even realize the details, but Taurus Mask just casually discovered the kwami. Ladybug… honestly doesn’t know where to go from here.

“And you’re…” Chat Noir says, “not an akuma?”

“No!” Taurus says. “I just come from somewhere else where the System is a little different. I’m trying to figure out how things work here, that’s all.”

Chat Noir hums. “What do you think, my lady? He sounds genuine to me.”

He does sound genuine, because he is. Ladybug may not be able to see through deceptions and masks, but she finds herself believing Taurus.

After all, even if he also wears a mask, his definition of a fair fight includes baring his own soul, too. Ladybug just has a gut feeling that he’s not a bad person. The identity issue still worries her, but she’s willing to believe that he’s not going to purposefully cause trouble.

But she is still the guardian of the Miraculous, and it is her duty to keep the Miraculous safe. If Taurus Mask has even an inkling of their identities, she needs full understanding of the situation. So, she drags both boys off to a more private location and has a long, long discussion about where Taurus comes from, how things work there, and, once she’s satisfied, just a little bit about things here in Paris.

(She would not believe his story about transients for a second if he didn’t have pictures of himself – still masked, of course – hanging out with a hulking minotaur and many other, even weirder, people on his phone.)

(The App, however, neither Ladybug nor Chat Noir need much convincing of, though Taurus shows it to them, too. Once he explains the premise of the App, both heroes of Paris understand much better why Taurus Mask steps in to figure out why it’s acting up again so far from other players. They also understand why the kwami in particular intrigue Taurus, though he doesn’t ask for too many details about the gods in their Miraculous just yet, nor do they tell him.)

With all the details, or at least as much as either side is willing to share, out in the open, Ladybug is equally convinced of Taurus Mask’s good intentions as his inevitable interference in akuma attacks. He’s a man with a secret identity, a superpower, the literal Role of the Hero, and, based on his brief stories about his guild, not an ounce of self-preservation.

(He’s friends with a tiger that wants to eat him? And Ladybug thought Paris is weird.)

There’s no way that Taurus Mask won’t run towards the akuma when everyone else runs away, whether Ladybug and Chat Noir tell him to stay away or not.

Plus, there’s still the identity situation… At this rate, Ladybug is going to get a migraine.

“I think that’s enough for today,” Chat Noir says eventually. “We all have a lot to think about, so why don’t we go get some rest, get back to our lives, and continue this another time?”

Ladybug sighs. “That’s a good idea, Chat. I have a lot of thinking to do.”

Taurus Mask sags a little. “Sounds good to me. I don’t do much here except school yet, so just let me know if you ever want to meet.”

Daisuke Ikusaba is dreading going to school.

It’s not that there’s anything wrong, exactly, but he’s pretty sure that Ladybug and Chat Noir are his classmates (and what are the odds of that?) and he’s not sure he can handle walking in there, looking at them and how they act, and confirming it for himself.

He takes a deep breath to fortify himself enough to cross the threshold and shuffle all the way into his classroom to his seat.

Marinette walks in, passes off something to Rose that Rose is supremely thankful for, hands everyone a macaron, and summarily gets in a fight with Chloé over some mean remarks towards Kim and Daisuke just groans internally because yes, this is definitely Ladybug.

There’s just… there’s just no hiding it.

Then Adrien, whom Daisuke has only spoken to once so far, walks in, cracks an admittedly hilarious pun, snickering impishly to himself while doing so, then takes in the argument and jumps in to defuse it expertly, and Daisuke drops his head to his desk.

He really doesn’t mean to figure them out! He’s new in Paris! He only knows like three people outside of this classroom! Even if his Sacred Artifact told him their names and faces, that still shouldn’t mean anything to him! There’s just no possible way to predict that the heroes would be two of the whole twenty people he knows in this entire city.

It’s ridiculous.

“Utterly ridiculous!” Chloé shrieks. As Daisuke curls up into his desk, Chloé huffs, plopping (gracefully!) down onto her seat. She has no idea why Dupain-Cheng thinks now is a good time to start an argument. Honestly, she doesn’t think her comment about Kim is even that bad, considering all the other irons she has in the fire that she knows Dupain-Cheng is aware of.

But Marinette is not thinking about Chloé. While it’s true that her comment about Kim bothers her, and that she’ll always happily jump in to her friends’ defense, Marinette doesn’t think it’s strictly necessary in this case. It’s a minor thing, just a mean, off-handed comment that the entire class (Daisuke, who’s new, excluded) has long since learned to ignore.

No, she’s not testing Chloé here, she’s testing Daisuke. Because if Taurus Mask knows her identity, or at least has a guess, then that means he must be someone who knows her. If he’s as new to Paris as he claims, then Daisuke is a good match in timing, and he looks similar, as well. That said, the mask he wears covers significantly more than a simple domino mask does, so although he has no magic glamour protecting his identity, it’s still not something Marinette can identify so easily through looks alone.

But Taurus Mask is a hero through and through. Taurus Mask would never resist rushing in when conflict arises. Daisuke Ikusaba is a socially anxious, muscled ball of nerves. That Daisuke looks over at her argument, clearly noting it, but doesn’t so much as utter a word is, in Marinette’s mind, evidence that he cannot possibly be Taurus Mask.

There’s no way this shy kid sitting in the back of her class can monologue about his backstory and persona so easily to Alya and the whole internet. Daisuke Ikusaba and Taurus Mask can’t be anything but two entirely separate people, Marinette thinks.

But then who is he? Marinette grits her teeth, struggling over the question for the whole school day.

Daisuke isn’t much better, tossing around in his head whether he should talk to Marinette and Adrien about it, whether he should talk to Ladybug and Chat Noir about it, whether he should tell them his identity… but he can’t tell them his identity! It’s not even that he’s strictly against doing so. Being seen unmasked is like… like public indecency. To tell them who he is just feels wrong.

But he knows them, through no choice of their own.

But will he even be able to get the words out if he tries? Last time, the only time he’s ever done something like this, he could hardly say a word to his own soul brother out of sheer embarrassment – and they already knew! How is he supposed to deal with these two?

He suffers through the myriad options, none appealing enough to even seem plausible. Marinette suffers through her compromised duty and endless questions about who exactly poses such a great danger to her, and in the very front row, Adrien suffers through exactly the same thing as his lady, with more thought spared to still processing the App, the System from which it comes, and transients.

It’s a tough school day all around, but though no answers are apparent to any of them, all three share a determination to find the right answer regardless. After all, all three of them are heroes. For whatever reason, they’ve all honed the ability to see problems not as obstacles in their path, but challenges to overcome.

It may take some time to sort through everything that this clashing of worlds has thrown at them all, but they all feel the pressure of their Roles and cannot possibly act counter to them. They will figure it out. They will overcome those challenges. They will grow stronger for that effort.

And though forces oppose them, though they have villains within their school and without, they will fight on.

Each one of them, for many, many reasons, is afraid, but they will not hide in the face of fear.

Each one of them faces the possibility of being hurt. Physically in the line of duty, or emotionally to support that duty. But each of them also know through experience that that hurt is also how they will meet their greatest allies, the ones they can truly call friends.

#miraculous ladybug fanfiction #ml fanfiction #fanfiction #tokyo afterschool summoners

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rottingmanifesto · 2 years

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9, 14, 17, 24, 5 !! (Mafia Ask)

Bug, I love you, but WHY IS THE 5 AT THE END I guess you can say it’s bugging me

5. Which characters do you dislike and why?

Remy Duvall, for obvious reasons. Salieri, due to how little he cared for anyone but himself and his precious goddamn money. Sal Marcano— he’s a fantastically written villain, but there’s also personal reasons why I don’t like him. Cassandra, because she’s insufferable as a person.

9. The last Mafia game you played/watched, you so happened to get trapped in. How would you react and what would be the first thing you did?

Mafia 2: I think I’d be surprised and not really do anything for a second, before just wandering around I guess. Maybe, Marty and I would meet and talk, as we’re (now) the same age, 17.

14. If you could meet any character and just ask them anything you’ve always wanted to know, who would that character be? Along with the question(s) you would ask.

MDE: Sam. Why’d you do it, what was the motivation, did you really value Salieri over Tommy and Paulie? That kind of stuff. I’d slap him most likely too.

M2: Joe. Did you know you were a bad influence? Do you blame yourself? Did you ever plan to actually betray Vito? Jokingly, where did you learn to write?

M3: So many characters, but mainly Giorgi and Donovan.

For Giorgi: Why did you value your family over your friends? What really are your beliefs? Would you do it again? Should love really be based on fear, man? (That ain’t love. That’s abuse.) Who really are you? What would’ve happened if you loved yourself more than you feared your dad?

For Donovan: Do you feel responsible? Why can’t you see yourself as human? What’s with your hatred of Father James? Are you afraid you’d turn out like Aldridge? Why did you leave Lincoln in the end? Jokingly, where the fuck do you get the money to kill senators/the people that killed JFK— also, that’s an awkward work reunion, isn’t it?

17. Favorite quote(s) from the Mafia trilogy.

Tommy’s ending speech. For your sake and mine, I’m not taking the full thing. “You know, the world isn't run by the laws written on paper. It's run by people. Some according to laws, others not. It depends on each individual how his world will be, how he makes it. And you also need a whole lot of luck, so that somebody else doesn't make your life hell. And it ain't as simple as they tell you in grade school. But it is good to have strong values and to maintain them. In marriage, in crime, in war, always and everywhere. I messed up. So did Paulie and Sam. We wanted a better life, but in the end we were a lot worse off than most other people. You know, I think it's important to keep a balance in things. Yeah, balance, that's the right word. Because the guy who wants too much risks losing absolutely everything. Of course, the guy who wants too little from life, might not get anything at all.”

Vito’s statement of “you think war was any different?” just kinda sticks with me. I don’t know why. But it does.

Father James had a point. Really only one, but it’s a damn good one. “We sent kids off to die, for what? So someone can make a few bucks? Lincoln was right. He was always right. There ain't never gonna be another Dr. King or Bobby Kennedy. But there's always gonna be another Sal Marcano. Another Sammy Robinson. Another Lincoln Clay. We are a cruel and wicked people.”

24. A scene that you can’t help but laugh at every single time.

“He pissed all over the joint!” scene from Mafia:DE. Reminds me of an old friend of mine, and it’s just funny.

Every funny scene from Maf 2. That’s it, that’s the post.

Lincoln talking about Roxy’s attractiveness in front of her fucking DAD (look, I’d do the same thing. I probably already have, at some point) and “who the fuck am I, your girlfriend?” scene. John blushed so hard at Lincoln’s response y’all know I’m right.

Thanks for asking!

#mafia trilogy #asks

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thewalkingfanfictions · 4 years

Text

I’m Not Gay -- Sam Winchester x Male!reader (part two)

I'm Not Gay — Sam Winchester x male!hunter!reader

Part One / Part Two

Description: Forced out of his motel room by his sister when she and a stranger burst through the door playing tongue wars, (Name) decides to go for walk, where he runs into Sam, tall, handsome, smart, and no, (Name) definitely doesn’t like guys, I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Warning: Some internalized homophobia, references to sex, and some cussing. Supernatural-themed gore and violence (they fight vampires)

Genre: Fluff, I guess? A bit of angst in there somewhere probably, too, since I have no self control. Can “dat gay shit” be a genre?

