#hurt/comfort my beloved…

[soft-serve-soymilk]

local gremlin child discovers su for the first time

[lady-of-the-spirit]

Fics where a character gets magically turned into their younger/child selves with no memory of their adult self and everyone around them has to help take care of the child and in the process learn about their traumatizing childhood and/or realize just how much the adult self has gone through in their life my beloved

[collophora]

Fics rec of the week, and especially if you like well-written Wrecker, is the entire work of @electrikworm on AO3 In order:

The Batch have a terrible day

Human Shield

A peaceful moment

(But go read the others too)

[soulidarity]

pearly tears

rafayel x reader / mc | 384 words | hurt/comfort

after rafayel wakes up from a nightmare, he cant find MC

His hand felt heavy, rapidly moving against the weight of the water. Fighting an invisible force. For what? He wasn't sure. He just felt a sharp pain and anguish in his chest as he went against the tide.

Then he saw her. Slowly descending into the depths of the sea. Her eyes closed, mouth open. He reached out to her, she was almost in his hold when his vision was covered by sea foam.

Rafayel jolted awake. Sweat dripping from his forehead as he took in his surroundings. Right. He wasn't in the water, he was in his bedroom. The covers were sticking to him, a bit of the moon light creeping in from the courtains and his beloved was sleeping right next to him. He turned to see her.

Only to find an empty space.

The artist's breath quickened, his hand gripping the sheets that were supposed to be enveloping her. He looked around rapidly, searching for her. It was hard to tell what was going on now, his senses heightened yet he felt numb. His eyes observing but his vision was clouded. He didnt hear the bathroom door open.

Suddenly arms wrapped around him, holding him tight.

"Im here"

He turned around, cupping her cheecks in his hands to make sure she was real. His love wasn't dead. She was there. Rafayel burst into tears while she leaned into his touch. Her hand made its way to wipe them away as her facial expression changed to one of wonder.

"You cry pearls, how lovely"

Everytime she spoke it felt as if he was in a trance, her gentle voice a contrast to his desperate and anxious demeanor. But the comment only made him cry harder, the pearls growing in size. Quickly, the bed was covered in the shiny and soft object. The sound of them rolling off and hitting the floor was all that could be heard apart from the man's sobs.

Slowly, with her affection he started to calm down. Slim hands playing with his hair as soft lips kissed his jawline.

He moved to her lap, head in the crook of her neck as his arms tightened around her. The pearls had stopped flowing.

"Please... dont leave me..."

She smiled as she patted his back.

"Wouldnt even dream of it"

[collectivecloseness]

Eddie thinking you’ve been ignoring him all day

Eddie Munson x Reader

(Tw: needles)

Eddie was sulking in bed, one pillow between his knees, the other crushed in between his arms, with his cheek flat against it.

Why hadn’t you called? You said you would.

Eddie Munson had such a crush on you. You were his best friend, but he really, really, really liked you... He had for a while.

You two had only managed to hang out for just under an hour yesterday, which was way less than usual. But since you had to leave to go socialise with your other friends, you promised to call Eddie today. ‘First thing in the morning’ you’d said, with the caveat of ‘if you’re up’, smiling playfully at him.

But it was now 3 pm and Eddie was lying face down on his bed, not even listening to music, or reading, he was just laying there, waiting.

Eddie had even called you four times today and no response, but your phone did ring. There was no way you were still asleep. Normally he’d just crawl through your window. He did that a lot. But yesterday you kept saying that you were ‘just tired’ when you two hung out, with the small time you had.

Maybe you didn’t want to see him?

Eddie clenched both pillows tighter, his body curling in on itself. He was always worried about this. Maybe people had finally gotten to you about him being a... a freak.

But no... you wouldn’t fall for that. You wouldn’t believe them, would you? You wouldn’t stop seeing him just to get people to like you more, gain back some of the social status you lost becoming friends with him.

But you said you were fine, you still had pretty much all your friends, who just scowled at Eddie and badmouthed him to you, but didn’t avoid you because of it. And you said you had your ‘true friends’, the ones who didn’t care about you and Eddie, and you said you had him! You said as long as you had that, you’d be happy...

Eddie rolled over, rubbing his legs together like crickets, before dejectedly kicking his bottom pillow off the bed since it’d gotten partly lost anyways, just squeezing his pillow tighter between his bitten fingernails. Trying not to punch it, because he’d been punching the pillow when it was curled against his stomach earlier, and he’d only hurt himself doing it. Punching the pillow didn’t make him feel any better. He just wanted you.

And then, the phone rang.

Eddie ran through the hospital doors, nearly breaking the automatic ones at the entrance, and he skidded to a halt at the board with directions of each ward, bouncing on his feet as he quickly read. Even though his eyes were slightly blurry from adrenaline, he could still read the large “4” meaning that your ward was an elevator ride up.

Eddie couldn’t give a shit about people staring at him as he ran through the hospital, crashing into every wall he took a corner through. It was a hospital, if there was anywhere people should understand someone running, it was here!

As Eddie finally thrust open your door, his panting breath finally became audible in his own ears, as he finally took a look at you. Staring up at him, in a hospital gown, an IV in your arm, but still smiling.

Eddie ran over to your side, but sat gently on your bed, carefully taking up your closest hand in his, avoiding the needle in it. And his deep brown eyes locked on yours. “Sweetheart, what happened?”

Eddie called you sweetheart sometimes. You didn’t mind, and he glared at anyone who seemed to find it odd until they backed down. And even though your mom had rang Eddie on your behalf, explaining to him that you were pretty much fine, Eddie still needed to ask you a million and one questions. All as he gently held you hand, doing all his best to not hurt you more.

You squeezed back Eddie’s hand, letting him know he was okay, as you shuffled further up the bed to sit up. “I’m fine, I’m sorry about all this.”

Eddie shook his head immediately, shuffling just like you did, but closer to you. His other hand stroking up and down the back of your wrist, holding your hand in his lap “No, no. What happened y/n?” Eddie looked down to your leg he could see clearer now under the hospital blanket. He didn’t even worry he’d be caught staring at your legs, especially in a robe that was a bit too short for you, because it was glaringly obvious he was staring at the big bandage wrapped around your calf.

“So basically, I woke up super early in the morning because I was feeling sick.” You saw Eddie’s body shuffling again, fidgeting, and you gave him a smile that was on the more humorous side of self-pitying, but still marginally annoyed at the whole situation. “But I was so tired, it was like, 4:30, and I only got back from Ellen’s at like 1 last night. So when I was carrying the bottle of medicine I kinda... slipped. And fell on the bottle. On the glass bottle.” You looked at Eddie pointedly, and his head tilted back as he got it now. But quickly his brown eyes went back to your leg, knowing what was under there now, his hand resting stretched on your knee as he observed it.

“Ew. Metal.” He commented, getting you to roll your eyes in agreement. “I know, right? You should’ve seen my bathroom, it looked like a crime scene.”

“You poor mom.”

“Oh she screamed.” You nodded.

Eddie sucked in air through his teeth, in sympathy of your poor leg, as he rubbed your knee.

“Anyway, so apparently the glass was pretty fucking deep, because it wasn’t enough to have stitches, I needed to have a small surgery.”

“SURGERY?!”

Eddie lowered his voice as you shushed him, not wanting a nurse to kick him out. His eyes were bulging out of their skull, shock horror on his face. “No one said anything to me about surgery!”

“It was a small one!” You promised.

“Is there actually such a thing?”

“Yeah!”

Eddie relented with a sigh, picking his head back up to look at you with those puppy dog eyes. His lip bitten in worry.

God, he was so fucking cute!

“But yeah, that only lasted, like, an hour. Not including the wait time, and the prep for surgery, and me waking up and all that shit. And then I didn’t get a single moment to call you or anything, because when I was up the doctors were testing me all day, just because I felt sick this morning. And they wanted to know if I was like, lightheaded, or dizzy or something, if there was any other reason I fell. At least they’re thorough I guess...”

Eddie nodded, deciding to just listen to all you had to say, his hand still rocking on your knee. Touch was very casual between you both anyway (minus occasional heavy beating hearts), plus he was just so glad you genuinely seemed okay. He thought. His head tilted when you finshed speaking, but he still thought that wasn’t enough, for his best friend who was literally describing their journey to the hospital. “...And??”

“Oh! I’m fine! It’s nothing serious.” You smoothed your free hand over the top of his, and you watched Eddie’s eyes go from still slightly worried on yours, to calm and washed over, over your joint hands. “It really was just an accident, and my leg should literally be fine too, the cuts were just a bit too deep for stitches. Plus it looked way worse than it was, I didn’t even stab any part of me inside, so no long lasting injuries or anything.”

“Good... Well I’m glad you didn’t get internally stabbed at least. Just a regular ole stabbing.” Eddie laughed out his nose, his smile only widening, because your smile got bigger when he finally smiled.

“Yeah, just a regular ole stabbing!” You agreed, now knowing that was going to be one of your inside jokes you two repeated all the time, much to the confusion of others. “Now I can join the basketball team, since my leg will be back to its full power.” You teased, knowing Eddie probably would have tackled you onto the bed if it wasn’t for you being injured, especially by the offended, yet very playful, way his eyebrows raised, and his jaw dropped in a smile.

“Don’t you dare. I’ll tell them all about your bathroom that’s soaked cieling to floor in blood. They’ll definitely think I’ve corrupted you.”

“The cieling didn’t get blood on it!” You rebutted, only getting Eddie to laugh, and you to join in response. Both of you rubbing each other’s hands, soothingly, but also self-soothingly. Just because you both wanted to. Because you liked being close.

Eddie’s smile stayed firmly planted on his warm lips. You were okay. You were fine, and you weren’t avoiding him. You didn’t forget him.

Eddie was the first person you’d asked to be called, when you got the opportunity for someone to reach the phone. You’d even told him you felt bad about not being able to call him, that you were worried about him. After all of today, you’d been worried about him, just because you couldn’t call? It made Eddie even more sure he was so right, for being so in love with you.

But you pat Eddie’s hand, with a tad more strength, just to show off how absolutely fine you were, and you even shuffled closer, so your thigh on your injured leg, was touching Eddie’s. “Hey.” You proposed, holding Eddie’s wrist to show he wasn’t going anywhere. “I’ve been in hospital for hours, since 5 this morning. So I think the least you could do is hang out with me all day.”

[journen]

Art I did for a scene in one of my favourite fics. These boys have had a rough couple days to say the least 😅 and after some rough stuff is brought up it led to a scene like this….

[snowballseal]

Breathe

Zayne X Reader

Summary: Trying to cope with losing Caleb and your grandmother, you throw yourself into work and push yourself to the very limit, only to break at the end of a particularly bad day. Thankfully, Zayne is there to get you through it.

Word Count: 2953

Warnings: dealing poorly with grief, depression, anxiety, what could be considered a panic attack, this is all hurt comfort folks, Zayne calls you good girl cause it's CANON and I can't get over it

Enjoy

---

One person can only take so much before they break. And the harder they try not to, the worse it gets.

Your day sucked. First you were late to the team meeting because you spilled coffee - piping hot you might add - on yourself right before leaving. Then, you and Xavier got into a stupid fight - he thought you were pushing yourself too hard. A part of you knew he was just concerned, they all were, but as soon as those pitying eyes turned on you, you could feel yourself bristling like an angry street cat.

You were fine.

Was it that wrong that you just wanted to work? You hate being home alone, which happens often since Zayne has to work extra hours, what with the increase in wanderer attacks. Not seeing him has already made you a little grumpy. But even worse, is the deafening silence of that apartment. Every time you’re alone, every time it gets just a little to quiet, you can’t stop your thoughts from drifting to Caleb and Gran- 

So you work. You take extra hours, cover shifts, field the reports nobody wants to do, even if it means you stay up all night, even if it means you skip a few meals. At least then you don’t have to think about it, you don’t have to deal with the nightmares. Maybe if you throw yourself into work, you might be able to outrun the storm creeping on your horizon.

And that’s how you ended up messing up on a mission. Pushed to your limits, your mind was foggy and your body just. wouldn’t. move.

You hadn’t gotten out of the way fast enough. A stray energy blast narrowly caught your shoulder, sending you careening into the nearest wall. The impact sent your head spinning, your vision going blurry for a second too long. You could hardly make out Xavier’s face when he kneeled beside you, telling you to stay down, that he could handle it.

A bitter taste had filled your mouth when he said those words.

You were utterly and completely useless. And that thought seeded itself somewhere in your chest, wrapping tight around your ribs until you couldn’t breathe.

Jenna sent you home after that, with a stern command to rest. You wanted to argue, tell them you’re fine, but your shoulder was screaming and the look she gave you when you opened your mouth was seering enough to shut down the most experienced hunter.

So you threw your jacket over your shoulders and stormed out of the office, trying to ignore the way your team’s gaze followed you, not even bothering to hide their concern. You could feel it burning on your skin all the way home. And that was only the beginning.

Now you find yourself laying on your couch, staring blankly at the television, the volume turned up too loud, just to drown out the thoughts swirling like a storm in your head.

You hate it. This feeling. Like you’re stuck underwater, trying so hard to reach the surface, but everything you do just drags you deeper and deeper. Your muscles are burning for any relief, but you can’t let yourself stop. You’re too scared to let yourself stop. Because if you do-

“Are you aware that listening to the television at this volume could cause damage to your hearing?”

You jump at the sudden calm voice that speaks behind you, flipping around to come face to face with a rather unamused Zayne. Quickly, you snatch the tv remote, turning it down until it’s barely a whisper in the background.

“Zayne! I thought you were working late tonight,” you chirp, the waver in your voice almost unnoticeable.

Almost.

Zayne’s eyes narrow, making you shift uncomfortably. Sometimes it feels like he can see right through you, right to the very core of your being.

“Things were not as busy as expected, so I decided to come home early and make sure you eat a full meal,” he explains, voice calm despite the way his gaze burns through you.

Skin prickling with unease, you jump from the couch, forcing a playful laugh, “What are you, my doctor?”

“Yes.”

Right. You awkwardly shift around him, heading towards the kitchen, “Well, then I guess we should start dinner, huh? What do you want?”

“You are also home early.” It’s not a question, merely an observation, but it makes your throat go dry.

Sometimes having such an observant boyfriend is amazing. You love Zayne more than anything, love how attentive he is, but in moments like this, you feel like a creature under a microscope. Every single flaw and action under his sharp scrutiny. There’s nowhere to hide, and all you want to do is run.

“We have some leftover moo shoo pork,” you hum shakily, hands unsteady as you pull it from the fridge. “And I could make some rice, I think it’s up he-”

Forgetting about your shoulder, you reach up to one of the cupboards. Pain shoots up to your fingers like electricity, searing back down your spine. You inhale sharply, momentarily paralyzed as you clutch it to your chest, eyes squeezing shut.

Zayne is there in an instant. His fingers ease over your taut jaw, his skin cool to the touch. He doesn’t say a word, but you can practically feel his concern in the way he barely touches you, like he’s scared you’ll break. It makes your chest tighten.

“I’m fine,” you breathe, gritting your teeth.

“You’re injured,” he counters, voice still irritatingly calm, “Why don’t you let me-”

“I said I’m fine,” you bite out again, this time with a little more force, “I’m perfectly capable of making dinner. I’m not useless.”

Zayne pauses, partially taken aback by your words. They feel out of place, and he can tell you didn’t mean to say them when you glance away, cheeks burning a vicious pink. His brow furrows, confusion flickering over his features.

“I wasn’t suggesting you are,” he says, each word measured carefully, like the wrong ones could set you off.

And now you feel guilty. God, you can’t do anything right today.

Biting your tongue, you grab the rice with your good arm, stepping around him to busy yourself at the counter. Not that setting up the rice cooker takes up much time. Soon enough you've nothing more to do, bracing yourself against the counter just to stay upright. The silence that creeps between you is unbearable, thick enough to cut, especially when you can still feel Zayne’s eyes following you so closely.

“God, this is so stupid,” you huff out, false bravado broken as your voice warbles, “I’m fine. I can handle it. I’m a hunter. I’m supposed to handle it. I’m supposed to- I’m supposed to help people. Not-”

You bite off the rest, fingers digging into the counter. The pain in your shoulder distracts you, keeps the tears at bay. You can’t cry. Not now. Not-

A hand traces lightly against your waist. You tremble at the gentle touch, a lump forming in your throat as his arm circles around you. Zayne pauses for only a moment before pulling you back into a rare embrace when you show no signs of moving away. He presses his face against your hair and holds you like you’re the most fragile thing in the world, like you’re made of the thinnest ice, which is how you feel.

Tears blur your vision. You take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to hold it all together. Until-

“It wasn’t your fault, (Y/n).”

His voice is so quiet, so certain.

And you break.

You don’t know what sound leaves your body at that moment, but you’re sure it’s ugly and broken. Your entire body trembles in his hold, but he doesn’t waver, simply holds you tighter as everything spills out.

It’s so much. So much weight, so much grief, your throat is raw in seconds from crying. Every breath is like knives, until suddenly, you can’t breathe.

It’s like your lungs are full of sand, your chest spasming as you fail to take in air. It hurts. It all hurts.

“Darling, I need you to breathe,” Zayne’s voice speaks urgently at your ear, and you want to, you need to, but all you can muster is a pathetic whimper and shake your head. Before you can blink, Zayne has you turned around and lifted onto the counter, slotting himself between your legs. He catches one of your hands, pressing it firmly against his chest as his green eyes bore into yours, a hint of desperation pulling at his features. “I know you can. Be a good girl and copy me, alright? Can you do that?”

You nod shakily, trying to focus on him and not the burning in your chest. Zayne takes a deep, exaggerated breath, his chest rising against your hand. You try to do the same, your body shaking with the effort.

“Now breathe out.”

His chest falls and you once again copy him, the breath leaving you shakily. It takes a few repetitions until your breathing comes to any normal pattern, and Zayne silently tracks the time in his head. He traces your wrist gently, subtly checking your pulse to see how your heart is doing. It’s racing, but still within a normal range, which is enough to ease his firing nerves a little.

Not that this is over.

“‘m sorry,” you hiccup softly, gasping down breathes, fresh tears spilling over your cheeks. “God I’m sorry, Zayne. I didn’t mean, I didn’t mean to snap at you, and I just, I-”

The doctor hums, tone stern, making you fall silent. He traces his fingers against your cheek, the cold of his touch welcome against your overheated skin. He carefully wipes your tears away.

“I accept your apology. It is very common for people dealing with grief to lash out at those closest to them. I am merely thankful you trusted me enough to let me help you through it.”

You sag into his touch, lips wobbling. To most, that wouldn’t be comforting. But for you, knowing Zayne, it’s like finally having a hand to hold you above the water. He’s unmoving, unyielding in the way he loves you, all of you. Even like this.

“I trust you with my life, Zayne,” you whisper and lean forward to press your forehead against his chest.

“Then I assume you’ll allow me to examine your shoulder.” It’s not really a question, but you nod anyway. Zayne leans down, pressing a chaste kiss to your hair. “I will go get the first aid kit. Please take off your shirt if you feel comfortable doing so. If not, I ask that you change into something that will give me access to do a thorough exam.”

“Yes, doctor.”

“That’s my good girl,” he hums approvingly, a ghost of a smile in his voice.

Your heart jumps a little at that and you’re thankful for the curtain of hair hiding your face. It’s not often Zayne indulges you with such soft praise and you can’t help but soak it in, especially now. Your eyes flicker shut when he presses another kiss to your head, the touch lingering before he disappears to go retrieve the kit.

Sighing softly, you set to work on trying to get your shirt off. The nerves have settled back in your chest, not sure what to expect. You haven’t looked at your shoulder once since the fight, dead set on ignoring it as long as you could. Which was stupid. If the pain tells you anything, it’s probably pretty bad.

Bad enough that you can’t actually get your shirt off. You’re able to slip one arm out, but wince when you try to lift your bad one. So you're stuck like that, half undressed. Which is how Zayne finds you when he comes back, medical kit in hand.

He glances at you, dark brow raising a fraction. If he’s amused, his face doesn’t give it away.

“Will you um, will you help me?” You ask, voice quiet, “I can’t…I can’t lift my arm.”

Zayne’s lips press into a thin line. He nods, setting the kit aside. You can’t help but hold your breath as his fingers brush against your knee, slowly tracing up your thigh, jumping to your waist and brushing against your ribs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. His touch is unbearably soft, and your heart squeezes as you watch his face, noticing the way his brows twitch as he works, and how focused his gaze is. Every movement is calm, self-assured. You hardly have to move as he lifts the shirt over your head, sliding it down your injured arm.

 And once it’s off, his hand returns to your waist, thumb brushing tenderly over your ribs. His eyes stay focused on your shoulder, and yours stay glued to his expression, catching the smallest flicker of shock.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” You ask, biting your cheek.

Zayne carefully schools his expression, but you can still see his disapproval in the tight set of his jaw, “You should have gone to the hospital immediately. I am surprised your team let you walk away with such an injury.”

“They didn’t know,” you mumble, trying to defend them at least a little bit. It really was your fault.

“So you hid this injury from your team?” He doesn’t hide his disapproval this time. You flush, looking down at your lap again, though that’s hard with him settled right between your legs.

“I didn’t…” The words get caught in your mouth. It’s so silly now, you know that. Your team would never look down on you for being injured, but- “I didn’t want them to think I couldn’t handle it. I just, I didn’t want to seem…useless.”

Zayne clicks his tongue, but he doesn’t say anything else. His fingers graze lightly against your shoulder and you wince, a low hiss passing between your teeth. Murmuring an apology, he moves to grab a few things from the kit. The silence returns as he sets to work, though this time, it’s not so uncomfortable.

Your head feels a little clearer now. You’re not through it, that’s for sure, but the pain from losing Caleb and your grandmother lingers a little less sharply. Zayne’s words from before repeat like a mantra in your head, and for once, you can feel yourself almost accepting them.

It wasn’t your fault.

There’s nothing you could have done. You can’t change the outcome of that day in the same way that you can’t change the color of the sky. That doesn’t stop how deeply you feel their absence, though.

“I miss them so much,” you admit, mostly to yourself.

Zayne pauses, already wrapping your shoulder after applying some medicine and deciding that the hospital could wait until tomorrow. He finishes pinning the bandage down before shifting back, eyes trailing over your face. You look up at him, exhaustion gleaming in your wide, (e/c) eyes. It’s like looking at a sad, little puppy. He breathes out a low sigh, brushing a few rogue hairs from your face.

“Your grandmother and Caleb were kind, caring people,” he says slowly, thoughtful, “It is right that you should miss them. It is not a sign of weakness to feel grief.”

“I know.” You reach for his hand, desperate for some form of contact. He gives in without hesitation, fingers brushing against your jaw to hold your face. You turn, nuzzling into his palm with a sigh. His touch gives you the comfort to continue, “Sometimes it just feels like if I let myself sit with it too long, I’ll be swallowed whole. And that…scares me. A lot.”

A pause. You keep your face tucked against his palm, enjoying the way he pets you as he thinks. Zayne has never been the strongest when it comes to emotions. With everything else he likes to distance himself from them to stay objective, so you know he needs the time to figure out what he wants to say. 

“I suppose…” he starts, and you glance back up at his face, catching the serious gleam in his eyes, “if it gives you any comfort, I would like to remind you that I will always be here to bring you back from whatever depths you fall to. Even if risking your life is your choice of coping mechanism.”

He pinches your cheek ever so lightly, and finally, finally, a smile pulls at your lips.

“I’ll work on it, I promise.”

He doesn’t look like he truly believes you, but Zayne nods.

“As your doctor, I would deeply appreciate it if you would.”

Eyes dancing with a bit of mirth, you lean forward, pressing a loving kiss to his cheek. Zayne catches you before you can pull back, fingers curling along your jaw as he draws you into a deeper kiss. It’s slow, his lips slanting perfectly over your own, like a well-rehearsed dance. When he pulls away, you can’t help but sigh, leaning your forehead against his chest again.

“What on earth would I do without you, Zayne?”

He presses another kiss to your hair, voice a low, teasing murmur, “You would likely die from an untreated wound.”

And just like that, you’re laughing. Zayne smiles, relief washing over him at the sound. 

You’ll be alright. He knows that today was just the first step, that grief is complex and differs from person to person, and you might have another bad day like this, but he doesn’t mind that. Not now that he’s finally by your side and can take care of you.

Nothing could drive him away.

---

I literally started this game 11 days ago and I'm so down bad for these characters, it's shameful. Anyways! Hope y'all enjoyed!

Feel free to send requests!

[yayll]

~ a little something about the complicated way you and Dazai acknowledge each other's feelings ~

"We can't let it end like this. We simply can't."

"Dazai, what are you talking about? I'm literally just going on my lunch break."

"... I'll find a way for us to be together! Someday!"

You've been bickering back and forth with him ever since you stepped foot in the agency this morning, or more like he's been performing a whiney one sided narrative that you and your co-workers are more than familiar with. Though it's only ever directed at you. The confusing declarations of love, the lack of personal space, and then there are the days he won't even look or speak to you at all. It was emotional whiplash, but you did your best to drown out the feelings he evoked in you.

Dangerous ones you wouldn't dare indulge in, because if so, you get the feeling your heart would never recover from a man like Dazai. You grab your wallet, and push in your desk chair when he calls out to you once more in a much more serious tone, one that sounds bored.

"If you must leave, will you please pick up something on your way back for me?"

"What is it this time?"

"Bandages, I suppose"

He says that like it's an afterthought, like he couldn't care less for whatever he was asking for.

He's been asking you to go on odd little shopping trips for him for weeks now, and you being the dog you are, say yes every single time. You think about how Dazai loathes dogs. It makes you physically ill the way you feel about him. Whatever it is. You nod, and reply softly.

"Okay. Sure."

