#IVE GOTTA PINCH THEIR CHEEKS...GET THEM HOME SAFE...

[ftmbruce]

so unbelievably tiny

[moonstruckme]

Poly!EMT!Marauders x reader where they are in an established relationship and she gets really hurt… I’m a slut for hurt/comfort and protective bfs

Thanks for requesting!

cw: bike accident, injuries, concussion

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.8k words

You don’t remember getting out your phone, but Remus answers on the second ring. 

“Hello?”

“I…um…”

The woman who’d stopped to help eases the phone out of your grasp, putting it to her ear. “Hello?” 

She starts to fill Remus in on what’s happened. A car moved into the bike lane, probably by mistake. They didn’t see you. You’d panicked, throwing yourself away from it and out of the road. You’d hit the ground hard. The car had kept going. You’re not sure you can move. 

Your body, the entire left side, is in agony, stinging and burning and throbbing all at once. The ground is cold, seeping through your clothes. Your head is warm, though. Fuzzy. 

“Dove?” There’s an insistent tapping at your cheek. “Dove, come on, lovely.” 

Your eyelids are impossibly heavy. Something pushes against a sore spot on your head, and a whine escapes you. 

“There you go, just open your eyes.” Remus’ face is in front of yours, his eyes flitting between your eyes and something else. “Good job. I need you to stay awake for me, okay?” 

You make a sound somewhere between a hum and a moan. 

“Do you know where you are?” 

You squint up at him. The sun filters through your boyfriend’s hair like a halo. “A car almost hit me.” 

Remus’ eyebrows draw further together. “I heard, honey. Can you tell me what day it is?” 

“Mhm.” 

He waits a second. “What day?” 

“What?” 

“It’s Tuesday,” the woman says helpfully. 

Her voice comes from over by the road. You try to turn your head to find her, to say thank you, but Remus stops you with a hand on your jaw. 

“Thank you,” he calls to her. “I’m just testing her for a concussion, though.” 

You think you see him roll his eyes when he turns back towards you. 

“Okay.” He sets a hand on top of your head, warm and weighty and reassuring. You close your eyes, savoring the touch. “Hey, eyes open.” There’s a gentle stroke at your cheek, then a hard tap. You look at him. “Sorry, love, you’ve gotta stay awake. James and Sirius are on their way, okay?” 

“They…” You feel your eyebrows pinch. “They’re at work.” 

“I know. They’re coming in the ambulance, to help.” 

You feel the beginnings of a groggy sort of terror. It chills your blood and clogs your airways. You don’t want to go to the hospital. You want Sirius and James, but you want them to take you home. You want the soft warmth of your bed, not needles and prodding and the harshness of all those sounds and lights.

“Hey,” Remus says. His thumb strokes at your temple. You hear a shrill wailing in the distance, coming towards you. “Hey, look at me—you’re safe, honey.” His eyebrows press close together as he looks into your eyes, imploring. “It’s going to be okay.” 

The ambulance gets there quicker than you can respond, or maybe you just sit in silence until it arrives. Time is moving oddly. Your breath seems to take ages to pass through your lungs, but in a blink Sirius is hopping out of the van, jogging to your side. 

“She’s got a concussion, definitely dislocated shoulder and likely broken wrist,” Remus calls as he approaches. 

“Got it.” Sirius crouches in front of you. “Hello, gorgeous. Rough morning?” 

“A little.” 

He grins, lopsided and a bit strained. “Looks like it. Well don’t worry, our first order of business is getting you on some pain meds.” 

“I don’t want a needle.” 

Sirius’ smile slips a bit. “Sure you do, dollface. Trust me, it’ll help.” 

“You’re going to be in so much less pain with an IV,” Remus reasons, still stroking your hairline. “You won’t even know it’s there.” 

“I don’t…” 

James comes over with a gurney. “How’s our girl doing?”

“Great.” Sirius takes the hand on your uninjured side, giving it a little squeeze. “We’re gonna need a splint and a sling, but she should be okay to move.” 

The boys don’t need much talking to coordinate, and a second later you’re being transferred onto the gurney. Remus and James hold your injured arm tight to your side, and still a muffled groan tears from between your teeth. 

“I know, sweetheart.” James kisses your forehead as they stand the gurney up. “I know, I’m sorry.” 

He’s holding something to your head. You try to look up at it, but you can’t. “What is that?” 

“This? It looks like, uh…a dish towel? Rem?” 

Remus shrugs, crawling up into the ambulance. “I knew she was bleeding, and I took what was on hand.” 

Bleeding. You had been bleeding, you remember. You wonder how much you’d lost. You feel a bit less foggy now, though still a bit dazed. 

“How bad is it?” you ask James quietly. 

“Not bad,” he tells you, looking at you as he says it so you’ll know he’s being honest. He helps Sirius lift you into the ambulance. “You’ll need a couple of stitches, but it won’t be horrid.” 

You must pale at the mention of stitches, because Remus gives you a sympathetic look, pulling on a pair of rubber gloves. “Don’t worry about it right now, dove. I’ll be with you the whole time. I’m not on shift, so I can stay after the boys drop us off.” 

“Fuck that,” Sirius says, lifting the dish towel from your head to get a look at the cut. “I’m staying too.” 

“It’s been a slow day,” James agrees. “If they need us for anything, we’ll go back out.” 

Sirius huffs. “We’ll see.” He presses some gauze over your cut, taping it down. 

James goes to the window at the front, telling the paramedic driving that you’re good to go. You feel something cold on your arm, and look over to see Remus cleaning the crook of your elbow with a wipe just before Sirius blocks your view with his hand. He tilts your head back towards him. 

“Look at me,” he instructs. “You’re okay, baby.” 

You try to look back towards Remus, but Sirius’ hand is firm, keeping you still. 

“Let me tell you what’s going to happen,” he offers. “We’re going to give the pain meds a few minutes to kick in, then put your wrist in a brace. Our best bet for your shoulder is just to keep it still until” —You hiss as you feel the small needle pierce your skin, and Sirius’ brows twitch together commiseratingly—  “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “We’ll keep your shoulder still until we get to the hospital, and there, they’ll set that, stitch your head up, and give you a cast for your wrist. Sound okay, doll?” 

“Yeah,” you manage. 

He presses his lips to your forehead, letting them sit there for a second before pulling away. When he moves his hand, Remus has just finished taping down the IV. 

He runs his thumb over the delicate skin of your forearm fondly. “You’re doing so well, dove.”

“Thanks,” you squeak, and your vision blurs frustratingly. You press your lips together. 

“Hey, what’s up?” James’ tone is light, but you can hear the worry behind it. “Is it the pain?”

You shake your head, closing your eyes as tears slip down your face. You’ve got no good hands to wipe them with, an IV in one arm and the other limp and useless. 

“You’re alright.” Remus rubs your good shoulder. His voice is low and tranquilizing. “Take a breath.” 

“I—I can’t stop.” Your breath comes in embarrassing, ragged gasps. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay, it’s okay. You don’t have to be sorry for anything, angel,” James says. “Just breathe.”

You try, filling your lungs as best you can with your eyes still squeezed shut. The hot tears remind you of the feeling of warm blood on your face, and that only makes you cry harder. Remus rubs your shoulder, murmuring quiet assurances. 

After a while, Sirius speaks tentatively. “The meds should be working by now,” he says. “Do you feel any better?” 

You sniff. You hadn’t even noticed the pain fading. “Yeah, I—I think so.” 

“Okay.” He thumbs at your tears almost apologetically. “We’re gonna use this blow-up thingy to stabilize your wrist.” 

“It shouldn’t hurt too badly,” James says, taking your hand in his, “but if it does, just give me a squeeze, okay?” He smiles. “You can break my hand a little if you need to. Then we’ll really be in this together.” 

You do your best to smile back at him. He looks like he appreciates it. 

“Deep breaths,” Remus reminds you as they pump up the splint. 

You tear up again and squeeze the ever-loving shit out of James’ hand, but it’s over quicker than you expected. Sirius kisses your hairline. 

“Now we’re just waiting,” he reassures you. “We can’t do anything else until we get there.” 

You’re relieved. “Hey, what happened to that lady?” 

“Who?” 

“The lady who was…she was there.” 

“The woman who helped you call me?” Remus asks. “She left.” 

“She did?” 

“Yeah, honey. Just before James and Sirius got to us. You don’t remember?” 

“Wait, was that the driver?” Sirius asks. “She didn’t stay?” 

“No.” Remus’ tone turns sour. “The driver didn’t stop.” 

You don’t have to look at Sirius to feel his ire. It comes off him like waves of heat. “Fucker,” he seethes. 

“Sirius,” James says warningly. 

“I think it was an accident,” you say, trying to calm him. 

“Hitting a biker is an accident.” Sirius’ voice is low and dangerous. “A careless, idiotic accident, but leaving them, without even knowing what happened, is fucking—”

“Sirius,” Remus says sternly. “Not the time, love.” 

Sirius looks at you, softening. “Sorry, doll, you know I’d never leave you. But after we’re done here, I’m quitting my job to hunt that prick down.” 

“Full time?” James asks curiously. “Like what, Liam Neeson or something?” 

“Exactly like that.” 

“Doesn’t seem like a great way to make money.” 

“You won’t cover my portion of the rent for a couple months while I avenge our cruelly maimed sweetheart?” Sirius is aghast. “Have you no sense of justice?” 

“Am I maimed?” you ask, part joking but part genuinely alarmed. 

“Of course not, love,” Remus assures you quickly. He shoots Sirius a vexed look. “Maiming implies a permanency that doesn’t apply here. You’ll be fine.” 

“I was really just talking about the injustice part of it,” Sirius admits. 

“I’d rather not be avenged,” you tell him. “I think I’d prefer it if we got to keep you, and you didn’t hunt anyone down or get thrown in prison or anything.” 

“Mmm, I’ll consider it.” He kisses just above your eyebrow. “Say I abandon my vigilante life, what could I do instead that would make you feel better?” 

“A hug?” 

“Let me see what I can do.” 

[angelbaby-fics]

Strong

Summary: Your daddies comfort you before and after a big surgery.

Word Count: 860

Pairing: Daddy!Stucky x Little!Reader (fem terms used)

A/N: This is a very special fic for @mariefischer!! I hope you have a quick & easy recovery & hopefully this can bring you a little bit of comfort 💕💕

“I know, peanut, I know. Just take deep breaths.” Bucky whispered into your hair while Steve held your arm in place. Getting the IV put in was one of the hardest parts for you. Your daddies used to try to distract you, joking and playing with your stuffies while the nurse tried to find just the right spot for the needle, but it hardly ever worked. Now their main way of keeping you calm during this time was just to comfort you and keep you feeling as safe as possible until the IV was safely inserted. You squirmed in the bed. 