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Male!Reader

A/N: I hate this. So fucking much. I am, however, willing to write a part three with somma dat gay smut, if y’all want. I won't do it if no one says anything, though, so someone better comment. This is a threat.

Words without A/N: 2342

Masterlist

<—————————————>

The two of us crept through the old, neglected house. It was big, two stories with several rooms on each floor, and crawling with vamps.

Looking at Lidia over my shoulder, she motioned that she was going to go north, and waved me the other direction. Taking off as silently as I could, it wasn't long until I ran into the first group. How they hadn't noticed me yet, I guess we'll never know.

Creeping closer, I got within a few feet before the group of three tensed up and turned towards where I stood. Baring their teeth, two of them launched while the third took off through a doorway. Coward.

Dispatching them was easy enough, and I was quickly on to another room, leaving a stack of bodiless heads behind me. The next rooms were much of the same: alternating between empty bedrooms, to ones with two or three vamps chilling together, the job was simple enough. It wasn't until the very last room on my side of the building that I ran into trouble.

Seven, all together, and they already knew I was there. The one from the first room who had run when I showed up was standing beside them.

Fourteen bloodthirsty eyes glaring down at me, they slowly began surrounding where I stood. My heart beat in my ears, and I strengthened my hold on my machete, trying to form a plan. I should work on the big ones first, as they could pose a larger threat--but I should really save the bigger ones for after, so I can focus more of my energy on them--but at the same time, the smaller four could be more trouble than the big ones, they are more, and they are probably faster--or I could just focus on whoever came at me first--but what if they all launch at the same time? Am I really overthinking this right now?

Fuck it.

One of the smaller ones came forward to glare at me, sharp, disgusting teeth on display as she inched ever closer. As she got within reaching distance, she opened her mouth to say something--only to be cut off by my blade disconnecting her head from the rest of her. Her body fell to the floor like a...well, like a body, and all was silent for a moment, before the rest of them launched. Slicing and dodging and trying not to die was becoming increasingly more difficult as all six of the rest fought for a piece of me. I felt the side of my face light with a sting as one of them struck out and hit me, just before my blade cut through their flesh, hands grabbed me from behind, and I swung back as hard as I could, listening to the "shlingt" of the blade cutting through its neck. Before I could move to swing again, another body was grabbing me from behind and pulling me back, turing in their grip to swing again, my wrist was caught in their fist, making me look up at my opponents face.

Familiar, smokey-honey eyes surrounded by locks of fluffy brown hair graced my vision, and my breath caught in my throat at being so close to that perfect face.

"Sam?"

He pushed me behind him and went to work on a vamp that was right behind me, hacking its head off before turning to me with a bashful smile.

"Heh, uh, hey? Fancy seeing you here," a cheeky smile lit up his face as he turned back to the fight. My heart did an odd little "per-thump" as I gazed at his muscled body (now clad in a red and white flannel that did wonders for his shoulders (not that I would, uh, notice that.)) Shaking those very-not-me thoughts out of my head, I launched back into the fight beside him.

I knew there was something familiar about his room.

It wasn't long till we had dispatched all but one. The thing launched at Sam, who had at some point in the battle lost his own machete. He dodged gracefully around the vampires outstretched claws, and managed to get ahold of him from behind, holding the beasts arms behind its back and looking up at me. Well would you look at that. It was the same asshole who'd run away before and warned the others.

"(Name)!"

Wasting absolutely no time, I stepped forward and beheaded the thing, splattering blood onto Sam's face in the process. Good riddance.

Dropping the blood suckers body to the ground, Sam stepped over it, and walked towards me without so much as a second glance at the thing. A worried look came over his face as he moved closer, and his hand reached out to trace a thumb over the side of my face. Hissing, I couldn't help but flinch back at the sudden pain that erupted under his fingertips. My own hand flew to my face on reflex, coming away sticky with blood.

Apparently the thing that punched me earlier got me a bit more than I'd realized.

"You're hurt. We should get back and clean you up before you get infected, you might've gotten vamp blood in it."

His hand carefully traced over it again, this time taking care not to hurt me, and his eyes shone with his concern for me. It was kind of sweet, actually. We only met, like, less than twenty four hours ago.

"I knew there was something familiar about you," I mumbled, gazing up into his eyes, which silently questioned me in return. "Your room. The pre-packed bags, and the half-drank coffee next to the pile of papers and the laptop. It looked a painful lot like what my room usually looks like before a hunt," I smiled.

He grinned back at me, gaze dropping a bit lower than my eyes for a half a moment before darting back up. Licking his bottom lip, (an action I definitely didn't gawk at) he opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by someone loudly clearing their throat.

We both flinched away from each other, and it was only then that I realized just how close we had been standing, and that his hand had still been rested gently against the side of my bleeding face. Turning quickly towards the interruption, I locked eyes with my sister, who stood beside the larger figure of her bedmate from the night before, both smirking and gazing at us knowingly. I felt an ugly blush crawling its way towards my ears.

"Uh-uh-I-uhm-hey--hi-ah-uhm--" Sam stumbled from a few paces away from me, looking far more like a human-lobster hybrid than he had a moment before.

An ugly snort came out of my sister at that, and her smirk only grew as she looked between the two of us, looking like she was trying to refrain from saying something that I would most definitely punch her for. I wonder how hard it would be to dig a grave her height by myself.

"Shut up."

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

The ride back to the hotel was literal hell.

Lidia waited exactly six seconds (I counted) after we were both safely in the car and following the brothers' Impala down the road before she started interrogating me, that stupid smile still clinging to her face.

I've never wanted to punch her more.

I didn't know my face was capable of turning that red.

I was out of the car practically before it had even stopped rolling, and back in the hotel room before anybody else had even gotten out of their rigs. I could feel eyes on me the entire time, and hear my sisters uncontrolled laughter even through the closed car doors. I made sure I was already in the shower before she could get up to the room to bother me any more.

The water was nice, one of the best I'd had in a hotel, actually, and that is definitely the only reason I was in there for as long as I was. Yup. The only reason. It had nothing to do with avoiding my womb mate, and absolutely nothing to do with the thoughts going through my head about a certain 6-foot-something brunette.

After a good solid hour of wasting hot water, I finally decided it was probably time to get out. I'm sure Lidia wants to wash off too. Good luck with the few drops of hot water that I left you, punk. Drying off my hair and pulling on the baggy sweats and a tee-shirt that was way too big on me that I had thankfully remembered to grab from my bag before I rushed in here, I opened the door enough to peek out.

Of course, because it's only my luck, I got a nice side view of Dean with his tongue down my sisters throat.

Apparently they heard my exaggerated gagging sounds, because they split off and looked towards the bathroom door, eyes lust-drunk and lips red and swollen. Gross.

"Oh, don't act like you're not jealous, (nickname)," Lidia chided sassily, before rolling her eyes dramatically. "If you were in there any longer, we woulda started fucking, instead of being the polite person that I am and waiting for you to leave first."

I cringed at the thought of having to see that again, and flipped her off, before grabbing up a book and heading for the door as quickly as I could, listening to the two of them chuckling at me as I went.

“Loser.”

“Punk.”

"Your boyfriends waiting for you over in our room again, (name)!" I heard Dean say just before the two of them erupted into aggressive kissy noises, "(Name) and Sa'am, sitting in a tre--" the door slammed closed behind me.

Children. They are both complete children.

I found myself standing in front of the brothers door without even realizing I'd started walking yet, and I was knocking before I had the chance to try and compose myself. Fuck you, muscle memory.

The door opened before I'd even finished knocking, like Sam had just been sitting on the other side and waiting for someone to get there. His face flushed as we locked eyes, and I think he realized how it came across, too. I smiled at his cute ass dimples before my eyes dropped to take in the rest of him. Grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips (I'm not drooling, you are) and a plain white tee that had to be a good two sizes too small (holy mother of pecs). I probably stood there for a solid minute before realizing that it was really kinda weird for a totally heterosexual man to be staring like I was, and promptly looked away, clearing my throat and blushing stupidly once again.

His earthy chuckle was enough to break me out of my stupidity.

"Uh, so, uhm, uh--" I cleared my throat again, trying to reel my mind back into my body and refusing to look at him "Our siblings were dangerously close to fucking again and I really didn't wanna have to see that again, and I was kinda hoping I could hang out with you like last night but I totally get if you say no and I'lljustgofindsomewhereelsetogoI'msorryI'llleave--" I was half way through turning away when I felt him grab ahold of my arm, and pull me back towards him, his laugh cutting through the aggressive amount of self-loathing that was rushing through my system at the moment.

"Its okay, please don't go, Dean said to expect you over while he was there."

I paused for a second and stared at him, dumbfounded. He's a fucking angel.

Blushing stupidly, I nodded and followed behind him as he turned and swept his arm as an invitation to follow him inside. I stepped through the doorway, very aware that his hand still rested on my arm, and moved to sit on the bed when he pointed to it.

"Your face is still kinda busted up, I've got a first aid kit in here somewhere, let me help you," I was opening my mouth to protest when he turned and gave me a playful glare, like he already knew what I was going to say.

Soon enough, he was kneeling in front of me, one large hand resting on my shoulder while the other tilted my head to look at the cuts and the forming bruise. I couldn't look away from his kaleidoscope eyes.

Smearing some cold cream on my face (which I assumed was Neosporin, that's what it smelled like, anyway) I flinched slightly, which made him move both hands up to my head to hold me in place. Letting go for a split second, he reached for a bandage and moved back to cupping my face, and gently laid it over the split in my cheek. Being this close to him, smelling his freshly washed leather-and-old-book scent, I was practically drooling. It took far more restraint than it should have to not lean into the weirdly-soft hand that was cradling my cheek so gently.

Soon enough, he was done patching up my cheek, and looked up from his work. When our eyes connected, it was very much like the first time they had last night. I never wanted to look away. I don't exactly know when we started leaning in, but at some point we had. My eyes closed of their own accord, just a fraction of a second before his peachy lips were on mine. It was really just a peck, and far too soon he was pulling away from me, looking nervous. Before he had the chance to ruin the moment, or I had the chance to chicken out, I reached up and grabbed a handful of his shirt, and pulled him right back to me.

One of my hands found its way into his hair, the other still clinging to his shirt, terrified of him disappearing from my grasp. His hips found their way between my knees, where I still sat on the edge of the bed, pulling my body closer by the small of my back. By the time the both of us were too out of breath to continue, and he had to pull away, I was already far too lost to his hands.

Okay, so...Maybe I am a little bit gay.

fin

#Sam Winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x male reader #Sam Winchester crack fic #Supernatural #Dean Winchester #Male reader #this is literal trash #I'm Not Gay

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northcarolinanative · 4 years

Text

𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 (𝟺)

Chapter 4: A Runaway Kid from the Cut

A/N: OMG YOU GUYS!!! Thank you all so much for the support on this series and all of my other writings. I have never written anything remotely fiction like this before it warms my heart so much that you all are enjoying it!! Any feedback on this series is so much appreciated. I still have ZERO idea where this is going to end up, or how far past season 1 I’m going to take it, but I’m just going with it. Also my requests are open!! PLZ send me some stuff that you wanna see written, it does not have to be just about JJ, I’ll do all OBX cast haha. OKAY Enough if me rambling! ENJOY:)

No warning on this one... I think?