"So compliant! If I didn't know any better l'd say you're madly in love with me. Should we run off into the sunset and get married?"

You simply stare at his sardonic smile for a long while, and he stares back. It's like you're sending each other psychic waves, secret messages only you two could decode. Only you two could fathom. He stares into you with that piercing gaze of his, the one that might as well call you an idiot for ever thinking there's a real person behind his heavenly face. His eyes are pretty, they make yours feel dull in comparison. After a while, a faint half smile creeps onto your lips, trying to feign the same indifference as his. You fail, obviously.

"Mm, sounds too hopeful, even for you."

"Yikes! Right you are. Commitment. How awful.... No one wants that kind of trouble."

Dazai states cruelly, leaning back into his chair at his desk, arms crossed. He has to bite down to keep from smiling and giggling like a fool, as this is exactly what he wishes would happen.

His heart flutters for a brief moment at the visual of such a fantasy, such privilege to have you forever. He knows how badly you secretly want this too, but he doesn't plan on putting you out of your misery just yet. Shame on you to think of him as a real person who's allowed to pursue the things he wants! He continues when he sees you've gone completely silent, standing with your keys in your hand like a mannequin.

"Besides, I'm sure you've met plenty of other guys that are far more suitable for you. I mean, look at me, I used to be a criminal." He winks at you, hinting at his sketchy past. He's such a fantastic performer when he's at his worst.

"... And no one wants that kind of trouble, right?" You echo his past words back to him, once again failing to match his rejection.

"Oh you wretched little creature. Right again!"

You can't take much of this any longer, smiling politely as you simply turn around, and walk out of the agency. Your eyes sting.

Dazai just sits there, staring at the door, counting the seconds until you're back. He rests his chin on his palm, unblinking. He taps his fingers on the desk, and lets out a deep sigh. It's all he does, all he looks forward to every single day you leave.

You finally come back nearly an hour later, carrying a small bag and leftovers from your lunch. He lights up like the moon during the clearest night sky, and stands up immediately. His demeanor completely changes as he flashes you a delighted grin, rushing to you.

"You're back~"

"Yeah, here are your bandages."

"My what?"

"The bandages you asked for..?"

His eyes widen for a moment, and then he chuckles, shaking his head. He flicks his own forehead.

"Of course! Thank you. Now, may I have the receipt as well?"

He looks excited, his open palm cupped in front of you, as if you were giving him a treat. You raise a brow and shrug, handing him the crumpled piece of paper. You don't even question it anymore. He frowns. You think he looks like a disgruntled little kid.

"Ugh. You wrinkled it."

"What? Why does it matter?"

"Well I obviously wanted to keep it, silly goose."

You try to make sense of what he could possibly mean, and you decide it's not worth getting into. You can't afford the heartache nor the brain cells.

"That's the weirdest thing you've ever asked me."

"Not true. I've never asked you for a kiss~"

You almost drop to the floor with the way his eyes darken, despite his tone being the complete opposite. You stare at him yet again for what feels like ages, your heart set ablaze, with Dazai being the pyromaniac who won't let your embers die out of his own amusement. Your voice comes out low, meek.

"Well I'm clearly not the person you dream of, so no."

You could swear his awful smirk falls off just a tiny bit, but any evidence of that is gone in a blink of an eye. His voice comes out soft and laced with a hint of honeyed bitterness.

"And if you weren't, l'd dream of you anyway."

He mutters under his breath as he looks out the window, as if you weren't supposed to hear that. the sun is slowly setting and the moon will illuminate soon after. He wishes he could see what you look like at night.

You roll your eyes because if you don't, you'll bury your face in his chest and sob. Oh, he's the worst. You put on your best cynical voice followed by a scoff.

"That's lovely, Dazai."

"You look lovely." He states simply, still looking at the way the moon ghosts in the sky.

"... Thank you."

"It's my pleasure." He murmurs, solemnly. In that moment, you don't catch it, but he's telling you he loves you too.

And just like that, you slowly walk past him and sit at your desk. You might have a stroke, but you still have reports to finish.

Dazai quietly does the same, sitting down and opening a drawer, and then a secret compartment within it. He glances at you for a moment, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he flashes you an exaggerated smile when you catch him looking, then turns his attention back down, the smile dropping.

He places the wrinkled receipt into a larger stack of countless other receipts, all from past errands you've run for him lately. He smoothes it carefully, for it is a priceless sentiment amongst his collection of the things you so graciously give him. It's pathetic, but it's like holding your hand. It's like kissing you. It's like true love.

[saffusthings]

You Know You're My Saving Grace

oscar piastri x personal assistant!reader

summary: the one where he comes when she calls. word count: 17.6k (i'm so sorry) warnings: descriptions and talks of abuse, trauma, disassociation, shock, other abuse aftermath, please don't read if any of this stuff is not the vibe, whump, poorly editing writing a/n: this is my first time doing something like this, so comments/feedback would be much appreciated! and let me if anyone wants a part two, bc i'm kinda getting the vibes for a multi-part fic lol

The sound of his ringtone feels louder and louder until finally, Oscar realizes it’s not just in his dream. Blearily, he blinks awake, before reaching across the bed to pick up his phone to check who the hell decided it was a good idea to call him in the middle of the night.

“…Hello?” he asks, voice heavy with sleep. Oscar is a man who knows the value of good sleep - he can’t imagine who’d be calling him at this hour.

He squints, vision bleary from his state of half-wakefulness. Huh? If the car had an issue or if he had a meeting, couldn’t she just wait until morning to brief him?

“Hello? A- Are you there?” she asks, voice hushed.

“Yeah, I’m here. What is it?” Oscar says with a yawn, now more awake, and propped up on his elbow in the bed. He reaches around, turning the bedside lamp on.

“I’m really sorry to disturb you but-”

Her hushed voice is interrupted by the sound of shouting in the background. When the booming voice finally stops, it’s punctuated with the sound of something shattering.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Oscar says quickly, his tone no longer groggy as his mind begins to put the pieces together. 

“Are you alright? Where are you right now?” Oscar asks firmly.

“Shit- I’m sorry, but-” And something else shatters. Suddenly her voice becomes a lot more hushed and a lot more hurried.

“Are you safe right now?” He sits up fully in bed now. He gets out of the bed and heads over to the window, looking down at the sidewalk below to check to see if her car’s here by any chance. No such luck.

“Can you come pick me up? It’s kind of an emergency.”

“Okay, take deep breaths. In and out,” he says, trying to keep her as calm as possible. “Now, where are you?” He haphazardly shoves his head into the first shirt he finds, before slipping into his shoes and swiping up his keys. Once he has the address, he’s quick to run from his apartment to his parked car.

“I’m on my way, so don’t hang up on me, okay?”

“Y- Yes, yeah.”

“Good,” Oscar replies, making sure to keep his voice steady, acting as the levelheaded one. “I’ll keep you talking until I get there, okay?”

“I- I’m not sure I understand, Sir.”

“I need you to stay on the line for me so that I can hear you and keep you safe,” Oscar instructs her, peeling out of the parking lot and speeding through the empty streets.

“I- I’m okay,” she tries in a delayed attempt to reassure him. She’s his assistant, after all - she’s the one meant to be helping him. Though she’s only a year younger than him, she always strives to fulfill her role well, and tries to give her 110%.

Oscar lets out a sigh as he keeps driving. “…Just, stay with me, okay? I should be there in a few minutes.”

There’s some more yelling going on in the background, and it seems marginally closer now. Her throat feels so tight that she doesn’t even register her boss’s voice through the phone.

Oscar immediately calls out her name, his tone sounding a bit more sharp as he raises his voice a bit. He needs her to focus on his voice. 

“Hey, talk to me, are you there?”

“Y- Yes.” Her voice shakes when she speaks.

“Now I need you to do something for me, can you do that?”

“I need you to get yourself into a room, any room, and lock the door, okay?” Oscar says, searching for her address amongst the row of houses lining the block. Different homes line the quiet suburban street, darkened windows and porch lights indicative of their sleeping residents.

“I’m in the corner of my bedroom,” she informs him. “I can’t lock the door or-”

“Okay, that’s fine. Now I want you to just stay there, don’t move and stay on the line, I’m almost there, okay?” he reassures. Why won’t this car go any fucking faster? 

Finally, he slides into the parking right outside the house. He gets out of his car, and heads up the driveway and to the front door.

“Be careful-” she warns, and that’s all he hears before he hears a shout, and then the line goes dead.

“No, no, no, no,” Oscar mutters to himself, his heart rate increasing and his pace quickens as he runs up to the front door. He tries the door handle, before realizing it’s locked. Without thinking, he steps back, before ramming his body against the door in an attempt to force it open. It budges, but only slightly. It does however seem to attract attention, as the yelling emanating from inside seems to come to a halt.

Oscar steps back again, taking in a deep breath. Years of physical conditioning and resistance training means he’s strong enough to break the door down, but he’d probably wake the whole neighborhood up if he does. So, not efficient.

He quickly scans the windows on the first floor, before he spots a small window on the side of the house. Though it's hard to tell in the dark, its position raises his hopes that maybe luck will be on his side. Without wasting another second, he walks over to the window and tries to push it open. It slides open silently, and Oscar quickly pulls himself up and into the house. 

He keeps his movements quiet and careful, eyes scanning the house that’s engulfed in darkness.

It’s then that he’s met with the realization that there’s not one, but two shouting voices - but none of them seem to be the familiar voice of his assistant.

Where the hell is she?

Oscar’s heart begins beating even louder. They don’t know he’s here, but he can still hear shouting from upstairs. Keeping his footsteps light, Oscar slowly heads up the stairs, stopping to listen for anything before proceeding further.

He hears the sound of something thump against the wall with force. 

Oscar winces as he hears it again, feeling his adrenaline spike. Exhales leave his lips in the form of carefully controlled puffs as he forces his heartbeat under control. Worst-case scenarios flash in his mind, and then he’s quickly taking the stairs two steps at a time as he makes his way to the upstairs hallway.

Halfway up the stairs, she pauses to listen, he finally hears the sound of twin pairs of footsteps retreating. As he cautiously walks through the hallway, the shouting gradually gets louder as he begins to approach its source. He finally comes to a stop in front of a door, which has faint light spilling from underneath it. Risking being discovered by an unfamiliar face, he whispers, “Hey, you in there?” He reaches for the door handle and tries to push it open.

He sighs in relief as the door opens, as his eyes quickly adjust to the dark. Scanning the room, his gaze finally falls on her, still sitting in the corner. The shadows only reveal her silhouette, but he knows it’s her. Oscar quickly walks into the room, over to her, and crouches down to her level.

There’s a shattered lamp nearby, pieces scattered on the floor. She’s sitting in the corner, curled into herself, her head tucked in.

He sits down right in front of her, placing a hand on her knee. “Hey,” he says, his voice gentle and soft. “It’s me. I’m here now.”

She’s trembling when he approaches. Barely concealed cuts and bruises litter her body - deep purple blooms and angry white scratches peeking out from beneath sleeves and her collar and the rest of her exposed skin. He looks closer to see whether the mark around her wrist is really the print of a hand, but the sleeve of her shirt conceals the rest of it, leaving him uncertain.

His eyes roam over her now visible injuries. The sight alone is almost enough to make him forget where they are, but reality persists. He squeezes her knee gently.

Startled at the touch, she jerks her head up with wide, wild eyes. 

He came.

“Hey, it’s me,” he says, trying to get her to focus on him. “Look at me. I’m here now,” he says, his tone gentle. He carefully moves his hand to cradle her face, tilting it up as his eyes search hers.

“Hey.” Her voice comes out shakier than Oscar is used to.

The sight of her is jarring - the shivering woman crouched before him looks nothing like the coworker he saw mere hours ago. His eyes move over her face again, taking in every little detail, his eyes lingering on the cut near the corner of her lip for a millisecond longer than usual. 

“Can you stand?” She nods rapidly, even as her legs shake. 

“Alright, come on,” he says, now standing up and holding a hand out for her to take. As soon as her fingers touch his, he feels like all sorts of red alerts go off in his head - she’s cold.

He can easily pull her to her feet with just a light tug, as he helps her up from the corner she was huddling in. He keeps a gentle grip on her as he looks her over again. Now that she’s in a standing position, he notices how her shoulders slump forward, as if she’s instinctively doing whatever she can to make herself smaller. He can only assume it’s because she’s trying to make herself less visible, as if she’s scared of being seen. Or worse.

“Can you walk?” he asks again, gently.

Seeing her boss, seeing Oscar here - feels surreal. 

He notices how she’s still refusing to look him in the eye, as if on instinct. Instead, her eyes are focused anywhere but on his face.

“Hey, eyes on me,” he says, lifting a hand to gently grip her chin and turn her face to his. Suddenly brought back to some semblance of focus, she quickly nods. It feels easier than words at the moment.

Now that her eyes are on him, he takes advantage, as he attempts to assess her state. Her eyes are wide, and he can see the slightest shaking in her hands. 

“You’re freezing,” is the first thing he says, noticing how cold her skin feels against his palms.

“They’ll come back,” she rambles hurriedly. “They’ll come back and they’ll-“

He can hear the rising panic in her voice, as he tries to think of a way to calm her down. 

“Hey, hey,” he whispers firmly, his hand moving to her arm, giving it a slight squeeze to get her to listen to him. “They’re not gonna come back. I’m here, okay?”

The sound of distantly approaching footsteps interrupts him, accompanied by hushed voices. Oscar’s eyes widen in alarm, as every part of him goes rigid. Those must be the people she was referring to earlier, and he’ll be damned if they come back here. His hands instinctively move to her back now, as he pushes her behind him. He shakes his head as he moves so that he’s blocking her completely from their view. His mind works quickly, as he tries to think of a way out of here.

“Be quiet,” he tells her, his voice hushed. “I’m gonna get us out of here, okay?”

She nods silently.

Oscar then starts going over all the potential exits in his head - the windows, stairway, the front door. He knows that the window is too small, and the front door would have them walking right into them. 

That only left the stairs. Shit.

He turns around partially so that he’s facing her again, his eyes flickering over her quickly to check for any new injuries.

“You’re able to run?” he confirms, his voice hushed to keep it from being overheard. She nods rapidly in agreement, desperate to do anything to make the dream of getting out of here come true.

That’s good enough for him, as he gently grabs her wrist and pulls her behind him. Frankly, the man has no idea what he’ll do if she’s not able to keep up, but he sneaks over to the bedroom door, quietly opening it so that he can peek out.

She listens for a moment. “They’re downstairs. In the room right under this one.”

A small plan starts coming up in his mind, as his expression morphs into something more serious. 

“Okay,” he starts, as he takes a glance back at the stairs. “When I say ‘go’, I want you to run down the stairs. Go, and don’t stop. I’ll be behind you, okay?”

When she shoots him a wary look, he’s quick to project that collected, self-assured image that he’s well known for.

“Just trust me.”

He can hear the footsteps in the room down below moving around, as the voices get slightly clearer, meaning they’re getting closer to the stairs.

She swallows hard. It does nothing to quiet the loud hammering of her heart in her chest. He sees the look in her eyes, and he can clearly tell how terrified she is. It’s up to him to gently push her in the direction of the door. 

“It’ll be okay - trust me,” he says softly, hoping it's enough to reassure her for this moment as he readies himself at the bedroom door.

He can hear the voices more distinctly now, and his pulse spikes up anxiously. He’s got to do this right, otherwise they’ll never have another chance. For a moment, everything falls silent, and the only thing either of them can hear is their own heartbeats as it threatens to beat out of their very chests. They wait there, poised to leave, their breaths held.

“Okay, go,” he says firmly, as he practically throws her out of the bedroom door and into the hallway.

He’s out right behind her, running down the hallway. He can already hear the voices in the room below turning to confusion as they hear footsteps. It’s in that moment that he realizes that he’s still gripping her wrist, and he mentally berates himself that that’s the only thing he can do. 

It feels like everything is moving in slow motion as they bolt down the rest of the stairs. She can feel her legs and her heart is hammering in her chest and she’s not sure she’s ever been so afraid in her life. But Oscar Piastri is here, and he acts like he knows what he’s doing, and so she does the scary thing and follows his lead.

Despite how hard they’re running, it still feels like they’re not moving fast enough, as he can hear the sound of the door down below swinging open. His grip on her wrist tightens as he practically yanks her to the front door, throwing it open with his free hand. Desperation fueling his every move, he pushes her out and follows right behind her, fighting every urge to look back. 

He’s never been more thankful to see the sleek metal of his car as he practically pulls her over to it. Throwing the passenger door open, he gently shoves her into the passenger seat and shuts the door behind her. Instincts override all else as hops into the driver’s side of the car, starting his engine.

Everything’s in flashes - Oscar’s grip yanking her along, the hard pavement beneath her feet, the night wind whipping in her hair, the rapid thumping of her frenzied heart.

He can barely focus on anything besides getting the hell away from that house, as he pulls the car out, driving as carefully as he can without drawing attention to them. Now that they’re seated, she finally takes a few shaky breaths, trying to allow her brain a moment of reprieve so that it can catch up.

He glances over at her. In the artificial lighting of the car. There’s a beat of silence throughout the car, no noise other than the sound of the engine, until he speaks up,

“You okay?”

She nods dazedly. His eyes move back to the road as he grips the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white. 

“Are you hurt?” he asks, his eyes not leaving the road. He takes another left turn. 

“Yeah,” she breathes. Her voice still doesn’t sound like her usual self when she speaks, but Oscar is glad that she’s at least saying something. 

Having a moment to breath turns out to be both a blessing and a curse as her thoughts begin to run haywire. God, why did she bring him into this whole mess? She had tried calling the McLaren front desk but no one answered, and so Oscar’s was really the only other option whose number she knew by heart.

He takes another glance at her, noting her fidgety hands, and his tone softens again as finally catches his breath. 

“Can I see your hands?”

“M- My hands?” She looks up at him with wide eyes.

His eyes linger on her face for another second, taking in the wide-eyed, somewhat startled expression. 

“Yeah, your hands,” he clarifies, his tone a bit more gentle. “Lemme see ‘em, yeah?”

She nods once in quick agreement, but is so out of it that she forgets to actually give him her hands. He reaches over, gently taking one of her hands in his much larger ones. He runs his thumb over her fingers and knuckles, taking a closer look at her hands now.  They’re shaking violently in his grip, though that’s probably from the adrenaline and panic rushing through her body right now. His face falls the moment his eyes land on several of her knuckles. Some are badly bruised, and some more have small scrapes and cuts on them. He’s actually surprised that there’s no blood. 

He gently runs his thumb over the scraped knuckles, his fingers slightly curling around her hand.

“Ouch,” she says, voice sounding more faraway than it should. “I think that hurts.”

“Yeah, I’d say it hurts,” he responds gently, still continuing to gently run his thumb over the scraped knuckles on her hands. It then that he spots a nasty bruise on the back of her hand, which is in stark contrast to the surrounding skin. 

His eyes narrow when he sees the obvious shape of a handprint.

Coming to the same realization, she steals her hand away, tucking it back into its sleeve. Since when is the car so cold? He glances over at her, but her eyes are averted from him, looking out the window. 

There’s an unsettling feeling in his chest when she tucks her hand into her sleeve, as if she’s trying to hide it, and he knows why.

She holds her hands tightly together, as if desperately trying to warm them. Or to stop them from shaking. It’s unclear which of those it is.

Perhaps it’s both.

Oscar lets out a quiet sigh of relief when they arrive at his street, but he’s still focused on her. 

He takes one hand off the wheel. 

“Hey - listen to me, alright? We’re here now, and it’s gonna be okay,” he says as he tries to park the car. “That’s all you need to focus on, okay?”

“My heart…” she trails off. “It’s beating really fast.”

Instead, he responds with a soft, “Yeah, I know. I know. You’ll be okay, though, alright?” 

“Here’s what we’re gonna do, alright?” he says, his other hand still on her shoulder. 

“We’re gonna get out of the car, and I’m gonna take you upstairs, and we’ll get you all settled, yeah? And we’ll get some ice and stuff on those hands of yours, and we’ll just take it easy, yeah?”

Directions help thought. The way he talks her through it… it gives her things to focus on, details to center her attention toward. She nods, looking up at him.

“Let’s go,” he offers gently. 

She nods, allowing him to guide her. It feels a little bit like a lighthouse in a storm - your sole light, sole direction in the midst of the chaos and turmoil of everything else. She looks up dazedly at her lighthouse as he pulls her gently out of the car. 

Her lighthouse happens to have kind brown eyes.

He manages to unlock the door and push it open, and he holds it open for her to enter in before him. “Don’t go anywhere yet, alright? We gotta get some ice and antiseptic on those hands of yours first.”

“It’s nice,” she comments softly, looking around. She's been here before, of course - bringing him files he forgot late at night, waking him up when he overslept for a meeting, delivering his trainer-approved meals for the week so he can stock up his fridge. 

But never like this. She’s only ever been here as his personal assistant, not like… this.

Surveying the room, she notices things she hadn’t had the time to notice before. His apartment is more just plain simple then it is minimalist, but there’s still the odd touches here and there to make the place more personable. Throw blankets folded haphazardly on couches, potted plants stacked into a bookshelf by the window, a stereotypical wall of photos - there’s bits of Oscar’s touch scattered across the space. The air itself smells like dishwasher steam and some warm candle she can’t discern the name of.

He smiles, gently squeezing her wrist, tugging her to make her follow him to the bathroom. The light flicks on as they walk into the bathroom together, and he immediately steers her over to the small sink. 

Shades of charcoal contrast with white porcelain, making up the picture of the bathroom. There’s a hand towel hanging embroidered with a little whale on it, and a ‘rustic’ looking soap dispenser that turns out to be plastic upon closer inspection. As she notices the cool overhead lights, she feels warm hands guide her to stand in front of the sink, before gently letting go of her wrist so he can reach over to pull out the first-aid kit that’s likely been sitting there since his mother snuck it into his things. 

“Keep your hands up underneath the faucet,” he instructs, opening the box and quickly finding the antiseptic before turning his attention back to her. She audibly grimaces at the feeling of the freezing water seeping into her skin. The water pressure falls against her bruises and washes into the small cuts littered about her hands as well.

“Shit-” she winces.

He gently wraps a hand around her wrist again, tilting her hand from side to side to get the water flowing over all the scraped and cut parts of her hand. 

She immediately goes to pull her hands away from the stream of water, but his grip around her wrist doesn’t let her pull back by much.

“It’s too much, please, s’too much-“

The movement that she makes to pull away has his grip on her hand tightening slightly to keep her still, not letting her jerk her hand away like her instincts want her to. 

“Hey, hey, no,” he says, his tone still soft and gentle. “I know it hurts, but I gotta do this, alright?” 

His hand continues to hold hers in place, the water continuing to run over her cuts and scrapes. She whimpers in pain, still fighting him to pull her hand away. The unwanted tightening of his grip also reminds her of the events of tonight - a person’s hold on her that won’t go away even when she tries.

Immediately, her body responds by trying to pull back even more.

His eyes widen when she suddenly jerks back to pull her wrist back hard, as if she’s trying to fight him away. Instinctively, his other hand goes to gently grip the underside of her forearm, in an attempt to get her to stay still. 

“Hey - hey, we’ve gotta stay still, alright?”

“Let go of me,” she thrashes, trying to peel his hand off her. “Get your hands off me!”

Her struggle has his concerned expression growing more and more worried. He’s trying to calm her down, he really is, but the cuts need to be cleaned, so he has no choice but to tighten his grip on her. 

“You need to stay still,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady as she continues to struggle. “I need to get your hands cleaned and antiseptic on them, alright? You’re making this more difficult-”

“Stop!” she practically shrieks, voice hoarse. She scrambles away from him, prying his fingers off her in her panic and backing against the wall of the bathroom like a frightened animal. “Don’t touch me!“

When she finally manages to jerk her hands out of his grasp and back up against the wall, he can practically feel a pit form in his stomach. He immediately holds his hands up, as if in surrender, but still takes a step towards her.

“Stop! Stop!” she cries. “P- Please, please don’t do this.”

Caught off guard, his eyes widen and he holds his hands up again, simultaneously taking small, careful steps towards her. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he tells her, keeping his voice soft and gentle, but firm enough that it’d incline her to believe him.

She can feel her heart pounding in her chest, her lungs gasping in quick bursts of air. Her chest is heaving wildly as she struggles to just breathe and her eyes are wild as they dart around the room, refusing to focus on anything. 

When Oscar looks at her - wild eyes, flushed skin, and frantic breathing - it’s difficult for him to not go over to her to hug her, to comfort her in some way, but he’s afraid of spooking her even further than she already is.

“Hey,” he says again, trying to get her attention again. “Hey, look at me, okay?”

He waits for her eyes to shift towards him, which takes longer than he’d like it to, but he can’t push her. Her panic is high and he has to take this carefully and gently. 

“I’m not going to hurt you. Alright? I swear. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe, alright? You’re safe.”

Her eyes flicker towards him again, and he takes another step towards her, only for her to jerk away again and press more firmly against the wall. Her irises reflect an even greater degree of panic now, and the pit in his stomach deepens. 

“Hey,” he says again, a bit more firm this time. “Hey, look at me. I need you to trust me, okay? I’m not going to hurt you.”

He takes another step towards her again, trying to keep his stature as non threatening as possible, while keeping his tone firm, but gentle. 

He wants to reach out and pull her into a hug. He wants to wrap his arms around her and soothe her, and promise her that he’ll keep her safe. But she’s pressed so hard against the wall like she’s trying to fuse with it, that he doesn’t want to risk sending her into a panic attack by touching her.

“Alright,” he murmurs, as he takes another step closer, closing the distance further. “I’m gonna try something, alright?”

He waits for her to respond, but all she does is look at him, wide eyed. He takes that as permission enough to continue, and slowly reaches out, gently gripping her wrists.