“Don’t wanna do it… just wanna go home…” You whined, reaching out to Bucky’s metal arm as you knew it could withstand your frightened grip. The pinch in your hand let you know the IV was now in.

“What a brave little girl you two have!” The nurse said with a smile. You felt a rush of pride at their words but still refused to smile, too stubborn. “I’ll leave you three for a minute.”

You looked up at your dadas.

“They’re right, you know. You are brave, pumpkin.” Steve said before pressing a kiss to your temple. 

You weren’t allowed to wear your dog tags into surgery, so Steve and Bucky each wore their respective tags, promising to take care of them while you were in the operating room. Your favorite stuffy wore a matching gown to you and had its very own wristband, and you kept him snug and safe in the crook of your elbow. 

“You are, sweetpea, so brave and so strong.” Bucky said.

“As strong as you?” You asked both of them.

“Are you kidding?” Steve asked with a laugh. “You’re waaayy stronger than us! Why do you think there’s two of us and only one of you? We need two super soldiers just to keep up!” 

This made you laugh, momentarily forgetting your worry until the nurse returned.

“Alright, ready to go?”

You stared up at your daddies with pleading eyes, but you knew you couldn’t stall the inevitable. They each kissed your cheeks, repeating over and over how much they love you, how strong you were, and how they couldn’t wait to see you when you get out. 

When you woke up, the first thing you noticed was your chest. Everything felt weird, it was painful, tight, and itchy. Still affected by the meds you were on, you weren’t really aware of much besides the discomfort. You started to panic, your breathing strained by both the tightness in your chest and your confusion over where you were and what was happening. That is, until you felt a pair of strong hands on your cheeks.

“Hey baby… hey baby its okay, its okay. Daddy’s here.” “Daddy?” You whimpered.

“That's right, sweetie. I’m right here.” Steve brushed his thumb over your cheek as you slowly opened your eyes. The combination of the stress and the meds had you littler than you usually were. The words weren’t coming to you very easily. “Don’t like it!” You whined. 

“Oh baby I know. Shhh, you gotta breathe for me, okay?” Steve reassured you. “Can’t!” You cried out, your stress only frustrating you, making you stress even more in a quickly growing spiral.

“Yes you can baby, I know you can. Look, do it with daddy, alright?” He took deep breaths in and out, taking your hand in his as he encouraged you to do the same. 

Big breath in.

Hold it while daddy kisses your left cheek, your right cheek, your forehead, nose, and chin. 

Exhale.

Hold. 

Daddy kisses.

Repeat.

Your breathing finally starting to regulate, you looked blearily around the room, empty besides you and Steve.

“Mmm where's Baba?” You asked, groggily.

Before Steve could answer, Bucky came into the room, his arms piled high with bears, chocolates, flowers, and balloons. 

“Is that my sleeping beauty awake already?” He set the goodies on the table in your room before joining Steve at the side of your bed, leaning over to kiss your cheek.

“You did such a good job, sweetheart. Daddy and I are so proud of you.” Bucky said. “Our strong little girl.”

“Still sleepy….” You half whined, half whispered. 

“Of course you are, baby, you did so much today.” Steve said, petting your hair. “Get some rest darling. We’ll be right here, always.” Bucky added. “And look what I got!” He reached into his pocket and pulled out your favorite paci. He took it over to the little sink and rinsed it off with warm water before popping it into your mouth.

“Sleep with daddies?” You asked, voice slightly muffled by the paci, but they knew what you meant.

“Oh, babydoll, I don’t think we’ll both fit in the bed. Tell you what, how about Stevie naps with you now, and the next time you get sleepy it’ll be my turn, okay?” “Yeah, okay.” You reached out your grabby hands to Steve as he maneuvered into the bed, wrapping you first in your blankie, then in his arms, the warmth pulling you into a safe and comfortable slumber as your breathing finally evened out.

Taglist: @stevebuckyplzfuckme @babybatdani @cherryynoir @chiyongberry @simpingbutch @xxxqueenlaufeysonxxxxo @mogaruke​ @leialittleone @stuckysgirl27 (idk why its not letting me tag u guys 😖)

[perhapsthanatos]

10:32 pm with yuta ♡

nct’s yuta x fem!reader (got inspired by a dream of mine & found the idea really cute)

alternate title: be the james dean to my audrey hepburn

genre: fluff. a pinch of angst. non idol au. badboy!yuta au.

word count: 1400~

playlist: chinatown by wild nothing, lover’s rock by tv girl & work this time by king gizzard and the lizard wizard.

warnings: featuring johnny (not a warning though). smoking cigarettes. cursing. lowercase intended. not proofread.

a/n: hi i was supposed to post a vampire!haechan fic but i really wasnt happy w it in general :( the plot or overall idea of the fic was really good, but i just felt as if i didnt do it justice so here we are :( but ngl, i kind of like this concept more? maybe bc i can see it more vividly? idk, i feel like my writings r getting repetitive & its getting on my nerves lmaoo this is getting long im sorry do u guys even read this part anyway? i would also like to apologize abt the amount of projecting im doing lmao ive been having some rough days & i love my sister but hate being compared to her so often so this is a way for me to rant abt it ig? also so sorry its coming out a little later bc i woke up late today (& procrastinated for the rest of it so here i am posting really late at night) & decided to go to the convenience store to get ice cream (& a ton of other bad shit pls dont do this its rlly unhealthy) for breakfast bc i can :) any who, enjoy lovelies <3

“oh my, y/n! you’ve grown up so well! just like your sister!”

“oh! i’m sorry i’ve almost mistaken you for your sister! y/n is your name, correct?”

“y/n, darling, you are looking so dashing! you really do resemble your sister, don’t you?”

“ah, you must be y/n! i’ve heard all about you and your sister from your father!”

you swear that your reddening cheeks are threatening to fall off any moment now from all the fake smiling. the hundreds of superficial compliments, the insincere flattery and the need for these people to constantly compare you to your godforsaken sister makes you feel even weaker than you are. it gets harder and harder to keep up with a big persona that isn’t at all you. as lucky as you are to live such a lavish lifestyle, you can’t help but hate how your family has to be so perfect. you hate how you have never fit in with them, even if you are so good at faking it. you hate how you have always been stuck in your sister’s shadow, constantly haunted with the reminder that you yourself aren’t good enough. you hate how you now have to entertain the rich and brainless guests at your parent’s gala because she’s gone for some stupid prodigy competition and everyone is only talking about her in front of your face. so what if she’s better the better sister? you still have the right to earn respect, right?

you’re exhausted from all the small talk. your facade gets more brittle by the second under all the pressure. your body feels as if it's gonna give out due to your brain shutting down after all that interacting. you try to keep on going with the night as it unravels itself by being the perfectly poised poster child, trying to make your parents proud. but alive yet almost completely devoid, you decide enough was enough. what if you left right now? no one would notice, would they?

after pulling up your phone discreetly to send a few text messages, you pass through lots of people dressed in gold and finery in a way that wouldn’t have you noticed right away. keep your head down and don’t you dare make eye contact with anyone. nearing the end of the room, grabbing the first glass of whatever alcohol you see and downing it in one gulp, you start walking away as quickly as possible from the ballroom. “ignorant privileged fucks,” you angrily whisper to no one in particular, setting the now empty glass on whatever surface and begin to head to the main exit where no one could spot you running away.

“and what do you think you’re doing here, miss?”

a voice interrupts you, looking up you see that it is your father’s head butler; johnny. he is dressed in a simple black suit that makes him appear taller than he is. his long brown hair is slicked back and his bowtie seems brand new. you have known the man since he started working in your household less than ten years back. you were a reckless child, often trying to find ways to sneak out, finding a way to escape from this life and he sympathized with you. after all, he could barely imagine living your life, never catching a break for yourself and always pretending to be someone you weren’t. he often helped planning when you would sneak out into the night, scheduling things like what time you should leave and what time you should be back, more specifically a time when no one would notice. he would take care of your form of transportation and have your location on at all times, just to be extra safe. as much as he wants you to have fun and have a bit of freedom, he still worries that something might happen to you. because of all this, you two have grown to have a very strong bond. you could confidently say that he is most definitely a parental figure in your life since your parents (and even your sister) are often overseas for work.

“what do you think i’m doing? you think i wanna be in a room with those half-baked bipeds? fuck no!”

“i know, i was just joking. you looked like you were about to explode in there, i wish i could help.” he laughs, pulling out his phone preparing what you might need. “so what will it be for today? the driver? we just need to pay him to keep his mouth shut. a taxi? it’s cheaper than paying the driver, but you still need to pay… not like that’s a problem for you though. maybe an uber would be good enough—“

“actually, i got myself covered. thanks.”

his jaw slightly drops and his eyebrows furrow. he looks straight at you in shock. “what do you mean you got yourself covered?”

you look down at your feet, a nervous habit. “i got myself a ride, you don’t need to help me. i’ll be back as soon as dawn comes.”

he raises his eyebrow. “who’s your ride?”

“doesn’t matter,” you glance down at your phone seeing a notification and wave a goodbye, leaving rather suddenly. “i gotta go, i’ll text you when you need to open the gates!”

“y/n! wait! who’s your ride— and she’s gone.” johnny sighs, watching as you run towards the front gates, tossing your stiletto heels away on the grass while you’re at it. he heads back inside, silently hoping you’ll be fine.

knocking the window of the old black mustang parked outside behind the big bushes, the driver rolls down his window and sends the most charming smile.

yuta in his black beanie, long blonde hair, worn out doc martens, signature leather jacket and black skinny jeans. it almost makes you laugh on how he wears the same thing almost everyday but still manages to look so good.

he is most notable for having a big bad boy reputation and you knew that he was the breath of fresh air you needed in your life. a person who can understand having the pressure of having to be or to fulfill your persona. a person you can completely be yourself around. a person who is full of warmth no matter how cold he may seem on the outside.

“get in, princess.”

and that was all you needed. you tiredly walked to the other door and sat yourself in the car. rolling his window back up, he looks at you. you are wearing a simple yet stunning black dress along with silver jewelry adorned on your neck and wrists. your makeup is perfectly done but still struggles to hide the fog in your eyes. he has the sudden urge to clear them away. he softens at the sight of you. no one is perfect, but he finds you being perfect enough without ever having to dress up.

“where to?” he asks as gently as he could. he knows that you are most vulnerable during these moments and that it is hard to finally break down your walls after a day full of stress, so he doesn’t pry immediately. all he wants to do is to keep you here, safe and away from your burdens and for you to stay comfortable with him, even if it couldn't be for long. but is that too selfish of him to ask? he hates how you hate your life and it is taking every bone in his body to not run away with you. but who is he to tell you what to do or what to change anyway? all he can do for now is try to find a way to make you genuinely smile.