Need to catch up? Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3

The sun falling through the back window woke me up from my light sleep, then the sound of rustling sheets. I assumed JJ was just tossing and turning, something the two of us had been doing all night. There was a comfort in knowing that it wasn’t just me that was uneasy, that it was not just me hurting. I slowly fell back into a hazy sleep, filled with thoughts that had been burdening my mind.

A sheriff’s deputy was standing in the doorway. He told JJ and I to sit down, that we probably needed to. “Your brother, John B, They found the bodies on the wreck of the Phantom.” I looked to JJ who just held his head in the palms of his hands. I started to breathe heavily and the tears fell quickly down my face.

“No. No, you're lying!” I stood up quickly approaching.

“Y/N.” It was JJ’s voice, but I turned around and he was gone, nowhere to be found. “Y/N”

I sat up out of breath, I was asleep, it was just a bad dream. I took in a deep breath.

“You good?” JJ asked. I looked over to where he was in the kitchen. He was taking items out of the tote bag and putting them in the fridge. “You were breathing hard, kicking, and kept mumbling no.” He laughed trying to lighten the heavy mood.

“Yea, Yea. I’m good. Must have just been a bad dream.” I smiled continuing to watch him. “Did you go to the store?” I stood up walking over to help him.

“Yea I couldn’t sleep this morning…” He reached to put something up on a high shelf. “And I figured if I got us some groceries... “ He said Us, making my heart beat a little bit faster. “You would let me stay around?” He questioned, his cheeks turning a slightly darling shade of pink.

“JJ, you didn’t have to buy me food to stay here. You can stay as long as you like. Lord knows I need the company” I nudged his shoulder, “And I guess you’ll do.”

“Guess I’ll do?” He held his chest tightly, fainting offense. “Remember that the next time that you crawl into my bed, Routledge.” He laughed. He was okay with sharing a bed with me, which made me feel more comfortable. It helped me to know that I was not alone last night. Who knows where we’re gonna sleep tonight, but I hope it’s not in either of those rooms. JJ started to make himself a sandwich so I went and changed, brushed my teeth, showered.

I came out to JJ holding up half of his sandwich. I scrunched up my eyebrows to ask what he was doing. “You have not eaten since you got here, you should eat something.”

I smiled, and said a quick “thank you” to him. As I bit into the sandwich I realized how hungry I really was.

“There ya go” JJ playfully praised. He moved to sit at the other side of the bar. “So I was thinking,” JJ began.

I covered my mouth while I chewed. “That’s never a good thing,” I joked.

“Oh. Haha. Real original,” but nonetheless still let out a slight chuckle. “As I said” He began again. “I think that we should go to the SBI tent, or the department if the tent is gone. See if they have found anything. Whatever they find you know they are not going to look at it fully. John B’s just..” He paused looking at me.

“A runaway kid from the cut.” I finished.

“Sarah was with him, maybe Ward will wanna find her, I doubt it though she did betray him on the highest of levels” JJ laughed at his last statement.

“Are you JJ asking me to go on a wild goose hunt for my brother?” I spoke with a smile on my face. “It would be my honor” I giggled at my joke.

“Wouldn’t be my first wild goose chase.” He laughed.

We walked out to my car, JJ jumped in the passenger seat and looked over at me “Can I trust you to get us there in one piece? I remember how you drive a boat, he gripped the overhead handle.

“Oh very funny. You’ll survive” I joked. “You might need a helmet though.” I began backing up.

“A WHAT?” JJ laughed looking at you as you pulled from the drive onto the road.

“Buckle up buttercup”

When we got there and walked up to the tent Shoope was looking at JJ, his face hard to read. JJ leaned over and whispered to me “I’m not his favorite person” He looked at a woman stopping me in my tracks. “You can’t be JB’s sister ok? Your… a tourist, your family is staying here this summer, you met John B at the worst time ok? I’ll explain later.” I looked at him.

“Ok” I trust JJ, so it must be a reason, he wouldn’t say to do this for anything. We made our way towards Shoope, hoping he would not recognize me, not that he should.

“JJ, and...:” He paused looking at me.

“Y/F/N” I said, hoping that instead of saying the nickname everyone called me would help the tourist case. “JJ emotional support” I laughed, but it came out more like a strained cough. He looked between the two of us.

“Yea, okay, right. Well follow me” He took us back to a table. “I am not gonna sugar coat it for y’all” He pulled out a few papers then a phone. He pointed the screen in our direction, the first picture being the black underside of the boat, barely visible in the water.

JJ grabbed the phone. “Is that…”

“The Phantom” JJ finished. Shoope took the phone and swiped over the next two photos.

“We pulled the boat from the water, but they were not in, under, or around it.” He said. I reached over and grabbed JJ’s hand. He subconsciously gripped it tighter. We were using each other to ground ourselves, keep us from completely losing our minds, then and there.

“W-What does that mean?” I asked, my voice shaking slightly. Shoope looked at me confused, but carried on.

“Assuming there were the right amount of life jackets on the boat to begin with…” He looked at JJ.

JJ nodded. “As far as I know they’ve never been used, or moved since it was bought” he shrugged.

“Right. Well in that case two are missing. So we’re going to continue to search, widing the radius, see if their bodies were carried anywhere, see if they were able to swim or float anywhere, we are not giving up JJ. I told the other two the same thing.”

The other two, ouch. Pope and Kie had gone already, without even coming to see how JJ was doing, as far as they knew he was all alone. I didn't even want to think about JJ being alone in this. I squeezed his hand again letting him know that I was there for him.

“So what can we do?” JJ asked. I felt him shaking under my touch. I’m sure he could feel me shaking as well.

“Honestly. Take care of yourself JJ” Shoope’s tone was soft, not what I was imagining for him to be toward JJ.

“What about Ward and Rafe? What about them?” JJ was starting to get angry. He wanted to help, he did not like not being able to be there for his friends.

“Their being questioned, and things are not looking good for the two of them,” Shoope said. “But that is all that I can say right now.” I followed his eyes to the man in a dark suit standing to the side of the tent. A kook minion there to make everyone’s life harder, and a bit ominous if you ask me. “You two should go home, take care of yourselves. I’m being serious.”

“Thanks officer” I said before pulling JJ by his hand back toward the car. The moment the door shut beside me, it was like a wave crashed over my head, I was drowning. The tears flowed from my eyes and a sob escaped from my chest. I laid my head against the steering wheel. I looked over at JJ who shared the same feelings. Things looked bad but neither of us were ready to admit what everyone was thinking. I kept repeating to myself what Shoope said, bodies, they were looking for their bodies, that floated somewhere. JJ reached over and grabbed my hand again, trying to comfort the both of us again.

I wiped my cheeks with the backs of my hands and reached for the ignition key, turning it and hearing it sputter. I looked at JJ, then trying again. No luck. I rested my head on the steering wheel. “I don’t want to deal with this” I turned to look at JJ. “I am exhausted”

“We’ll come back for the car later, take a good strole,” He said, moving to open the door, but stopped when I spoke.

“No J. Not the car, I mean yes the car, but any of it, John B, Sarah Fucking Cameron, My dad, this, I’m tired.” My eyes were closed. I heard the door beside me shut, then felt the door beside me open up. I felt JJ’s touch on my back, then my side.

“Common now, Princess” Glad he was in a good enough mode to carry on calling me to names that I absolutely despised. “Let’s get you home, it’s not far at all.” He pulled me out of the driver’s seat, then reached in to grab my keys. He handed them to me. He grabbed my hand and pulled me along. I was not sure, but at that moment something inside me changed. Maybe it was the way that he had been taking care of me, despite the fact that he was going through it too. The way his hand felt in mine, in this casual way, just us walking down the side of the old gravel road was nice. We were walking side by side, closer than normal, or maybe it was, and I was just hyper aware. I was still slightly embarrassed by my outburst in the car, not entirely sure how I was feeling.

“Have you not talked to Kie or Pope?” I questioned. I knew the answer. I saw the look on his face when Shoope said he already talked to him.

“No” He said after hesitating he continued, “They haven't called, or stopped by the Chateau, they knowI’m not going home after taking the boat keys from my dad…” He paused again and I heard him swallow. “Everyone’s dealing with this in a different way I guess.” He bumped his shoulder into the arm connected to the hand he was holding. “Just like I’ve got you and you’ve got me” I felt a blush creep up my neck and face. I reached up and kissed him on the cheek.

“You’ll always have me here for you J, whether or not you like it.” We both fell back into silence as we walked. JJ was normally not this open or vulnerable, but it was nice to see this side of him. I am glad that he is able to trust and relate to me, at least kind of, in both of us losing John B.

I was pulled out of my thoughts as JJ pointed to the Crane house. “That’s where the gold was” He chuckled and it almost came out as a scoff. “We followed all the maps, found it and somehow the Kooks still won.”

Then it hit me, the life jackets were gone, the storm dissipated on landfall as they usually did. Maps. I stopped in my tracks.”JJ”

He turned to face me, a look mixed with confusion and worry covered his face. “What?”

“Maps JJ. That’s it!” I pulled on his hand, almost running us back to the Chateau.

Tagged; @nikki082489 @lovelymaybankk @dolanfivsosxox @alexa-playafricabytoto @downbytheouterbanks @heyhargrove @kayln021

(if you wanna be added to a tag list just reply below or message me:) Y’all’s support means THE WORLD to me!)

#jj outer banks #jj maybank #jj fic #jj imagine #jj x reader #obx #obx imagine #obx netflix #outer banks #outer banks imagine #outerbanks imagine #outerbanks #outerbanks netflix #john b routledge #john b sister #pope hayward #kie #kiara cerrara #jj imagines

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keoghans · 4 years

Text

Hey Chuck

Hello and welcome to this Chuck Grant fanfic. I always loved this dude, and I see little to no work about him, so, I took it upon myself to do fic about him. I invented a character, his love interest, because I cant write reader insert, I just, it bothers the fuck out of me to write like that lmao.

Special mentions for @notmykirk @liebthots @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @alphapockets for proofreading, giving ideas and helping a distressed, nervous writer lol, you lot were brilliant!

This is super angsty, but also filled with fluff and stupid cliches.

Pairing: Chuck Grant x OC

Warnings: angst, shitloads of angst. Mention of rape. Slight, non-explicit smut. Cursing.

Word Count: 12k (I know, IM SORRY)

Epilogue

Three knocks and an anxious wait.

The door was opened by the tall ginger that didn’t seem to ever age.

“Hannah Davis! What brings you here?” he exclaimed with a broad smile as he hugged her smaller frame.

“How are you, sir? You look great!” she replied and he furrowed his eyebrows at her answer.

“Hannah, the war is over, it has been for a while, I go by Richard, Rich, or Dick, please,” he said, as he let her in his house. He sounded the same, warm, emphatic, funny.

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” she replied, checking out his living room. He lived in a beautiful, tall house, very homey. It had a fireplace on and a half finished drink on the nearby table.

“My wife went to visit her brother, a man that’s never approved of me, so I stayed back,” he explained, serving another drink for her.

“I remember when you first told me that he wasn’t fond of you and I wondered, how the hell does someone not like Dick Winters?” she replied and they both chuckled.

“Her parents like me, and so does she, so… it doesn’t really matter”.