She clenches her eyes shut, trying to fight her breathing into control. He tries not to use his full grip on her as he gently takes hold of her wrists, but the way she turns her head away, as if she’s bracing herself for something, as if she’s scared he’s going to hurt her, makes that tightness in his stomach worsen.

She nods, a tad slower this time. Her heart is still thudding against her rib cage, but warm, honey-brown eyes meet hers.

He takes a deep breath, the kind that’s meant to release some of that live wire feeling from his muscles, his thumbs still soothingly stroking the inside of her hands as he speaks. “I’m not going to hurt you, alright?” he says again, his tone quiet, but firm. “I need to get your hands cleaned. D’you trust me?”

A beat of silence.

“I’m gonna bring you to the sink, alright?” he asks quietly, continuing to state his actions aloud in advance. “I’m not gonna hurt you, I just need to clean your hands because there’s blood all over them. You trust me?”

After a moment of her eyes flitting across his face, she gives him an almost imperceptible nod. Despite the firm grip around her wrists, she focuses on remembering that this is Oscar.

Oscar Piastri.

The same Oscar that ran late to meetings because he kept stopping to pet street cats while they were in Jeddah.

That Oscar.

Careful not to let go of her or make any sudden movements, he slowly starts to tug her towards the row of sinks, taking baby steps so as to not startle her again.

He takes careful note of how she responds when he phrases it as a question - like she’s somewhat included in the decision-making process, that it’s not just being done to her. He can see that maybe some of the tension in her body has left her and she’s not as taut as she had been against the wall, but something in his gut tells him they’re far from being out of the woods yet, and he needs to proceed carefully.

“We’re here,” he says quietly, as they reach the sink. He turns on the water, making sure it’s warm, but not too hot, before he looks towards her again. 

She’s still breathing pretty heavily, but her panicked eyes have cleared somewhat, as if she’s not quite as panicked as she was before. 

“We gotta get your hands cleaned up, alright?” he says again, as he turns to look back at her. “Will you let me clean your hands?”

Slowly, her face turns towards him, her eyes still a bit out of focus. He swallows hard. “Hey,” he says, his tone gentle and quiet. “I’m gonna touch your hand now, alright?”

She moves her head in a single nod, and it’s all he needs, and he slowly eases one of her wrists from his grip. He gently, slowly, carefully turns one of her hands so that her palm is facing up, so he can start cleaning the blood off of it.

“W- Will…?” she tries to ask, but her voice comes out shaky and hoarse.

“Will it hurt?” he asks, finishing her question for her. At her slow nod, he gently shakes his head no, as he continues to hold her wrist with one hand, and starts softly wiping the blood away from her injured hand using a clean bit of tissue with the other. 

“No, I’m being very careful,” he assures her, his tone soothing. “I’m very gentle, I won’t hurt you, yeah?”

She watches carefully as he works. He’s surprisingly careful and gentle, taking care to pay attention to each and every part. The lighting of the bathroom paints him as a portrait, his eyebrows scrunched, his lips pressed together in concentration. Smooth fingers delicately dance across the skin of her hands, wiping them with feather light touches.

He can feel her gaze on him as he works at gently wiping the blood off her hands, keeping his pace slow and steady. Each movement is careful and precise, and he does his best not to hurt her more than she probably already is as he cleans the blood and dirt off her skin. He doesn’t say anything, not wanting to distract her, but every so often, his gaze sneaks up to glance at her face anyway.

“Thank you,” she murmurs into the late hours of the night, sat atop the surface of his bathroom sink. “For coming tonight.” Oscar had never even considered a universe where he didn’t. Of course he’d be there. “Of course, anytime," he tells her. “But you know you don’t have to thank me.”

She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t understand, she doesn’t know that she’s so much more than just his assistant, and that he cares more about her than just as the person who brings him his coffee and files his paperwork.

He mutters under his breath, his hand holding her chin. “You’re not just my assistant, alright? You’re so much more than that, you’ve always been more than that to me.”

Her brows furrow, trying to understand. “I mean, I’d like to think we’ve become friendly over the past two years-“

Friendly. Friendly. It’s so much more than that. 

“Friendly,” he laughs, practically mocking the word. “That’s not even close to what I mean, and I don’t think you’re stupid enough to not know that.”

“Unless you’re trying to call me stupid, I’m not sure I’m understanding what you’re saying.”

“You’re not stupid,” he sighs. “I’m trying to tell you that I care about you much more than just my assistant. How do you not get that?”

There’s a beat of silence where she tries to process the words, turning them over in her mind as she analyzes them. When she speaks, her voice is quiet, her tone polite. “That’s kind of you to say.”

Kind to say? Kind? 

It feels dismissive, like she doesn’t quite believe him. But the truth is - he’s not being kind, he’s trying to tell her the goddamn truth, and she doesn’t believe him.

Her eyes scan his face, looking for any indication that he isn’t being truthful. She knows his tells by now - almost two years of paying attention to him when he lies to get out of an interview or when he fibs about how late he’ll be to the meeting. She knows these habits of his, his little quirks. 

She knows him. 

He nods, his eyes holding her gaze. 

The fog of night settles around them like a haze, silent and ever present. Looking at his face, pale skin reflecting moonlight and irises dark with exhaustion, he appears like a dream. When he’s stood before her like this, after everything that unfolded tonight, time seems to transcend reality. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, throwing her arms around him. She almost doesn’t care that her dislocated shoulder is screaming in pain - she adjusts it marginally to make it a bit more comfortable. She hugs him in gratitude, eyes closed so the tears of relief don’t slip out.

He freezes as soon as her arms go around him, stunned, but his body quickly catches up to his mind. His arms wrap around her immediately, like it’s an instinct. One of his hands slides gently up her back to rest against the back of her head, holding her to him. “You don’t have to thank me,” he manages to gasp out, his words choked, as he tightens his grip on her.

When she goes to pull away, it’s almost like he’s acting on autopilot, like his body is just moving on its own, without regard for reason. He gently grasps her arm again, his fingers wrapping lightly around her wrist, and he gently pulls her back towards him, his other hand resting gently but firmly against her hip.

Oh.

He has her against his chest again, her smaller frame held against his, and his brain registers just how good this feels, how right it feels - having her in his arms like this.

If she could just get her heart, that has randomly decided to beat out of her chest, to calm down, then maybe she’d be able to speak. She’s breathing fast, her heart beating a mile a minute against his chest.

Then, he does the stupidest thing in the whole world when she starts to speak, something he’s been silently wanting to do for months now. He bends down, ignoring her starting words, ignoring absolutely everything but the fact that he wants to do this, and finally closes the rest of the gap between them. His lips press against hers, silencing the rest of the words she’d been saying.

She’s stunned. Her brain is somehow working both too fast and not at all at the same time. What the fuck just happened?

She freezes in place, completely still.

He freezes as soon as he breaks the kiss, realizing in a flash that he just kissed her. His assistant. 

He kissed her. He had kissed the woman who basically helped run his entire life for the last two years, the woman who probably had no idea how he feels about her, and still thinks they’re just boss and assistant. Perhaps not his best work. 

His brain scrambles, trying to come up with some sort of an explanation, anything to justify what he just did.

Immediately, he’s desperate to hear her voice, to prove to him somehow that he hasn’t just ruined everything. He needs her to say something that will indicate that things won’t be horribly, terribly awkward between them after this.

She tries her hardest to come up with something to say – she really does. But she keeps coming up empty. So instead, she follows the next impulse her brain comes up with: she pulls him closer by the shirt and kisses him.

Oh. He sure as hell wasn’t expecting that. 

For a single beat, he’s frozen, stunned, like his mind can’t really comprehend what’s happening. Then, all at once, his whole body reacts. He responds in record time, calloused hands cradling both sides of her face as he kisses her back. He kisses her with fervor, with a passion that he’d been holding back for months, ever since he realized that he had feelings for her. The kiss is desperate, as if he’s afraid he’s going to never be able to kiss her again, as if this is his one and only chance at having her like this, in his arms, against his body.

She pulls away out of her body’s need for oxygen. Stupid oxygen.

When she does pull away, she looks up at him, tentative, hesitant – she both needs to and is scared to see how he will react.

He groans as she pulls away from him, and his lips automatically try to follow hers as she moves, as if he’s unwilling to let her move away from him, as if he needs her to always be this close to him. When she finally does move away from him, his arms automatically loosen their grip around her, though his hands stay on her. He looks down at her, his breathing coming in short pants, and he can’t help the look of awe that appears on his face.

She ends up being the first to speak. “That was-“

His brain automatically tries to finish her sentence for her - he’s spent so long with her, working with her, that it’s almost second nature to him now, to try and finish her sentences when she can’t find the words. 

“A mistake?” he supplies, his tone suddenly hesitant as he watches her. Part of him knows that it’s true, that this shouldn’t have happened, that he shouldn’t have kissed her. 

Another part of him doesn’t give a damn.

“Oh.” Truthfully, that wasn’t what she was going to say. In fact, if it were up to her, there was a high likelihood that she would have said it was nice. Really nice.

She had never kissed anyone before, but if every kiss was just as spectacular for everyone as this one was for her, then she could certainly see the appeal. That certainly doesn’t seem to be the case for Oscar, however.

Subconsciously, she pulls back, away from him.

“No,” he says, his hands immediately moving to grab her again, to stop her from pulling away. He gently tightens his grip on her, wrapping his arms around her, and pulls her back against his body. 

“It’s just that-“ he starts again, trying to find the right words, “You’re, well, you’re my assistant. You work for me.”

“Yeah,” she breathes half-heartedly. “Yeah, I’m aware.”

Oscar can hear the resignation in her voice, the disappointment. He hates that he put it there, but he can’t help the feeling of relief that washes through him as he realizes just how okay she is with the fact that he’s her boss. 

“I’m just saying that it’s-“

His brain scrambles for the words again, his mind trying to think of some sort of excuse, some sort of reason why she, his assistant, is here in his arms, why he’s holding her against him.

“It’s alright,” she says, trying to steady her voice as she slinks out of his arms. “I understand, it was a mistake for you.“

“No, it wasn’t a mistake!” he protests, his tone sounding more insistent than he’d intended it to. He mentally smacks himself - he’s the one who started telling her that it was a mistake, why in hell is he sounding so mad now that she’s agreeing with him?

He reaches out, wrapping a large, strong hand around her wrist.

“I’m trying to explain myself and I’m doing a shit job at it, aren’t I?” he says, his voice half amused and half frustrated.

“Yeah,” she laughs lightly, breaking some of the awkward tension. “Yeah, you kinda are.”

Some of the tension between them does ease - her laughter is a good sign, he thinks. She’s relaxed enough to laugh with him, and so he can breathe a little easier.

“It’s just-“ he starts, trying to think of the best way to try and explain. He can’t say I’ve had feelings for you for months because he’s not sure she feels the same way.

She watches him fumble over his words for a minute, first trying this sentence then that. After a moment, some deity has mercy on him, and she decides to help him out a little.

Her hand, gentle, barely there - goes to rest on his shoulder. She’d squeeze his shoulder reassuringly if everything wasn’t broken or bruised right now. Instead, she settles for rubbing it gently up and down against his arm.

“Breathe. Tell me what’s going on in your head,” she offers gently, her kind eyes looking up at his. 

She’s the only one who knows him like this, he thinks. The only person in the world who would know when and how to give him a moment to collect his thoughts, knows how he prefers green tea or energy drinks instead of coffee, knows what his tells are.

He looks at her and finds the same kind face that become an integral part of his life and function over the last two years. Sure, it looks a bit different, with the cut on her lip and the bruise peeking out of her hairline - but the face is the same one that’s been unbearably patient with him on hard days but also kept his ego in check on the good days.

God, the timing may be awful, but… it’s her.

Her hand, small and gentle, rests gently on his shoulder, rubbing it up and down to help soothe him and calm his mind, and it works. 

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as he gathers his thoughts - he has to tell her something, something that’ll let her know that what just happened was more than just some sort of a “mistake”, that there was something behind it.

“Talk to me,” she prompts him quietly.

He takes another deep breath, opening his eyes to look down at her. Her hand is still on his shoulder and he lets the feel of it ground him. He hesitates for a beat - he isn’t sure how she’ll react to what he has to say - but he has to say something, and so he decides to just speak and not think. 

“It wasn’t a mistake,” he says, making sure to keep his tone firm, like what he’s saying is absolute fact.

“Okay,” she acknowledges, tone carefully neutral. There’s a pause there, a moment for him to think. A small, kind smile appears on her face, trying to reassure him. She can clearly see there’s something else he’s trying to say - he’s just having trouble finding the words.

“C’mon, you know the drill. Talk to me, even if it’s messy. And then…” she takes a deep breath, as if to steady herself. “And then we can figure it out from there.”

It’s what they always do - whenever he’s excited about an idea or rambling about a theory or trying to figure something out, this is what they do. She lets him ramble to her about it, no matter how disorganized or chaotic or downright crazy he feels he sounds. And then, they parse through the craziness together. It’s gotten to the point where people around the paddock joke that she’s the one who can understand what he’s saying when he’s like this - Lando will often drag Oscar over to her office before a meeting to have his ideas “translated from yapanese” for the team to understand.

He looks down at her, at that kind, familiar smile of hers, and he feels something in his chest relax and loosen. He knows how this works, how they work, and he lets himself fall into the familiar rhythm of it all, even if this is different than every other time they’ve discussed ideas or ranted about something - this is foreign territory, and that makes this all the more scary. 

He takes another deep breath, looking down at her, and he just… speaks.

“That thing that just happened,” he starts, his voice still firm and insistent, even though his heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest. He looks down at her, and he makes sure that she’s not just hearing his words, but also listening to them.

“It wasn’t a mistake. It was…“

He hesitates again, struggling to find the best words to explain why he did what he did.

“It was…?” she tries to prompt. However, she’d be lying if she said her heart wasn’t also frozen in anticipation.

“…A confession.”

He says the word with such finality, as if now that the word has been spoken, it’s the absolute truth - as if it can’t be denied. 

“A… confession?”

Her question makes him falter - he can’t quite read her tone, can’t figure out what that question means. 

She can’t be that stupid, he thinks - she’s smart, one of the smartest people he knows - there’s no way she’d be that confused by the concept of someone confessing to someone else, so he can only assume that she’s asking him why he’s confessing.

Instead, what she does say comes completely out of left field for him. 

“Look, it’s been a long night, and…” she trails off. It seems it’s her turn to search for the right words now. “And I get it. People do weird things when emotions or adrenaline is running high. I get it, I do.”

There’s a pause before she continues, finally settling on what it is she’s trying to say. “So I’d understand if that’s what this is. Was. Is. Whatever.”

His brain stalls when she speaks. 

No, he thinks, no. That’s not what this is, this isn’t just some sort of “adrenaline rush”, this has been building up between them for at least a few months now, if not longer. 

He stares at her, frozen as he tries to figure out what to say - how does he convince her that this is more than just a stupid thing caused by adrenaline?

“I- I’m giving you that out, I guess,” she finally says. “If that’s what you’re looking for.”

God, why the hell does it feel like her heart has suddenly forgotten how to do its job, beating irregularly instead?

She’s giving him an out - she’s saying that if he wants to just sweep this whole thing under some rug, she’ll believe him. She’ll believe him if he says it was just a moment of “weakness” or “high emotions”. That maybe that’s all it really was.

God above, that’s the last thing he wants - he’s spent the last month trying to keep his hands to himself, trying to keep his feelings in check…

“Hey,” she calls softly. Her voice sounds a lot less scared, a lot less uncertain than she feels. “I need you to talk to me, yeah?”

He looks down at her - her tone is still gentle and reassuring, telling him that she’s open to listen to him, that she wants to listen to what he has to say. It takes a lot for her to speak this clearly and calmly, especially given everything that’s happened, he imagines. 

He reaches up and gently wraps his fingers around her wrist again - he needs to touch her, needs to feel her, needs to know that this is actually happening, that this isn’t some weird fever dream. She winces as his fingers wrap perfectly around the hand shaped bruise that’s already developing around her wrist. She tries to bite back the grimace before it slips out, but it’s still there. He instantly notices her wince, her grimace barely suppressed, and his hold loosens on her wrist almost instantly. 

“Sorry,” he says quickly, his eyes scanning over the bruise that’s already forming around her wrist, anger flaring through him as he looks at the angry, dark mark. He gently prods at the bruise, testing to see just how bad it is.

“It- Shit- It’s okay, I should’ve been more careful.”

His jaw clenches when she winces again when he pushes against the bruise, and all he wants to do is go find her parents and beat the ever-loving crap out of them for having the audacity to put their hands on her like this. 

He’s careful when his fingers brush over the bruise, his touch light as his fingers ghost over the injury.

“…You were saying something?”

Damn. 

She’s so damn calm at the moment, and it’s making this all the more difficult for him. It would be easier if she was crying or yelling, because he knows how to handle those outbursts, but damn, she’s so put together right now. 

His gaze softens as he looks down at her, his hand moving from her wrist to cup her face. 

“You have to know,” he says softly, his voice steady, “that wasn’t a mistake.”

She lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Her eyes look up at him expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate.

He knows that he should probably take a step back, give her some space as he tries to find the right words to help her understand, but he just can’t make himself do it. He keeps his hand on her face, thumb gently stroking over her cheek. 

“It wasn’t a mistake,” he repeats again, his voice still soft and firm. “It wasn’t an adrenaline rush. It wasn’t a-“

He almost says he didn’t mean to do it, but the words feel like a lie. And he’s tired of lying.

“I- I’ve wanted to do it longer than I can remember,” he admits, his voice quiet. “And I don’t know if that makes me a horrible person or not, but that’s the truth.”

He watches her face, searching for a reaction, trying to figure out how she’s processing all of this. He hates the fact that she’s so stoic, so neutral - it’s not her. She’s expressive and animated and she’s always letting him know what she’s thinking. 

She leans a little bit closer to him. Her eyes flit upwards, meeting his, before looking back down again, to where they’re both standing just inches apart from each other. They’re now standing so close to each other that she can feel his warm breath mingle with her own.

Then, she kisses him.

He’s frozen when he feels her breath ghost over his lips. 

He’s not expecting her to kiss him, not after everything he’s just said. He’s expecting, if anything, for her to step back, to tell him to give her a minute to cool down. But, when her lips brush against his, it takes him a few seconds to register what’s happening. Once his brain does catch up, his reaction is immediate. His hand gently grabs her face, pulling her back in as he kisses her back.

The initial kiss this time is awkward, hesitant, clumsy. It has all the trademarks of someone who hasn’t really done this before. But it works nonetheless.

Her soft lips brush against his – once, twice. Right after is when she finally puts her poor heart out of its misery, and tilts her face ever so slightly so she can press her lips against his, her eyes falling closed.

The feeling of her lips against his is like electricity - he feels goosebumps erupt on his skin, and he lets out a low sound from the back of his throat as he responds to the kiss. He gently cups her face, tilting her face up more, wanting more - needing more contact, needing to feel her and taste her.

She can taste him. He tastes like saliva and jaffa cakes and that little bit of toothpaste from when he probably brushed before bed. It’s so uniquely him that she fears she could get high on it.

The sound she makes when he deepens the kiss a little, his tongue slipping into her mouth, is a muffled thing, almost a whine. His brain is struggling to process everything that’s happening - it almost feels like he’s drowning in her, slowly drowning in everything that’s her. When they finally pull apart for air, their gazes are immediately drawn to one another.

His hand lingers on her face, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip - he can’t help the way his eyes are glued to her face. He tries to sort through the thoughts in his head, but most of his brain is just completely shut down right now, trying to process the fact that she kissed him. 

She was the one that kissed him - she initiated, she made the first move.

“That was…” she trails off, breathless. Something akin to molecules of light dance in chest thrumming in her veins and tickling her fingertips.

He nods slowly, his lips curving into a small smile before he lets out a soft huff. “I didn’t expect you to make the first move," he admits, his voice quiet. “I actually thought you’d be mad as hell.”

“I kissed you back before too,” she reminds him.

He lets out a soft huff of laughter, his smile widening. 

His gaze is still focused on her face, and his thumb brushes over her jawline in a soft, soothing gesture. 

“That you did,” he agrees softly. “Why?”

“Honestly?” she asks.

“Honestly,” he affirms, his smile still on his face, his gaze still on her. He gently grabs her chin to ensure that she’s looking at him as he waits for her response - and so he can look at her.

“Because when you kissed me I was caught off guard, and so I just froze like an idiot,” she rambles. She takes a deep breath, trying to be a bit more calm and collected. “Because it felt like the right thing to do. And honestly?” she pauses. “Because it felt really, really nice.”

The confession makes his smile widen into a grin. 

“Oh did it now?” he asks, his voice quiet. His tone is teasing, almost sly as his hand moves from her chin to her neck, his hand wrapping gently around it. 

“It felt nice?” he repeats, his thumb gently stroking over her pulse point.

She hums thoughtfully. “Enough that I did it again.”

“You did,” he says, his grin never leaving his face. 

He takes a step closer, his hand on her neck gently pulling her closer, his body now pressed against hers. “I think you need more experience though,” he murmurs, his voice quiet. “You should probably… practice. Frequently, if possible.”

“Yeah? You think so?” Her smile is small and weak, but it’s there.

“Oh absolutely,” he agrees. He loves the fact that he’s the one who’s making her smile when a minute ago, she was trying so damn hard to stop crying. 

“I think it’ll help you… perfect your technique,” he says, his voice quiet as he moves his hand from her neck to her hair, playing with the strands of hair. She shuts him with another kiss - this time, her lips lock firmly against his, her hands splayed out flat against his chest.

This one takes his breath away.

His response to the kiss is immediate, nearly automatic. His hand in her hair moves to her waist, pulling her closer as her hands make contact with his chest. He makes a soft sound in the back of his throat - almost a moan - as she kisses him, as she’s pressed up against him. 

“…How’s that for technique?”

His brain takes a few seconds to turn itself back on - he’s practically stupid after that kiss - but he eventually manages to put together a response. He lets out a soft laugh, his hand moving from her waist to her hip, holding her close against him. 

“Oh yeah,” he agrees, his voice slightly rough. “That’s a good technique, yeah. But I think you might need a few more… practice rounds. To truly get a feel for it.”

“Oh? Sounds serious.”

“Very serious,” he says, his voice still hushed, his fingers now tracing soft lines up and down her hip. “It’s important to be well-practiced in this skill.”

His hand moves from her hip to wrap around her waist, grabbing her more intently, his hand spanning the entire width of her waist. 

“And I don’t mind providing the… equipment you’ll need for more practice.”

“Hmm,” she hums, pretending to consider it. “I could be talked into that. Maybe over coffee…?”

His grip on her waist tightens - just briefly, just for a moment - at her words. His brain is struggling to put words together right now, and the idea of coffee with her doesn’t help. He’s trying to get his head to stop spinning, and the last thing he wants to do is say something stupid, but all he can think about is her - the feel of her, the taste of her lips. 

“Yeah,” he manages, his voice still hushed. “Yeah, coffee. Coffee sounds nice.”

She gives him a small smile. It's faint, but at least it's there.

Standing close to him, she lets her bods lean in against him. Her head falls against his chest as the two stand there in his bathroom. Silence envelopes them, allowing her a moment to breathe. It's been a whirlwind of a night, with both highs and lows.

He lets her lean against him, wrapping one arm around her waist and pulling her tight against him, his other hand moving to gently cup the back of her head, his fingers gently stroking her hair. 

He’s silent as well, his chin resting on her forehead as his hand strokes her hair. He’s not thinking, not really. He’s just existing, just… feeling the comfortable weight of her against him.

“Sit down on the counter, yeah?” he says, his voice still soft. “And take your shirt off, I need to see the damage.”

"No." 

His hand that’s been gently stroking her hair stills at her response. “Why not?” he asks, his voice still soft and gentle. “I won’t hurt you, I just want to check you over.”

"I'm not taking my shirt off," her voice shakes. Oh, right. 

He realizes the issue. “I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to,” he says quietly, his eyes focused on her face. “But I’ll have to patch you up, and I can’t do that with your shirt on. Just your top half, yeah? I won’t look at anything else.”

"I..." her voice quivers, as she tries to think of a way out.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed or scared,” he says quietly. “It’s just me. There’s nothing I haven’t seen,” he assures her. “I just want to fix you up a bit. That’s it. I won’t look anywhere else.”

"It- It's not that..." she eventually stammers out.

“Then what is it?” he asks, his voice still soft and gentle. “You can tell me.”

"I, uhm, can't?" she says awkwardly so it almost sounds like a question.

“You… can’t?” he asks, a frown settling on his face as he tries to work out what she means. “What do you mean, ‘you can’t’?”

"My left shou-" she grimaces in anticipation of what she's about to tell him. Fuck this.

His frown deepens at her grimace - a sense of foreboding and worry sets in. “What’s wrong with your left shoulder?” he asks quietly, dread already building inside of him.

"My left shoulder," she tries again. "I can't, uh, move it much."

It's dislocated, she should tell him, but she can't seem to bring herself to say the words.

His heart nearly stops in his chest at her words. God, what have her parents done to her?

He tries to keep his voice calm and even when he responds, but it’s a struggle. “You can’t move your left shoulder at all?” he asks quietly.

"Just this-" she says, demonstrating by moving her arm about four, maybe five inches off her side. She winces when her shoulder screams in protest.

“Your shoulder is dislocated, yeah?” he asks, trying to keep the worry and dread out of his voice. “That’s why you can’t move it?”

"Yeah," she answers..

“How do you know it’s dislocated?” he asks quietly, his voice still steady.

“Not my first rodeo,” she says, an attempt at humor to break the tension. He desperately wants to ask who did it, what happened. He doesn’t want to press her for the details now, when she’s in enough pain as it is. 