“take me anywhere,” you whisper to the latter. “i just want to be as far from myself and my life as possible. miles away or the nearest convenience store, just take the long way home before dawn.”

you look down at the cup holders, spotting an open cigarette box. you tug one out of the nineteen and light it with the lighter you kept in your pocket. you lean back and close your eyes. he only admires as you bring the cigarette to your lips, exhaling a cloud of smoke afterwards. letting the radio play quietly, he starts the car and begins to drive away from the mansion. he can’t help but wonder how you (an elegant daughter) and him (a bad boy) are millions of worlds apart, but more similar than you think.

© perhapsthanatos (efa)

[jincherie]

florescence | iv

❀ — pairing: taehyung x reader x seokjin ❀ — genre: hybrid au, hybrid tae, hybrid jin, poly au, fluff, smut (future), angst ❀ — words: 5.1k+ ❀ — rating: sfw ❀ — warnings: a pinch of angst... oops ❀ — notes: fiddling and editing, i felt that i needed to expand this bit more so i added some context and cut the end scene off to make the feature of the next chapter

Okay, so maybe you’re lonely, and maybe there is something missing in your life, a void that you maybe want to fill with a companion that may or may not be of human origin… You’re perfectly content not doing anything about it though, until your best friend calls you in desperate need for your help and you suddenly end up coming home with not one, but two hybrids that may or may not have been on the way to the chopping block had you not taken them in. They’re more than a little rough around the edges, and the situation is less than ideal but… maybe the best things don’t always come in perfect, shiny packages. Maybe they just need a little time to bloom.

— posted; 16.11.2019 // masterlist || prev. | next.

"You're not going to be returning to a happy audience, y/n."

Startled from your position where you are crouched tying your shoe, you look up and take in the sight of Changkyun's feline form leaning against the wall beside you, white-tipped tail flicking idly behind him. Somewhat amused yet chagrined since you know exactly what he's talking about, you let out a sigh and finish tying your shoes before rising to a stand, dusting your hands against your jeans.

"I know," you respond, somewhat dryly. The cat hybrid is a little too smug for your liking, having been privy to the problem that's been making itself known in your life this week. "I can't help it though. If they want to keep eating pancakes and meat dishes then they gotta put up with me leaving the house for work. I need food tokens because that's capitalism, babey."

The hybrid snorts, rolling the ring over his lip with his tongue before deciding to deign you with a response. "I don't think I've ever heard anyone else refer to cash money as food tokens, but you know what it has a nice ring to it, so I'll let you have that one."

"Thanks for the charity," you laugh, slinging your bag over your shoulder. The kids that had been under your care for the evening are fast asleep in their beds, so you don't have to worry about them catching you leaving and throwing a tantrum. Their mother, a lovely woman who works as a secretary to the CEO of one of your local well-established businesses, has already returned home to thank you and pay you. Staff meetings that run late into the night are particularly gruelling for her, and you made her promise she was going to get some good rest before she retired. Changkyun, the household hybrid who has too strong of a personality to ever be anything but the only hybrid in the house, has followed you out to the front door, and is making the most of his remaining time to bother you to the best of his ability.

"Have they told you why, yet?" Changkyun seems unwilling to let the previous topic go, persistent in his efforts to pull the latest information from you. Begrudgingly, you play along and give the nosy cat what he wants. He's awfully invested in your current affairs for some reason, probably because he'd been nagging you to get hybrids of your own for so long and now you'd finally ended up with some, to his glee.

"No," you huff. Your eyes slide away from his form, falling upon one of the lovely paintings displayed on the walls as you pout. "They haven't said a word, but they're still acting the same."

You don't like the look that enters the hybrid's sly eyes. "I can help, you know." He takes a step closer, leaning forward with a shit-eating grin. "I know what's bothering them. Just let me--"

"Rude cat, if you know then why don't you tell me!" you protest, poking his chest in a manner more playful than anything. "And stop trying to rub on me, I know what you're doing. They were really grumpy with me after you did it the first time so don't think I don't see you trying to stir the pot, cheeky cat."

Changkyun grins, eyes closing in his mirth as he steps back with his hands up in surrender and lets out a laugh. "Ok, fine! Take all the fun out of it! Live without ever knowing the truth, see if I care..."

You roll your eyes, knowing he's still playing with you. "Right, well, I'm going to go before you somehow manage to indirectly upset my hybrids even more. I'm watching you, Changkyunnie."

At the appearance of the nickname you've given him, the hybrid can't help but let out a purr as he laughs and bids you farewell. "Bye! See you next week! I wonder if you will have sorted out your little problem by then."

It's very tempting to flip him the bird, very tempting, but somehow you manage to restrain yourself and you think it really is a testament to your willpower. You bid him farewell and make a quick escape, mind a little hung on his words as you make your way from the house and down the path to where you parked your car.

Will you have resolved this "little problem", as he so blasély put it, by this time next week? You aren't sure, but to be honest you are a little doubtful. Why? Well...

You’re unsure if anyone ever took the time to try and explain the concept of working and jobs to your two hybrids.

You say this because you kind of assumed that they’d know what you mean when, barely three weeks after you brought them home, you told them you were going off to work and wouldn't be back until later—except it quickly became clear that was not the case and they did not, in fact, know what you meant. You’ve been growing closer and closer each day that passed and despite what their guidebooks said, they aren't continuing to act as withdrawn as they had been and aren't refusing to let you close. You’re overjoyed, of course, at the development, but you had no idea it would mean they would get so clingy.

Somewhat disgruntled at the turn of your thoughts as you climb into your car, you recall how it had all gone down that first day you'd returned to work. “What?” Seokjin’s voice climbed in pitch as he looked to you in alarm, attention torn from the pancake batter he’d been stirring. You showed him how to make it without help the other day and ever since he’s been trying to perfect it on his own. He blinked like he couldn’t believe what you just said, and you swore you could hear a hint of fear riding in his tone. “You’re what? You’re leaving? Why are you leaving?”

“I have to go to work,” you explained clearly, a little amused and endeared at the fact he’d evidently thought you’d be at home with them all the time. “I need to make money to pay the bills so we can keep living here and making pancakes, you know.”

When you brought the hybrids home, you’d immediately taken some time off work—you know how critical the first few weeks are in establishing comfort and an environment and dynamic where they feel safe. You suppose you never paused and thought about whether they realised you’d have a job that you would have to return to at some point. Perhaps this was your fault.

“Wh—do you have to? Do you have to go?” He was still holding the wooden spoon he was stirring with, looking at you with wide eyes. “Please don’t go.”

“I have to,” you affirmed, sending him an apologetic look. You almost forgot Taehyung was in the kitchen with you until you felt a tugging on your shirt and looked to the stool where he was perched and—oh, no, he was giving you the puppy eyes, the most potent pair of them you’d ever seen in your life.

“Hey, don’t give me those eyes, mister puppy.” You reached and booped his nose; his cheeks flushed and his ears lowered. “I won’t be gone long, you’ll survive.”

To your complete and utter surprise, Taehyung pulled away and angled his body in the opposite direction, effectively turning his back to you and rolling his eyes. You were left gaping at the uncharacteristic show of attitude. He… just rolled his eyes? At you? What…

Seokjin decided to pursue a different avenue in the hopes of persuading you to shirk your responsibility and stay. He droped the spoon into the bowl and rounded the counter in a few large steps, moving quick and taking your hands into his hold. He whimpered sadly, already making a very strong argument. “y/n, please don’t go.”

You were weak-willed when it comes to these two hybrids, as you quickly found out, but it is because of how much you care for them that you were able to resist. It wasn’t without another half hour of whining and clinging that you were able to leave the house, though. You work as a nanny for a select few affluent families, so its not like you’re working fulltime office hours, and most importantly you’re always going to come back. You have no idea why they’re so opposed to the idea of you leaving at all when they’ve shown they understand your reasoning…

The previous days you’ve come home after work, you’ve received a fair spread of responses. At first, they clung to you. When you came home after that first day of work (mind you, you were gone barely five hours that time) from the second you walked through the door, your two hybrids all but tackled you and stayed firmly attached to your side for the entire night after that. If they could, you were sure they’d shackle you to them.

The night after that, the reception was a little different. They were upset that you’d left again, and proceeded to let you know—for about the half hour that they could last without cuddling on the couch, that is. All you had to do was pull pudding out of the oven and your treason was forgotten, hybrids by your side and pressed against you once more. This, understandably, lulled you into a false sense of security of sorts. Perhaps they’d get over it soon?

Nope. The days after that, they switched it up in favour of something they seemed to think would be more effective. You’re no stranger to the cold shoulder, and usually quite sensitive to it, but to be honest… their attempt humoured you more than anything. The visible conflict in their expressions every time they attempted to brush you off is probably what was funniest. Every time they ignored you, or didn’t respond, it went against their nature and their usual urges. They’re soft, cuddly boys, you’ve found. And they might be grumpy, but even as they’re trying to make a statement, they can’t help but long for the way things usually are. Their cold shoulder usually lasts about an hour, and then they break. Nowhere near long enough to really have an effect.

But by today, when you arrive home from the job with Changkyun, you think it’s beginning to wear on you a little bit. When you ease the front door open, banging your toe on the frame and letting out a curse in the process, no one comes to greet you. The house isn’t empty (you can hear them scuffling about in their room) and the lights are on, but still, it feels… a little lonely. You huff, slightly grumpy that they’re still throwing a tantrum over this. As much as you try not to let it show, it is frustrating. You have to work! It’s not something you can simply stop doing because you want to, or your hybrids want you to.

You halt in the hallway to the kitchen, making yourself pause and take a breath. You’re frustrated and a little grumpy, yes, but you don’t want them to pick it up. They’re sensitive to these things, you’ve found. You watched a video on Facebook about kittens that made you cry the other day and barely a second after the first tear touched your cheek had Seokjin almost broke down your door, worried to high hell and back because he smelt it and thought something was wrong. You’ve been very careful since then, not wanting them to feel upset or uncomfortable as a result of your own emotions.  

Once you’re sure you’ve collected yourself enough, you continue into the kitchen, placing your bag on the table as you walk past. Humming and knowing that the quickest way to get them out of their mood is food, you open the fridge to stare inside, hoping an idea for dinner will come to you like a vision from above. Your fridge may be many things, but it’s not prophetic, and currently it’s not stocked with much food either. Huffing, you close the door with a little more force than necessary and turn away, wincing at the following bang. Hopefully the eggs are ok.