Hannah didn’t marry post war, and it had been only a year, but most of Easy Company was already having children, marrying or at least dating.

She had her heart set on someone but she had lost all contact with him and the Army didn’t help her trying to get what she needed.

So, after an hour and a half of reminiscing about the war, about Austria and the Eagle’s Nest, Winters caught up to her.

“Hannah, with all due respect… I know this isn’t just a casual visit, or you would’ve brought Luz or someone else with you,” he started, trailing off for her to speak.

Hannah chuckled cynically, the man had always been prone to read people like a piece of paper. She struggled for a few seconds, her nerves coming back to her, scratching the back of her head absentmindedly.

“I’ve been trying to find someone… Someone from the Company, and I don’t want to ask the rest of the men because… Well, if this fails, I don’t want it to be gossip between them; and the Army couldn’t help me, they cannot give out information about former paratroopers,” she explained.

“I have all of the men’s information with me, so, who are you looking for? Though—some information can be outdated, I haven’t updated it in a couple of years,” Dick said, looking for an old black book that had ‘Easy’ embroidered in the front.

“Say the name.”

“Uh… Charles Grant—NCO Chuck Grant.”

Rick smiled softly, looking down as he looked for his name in his book.

“What?” she asked, slightly embarrassed. He knew.

“Nothing. Sergeant Grant is an exceptional man, I felt deeply for him when he got shot,” he explained and placed a ruler under his name, handing the notebook to Hannah.

“I know he is, that’s why I’m looking for him,” she said, looking down at his name, copying the information of his address and phone number.

Richard looked at her with his usual witty, warm smile.

“Thank you, Dick” she said, closing the notebook and giving it back.

“Like my wife would say, ‘go get him’.”

///

Hannah had Chuck’s address and phone for a month and a half.

Every time she thought about calling him, or showing up at his place, fear shook her body and threw her back to square one. She had taken a cab to her former Major in the Paratroopers for forty five minutes to find a man’s address and she couldn’t actually talk to him.

Hannah laid in her bed, after a long day at the hospital. She was eating leftover carrot cake she had made a week ago, feeling dreadful, looking at the little paper with Chuck’s name sitting on her bedside table, and remembered the many times they shared.

Bastogne was the coldest hell Hannah had ever experienced, and she knew it was never leaving her head after everything that transpired.

The trees exploded every now and again. As desperation settled inside each mind, everyone started wondering which was getting killed next.

Then the casualties came: Joe Toye and Guarnere lost each other one leg to mortars, Don Hoobler accidentally shot himself in the leg and the blood loss took his life. Muck and Penkala got blown to pieces by another mortar.

She had tried to save as many lives as possible as she had to shoot Germans from afar, fearing death every single second she moved around the snow covered forest.

She had short moments of peace, and most were laying in a foxhole, trying to gather some warmth, next to Chuck.

Her body shook as she blew into her hands, trying to gain back feeling on her fingertips when Charles looked at her and grabbed her hands without a word, covering them with his calloused fingers, scooting closer to her.

She was slightly taken aback.

Chuck wasn’t a man of many words, he communicated more with his eyes and small expressions. He politely smiled at her as he rubbed his hands against her.

“Thanks,” she muttered, nuzzling her chin deeper into her scarf that was tucked into her jumpsuit.

Chuck just looked at her and kept rubbing their hands together. She noticed her blue eyes looking bright from the full moon shining down the forest.

“I always hated the winter time, back in the states… and now more,” Chuck said, breaking the silence between them.

“I know, I prefer to be burning under the sun rather than freezing my butt off.”

“Cold beers,” he added.

“The beach.”

“Dipping into a river or the sea.”

Both exchanged small smiles.

Chuck had always noticed Hannah, and stared silently at her many times, but barely exchanged a few words in the second year of their training, when she arrived in Toccoa. He knew she was Shifty’s friend, and someone who Winters relied on and trusted from what Powers had said to help her get into the Paratroopers.

And she had proved herself useful, not only as a doctor, but as a sharpshooter, taking down snipers that others didn’t notice at first. She used to compete with Shifty on how many Krauts took down each.

Hannah always knew who he was, she remembered every and each name of the company, by nicknames mostly. He definitely called for her attention; he was polite, shy, only mustered a few jokes here and there, not like Luz, who couldn’t speak without joking.

But she was never as interested in him until he helped her find warmth in a shattering cold in Belgium.

Hannah remembered that with a smile—their first and probably closest interaction. It only took snow, people dying around them and a whole war for it to happen.

Friday, she thought, Friday would be a good thing for me to approach his house if, luckily, he didn’t move out before.

///

Anxiety. Lots of.

Hannah wasn’t on call at the hospital on Friday. She and her best friend, scheduled everything.

Angelina made sure she couldn’t back out of looking for the former paratrooper. She had helped her pick an outfit, helped with her hair, the whole ordeal.

“Okay, go, go! It’s barely past noon, it’s a beautiful day, maybe y’all can go for a walk,” angelina said, taking a sip from her lemonade.

Hannah was barely talking, her hands shook, she felt her pits damp with sweat, with a tight knot in her stomach.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, okay… I’m going, whatever, what could go wrong, what the fuck, he could only think I’m a fucking stalker, whatever right? Fuck—.”

“Oh my god, get out, I’ll take care of Trigger, let him have a stroll, and if by any chance you spend the night there—” she said, with a wink— “call me so I’ll stay and give Trigger his morning walkies,” Angelina commanded as she pushed Hannah through the door.

“Good luck, honey!” She yelled as Hannah dragged her feet through the hot cement under the July sun.

Every little thing that could go wrong played in her mind as she walked. Grant lived roughly twenty blocks away from her but she still wanted to walk there, to make it as slow as possible.

Hannah checked the address in the small, torn piece of paper she had it written on and looked for 1612 for a bit, until she finally saw it.

It was a beautiful, tall white house, with a dark grey roof, a small porch with a couple of rocking chairs. A lot of small pots with flowers and different plants covered most of the front of the porch, which made Hannah think that there was clearly a woman living there.

That made fear struck her again.

He’s probably married, there are rocking chairs and plants… none of the men of the paratroopers cared about fucking plants, why would Charles be any different?

Fuck it.

Hannah shook her head, her curls moving along, stomped the ground after pondering for a couple of minutes, away from the house and took a few deep breaths before she walked up the three steps before the door and, with a shaky breath, knocked three times and took a step back, giving the door her back.

She could sense her muscles completely tense, everywhere, arms, legs, stomach, and wondered why the hell she never got her anxiety completely treated like her PTSD from the war.

What if a woman opened the door? I’d pretend I got the wrong house and run for the fucking hills.

“Yes?” a deep voice said from behind her.

Hannah could’ve swore her heart stopped for a split second.

She turned in her heel with the riddled feeling in her stomach when she met those bright blue eyes and the permanently tanned skin of Sergeant of Second Platoon, Charles Grant.

His usual disheveled look was intact, she noticed, the droopy eyes and the resting annoyed face that was his trademark was still there, but it did change in a moment when he realized quickly who she was. His eyes widened as his jaw dropped slightly.

“Hannah? Hannah Davis?!” he exclaimed, opening the door wider, taking a step forward shyly.

Hannah swore her heart was thumping against her chest like a hammer, and was actually afraid Chuck would notice it. But all he did was try to find the words, stuttering slightly as he took a look at her.

“Hey, Chuck,” she said, trying to find her voice back from somewhere in her throat.

Charles let a single chuckle out of his mouth before, sort of awkwardly, pulled her for a hug, crossing his left arm around her torso and the other one, around the shoulders.

Hannah was a hundred percent sure her heart could arrest at any moment and die right there. The man was hugging her. And she was hugging him back, the same way, when his perfume surrounded her and she closed her eyes for a moment, lingering her head above his shoulder, every single feeling she had ever felt for him rushing back into her stomach, untying the knot slightly, filling it with butterflies.

“What a surprise! Come on in,” he said, as they parted, moving aside so she could walk inside first.

Clean, super clean. The fact that the house was so clean yelled wife! in Hannah’s face. But she shook the thoughts aside, trying to focus on walking and trying not to bump into anything and make a mess of herself in front of Chuck.

“You like it? I’ve been trying to decorate myself but… I don’t know, looks shitty to me still,” he added, standing next to her as she looked at old signs of tobacco brands, and a couple of paintings up white walls, complemented with an olive couch with three seats, a coffee table and a TV in front.

And books, everywhere. Different sized, colored, some put in a small library in the corner, near the couch. Some were sprawled over on the coffee table and one on the couch, open and faced down.

She took the books as the cue to find out and get it over with.

“You and—and your wife must read a lot,” she said, sniggering internally as she awaited for an answer.

Chuck let out a hearty chuckle, looking suddenly a bit embarrassed at her.

“Uh, I’m not married,” he said, forming a thin-lipped, awkward smile on his lips. Hannah felt how her shoulders relaxed at the information.

“Oh—sorry, it’s just… It looks very homey, and you know, women do that work mostly,” she said, trying to sound innocent.

“I learned a bit from my mom, and I found out that I really enjoy gardening and plants in general, that’s why there’s that many on the outside porch. Luz told me I was becoming a woman, I said, ‘what’s wrong with being a woman’?” Chuck said, scratching the back of his neck.

“He fought side by side with one, and he still says that crap?” Hannah asked, remembering George Luz, the clown of the company. “Fuck him, I like how it looks, it’s homey and… looks warm, you know?”

Chuck nodded his head proudly, trying to shoot down a smile that tried to creep up, slightly blushing.

“Listen, I was roasting some chicken, are you hungry? I have beers, too,” he said, pulling her by her wrist softly. This touch sent electricity up Hannah’s arm as she nodded silently, following him.

She was sort of surprised by his cheerfulness. He was a very lowkey man, never spoke too loud, unless he wanted to mock one of his peers with Luz or Guarnere. He fumbled around the kitchen for a bit, before going through the back door to the backyard, where he had a barbecue against the wall.

And she could see him work, cutting up the chicken while it was still roasting, and noticed how he hadn’t put up any weight since coming back from the war, or losing any from the anxiety and PTSD. He had kept in form, his arms still big, as his shoulders, the black sleeves of the shirt sticking tight against them.

Jesus, stop that!

Lost in her thoughts, looking around the kitchen, she didn’t notice Chuck was back with two small sandwiches in hand, leaving them on a couple of plates as he quickly moved to grab two Crystals.

“My brother taught me this amazing sauce, and it’s like pulled pork, but pulled chicken,” he explained, almost proudly of his handiwork. Hannah smiled and took a bite on it.

Instantly, she had to suppress a moan that was about to fall out of her full mouth, as she widened her eyes at him. He smiled as he chewed and nodded his head like saying I know, right?

After downing her bite with a bit of beer, Hannah finally breathed out to compliment his food, making Chuck blush again.

“So, uh… what brings you here? Did you need anything?” Chuck asked, taking a sip of his beer again.

I wanted to confess that I had feelings for you since you helped me warm up in a foxhole in Bagstone and you saved my ass when I got shot and you dragged me into a jeep to be taken away for a bit to heal, and I always wanted to kiss you for that but I’m such a fucking wuss, I never even dared to flirt.