He’s silent for a moment, trying to figure out the best strategy to take her hoodie and shirt off. 

“Alright,” he says eventually, his voice soft. “I’m going to take your hoodie off, yeah?”

Hesitantly, she nods.

He hesitates for a moment himself, worried that he’ll do more damage to her shoulder - but there’s no way around it. 

He gently grabs the hem of her hoodie, and starts to carefully pull it over her head. A slight gasp escapes his throat as soon as her bare arms and collarbone are revealed.

“Ahh!” She bites her lip, trying to muffle the sound as white hot pain shoots up through her shoulder at being moved.

His hands release the hoodie and pull back the minute he hears her gasp, his jaw clenching to stop himself from swearing. His eyes roam over her collarbone and arm, taking in the deep bruises and angry red scratches. 

She’s biting her lip so hard she’s worried it’ll split open again. Fuck, moving that shoulder hurts. She’s trying her best to contain it, but hot tears prick at her eyes.

Oscar’s gone concerningly still in front of her.

The moment the hoodie finally comes off and he’s left with the full view of her body, the breath gets stuck in his lungs. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t bruises and scratches and scars. God, the sight of it feels like a damn sucker punch to the chest.

He wants to say something, anything - but he’s so incredibly angry that words just don’t come. He’s paralyzed by anger for a moment, before he’s able to pull himself together - but the fury is still there. The sight of her bruised, cut and beaten body in front of him, her arms covered in scratches, her collarbone a mess of deep purple, and her lip split… it’s a rage he’s never really experienced in his life. He has to take a deep breath to keep himself composed. 

Once it’s finally off, she lets go of the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Immediately, her gaze goes to Oscar’s face to note his reaction.

He does his best to keep his face neutral, although his expression still betrays a hint of anger and outrage. He doesn’t want her to know how much it all angers him - because, knowing her, she’d try to say it wasn’t as bad as it looks or that it’s not a big deal. 

But to him it is. It’s the biggest deal in the world.

She sits before him now in just a bra and pants, and his eyes take the opportunity to scan over the upper half of her body. He takes note of each detail - the bruise beneath her hair line, her split lip, the one around her wrist. 

Scanning lower he finds more. When he finally takes a look at her torso, he has to try and force himself not to visibly react.

It isn’t easy.

There’s a nasty bruise on one side of her collarbone, he briefly wonders how much force it actually takes to bruise a person’s collarbone. He sees the shoulder he’d reset for her - it looks sore still, but it seems to be doing marginally better. 

But what his gaze lingers on is the parts he didn’t get to see before - the deep blue mark that blooms on the left side of her rib, the deep red scratches on her side and her forearm that were previously concealed by the hoodie. 

He lets his eyes linger over each bruise or injury that he finds. Every single one of them makes him angry again - that somebody put their hands on her body, left their mark on her skin, hurt her.

She can feel her heart rate spike when he moves closer, but she does her best to stay perfectly still for him. Seeing the way she tenses up and her heart-rate increases, he knows that she’s scared. 

This is why I hate your parents so much.

“Lean back on the counter,” he instructs, his voice still soft. “Let me look at your shoulder.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She pulls in a tight breath, like both inhaling and exhaling hurt too much with the pain shooting through her arm. 

He’s completely focused on her - all he cares about right now is getting her shoulder back in the right place and getting her patched up. He watches as she struggles to breathe through the pain, and it hurts him. It hurts him that he can’t do anything to help her, that he can’t take the pain away. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he says quietly, both for his benefit and hers. “Just lean back for me, yeah? Don’t worry about anything else. Just let me look.”

She leans back - gradually, as if it hurts her to move every centimeter. A shaky exhale finally escapes her once she’s leaned all the way back.

He takes a moment to survey her collarbone - it’s even more bruised up than he had originally thought. His eyes linger on one particular spot that looks an awful mix of pinks and deep purples, and he wants to rage until his vocal cords give out. But she needs him to be calm and logical right now, so he pushes down the anger as much as he can. 

His eyes next move to her shoulder, and he grimaces slightly. The joint is visibly swollen, and it’s clearly out of place. A wave of nausea overtakes him as he thinks about how much pain she’ll be in when he moves it. 

“I’m gonna have to move it into the right place,” he says quietly. “It’s going to hurt - but try and relax for me, yeah?”

Nodding, she takes a shaky breath. It’s then that she speaks up, voice strained.

“Could you… could you talk?”

He’s a little surprised by her request, but he understands why she wants it. Any sort of distraction will take her mind off the pain, so that’s exactly what he’ll do - he’ll talk. “Yeah,” he says quietly, his eyes focused on her face. “What d’you want me to talk about, exactly?”

“Anything,” she mumbles. “Just… Just talk.”

He hates that he’s about to cause her even more pain, but he knows there’s no way around it. The longer they wait, the more it’ll hurt in the end. 

One of his hands reaches out and cups her cheek, gently stroking her bruised skin. “I’m going to count from one to three, yeah?” he tells her, his voice still quiet. “And on three, I’m going to move your shoulder back into place. Ready?”

She nods.

“Okay, here we go,” he says, his voice still soothing. 

He places his other hand on her upper arm to get a good grip.

“One,” he begins slowly, his eyes fixed on her. “Two…” 

He notices the way she’s tensed up against the counter, bracing herself for the pain. “Relax,” he instructs quietly, his thumb rubbing her cheek. “Just listen to my voice. Don’t think about anything else. One more counting till three, and then it’ll be done. Deep breath. Ready?”

Once he’s satisfied that he’s given her enough time to mentally prepare, and now it’s time to finally deal with her shoulder. 

“Just listen to my voice,” he tells her again, his hand still gently stroking her cheek. “Okay, one… two-“

She nods. She’s just begun to inhale, when-

Without any further warning, the muscles in his arm tense as pushes her shoulder back into place.

“Shit!”

He’s never heard her scream like that before. His heart clenches in his chest at the pain she’s in, the way she’s screaming, the way he’s caused her even more pain. 

“I know, I know it hurts but it’s done now,” he says quickly, keeping his voice soft. “It’s over, okay? You’re okay. Just breathe.”

She chokes out a dry sob, until it finally devolves into short whimpers of pain. He hates this so much. He hates the fact that her shoulder is in so much pain, that she’s sobbing, that he had to be the cause of it. 

“You’re okay,” he repeats again, trying to reassure her. “It’s over now. I know it hurts, but it’ll get better. I promise.”

She falls limp against him from the exertion, as the whimpers meld more into soft murmurs, her breath hitching as her body adjusts to the relocation of the joint.

As her body slumps against his, he brings his other arm around her, gently guiding her into his chest. He holds her against him, hoping that the physical contact will reassure her. 

“You’re okay,” he repeats again, speaking into her hair. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. Just breathe for me.”

She continues to whimper in pain, the soft whimpers being the only sound in the bathroom. Oscar feels as a few stray tears fall against the fabric of his shirt, wetting it.

His heart clenches in his chest at the feel of her tears. He can’t even begin to imagine how much pain she’s in. 

“I know it hurts,” he repeats quietly, bringing one of his hands up to gently pet her hair. “I know it hurts, love. But it’s almost over, I promise. You’re doing so good. Just breathe for me, yeah?”

She gives him a weak nod. Feeling a bit more settled at that, she resumes leaning against him. Eyelids droop, heavy with exhaustion - it has been a long night.

He feels the way she’s gradually going limp in his arms. He understands that she’s been through enough tonight. “Let’s at least get you seated, yeah?” He suggests quietly. “You look tired. We need to get you taken care of and then you can rest, alright?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs, nodding into his chest.

Her voice is soft when she speaks, like a cool balm. “I am sorry.”

He almost laughs at the absurdity of that statement. 

“Don’t apologize,” he replies, shaking his head. “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

“For throwing this all on you, I mean. I… I should’ve thought twice before putting all this on you – I know it’s a lot. I didn’t mean to bring you into this mess when I called you tonight, and that’s on me,” she explains.

How is she even worried about him right now? How? He almost wants to laugh, she’s so ridiculous. “Don’t you dare apologize,” he mutters, gently tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Don’t- I- God, you have absolutely no reason to apologize, alright? So just... stop.”

“You’re upset,” she replies, observant. “Maybe I’d even say angry, if I didn’t know you any better.

He tries to find an argument against her claims - he tries hard. He tries to deny it, at least a little bit, to make himself seem better somehow. But he can’t, and she’s too observant to let him slip one past her anyway. “Maybe angry is a generous assessment,” he admits, his jaw clenching again.

Her eyes are drawn to his face, waiting for him to elaborate.

“I’m pissed,” he finally responds, his voice still somewhat restrained. “God, I’m pissed. I’m angry. At them - at your parents.” His eyes dart to hers to check her reaction, to see if he’s crossed a line.

“You have no idea how angry I am, actually,” he continues, his frustration rising more and more by the second. “I am… furious. They laid a fuckin’ hand on you.”

She listens to him while she reaches out to gently clasp his hand in her own, bringing it closer to her, guiding him to rest his palm in the space between her fractured collarbone and where her bra covers her chest. His hand is placed directly over where her beating heart lies. 

“Do you feel that?” she asks softly, looking up at him.

He nods wordlessly, his anger and frustration momentarily subsiding to give way to the feeling of her heart beating. Her pulse is thumping against his palm, her heart racing beneath the skin of her chest, and all he can do is watch her intently.

“I’m here,” she whispers, brushing a loose lock of hair back from his forehead. “I’m alive, I’m okay.”

He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until the moment she touches him. His shoulders sag as he lets out a breath, his hand gently rubbing the skin where her heart beats as if it would help soothe his temper. 

“You’re not okay,” he replies quietly. “You’re... the opposite of okay, Y/N. I don’t know why you’re trying to pretend like you are.”

“I’m alive,” she counters gently. He wants to argue - he wants to tell her that being alive doesn’t mean being okay. He wants to insist that she’s not okay, to try and convince her that she’s been hurt, that she-

But he knows that it’s a pointless exercise. She clearly refuses to admit there’s a problem. Instead, he shakes his head in frustration before gently shifting his hand to graze her injured ribs. 

“You’ve made your point, Oscar,” she concedes quietly, wincing at the contact - a very real reminder of the damage done.

He knows he’s won the argument, but he doesn’t quite feel victorious. 

“So why are you still pretending like you’re okay?” he asks, shifting to sit on the bed next to her. 

“I felt bad for making you worry. I feel relatively okay, I mean.” She pauses for a moment, and her voice gets quieter.

“When I called you tonight…” The way she suddenly drops her voice has his jaw clenching again. 

“What about it?” he asks, trying to keep his voice patient. It’s like he wants to hear what she has to say but is also dreading the answer at the same time.

“When I called you tonight…” she says, trying desperately to make sure her voice doesn’t shake. “It was because I thought I was going to die.”

There. It’s out in the open now.

“I called the front desk at MTC first, and then my friends, but it’s the middle of the night, so naturally, they didn’t pick up. Yours is the only other number I know off by heart.” She exhales, letting out a soft chuckle. “I guess I’ve had to call you so much for work that dialing your number was muscle memory.”

She takes a deep shaky breath, before continuing. “So yes, I know things are bad. God, you don’t think I know that? Of course I do. But right now I find it hard to throw myself a pity party when I’m so fucking grateful to be alive, to have gotten out, to be here.” With you. To be here with you, she was going to say.

“So, there it is,” she mumbles. It’s there, out in the open for him to hear and dissect and know. The confession is a lot to take in, especially coming from her. She’s always so collected, so composed, so good at keeping a cool head. He takes a moment to try and process everything she’s just told him, his mind struggling to grasp the reality of it all. 

“You-” he begins, still struggling to find the right words. How do you tell someone that you’re glad they’re not dead?

He eventually settles for reaching forward and wrapping his arms around her, pulling her to him gently for a careful hug. 

“I..“ he begins, stumbling over his own words as he struggles to get his mind to form a coherent sentence. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m so goddamn glad you’re here,” he finally manages to say, resting his forehead against hers.

Foreheads touching, his face so close to hers… the moment is quiet and intimate. It makes her glad she’s alive, that she didn’t die before she could experience this with him, that she’s here with him now. Her eyes are closed but a few tears of relief slip past anyways. The feeling of her tears against his skin nearly breaks him in half, and it’s everything he can do to reign in his own emotions right now. Just hold it together for her. That’s all he has to do - just hold it together long enough for her. 

“Hey, hey,” he whispers as her tears wet his skin. “You’re safe now. I’m... I’m here, and you’re safe.”

“God, I was so scared, Oscar,” she cries quietly, shaking against him. Her words and her sobs send a sharp stab of pain through his heart, his arms clenching a little more, holding her a little tighter. 

“I know, I know,” he mutters, his own voice shaking as he fights to maintain his composure. He can’t break down when he needs to be strong for her. “But it’s okay. You’re here, and you’re okay, and you’re safe.”

It takes a few minutes of reassurance before he feels like her crying is slowing. Her body is still shuddering in his arms though, and he lets her cling to him, letting her bury her face in his shoulder. His hand finds its way to the back of her head and he runs his fingers through her hair, trying to provide any comfort he can.

Finally, once she settles, her sniffles tapering off into what resembles normal breathing, Oscar tilts her head up to look at him. He notes the exhaustion in her face, in her body. It’s been a long night, for both of them.

“You need sleep,” he mutters quietly, his hand still tangled in her hair.

“Can’t,” she mumbles, giving him a small, lazy smile. “My really hot nurse won’t let me rest until he’s patched me up or something.” He rolls his eyes affectionately at her, unable to help a smile rise to his lips at her comment. 

“Very funny,” he mutters, shifting his hand around to rub her jaw gently between his fingers. “Let’s get you cleaned up, smartass.”

“Least m’your smartass,” she mumbles under her breath, before carefully sitting herself upright again so that he can finally finish patching her up.

“You think I’d let anyone else call me a hot nurse?” he retorts, pushing himself up and standing in front of her. He takes a moment to study her body – all of her body – in front of him, trying to take stock of the damage.

“Would you?” she asks curiously, her head tilted drowsily.

His eyes take in the way she looks; disheveled, he concludes. Her hair is completely ruffled, the skin of her stomach littered with scratch marks and bruises, and god, those dark blue marks on her chest and collarbones - he has to push down the anger that threatens to rise to the surface again. 

“No,” he replies after a moment, his eyes roaming over her body again. “Absolutely not.”

“Yeah?” she smiles softly, a glimmer of something sparkling in her eyes before she tilts her head back, closing them. He continues to work on her when he hears her mumbling.

“I think I like that.”

“Which part?” he asks, his voice soft as he wipes at a particularly bad-looking scratch. “Me not letting anyone else call me a hot nurse, or the fact that you’re the only one who does?” he teases a little as he continues to gently clean her.

She winces at the feeling of antiseptic against her cuts.

“Hmm, both,” she hums.

His heart leaps at her words, a little thrill of excitement rushing through his gut. He tries to hide the way his cheeks warm at that, busying his hands with  cleaning a particularly ugly scratch on her collarbone. “And what if I also said you’re the only one I’d call my smartass?”

She audibly hisses at that one, her collarbone sensitive from the fracture. Trying to relax a bit, she focuses her mind back to his question. “Yeah?”

“Mhmm,” he hums in agreement, gently pressing another piece of gauze against the cut. 

“I’ll be your smartass if you’ll be my dumbass,” she offers.

He actually laughs at that, a bright sound in the dark room. “I’m a dumbass, huh?” he asks, looking up from his work to smirk at her.

“My dumbass,” she corrects, “if this deal of ours works out.”

 A small, happy smile rises to his lips at her words. 

“Your dumbass,” he echoes, his heart fluttering again. 

Your dumbass. 

He could probably get used to that. He continues to work over her skin gently, carefully cleaning each bruise and scratch.  “You know I don’t like sharing, right?” he says after a minute, breaking the silence with a hint of possessiveness in his tone. His face is twisted in careful concentration as he works, only pausing to smile or laugh or react to her comments.

She likes his smile, she decides. And perhaps his hair, too.

“Good,” she replies. “Me neither.”

 “Goodnight” he says quietly, before slowly taking a step back and switching off the lights. He heads towards the door, quietly switching off a bedside lamp on the way out. 

“If you need anything, just let me know,” he says, pausing by the door to throw a glance over his shoulder. 

“…Osc?” she squeaks out, voice small. At the sight of Oscar about to go, leaving her on her own in this dark and foreign room - even if it is Oscar’s -  has her heart beating a little harder in her chest. After everything that happened tonight, being left like this has something resembling fear melting her chest like hot wax.

This room is dark and foreign to her - she doesn’t have the layout memorized, or the exits, or hell, even the light switches. Which means that if she were to be in danger again–

“Yeah?” he prompts gently, his voice quiet in the dark.

“Do you…” she hesitates, before finally deciding to just do it. “…Could you stay?”

He pauses for a moment, the request taking him a little by surprise. “Yeah,” he replies, his voice quiet. “Of course I can stay.”

The anticipatory tightness in her chest loosens a bit at that.

He walks around to the other side of the bed before slowly slipping under the covers next to her. He tries not to think about the feel of her body heat next to his, as he adjusts his position slightly to try and give her as much space as possible.

She lays there for an unknown amount of time, but sleep eludes her. For some unknown reason, despite having the longest night of her life and being exhausted beyond belief, her body feels as taught as a live wire.

Still, she tries to even her breathing as a sleeping person would, making an effort not to keep shifting around. There’s a high probability Oscar’s asleep, and she doesn’t want to disturb him.

Oscar is, in fact, not asleep. 

He’s acutely aware of her body next to his, every little movement, twitch and twist of her body. She’s trying to stay as still as possible, and for a minute he wants to point out that she doesn’t have to, that she can make herself comfortable - but then she lets out a small sigh of frustration, and he decides to say something instead. “Can’t sleep?” he dares to whisper, breaking the silence.

She freezes at the sound of his voice. Shit.

“Yeah,” she admits, voice small. “You?”

He gives a small shake of his head, keeping his voice low like . 

“Nah,” he says, his voice a little groggy, “I’m awake.”

For a long moment, silence falls between them again. He can literally feel how tense she is.

After a long moment passes, she asks, “Why?”

That actually gets a small snort out of him. “Could ask you the same question,” he retorts quietly, shifting slightly in the bed. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Unh unh,” she tuts in denial. “I asked first.”

He chuckles quietly at her response. “Can’t shut my brain off,” he finally relents, keeping his voice quiet as he tries to answer her question. The comfort of night embracing them like a favorite blanket has a way of loosening people’s tongues. “Too much thinking going on up there right now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a brief moment of silence before he speaks again, his voice soft and gentle. “Can I ask you something?”

She hums drowsily, granting him permission.

He hesitates for a moment, trying to find the right words to phrase his question. “Why did you ask me to stay?” he finally asks, not sure whether he’ll get an honest answer from her or not.

“You’ll think it’s stupid.”

“I won’t think it’s stupid,” he reassures her quietly, shifting in the bed next to hers. “Just… tell me, alright? Please?”

She’s grateful she’s still turned away from him at this point.

“It just…” she trails off awkwardly, unsure how to explain. “I dunno. Just thinking about being here, on my own, after everything that happened at home…”

She shrugs. “Even thinking about it made me feel… kinda like antsy? I don’t know how to explain.” She huffs in frustration, trying and failing to find words that sound more coherent than whatever the hell this response has been so far.

“You… you make that go quiet.” She mumbles quietly. And then, even quieter: “You feel like… like safe, I guess.”

Oh.

He’s honestly a little stunned, at both her admission and her choice of words. 

You make that go quiet.

You feel like safe. 

After silence takes the place of any audible response from him, she painstakingly makes the effort to turn over so that she can face him in the dark.

“Is that… weird?” she asks nervously.

“No,” he rushes to reassure her, his voice quiet and a little strangled with emotion. “No, it’s not - I just…”

He trails off for a moment, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “I just wasn’t expecting that to be your answer,” he admits hoarsely.

“Oh,” she replies dumbly.

He’s glad he’s lying in the dark right now. 

She’s turned over to face him, and the thought that she’s laying a mere few inches away from him, with a bruised and battered body and telling him that he’s her comfort, is both the most amazing thing he’s ever heard and also so painful his chest physically aches. 

He clenches a fist around the sheets.

“You want to know what I’m thinking?” he finally asks, taking the opportunity to shift the conversation away from her question.

“Always.”

“That if I ever met your parents,” he finally admits, his voice pained and his breath hot against her neck, “I’d probably break their goddamn jaws.”

She winces at his words. She turns away from him.

He immediately grimaces at her reaction, sitting up slightly in the bed as he sees her turn away from him. “No, don’t turn away,” he says quickly, his hand reaching out reflexively to grasp at her nearest arm.

He gives her arm a little shake. “Hey. Look at me,” he instructs, his voice low.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she replies coldly.

He falters for a moment, taken aback by the coldness in her voice. “And why’s that?” he questions, still reeling from her immediate retreat.

“Because I am tired,” she deadpans.

There’s a long moment of stunned silence as he processes her response, and then she hears his bed creaking faintly before his voice rings out in the dark. 

“Come here,” he orders quietly.

“Why should I?”

“Because I said so,” he replies, his voice still quiet. 

He shifts on the bed, moving closer to her. “Come here,” he says again, a hint of gentle firmness in his voice. Disguising it as stretching, she moves marginally closer to him. The second she shifts closer to him, he takes action, moving until he’s directly behind her. He scoots closer to her, his body curled protectively around hers, and wraps an arm around her torso. 

“There,” he murmurs. “That’s better, right?”

She lets out a small huff. Just because being in his arms is surprisingly warm and comfortable and soothing doesn’t mean she’ll just forget what he said about her parents.

“It’s… fine,” she lies through her teeth. He needs to know that the matter isn’t resolved that easily.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure it is,” he replies sarcastically, not falling for her half hearted attempt at indifference. 

“I know -” he lets out a quiet huff, his arm tightening around her before he even speaks. “- sorry for saying that. I didn’t mean to…”

“I- “

For once, he’s at a loss for words, his thoughts swirling around in his head. 

He did mean the words. They were true for a reason, after all. 

“Don’t -” he finally tells her. “- Don’t you dare feel sorry for them, you hear me? Just- just don’t, alright?” He shifts, moving his face away from her neck to speak. “You don’t need to feel guilty at all for the way they’ve treated you, and for the shit they’ve put you through,” he says fiercely.

She sighs exasperatedly, letting her eyes fall short for a moment. 

He knows she’s not as receptive as he’d hoped, but he can’t stop himself from spitting out the next few words like a curse. “I don’t care that they’re ‘family’, or that they’re your parents - because they’re abusing you. They’re hurting you in the name of ‘tough love’ or whatever shitty reason parents think they have for treating their kid like that,” he all but growls out in the dark.

After a beat of silence, she asks quietly, “…Would you ever like to hear me say that about your own parents?”

He opens his mouth, and then closes it again. Once, twice, and maybe even three times, until finally, he manages to force out a response. “…That’s not the same,” he tries, and immediately wishes he had just kept his mouth shut. He sighs, swallowing hard before mumbling out a confession - “It’s just…“

He presses his face into her neck again, his breath coming in heavy, uneven puffs as he struggles to keep himself together. “They’re supposed to protect you, goddammit,” he grits out against her skin.

“Yeah,” she agrees softly.

“They’re supposed to care about you,” he all but mumbles into her skin, his fingers tracing circles mindlessly against her stomach as the angry words spill out. 

“Okay.”

“It’s not ‘okay’,” he grits out. 

He tightens his arm around her, shifting slightly until he’s got a thigh over her legs as if he’s holding her in place. 

“You’re not the one who’s wrong here,” he adds, frustrated with the fact that she’s the one who’s bruised but he’s the one who’s getting choked up.

“Let it out,” she encourages softly, gently stroking her thumb across his cheekbone.

Goddamn it. Something about the way she says it, like she’d be willing to share the burden of the sky if that’s what he needs - it gets to him. He’s trying to be the strong one here, the one who’s supposed to be protecting her - not the one on the verge of a goddamn breakdown. But she’s just too damn sweet. 

He lets out a quiet huff and buries his face in her neck again. “Okay,” she agrees. “Whatever you need.”

“Stop with the agreement thing,” he mumbles into her skin, his voice frustrated even though it’s lacking the edge from before and more filled with emotion. 

He swallows hard, his hand tightening momentarily on her stomach. He’s angry at himself for so many reasons.

He’s angry that she got hurt and he can’t take away her pain. He’s angry that he’s got a goddamn lump in his throat right now because he can’t handle seeing her hurt. He’s angry that he’s the one getting emotional when she’s the one who’s supposed to be falling apart. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” she coos softly, using her hand to gently guide his face out of the crook of her neck so she can actually look at him. “What is it? What’s going on in that head of yours, hmm?”

Those eyes are really going to be the death of him. He swallows hard, shifting slightly so he’s facing her a little better. 

“I’m not supposed to be the one falling apart right now,” he admits, his voice coming out quiet - so quiet that he almost hopes she misses it. “It’s not… it’s not going how its supposed to go.”

“Oh?”

He lets out a frustrated sigh, his fingers tapping uselessly against her stomach.

“It’s not going how it’s supposed to - you’re supposed to be the one falling apart, and I’m supposed to be the one picking up the pieces,” he mumbles out, his voice still quiet. 

“But now I’m the one on the verge of losing it, and you’re being annoyingly sweet and supportive and nice and I don’t know what the hell to do with that.”

“Okay,” she tells him, her voice all level and sure and reassuring. “Okay, that’s okay.”

He takes a shaky breath, and it’s taking everything in his power to not bury his face back into the crook of her neck because the feel of her skin against his might actually help. 