You’re not much in the mood to make a big meal tonight, so you make the executive decision to pull the tortellini you’ve been craving from the freezer and set it on the bench. Begrudgingly, after a moment of consideration, you pull out a few vegetables to add to the sauce mix. You suppose you better put some effort in, since you’ve already chosen the lazy meal.

True to character, as soon as the tortellini begins to cook in the pot and the smell begins to permeate the air, you hear the sound of light footsteps creeping down the stairs, attempting to go unnoticed. You wonder if they underestimate the extent of your human hearing, or if they’re just really bad at being sneaky.

They don’t go into the kitchen straight away, but they go to the living room, as close as they can get to the source of the smell without giving in and talking to you. You roll your eyes, partly amused and partly miffed. You suppose this is how it’s gonna be.

Considering how easy of a dish it is, it doesn’t take you long to cook and serve it. Instead of calling them to the kitchen to grab it, you slip out of the room and make you way to where they’ve started watching Netflix, next to each other on the couch.

Whether they don’t hear you coming or are still hell bent on ignoring you, you’re able to sneak right up behind them, the back of their heads peeking just over the back of the couch. Your hands slip forward, fingers weaving through the silky locks atop their head and ruffling them. Both hybrids jerk, Seokjin letting out a surprised yelp as he turns partly in his seat to shoot you an alarmed look.

The tension in their forms melts away in the next second as the tips of your fingers and your nails lightly drag across their scalps, brushing just barely the bottom of their ears. You think you hear a sharp intake of breath, surprisingly from Taehyung’s direction, but can’t verify it before your hands leave the top of their heads and your smiling at them as they turn to face you.

“Dinner is ready, bubs,” you say, somewhat humoured by the visible conflict on their faces—they manage to settle on remaining disgruntled, though, much to your disappointment.

They rise from the couch, pouting, and follow you to the dining table. They seat themselves without another word, and as soon as they see you reaching for your fork and taking your first bite, they follow suit. You think they plan to stay silent throughout the entirety of dinner, but you manage to wear them down enough that Seokjin lets slip a few sentences of how their day went and what they got up to. Aside from that, dinner passes quickly and somewhat tensely. It’s an odd tension, though, as though it’s not yet fully formed and kind of incomplete. Like there’s a lack of conviction and commitment to it.

As soon as they’re done eating, like the sweet boys they are they take their dishes to the kitchen, rinse them off and load them into the dishwasher along with the other containers and utensils used for dinner. You rinse your own bowl as well once done and pop it in with theirs; without even a glance in your direction, Taehyung adjusts it so the fan won’t hit it and then slides the full drawers in, placing a dishwashing tablet in and turning it on. Efficient; he certainly wastes no time about it.

Already even before this point, you knew that they were going to try and bolt the second they could—and it seems your predictions come true, as the second they hear the dishwasher turn on and begin its cycle, the two of them are inching towards the edge of the kitchen, barely an ounce of sneakiness to their name. Fighting a sigh, you dry your hands before taking a few steps and using them to definitively grasp their own. As you lace your fingers together, the two hybrids freeze, Taehyung shooting you a wide-eyed look and Seokjin faltering in his stride.

"Will you two stay, if you're not too tired?" You ask, a shred of vulnerability more than planned making itself known in your voice. "They added some movies I really like to Netflix, and I really wanted to show you. I thought we could watch them together...?"

You can tell the second you look at Taehyung's face, his features softened and eyes shining, that he's given up giving you the cold shoulder for the night. Seokjin's slumped shoulders, tension having fled at your words, also tell you that he's on the same page as his brother. You brush your thumb over his hand and feel his grip tighten as he turns to you, smiling slightly.

"Of course we're not tired yet, what did you want to watch?"

You spend the rest of the night curled with them on the couch, tension long gone and only warm affection drawing the three of you together, and can't help but think maybe this was the last of their protests. They're sweet, these boys, and you know part of the reason they're upset is that you're leaving when they want you to be here, spending time with them.

But alas, it is not to be, and your optimism is quickly shot down.

Their reaction to your continued absence during the work days persists. Each morning you wake and get ready for work, your two hybrids are there almost every step of the way pleading with you to stay, offering any bribe they can think of onto the table to aid their bid—cuddles on the couch, snacks, movies, naps. Admittedly, each day it gets a little harder to steel your resolve and actually go to work, but you try not to let them see that they’re gradually wearing you down. They’re too endearing for their own good—it probably isn’t healthy for them to have you as wrapped around their fingers as they currently do.

At this point, you get the sense that it’s not just one, but a number of reasons at play that make them so averse to you leaving for work. It occurs to you that they’re probably still a bit insecure, given their background and the fact they haven’t actually been here that long. But at the same time, it feels like it’s also more than that.

You work as a nanny and babysit children, but since you work for families who are usually perched on the upper echelon, it’s not uncommon for you to be spending a lot of time in proximity to other hybrids as well. Ever since they were first created, hybrids have been a symbol of wealth and affluence. Despite much more of the middle and working class having them as companions these days, in a sense that earlier attitude still stands. A few of the families you work for have hybrids, two of them having more than one. Thankfully, none of them mistreat their hybrids, in actuality you were surprised upon first working for them to find that they’re treated almost as well as the children are. It makes you happy to see such a shift from the common attitude, and the hybrids themselves are all so lovely that even when the kids have crummy days and want nothing more than to throw tantrums, you have no complaints.

Despite just over a week and a half of avoidance about why they’re so grumpy, it seems today is the day you’re finally going to gain an insight into the cause of their behaviour and push your hybrids over a line you didn’t even know was there until they cross it.

It’s a Friday where you’ve just arrived home after working with one of those families with multiple hybrids, that you seem to push your own over a line of sorts. You’re a little tired as you come through the door, eagerly slipping your boots off and hanging your bag and jacket up. Neither of the hybrids come running to greet you, as they might have done before you ‘betrayed’ them and started leaving the house for work. You’re less amused than you might have been in days prior, and more pouty—ever since they started cuddling you you’ve grown addicted, and you miss the warmth and affection when you’re away.

Well, you suppose today you’ll either have to go find them or let them gradually come to you.

Humming to yourself, you bring the take-away boxes of stir fry the family had been so kind to share with you into the living room, plopping them on the coffee table with some cutlery. They tinkle and clank together obnoxiously, as most metal items do, and you open a box and sit back, waiting for the sound and the smell of meat to rouse the hybrids from wherever they’re hiding.

You don’t have to wait long—Taehyung is the first to appear, his eyes lighting up on instinct the second he sees you, before he catches himself and smooths his expression, averting his eyes to the food on the table and taking one of the boxes and some cutlery. Even when he’s pouting, he can’t stand being too far away from you; he perches on the cushion next to you, but as far away as the armrest will allow him so that he can still let you know he’s not happy you left this morning. He’s so cute, sitting there and pouting as he shoves stirfry in his mouth, you can’t even find it in yourself to be annoyed at his childlike behaviour. The two of you eat in silence until Seokjin comes, the male’s soft footfalls announcing his presence before the sound of his inquisitive sniffing does.

You look up as he enters the room, curious to see if the fox hybrid will continue giving you a weak attempt at the cold shoulder as he has been for the first hour or so after you get home every night. He does, but when you give him a pleasant greeting with a bright smile you can see his resolve waver. He grabs his food and cutlery and sets up on the couch adjacent to this one, pointedly avoiding your eyes lest his resolve completely shatter. There is a small amount of tension in the air but you decide to let them finish their meals before you address it. Enough is enough but you’re all also hungry.

The second both of them are done and sitting back in content, you stack the boxes and push them further into the middle of the table so they don’t tip. Your movement brings you closer to Seokjin, and he sniffs subtly before his nose wrinkles and his brows draw down harshly. He doesn’t say anything, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip instead, but you catch it nonetheless.

Curious at the reaction and knowing (hoping) you don’t smell bad, you turn to Taehyung and lean closer experimentally to see if he will give a similar response. He does, still not looking at you—surprise filters through you when you see his features twist into a scowl. Wow, this past week you’re really seeing a new side to the shy baby, huh?

“Alright, what is it?” you ask, throwing the question into the tense air before either of them can bolt and fester with whatever mood they’re in. “Why are the two of you so upset and why do you pull that face when I get close? Do I stink?”

To his credit, Seokjin appears a little sheepish at being called out, cheeks flushing with brief embarrassment—Taehyung on the other hand remains steadfast and petulant, crossing his arms. His ears are lowered and still, he refuses to look at you.

“…No,” Seokjin answers you, eyes flicking away. He’s pouting, tone bordering on a grumble. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

You blink, surprised at the sass and distance he’s suddenly putting between you. It didn’t take you long after they arrived to realise that Seokjin preferred open communication and honesty, but had a little trouble working up the nerve to say things sometimes and hence stayed quiet instead. But this time he’s fibbing to you, brushing it under the rug and attempting to dismiss it when you can see something is up. You can’t help but wonder what brought that about.

“Oh?” you say, turning your gaze to Taehyung—the action makes you catch him while glimpsing at you and he rips his gaze away, cheeks flushing as he scowls more. “It’s ‘nothing’ that has the two of you so grumpy?”

Seokjin’s brows drew together, lips tugging down into a frown. Your words seem to set him off a bit, as he’s suddenly on the defensive. “No.  Maybe. What do you care? You’re never here anymore and you—you probably don’t even care about us anymore. You’re too busy caring about—about other h-people. Whatever.”

Your brows shoot up as he stands suddenly, Taehyung following suit—you can tell that Seokjin wants to stomp off and keep being dramatic by ignoring you, but he can’t seem to make himself skip saying goodnight to you. So he says it, but makes sure to imbue it with as much sass and attitude as possible. “Goodnight.”

Completely taken aback, you watch as they file out of the living room and no doubt go to make their way upstairs to their room. You’re not angry, but you’re definitely a bit confused and feel a little guilty, among other feelings that quickly begin to make themselves known. The two of them know that you look after children for your job, and when you told them it didn’t seem to make them bitter or envious—it seems more than a little out of character for them to be upset that you leave them to babysit kids now.

You’re actually a little hurt, if only because you’re also confused and have no idea why they’re acting this way. You have no idea, and they won’t tell you—you could probe further, press harder, but will that make them tell you, or will it push them further away? You don’t want to risk upsetting them more, and if that’s a possibility you don’t think you could make yourself follow through with it.