“Oh, no, no, I didn’t come to ask any favors, no,” she replied, chuckling nervously, “I—I’m gonna be honest with you; when we came back from Europe, I knew you had to do some recovery from the shot you took, that would need rehabilitation and… I was dealing with so much I couldn’t stay and I felt like shit for a long while for that—Shit, this sounds like I’m doing this to sleep better at night but no, I just want to say: I’m sorry, I should’ve been there like you were when I lost my ear to a kraut bullet, Chuck, I’m really sorry, and I wanted to check on you, see how you were doing…”

It wasn’t a complete lie, Hannah knew that, but she still felt like what she needed to actually say was heavy in her chest.

Chuck smiled, and turned his head slightly, pulling his hair up a bit.

“The scar goes all the way to the back of my head, I—I should’ve died by the extent of my wound, but, it was mostly sup—superficial. My left arm is partially paralyzed,” he explained, lifting both arms at the same time but the left one was left behind as the right kept going up. “And sometimes it’s hard to s—” he closed his eyes as he struggled to say the word, his tongue frozen in the roof of his mouth for a couple of seconds— “speak, like, right now.”

Hannah looked sorry, like a dog with a tail between its hind legs, feeling ashamed.

“Don’t feel bad, I had my family and some of the men to help me, and very good doctors too, really, it’s not like you had to take care of me, you know,” Chuck added, grinning warmly at her. “George, Doc Roe and Speirs came almost daily to help, I was set; speaking of wounds, how’s the ear?”

Hannah moved her hair away to show him the scarred and dusty pink skin that reattached to her head after it got blown off in the Battle of the Bulge.

Bullets and mortars were falling down the territory Easy Company covered. As much as anyone avoids talking about fear, they were all terrorized; the lack of winter gear, clothes, ammo, and food kept them all weak.

Hannah and Chuck were shooting non-stop, both with shaky breaths as they were still covered under a wool blanket, where only the gun and their eyes could be seen.

“Hannah! Hannah, go help Shifty!” she heard Lip call her as he ran past. She sighed, not wanting to be any closer to the flying gunshots that were showering horizontally on them.

“Go, it’s okay, go!” Chuck exclaimed, looking at her swiftly as he kept shooting.

Hannah groaned in annoyance but still climbed up the hole.

Chuck watched at her go, though her walk got cut short. She froze in her place and he knew something was wrong, and in a split second, she was on the cold ground, yelling her lungs out.

“Shit, shit, shit, hold on, Hannah! Medic!! Medic!!” he yelled as he let his rifle in the hole, crawling to check on the brunette.

As soon as he turned her body around, his face grimaced in shock. She had blood flowing from her side into her cheek, eyes and mouth, as she gasped for a breath, steam coming from her mouth from the sheering cold.

He moved her hair slowly, uncovering what was left of her ear, hanging from skin threads, almost completely shredded from her skull. It was an awful view, and the crimson liquid kept flowing and flowing.

“What is it? Let me see, Grant, move!” Eugene Roe exclaimed, pushing the other soldier aside, checking the wound thoroughly. Hannah had stopped yelling, shock had settled in her body, covering her from the pain.

“It’s superficial, but you will need someone to cut off the rest. Help me get her to the jeep, Grant,” he said after covering the hole with sulfate and a white bandage that went across her face.

“Hannah, you’re going to be just fine, stay with us, come on!” Eugene yelled as Chuck lifted her from her back and legs, her face falling into his shoulder, bleeding on his jacket.

Chuck glanced at her every few moments as he ran to where her ride was stationed, she looked paler by the second that passed, her eyes were closing and he had to keep calling at her to stay awake.

“Hannah, come on, come on, stay with me, stay with me!”

When she was finally strapped down the bed on the front of the sheet, he held her hand for a second before she was pulled away, disappearing into the woods as he had to ran back to his foxhole and keep defending their territory.

But he kept wondering and wondering about her, until she came back two days after.

“You came back almost good as new, ear-less, stitched up,” Chuck said, reminiscing.

“And I had to tolerate thousands of ear related jokes for weeks, and got called ‘Earnnah’ too” Hannah said, making them both laugh.

“Fucking Luz and his nicknames,” Charles said, shrugging.

“Anyways, I still don’t have an ear, but the flu I was going through had clogged my eardrum and saved me from being deaf on one side, right?” Hannah added, lifting her beer bottle to cheer for that.

“To the flu, baby!” he said and both drank.

A couple of hours went by and both Chuck and Hannah were already feeling more comfortable in each other’s presence. They laughed about some anecdotes, and updated on their current lifestyles.

“So, a tobacco store?” Hannah said, standing under the sun in the backyard, enjoying the warmth of a summer afternoon, much more relaxed.

“Yeah, it was my post war dream, and I finally gathered what I needed to open it, it’s in downtown, 5th ave and Charleston. It’s cosy, small, but good enough to sell small things,” Chuck explained, clearly proud of his achievement. “You should come by sometime”.

“I would, but I quit smoking a few weeks ago,” Hannah replied and Chuck looked surprised.

“Really?” he asked, propping himself against a column he had set to sustain a small roof he had put up in his yard.

“Yeah, but I’ll probably hit withdrawal soon and I’ll go back to square one quickly,” she replied, mocking herself and her power of will, making Chuck laugh.

“You still sing?” Chuck asked, and she knew exactly why he asked. “I still remember when we found that piano in the Eagle’s Nest, and you sang a few songs to us,” he said and a very small grin creeped up his lips, looking down at his hands.

That was one of Hannah’s proudest moments.

“I do remember that, and I still sing, yeah.”

The war had lightened up, somehow.

Easy Company was on the works to clear the way into the old Nazi Town of Kehlsteinhaus, where they knew, at the top of the mountain, resides the crown jewel of the Nazi Party. A very glamorous house made only for Hitler and his closests friends.

Winters dictated for the Easy Company to head straight to the Eagle’s Nest, after raiding the town and finding a place to settle for a bit.

Hannah heard Speirs yelling the orders and they didn’t even think for a second before they started running up the mountain road towards the House. She ran next to Chuck, Popeye and Malarkey.

They entered the premises slowly, looking around for Krauts, their guns up in arms. And all of them were surprised by the size of the place from the inside.

It had grey walls, with bay windows every few meters, the sun shining through, illuminating the whole place. There were a few tables with a few chairs each, some silver plates and vases scattered around the living room, a fireplace, and on the far end, a grand, black and shiny piano.

Hannah was immediately drawn to it, forgetting about the men popping bottles of champagne they found lying around, remembering instantly the songs her grandfather had once taught her when she was younger.

The boys weren’t paying attention until they heard the first few notes Hannah pressed on.

“Davis, you can play?” Spiers asked her as they got closer.

I waited till I saw the sun, don’t know why I didn’t come

Hannah started singing, as a way to reply Speirs.

Chuck was certainly taken aback by her singing voice, she had never mentioned before she could do that, that she had even learned or anything she did apart from training for the paratroopers and hang with Shifty.

When I saw the break of day

I wished that I could fly away

Instead of kneeling in the sand

Catching teardrops in my hand

Her fingers seemed to be dancing around the keys like she had been doing that for a lifetime, as her voice shone through the notes she played. There was a sudden peace brought by the song, which no one could remember having heard before that moment.

Chuck sensed his body relaxing, as he looked at the brunette who met his eyes not too long after.

My heart is drenched in wine

But you'll be on my mind

Forever

For a fleeting moment, Chuck felt no one was there but him and Hannah, as she kept singing, his breath catching in his chest, leaving him breathless. He knew he had been looking at Hannah with different eyes for a while, but he never actually realized it completely until that moment.

Something has to make you run

I don't know why I didn't come

I feel as empty as a drum

I don't know why I didn't come

“From then on, you guys would ask me to sing every time we found a piano laying somewhere in the abandoned cottages,” Hannah remembered, smiling at the memory.

“Well, you do have a beautiful voice that puts everyone at ease, you know,” he complimented and Hannah could feel how her pulse accelerated at his compliment, cursing herself internally for being so weak for her former NCO.

“It's mid-afternoon, care for a tea?” Charles asked, when he noticed her blushing, not answering his compliment, knowing he had hit somewhere inside her with it.

“I can make a quick cake with anything you have in your kitchen, if you want to…” Hannah said, almost rushedly, trying to cover her tracks. Yeah, that doesn’t sound weird at all, Hannah, you fucking wuss, offering to bake a cake after a couple of hours chatting and trying to cover your stupid feelings, sure, yeah.

“Kitchen’s all yours,” Chuck said with a grin, looking for his kettle to boil water while Hannah looked for her ingredients for a classic vanilla cake.

As Hannah whisked the ingredients, Chuck served two mugs with boiling tea, placing one next to her as he watched her focused in his kitchen.

“I swear, most men of the company don’t have all this stuff laying in their kitchen,” she said, still looking down at the mix.

“I’m not most men,” Chuck replied and both chuckled at his comment. “Oh, look here,” he said suddenly, making Hannah turn around.

A black cat with a small bell in his neck walked in, stretching its legs, and walked up to Chuck, placing its front paws in the dirty blonde legs.

“This is Roe, I got him a few months ago, he walked in with a broken hind leg and never left this house,” Chuck explained, taking the cat into his arms, which made him start purring loudly. Hannah proceeded to pet him, sliding her fingertips slowly in the soft fur of the head.

“He’s so handsome!”

“Thank you,” replied Charles, earning a small slap in his arm by Hannah, who chuckled as she kept petting the kitty.

“You saying you took care of this kitty reminded me of that nun who changed my bandages in Foye, in that church, remember that? She came straight to me, wondering how a woman is in the Forces, and silently, pulled my face and cleaned me up,” Hannah said, remembering the face of the woman in the black typical suit of a nun.

“She didn’t treat anyone but you, which was either great or very selfish of her,” Chuck said, jokingly.

“She was in a convent, they take care of women mostly, and I am one, so…” she trailed off, wanting to slap the grin out of his face as she felt her heart melting to the view of Chuck, holding a cat between his arms like a child. My uterus is flipping about. “It’s not like no one took care of you boys.”

“What are you talking about?” Chuck wondered.

“Holland. All those women, and food, and drinks, and praising,” Hannah said as she put the mix in the oven. She could hear Charles laughing at her comments.

“I wasn’t doing anything there, I did accept food though.”

“Oh, Chuck, come on, I saw you with that blonde that was taller than you, kissing you non-stop,” Hannah exclaimed, way too quickly for her comfort, and turned around, pretending to check on the oven temperature; Could you be any more obvious, Hannah, dear?

“You sound jealous,” Chuck replied, with a smirk and furrowed eyebrows.

“I—okay, yes, I was; everyone was treating you all like goddamn heroes and whatnot, while I got questionable looks and fingers pointing at me for being a woman in a uniform… Hell, they must have thought I was the squad’s whore or something,” she defended herself, trying to not blow her cover that easy in front of his intense eyes looking at her from a few meters.

Chuck felt bad for a moment. He knew she was proud of being the first woman fighting alongside men in a war, knowing she had earned the respect of many, many people, but there was still a long way to go to be accepted by the population in general.

“Yeah, I wanted someone to kiss me too and give me drinks, I deserved that too, I didn’t have any physical contact with anyone as much as y’all in that time,” Hannah kept going, the anxiousness to cover herself up from showing feelings almost drowning her.