“No-“ he shakes his head, his voice quiet again. “It’s not. It’s not okay. You’re supposed to be the one falling apart right now, but I’ve got… I’ve got this damn knot in my throat and I can’t tell if it’s anger or guilt or something else-“

“Breathe, Oscar. You gotta breathe for me, okay?” she says, gently rubbing her palm up and down his sternum in what she hopes is a soothing motion.

She doesn’t know that the gentle touch against his skin is a little too much right now, the feel of her palm across his bare skin and her voice in his ear and just the sight of her looking at him with that kind look in her eyes is making his head spin. 

But he does as she says - tries to steady his breathing, letting it out in slow, even puffs as her palm moves up and down his chest. “There we go,” she says, giving him a drowsy smile. “Just like that, yeah? You’re doing so well f’me.”

“Jesus,” he mutters, clenching his jaw for a moment because of the way her words make something in him flutter. “That’s not helping,” he grits out, his voice coming out a little rough as he takes another slow, shaky breath.

“Alright,” she says, her hand stopping its movements. “Okay, I’ll back off.”

“No, no-“ He shakes his head quickly, his fingers grabbing her wrist to bring her hand back down against his chest. 

“Just- Keep going,” he says, his voice coming out gruff and quiet. “Don’t- don’t stop that, just-“

He swallows hard, closing his eyes for a moment. She can probably tell he’s still a little shaky, but she listens to him as her palm tentatively starts moving over his chest again, and she lets out a soft exhale. He closes his eyes when he feels her hand on his chest, a slow exhale of breath leaving his lips involuntarily as her palm glides across his skin. 

He lets go of her wrist and moves closer, his head dropping against her shoulder, and mumbling into her skin. “M’sorry. I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “This is dumb. I’m freaking out over nothing.”

“Is that what you would tell me if the roles were reversed?”

“No,” he responds, almost immediately. 

He would tell her that she had every right to feel what she felt, and he would pull her close and tell her that she should let him help carry the burden, and he would do anything to keep that sweet, broken look off her face.

“Then I need you to believe me when I say – I get it. I understand why you’re freaking out – anyone in your position would. You can’t be calm and collected 100% of the time, and no one expects you to. No one.” 

Her hand traces broad strokes around his body - across his chest, over his shoulder, up to his cheekbone. She finds herself playing with the locks of hair that keep flopping onto his forehead.

He tries to steady his breathing as her hand continues to glide gently over his body, the touch of her fingers against his skin and the feel of her body so close to his is making his head spin all over again. He feels himself shiver as her fingers brush over his cheek and through his hair, leaning into the touch. “How are you always so goddamn patient with me,” he grumbles, lifting his head slightly to look at her.

She shrugs.

In the sacredness of whatever this bubble is that exists here and now, the words slip past her lips before she can even think of stopping them.

“It’s like breathing.”

She’s really going to be the death of him one day. The fact that she doesn’t even need to think about it just makes him want to pull her close even more and press messy, thankful kisses against her skin. He swallows back the urge instead, trying to regain some of his composure. He lifts his head, taking her in as she continues to gently trace her fingertips over his face.

“You’re thinking something,” she notes, fighting back a yawn.

Her words drag his attention back up to her face, and he can’t help a small, lopsided smile at the fact that she’s tired right now because of how well she knows him. 

“Is it that obvious?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe not to other people. But to me it is.” She gives him a small smile. “My whole life revolves around knowing you.”

He’s almost certain that he stops breathing for a moment, because her words are like a punch to the chest for multiple different reasons. Of course he knows how much of her work life centers around him, but it's the way she says it.

It means that she knows him better than anyone.

And, when paired with the fact that she’s half-naked - in his clothes, no less - and just inches away from him right now it just makes it even harder to control that flutter in his chest.

She brings him back to the present. “But I need you to talk to me,” she says, tentatively trying out the pet name again after he’d said no earlier. “Need you to tell me what you’re thinking so we can figure this out, yeah?

He pauses for a moment, then speaks, his voice low and coming out a little grumbly.

“If I tell you, you’re not going to like it.”

“Maybe. But keeping it in will only make it worse, won’t it?” she smiles sadly.

She waits for him to continue, her fingers slowly tracing the skin of his jaw. She can basically see the thoughts rushing through his head. He leans into the touch a little more than he means to, his eyes half-lidded as he tries to get the words out. 

“It’s just…” he repeats, his voice coming out gruff as he swallows again. “It was so hard to stay calm, alright? I was trying so fuckin’ hard to stay calm, but Christ, you just…” 

He takes a shaky breath. Before he can continue, she speaks.

“You did so well. You kept your cool, you were exactly what I needed when I called you to come get me tonight.”

“Oscar, you need to get it out of your system. I know you’re angry. Your allowed to be, as long as…” she pauses, taking a steadying breath. “Just… talk to me.”

He glances at her again, gauging how she’s reacting before he continues. He takes a shaky breath, swallowing hard. 

“It’s just…” he repeats, his voice coming out barely a whisper now. “When I saw you… and all the… the marks, and the cuts, and the… the scratches-“

He breaks off abruptly, trying to regain control of his breathing. His fingers start tapping restlessly against her stomach again, trying to soothe himself. 

“It just made me so… angry. And the fact that they left these goddamn marks on you- goddammit, you don’t understand how hard I had to resist just punching a wall right then and there.”

She nods in understanding, tucking herself a bit closer to him by leaning her forehead against his chest.

He lets out a shaky breath as she leans against his chest, his arms instantly wrapping around her, pulling her close - his grip isn’t hard enough to hurt her, but it’s tight enough that he has her completely pressed against his body. One hand comes up, reaching up to grab gently at her hair, guiding her even closer to him.

“I’m sorry I put you through that,” she mumbles, voice weary, against the fabric of his shirt.

He makes an instant noise of protest at the apology, shaking his head. 

“No,” he says, almost sternly. “No, don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong, alright? None of it is your fault. ”

The emotions that have been curling in his gut like a hot coil fuel the stem of his words. “They’re idiots,” he continues, the word spoken fiercely. “They have no idea how goddamn lucky they are to have you as a daughter, and even less of an idea about what they’ve just done to you.” 

His hand in her hair continues to brush through it, almost on autopilot, trying to soothe her and him. Oscar is surprised when instead of staying silent or outright refuting what he’s said, he finds her mumbling against his chest.

“I guess so.”

He glances down at her when he hears her speak up, a little surprised to actually hear that she agrees with him. He pauses, then continues combing through her hair - she hasn’t complained yet, so he doesn’t stop. 

“You guess so?” he says, gently pushing her. “You guess so? You’re so goddamn good, you have any idea how many people would kill for someone like you?”

“It's not that big a deal,” she murmurs.

“It is,” he shoots back immediately, a fierce bite to his tone. “It is a big deal. Don’t- don’t do that, alright? Don’t try to brush it off and pretend like you’re not the best thing that’s ever happened to me - to anyone.”

“I’m your assistant,” she says with a small smile, as she tries to stifle a yawn. With each blink she sees less and less of Oscar’s silhouette in the dark of the room, her eyelids heavy with sleep as she’s trying her best to stay awake to listen to what he has to say.

Oscar’s jaw clenches at the sound of her holding back a yawn - she’s probably exhausted and in some kind of pain, and that’s not even considering the emotional trauma she’s just been through tonight - and yet here she is, still trying to stay awake. 

He glances down, noticing her eyes keep drifting closed, and he lets out a huff. “You’re much more than my assistant,” he mutters. “More than I deserve.”

He looks down to see what she has to say in response.

Only to find her fast asleep, passed out from exhaustion.

The warm cocoon of Oscar’s arm, the steady lull of his heartbeat, and the rhythmic feeling of his fingers running through her hair was enough to help her loosen up enough to finally fall asleep, it seems.

He looks down at her with a little smile - even asleep, she still looks like a goddamn angel. 

He’s not expecting to sleep any time soon, he’s had enough caffeine on top of the adrenaline still pumping for him to be completely wired. So instead he just holds her - her face pressed in between his chest and shoulder, his arms wrapped around her, his eyes focused on the ceiling.

Part 2

a/n: if you stayed this far, thank you so much! i'd love to hear what you thought of it :) and credit to @saradika-graphics for the lovely dividers!!

[cupcaketeddybehr]

origami hearts (choso x reader)

choso x gn!reader

genre: hurt/comfort (can you tell i love hurt/comfort HEHEH)

word count: 1.3k

blurb!: choso breaks up with you out of nowhere and you're not sure why. a week later, yuji forces you to talk to him.

You’re sitting on the couch watching your favorite show when Choso walks in, shoulders slumped and hair tousled. You could swear that there’s blood all over his white robes, but you chalk it up to your sleep deprivation. 

“Hey.” He says quietly.

You hum and turn your head towards him, oblivious to his unusual tone.

He takes a seat next to you on your fluffy couch and lets out a huff. He stares at the ground for what seems like forever before he says, “We need to talk.”

You turn off the TV and look at him weirdly. He was his happy self when he left this morning. “Talk about what, Cho? Did something happen?”

 “No…” He begins. “I just don’t know how to say this without hurting you.” He looks at you momentarily. Silently, he begs the universe to stop him from saying what he’s about to.

You start to hear your heartbeat in your ears as anxiety rises in your chest. “Please just spit it out, Choso.” 

“I-I don’t think we’re gonna work out.” He says, hands in his pockets, refusing to meet your gaze.

You stare at him, shocked that he would ever bring this up. You guys were doing so well. This morning, you tied his hair up in his signature buns. Everything was fine. “What do you mean?” 

“I think we should go our separate ways. I don’t feel the same anymore.” He admits, eyes glancing anywhere but yours.  

“Choso, I don’t understand. We were fine when you left this morning. You kissed me goodbye.”

He looks at his feet. “I’ve been feeling like this for a while, y/n.”

“Please don’t call me that. You always call me baby.” You frown, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

When you finally look up at him, you see tears rolling down his cheeks. “I never wanted to hurt you like this.” He says softly. “I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t believe you, Choso.” You say. “Did someone make you do this? Why would you do this to me?” 

“I just don’t love you anymore.” He chokes out. His body fights every word he says.

“You’re being so mean right now.”

“I’m sorry, y/n.”

When he eventually leaves, you’re yelling at his back, and he’s refusing to turn around. What you don’t see are the violent sobs that rack his body as you scream that you hate him and that you wish you never met.

You sit by your phone the entire day for the next week, hoping that Choso will text. You stare at the door, waiting for it to swing open to reveal your smiling boyfriend. Your phone doesn’t ding, and the door stays closed. 

A few weeks later, you see Choso’s little brother, Yuji, reading at a cafe. To say he looks rough is an understatement. You poke his shoulder, wanting to check in on him.

“Yuji, how are you doing?” You ask softly.

He gives you a half-smile. “I’m just lucky to be alive.” He pauses for what feels like years. “y/n, Choso won’t leave my dorm,” Yuji says in a small voice. “Did you guys break up?”

You’re surprised that he doesn’t already know. “Yeah, he broke up with me two weeks ago.”

“HUH? I didn’t think that the answer to that question was yes.” 

“He didn’t tell you?... He came home one day and told me he didn’t love me anymore.”

“What day was this?” Yuji asks.

“Two Wednesdays ago.” 

Yuji exhales. “I think I know why. You should talk to him.”

“Yuji, I can’t. He doesn’t want me anymore and-”

He interrupts you mid-sentence, “Do you know where he was that day?”

You pause, confused that you’re being asked such a trivial question. “Yuji, of course I know. This isn’t a game.”

He looks at you dead in the eyes. “Where?”

You roll your eyes. “He was with you, Yuji. You guys were training or something.”

Yuji looks at you indecorously. “THATS what he told you? y/n… Choso almost died that day. I almost did, too.” He’s silent for a second. “We were fighting this special-grade curse thing.”

You take a moment to process. Why didn’t Choso say anything? Fat tears start sliding down your face. How could you have just let him go like that? Why didn’t you ask him about the blood on his robes? 

All those thoughts take a backseat as you think about the burden on the shoulders of the boy before you. “I’m so sorry,” You say, hugging him. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You can talk to Choso.” He says, getting up from the table. “He deserves some happiness right now.” Yuji offers you his hand. “Let’s go. He’s probably still in the same spot as he was this morning.”

When you walk in the door, Choso doesn’t look up. “Hi, Yuji.” 

“Cho, I-” 

At the sound of your voice, his head snaps up. He doesn’t look at you, but you can see the pain in his eyes. “Please go home, y/n. Yuji, please take her back home.”

You immediately start sobbing. “I’m sorry I didn’t know. I’m sorry I didn’t pay more attention. I’m sorry I’ve been so-”

He softens when he hears your sniffles. “Please don’t cry.” 

You move near him, gasping when you see all the cuts and bruises on his skin. “Ch- Choso, please tell me what happened.” You plead as you trace your fingers over his damaged, pale skin.

As soon as he starts to speak, he begins to sob. “I don’t know.”

You hug him, “Try, Cho.”

He hides his face in your shoulder and whispers, “I’m just scared of losing you.” He takes a big breath, “That night, I thought I saw my little brother die. I couldn’t live with myself if you got hurt like that.”

You rub his back, “I would rather get hurt than be without you.” You mumble.

“You can’t say that y/n… You don’t know what it’s like to see someone you love like that.”

“You don’t get to decide this for us, Choso.” You argue. “I promise I’ll be safe.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“You don’t think I’m strong enough to defend myself?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just that I won’t always be there to look after you. If anything happened to you, I think I would die.”

“Choso, please. I’ll take all the martial arts classes you want me to. I’ll practice my cursed technique again.” You sigh and give up arguing. “Please just come home. I miss you.”  

He contemplates and nods slowly. “I missed you too.” 

Neither of you speak when you get home. You lay against his chest as he plays with your hair. He squeezes your hand to get your attention. “I’m sorry for pushing you away.” 

You try to hug him tighter, but you feel something crunch in his pockets. A little purple origami heart falls out. He shoves it back in. 

“Did you make that, Cho?” You ask.

“‘s stupid.” He says, moving to grip your wrists so you can't dig it back out.

You swat away his hands and reach into his pockets. Out pours a bunch of origami hearts. You count at least thirty. He seems to have made one in every color under the sun.

“Awww, Cho, did you make these after we broke up?”

He turns his face away, but not before you notice the pink dusting his cheeks. “I was going to mail them to you.”

“You were going to mail them to me and then just leave me single for the rest of eternity?” 

“No.” He says, lip quivering a bit. “I just wanted to make sure you knew how much I loved you if anything happened to me.” 

“Nothing will happen to you, Cho. Everything will be fine, okay?”

He doesn’t believe you, but he nods anyway. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”

You smile and kiss him. “Am I going to have to sign up for martial arts classes tomorrow?”

“I already signed you up.”

thank you so much to @saradika-graphics for the beautiful dividers and support banners 🫶

and thank YOU so much for reading! i appreciate you!

[fighto-art]

Lokius malewife/ malewife dynamic and cafeteria yapping

[seth-whumps]

migraine whump but specifically when the Smart™️ gets them. it's so hard to think straight through the pain. shaky, unsteady, fatigued, nauseous, all of the things they shouldn't be. their literal only job is to be steadfast, to make the decisions, to have the plans. and they're rendered useless, unable to reason. the team finds them by their desk, head in their hands, trying desperately to breathe through the pain. gentle hands, soothing words. "let's get you home."

[olsenmyolsen]

You Got A Star!

master list

dark master list

No Powers AU (Female Reader X Yelena Belova)

Summary: You and your roommate, Yelena Belova, invite some friends over for Mario Party; however, Yelena has no idea about your feelings for her.

Word Count: 4K

Content: Feelings, Crushes, Mario Party, Friendship, Comfort/Hurt

Your roommate, Yelena Belova, was one of a kind.

Truly, you had never meant anyone like her. From the way she talked to how she made babies cry with one look. Or how the one thing she knew how to cook was Mac and Cheese.

You knew there would never be anyone else like her.

Which is maybe why you started to feel different around here... what began as two strangers needing a place to live slowly morphed into something else.

At least for you.

Yelena's asexual identification didn't make it impossible for her to find someone she could share a life with. It was just that you had never seen her with anyone since knowing her. So, IF Yelena were attracted to you, you would have no idea.

Regardless, your tiny crush was making itself known tonight as you waited for a few friends to come over. It was Saturday night, and after a shit week at work, you, Yelena, and your friends decided to have an impromptu game night.

"So what is it?" Yelena asked you again as you set an assortment of snacks on the hardwood coffee table. "It's called Mario Party. Each person chooses a character, and then you hit dice, play minigames, get coins, and you have to purchase stars." You looked up from the candies and savory snacks to a confused-looking blonde. "Whoever has the most wins." You said.

"Is it easy?" She asked after staring at you. You shrugged. "It can be a little challenging sometimes." Yelena hummed. "So it's not like that animal island game?" She asked with her eyes precious and wide.

A fluttering was happening in your stomach.

You cleared your throat with a smile. "No, Lena, it's not like Animal Crossing." Yelena pouted. She loved Animal Crossing no matter how much she hated Tom Crook, as she called him. Yelena opened her mouth to ask if the two of you could practice a round of this Mario Party, but a knock on the apartment door followed by its slowly opening stopped her.

"I got pizza!" Kate Bishop yelled as she entered through the small hallway. You walked past Yelena after your eyes fell to her lips without noticing. She was too busy looking at the game icon on the switch home screen. "You didn't bring Lucky?" You asked as you took the pizza boxes from your childhood friend.

Kate shook her head. "Figured it might get hectic." You nodded to her reasoning. Kate had followed you into the kitchen as you set the pizzas down. Pulling out some plates and dipping sauces.

Ranch and hot sauce for you and Yelena.

You turned around to find your friend eyeing Yelena. You looked between the two and raised an eyebrow to yourself.

"So..." You started pulling Kate's attention to you. You could see Yelena grab her special Joy-Con from the corner of your eye.

It was just the plain blue one, but she loved it.

Yelena clicked on the game as she pulled up a Let's Play on her phone of the game. You hide a laugh.

"How's your mom and her new man." Kate rolled her eyes. "He's so annoying, and he's doing things where he wants us to be like a family. It's just weird..." She shook her body as if she had a cold chill. "Plus, he has one of those old man smiles that could be threatening when all he's doing is asking for ice cream." Her voice was unhappy. She did not like this Jack guy at all.

"Y/n!" Yelena called out from the couch, making you and Kate leave the kitchen. "Yes?" You smiled and kept your voice level as you approached Yelena's side. Standing as she sat.

Yelena lifted her eyes to you before doing a double take at Kate. "Kate Bishop!? When did you get here?" Kate smiled awkwardly before licking her lips and speaking. "About five minutes ago." Yelena tilted her head. "Hmm. I did not know. You're sometimes too quiet." Kate did what she did best and chuckled lightly with a nervous laugh. "Yeah, like a mouse."

Yelena nodded before looking back at you and her phone. "Who is this?" She pointed to a Mario Party character on her tiny screen. "Oh, that's Wario." You replied. Yelena looked at you with all the seriousness in her voice. "Can I play as them?"

You nodded. "If you want."

"I want to." With one look into her eyes, you would go through hell to make sure she played as that little idiot.

"Okay, then you will." You smiled, and her face morphed into pure happiness. Like a puppy in the sun. "He reminds me of that fat short guy from that one show with the horrible people." She said as her attention moved back to the phone. You thought for a few seconds. "Are you talking about Danny Devito?!" Yelena smiled wide and bright. "Yeah, from the Sunny show!"

You couldn't help but laugh.

"That's a great character, Yelena!" Kate spoke up from behind you before not so subtly moving past you to sit next to Yelena on the couch. Her gaze was on Yelena's phone as well.

Were her cheeks pink?

"That character is like best friends with my character," Kate said, raising Yelena's eyebrows. "Really?!" You couldn't recall a time when Kate played as Walugi, but her favorite color was purple, so it probably happened at some point, and you just didn't remember.

Seconds later, a knock came to the door before YOU could explain how different Wario's dice block was from the other characters.

"Wanda! Pietro! Nice of you to join!" The twins were too busy bickering with one another to return your niceties. But Wanda did make sure to place the wine bottle in your arms.

"Y/n, did we have to knock, or could we have just let ourselves in?!" Pietro turned and looked at you with intensity. Wanda was doing the same. "Uhhh..." You looked between the siblings. "You could have just come in." You said with caution. "See!" Pietro threw his arms up while Wanda rolled her eyes. "But that's not how Mama raised us!" Wanda yelled as the two of them stormed into the kitchen.

Pietro had his nose leading him to the pizza. Wanda followed to grab glasses for the wine.

"But it's like the sitcoms you love so much. We're the friends that can come right into the apartment and join the shenanigans!"

Wanda groaned because her brother was right, and she hated it.

"Shut up!" Wanda replied before joining you in the living room, taking the wine from your hand. "Sorry. I need this NOW."

Wanda would be two and a half glasses in by the end of the night. All because of her lovely, annoying brother.

"Hey, Wanda! Hi Pietro!" Kate waved to the twins, who sent smiles and waves back. Yelena looked up and to them and gave them a nod. "Okay, so now if you land on a red monster face, you get in trouble?" Yelena asked Kate. Kate nodded and briefly explained who Boswer was.

Your eyes caught Yelena's briefly when she glanced your way. You could've sworn you saw her lip twitch upwards before she looked back to Kate.

"Here, Kate, it'll be easier to explain some of the mini-games once we're actually in the game." Kate looked up to you and your regent words sheepishly. She nodded after fumbling with her words. "Okay."

A moment later, when Kate left to grab the three of you slices of pizza, you took her spot next to Yelena. "I'll help you out if you need it." You said, which Yelena appreciated greatly but shook her head. "I shall win this game on my own!"

Your lips curled upwards with a laugh. "Oh, is that right, Lena!?" Yelena smirked and took a big sip of the wine Wanda dropped off. "Prepare to lose Y/n Y/l/n."

You took a sip of your wine as well. "We'll see Lena. We'll see."

About fifteen minutes later, You, Yelena, Kate, and Wanda were ready to start the night's first game. The disappointed look of Kate having to sit in her own chair was missed by you.

"How come there's five of us for a four-person game!" Pietro whined as you let Wanda select the level. "I asked Sam to come by, but he's busy with his test and all that." You said while waving your hand. Your friend Sam Wilson was training to become a pilot. Pietro huffed. "Fine."

"Also you fairly lost at rock papart scissors so sorry dude." You added on like rubbing salt in the wound. Wanda turned around and stuck her tongue out to her brother. Pietro angrily bit into his third slice of pizza and flipped her off.

The game was underway, and the order was set. Kate went first, followed by you and then Wanda. Yelena rolled a 3 and had to go last.

"Hey, that might be good; you can make your moves based on where other people are. Not where they might be." You said, cheering Yelena up slightly.

Kate and Wanda dominated the first few turns and minigames as you and Yelena struggled to move more than 4 per turn. You knew it was bad luck, but Yelena was about one more 1 v 3 mini-game from switching her joy-con until Kate got the first star.

"Who is that again?" Yelena asked as Toad started moving to a new spot on the map. "Toad. He's like a mushroom guy." Kate answered before you could. "Fuck! It's farther from me!" Wanda exclaimed as you turned towards the TV. Your eyes moving away from Yelena's side profile.

Toad landed seven spots in front of Yelena.

She could make it to him but she didn't have enough coins.

Luckily, when it was Yelena's turn, she rolled a five and landed on a blue space. Yet she was still short in terms of payment.

"Oh great, it's this one!" Wanda groaned. "Y/n's the be-" "Who wants to practice!?" You cut Wanda off and gave her a quiet glare; the other two people playing didn't seem to notice.

When everyone loaded into the practice mode, Wanda just gave you a confused look before forgetting about it.

Surprisingly, Yelena was just as good as you at rapidly clicking the button to send the little shy guy flying. But still, you won the practice mode. "Oh, come on, Y/n!" Yelena whined. "How did you do that?"

"What happened to winning the game on your own?" You said with your teasing voice dripping. Yelena loved that attitude and smirked. "Okay, Y/l/n, watch this." You turned towards the TV just before the mini-game started properly.

But not before you saw Kate's eyes on your blonde roommate.

"Come on!" Wanda yelled as her fingers smashed the button repeatedly. Kate groaned and held her breath as she did the same. You kept your technique unchanged, and Yelena did her best to copy you.

However, you knew from the practice round and every other game prior that you could do this with one with your eyes closed. But you had a crush on the blonde sitting next to you who cursed at her little yellow piece of shit character. Her words. So, without anyone realizing it, you stop mashing your button a few seconds before the timer ran out.

"Fuck that hurts!" Kate waved her hand around as the four shuguys began to take off.

Wanda's was the first to hit the ground. A laugh from her brother earned him a slap on the arm. Kate's followed the same destiny not long after, and to everyone's surprise, yours was the next to fail.

Wanda turned to you, shocked, but once Yelena realized she had won, Wanda put the pieces together and joined in the celebration of your defeat.

You were more than fine with it. Because now Yelena had enough coins to get her first-ever star.

She would never know it was really because of you.

"I'm taking a picture of this moment," Pietro said, making everyone laugh as Yelena hit the button to accept the Star from Toad.

"You Got A Star!" The game applauded! "I did it!" Yelena cheered and clapped to herself before you wrapped an arm around her and smiled at Pietro's dad's pose with the camera.

You thought Pietro had taken the picture when you shifted your face to take in Yelena's happiness.

Except, that was the picture that was taken.

Wanda made sure to show the one that followed where it looked like you were looking at the corner of the room.

After that, Yelena's luck turned for the better. She was on a roll. A few turns later, she earned another shiny star from a hidden block that left Kate flummoxed. "All I ever get is coins from those! Are you serious?!" Yelena laughed loudly at Kate.

Yelens then landed on Toad's space again after using a triple dice, and not even the prediction that you would win the game could stop Yelena.