Sitting there on the couch, completely alone and very aware of the absence of their warmth, your chest aches a little. You’re new to this, you don’t know all the things a new hybrid owner probably should, and it shows. Your first instinct is to focus on them—what is their problem?—but now that you sit here and ruminate a little, you realise that this is more than a little bit your fault. If you were a more knowledgeable owner, then surely you’d have at least an inkling as to what is wrong. But you don’t, you’re so painfully in the dark it’s shameful enough to make a fresh wave of guilt course through you.

You need to find out more, research a little, but you’re not sure where to start. You have no clue what is bothering them in the first place, and even less idea as to how to solve it. Deep in your thoughts, you rise and begin tidying up after dinner in a bit of a haze. You almost drop the cutlery on the way to the kitchen, but manage to catch it just at the last second. After cleaning what you needed to, you made your way to your bedroom and curled into the bed, a frown tugging your lips of its own accord. It takes you a while to settle down and fall asleep as your mind races and leaves you in its wake. You really hope this whole thing doesn't go on for too long, because it's only been a single night that they've ignored you like this and it sucks.

The next day after you work-- a different house to yesterday, one with two male hybrids of the labrador variety-- the reaction is much the same, if not worse. They don't even come out when you call them for dinner, having arrived home early enough to actually make it today. At some point, they come out and take their plates of food, but you miss it, which you're quite upset at yourself for. The first and only time you see them that evening, is by chance as you emerge from your room after a shower and catch a glimpse of them scuttling back to their own. Their dishes are on the kitchen bench when you go to fetch some water, and it makes your heart twinge a little. They're really not going to talk to you at all? You don't think you're doing anything that bad! You have no choice but to leave for work, you need income so you can support yourself and now them. It's not something you can just drop and never deal with, and you have a feeling they know that and yet... something is upsetting them. You just want them to tell you, so that you can try and fix it however you can.

That night, you contemplate knocking on their door and seeking them out, and even get all the way to the closed door of their room before you halt, hand in the air. Ultimately, you can't make yourself do it. Perhaps, if they want to be alone, then leaving them alone is best. Heart hanging heavy in your chest, you turn on your heel and silently make your way to your room, but not before you utter a soft "Goodnight, boys." knowing that no matter how quietly you say it, they'd still hear it.

Your mood is looking like it's about to quickly spiral, so in an effort to prevent it you find yourself in the middle of a self-consolation session. Tomorrow you don't have any work, a day off you've been looking forward to, so surely that will cheer them up and make them emerge from their shells? You miss them, and as you curl into your bed once more without the lingering warmth of their usual cuddles that you seem to have grown accustomed to, you feel lonelier than ever.

You really hope that tomorrow, things will turn around a little.

a/n: i hope u enjoy it n please let me know what u think! the next part is already partially done so it shouldn’t be too long before the next part is out! hurray for the academic year ending here !!

masterlist || prev. | next.

[space-------kid]

can’t keep my hands (off you).

Anime/Manga: One Punch Man Pairing: Garou/fem!Reader  Additional pairing/characters: platonic Metal Bat/fem!Reader, Zenko, mentions of other heroes such as Saitama, Watchdog Man, etc. Genre: Romance, comedy Warning: Absolute silliness. Language – Garou and reader both ate rainbows for breakfast. Dumbassery. Teeth-rotting fluff, maybe? Reader is hella strong like Saitama. Half-assed spice because you’re good at cockblocking Garou despite being low-key thirsty for him. And LOTS of dumbassery from the reader, most probably. Additional tag: Dream-based fic, canon-divergent, Garou is horny af A/N: This is supposed to be a lengthy one-shot, but I’m a dumbass who can’t keep my word so the supposedly one-shot isn’t a one shot anymore.  Now I have to worry how I should properly divide all those parts (I mean, they’re already divided, but--) 😅

Establishing yourself in their world.

Summary: 

Your life had its general ups and downs, pros and cons, the good and the bad.

You were admittedly a coward and afraid of being targeted by people for it. Following the advice of your (best) friend you trained hard, like, FUCKING hard, and now you’re blessedly, utterly strong you can take down enemies with just one hit. A good thing, really. Can’t let any bad guy harass you or something.

But-

You were probably cursed with the biggest, baddest of luck. Not only were monsters chasing you, suddenly there was this fucking hot bastard weirdo who kept on calling himself the Hero Hunter. “I’m not a hero, goddamn it!”

iii. and iv. | v. | [more to be added]

“i can’t keep my

 hands

 off...!”

 - can’t keep my hands off you/simple plan

i.

If anyone who knew you could pick a single word to describe you, it had to be coward.

But it wasn’t like you could blame them, the choice was easily justifiable with how you always seemed to cower whenever a threat - even the smallest - popped out to inconvenience you and disturb the hopefully peaceful life you wanted to live.

You though that having a hero as your best friend would be enough to keep you safe. But considering his busy schedule, you were left with no choice but to fend for yourself.

“You just gotta get strong, ya know!” Badd (aka the one and only Metal Bat) told you countless of times whenever you would run to him, either telling him that some creepy guy was harassing you or a monster was chasing you.

It might have been the ‘what the fuck are you on about?’ look you had given him that day that left you sporting red, aching cheeks for the remainder of the afternoon, Badd having pinched and squished them - so hard you actually cried - for having the gall to non-verbally question him.

Fearing for the safety of your cheeks (Badd might pull your ears next, something you couldn’t afford to experience), you followed his advice.

Day after day you would lift weights, do some core exercises. You even went as far as to following some guy in a blue tracksuit’s training regime (he saw you training, you asked him on a whim on how to be strong, he nonchalantly answered your question) which consisted of doing a hundred push-ups, sit-ups, squats, and a 10-kilometer run every day. It was gruelling enough, and most of the times you would only find yourself waking up to Zenko’s glare, the girl telling you how Badd found you unconscious somewhere around the city.

“Are you trying to kill yourself?” Badd asked you one day, brows pinched with concern when you woke up in his arms.

Huh. You must’ve passed out again while working out.

“You told me to get strong, stupiiiiiiid,” you whined pathetically, hitting him on the face and chest with a trembling hand.

The recently minted S-Class hero snorted at your weak and pathetic display of attempted violence. “Yeah, I did. But I didn’t tell ya to train ‘til you’re on death’s door.”

You threw your head backwards dramatically, exposing your neck and making Badd drop you when he got an eyeful of the tops of your sports bra.

“Ow! Bat, what the heck!?”

“I can see your- y-your- ew! I need to wash my fuckin’ eyeballs! And why are you even wearing those in the first place when you don’t have any boobs?”

“I will fucking murder you in your sleep, Badd!”

You ended up in his arms again, only because you fainted once more due to exhaustion.

But you continued with your training nonetheless, slowly building up both stamina and strength to the point where you could finally make it home and collapse on your own bed after a long day of hard work.

Your parents were worried at how far you were pushing yourself, but they never stopped you when – for the first time in your life – you insisted that you had to do this for your own betterment. Never had they seen you so determined, your eyes still filled with fear but were now mixed with the fires of fortitude, and the way you settled the discussion made them relent. But that didn’t mean that they would stop worrying for you, often pleading for Badd to look after you whenever he could. Your parents might always be busy and far from home most of the times due to their jobs, but you (Badd and Zenko included) were always in their heart and mind.

For a year and a half, your training had been one of your constants.

You bawled like a kid the first time you punched some weird mushroom monster into oblivion - its legs the only evident of its existence after that one hit - because finally, your hellish (to you, anyway) training finally paid off!

Badd had hugged you and cried a little, telling you how proud he was of your achievement and how you could finally be strong enough to look more effectively after yourself. Being an S-Class had demanded more time from him and you couldn’t exactly come running to him every time you find yourself in a pinch. Aside from being a hero, his greatest priority was his precious little sister, and you would never have the heart to take away Zenko’s onii-chan from her.

“So, [Name]. Wanna be a pro-hero?” Badd asked you one night when you were out eating ramen with him and Zenko. “You’re pretty strong now, and you can take on monsters on your own. Man, I haven’t even seen you pummel one, now that I mentioned it!” he added, looking at you excitedly.

Your ears turned red from embarrassment at being praised. “I’m really not... at least not on your level. The monsters I meet by accident were all weak, thank god for that,” you replied. You returned his gaze, eyes narrow, and clicked your chopsticks at him. “And nope, I don’t wanna. Why would I want to be a hero? Why would I actively seek out those that I try to avoid at all costs?”

Zenko, who was seated between you and Badd, shot you a questioning look.

“Why did you get strong, then, [Name]-san?” she asked.

You chewed on your bottom lip, gaze zeroing on the steaming bowl of ramen in front of you. You could feel the siblings’ eyes on you and you flushed a bright shade of red under their scrutiny.

“Well, I did because I’m scared of monsters,” you replied. “What if there’s no hero nearby to help me when a monster appeared? I don’t wanna get eaten, you know, or worse-” here, your voice turned hysterical and caught a few fellow customers’ attention “-get killed and have some creepy, gross monster do lewd things to my body!”

“Eh? Lewd?”

A flustered Badd covered Zenko’s ears a little too late and made her turn her gaze away from your disgusted and scared expression.

“No, no, don’t bother with that, Zenko,” said the S-Class, eye twitching at the insinuation of your words. “Just eat your ramen while it’s hot.”

“But I was asking [Name]-san a question-”

“Just eat your ramen,” Badd gently pressed his sister who rolled her eyes in return.

“Teenagers,” the little girl huffed exasperatedly.

Nevertheless, Badd kept on asking you if you wanted to be like him. He would tell you the privileges you could get as a hero, not to mention the salary you would be earning. You, on the other hand, would never get tired of telling him no. As if a coward like you would actively fight monsters as a job. You were better off staying as a civilian, no matter how strong you finally had been.

You just weren’t cut out for that hero gig.

---

ii.

Yeah, you trained to get strong so you could defend yourself from monsters and creepy people who would harass anyone they fancied. And like you told Badd time and again, you would never be a hero. 

But you wouldn’t deny the fact that helping others when there weren’t heroes around would put a huge smile on your face and a fuzzy, warm feeling in your chest.

Growing up, your parents taught you that helping other people didn’t need a licence or a title. One just needed to have the drive and compassion to do so, lending your hand not because you’re a hero but because you’re a decent human being.

And wasn’t that what capable people should do regardless of their job or title?

However, helping people required courage - and you were sorely lacking on that department.

And truth be told, your aid would always be purely accidental. Well, more like your fight or flight instincts have switched your mind into autopilot whenever monsters come crashing wherever you were.

A monster resembling a humanoid iguana showing up in the shopping district while you were out buying groceries? Fight. You had kicked its head off its shoulders because its long tongue freaked you out.

Some giant and evil sentient tree started terrorizing the children at the park you usually frequented? Fight. You punched it to kingdom come when you felt some of its vines trying to creep up your shirt.