“I’m sure you would’ve gotten a kiss if you just asked,” replied Chuck, taking a sip from his tea while still holding Roe. “I would have if you asked me.”

Did my heart just stop? Did it just… really stop? Quick, don’t linger in silence too much!

“You’ve always been such a gentleman, Grant, but that was impossible. First, we were in the Forces together and that was very forbidden. Second, I couldn’t ask people for that, that’s just sad and I didn’t look like any of the women there, my hair wasn’t done, I was wearing our uniform and probably didn’t smell the best there,” Hannah clarified, trying to not sound too rushed again.

“Okay, yeah, partially true, but you don’t need to be all fixed up to be pretty, though.”

He knows and now he wants to play soccer with my fucking heart. Goodness, I hope he doesn’t know.

“To be honest, it’s not like I came back to the states and started dating and whatnot… I did adopt a dog, his name is Trigger, like the one Tab had back in the day,” Hannah said, trying to clear herself. “Oh, and Tab asked me out like a year ago,” she suddenly remembered.

“Floyd?! R—really?” Chuck asked, clearly surprised.

“Yeah, he showed up once, with flowers and everything. It was so sweet but Tab is like my little brother, so I let him down slowly and luckily, he accepted it and we’re still friends,” she explained, remembering how disappointed he looked for a second before she explained herself to him and he took it with humour and saved their friendship from awkwardness.

All the while, Chuck laughed heartily.

“What? Oh, don’t laugh at him! He’s so sweet, he was always nice with me, even when most doubted the presence of a woman at war, come on,” Hannah defended Talbert, throwing a paper towel ball straight to his face.

“Hey! No need to get violent!” Chuck retaliated, throwing it back at her. “I can’t believe little ol’ Tab asked you out,” he added, chuckling.

“You’re all always making fun of people who ask me out or flirt with me,” Hannah added, a sneer creeping up her lips. “Remember that one British soldier?”

The Company had saved a hundred and forty brit soldiers, without any casualties. Everyone walked back to camp cheerfully but in silence until they entered the barn.

Hannah didn’t feel as cheerful as the rest. She had been carrying a small infection under her tongue for a few days and cramps were attacking her every now and again, which she didn’t share with anyone trying to avoid some sexist comment about the nature of women.

Booze was being passed around the brits and the company as everyone cheered and applauded for their exceptional work. Hannah did enjoy seeing all the grins and wide smiles spread around, while she stood in the side, leaning against a thin wooden column, rubbing her back to ease the pain.

“Moose Heyliger and the American 101st have done the Red Devils a great service, making it possible for us to return and fight the enemy another day,” the captain of the British soldiers exclaimed to the crowd of paratroopers and the Red Devils. “To Easy Company, victory, and Currahee!”

Everyone cheered, drinking profusely, laughing and all around happy, until the same captain interrupted them for a second.

“Oh, and let us not forget to cheer for one more thing: the first woman in the Forces who was part of this mission, Miss…”

Hannah wasn’t paying attention, she was completely zoned out on the side, until she heard her name being called a few times. She looked up to the Captain, who had his drink up and looking at her.

“Oh—Oh, Hannah, Hannah Davis!” she replied, a little startled.

“To Hannah Davis!” The cheers erupted once again, but everyone was now looking at Hannah, who blushed furiously at the attention she was receiving. She just gave them all a tight lipped smile, her eyes drifting from one side to another.

“So, congratulations are in order, ma’am.” A thick British accent interrupted Hannah’s thoughts a while after she had been cheered on. She turned around to find a tall man with a buzz cut, his red beret and a pointy nose. And a very warm smile.

“Thank you, private…?”

“Joe Seaward, and it’s Sergeant now,” he clarified, taking his beret off as he took a drink. “How is the Force treating you? Good, I hope?”

“Very good, sir, they feel like family already. At first it was weird for them, but I was vouched for by the Battalion chief, and one of the men, who is an old friend from his hometown,” she replied, feeling slightly intimidated by the brit.

“I’m glad you’re feeling comfortable. And hometown! Where would that be, if I may ask?”

“Atlanta, Georgia. Can I ask you where are you from?” she asked, looking up at him. Hannah could feel the eyes of Easy on them, but she didn’t dare to look back at them.

“Birmingham, born and raised,” Joe replied, looking proud. “Uh, anyone expecting you back home?” he suddenly asked, and Hannah understood what he was referring to.

“No, apart from family, no one special,” she replied, and just got interrupted by another voice yelling at them.

“Sergeant Seaward! We’re leaving, come on!” Joe looked annoyed all of a sudden.

“Well, ma’am, if this isn’t too forward, when this war is over, and luckily, we’re both still alive and well, why don’t you stay in England for a while and… maybe we can go to dinner together?” He said, rushing as he took a few steps back.

Hannah thought for a second and, feeling like she had nothing to lose and after not being flirted by anyone in two years, she replied “Sure, Sergeant, if we both survive…”.

Joe smirked deeply and quickly found a paper and a battered small pencil, scribbling in it and placed it in her hands, before kissing the back of it.

“You’ll find me with that. Take care, Hannah Davis! Cheerio!”

Hannah felt like a child meeting her first crush, blushing, with a dumb smile in her face, until she heard the sniggering paratroopers behind her.

“What?” she asked, already looking annoyed at them as she turned to find them in a half circle around her.

“What was that ‘bout, Davis?” Bull asked with one lifted eyebrow.

“Nothing–”

“Not nothing, that brit was flirting with you!” Liebgott exclaimed, his lip curled as his eyes darted between the door of the barn and her.

“The fuck is the problem with that?” Hannah asked.

“No fraternization with soldiers in the Forces,” Chuck added, looking down at his hands.

“Oh, fuck all of you. It’s the first time someone comes and tells me I’m pretty in two years, when y’all had women throwing themselves at you back at Eindhoven!” Hannah defended herself, shutting them all up. “It’s not like I’m actually going to do something about it, I might be dead tomorrow anyways”.

“He looks stupid and he’s a brit, we’re all a better catch than him!” Martin added, inflating his chest.

“The only decent man here is Doc Roe, and you all know that for a fact. I’m going to sleep for a bit, goodnight” she said, walking away from them, breaking the half circle without looking back.

“I still have that small, battered piece of paper with me, but I never went to see him,” Hannah added, smirking at the thought. “I should’ve stayed in England and find him, honestly”.

Chuck frowned, “why? Was he really that interesting?”.

“He was sweet, he had a very attractive accent and hell, how many men do you know that say ‘cheerio!’ When saying goodbye?” Hannah defended Sergeant Seaward.

“Oh, stop talking talking about him already” Chuck said, dismissing her comments with a frown.

“Who’s jealous now, huh?” Hannah joked, pushing him slightly. Chuck just laughed bitterly.

///

Chuck showed her around the house, apologizing for forgetting to do a tour when she first came in.

He showed him some old pictures he had from high school that his mom had taken of him, some of his own family, and even a photo from a high school girlfriend he still had. Charles told him they were still in contact because her family was close to his, until he went to the war and she moved out of the usual address.

“It’s like the time I was away, fighting, home became a black hole in my memory, like…It couldn’t possibly exist at the same time I was away.”

Hannah enjoyed learning more from his past, and suddenly wondered if he had ever known what happened and how Easy reacted when they found out he had gotten shot.

Charles was looking down at a picture when she popped the question.

“Chuck, did you uh—did anyone ever tell you what happened with Easy when you… When that replacement shot you?”

He suddenly took a seat on the couch, looking up at her. There was something on his eyes that she couldn’t decipher, but it was between fear and curiosity; his fingers went to linger over his scar absentmindedly.

“No, I—the guys never told me anything, and I didn’t dare to ask, honestly.”

“Do you, uh… Do you want to know?” Hannah asked. Chuck nodded, his lips seeming sewn shut. She took a seat next to him, the air suddenly completely filled with tension.

“Well, you had patrol and we were relaxing in the house, playing cards, some asleep, most smoking and chatting about the end of the war. Also about the points, but, that’s not important.”

“Then, the door of the living room burst open with a pale, very pale and shook Tab. ‘Grant got shot in the head’ was the first thing he muttered. You know, there wasn’t any music around us, but it seemed like it had stopped. The relaxing atmosphere was cut off like when the lights go out with a switch.” Chuck was staring at her, his attention fully on her.

“But we didn’t have that much time to like… process. Floyd had received orders to find the shooter, and we practically went around the whole town and the ones nearby looking for him. We had the order to bring him alive but neither wanted to lose the chance to put a bullet in him. We were organized in groups, and we divided in three or four people each.”

“We ended up finding him still in Zell Am See. Malarkey found him with Bull and Lieb, they found him trying—” She took a pause, her stomach turning slightly at the memory— “trying to rape an Austrian girl. She was saved, thankfully, and he was brought back to the house where he took the beating of his lifetime”

By that point, Chuck jaw was opened, but his eyes seemed calmer, somehow.

“Did you beat him too?” he asked. Hannah suddenly broke eye contact, looking down at her fingernails fidgeting together.

“Yes, but I only punched him, the rest did the real beating… I was so angry when I found out he was in the house, I burst through the door and went straight with my knuckles to his jaw. I had my hand bruised for weeks. You were away at that point, Speirs and Roe had found a Kraut brain surgeon and got him to work in you as soon as they could. But we didn’t know if you were alive or not. After the rest took their turn with the replacement, Speirs had come back, saying the surgeon confirmed you were going to be okay; then they dragged the son of a bitch over to the MP’s.”

Hannah felt ashamed, her body seemed to be burning when the memories of that moment revived in her.

“I was so scared you were gonna die, Chuck… I wasn’t there when Speirs confirmed you were going to be okay, and I just—I lost it at that moment,” she added, a knot forming in her throat. “Lieb found me, while I was sitting in a room upstairs, on a bed, in the dark, cursing and crying. It wasn’t only you that made me cry, but… I cared about you, you know. You were my friend, we went through the worst together and I thought I had lost y—,” Hannah’s voice broke, and a single tear rolled down her cheek.

“Hey, hey, Hannah, I’m here, aren’t I?” Chuck said, scooting closer, placing a hand on her knee and another rubbing her back. “I’m sorry for scaring you like that…”

At that, Hannah snorted while she teared up.

“What are you apologizing for? For getting shot? Jesus, Charles, you didn’t ask for it, did you?” she joked through the tears and broken voice, making both laugh cynically. Hannah lifted her head and looked at him, and noticed how his eyes were watery. He sniffed as he tried to recompose himself, his hands never leaving the brunette.

“No, I know, but… I’m okay, you s—see? I just speak like I’m dumb or something now,” he joked.

Suddenly, something took over Hannah and she hugged him, with her arms surrounding his shoulders completely. Chuck was taken aback at first, but he then wrapped his arms around her waist and stayed there for a moment, neither muttered a word, only sniffs and breathing could be heard.

Hannah laughs, then smiles down at the picture of a younger Chuck. Some things change, and some things stay the same forever. Chuck is one of those things that never changes.

After a while, after a hug that helped both recompose and even sort of heal wounds that can’t be seen, they went back to rummage through old photos.

“Oh, look at this one,” Chuck said, pulling a picture from his teenage years, where he was in just his underwear, surrounded by kids holding different pieces of clothing cheerfully “that was in the middle of summer, we were trying to fight the heat with water balloons and I got so soaked, my brother and my friends convinced me to take them off so they could dry. Me, being stupid and young, did so and they stole them and ran away.”