Which left you, Kate, and Wanda struggling to do as much damage as possible to each other in the final turns of the first game.

"Yes!" Kate cheered when she got the last star next, making her and Yelena tied going into the Bonus Stars.

"Well, this sucks." Wanda sighed as she fell back against the couch. "There's no way I'm going to catch up!"

"What's happening?" Yelena asked no one in particular, but you still spoke up. "Bonus Stars. So once the game ends, it will still award additional stars to people. It makes it more exciting. Usually, it's like whoever landed on the most green spaces or landed on Bowser the most. Stuff like that." You explained, and you smiled when the blonde shifted her face to look at you.

However, your smile faltered a bit when you saw her eyes and the pout she wore. "So I might not win?"

"You can still win." You said with your voice soft. Yelena looked over your face as the moment became more intimate.

At least to you. You felt Wanda's gaze on you but moved your eyes to the TV.

"Yelena, look!" Kate pulled Yelena's attention away as the bonus star for the most distance traveled was being awarded.

It went to Wario.

And so did the next Bonus Star, which left Yelena jumping off the couch and into your arms when you stood up. "You did it!" You exclaimed loudly.

"I won the Mario Party!"

Your eyes shined as you looked at the way Yelena, how she couldn't control her excitement. It reminded you of the time you had won $200 on a lottery ticket, and you and Yelena went shopping. She bought a fur coat and wears it every time it hits below 45 degrees. (Fahrenheit)

You would always wanted her to be happy.

With the first round of Mario Party over, Wanda switched out with Pietro, and you did your best not to get competitive over the next game on the map in space. Yelena tried her hardest but found herself struggling. Pietro was just as fast in the game as he was in real life. Zooming from star to star, leaving you and Kate reeling.

"Y/l/n third place again!" Yelena teased as she landed herself in a solid second place behind Pietro. You went to jokingly retaliate, but Kate stole Yelena's attention and challenged her to a different Mario game.

Mario Kart.

Yelena's eyes went wide with fear before you slowly watched how they shifted.

Determined Yelena would be.

However, that would have to wait for another night as you looked at your phone, seeing how late it had gotten. Everyone agreed and helped you and the blonde clean up.

Pietro helped by eating two more slices.

"Oh hey, Y/n, before I leave, do you still have that red jacket? I wanted to borrow it for a party Lorna is throwing next week. It would fit the theme." Wanda said, shrugging her arms. You nodded and let her follow you to your bedroom.

"Here." You said, pulling the jacket off the hanger and holding your arm back. "Oh, thanks!" Wanda said as she grabbed it, and you turned around. Your eyes immediately noticed how your door had been shut.

"Wanda?" Sure, the two of you kissed when the clock struck midnight on New Year two years ago, but Wanda didn't have feelings. Did she? "Okay, spill!" Wanda said as she was closer than before—her voice above a whisper.

"Spill?"

"You and Yelena! What's going on there?" Ah! "Did you need this?" You said, picking up the arm of the jacket. Wanda shook her head. "I saw how you were looking at her! I take it she doesn't know?" You sighed. If there was anyone, you could count on sharing your newfound crush with, it was Wanda. "No, she doesn't know." You sighed again as you sat on your bed.

"Are you gonna tell her? Tonight?" Wanda asked, joining you by your side with her arms clutching the jacket. "I don't know... I want to... But."

"But it's Yelena." You nodded to Wanda's words. "I would also just hate to ruin our friendship." Wanda could understand. "Well, sometimes the biggest risks have the best rewards." You hated her cat poster-like words of wisdom, but she wasn't necessarily wrong. "Plus." You lifted your head to Wanda's green eyes before she continued. "At the end of the day, it's Yelena. Even if she didn't reciprocate those feelings with you, you know she wouldn't want anything to change between the two of you. You're best friends. She'll always be in your life. I'm sure it might be hard if she doesn't like you like you. But-"

"But I'd want her around." You finished Wanda's sentence. Wanda nodded, put her arm around you before her hand moved, and rubbed your back. "You're a big girl. You got this."

"You had to ruin it."

Wanda laughed loudly and let you rise from the bed. Before you helped her up. You definitely needed a new box spring.

Opening the door to your bedroom, your eyes caught Yelena's as she exited a hug from Kate. Her eyes quickly moved away from you and Wanda as she confirmed her plans to practice Mario Kart for the next game night, whenever that would be.

"Got the jacket. Let's go!" Wanda yelled to her brother, who was helping out and putting the leftover pizza in foil for you. Oh, no, wait. He was grabbing some to go.

Kate noticed where your eyesight had gone and laughed at Pietro's actions before giving you a tight hug. "Tonight was so much fun, thank you!" You hugged your childhood friend just as tight. "Thanks for coming."

Kate then moved to Yelena and was awkward as she accidentally punched Yelena in the boob as she lifted her arm to hug the blonde. Again. Yelena laughed loudly as Kate blushed before they hugged. Kate left with a cloud of smoke after that.

"Bye, Y/n. Bye, Yelena!" Pietro said his goodbye first with a quick wave to you and a side hug to Yelena. Wanda turned around and hugged you before turning and doing the same to the blonde. You smiled as you walked closer to the door at the end of the apartment hallway. "Bye, guys!" You waved as you shut the door to Wanda, mouthing, "Talk to her."

With a click, the door was locked, and it was just you and Yelena. "That was a good time, Y/n!" Your cheeks wore a light pink as you moved away from the door. Following Yelena in the living room area. "I'm glad you had fun, Lena."

Yelena moved to the couch and grabbed the remote as you entered the kitchen to grab some water. Your mind racing with a way to bring up you're feelings. "I'm not tired yet. Do you want to watch a movie?" Yelena called out from the living room. "Uh, sure! Just pick whatever!" You called out with your voice jumping from your nerves.

You took longer than one would need to fill out their water bottle. Thankfully, Yelena didn't seem to notice as she swiped through hundreds of different options.

She was trying to find something specifically tailored to you.

"You like this one, no?" Yelena asked as you finally sat down. The movie was Legally Blonde, and Yelena knew you loved it, so why was she questioning it? One look and you could see her mind had been racing too.

And for some reason, that calmed your nerves just a bit. What if she felt the same way you did?

You hid a smile and scooted closer to Yelena, who tensed up slightly before pulling you in and dropping an arm around you. "Should I have made popcorn?" You asked. Yelena shook her head. "Still full."

You were, too.

As Elle Woods began to wake up on the screen, you bit your lip. Would during or after the movie be an appropriate time to talk to Yelena?

"Y/n?" Yelena's voice broke you from your thoughts as you lifted your eyes to her. Yelena was chewing on her lip. "Yeah?"

"I have something to say, and I don't know how you're going to take it." Your heart started beating faster than you ever thought possible. "Okay." You said as the movie fell into a black hole behind you. Your body lifts off Yelena to give her your entire attention.

Could this be it?

Yelena sighed before her eyes fell on you. They were gentle. "Tonight, I discovered something... and I'm unsure how to move forward."

You knew the feeling.

"Okay..." Yelena moved her leg below her and turned more towards you. "I... I-" You had never seen Yelena so nervous and flustered. Not even when she booked a trip to Paris, Texas, and not Paris, France. "Yelena." You reached for her hand and took it. "Whatever it is. I'm here for you. I can help."

Yelena knew this, yet she was anxious. "I think I might have a crush on-" "Oh wow! Okay! Tha-"

"On Kate," Yelena said with the words flying out of her. She needed to get this off her chest. She needed you to know. She didn't like this feeling inside of her as she was keeping this to herself. Plus, Kate Bishop was your childhood best friend. Yelena didn't want to make that uncomfortable for you.

"Now! I know this might be weird! But I-" Yelena stopped and quickly gathered her words—enough time for you to process what just happened and to hear your heart become shattered glass.

"There is just something about her. I'm drawn in. She's clumsy but beautiful. Funny!" Yelena laughed to herself as a fake smile finally appeared on your face. "But!" Yelena gripped your hand, and you still felt butterflies in your stomach due to the touch of her soft fingers. "If you have a problem with this or feel uncomfortable, let me know!"

Yelena was dead serious. If you told her that it would make things... unbearable she wouldn't pursue any bit of this with Kate. But you couldn't do that to her. You wouldn't put her own happiness in jeopardy. "It's okay." You said with a smile—another fake one.

You had to fake it now. You could cry later.

"Are you sure?" You nodded. "Absolutely!" You said. Yelena nodded a tad. "It's just she's your childhood friend, and I'm your best friend-"

"Yeah. You're my best friend, Yelena, so of course I want you to be happy."

You said with an enthusiasm you didn't know you could muster. But it finally convinced Yelena, who pulled you in for a hug. "Oh, thank you, Y/n Y/l/n!" She said into your neck. You closed your eyes and let the moment happen. "I love you, Y/n!" Yelena said with a loud cheeriness in her voice.

"I love you too, Yelena!" You whispered back.

By the time the next game night rolled around, Yelena and Kate were dating.

You hated Mario Kart after that.

dividers by @/benkeibear

[caxde]

disposible heroes | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary Eddie is assumed to be dead, you belived it, until music found his way into your live again, and a promise he's still alive is evident (7.2k)

warnings fem!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, yearning etc, slowburn, idiots in love!!!, english is not my first language so I apologise if there’s some mistakes, not proof read!, canon-ish complaiant?

a/n: thank you to @sage-glowstick for all your help as I was writing this <33

“You know I’m here if you need me, right?” Robin’s voice felt as if it were coming from a thousand miles away, even if she was beside you, her fingers running through your hair, petting you softly. 

“I know” Your voice came out croaky, heavy, raspy. Tears were still falling from your eyes, you felt them, the coldness of the salty water running down your reddened and hot cheek. 

“Anything you need.” She repeated, wiping it away, her finger on the apple of your cheek a bit longer, trying to make you feel seen. 

“It just doesn't feel real.” You whispered, not being able to actually say it fully out loud. 

“I know.” She imitated your low tone, standing up from the bed as she looked out the window. “It’s a lovely day out, we could go for a walk.”

“In a bit, maybe.” You gave her a forced, half smile to her. She imitated it before nodding, standing up to finally leave the room, leaving the door ajar. 

It was a good day out, sunny and without a cloud, the leaves on the tree outside your window moving slowly. 

But he wasn’t there. 

As far as you knew, his body still laid lifeless on the fractured darkened ground of the upside down. 

And you hadn’t saved him. 

Guilt consumed you. 

It was worse, you had to lie to Wayne, you had to lie to the only person that knew him as much as you did, that cared for him as much as you did. 

You buried an empty coffin a couple of weeks ago. 

And all you had was an old shirt of his, and his guitar pick necklace you had once gifted him. 

Your hands closed around it, one last tear falling down as you did so. I miss you, i’m sorry were the only thoughts running through your mind. 

After a long time of just thinking, your eyes vacant and your thoughts going a bit too fast. As soon as Robin came to check on you once again, she knew where you were headed off to. 

The mix he had made you was still in your car, playing his music as if he was next to you. If you concentrated enough, you could still hear him sing them, in his usual chaotic goofy voice and tone he always used to get you to laugh, though if he was being sirius or was in his own little world he actually had a beautiful voice, an angelical one if you were the one listening. 

A weird combination of crying and laughter was now consuming you, as you finally parked your car in the same spot you had for the last few weeks. 

It was a weird feeling, you became more yourself the closer you walked to his grave, the closer you came to seeing his name carved in stone, the fuller you felt, as if he was walking beside you. 

The wind rustled in the leaves, as birds stopped singing, the sun still shining, your skin soaking it in, your puffy eyes squinting harder because of it. 

It was a very scenic moment, you thought as you sat down in front of the carved stone. 

“Hey Moon.” You whispered with a heavy heart. The stinging coming back to the back of your head as you looked at the faded graffiti you had cleaned yesterday. “I brought you a bit of music, I thought you might like it.” You fumbled through your bag, trying to find the little portable cassette player you had saved up for, that he had drawn in the back of with one of his markers. EM was here could still be seen in a faint white ink. “I finally got you the Metallica cassette you wanted.” You half smiled, trying not to break down again. 

The first guitar notes from the song battery filled the air, you let your body hit the ground right as the bass started, your feet stomping at the melody. 

“You’d love to play the guitar solo of this one.” You teased him, mumbling to the sky, your eyes closed, your body relaxing a bit more. 

The little portable player was starting to make that funny noise it had been making for the last couple of days, that dirty interference that made you angry every time, interrupting your time, it only infuriated you more now that you were here, trying to be close to him once more. Your arm reached to it, your eyes yet unopened, spanking it a bit, hopeful that it would go away. 

It didn’t. 

It started going in and out of focus, as if something was tampering with it, or water had crawled in, making the switch to the next song sound as if it was coming from deep underwater, as if a wave had just engulfed the speaker. 

“Fuck’s sake.” You complained through gritted teeth, grabbing it and holding it up, wiggling it a bit. As you did, the muffled sound went away, and the thing that should not be started playing. 

You lowered the volume, and let the speaker sit next to your ear, letting it sing only for you. 

It didn’t give you any trouble for a while, until it started acting up again. This time, the volume went up and down. At first you thought it was random, until you started paying attention. It seemed like a message, and grief invaded you enough to make you believe impossible things. 

Your shaking hands grabbed it, pulling it a top of your lap, looking back at where his name was carved before whispering “Don’t fuck with me” as you played the backwards button. Letting the song start from the beginning once again. “I swear to god Eddie if you’re fucking with me I’ll kill you again.” You spat as you mumbled angrily at the air, hoping to be right. 

To your astonished surprise, it seemed to work. 

The volume went up, as if it was a code, as if he was screaming. If you were honest, you could feel him screaming and yelling the lyrics in that chaotic voice you learned to love and miss. 

The very first word of the song spiked up messenger, it felt obvious enough, though it could just be a dumb coincidence. lurking beneath the sea made the volume go up, lowering immediately after it. You kept listening, writing it on the sketch pad you always carried in your bag. 

Once the song ended, the previous blank paper had sparesed lyrics over it. 

It read a confusing mess that you had to bring to Dustin as soon as possible. You recited it over and over again while you were speeding on the car. 

The motor of your car was louder with every gear shift you made, the little orange arrow in your speedometer kept rising, but you payed it no mind. In a similar manner, you didn’t care if your car skidded anytime you made a left turn, the only thing in your mind where the little words you had heard louder than the others. 

You didn’t care if your car blocked his driveway, or if the keys were still in the ignition. The bag on your left shoulder felt havier now that it was guarding the little instrument that felt magic. You hands where still shaking and you could stop fidgeting with his necklace, moving it one swipe left and two right as you made your way to Dustin’s front door, not sure what to say, not sure what to do. You were now anxiously looking down at your feet, and the way they moved through the cobblestone, the bumps that they left on your feet. 

You gathered enough courage to bang on his door. 

But he was taking a bit too long. 

Bang

He still hadn’t come down stairs. 

Bang Bang Bang Bang

“Jesus what?” He finally opened the door, the usual annoyed look on his face disappearing once he the way your lips were pressed together. 

“Upstairs, now. Code red.”

-

“Can you read it again?” Dustin asked, a pen in his own hand. 

“Messenger. Lurking beneath the sea. Forbidden site. Shadows. Underground. Fallen city, living death.” You looked at him, sharing a deep breath. “Then it repeats, Lurking beneath the sea, and ends with not dead”

Dustin stood up, pacing around his room while his hands fidgeted with the pen he had. 

“And you’re sure it worked normally before you arrived at the grave?” He inquired, his words pausing between them as he usually did when he was trying to figure out something. 

“Look I know it sounds stupid, but… I… It can’t be a coincidence.” He acknowledged just how hopeful and defeated you were, and he gifted you a smile. 

“I wanna believe it too, I just, can I hear it now?” You nodded, while you took the little player out of the bag and played the song again. It sounded crystal clear, no interference, no change in volume. “And it changed volume once you were…” 

“Yeah, I told you.” 

“We should go there, I’ll ask the others to join us there.” He grabbed the talkie while he handed you the phone, letting you call into family video, the number already dialed up. 

“Family Video this is Steve how may I help you today?” He sounded as bored as he always was, you could tell he was playing with the telephone chord. 

“Steve, can you take your break now?” Your voice was quieter than usual, and that pulled him in, you heard how his elbows hit the table, and the receiver was caught between his cheek and his shoulder. 

“Hey honey, everything okay?” His tone was sharper now, you felt the way he was measuring his words, he had become rather used to spreading kindness and handling you with care ever since you had come back, you had no time for that kind of nonsense right now. 

“Yeah, that’s why I’m asking you to skip work in the middle of the day.” Your words were coming out sharper and colder than you intended for them to. Irony stinging like a dagger. 

“A simple no would also work, y’know.” He answered, a bit hurt, but mostly worried. He knew the number was coming from Dustin’s house, and the only reason you had to go over his house was for one he didn’t dare to think about. 

Mostly because the last time you had barged in with Dustin into Family Video he ended diving into cold water, and with a few scars to remember those days by. 

“Can you take your break or not? We kinnda need both of you.” You were impatient now, you were speaking faster, snappier, quicker. 

“What the hell is going on?” You could physically see him holding the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed while he loudly breathed out into the receiver. 

“Steve! Please?” You were begging now, the frustration of wanting to let him know everything all at once, while trying to be careful to not say too much, the fear that someone might listen to you, the impotence of not being able to do enough, it was all enough to create tears that wouldn’t fall. 

“Breathe out.” He reminded you. He didn’t know what was going on, or why you seemed to be so aggravated, but he could tell that it was important enough, a sense of urgency clear in your voice. He took a second, looking at Robin while his eyebrows raised she called the ‘the decision look’ and she knew better than to oppose it. “Is this a code red?” He finally asked, wanting and needing you to say no, his head falling deeper once he heard your muffled yes. “Where are we meeting?” 

“Graveyard.” You answer quickly, the iron taste in the inside of your mouth becomes more prominent now that you are speaking again. “Pick Nance up.” You told him before hanging up. 

You gave a quick glance over your shoulder to check on Dustin. His words were fast paced, he started the second one while the first was still finishing in his mouth, he had no time to lose, which in a weird way, was reassuring for you. Someone cared as deeply as you did, it made you feel not that alone, seen in a way. 

You found your way downstairs, your feet feeling heavier and your chest tightening, a fast thought entered your mind, as it grew bigger so did the worry that accompanied it. What do we do if he is alive?

If Eddie really is alive, and he has been there, all by himself for the last weeks he must be pissed off. Not only that, as far as you remembered he was incredibly injured, so he could be right at death's door, a slip away from being actually gone. And if that was really the case, and he was bloodied, starving and a whisper away from death, you’d never forgive yourself if you didn’t at least just try, you had to try. 

But then again, that panic was shared. 

Dustin did not talk while you drove. He didn’t complain while you smoked one of his cigarettes that he had left on your glove compartment, he limited himself to stay still, biting his thumb as a response to the nervousness that was now deep inside his body. 

You parked where you had a mere hour ago, and the birds sang until you found your way next to his gravestone. You looked at Dustin, needing reassurance, he just nodded. Weirdly enough, you were both in a lost for words. 

You sat in silence, looking at his name with clear sandness in both of your faces, you hid a whimper, culpability making its way into your body. 

“I feel insane.” You confessed as you buried your face into the palm of your hands. Needing just a second to process it all. 

“You’re not the only one.” Dustin added, looking back as soon as he heard a familiar car pull into the secluded place you both were, he gave you a soft pad on your shoulder, his head nodding to it so you’d look. 

Steve emerged from the burgundy car, closely followed by Robin, Nancy and Jonathan.

Robin’s eyebrows were raised in concern as she ran to where you were, she wasn’t a fiscal touch person, but lately she had been giving you hugs every chance she had, and this time it was no different. It felt familiar, a sense of reassurance you desperately needed. 

“What’s going on?” She whispered into your ear, pulling away slowly, looking deep into your eyes. You waited for the other three to make their way up hill, Nancy’s knuckles were white with how much strength she was holding Jonathan’s hand. 

“He’s alive.” Is all you could bring yourself to say, before breaking down. 

You weren’t even sure why you were crying this time, maybe it just felt good to say it outloud, maybe it was just too much to manage, or maybe you just needed to relise your bottled up emotions. It didn’t matter. 

Nancy’s eyes widened, as Jonathan looked at her, not really understanding why you’d say that. Meanwhile, Steve’s arms crossed in front of his chest, he was having a hard time following you. 

“What are you talking about?” Steve’s voice was not only lower, his tone had never been as serious, not a trace or irony or sarcasm in them. 

“Dustin?” You plead for help, you didn’t think you could manage to explain it all again. Your hands were busy fidgeting with the cassette player, tracing over the speaker, wishing that it would happen again. 

“She uh… Well…” Dustin was having a hard time, the possibility that you might be right was a bit overpowering for him. 

“I came over, and played him the new record.” You gestured to the empty cassette case with the white crosses on it, Robin picked it up and looked at it closely, smiling in that that’s sweet way that she does when she finds something charming. “And uh…” 

“She says that the cassette player started going wild, the volume going up and down by itself, interference, water sound in it. But we played it again at my house and it sounds perfectly clear. And well… The words that were actually louder were like a call for help and if we look at this logically-” Steve cut the explanation that Dustin had started, a crease in the middle of his forehead. 

“That’s insane. You’re seeing things where there are none.” He exclaimed, gesturing wildly with his hands. 

“Steve…” Robin pleaded calmly, her eyes asking for him to consider the situation. 

“It’s not!” You screamed. You needed them to understand, weirder things had happened to all of you in the last couple of years, this was nothing new. “Will was able to communicate with you!” You looked at Jonathan now, trying to make him understand, trying to win him to your side of the argument. 

“Yeah but… He actually… It was his voice.” Jonathan mumbled, trying really hard to believe what you were saying, trying to see your side of the story, but the look of desperation on your face was too close to Joyce’s, and that gave him a bad feeling in his stomach. 

“He’s alive.” You repeated, looking back at the way his name was carved into the gray stone, how long it took you to be able to accept it, and how it hopefully would be destroyed, as if it never had happened. “And he’s down there, alone, injured and with no strength, do you really think he’s going to start chatting?” With every word you said your tone became higher and higher. 

“Look, there is no way he’s alive…” Steve’s voice sounded defeated as he crouched down, closer to your eye level as you were still sitting down at the floor. “We all saw him down there, bloodied and… I get that you want him back, but you shouldn’t make it our problem.” his cheeks were red, as the vein in his left temple became bigger with every breath he took. 

“Your problem?” That made you lose it, it was one thing to not believe you, it was an entirely different thing to call you crazy and accuse you of being delusional. “You were the last one out, if he is alive, it’s your fault.” It had been like poison, hearing you say such things. You knew far too well that you were hurting him, his lips were pressed against each other, his left hand holding on thigh to his arm. 

“Guys…” Robin tried to calm you both down, exchanging looks between the both of you, knowing full well this could blow everything up. Knowing that pain can be spread around faster than any disease. 

But before she could say anything else, her ears perked up, as she heard the way the wind was rustling through the trees, she was a bit too sensitive to these kinds of things, over vigilant after everything she had seen. 

“That’s way out of line…” Steve whispered, with clear guilt creeping in through his voice. “You know that if I could trade it… You know I don’t…” He was truly at a loss for words, not being sure what he could say, an extremely defeated expression rested on his face, his eyes avoiding eye contact with yours, looking at the ground, and the way the grass moved thanks to the wind. 

“Guys!” Robin screamed at all of you now, as she picked out a rusting coming deep and low from the little player you were still holding. 

Silence broke through all of you, as you looked down and started hearing the beginning of a song you hadn’t hit play for, the red light that usually shined bright when it was on was absent from it. 

“Did you–?” Dustin started to ask, you shook your head, as a hopeful smile invaded your lips. 

You went quiet, looking down at it, a guitar solo started, before you heard the tape playing backwards until the last phrase of the song was found, volume creeping louder and louder reaching out again could be heard from it, you let out a chuckle, a nervous giggle that went around the group as everyone had now experienced what had happened to you. 

“What song is that?” Nancy asked directly at you, her face still in clear shock, mouthing the first words since she got here. 

“Welcome home” You mutter, with glee in your eyes. “He is here.” You tell her, knowing that she fully believes you, by the way fear was creeping into her body. 

“That could just be a coincidence…” Steve was still cautious, not wanting to fully give in. If he did, that meant that you were right, and that he left him for dead, and he couldn’t handle the guilt that came with it. 

“Eddie!” Dustin started screaming, directly into the little player that you would not let go of, repeating his name with urgency. “Buddy, are you really there?” 

“It’s changing again.” Robin pointed out, as her fingers traced a pattern on your leg, reassuring you that this was actually happening. 

It was exactly as it had happened a few moments ago, when you were by yourself, as if water had creeped inside, mumbled and far away it sounded as the song changed to another one, before becoming crystal clear to your ears. The heavy thumping of the guitars starting again, quieting down before abruptly going up once the lyrics Twenty-one, only son, but he served us well could be heard. 

You were tearing up now, and you weren’t even capable of hiding it any longer. 

But panic came quick once you heard the next highlighted set of words. 

Finished here, greeting death, he’s yours to take away

“What’s this one called?” Jonathan asked this time, his head whipping fastly from Nancy to you. 

“Disposable Heroes.” 

-

You wasted no time. 

Dustin held on tight to his car seat every time your foot pressed the accelerator, everytime you swerved the car you could feel him holding his breath just for him to release it in a nervous manner. 

They were all gathered around Steve's kitchen table, arguing over themselves. 

You weren’t all there, the only thing going over your head was him, and the promise of actually being able to hear his voice once again. 

Your foot kept on tapping the ground, a repetitive pattern that you weren’t able to stop, your hand still playing with his necklace. The chatter of them talking was overwhelming you, they were wasting time and that was infuriating. They were arguing, and you were frozen in the spot. They kept talking and you remained quiet. 

