_a/n: there's an implication of smut somewhere. it's only a few lines. also, do not read this if you haven't seen Kick-Ass 2.
alternate summary: What was that? Oh, that's right. Something called love.


counting the steps to the door of your heart


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This is probably her second or third time doing this, but when Mindy sneaks into his room in the middle of the night, he has to shuffle his glasses on, alarmed by her sudden arrival. Her blonde hair is a mess, locks clinging messily to the sides of her face. Eyes are soaked, cheeks are red, and he can tell in the way she's biting her lip down (despite the dimness of his room) that she's trying hard to restrain any more waterworks. She's timid, but when words are capable of slipping past those swollen lips, her voice is tangled and gushed shakily.

After she tells him her charade of a night, he whispers words of truth – reassuring confessions he's known for a long time, yet never had the right time to voice. Dave tells her she's strong. She's the strongest person he knows. He tells her she's intelligent. She's strategic and clever. But when he says that she's beautiful, her gaze lights up instantaneously and Dave decides he's never seen this look in her eyes before.

He savours the pale, crystalline green identical mints before he envelopes her in his arms and soothes her. He'd make sure of giving this Simon a little ass-kicking. The next time Mindy trails past the faux date, she's wearing strappy heels and a charming smirk while he has a busted nose and a bruised eye to match.

Her face is buried in his pajama shirt a little past midnight. When she tells him she needs to get back (or else Marcus would literally send out a fucking search team for her) he wants to hold onto the grasp of their fingers and say just a little bit longer.

He restrains, though, limiting himself to a soft, inevitable and featherlight kiss on her forehead, right against the brim of her bangs. It's innocuous, really, but he hopes she doesn't hear the sound of his heart thrumming against him. Her senses – those goddamn observational skills – never failed to amuse him. He shouldn't be surprised when escapes his hold and leans back, curiosity drowning her and asks.

"What was that?"

"N-nothing," Dave stammers. Fuck, he was stumbling with words again.

A cocky smirk tugs on her lips (that he can't stop looking at for some odd reason) and she argues, playfully, "That wasn't 'nothing'."

That stupid, smug attitude of hers always had him trapped. "I-It w-w–"

"I'm just playing," she speaks quietly. A soft smile pries on her lips, replacing her previous expression. Before he can even register, she's already halfway through the crack of his window and she's stealing more of his breath in the process. "Love you, Dave."

In a blink of an eye, she's gone.

/

Mindy's good at catching him off guard. With her punches, her kicks, her beauty, her words.

And so when she tells him that she's leaving town, he fidgets in his place off her motorcycle. Her look on him is intent. Eyes are soft, slightly hazy, and he ignores the fact his are watering. He disregards the way his voice is cracking when he's asking her why she needs to go. Throughout the five minutes of rocking back and forth on the heels of his feet, he's trying (so fucking hard) to muster up every ounce of confidence he has.

Like him, she is too. Unlike him, she succeeds.

The blonde shifts herself higher, leans to the right and stops – only for a second – to capture the look on his face, twinged between hurt and desperation (and god, his eyes were beautiful) before her mouth embeds them between his slightly parted lips.

It's soft. He's too taken aback from everything that's happened in the last few minutes to even prosper a quick reaction to her kiss. There is distance between them now, and her sweet taste lingers on his lips. Mirroring her, he asks with a small smile.

"What was that?"

Blonde waves are slightly blown in the wind when she blinks, almost chuckling. "That was my first kiss."

Then she's gone, and words are still locked away, unable to get past his throat and into the open.

You're all I have left.

/

She's like a dream to him. She's always been.

With all the small moments, the longing, secretive stares, the whole hearted words, the effortless confessions. The times they train, the times they win, the times they share requited looks, or drink hot cocoa or that time she taught him how to slow dance for his junior prom. She used to do it with her dad, despite their crazy, scary obsession with danger.

It's surreal, the way she makes him feel things.

Sometimes she's with him in his sleep. They'd be dynamic, a duo. It's what could have been – what should have been. They would fight criminals, save innocent civilians. They would argue over things that could easily be sorted out if they hadn't had feelings for one another. He would get jealous when she's asked on dates. She'd look stunning at their school dance, and her arm would be linked in his.

(if only, really – if only)

And when it's four a.m. and he wakes up to see a girl climbing through his apartment window, he's a soon-to-be twenty-one year old community college student, and still wondering if he's dreaming. He hurryingly flickers on his lamp light, illuminating a familiar heart shaped face. She looks older, prettier with longer hair framing her cheekbones. She's in a suit of leather, and déjà vu hits him like her old punches.

It's silent for awhile, the atmosphere filling up in a mutual nostalgia. She stares him down, and neither break the gaze. They can hear each other's breathing – the panting on her part, the lack of oxygen he feels like he has. As always, he's choked up around her. It's nothing new.

Her expression fades to another sense of familiarity when she breaks the ongoing quiet, "Long time no see."

"Mindy," he mouths and he sits up even further in disbelief. "Where've you be—? How'd you get he—? How'd you still—?"

She looks like she wants to laugh, but instead, she holds it in and makes her way to him. A slender, cold hand slides to the side of his jaw and cups his face. Dave can feel her peppermint breath on his lips when she softly tells him to slow down and shut up.