Hannah laughed loudly, looking at Charles with apologetic eyes.

“How could you be so naive?” She asked, between laughs.

“Hey, if I remember correctly, you got your clothes stolen once, in Haguenau! And you know it sucks, doesn’t it?” Chuck replied, jabbing his index on Hannah’s arm.

Hannah had survived Bastogne, with the scarring of her life and one less ear. Everyone was changed, they had lost many men there, including Toye and Guarnere, Muck and Penkala, and lost Buck to shellshock.

These days passed with nothing much to do but waiting for orders, some training, and finally, after the snow had passed, winter clothes.

Second Platoon was stationed in a tall, two-story house, with many rooms, filled with beds and some tables. It was battered, most wallpapers looked torn, and the smell of humidity and gunpowder filling everyone’s nostrils.

On a cold morning, Hannah came back to the second floor, where Malarkey was introducing the new Lieutenant Jones to the men.

“Sir?” her voice, smaller than ever, turned everyone around. Some had to take a second look to be sure what they were looking at.

“What happened to you?!” Don exclaimed, his jaw dropped.

Hannah was shirtless. She was holding herself trying to keep the warmth of her body, with only a bra, pants and boots on. She looked red in the face, from the shame. Hannah could sense the eyes on her body, taking notice of every single scar she was sporting, and the bandage that was covering one on the side of her hip.

“I was changing bandages, I turned for a second to get the sulfate and I heard someone running and laughing. I thought there were just some men playing around but they had taken my clothes, sir…” she explained. Everyone could hear the anger in her voice, her jaw clenching tight.

“Jesus fuck,” Malarkey muttered, while Chuck proceeded to pull the sweater he used under his jacket and quickly helped Hannah put it on. “Lieb, MccLung, Jackson, go find the fuckers who did this, report to Speirs”.

“I’m sorry, Malark, I—I didn’t want to make any trouble, really, I—,”

“No, don’t apologize. This isn’t your fault, okay? Here, it probably smells but it’s better than nothing, I’ll have someone find some clothes if they don’t find yours,” Malarkey said, giving her his scarf, and went back to speak with Lt. Jones, who only nodded to her as a salute.

“Come on, we made some coffee,” said Chuck, pulling her to where the kettle was in a corner. “Are you okay?”.

“Yeah,” was all she said, hiding herself in her copper mug, drinking the awful coffee they have been given. Then Chuck did something that she wasn’t expecting, but calmed her nerves quite quickly: his palm met the top of her head, and ran down her hair slowly.

Hannah had seen the men do that to each other, when they had panic attacks or after the death of a fellow soldier, they would hold their heads or run their fingers through their hair. It seemed like a paternal way to hold them close and not let them fall into the abyss of desperation war brings in people.

And now she felt it herself. Chuck’s fingers brought peace into her body, into her mind. She closed her eyes he kept going, enjoying that as well as the steam from the coffee meeting her cold skin.

///

Not too long after, and from a window, Hannah and Chuck saw MccLung and Lieb dragging two soldiers from their jackets to Speirs and Winters. Joe talked furiously, clearly explaining what the two men did.

Hannah chuckled cynically, knowing Speirs would have them doing the worst jobs for the Platoon.

Her happiness didn’t last long, though. After getting new clothes, returning Chuck’s sweater, she found out, alongside the rest, that they had a patrol to get to at one past midnight.

Everyone dreaded it, mostly because Second Platoon had lost the most people since Bastogne, and they still wanted them to do a senseless mission. They were ordered to cross the river into German territory and take prisoners to get intel.

They still had hours to kill before heading to enemy territory, so Hannah decided to find some place to nap, after fixing and cleaning her guns and getting more ammo.

She wandered around Second Platoon’s house until she found a room on the second floor. She opened the door, walking inside, and instantly found a sleeping body on top of the bed.

“What? What?!” it said startled and looked up. Hannah didn’t notice at first but as soon as some light shone through the bullet holes on the wooden panels in the window, she saw Grant’s face.

“Oh, sorry Chuck, I was looking for some place to sleep, I’ll leave you to—,”

“No, no, it’s fine… we can share,” he said from the dark, she could hear his hand patting the bed.

Hannah thought for a second. She was exhausted, her body was still cold and there probably wasn’t a better bed in the whole house to nap in.

So, she closed the door behind her and left her jacket and rifle on the floor, and climbed under the wool blanket.

Under it, she was met instantly with Chuck’s warmth, her side wasn’t cold, as she expected it to be. There was calm, so much calm it was a bit unsettling for Hannah; last time she felt it, mortars fell from the sky and took her friends with the blast.

But there was something about the gentleness of Chuck’s breathing that helped her, which she couldn’t explain, but silently thanked him for it.

A few minutes passed when Hannah turned to her side, facing Chuck, who was already positioned on his side. She was unable to fall fully asleep, which was normal when someone tries to relax during a war.

Hannah just stayed there in silence, eyes closed, her hand dropped on the mattress near her face, when she felt Chuck’s hand a few inches from hers.

For a moment, she wanted to grab it.

Hannah had noticed for a while that she was closer with Chuck than with the rest of the men. It was an odd friendship; it’s not like they talked for hours and hours on end but mostly in silence or with hushed, short conversations. But when she was with him, she didn’t feel as much fear as with the rest or alone in a foxhole.

But he had always been there for her, like she was for him. Through every loss, through every problem. There was an implicit deep trust between them that neither acknowledged with words, but with simple actions.

And to her, he was certainly an attractive man; with dirty blonde hair, an inviting smile, always polite and shy. And Hannah knew she had felt sometimes a bit of a butterfly in her stomach when he smiled at her.

Suddenly, her thoughts were hushed when she felt his fingers wrap around hers.

Hannah didn’t open her eyes, afraid they would show how much speed her blood pressure gained in a split second. But she did reciprocate, after a moment, moving her hand so his fingers intertwined with hers.

Neither moved, neither spoke nor opened their eyes. And finally, both fell asleep until Liebgott woke them up a couple of hours later.

He opened the door loudly, letting in some light. Both Hannah and Chuck sat up quickly, startled and disheveled, looking at Joe like he was crazy.

Joe looked at both with a deep, playful smirk before saying, “We have the meeting at CP in ten minutes, let’s go, come on.”

Thankfully, Joe didn’t notice that Hannah and Chuck were still holding hands under the sheet; but when they caught it, as Lieb left, they quickly unwrapped them and rushed to get their things, without saying another word to each other.

///

Night came around nicely.

Both Hannah and Chuck were enjoying their time. Hannah had clearly relaxed, mostly after they had talked about what happened to the NCO, feeling like she had let go of a heavy weight she carried on her shoulders.

Charles offered for her to stay for dinner when the brunette said she still had to walk her dog, even though she knew Angelina had probably done that already. He insisted, saying the leftovers taste even better reheated on the grill.

Hannah laughed and agreed to stay, as long as she could help with it. Her day has been better than expected, way better. But she still had that small pebble in her shoe about her feelings towards Chuck. A part of her yelled that she should come clean to him, and be done with it, no matter the result. The other part also yelled that his friendship was more valuable than risking it for something more.

But the tiny voice in her head still insisted with No, no! He doesn’t feel that way. He hasn’t flirted with you, or showed some clear sign of attraction, Hannah! Have dinner and pretend it’s all good.

“Hey, can I ask you something? This might sound a bit weird,” Hannah said, with a sneaky smile while Chuck revamped the grill. The former NCO just nodded in response. “Why aren’t you married?”

Chuck snorted, looking surprised and slightly offended. “Aren’t you the one that used to complain that women are always pressured to get married, and maybe they shouldn’t if they don't want to?” He asked, almost complaining.

Hannah laughed and put her hands up in her defense.

“I don’t mean it like that, Charles Grant! I just… I’m surprised a man like you, who does all this, isn’t at least dating someone,” she clarified.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t dating someone,” he replied, without looking at her.

There it is! So, that’s what it's like to get your heart punched, huh?

“Oh, yeah, I mean—Of course, sorry–,” Hannah added, suddenly stumbling upon her words as she felt her hands shake slightly.

Chuck snorted again, this time a hearty laugh escaping his lips.

“I’m not Hannah, I’m not seeing anybody at the moment,” he added, smiling as he moved the charcoal around the grill.

Hannah had a rush of anger suddenly, wanting to throw something at him and yell you fucking asshole, I’m in love with you, do not do that to me!!!

But she held herself in, looking rather unphased, and just nodded disapprovingly.

“I, well… I haven’t met the right woman, you know? I’ve seen some people, yeah. Babe set me up once with this redhead who could’ve been Malarkey’s sister for all I knew and it was going good at first but… Fuck, I was so bored!” he said, showing the annoyance in his face at the memory. “She was nice and all, but she was just… so fucking boring. She talked about her hair and stuff she does with her lady friends and she hated when I told stories about the war.”

Now it was Hannah’s turn to laugh. “She hated it? Why?”.

“Who the fuck knows, maybe it was too g—ory for her, or she didn’t want to hear that one of the men was being called ‘Gonorrhea’. Hell, she didn’t even want to hear how I got the scar in my head or rather, the explanation of my slurring when I speak and my lack of strength on my left side,” Chuck said and sounded rather offended.

“Someone has to either appreciate your scar and the sequels, or get the fuck out of your way,” Hannah said, approaching him with a beer in hand. “Don’t ever feel ashamed for that, Chuck, I’m not ashamed of having one ear, honestly. I think it’s pretty nice. Who can say that is different when their bodies are complete and in perfect state?”.

“It’s boring, isn’t it?” he added.

“You and me, Chuck, are different. And that’s good. Toye and Guarnere have one less leg each, they’re fucking awesome too.”

Hannah’s heart leaped at the sight of Chuck looking suddenly proud of himself, and when he looked at her to clink their bottles, she could’ve sworn that, if she had the ovaries, she would’ve kissed him right there and then.

///

After dinner and a few more laughs, Hannah called it a night.

Her heart felt slightly heavy for not having dared to confess what she was there to do in the first place.

“Well, my dear Grant, I have to head home,” she said, as she put plates down the water in sink.

“Already?” Chuck replied, looking surprised.

“It’s almost ten in the night!” she exclaimed, drying her hands on a towel that hung from the oven door handle.

“Want me to call you a cab? Lieb is probably still around working with his.”

“No, don’t worry, I’ll walk. It’s fine,” Hannah replied, and started walking towards the door with Chuck on tow.

Both stood on the porch, looking around the calm neighborhood. Hannah was feeling so ashamed of herself, slapping herself mentally every second that passed.

“Well, Hannah, this was a great surprise,” Chuck started, breaking her thoughts for a moment, “we should do this more often, maybe with the guys, sometime, before winter leaves us secluded in our homes.”

“Of course, but let’s not wait two years this time,” she replied, with a smile creeping up her lips, looking at him. God, how can someone dare be this good looking?

Chuck proceeded to hug her like when he opened the door past noon, when she showed up at his doorstep. Hannah reciprocated, and drowned herself once again in his cologne, not wanting to let go or stop feeling his hands around her body.

“See ya, Davis,” Chuck said as she walked down the steps and she took one last look at him before heading home.