A weird humanoid octopus, harassing the ladies at a spa you once visited? Fight. What was left of the monster was a bloody smear on the walls after you’re through with him.

And perhaps your favorite was an honest-to-god giant fire-breathing worm which threatened to destroy the forest you had camped on when you felt like leaving the city for a few days. F i g h t. You blinked back into awareness bathed in the purple blood of the monster, its remains scattered as far as your gaze could reach.

The worst (or best?) part was that you were unaware of how you defeated them - your only confirmation that you yourself had beaten the monsters were from eyewitnesses themselves. People would ask you if you were a newbie from the Hero Association, and you would immediately shake your head no.

You even received an invitation from the Association itself to join their ranks, to which you gave an easy “nope!” as your reply.

Your main concern, however, was not H. A.’s incessant invitations for you to become a hero.

Alarmed at how you would seemingly black out before facing any monster who would disrupt your relatively peaceful life, you sat on your bed and put your head on your hands.

Was it really a fight or flight instinct that guided you during those moments, or was it just plain fight, your mind blanking out and your body moving on its own accord while you finish off any monster that came to your path? 

What controls your body during those moments? Instinct? The primal urge to survive?

But how come you couldn’t remember even just a single moment of the fight?

You rubbed your face with your hands and nodded to yourself. Of course you remembered something. That fleeting moment of feeling fear grip the entirety of your existence, when thoughts of surviving another day no longer filled your mind as a monster turned its malevolent gaze on you. The feeling of wanting to throw up your swiftly beating heart out of your own seizing throat, and you breaking out into a cold sweat. Your hand closing into a fist for a punch or lifting a foot to deliver either a stomp or a kick in a hopeless attempt to defend yourself.

And then your world would turn black.

And always, automatically, you would return to awareness once your auto-piloted mind deemed the monster for the day well and truly dead.

Looking back on the times you were still a weakling, you had never experienced undergoing a fight or flight instinct as odd as what you were having now. If it had always been flight for you before, the former now seemed to overcompensate for your spinelessness now that you have gained more than enough physical strength to back it up.

(If you had come across a certain Dr. Genus and he had come to witness your power, he would go as far as to claiming that you were the second person he met to have removed their limiter.)

(And if you would ask him if it had affected your fight or flight instinct, he would have said yes: your instinct to flee had been erased by your instinct to fight, and your id would not stop until it had the pleasure of witnessing your assailants’ death.)

You disliked fighting, you were too cowardly to face it, even. And while being strong had given you a little reassurance that you could now go outside of your house without having the need to get Badd check up on you for your safety every now and again, you still avoided getting attention to yourself either from creepy guys or monsters. A huge scaredy-cat at heart, you kept your head as low as you could muster.

There was, however, one thing you seemed to be forgetting, something you seemed to have been born with and you wanted to live without.

You were the human equivalent of a magnet for the biggest and baddest of luck.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

And so you spend your days being chased by monsters, blacking out as your fight instinct took over, and wake up somewhat drenched in monster blood.

Man, when would heaven give you a break?

---

to be continued

[siribear]

whisper lists sideways before falling. deacon catches her, one arm under her shoulders, while her pack clatters to the ground. her head falls back as her legs finally give out, and he braces himself for her full weight to fall against him. and it’s not much; for all her shit-talking and recklessness, she’s so small.

‘okay, pal, this isn’t funny,’ he says, waiting for the punch-line. there isn’t one. even maccready looks over at her, just as surprised as he is. ‘whisper,’ he tries again. her breathing’s too shallow for this to be a joke. blood trickles from the corner of her mouth.

fuck.

‘we gotta get her inside.’ maccready’s not looking at him, but past him, out to the parking garage next to the building. and there’s the silhouette of a pair of ferals on the roof of it, and another walking out of the entrance to investigate. ‘now.’

deacon hoists her up, her legs under his other arm, and bridal carries her back into the building. the irony isn’t lost on him as he shoulders the door to carry her over the threshold, but now’s not the time to think about barbara. he spares a glance behind him to see maccready grabbing her stuff as another feral begins to cross the parking lot.

‘find a room. i’m gonna brace the door, just in case.’

the sound of metal scraping against the floor echoes around the room as maccready pulls a bench in front of the main entrance. deacon enters the first room with a working door and lays whisper out on a spare bed. if he didn’t know better, she could simply be sleeping. passed out from exhaustion - and all the blood vomiting that obviously precedes it. but he knows better, so he scrolls through the tabs on her pipboy, searching for a general diagnostic option and - there.

vital signs: not great. not surprising with her breaths coming out in ragged wheezes. when the rest of the scan loads, he finds the culprit. her rads are high enough the brotherhood can probably see them from their airship. enough to be near-fatal. he drags out a couple of radaways to start, and preps the surgical tubing and a needle. it’s been a while since he’s done this, not since his last extended undercover op, and much longer since he’s done it for someone else. but back then it didn’t matter where he stuck the needle. he spares himself a shudder before finding a vein in her other arm.

maccready slips into the room, places her back at the foot of the bed. he doesn’t question deacon holding up the bag of radaway in lieu of an IV stand. instead, he says, ‘they won’t get through the door, but we’ve got a few hours until they scatter. scent of blood drew them in, i bet.’

deacon watches as her rads tick down agonizingly slowly. hours. ‘guess we should make ourselves comfortable. i think we should make s’mores.’

-

she sneezes. dust, she thinks. just dust. kicked up when she and rachel straightened up the apartment. that’s all. but then she sneezes again and her head goes fuzzy. claire blows her nose, pinches the bridge of it, and sighs. nate comes home tomorrow - for good. and, of course, she has to get sick. rachel would call it her luck; claire says the universe hates her, but at least a sink-hole hasn’t opened up and swallowed her. but the day is young.

and it’s not how she pictured their reunion, with her in bed feverish from a cold instead of - well.

claire looks around the newly tidied apartment. from the small ‘master’ bedroom, to the guest room-turned-office, the cramped kitchen, the smaller living room. they’re to start a family, but, as it is, she can barely fit a dog once nate moves in. a family - claire falls heavily into her favorite chair, props her chin up by her palm. a family. her and nate. from a random meeting in a bar to... this. and she’s excited.

the rest of the day is spent trying not to crawl into bed and say there for the next week. she prepares for tomorrow’s dinner instead. home-cooked, instead of the usual microwaved meals she’s more accustomed to, like the perfect american wife. that night, she takes medicine to chase away the cold. come morning, she checks herself over. make up to cover up her pallor, mint for her breath, and a softer perfume to hide the medicinal smell about her.

perfect. everything has to be perfect. her hands shake all the way to the airport, and yet there’s hardly any traffic. perfect. their reunion, soft and quiet, just two lovers coming together after a long time away. perfect.

the way nate immediately picks up on her cold? not perfect, thank you for asking.

dinner cools, half finished on the counter, and claire sits, propped up in her own bed, barely able to breathe through her nose.

‘claire.’ nate brushes a stray strand of hair behind her ear. ‘you should have been resting. i could have called a cab.’

she rolls her eyes and takes another sip of her canned chicken noodle soup. ‘this wasn’t supposed to happen, obviously.’ the indignation in her nasally voice makes nate smile. ‘we were supposed to have this wonderful dinner and everything. i had it all planned out.’

calm, clear blue eyes smile back at her. ‘like the perfect wife?’ he chuckles, soft against the scar on his lip. ‘you didn’t have to - ‘ he pauses. ‘we aren’t... yet - ‘

‘the good, military man isn’t going to make an honest woman out of me?’ she sighs as dramatically as she can, and coughs. ‘and after all this trouble i went through. nathaniel, what would your mother say?’

nate blinks, wide-eyed and adorable. ‘that’s not what i meant.’

she smiles over her last sip. ‘then, yes, i will marry you.’

he places a hand against her forehead. ‘you seem to be feeling better if you can keep cracking jokes. here, i’ll take that.’ nate lifts the empty bowl from her hands and places a kiss high on her temple before turning to leave. ‘love you.’

‘i love you,’ she returns, eyes drooping. ‘nate, i...’

-

whisper opens her eyes slowly. ‘nate?’ she reaches out toward him when he turns back to her. one hand against his cheek, she rubs her thumb against the stubble she asked him to grow. ‘nate,’ she sighs. he takes her hand, removes it carefully from his face. ‘how long have i been asleep?’

‘only an hour or so.’ the voice that responds isn’t nate’s. she sits up immediately, arm tugging at the needle tucked under it.

‘what - ?’ whisper closes her eyes, hard, then opens them. she’s no longer in her small apartment bedroom, now lying on a weathered mattress in a ransacked room. ‘deacon, what happened?’

‘rad poisoning,’ deacon answers, voice rougher than normal. ‘when was the last time you checked your rads, partner? you were practically glowing. just in time for christmas in diamond city; you could have been the angel topper.’

whisper stares at him, frowning, then lets her gaze drift down to where his hand still hovers over hers. when she pulls away to take the needle from her arm, deacon doesn’t say anything. she looks up toward the door, over to maccready standing at the door, arms crossed.

‘you’re still here? shouldn’t you be - ‘ she swallows. ‘ - getting the cure to your son?’ deacon hands her a can of purified water. she drinks.

maccready huffs, pulls his hat down over his eyes. ‘a group of ferals crowded the place after you collapsed. couldn’t leave even if i wanted to.’ he sighs. ‘duncan can’t meet you if you’re dead.’

whisper averts her gaze in shame. she can’t meet his son - or her own - if she’s dead. ‘thank you,’ she tells him, then nods to the door. ‘is it clear?’

maccready unslings his rifle. ‘if it’s not, it’s gonna be. i’m ready when you are.’

-

thankfully, the ferals have gone by the they exit med-tek. maccready leads them back to goodneighbor, where they arrive long after dark. but the people of goodneighbor hardly keep regular schedules anyway. a fact he’s grateful for when he can still catch daisy before even she turns in for the day.

‘maccready,’ the ghoul greets him warmly. ‘you’ve been gone for a while. how’s my favorite guy been?’

he laughs, rubs the back of his neck. he’s always liked daisy. she’s been the only one he can trust here in the commonwealth. until recently. ‘i’m fine, daisy. more than fine.’ he pats the pocket of his jacket. ‘i’ve got it. duncan’s cure.’

her deep, black eyes widen. ‘you’re kidding. how’d you get it? last time the ferals almost got you.’

he gestures behind him, at alice leaning heavily against deacon, the both of them watching him. ‘she hired me on for a job, and, well - ‘ she beat an institute hitman to death with her bare hands. ‘ - she agreed to help me out.’

daisy looks over his shoulder. ‘huh, i remember you.’ daisy smiles. ‘thank you for helping out maccready. he’s a good kid.’

alice laughs. ‘he is. when he told me he had a kid of his own, i couldn’t not help, y’know?’

daisy eyes her, then deacon, and back. ‘nice to know the general of the minutemen really is a good person.’ when alice stiffens, ‘we all listen to the radio, and hancock talks to some of us. i may be old, but i can still put two and two together.’