Then she's unzipping the side of her suit and pulling it downward, freeing her from the skintight material exposing how she'd been clad in nothing but undergarments he'd only imagined visualizing her in – in his dreams. As if she couldn't get any more unpredictable.

"Wh-what are you do—?"

"Shut up, Dave," she rolls her eyes and pushes him over to make room and lies into his bed, wrapping herself under his blankets beside him like she belonged there.

He runs his fingertips against her long, vanilla-intoxicated milky legs upward, and she doesn't stop him, her breath hitching the higher he trailed them. Her golden hair is sprawled along the pillow they share and she stares at him, half lidded and seducing, the flare in her eyes are electric, jolting and exciting. They bore holes into him, and Dave absolutely loves it.

It's his turn to kiss her; except it's different this time. It isn't gentle, nor is it sweet or naïve or shy or any form of innocent. His lips run off the course of her tongue that attacked him for his, as he draws down her jaw, making their way further below her neck. Her back arches, her chest heaving upward to his delight. Her dark bra is soon forgotten, thrown off to some part of his floor, as well as his boxers, and sometime after, her panties.

At one point, he questions if he'll be her first, and before he could sweep that thought away, she answers it with the way she throws him down against his mattress and she's on top of him – her dominance outshining his demeanor with that stupid smirk and the way she begins to ride him. And his breath is stolen, just like that, when her name – like an instinct – try to make it out of his lips.

"Min—," he groans, eyes wide and teeth beginning to bite down harder.

Cunningly sly, she halts, capturing how ignited his adrenaline was and using it for her advantage, just for fun on her part. "What was that?"

She wants to hear him finish her name, the sound doing wonders to her. She slides inward, slower, deeper, and the look in her piercing eyes are almost threatening since she'd been teasing and he's almost fucking there. Torturing him with what she deems enough endurance, the blonde eighteen year old quickens her pace for three seconds, before he fully releases.

"Mindy," Dave slurs in an exhalation of sweet ecstasy thanks to the state of nirvana she'd given him.

She looks at him triumphantly, heart thudding and exhausted. And just for fuck's sake, she pecks him on the lips. It's almost as sweet as their first kiss, but it's rushed and sweaty, and she doesn't care one bit.

Later, she buries herself into his bare chest and his arms encircle her in warmth. His hands intertwine behind her, locking her into him while he buries his nose into her hair and breathes in her scent. Within the night, their legs will tangle and he wishes that this moment will be endless.

In the morning, when he wakes up, he shouldn't be surprised when he sees her, as well as any evidence that she'd been there only a few hours ago, gone. It's as if she'd wanted to appear as an illusion. There are no signs that she'd been there, not even a single strand of gold on his pillow. Even the scent of peppermint and vanilla had gone with her – off to somewhere he'll never know.

When the Lizewski finally manages to de-cocoon himself from his sheets, (ignoring what seems like stones in his stomach) he makes his way to his window to flicker his blinds open and allow daylight to break through the horizontal cracks, only to find the girl, previously known as Hit Girl, sitting on his fire escape. Her knees are tight against her chest, and her eyes are on the horizon of daybreak. She's also in one of the flannels he hasn't worn since high school, incorrectly and carelessly buttoned.

She'd always been full of his surprises.

He opens his window and climbs through. She doesn't budge when he places himself beside her. Even when she's not looking at him, she knows exactly what he's doing with those blue eyes locked on her bare legs.

"Where are your clothes?" he asks, running a hand through brown curls. Not that he wants her to change. He actually kind of likes the way his clothes look on her. It's hot.

"Your bathroom," her position does not waver.

They sit there comfortably, listening to the heavy traffic along the streets from what seems like miles below them. The wind that breezes against them is cold, since it's soon going to be winter, and she does not shiver.

"Are you staying?" he pushes himself to ask, even when he thinks he already knows the answer. She answers in a different way than he'd been expecting. Her hands find his cold, large ones and entwines their fingers as she leans her head against his arm. There's a fiery warmth in the pits of both their stomachs as their view focuses on the pink-blue ombre of the sky. He murmurs, to make sure, "Do you promise?"

Mindy Macready faces him then, with eyes like supernovas, hair messy, and smile crooked.

"Cross my heart," her honey-laced voice soothes him. "Hope to die."

/

When Dave Lizewski's eyes flutter open in the morning to meet a hazy pair of green and amber, tangled limbs from the night before unmoved and present, it's safe to say his dreaming days are over.

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fin.


_a/n: alright so i watched kickass 2 yesterday and i couldnt stop gushing over this pairing! like i liked the idea of it in the first movie, ngl, but i didnt think they'd make it possible considering the age difference. but tbh i realized that they weren't so far apart, anyway and alas, they were somewhat canon! anyways, i think there was one part of the movie where mindy said she was 15, yet she's a freshman so that's a bit odd. and dave's a senior so he's around 17-18. right? whatever. i'll ship them regardless.

apparently there's a third comic coming out is what i'm hearing. i'm kind of sad tho, because if they do give kick-ass another movie, it's probably either just going to be a spinoff for hit girl or it'd be a kickass movie without hit girl, either way i'll still have mad love but that means that this pairing would have officially died and i wouldnt be able to deal :(

anyways who else is in love with chris mintz-plasse LOL

also, i'm sorry if there are grammatical errors. didn't really read through it. aaaand that smut scene wasn't even supposed to be there. i was just feeling it because i wanted another - what was that? - to match all the other moments.