You fucking wuss, you fucking wuss, you fucking wuss, you fucking, pathetic w—

“Hannah! Wait!”

Chuck’s voice startled her as she was reaching the crossroad, when she turned around to find him running towards her.

Her heart raced, wondering why the hell was he yelling at her for. Maybe she had forgotten something. Yeah, that’s all, I might have forgotten my… keys?

“Hannah, wait, I… I have to tell you something and this can’t wait…” Chuck started as soon as he caught up to her. “Listen, this might sound weird but… a while ago I—you appeared in a dream of mine. You were talking to me after I got shot and you were begging me to not forget you.”

“Hannah, I took it upon myself to find you but I was meeting only dead ends, the Army wouldn’t help me so I had to… fuck, I had to find Winters and ask him for your information. God, that was embarrassing, but you know Winters, he didn’t hesitate to help. I had your address and phone numbers for months, but I never had the guts to go knock on your door… I thought you might have forgotten me, but… I never forgot about you,”

“I never forgot how we shared a foxhole during our hardest time. I never forgot how we slept in that bed and held hands in the dark. I never forgot how you took care of me when I had that one panic attack in Bastogne, and everything else,”

“What I mean, Hannah, is… I love you. I can’t date other women because they’re not you, and all I want is you. So… please, don’t leave. Not now. I couldn’t believe my eyes when you showed up at my door, fuck, I thought I was dreaming or dead. You had found me and I—,”

Before Chuck could follow through with his speech, Hannah took him by the face and kissed him.

It was bruising, it was desperate and filled with love. Chuck wrapped his arms around her body, bringing her impossibly close to his body as her fingers found his hair.

The anticipation was their favorite feeling. They both sensed how long they waited for that to happen, so they sank deeper into it.

It went on for a few minutes, the night time seemed to have stopped for both, like everything had disappeared except for them.

After they parted, both panting, their foreheads connected, Hannah opened her eyes and found Chuck’s cheeks stained with tear trails and that explained the salty taste in his lips. That made her smile widely as she still held his hand between hers.

“Can you—do you want to s–spend the night with me?” Chuck asked, opening his eyes finally.

Hannah just smiled widely, pecking his lips as she pulled him by the wrist towards his house.

///

Making love to someone you have craved for years makes the hours longer.

Both Hannah and Chuck were sure of that while the latter moaned loudly as Hannah rode him; his hands were bruising against her hips as she moved, holding herself in his shoulders, kissing him every now and again.

Hannah never thought she would see Chuck like this. With sweat rolling down his forehead, his lips swollen and his eyes squeezed shut; to see his naked torso and his chest heaving up and down, which was covered in different scars that only made him even better looking in her opinion.

The man was almost ethereal in the dim light of his bedroom.

She enjoyed every bit of him as much as she could, like that could’ve been a fleeting figment of her imagination that she had to hold tight between her fingers before it could slip away.

But reality brought her back when she felt the pain of his fingers digging into her hips. Hannah didn’t mind one bit.

She just loved to see how overwhelmed with pleasure he was, how he propped himself into his elbows, wrapping a hand around her bottom to carry both into the bed frame so he could sit and find her lips with his as he rode into his climax.

Of course, Chuck being the gentleman he was, caring, he helped Hannah ride into hers, enjoying how she cried out his name loudly like it was the best song he had ever heard.

///

Chuck’s fingers ran down Hannah’s bare shoulders, enjoying the dampness. It was soft, it was warm and it also a tad bit freckled. His fingertips followed down her arm until they met her face, that laid upon the back of her hands as she laid in her stomach.

Her eyes were closed but she was still awake. Hannah was just soaking on everything that happened through the day, and now, through the night, as the clock ticked into two in the morning.

Chuck sat parallel to her, and his fingertips went all the way back to walk down her shoulder blades, into the deep line of her spine, meeting a few moles spread out here and there, which sent very slight tickles to the brunette.

“I kind of can’t believe this just happened” he muttered, turning to lay his head on the small of her back. He could feel the vibration of the small laugh she let go at his comment.

“Me neither, Chuck… but I, uh… I have a confession, which I think will make you laugh,” Hannah replied.

“Do go on…” he replied.

“You told me you looked for my information with Winters, right?” Hannah asked.

“Right”.

“Well, when I looked for you too… I did the same,” she said and felt his head suddenly turn to her at her words, “and when I said your name, he gave me a weird look, but now I know it was a ‘I know something important about this that you don’t know’ look”.

“So, wait, we l—ooked for each other in the past few months, and we did exactly the same shit?” he said, struggling slightly.

Hannah heard the clicker of the lighter and looked back at him, lightning a cigarette with a shit eating grin sprawled upon his lips.

“Exactly what I’m saying,” she replied, laying her head back down.

“Another reason why I would like to marry you, then,” he added, like it was nothing.

What he didn’t notice was the speed in which Hannah’s eyes widened and her heart started thumping inside her rib cage.

“I’m sorry?!” she asked, sounding a tad bit anxious. Chuck was never one to say rushed things like that.

“The first reason is how powerful and relentless you were and still clearly are. You know how I know that?” he asked, and she could feel his smile still in his lips.

“No, how?”

“When you confronted Sobel before we went to Holland. Of course, I didn’t know at the moment the amount of feelings I had for you, but… I think I did have some of them roaming inside me,” Chuck said, like he was the one who stood up to Herbert Sobel, “but that was just plain hot,” he finalized, and turned to look at her; Hannah was just looking at him like he was crazy.

The night before, everyone was cheering for their job. They were done, they were bound to the States and all the Easy Company wanted to do was drink and laugh.

For everyone’s demise, Lipton announced how they were heading back into war, to Holland, killing the mood instantly.

As the replacements were getting helped and guided by Bull, rather than Cobb, who could only brag about stuff he never ever did; Chuck was packing her stuff near Malarkey, Bill and Hannah.

“I swear I thought by this time I was gonna be home, with a hundred in my pocket, flowers for my mama and nearing Christmas with my nieces and nephews” Malarkey said, fixing his bayonet. The rest scoffed, still bitter by the news.

“I miss the coffee from hometown, there’s this beautiful place in Hamstown Square, it’s very small and cozy, and the pastries are the most delicious I’ve ever had” Hannah said, looking like she was talking about the love of her life.

“Guys, look!” Bull said, interrupting them, pointing to their right.

On a jeep, carrying some stuff behind it, sat Herbert Sobel, their former CO, the nightmare that trained them back in Toccoa. Hannah knew she didn’t train with him as much as the rest, but a year with that man was more than enough.

“Fuck, no…” Hannah whispered so just the boys around her heard her “No, not him”.

“Don’t—Pretend he’s not here,” Malarkey said to her, tying the loose ends of her parachute to her shoulders as Skip came to them scowling like the rest. “Y’all too, do not look at him”.

Neither obliged, all of them stared at the man passing by.

“The hell is he doing here?” Skip wondered, without getting an answer.

Sobel walked in a straight line near the men as the truck behind his jeep unloaded, looking between the men with his usual air of superiority untouched.

Unlucky for Hannah, he had met her eyes not too long after, and the man approached her, before the rest could make themselves scarce.

“Still alive, uh… Davis?” Sobel asked, scowling at the brunette.

“Pretty much, sir. Still teaching at that school… somewhere?” she answered, provoking a few small gasps around her. Sobel scowl just deepened.

“Do not disrespect me with that tone, private” the taller man threatened, his jaw clenching tight.

“Earn the respect, like you once taught us, and I won’t,” Hannah replied, her tone dripping with bitterness and irony. She felt a hand in her shoulder and knew one of the men was probably trying to calm her down. “You came here and act surprised that I’m still alive? No, I deserve more than that, sir”.

“You shut your mouth right now, private! This—this is the reason why women shouldn’t be allowed in the army; they’re too emotional!” Sobel exclaimed, almost yelling to get attention, which only made Hannah even more furious.

“If you were in our command, if you were our leader, we would all be dead right now. Don’t you remember that drill we did back in England? Why do you think you were ‘promoted’? And no, I’m not scared of you, go write me up if you want to; Winters is south of the camp, third tent on the right. Colonel Sink is in the next tent to his, the fourth one,” Hannah felt like she couldn’t stop, her anger overcoming her; mountains of words and feelings that were accumulating, finally leaving her chest.

Chuck couldn’t believe the words that came out of her.

Everyone awaited without breathing for an answer, a yell from Sobel, something. But nothing came, he just scowled, breathed hard, and before anyone took a breath again, he turned around tight in his heel and left to the back of the truck.

Hannah took a breath and turned around to finish prepping, when she found many of her fellow paratroopers smiling at her, some nodding in approval even. Johnny Martin crossed by her side, squeezing her arm, as he whispered a small “good one” for her.

“I fucking hate him, that felt really good”, she said to Chuck, turning to adjust his jumpsuit.

Chuck just stared at her, feeling hard to believe what just went through. Their former NCO was just bashed in front of everyone, and no one, not even one paratrooper came in his defense.

His eyes roamed through her face as she fixed his suit and talked about something he wasn’t paying attention to. Suddenly, he was looking at her in a different way, one that would grow over time during the war.

///

The night caught up to Chuck and Hannah, both deep asleep on his bed. The brunette laid her head in his shoulder, on her side, while he was laid in his back, with his cheek against her forehead.

Though around dawn, Chuck’s body started to shook. It came softly at first, just a few twitches, until it became a whole storm inside him.

Hannah stirred up and saw how every muscle in his arms and chest were clenched, and he muttering something she couldn’t comprehend. Clearly, he was having a nightmares. The nightmares that seemed to never end, which felt like a punishment that everyone had to endure post war.

The brunette placed her hands around his head as she whispered, “Chuck, Chuck, it’s okay, it’s just a dream, wake up, love, wake up.”

His eyes shot open, looking terrified as he gasped for air, his hands fumbling to find her.

“Hannah, Hannah!” He exclaimed, as he finally met her eyes. His body was shaking until he realized she was there, looking down at him, with a tired, disheveled smile.

“It’s okay, love, I’m here, I’m here,” she replied, running her fingers through his hair, kissing his cheek before looking down at him again.

The first light of the sun shining through the white curtains, illuminating both with such warmth it made Hannah’s heart swell.

“I’m sorry, I’m s—sorry, Hannah, this still happens…” he explains, his hand tight on her side.

But Hannah just smiles sweetly at him, “it still happens to me too, Chuck, it’s okay, there’s nothing to be sorry about,” she explains, admiring his deep blue eyes.

“Can you… can you sing to me?” He asked, sounding almost embarrassed to ask for it.

The touch of your lips upon my face

Your lips that are cool and sweet

Such tenderness lies in their soft caress

My heart forgets to beat

The touch of your hands upon my head

The love in your eyes, ashine

And now at last, the moment divine

The touch of your lips, the love in your eyes

The touch of your lips on mine

Chuck closed his eyes as her singing filled his ears. He haven’t felt peace like at that moment, not since the war. Hugging his mother, playing cards with his brothers or the men from the Company brought joy, but peace; peace came from Hannah, wearing his shirt, at dawn, singing to him.

And it was the same for Hannah.

Both knew the nightmares will continue to haunt them, and that their lives will go on, but at least, they were going to go through it together.

And that was more than enough for them. ///

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