‘old? you don’t look a day over a hundred, ma’am.’

daisy turns back to him. ‘i like her.’ maccready hands over the cure, tucked away in a box they found, double and triple packed to keep it safe. ‘i’ll make sure this makes it to duncan. got a trader that owes me a few favors.’

‘actually, daisy, i-i wanted to go with it.’

‘this is a very sudden goodbye, maccready.’

he shakes his head. ‘i plan to come back. i owe - i’m kind of a minuteman now. got a place up in sanctuary and everything.’

daisy smiles again, spares a glance toward alice. ‘well, all right, then. leave it to me. if you don’t mind watching the place for a minute, i’m gonna go talk to my guy. excuse me.’

alice walks fully into the corner store with deacon, of course, right behind her. ‘we aren’t staying here for the night. deacon... has some things he wants to check in on. so, i guess this is goodbye until you come back.’

maccready blinks, surprised. not that he should be, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little disappointed. he holds his hand out to her. ‘there’s, uh, really no way i can make this up to you. but thank you.’

she takes his hand and shakes it once before surprising him by pulling him into a hug. he has to lean over to return it, but he does, hiding his face in her shoulder. ‘make it up to me by coming back with duncan. i really can’t wait to meet him.’

she releases him with a kiss on his cheek. heat flushes his face, and in the streetlight he knows they can tell. ‘maybe-maybe he and shaun can be friends.’

her answering smile lights up the room, the alley, the city. in that moment, he understands deacon on at least one thing. ‘yeah, i think they could be. take care of yourself, maccready.’

deacon shakes his hand, and there’s no kiss on the cheek from him. but he does wish him well, grinning behind his sunglasses. ‘keep an eye on her. i imagine i’m not getting paid if she-if anything happens before i get back.’

‘all about the money with you,’ alice says with a shrug and a sigh, but still a friendly wave.

‘here.’ deacon pushes a small bag into his hands. ‘money and supplies she’s been setting aside for your trip.’ he turns to make sure she isn’t listening, but, no, she’s talking to the neighborhood watch. ‘she was going to leave it for you in the morning, but plan’s changed.’

maccready weighs it. it’s enough caps to last him months, and what feels like half their stash of stimpaks and radaways. which she wouldn’t have been able to put together with at least some of deacon’s input. but he lets deacon think he doesn’t know. ‘tell her i said thank you, again. caravan guards aren’t going to be as good as you two.’

'oh, we know. hence the supplies. take care, maccready.’

-

‘done talking to your best friend?’ whisper greets deacon when the neighborhood watch leaves her.

‘nah, partner.’ he slings an arm around her shoulders. ‘i’m talking to her right now. what was that about?’

immediately she shifts so he can take her weight. ‘hancock just wants to talk. then we can head back.’ to hq, goes unsaid. ‘he’s still up, so, shall we?’

he sweeps his arm toward the state house. ‘after you.’

[themoonandotherslikeit]

The Hand That Reaches for God- Chapter 5

***Sometimes staying away is the easiest move. Keeping a safe distance, especially for Emerson and Dean Winchester. So, when the Maklen twins come home again, they don’t anticipate the feelings that Emerson will get having to see him again. When tragedy strikes, the Winchester brothers and the Maklen twins are forced to face, not only their feelings, but each other. In a story about pain, family, abandonment, and desire, the couples have to decide if survival, without love, is enough.***

Warnings: Angst, violence, death, mutual pinning, age difference, language

Chapter Five

“You never realize how strong you are, until being strong is the only choice you have.” - Bob Marley

-9 Hours After-

The sound of boots on asphalt was all Emerson could hear. She felt Deans arms tighten around her, as her fingers loosened on his shirt. “Stay with me, Em!” Dean said down to her as he held her tighter.

There was something about the fight, the pressure that motivated Dean Winchester more than anything else in the world. Someone to save. The fight was even stronger after he joined the military. Suddenly there was a real life pressure to live and to fight, but holding Emerson in his arms, running, was different than that. Somehow it was bigger. He saw his street in front of him just as she went limp in his arms. “Sammy go get the door!” He shouted, tossing the keys to his brother. The younger Winchester caught them easily and pushed toward the door, Pheli on his heels.

Sam was able to easily open the door and get inside just as Dean stepped on to the porch. He shut the door behind him. “Get to the basement.” He instructed the couple.

Dean made it down the stairs to his bedroom and laid Emerson down on the bed carefully. He leaned his head down to listen to her breathing. It was shallow and labored. “Shit.” He whispered.

“Dean, what’s going on?” Ophelia asked from the door way.

“It’s uh…” This is my fault. He thought desperately. “Her breathing isn’t good. I think her oxygen level is low.”

“What are we going to do?” Sam asked desperately, his hand on Pheli’s back.

The blonde stood up a little straighter. “Dean we have all of Mom’s medical stuff at the house. We have a lot of oxygen tanks and IV’s. We hadn’t returned them yet. Do you think if I got it it’d help Em?”

Dean grinned widely. “You’re a genius Maklen.”

“I’m dating your brother, Dean. You don’t need to try to seduce me with compliments.” She flipped her hair, but he could see behind her dark eyes that she was terrified. “Sam and I will make a run. Stay with her. Protect her. Okay?”

“I promise.” He said with a nod.

Ophelia adjusted her face mask and left the room, Sam following her.

Dean lowered himself to sit on the bed next to Emerson. He looked at her. Her eyes were closed, but he knew they looked like chocolate, and in the sun the glowed golden. “You asked me why I told you that I was enlisting. I lied.” He said quietly, pushing her hair out of her face. He slowly removed her mask, to see blood trickling down her mouth.

His parents were paranoid, specifically his Dad. After John got back from the Marines he opted for the expensive air filter system for their home, and for an impenetrable basement level on their home that was stocked with canned food a backup generator in case of emergency. In case of exactly what was happening.

He took off his gloves, already feeling better now that he was in the air filtered house. He checked Emerson’s pulse, pressing two fingers to her throat. Weak, but it was there. “I wanted to tell you, because I wanted you to be proud of me. Didn’t really want to be the same old fuck up I’d always been. What I knew you thought I was. Don’t really know why I cared what the kid next door thought.” He laughed humorlessly. “Maybe that’s a lie, too.”

-5 Years Before-

Dean threw his duffle bag over his shoulder. He thought about leaving in the middle of the night. Maybe it’d be easier to just disappear into the darkness. He saw the way Emerson reacted to him leaving, surely Sam would feel the same way. If not worse. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. It wasn’t what he wanted, not really. Suddenly he had the urge for a cigarette.

He sat down the bag and dug the carton out of his pocket along with his lighter. He unlocked his window and slid out of it to have one last smoke before everything blew up. His window ledge wasn’t like Emerson’s. It wasn’t flat or easy to sit on, but it did hang fairly close to her window. A tree was the only thing separating the two roofs.

He leaned against the wall, putting the cigarette in between his lips. Two flicks from his zippo and he sucked the smoke into his mouth. He closed his eyes and thought about the weight of the dog tags around his father’s neck. He thought about Sam begging him to take Emerson to homecoming. He thought about how his little town would be so much better without him.

“You disgust me, boy.” His father said, his fist connecting with his chin.

Pain shot through Dean’s face as he stumbled back, grabbing for anything to stop himself from falling. He failed. He looked up at his father towering over him. “I… I’m sorry.”

“Bet you are. Only sorry that you got caught.”

There were many different kinds of monsters in the world. At that point, Dean just preferred the ones that he knew would be shooting at him. He didn’t like surprises, and the first time his father hit him was a fucking surprise.

After the first time it was a dodging act over and over again. What would set John off, and how could Dean keep himself as the focus. John never went after Sam or their Mom. After a while Dean wondered if it would be better if he disappeared.

“You don’t steal from me, boy.” His steel toe boot connected with Dean’s temple. “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are.” John hissed, looking down at his oldest son.

Dean looked at him through the blood that trailed into his eye. “I don’t know what kind of question that is.” He said, deciding to be brave. To be something he wouldn’t be ashamed of in the morning. “Who are you? Someone who kicks the shit out of their own kid?” Dean couldn’t help the tears stinging his eyes.

“You’re no kid of mine.” John spit down at him, and Dean could smell the alcohol in the saliva dripping down his cheek.

There was money missing from John’s wallet and he blamed Dean, of course he did. There was no one else to blame, and even though Dean didn’t steal the money, he would take the beating. He wouldn’t let anyone else get the blunt force of John’s boot.

He opened his eyes as he heard a creak across from him. Emerson climbed out of her own window and settled on the roof, just like he was. He smiled at her in the darkness, letting out a breath of smoke.

She was bathed in darkness, but part of her face was illuminated from the moon. She wore a pair of pajama pants and a tank top, her hair was braided to the side. Dean wondered what she was doing out there. She hadn’t noticed him, and he considered the possibility that he could still disappear without saying goodbye. He considered it, but he knew he didn’t have the strength. He sucked in another breath of smoke.

“Fancy meeting you here.” He said with an exhale.

“Jesus Christ Winchester! You scared the shit out of me!” He could see the whites of her eyes in the darkness.

He couldn’t help but laugh and shake his head. “God you’re so fucking easy.”

“Screw you.”

“Aw, if you insist.”

She narrowed her eyes at him from across the empty space between them. “Why are you lurking up on the roof?”

“Could ask you the same thing.” He shrugged.

“I just... I needed some air.” She admitted, leaning her head against the back wall again.

“Me too.” He held up his cigarette.

“Still a nasty habit.” She said, eyeing him.

“I know.” He took one last puff before extinguishing it. “Want some company?”

Emerson pulled her knees to her chest. “No.”

Dean raised an eyebrow and laughed. “Yeah, okay.”

She rolled her eyes and scooted over, signaling for him to join her. He nodded and stood up, grabbing ahold of a branch so he could hop to her roof. “I hate when you do that.” She complained.

“Whatever.” He laughed, sitting next to her.

They sat in silence for several minutes, just looking at the moon. “You leave tomorrow.”

“Tonight, actually.”

“What?”

“Tryin to disappear in the night before anyone can miss me.” He wiggled his eyebrows to show it was a joke, even though Emerson knew better.

“Dean you need to say goodbye.”

“Don’t want to see Sammy cry.”

“I know.” She bumped him a bit.