Nancy sat down next to you, she still hadn’t said anything either. 

Her hand traveled to yours, a top of your thigh. She squeezes your hand, you knew it was her way of telling you i’m here, i’m sorry. 

“They’re wasting time.” You finally whispered, your voice hoarse, a trace of sadness in it. 

“I don’t think I can go back.” She said at the same time, a trace of guilt in hers. 

“You shouldn’t.” You reassured her, not only with your calm voice, but with the same squeeze she gave to your hand, now on her’s. You didn’t have to tell her that you planned on going alone, she had already noticed. 

“You can’t.” She finally looked at you, deep into your eyes. You noticed the way her eye twitched before shaking his head. “We barely made it out of there, there’s no way you’ll make it by yourself, and having to carry Eddie or…” 

“His body?” She snorted a laugh, trying hard not to giggle, thought the nervous laughter got you too. “This has to be one of the most insane days…” She nodded while you both laughed, catching your breath before she talked. 

“I’m watching over you, I’ll stand at the gate. That I can do.” she stood there for a second longer, her lips pursed in that shy smile she usually gave people, the ones she actually cares about. 

“Thanks Nance…” You let go of her hand, to give her a playful bump on her shoulder. She nodded as she saw you finally stand up. 

Robin looked at you with curious eyes, as she saw you finally leaving the couch. She watched in a quiet manner as she saw you grab the car keys and put them in your pocket, and how you looked around as you put your hair up in a messy ponytail, bumps caused by shaky fingers. She only put her hand around Steve’s arm, her eyes still trained on you, once she saw you pocketing the vodka bottle and the old rag to light it up. 

Steve looked at Robin first, following her eyesight until she saw you, trying to not look suspicious as the rag poked out of the pocket of your brown leather jacket. 

You knew you were being caught as soon as you heard the sudden silence. 

“Woah, woah, hey…Where do you think you’re going?” Steve pointed out, one hand on his waist as the other one gesticulated widely. Confusion and worry evident in the way he spoke, his voice coming up and down like a rollercoaster. 

“What do you think?” The frustration was clear in the way you not only looked back at him, but in the way your words sting. “You’re wasting time…” You were now defeated, your hands now buried deep into your jacket pockets, fingers playing around with what you had in them, a way of distracting yourself. 

“We’re not.” Dustin tried to make a point, though his furrowed brows read as sadness. “We need a plan, so we’re just trying to come up with one…”

“What plan? We go in, Nancy guards the door, we get him, we come back.” Your shoulders scrunch up as you simplified it all, their eyes switched from you to Nancy, who was still sat down at the sofa, a bit tenser than when you were beside her. 

“Nance, you’re not coming?” Steve inquired, his whole body turning to face her from a distance. 

“I… I can’t…” Her eyes crystalised as shock emanated from her body. 

“She doesn’t have to, I’ll be with her, we’ll keep watch. Right?” Jonathan jumped in, reassuring Nancy, as Steve took a step back. “You’re not leaving my sight.” He whispered in her ear once he got by her side, their foreheads touching. 

You smiled to yourself, a sweet moment between them. The world stopped for them, you could tell, and that’s exactly what you were craving right now, and worrying you might never get back. 

“Fine, but we still don’t know how to get in.” Steve added, his arms flexing in front of his chest as he shook his head in defeat. 

“Watergate.” You mutter. 

“You’re insane.” Robin snapped as soon as she heard you, pausing in between words. “Even if we did manage to get down there and it was still open, how do you plan on coming back with him? What if there’s more rabies infected bats around? What if you get stuck there this time? We need to find another gate!” She was now talking in full speed, cascading words as her thoughts entered her mind. 

“So we go to the woods!” You whine, frustration and impatience invade you once more. 

“The woods?” Steve asked. 

“She’s right.” Dustin added, his eyes finally leaving the ground shining as they did so. “Vecna killed Patrick and that created Watergate, so maybe there’s a gate near Fred’s death, like the one in the trailer…”

“What?” You questioned him as you saw him losing the train of thought. “We go to the woods and we get in and out, what’s wrong?” 

“We killed Vecna, so the upside down should be collapsing since he isn’t alive and isn’t there to power it so…” He continued as he thought out loud. 

“So what?” Steve asked as his voice went higher in tone. 

“So it’s crumbling down.” Dustin pointed out as if it was overly obvious. 

“So we have to go, now.” You said at the same time, heading to the door, no time to waste. 

You heard their footsteps following you as you found your way to your car, you were finally getting somewhere.

-

You thought you would feel relieved once you saw you were right, what you weren’t expecting was your jaw to clench at the sight of the hidden gate. 

It wasn’t big, it was small and weak. 

The same thing that happened back in the graveyard started again. The wind picked up, hollowing through the trees replacing the chirping of the birds. 

“Take care.” Nancy said with a trembling voice, while her hand was holding tightly with Jonathan’s. 

Steve’s grip on his bat changed, firm and steady now, before twisting it a bit, readjusting it so he’d be more comfortable. Dustin’s hands fidgeted with the end of his jacket, patting his pockets checking once again that he wasn’t missing anything. 

“If we’re not here in an hour, check in with El, she’s with the others guarding Max, but she should be able to…” Dustin recalled for the hundredth time, going over the plan he had been yelling about in the car drive over here. 

“Yeah, one hour. Got it.” Jonathan nodded as he spoke, waving bye as you stepped in. 

You just pressed your lips as you heard him. 

If you only had an hour, you had to make it count. And it had to start now. 

You had never just walked into the upside down. You had always fallen into it, so you didn’t have time to actually feel the veil breaking as your skin found its way in, the viscosity of the red hue, and the dryness that could be felt immediately after that. Your eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of colour and light, as you became hypervigilant, looking up at the sky before the others found their way. 

Nothing. 

There was absolutely nothing there. 

A cloudless sunless grey sky welcomed you, with no thunder or lightning. 

If anything, that nothingness was just more unnerving. 

Every step they made echoed through, and made you look around, hoping to find something that would make you keep your hopes up. 

You agreed on walking to the graveyard, if there was nothing there, you’d find your way to the trailer park and go back. 

“Something’s weird.” Steve pointed out, as he looked around. 

“Not weird, decaying.” You added, nodding to a grey crumbled up vine. The hole in it seemed to get deeper and bigger by the second. 

“Quiet.” Robin said, as she looked up. “There’s no bats, no thunder either.” 

“You can still trip though.” You told her as you held her from stepping into a fallen tree branch. 

You walked, you weren’t really sure for how long, yet she was right, it was oddly beautiful now. A stuck in time version of Hawkins where nothing seemed to change, where everything looked as if it was straight out of an antique photograph you had found hidden in a cupboard. 

You could see the iron gate from the cemetery, the bars on it starting to fold down, as if they were wilting flowers of an old bouquet. You felt as you collectively held in your breath. 

It wasn’t long after that that you started hearing someone yelling unintelligible things. 

While you were slowly making your way in, Eddie lied there. 

He was right where you thought he’d be -unaware that you were near him- an empty space between gravestones, his body falling into the floor, exhausted from getting there, starving and malnourished. He had been talking nonsense for a while, he started whispering it into the heavens, until now, his voice was loud, and even if he didn’t intend to, panic found its way in it. 

“Just one more song? Please? I need to know you’re there. I’ll sing along again if you want!” He had been looking at the void in the sky for a long time, he wasn’t sure if it had been an hour or two, to be honest, it felt like he had been there for days. “C’mon baby, please? Just a bit more, a guitar solo, or just… your voice would be nice…” He started begging now, pleading with some force he didn’t quite believe in for something that would indicate you’re there, near. “For fuck sake! I know I’ll die here, at least you could play some music while I do so!” Themix of desperation and tiredness was now getting into him, he looked at his hands and realised how his rings looked bigger, then now danced and moved with more ease. “Or just… Maybe if you light one up?” 

At the same time, you started hearing his screams, and you started picking up the pace, running through the maze of granite carved stones, with different names and dates. 

Dustin was the first to start screaming his name, while you just focused on running near where the voice came from. 

You’d know it was him even if you hadn’t heard him in thirty years. 

Adrenaline came over your body, so you rushed until your legs stopped, all of a sudden once you saw him. 

He was there, his hand on his stomach, where blackened stains in his shirt layed wrinkled. 

He was there, his hair laid perfectly still in a careful knotted mess. 

He was there, his chest raised up and down as he breathed. 

He was there, and he was alive. 

“Moon…?” The nickname you had for him fell from your lips, your tone shaking as you still couldn’t believe it. 

He slowly stood up, a grin of discomfort from pain evident in his face. He looked at you, his eyes barely opening up. He was still sitting on the ground, you felt your lips curving upwards as relief invaded you, seeing him smiling at you in recognition. 

“Eddie?!” Dustin screamed as he ran up to him, falling to his knees as he hugged him, his head hitting his chest, Eddie’s arms slowly wrapped around his body. “I thought I… We lost you…”  His voice was muffled, still you could tell he had started crying. 

“I thought I lost you too.” Eddie’s voice trembled as he looked directly at you. His eyes crystalised once he saw the first tear jump from your eyes. 

You felt Robin’s hand on your shoulder, a thigh squeeze letting you know it was real. He was okay, and you were getting him back. 

She nodded, letting you know it was okay if you wanted to interrupt.

You walked slowly to him, the back of your hand wiping away your tears. You let your body hit the floor, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of him. 

“Hi” You whispered as soon as you were a breath away from him. 

“Hi” He gleamed back as soon as he got you close. 

“You’re okay?” You asked, as your voice quivered, desperate to hear him again, talking directly to you. 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He nodded as a trembling hand found the back of your neck. 

Dustin smiled before stepping back, leaving you both alone for a moment, a much needed moment. 

You gave in, melting into his arms. You were both crying quietly now, his hands stroking your hair politely, afraid that you were nothing but a mirage, while yours held on thigh to him, scared that you would cause him pain from needing that close. 

“You scared me to death.” You half joked as you chuckled through the crying. 

“I’m the one dying.” He added on to the joke, his lips finally kissing your temple, drinking your perfume in as he did so. 

“Shut it.” You shake your head as you slowly pull back, your hand now cupping his cheek, as your thumb slowly graces the high points of his cheekbone. “I’m getting you home.” 

You thought about kissing him, your lips touching his, melting completely under his touch. But once he leaned in to do so you saw how blood stained his shirt again, your eyes darted from his as you looked down, the red growing wider by the second. 

Fear invaded your body again, a sense of urgency creeping over both of you. 

“Yeah, we should really go” He grunted through gritted teeth. 

-

It had been a blur. 

Nancy grabbed your car keys from your hand, as you helped Eddie inside the car, sitting on the back with him. Cradling him as you talked to him, trying to keep him calm even if you were panicking deep inside. 

Steve arrived at his house before you, opening the door wide open, Robin helping you bring Eddie in. 

They were downstairs now, phoning Hopper, and El and finally Wayne. 

Steve’s bedroom guest had a big window where sun creeped in, a soft breeze helping him cool off as cold sweat dripped from his forehead. You helped him lay on the soft mattress sitting next to him carefully. 

You had enough supplies hidden under the bed, you knew you could stitch him up enough so he would stop hurting, you had enough experience patching people up. 

“Can you take your shirt off?” You asked him with a slight raise of your eyebrows. 

“You already want me naked?” He joked. He tended to do that when he got nervous. You tilted your head as you bent over so you could take the little box full of supplies out of underneath the bed. He chuckled once he saw the box in your hands. He started trying to take his jacket off, with a grunt in his face he shook his head. “I might need help.” He admitted, a grunt on the back of his throat. 

“Thought so.” You muttered under your breath. 

You scootched over to him, your trembling hands becoming steadier as they found the neck of his jacket, pulling it down slowly. At first, Eddie moved, tried to help. Once he felt your hands against his arms however, he stood still, his eyes not letting go of you, and the way your hands moved with such carefulness and tenderness. 

The tips of your fingers were now in between his skin and his shirt, soaked in dirt and blood. 

You looked at him before pulling it up, he nodded, his eyelids halved opened, a cautious smile in his lips. He sucked to his teeth as his skin separated from the stiff cloth, your fingers brushed his abdomen with care, avoiding to trace his skin as soon as you saw the grin of discomfort he had on his lips. His arms ached once they were up in the air, the shirt falling off of them slowly. 

“It looks worse than I thought.” Eddie grunted as he finally looked down. You guided his torso against the cushions that were prepped up, his hand lingered to your arms, the tip of his fingers burrowing into your skin. 

“I’ll clean it up, I’m sure it’s not that bad.” You tried to play it off, a kind smile curved your lips upwards, a little gesture he imitated. 

“You must really like me” He started in a soft whisper. “You keep lying trying to make it all better.” 

You laughed it off, a short chuckle coming out of him. You started soaking the cotton swab with alcohol, the odor of it filling the small gap between the both of you. 

“You know I do.” He smiled in a soft manner, his teeth showing as he tilted his head. “Ready?” 

“Yeah.” 

You smiled kindly before starting to clean his wounds. They were as if someone ripped and crumpled a paper sheet. They weren’t deep, just repetitive bite and claw marks over the same spot. The big one was on his lower abdomen, another one near his collarbone, a gash on his neck. His arms were full of scratches and deep cuts you had to keep clean. 

He didn’t complain. He just let you do whatever you thought you had to, deep down he knew that if he let you take care of him, you’d feel better. And if he was being honest with himself, he enjoyed you dotting and caring for him, you knew it was because he won’t trust anyone else but you. 

“You know you could just wait for Hopper to come right? He’ll probably make me go to a hospital or something.” He whispered in an attempt to get you to look back at him, his eyes not leaving yours. 

“I know, I just…” 

“I’m okay.” He started, reassuring you, trying to get you to stop overcleaning the same spot on his chest. “Hey.” You kept overdoing it, a blank look on your face. “Darling, please…” He begged now, the way his lips said the nickname snapping you out of it. 

“I thought you were dead.” You crumbled down, nervous tears threatening to jump out, your lips quivering as you started to talk. “I thought you were gone, Moon…” 

“I’m not.” He reached out, his hand finally holding yours. “You really think it’s going to be that easy? You’re not getting rid of me.” 

“I buried you… Well there was nothing in there but… I just.”

“I know, I heard you and Wayne talking.” He confessed, his eyes changing, now they were full of melancholy, and a hint of guilt. “I’m sorry by the way…” 

“What the fuck are you on?” The words fell right out of your lips, tilting your head as your tone went higher. 

“I just… I heard you crying. Begging and all that. I’m sorry I almost died and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything I wanted to, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I loved you before, I’m sorry I left I-” You interrupted him, as soon as you heard the big word. Your hand tightening around his. 

“You do?” 

“I do what?” He tried to brush it off, the confession had fallen out of his mouth without him thinking too much about it. 

“Love me?” You were embarrassed by how hopeful you sound. His free hand travelled to your cheek, slowly stroking it as he looked deeply into your eyes, falling deeply into them. 

You gave in, your head now resting in the palm of his hand, he slowly pulled you closer to him. Finally closing the distance between the both of you, slowly, then all at once. His lips met yours, a smile appearing on both of them. It was a careful kiss, a needy and soft kiss. It said more things than you both could ever tell eachother. His lips begged for yours to never leave him again, to let him stay by your side. Yours were yelling for him to be patient, and let you love him in a quiet and slow manner. 

You pulled away slowly, your forehead touching his. 

You both knew each other understood. Still, he whispered low enough for you to barely hear him, right before you were interrupted by the door opening. “Of course I do.” 

“Happy you’re back kid.” Hopper’s voice interrupted the both of you, moving your heads so you could look at him. “I’m sorry but you’ll have to answer a couple of questions, then go to the hospital”

“Stay?” Eddie asked, a promise in his voice. 

“Yes. For as long as you let me.” 

He kissed the tip of your nose, before talking again. 

“Forever then.”

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

born to die - m. murdock

a/n: IM NOT DEAD i am very busy with finals but this has been rattling around the old noggin for a while now. i took a lot of inspiration from @ellephlox 's fic strawberry rhubarb which i 100% reccomend bc its better than most fics including this one! hope you enjoy! as always reblogs and comments are always appreciated! <3 warnings: oh boy. torture (cutting, burning) some sexually suggestive talk (nothing happens but it's not consensual) readers dad abused her, nightmares, lots of major character death (but not permeant) ANGST!!! but with a happy ending! kidnapping, medical stuff, cursing, and if i missed anything, let me know! word count: 4.8k summary: as matt murdock's wife, your life is rather full of surprises. getting kidnapped by wilson fisk takes the cake as the worst one. pairing: matt murdock x wife!reader now playing: born to die - lana del rey "choose your last words, this is the last time/'cause you and i, we were born to die"

You would think after patching him up too many times to count, five years without him, and countless sleepless nights worrying if he was alive, you would think you’d be used to Matt Murdock and his world of surprises.

And then you get kidnapped, so maybe you’re not so immune to surprises.

It’s really such a shame too, because you’re storming out of the apartment, too angry to take notice of your surroundings.

Silly, foolish, ditzy you.

Because it isn’t like Matt hasn’t told you time and time again that you need to be careful, especially when you go out alone at night. But he’s so angry that he doesn’t even think about the potential dangers of Hell’s Kitchen at three a.m. when Daredevil has been tucked away for the night and Matt Murdock comes back out to play.

He’s been taking more and more patrols because with Fisk being out of prison he can’t help but be constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

How silly he was to think that maybe he could have it all—A successful law firm, good friends and a loving wife.

Silly, foolish, ditzy Matt.

But after a week of nonstop patrols, you’re both fed up and tired, and above all, you’re yearning for each other. Neither of you allow yourselves to be totally happy all the time. It would just make everything too easy.

So, after yelling at each other over, what? Patrols? Cases? Burnt dinners? You’re freezing on the streets, and you get about five blocks before you stop and rub your eyes.

This is dumb, you rationalize. Of course, you’re both stressed out and tired, but you’ve gotten through rougher times before, and you both made an oath. To each other, in front of his God, to love each other no matter what.

You realize you left your wedding ring on the table, the ghost of the metal around your finger haunting you. You were dumb for leaving and Matt was dumb for telling you to go. You’re made for each other.

You turn around to go back to your shared apartment, and then, someone grabs you from behind. Your first instinct is to yell for your husband, but you don’t get the chance to before you’re knocked out, by what you can only guess to be a gun or maybe a large fist.

• • •

You wake up in this dingy room, the lighting not suitable for much of anything except to make you afraid. The set up is almost comical and in a fucked up away, stereotypical for a kidnapping. You’re tied up to a chair, and the lights shine only bright enough so you can see shadows and rats scurrying along.

The air is this weird musk of salt and earth, and you realize you’re near the docks, and that’s about all you know about your current location.

Your head is still pounding from whatever it was you were hit with, but you can see another chair a few feet from you and a wooden table with various weapons laying on it. You don’t feel good about this one. Also on the table is an old school record player. You have no idea what the intention is with it.

You try to keep your cool, knowing that wherever you wander, your husband will not be very far off. That whatever is happening, he will be coming to find you no matter how upset he is for whatever it was you were fighting about earlier.

And then, out of the shadows, there he is. 

But he’s too big to be Matt, and he has a man standing next to him.

Frank, maybe?

And then you realize who this man is.

He’s Wilson Fisk, the kingpin who has done nothing but torture and kill people, shoving it in Matt’s face for years. Matt only met you after Fisk was put back in prison, and you know at some point in the five-year blip without Matt, he had escaped prison.

So, this is the first time you’ve had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Fisk. When he meets your eye, you do nothing but stare.

“Good evening, Mrs. Murdock. It’s a shame we must meet under these circumstances.” He tells you, taking a seat in front of you. His henchman stands behind the chair.

“It’s regretful to say the least.” You tell him, not intending to make any more of an enemy out of him than Matt already has, not right now.

“I wanted to congratulate you on your wedding. I remember my own, it was a rather special day.”

You know that was the day Matt took him down. The night that he, Karen and Foggy took him down.

“I’ve heard stories. It seemed like a lovely day.”

“You’re a much more gracious guest than your counterpart.”

“Well, I’m sure people say similar things about you and yours.”

He seems to consider this for a moment before nodding.

“You’re probably right about that, Mrs. Murdock. I wanted to tell you I’m terribly sorry these are the circumstances in which we are finally introduced. But it seems Mr. Murdock has been interested in finding out more about my endeavors. And you see, we simply cannot have that. I made a promise not to hurt Miss Page or Mr. Nelson but it seems you were not included in that deal.” Of course not, it had been a long time before you showed up. “So, you’re how we’re going to send Mr. Murdock a message.”

Huh.

So, this is how you die.

Well, you might as well go out with a bang.

“You see, Mrs. Murdock, When I was a boy—”

“I’m going to stop you, Mr. Fisk, because your sob story is rather dull. I know who you are. You were beaten by your father, just like I was. The difference is that I don’t use that as an excuse to murder my way to the top of the food chain. And you can torture me, assault me, whatever you feel you need to do. But if you think for a second that I’ll forget who’s coming to stop you, you are sorely mistaken. And if you think he’ll ever stop trying to find me, you do not know my husband very well.”

Fisk stares at you for a while, his gaze hardening into a glare.

“You’re right. You do know who I am. Because we’re rather similar.” He stands up and nods to the man nearby. “If Murdock can hear her far from here, make sure he hears her screaming.”

Then Wilson Fisk walks away, and you are left with the sickening gaze of a man who has no good intentions.

 The man goes to the record player and starts to play a song you recognize quickly as “Fly Me To The Moon” by Frank Sinatra. As he does this, he speaks,

“Hello, Mrs. Murdock. I’m John.” You stay quiet, and he just enjoys the song.

He picks up a knife from the table and goes to you, this grin on his face that makes you sick.

But you remember a trick from not only your childhood, but also from Frank who told you the key to remaining strong under torture—Distraction.

You stare straight ahead, trying not to mind as the man runs the knife over your skin. You think about Matt. You imagine him in his wedding suit, the smile he had on as you approached him down that aisle. You think about when he asked you to marry him, and—

A sharp pain slashes down your arm, cutting open the shirt you’re wearing. You yell in pain, before moving in to try and take deep breaths.

You can do this. Matt will be here soon.

You continue to breathe through the anxiety and the pain, trying not to think too hard about when John hums along to Sinatra’s voice, guiding his knife around your skin. Another cut finds itself on your shoulder.

This goes on for a while, with the classic song looping over and over again. John never seems to tire of it, no matter how badly you will for it to end. As the song ends in one particularly good loop, John hits your face hard, and your nose starts bleeding.

You try to think of Matt’s voice. You don’t listen to John’s torments, knowing it will only egg him on further. You just want him to burn at that point.

By the end of… Countless Frank Sinatra serenades, you have cuts littered around your body, dry blood on your face from your nose and tears running down your face. When he’s eventually done, two men cut you out from the chair and drag you along to a smaller, darker room. You are left in there with a small meal, and you just huddle against a corner, nearest a barred window out of your reach.

And then, you begin to speak for the first time since you saw Fisk.

“Matt,” You whisper, “I’m by the docks.” You tell him, not sure if he can even hear you. “Please, I’m sorry for everything, please just come find me..” You mumble, too tired and aching to try and do more.

• • •

The next day, or what you presume to be the next day since you have no way to tell how much time has passed, you’re woken up by a loud banging on the door of your.. cell..?

The same two men enter and drag you back to the room, where John waits for you.

“How are you feeling today, Mrs. Murdock?” He asks.

You glare.

“Fuck you.”

He laughs and shakes his head.

“What happened to the polite young woman Mr. Fisk and I met yesterday?”

You’re filled with unprecedented anger.

“I said, Fuck you!”

He wastes no time, grabbing a lighter off the table and starting the record player again. Once more, Frank Sinatra’s voice fills the room, and you’re pretty sure once you’re done with John, and then Fisk, you’ll bring Sinatra back from the dead just to kill him again.

You’ve never really been a violent person, but you suspect that it lives in the worst parts of you, just as it did with your own father. You’re much better at keeping it all at bay. Besides, it does you no good to be violent while you have Matt. He’s plenty angry for the both of you.

Oh, Matt..

This is how time passes for you. While John tortures you, burning you or carving into your skin, you think about how great it will be to choke the life out of the singer… And you think about Matt. When you’re in your dark little room, you talk to him. Even if he can’t hear you, you must hope that he’s looking for you.

• • •

Days pass. How long have you been here?

One night, you have the following dream:

It starts out as a memory. A memory of you and Matt. You’re lying in bed with him, and the sunlight is hitting his face just right. You love this memory, it’s one you recall often. He just has this angelic look to him.

Yeah, most people who encounter him, especially at night, meet the devil. But occasionally, you get glimpses of the angel you know he is. He’s sleeping, and you think in this state, he is the most relaxed you’ll ever see him.

Then, before your eyes, the dream shifts and you’re in this black void, on the ground.

Foggy, Karen, Frank, and Matt stand around you. You run to Matt but hit a clear shield keeping him from you. You bang on the glass, well, maybe it’s glass, you don’t know. You try to scream, but your voice never reaches your ears. You begin to look around, looking for a way out.

An eerie version of ‘Fly Me To The Moon’ plays as you glance over to Foggy and watch in horror as his body begins to turn to ash, just like Matt and Karen did when they were blipped. You scream, banging against the shield, but your screams are silent.

You glance back and see the same thing happening to Frank. No, no, no! It was never supposed to happen this way! Frank and Foggy, they lived! They got their time! They don’t die like this!

And then Karen starts too. You start sobbing, not wanting her to go. You had missed her so much, and you only just got her back. But soon enough, she’s gone too, and you’re left in front of your husband.

His hand comes up to rest on the forcefield and he frowns softly.

He says your name gently, and then adds, “You know it couldn’t last forever, right?”

And then just as quickly as before, he is gone again. You remain there in that void, sobbing and screaming though no noise reaches you. This can’t be it! You just got him back, you needed him! You couldn’t take being alone for another five years… Or more…

The dream transforms and you’re in this grand ballroom. People are dancing elegantly and you’re in this.. obnoxious ball gown. But across the room, you can see Matt. He’s dressed in an all-black suit, with a red masquerade mask covering his face. The mask has little red devil horns on it.

Now, the orchestra plays their rendition of Sinatra’s romantic classic. And you step towards Matt, attempting to make your way towards him, only to be met with a masked man, beginning to twirl you around.

You jump from man to man, until eventually, you’re dancing with a man in an all-white suit, a man you quickly recognize as Fisk. No matter how hard you try to escape his grasp, he holds on tighter. The two of you stop dancing now, amid the crowd of moving bodies.

Fisk grabs your chin and tilts it in Matt’s direction, just in time for you to see him bowing to another woman, kissing the back of her hand. Your eyes widen and you think, this can’t be real.

“When I kill you,” Fisk says, “He’ll move on. You’re easily replaceable, Mrs. Murdock.”

And then, in an instant, the woman with Matt pulls out a dagger and plunges it deeply into his abdomen. It’s then that the other dancers, besides you, Fisk, Matt, and this mystery woman, disappear. Matt turns to you and falls to his knees, clutching his stomach.

He tries to crawl to you, blood seeping onto his hands and the beautiful ballroom floor. He yells your name, and the woman stabs him again from behind, and you watch as your husband dies. You hear him screaming, hear him yelling your name. But Wilson Fisk keeps you in place. You can do nothing but watch as Matt Murdock meets his end again, unable to save him. You start to scream, thrashing against Fisk, ready to claw your way to Matt.

You wake up screaming, the nightmare haunting you. A guard bangs on your door, yelling at you to keep it down.

It was just a nightmare, you tell yourself. Maybe Matt heard your screams.

Maybe he’s already dead.

You force yourself not to listen to the voice in your head that says that.

• • •

One day, Fisk visits again, only this time, He’s covered in blood. That damn song is still playing.

You just stare. They have long since stopped tying you up, recognizing that you no longer have the energy to try and fight back.  He has this sick grin on his face.

“Good evening, Mrs. Murdock.” You say nothing. “Have you been enjoying your stay with us?”

You glare.

“I hope Matt kills you when he gets here, because it will be a lot less painful for you if he does it instead of me.”

Mr. Fisk just laughs at this and tosses something at your feet. You get down off the chair to see what it is.

Your face goes pale with realization. You pick it up and slip it on your thumb, with it being too big for your other fingers. Matt’s wedding ring. You know it’s his, it has your name engraved in braille on the inside. How did he get this?

As if reading your mind, Fisk speaks again. “I took it off his body after I killed him.”

Your head shoots up to him. What did he say?

“No.” You deny. “Fuck off, I don’t—I don’t believe you.”

“Your husband is dead, Mrs. Murdock. I killed him with my bare hands because he was stupid enough to come after you. Your friends will mourn you and Matt Murdock for a while, and the city will come to the realization that Daredevil did nothing but harm. I win, Mrs. Murdock.”

You feel tears start to fill your eyes, and you realize, no. He hasn’t won because you’re still alive.

Maybe not for long, but you are.

You gather the rest of your energy and leap up, lunging at the large man covered in the man you love’s blood. And there’s a part of you that gets it. Okay, universe, you win. Most people don’t get a second chance like the two of you did. And now he’s dead, and soon you will be too. You can at least try to kill Fisk.

But you barely get a scratch in, yelling and screaming obscenities at him, as John grabs your arms from behind pulling you away. Fisk laughs and shakes his head again.

“It’s been lovely knowing you, Mrs. Murdock. I’m sorry you’ll have to die, you had so much potential. John, when you’re done doing whatever you’d like to her, kill her.” You hear him say it, but you’re blinded by rage, by grief.

John laughs behind you and forces you back into the chair, tying you back up once more. He looks at you, enraged and grief stricken, and just shakes his head.

“You and I are going to have a lot of fun.”

He leaves for a few minutes, and you realize this is the first time you’ve been left alone in this room. You tug at the knots and realize that while John is a gifted torturer, he’s not much of a knot tier.

So you manage to wiggle out of the rope, approaching the table in front of you. You don’t have much time. Okay, maybe you won’t be able to kill Fisk, but John will do. You take a golf club off the table in front of you and turn to the record player.

You begin to smash the thing in, angrily cursing at it as Frank Sinatra’s voice fades off into nothing. When the song ends, the lights turn off. And then, red flood lights turn on in their place.

A back up generator. Lovely. You think that your smashing of the record player couldn’t possibly make the whole building’s power go off, but you don’t really care at that moment.

You’re tired. You won’t make it far, but you need to try. You grasp the club and open the door, being greeted with a man you don’t recognize. You smack him in the face with the club hard enough for him to fall to the ground.

The red lighting adds an eerie tone to the hallways as you creep around, concussing various henchmen that Fisk has working for him. You don’t mean to kill these ones, only John.

But you’re running out of stamina, peeking around corners. And that’s when you see him. John is just standing there like he knows you’re there.

“Come out to play, Mrs. Murdock?” He calls, approaching the corner where you are waiting on the other side.

You focus on his footsteps, taking a swing around the corner when you know he’s close enough. You hear a sharp crack! As he falls, and you can’t see the blood in this lighting. Good. You begin to hit his head in, sobs mixing with yelling. You hate him. You want him to die before you’re killed.

But you don’t get the pleasure, because a pair of arms are pulling you off him, and you begin yelling.

“No!” You yelp. “No, Fuck you! Let go of me! Stop!” You think it’s another one of his goons, and you just want to be able to finish the job before you die. The figure forces you to drop the club. “Please, stop, don’t hurt me—”

But he’s saying your name and turning you around to see him. You know that voice.

“Sweetheart, hey, it’s just me—” He pants, his hands going to your cheeks. “It’s me, It’s just me. I’ve got you.”

And you can’t believe your eyes.

“Matt..?” You whimper, not able to believe it. “No, you’re dead, this has to be—”

And then, Matt does something he wouldn’t do for anyone who wasn’t his wife. He pulls off his helmet so you can see his face. Oh.

“I’m right here. I’ve got you.” He says softly, his thumb gently rubbing against your skin.

That’s when you start to sob, falling against him, no energy left to carry yourself. His arms wrap around you, and you say it again.

“He told me you were dead..”

“I know.. I’m sorry, I don’t know how he got my ring but we’ve gotta get you out of here.” He tells you.

You’re so tired. You’re slumping against him as you try to walk, the warmth radiating off his body just drawing you to sleep.

The last thing you hear before you fall asleep is Matt’s voice, begging you to stay awake.

• • •

You see flashes. Your parents, your dad. Nightmares of Fisk killing Karen, Foggy, Frank, and worst of all, Matt. You see John’s sickening grin on the body of spiders, and you’re chased by his cruel laughter.

But the dreams are filmier compared to what’s happening around you. You know Claire shows up at some point, and you’re thankful to her. Karen sits next to you sometimes, petting your hair, or sometimes it’s Foggy, talking your ear off.

You have fever dreams of Frank in full military gear, tormenting you.

“Not so tough now, huh, girl?” He teases. “You really thought you’d kill the big bad wolf? Solve all your boyfriend’s problems?”  

You say to him, “Husband, He’s my husband.”

• • •

Even in your dreams, where you were slashed and burned aches, and you long for the pain to end.

You wake up only once throughout these dreams, and it’s when Karen is playing music to try and calm you from your insistent nightmares.

Only one song snaps you out of it, and you hear it clear as day.

‘Fly me to the moon,” Sinatra sings, “Let me play among the stars,’

He only gets through a few more lines before you’re sitting up on the couch, screaming.

“No! Stop, please!” You cry, and in an instant, Matt’s arms are around you. “Matt, please, don’t let him hurt me, please! Please don’t die, don’t let him keep hurting me!” You beg, in a hazed, frenzied state.

“I’ve got you, No one’s going to hurt you..”

Karen turns off the music somewhere deep in the apartment.

“No..” You begin to grow tired in his arms again. “Matty, please.. You can’t die, please..” You whimper out, continuing to mumble out pleads as you fall back into your weird dream state.

• • •

You really wake up two days later. Matt’s hand is clasped over yours, and he’s just.. Sitting on the floor next to the couch, praying into your clasped hands.

Praying for what, you don’t know.

Your body aches. But something in you tells you you’re safe.

“Matt…?” You whisper gently, and his head shoots up.

“Hey..” He says softly, one hand leaving yours, coming up to brush your hair out of your face. “There she is..”

“You’re alive..”

He seems a little concerned you still had some doubts about this.

“I am. Fisk lied to you.. He never even touched me.” You nod.

“Did I kill him? The man you found me..”

“No. He’s just in a coma, I checked. He’ll be brought to justice.”

“I only wanted him dead when I thought you were too..” Because really, you would have nothing if Matt wasn’t there. Nothing to live for. When he was blipped away, you had the hardest time readjusting to life. Now you know if he died again, you’d probably go off the rails.

No love story is saved more than once. You used up all your luck. Now it will be doomed if he’s ever killed again.

“I know.” He said gently.

“How long have I been out? How long was I in there?”

“A week, and then you were out for four days here. They got you good, baby..” He says gently. “I’m sorry I didn’t find you earlier.”

You frown softly.

“You did find me though. That’s all that really matters anymore.” You know you’ll be nursing scars for a long time. Physical or not.

“Still..” He said gently, and he brings your hand up to kiss it gently. “And I’m sorry I told you to leave that night. I was just upset, but this past week and half.. I feel like I’ve been going crazy without you. No matter how mad at you I am, I never want to spend another night without holding you. Knowing that you could have been…” His voice breaks, and he just sighs, taking a moment to lean his head on your hand. “I love you, so much.” He kisses your palm again.

How are you so tired again? All you’ve done is talk to him, but it feels like you just ran a marathon.

“I love you. It’s why I married you. Because you and I, we were always meant to be with each other. No matter what.”

He smiles weakly and reaches over to the coffee table to grab something. He slips it on your finger and for the first time in over a week, your wedding ring is back where it belongs. You see Matt is wearing his. Your Matt. Your husband. The only one you were ever meant to be with.

“Did Claire patch me up? I remember her being here..” He nods softly.

“Yeah, we.. we really owe her one. She was a huge help..”

“Karen and Foggy were here… And Frank?”

“No, no, Frank’s still in Illinois, I think?” You nod softly. “You were mumbling to him, though. I heard you… you were telling him you had a husband.”

You would laugh if it didn’t hurt.

“He called you my boyfriend. I had to correct him.” You grin.

“That’s my girl.” He hums. Matt gently lifts you so you can sit up and drink some water. Then, he climbs onto the couch and brings you close. His arms wrap around your freshly wounded skin and you have a rare moment of gratefulness for his blindness.

You sit in silence for a while.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks gently.

You think about it all. The torture, the cuts, burns, the small room. Fisk’s laughter, John’s grin. But something sticks out to you.

“Fisk said I was just like him.”

“What?”

“We.. We grew up similar, Matt, I mean.. What if he’s right? What if the only thing separating him and I is one bad move?”

Your husband frowns and shakes his head.

“Sweetheart, you are the.. the most amazing person I’ve ever met. You’re the complete antithesis of Wilson Fisk. Yeah, you grew up like him, but you’re living proof that you don’t have to go down the path he did just because of his background. You and I both know that there will never be a world where you end up like him. Especially not with me.”

You find comfort with his words. Not only did you make every choice not to be like Fisk, but you must’ve also made all the right decisions if in the end, you ended up with Matt. Oh, it won’t be easy, you know that for sure. You’ll never be able to listen to Frank Sinatra, and your upcoming nights are filled with nightmares and hauntings.

But one day you’ll be okay. One day You’ll be able to sit in the silence without thinking about it. One day you’ll get the image of dead Matt out of your head. You’ve spent many nights wondering about who will go first, you or him.

And then you realize the best-case scenario is that the two of you die at the same time, never living another moment without each other.

How would there ever be a world where you and your husband weren’t with each other, even just for a moment?

[stevebabey]

steve harrington but it's that jeff winger moment from community. if u have seen community, u will know... my first stobin-centric piece <3 tw for parental neglect and a prior act of self-harm. this is absolutely on the steve harrington has bad parents train <3

“Steven, this is ridiculous.”

Robin freezes in place. Her hand hovers over the remote she's just placed back down, her limbs locking up one by one at the sound of the voice at the door.

It is not a familiar voice. She knows who it is all the same.

She fights not to move, knowing the couch springs, old and rusted, threaten to reveal her hiding place, even if it is her house. Robin is very much allowed to be here. Expected, even.

But Steve? Steve is not.

It’s why there’s one Christine Harrington on the dingy porch steps.

It’s an unwelcome surprise — even after all the fuss of the 4th of July, a thousand police sirens, endless NDAs, and too much blood on his uniform, Steve’s parents hadn’t shown.

Out of town, Steve had said, his bashed in face making it impossible to read his expression. His eyes were haunted and misty but Robin couldn’t tell if it was from the horror of the night or… a loneliness far older.

So Robin had done the fussing. Had dragged him home with her, shooed away her rightfully nosy parents, and mended him up on her bathroom counter.

Steve had been silent, a little wide-eyed as she worked on each cut, each bruise — but with her gentle touch, he had been helpless to do anything but melt beneath it.

He’d called her Robbie for the first time that night. They’d fallen asleep with their hands intertwined, her arm hanging off the bed to reach out to him on her bedroom floor.

Robin still hasn’t met Steve’s parents, even though it’s been more than a couple months since that night.

She’s been to his house countless times too. She knows where the spare key is, if she ever loses her own copy, that is. Knows which stair squeaks on the way up to the second floor and how the lock on the downstairs bathroom gets jammed too easily.

She’s eaten the best grilled cheese of her life in their kitchen, sitting on the counter.

She’s laughed so hard she’s cried on their couch, getting the throw pillows wet with her happy tears.

She’s still never met Steve’s parents. Til right now.

Christine Harrington has her arms wrapped tight around her frame and Robin has no doubt that on her face is a frown that could make babies cry.

She can’t see her face though. Can only just see a glimpse of her tense body from where she sits. Steve blocks part of her view, his own tense frame in the doorway.

He’d answered the door instead of Robin only because he had the foresight to glance at the front window after the first rap at the door. It was late. Robin’s parents certainly wouldn’t knock at their own home and neither of them were expecting visitors.

The expensive car in the drive, a sore thumb along Robin’s street, had given away the identity of just who was knocking so late in the evening. So, Steve had opened it.

“Mom—”

“I mean utterly ridiculous.” Steve gets cut off without second thought, Christine continuing on as if she hasn’t heard him at all.

“Did you expect us to spend all evening chasing you around? Figuring out where you were tonight from the Carlton’s across the road?”

She’s got this snippy tone that Robin’s heard a thousand times from teachers. Patronising. Too cold for it to seem like a genuinely concerned parent.

“The Carlton’s?” Steve echoes, a bit meek. His shoulders have rolled forward, sinking down a bit and Robin can see his tight grip on the door. Still, she stays frozen, rooted to the couch.

“Yes, Steven.” Christine says his full name again, all bite. “Imagine the shame your father and I felt hearing that. Hearing who you had been associating with.”

“Don’t say that.” Steve grits out immediately, anger bleeding into his tone.

The muscles in his back ripple as he forces his shoulders back, as if he had remembered how to stand up straight at the mention of his friend.

Robin aches; at the reminder of the stark differences of their upbringings and at Steve’s unquestionable loyalty. She finally unfreezes, sitting up a little straighter and leaning forward more— ready to spring up from her seat.

She’s not sure what for exactly. She sorta really wants to go slam the door on Steve’s mom’s face and go back to being bundled up on the couch with him. The urge is strong enough to make her fingers twitch.

“Why are you here, Mom?”

There’s a strain to Steve’s question, even though he doesn’t falter in appearance. Robin can’t see his face either though. She hopes it’s got the bitchiest expression Steve can muster.

“Don’t be smart, Steven.” Christine reprimands coldly. “I know that we may have taken a larger absence than intended but that’s not any excuse to parade yourself around with the strays of this town.”

Strays. Robin feels the word pelt into her and burn into her skin, sinking all the way down. It feels like cold water has tipped down the back of her neck. An unwelcome pit forms in her stomach.

She had known, of course, the reputation of a family like the Harrington's. She hadn’t quite known the extent they would go to protect it. Policing your child's friends over a matter of image is absurd.

Somehow, Robin can see how Steve grows even tenser at his mom’s words— hackles raising like that on a dog. His knuckles turn white. But before he speaks, Christine is barreling on like she hasn’t just slandered every one of Steve’s new friends.

“And to leave the house in such a state?”

Robin hears her sigh heavily, as though this really is the biggest problem in her life — which she can’t fathom in the slightest.

There was nothing wrong with Steve’s house. No mess beyond the usual evidence that someone, you know, lived there.

“Mom, I—” Steve starts again.

“Well, I’m sure you have your reasons. You always do.” She says it so pointedly, like Steve was known for peddling lies to weasel his way out of trouble.

It’s so un-Steve it makes Robin blink hard, wondering if she had heard right.

Steve was honest. He owned his mistakes and he took things on the chin. It was something she had liked most about him in the beginning.

Back when it was all snark and Robin told herself she was never going to be his friend, in this universe or anything other. That even then, reluctant co-worker and nothing more, Steve was honest and decent to her always.

“Now, come on now.” Christine Harrington huffs out her demand. “Your father is waiting in the car and there no use winding him up more than you already have.”

Robin’s stomach turns at her words. It had been a topic of discussion between them, one night weeks ago, lips loosened by the dark. I feel like a dog to them, Steve had admitted quietly, his breath against her pillow and his warmth under her sheets. Like they just leave alone most of the time but expect me to perk up and come running the moment they call. I hate it.

“I’m not coming with you.”

The words stammer on their way out like he had forced them out— and Robin wants to sing she’s so proud of her best friend.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not coming with you.” Steve repeats himself, the words a little firmer this time. “I’m… I’m spending the night here, with my friend Robin.”

He trails off, the words weaker, losing steam. Robin rises to her feet, the tell-tale squeak of the couch springs letting Steve know she was still here. Still right behind him.

It makes him stand a little straighter.

“I— I’ll come home in the morning.”

Christine Harrington makes a little scoffing noise, a high pitched faux laugh as if Steve’s said something amusing.

“Tell me when did I raise such an ungrateful brat?” She muses meanly and Robin doesn’t miss the way Steve flinches lightly. “We give you free rein of the house, apt time by yourself, and yet when we request you to spend a single evening with us—”

“You’re not asking, you’re demanding.” Steve cuts in, his voice more heated now.

“Oh hush, Steven. You act as if we’re so awful.”

It’s all dismissal. Everything, every word, a dismissal.

“I just can’t win with you, can I?” Christine sighs again, disappointment dripping from the sound. “Either we’re not here enough or we’re here but you can’t find time to have dinner with your family. Which is it, Steven?”

In the doorway, Steve begins to bristle. Robin really, really wants to slam the door now — if only to stop this conversation that seems to keep cutting deeper and deeper into her best friend.

She steps closer to him, moving as silently as she can, and makes sure to stay out of sight as she places a hand gently on the small of his back.

He’s shaking, she realises.

Her heart twists painfully in her chest.

Then, deathly calm, Steve says, “Did you know in 7th grade, I lied and I told everyone in my class that I got appendicitis?”

Robin blinks at the change in subject, the strangeness of Steve’s comment. She does remember that, vaguely. A boy in the year above— it had been a wildfire rumour that had turned out to be true.

Or so she thought. Staring hard at the planes of Steve’s back, the pit in her stomach yawns with an anticipation of devastation. Her hand on his back curls up a bit.

“You and Dad were gone for the whole month to Washington. It was the first time you had ever gone for that long and you didn’t even tell me until the day before you left.”

“Steven—”

“I just wanted someone to worry about me.” He steamrolls on, tone too casual for the story he was telling. “And it worked."

A beat.

"But then Cassie Lange asked about the scar.”

Robin’s hand on Steve's back twists up tighter. She feels like she knows what’s coming— but wishes it to be not true.

She doesn’t want to think of Steve, little twelve year old Steve, doing all that he can for a scrap of attention he was supposed to be getting from his parents.

“And rather than admit I’d lied…” The words come out too tight. “I went and found your sewing scissors and I made one.”

There’s this icy bite to Steve’s voice, his shoulders tensed back up. Christine still hasn’t said anything.

“I hurt like a bitch but it was worth it. I got a card from every single person in my class.”

“You wanna see the scar?” He asks— then he’s moving, his hand rucking up his sweater and shirt and exposing the skin of his stomach. Christine makes a noise like a muffled gasp. Robin feels a bit sick. Steve drops his shirt.

“And I kept all of those cards I got —all 17 of them stashed them under my bed in a box that I still have til this day.” He exhales through his nose. “Because it was proof that, at some point, somebody actually gave a shit about me. Because you didn’t. You didn’t then and you don’t get to now.”

His words hang in the air. There’s a long stretch of silence where Steve stares down the woman on the porch— someone closer to a stranger than a friend.

“So, I will see you at home, tomorrow.”

And then he slams the door to Robin’s house shut with a finality that shakes the air. Robin tenses up at the loud noise. Steve doesn't move, just stays staring at the closed door.

Behind them both, one of the noisy pipes in the house makes a loud noise. It sounds worse than usual as it breaks the silence.

Outside, Robin hears the click of heels on the pavement as they quieten, moving further away.

The pit in her stomach tightens immeasurably, a faint bile taste in her mouth. She finally remembers to smooth out her hand, pressing it flat against Steven’s back— another reminder that she was there.

If he wanted to talk or he didn’t, she was there.

Suddenly Steve sighs, an exhale so large that he shrinks down a couple inches, his shoulders dropping. It sounds exhausted.

He finally turns away from the door, to Robin, and she can only hope her face conveys every ounce of love, of support, she feels within her chest.

“Steve…” She breathes softly.

He wasn’t crying but just the sound of his name, spoken so delicately, seems to inspire tears. Robin catches the tremble of his lip and moves without thought— throwing both her arms around his neck and wrestling him into a hug.

Steve goes easy, his arms snaking around her middle and holding her back so tightly it nearly makes her squeak. She doesn’t though— just lets him bury his face in her neck, taking these big shuddering breaths, these half-formed sobs that break her heart clean in half.

She doesn’t know how long they stand there. Car engines drone as they pass by the street. The streetlights seem to get brighter. Steve presses himself so close to her, as close as he can, and Robin hugs back just as tight. She gives him all the time he needs.

She wonders if there’s an indent of him on her when he finally pulls back — a Steve Harrington shaped outline imprinted on her soul. It feels like there is.

If she could trace it, she thinks, it would be whatever shape love takes.

“Thanks Robbie.” He croaks out. He’s started scrubbing furiously at his face and she can see the wet sheen of tears as he wipes them away.

Robin doesn’t move far, just unwinds her arms a bit and lets them fall back to her sides. There’s an ache between her brows from how long she’s been frowning in concern. Steve looks more disheveled than usual, his usually perfect hair looking flatter — but he looks lighter too, somehow.

“No need to thank me, dingus.” She says, voice soft. She faux punches his chest and then regrets it when his lips don’t even twitch upward. It’s weird to see Steve all undone.

Robin thinks back to that conversation and the callousness of Steve’s mom. Her uncaring tone, the use of his full name like an insult.

She thinks of what Steve had said.

“I’m sorry you felt—” The words get stuck in her throat which grows thicker as she thinks about it. About a self-made scar on Steve’s abdomen, made by a twelve year old boy who just wanted someone to worry.

“—That you felt like you had to do something like that to yourself. I’m sorry no one noticed what you really needed.”

Steve nods slowly, his eyes glazed with a far away look as he stares somewhere over Robin’s shoulder. He gives this little shrug, a little huff through his nose.

“It’s okay.” He says, voice a bit distant. “I mean, it’s not but… even if I hadn’t meant to tell you, I’m glad someone knows now.”

It takes another second before he finally seems to shake himself from his thoughts, turning to properly look at Robin. His eyes are red-rimmed and the tip of his nose is pink. Tell tale signs of tears.

“I’ve never told anyone that before.”

Robin swallows thickly and it takes effort to choke down the urge to cry.

“Well,” She starts. It comes out too high pitched and tight and she clears her throat. “Thank you for telling me.

Some kind of smile plays on Steve’s lips, as if he can tell that she’s fighting off her sniffling and it’s sorta funny to him. It is, a little.

Because instead of being embarrassed or feeling pitied, he feels… delightfully surprised to have her care so much. To be so upset on his behalf.

“Oh, c’mon Robbie,” He gives her that same faux-punch in the shoulder she did earlier and it actually succeeds in making her lips pull up at the edges. “None of that.”

“You’re such a dingus.” Robin says. It comes out a bit wobbly still. Sue her— she doesn’t have Steve’s insane ability to bounce from one emotion to another in a single second.

Steve grins. He wanders back to the couch and flops down onto it. Robin follows and when she sits down, it’s a fraction closer to him this time. He gives one last scrub of his face, wiping the last of his tears away.

She nudges him with her thigh. She has to check just one more time.

“You alright?”

Steve smiles, crooked in that way that lets her know it’s completely sincere. He reaches forward and presses unmute on the remote, the film they’re watching starting up again with a buzz.

Steve presses his thigh back against Robin’s and in the dim lighting of her living room, his eyes glitter with an emotion that threatens to make her want to cry once more.

“Course.” He says. “I got someone checking up on me now,”

Another pointed nudge of his thigh against hers. “I’m better than ever.”