“What about you? You gonna tell Phel you got accepted to that fancy university in Scotland?”

“How did you know about that?” She turned to him alarmed.

“Figured that’s why you were up here.”

She’d told him about it after she applied. Last time he’d come up on her roof. “I’m not going.”

“Why not? You should.”

“Phel needs me. I’d miss her.”

“She doesn’t need you, Em. You need you.” He poked her nose. “You gotta do whats good for you.”

“Rich coming from you.”

“Yeah, well I’m damaged goods, don’t take me as an example.”

“Mhm.” She turned away from him, staring out at the ocean in the darkness. “I want to go. I want to get out of this town and never fucking see it again.”

“What’s stopping you? I’m leaving.”

“You’re not a factor.” She said smoothly.

“Didn’t say I was. You projecting Maklen?”

“What? No.”

“Guess we’re both liars.” He chuckled to himself.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” She turned all the way so she was looking at him.

“You won’t tell Phel, and I still haven’t told Sammy I’m leaving. We both have some real fucked up ideas of what our siblings need. You realize that, right?”

“Maybe.”

“But we aren’t going to change, because we’re the same.” He turned away from her, propping his arms on his knees.

“You’re probably right about that.” She said, sadly.

Ever since Sam had gotten with her sister, Dean Winchester was going out of his way to be the most annoying human being to Emerson. Moments like that one made it worth it, though. He would surprise her, and swing up to her roof. In between puffs of smoke he would say things that’d make her heart flutter. He challenged her in the best and worst ways. She wouldn’t let herself feel anything, though, because she still believed in her heart that he would hurt her.

“Part of me thinks I’m gonna die out there.”

“I thought you were going to be a mechanic?”

“I am, but I don’t know. I’ve got a gut feeling.”

“Well can you do me a favor, and I don’t know, not die?” Emerson asked, almost looking annoyed.

“Aw, Em, your heart is showing.” He reached forward and poked her chest, right above her heart, before realizing that he was touching her boob. His face immediately flushed and he pulled his hand away.

“It is not.” She huffed, batting him away. “I don’t care okay?”

“Doesn’t look like it.” He mumbled before sighing. “Not surprised, though, other than Sammy I think I could just leave and no one would notice.”

“Dean quit with the pity party shit, okay?” She took his face in her hands. “I’m only going to say this once, okay? And don’t you ever fucking mention it again, or I swear I will shove you off this roof. Got it?”

“Uh, got it.” He said, his heart pounding. He could feel her breath on his lips because she was so close.

Emerson let out a quick breath. “I know what it feels like to be the one overlooked. I’m twins with Pheli for Christ sakes. That doesn’t mean you aren’t worth it, Dean. You want me to fucking say it, don’t you? I’d miss you. You’re so annoying, you have a shitty smoking habit, and you’re the biggest smart ass I know. But you fight for your brother, and you listen. I’m not here to be your cheerleader or your mom. It’s time that you start learning your own worth, Dean. No one can change your mind but you.” She said softly, her eyes flickered to his. “You see me, Dean, and I see you.”

-9 Hours After-

Pheli and Sam entered the basement with two duffle bags each of medical supplies, in addition to some items that Pheli thought the girls may need. They weren’t gone more than ten minutes. “How is she?”

“Stable.” Dean grunted, moving his hand off hers. “You got the oxygen?”

She nodded and pulled the can out of her bag along with a face mask. Dean rested the mask over her face and turned on the oxygen, holding it there. Pheli moved around to the other side of the bed. She held her sisters hand after removing her face mask.

“You take some, too, Phel.” Dean said, handing her another mask.

She nodded and pressed it to her lips, her eyes never leaving Emerson. “Come on, Em. This is not how our story ends.” She said quietly. Sam pressed his palm to Deans shoulder. All three sets of eyes were on Emerson. “We are supposed to die together, remember? Into the world together and out together. You’re not dying today, Em. I won’t allow it.”

“She’s going to be okay.” Dean said, he had to believe it.

“Dean can we talk?” Sam asked, eyeing his brother.

“What? Yeah, okay.” He stood up and followed Sam out to the basement living room.

“What’s going on out there, Dean?”

“I don’t know.” He rubbed his face.

“Do you have a plan?”

“Honestly? No. It was about getting here... and now that we’re here I don’t know. I guess we could wait it out. Wait for the inevitable government clean up.”

“Are you sure that’ll happen?”

“No. I’m not sure of anything.” He admitted. “All I know is that something  really fucking bad is going down, Sam. Our only options are to hide or fight.”

“Which are we gonna do?”

He turned his face to look at the door where the girls were. “Doesn’t feel like we have much of a choice.”

“Dean!” Pheli said calling from the bedroom.

He rushed past Sam back into the bedroom, expecting the worst. He pushed through the door and stopped in his tracks. She was propped up slightly with her eyes open. The oxygen mask was still over her face. She pulled it down to reveal a big, weak smile. “Somebody looks happy to see me.” She said breathlessly.

“Put that back on.” Pheli instructed, her voice sharp with annoyance.

Emerson rolled her eyes and placed the mask back, her eyes never leaving Deans.

They had no choice. It wasn’t just Dean and Sam anymore. The Maklen sister were theirs to protect, and Emerson was right. He was so fucking happy to see her. He planted his feet on the ground to resist the urge to go to her, because he knew he shouldn’t. He knew she would be better off. She had to be.

—————

Chapter Six

Get caught up!

[displacedprincess]

Ten Sounds Elena Could Remember In Her Sleep - BDRP WriMo Day 6

tw: mentions of blood, assassination by gun

I.

Mi vida, Queen Lucia said, while she carefully put her seven year old’s hair up in the braided space buns the little princess had insisted on. You are going to be the prettiest little girl at the winter ball. You know to stay by your father and I? Mi vida, swords aren’t toys, put that down, King Raul warned his spirited young daughter. Mi vida, what do you think of having a baby sister?

II.

Elena smacked her hands over her ears and turned her head sharp to glare at the screaming little thing in her mother’s arms. Couldn’t she shut the baby up? Did Isabel have to be so loud all the time?

III.

‘Lena, ‘Lena, look! Isabel waddled over to her as fast as her toddler legs could carry her, caterpillar resting atop her fist. Cappertillar! M’ name him Jorge! Elena made a face as she plucked Jorge from Isa’s hand and set him on a leaf. He’s very cute Isa, but Jorge belongs in nature. We can’t take him from his home, remember? Oh...bye, Jorge!

IV.

E-Elenaaaa! Ten year old Mateo sniffled, wiping a tear from his eye. W-why’d you do that? They’re gonna arrest me! What? That’s stupid, Mateo. Why are the going to arrest you if I kissed you? Mateo’s eyes popped open wide and he shushed the eleven year old. Whisper! Clearly, there was no convincing Mateo he wouldn’t be arrested, because the next day he presented her with a ring made of a flower and grumbled, Here. Mami says I have to marry you so I don’t get arrested. So we gotta get married. Okay! That’s fair, Elena said, admiring her flower ring. But not yet, I’m eleven.

V.

Elena hissed at stupid Gabriel Núñez, shooting the fifteen year old a glare for trying to tell her what to do again. She was thirteen, not seven, and she was the princess. She had seniority always. So there, Gabe! He never listened to her very true argument though. And this time, he pulled off his fencing mask and shook his hair about like he was trying to be the romantic lead in some stupid medieval movie, and rested his foil on Elena’s shoulder with that stupid, irritating smile on his face. I’ll be in charge of protecting you one day, princesa! So you’ll have to start listening to me sooner or later. Right now, you’re just in charge of being bossy and no fun! Gabe only laughed at her and practically glided away to take off his fencing gear. Jaquins’ feet, he was so irritating! Why was she friends with him?

VI.

Esteban sighed as if what Elena said physically pained him. What? Why couldn’t she have both Gabriel and Mateo escort her at her quinceanera? She didn’t want to choose, they were both her favorite boys. And just because she had a crush on Gabe...she didn’t want to hurt Mateo’s feelings. 

VII.

In the end, Elena chose Gabe, because he was taller than her. But she danced with both of her boys about the same. As she and Gabe salsa danced to a Marc Anthony song, she looked up at him and asked, Do you think I’m cute? Sure I do. You’re cute, like a bunny, he said, pinching her cheek. Ow! That’s not what I meant. She mumbled as she touched her cheek over where he’d pinched her. Do you think I’m pretty? Like, pretty as Marina Cortes? Marina, the prettiest girl of all of Avalor’s nobility. What skincare products does she use, seriously. Or...prettier? Mm, sure. Almost as pretty as Marina Cortes, I guess. And since you mentioned her, I have a question. You’re still friends with her, right? Are her parents still trying to set her up with Lord Duarte’s son? Because if that’s a no-go - Elena stopped dancing and shot Gabe a venomous glare. Ask her yourself! Don’t be a chicken! She should have just gotten a crush on Mateo instead.

VIII.

It was supposed to be a day that would go down in history. Queen Lucia and King Raul of Avalor, making the first official diplomatic visit Avalor has made to Venezuela in sixty years was supposed to open up trade between the two countries and allow the two to establish diplomatic ties for the first time in over a half century. That was before the pop!pop!pop!pop!pop! of gunfire, before Esteban gasped like it was him who’d been shot, before Gabe and Mateo fumbled to phone Alacazar or Captain Núñez, and before Elena covered barely eight-year-old Isabel’s eyes in hopes she was fast enough to spare her from seeing their parents’ blood splattered across the scene like a shitty horror movie. 

IX.

Joya, don’t talk like that, the gargoyle said, still in his human form, patting the top of her head and hugging her close. Elena wished she believed...that somehow, it wouldn’t be any better if it had been her instead, but how could anybody think that. Her parents were leaders - real leader, and she was a teenager. Your parents wouldn’t want to hear you say that. But th-they were good people, they were good leaders, th-they only wanted to help Avalor and Venezuela, how can anybody be so against that they’d k-kill them? The princess sobbed into his chest, tangling her fingers in Goliath’s jacket. There are evil people in this world, joya. But you are going to win, you always do. My Elena doesn’t bow to anyone or anything. You will grieve, and cry, and be angry, and that’s okay. You can’t not let yourself feel those emotions because you need to look a certain way for a camera. Elena sniffled and peered up at him to whisper, What if someone tries to kill me? Then they’ll fail, he said matter-of-factly. You have an entire guard dedicated to you, and a thousand year old gargoyle. I’ll kill them first before they get to you.

X.

Elena! Gabe shouted, bursting into the room. It’s not safe here, they’re overrunning the palace. Come with me! Isa! And my grandpa- Already with my father, I went to find you. Let’s go!