#I wanted to do a regular chapter but ive been so tired and busy lately

[thisismeracing]

King of my heart | ms47 | part 02

Pairing: hamilton!reader (she/her) x mick schumacher

Warnings: curse words, twitter environment, mention of food, not proofread etc etc. Minors DNI!

summary: Y/n and Mick interactions are now being noticed by everyone and some people are ready to share all the details with the internet.

a/n: none of the pictures used are mine, they are all from Pinterest and other apps. everything else is made up by me and I do not give permission for it to be published on a different platform. I would appreciate it if those things could be taken into consideration 💛

part. 01 | series masterlist | part 03

theofficialyn

liked by mickschumacher, lewishamilton and others

theofficialyn We worked day and night to create the confiest and safest boots without losing its fashion sense. I am really proud to announce that we are launching one more colletion 🤎 I am still testing all the possibilities and designs to deliver only the best, but soon enought these babies and the rest of our collection will be at the stores ready to create good memories along with you guys 🤍 ynthebrand is really grateful for all the love! Check our website and account for more infos.

view all 5430 comments

sunshineyn OMG THESE ARE FANTASTIC, YN, YOU KEEP OUTDOING YOURSELF!!!!

lewishamilton I keep waiting for you to design man shoes, would most def wear them all the time

disneyf1mick I see a certain golden retriever pilot lurking around the likes 👄

user00 I just find really funny how she’s outed as Lewis sister and suddently theres a new collection being launched…

⤷ carloscars omg yall like to theorize everything, get a grip!

⤷ ynpoptart she’s been talking about this launch for months now, the date was already set, the Lewis incident have nothing to do with it. That’s why she did not want people to know he is her brother, because there are some shitty people like you that will try to dimish her hard work. Honestly, I feel sorry for your fan base, must be a toxic environment.

ynfantastic what about the heels she was wearing last pic? 😫

⤷ sunshine198 I think she’s launching it next, or maybe it was just a test?

⤷ theofficialyn they are on this collection, love! will launch it soon 🤍

⤷ ynfantastic OMG SHE ACTUALLY ANSWERED, HEY QUEEN ILYSM

user10 would never use them, they look kinda ugly and unsafe as well.

mickschumacher

liked by georgerussell63, mercedesamgf1 and others

mickschumacher Good that everyone got the “crossed arms” memo @mercedesamgf1

view all 928 comments

schumachereign He looks waaaay too handsome ugh

⤷ f1racing2 toto, mick or the other guy?

⤷ schumachereign honestly, all of them lol

theofficialyn the energy is immaculate

⤷ ynnyc mother???? what are you doing here?

⤷ charlessainz2 god forbid but I already pictured her and mick dating, where are my fic writes at ✍🏾✍🏾✍🏾

georgerussell63 you guys rock! 🖤

theofficialyn stories

theofficialyn

liked by zendaya, mercedesamgf1 and others

theofficialyn Going through a list of vegan places 💚😋

view all 3,230 comments

mickschumacher 🐟🐟🐟

⤷ theofficialyn HAHAHAHA I HATE YOU!

⤷ f1fantastic your honor, they're in love.

⤷ potteryn they have their inside jokes already. It's their world, we’re just living in it

fan2 You look stunning 😭😭😭

lewishamilton The only reason I forgive you for not going with me is because you’re bringing it home as well 🤨

⤷ theofficialyn You’re the one who told me you did not wanna come!!!

⤷ abcdyn I wonder who she could be going with 😗

charles_leclerc I am counting on a bag of vegan donuts at my desk again this weekend to give me luck…just saying 🚶🏻

⤷ pierregasly he’s actually begging, yn

ynautumn how does it feel to be this pretty?

estebanocon 😍😍

⤷ charleslechair OMG WHAT IS THAT?? *nicki minaj voices*

⤷ norrisfav I thought Pierre was into this steal-your-girl thing not you, Esteban

ynandf1 the whole grid loves her and it shows

swiftieyln Im so happy seeing yn after she was outed as lewis sister, she looks less afraid to be herself, and she’s been feeding us sm I can only say thank you to the holy trinity

sainzsaint charles, pierre and esteban are here too, now y'all gonna say they're dating her as well?

⤷ estiebestie98 yes.

********************

make sure you like and reblog <3 feel free to talk to me as well, my inbox is always open!

wanna be tagged on my stories? click here

[t-o-m-hollands]

Tom x You

Summery: Tom and his brothers have a pub. You, trying to avoid working on your new album, spend most of your time in there. Lots of flirting and bickering ensues.

Themes: Sort of frienemies to lovers, slow burn, mutual attraction but they are both to dumb to realise. General dumbness all around. Idiots in love.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: Drinking and swearing. Smut in future chapters.

PART I of IV

***

At 8 years of age your father hands you a worn guitar and with the patience of a saint teaches you how to make it play the holiest of sounds. Every day you practise, until your fingertips has hardened and they move effortlessly over the strings.  

At 10 years of age you write your first song. It’s a puerile little tune about a sweet boy with hair like honey and an opportunity lost. It’s repetitive and nonsensical but your mother hums the chorus for weeks after hearing it.

At 14 years of age you meet up with a record label and when signing the dotted line on the contract you feel a chill down your spine and your grandmother’s stories about the crossroad demon comes back to you verbatim. With determination you still put your name on the paper in a signature you’ve spent hours practising. Only days later you hear your voice on the radio for the very first time.

At 17 years of age there are headlines in magazines about you, photos of men they claim you’ve dated and interviews with people who claim to be a ‘close source’ to you, even though you’ve never met them, spilling lies on every page. You find out your closest friend has sold information about you to the tabloids for over a year.

At 19 years of age you go on a world tour, though the only parts of the world you see are airports, hotels and playing venues and then later at night: nightclubs. You travel the world, but you learn nothing about it.

At 22 years of age and your boyfriend breaks up with you for an actress. There isn’t a day that year that tabloids don’t ‘report’ on it. He spends most of the time telling the world how much happier he is in his new relationship, and you spend most of your time staring down into a bottle.  

At 24 years of age you feel drained, dog-tired and worn out. On a regular basis there’s photos of you stumbling out of pubs, bars and restaurants all over the internet. Your record label is threatening a lawsuit and you haven’t talked to your manager in weeks. You have no friends and your family doesn’t know what to do with you.  

Okay, so maybe being a successful singer isn’t all that it’s cut out to be. Especially not when the entirety of the internet is making fun of you.  

And yes, maybe you’re in a flunk and haven’t written anything decent in months. And okay, maybe you haven’t even picked up a guitar in weeks. And maybe throwing away your phone in order not to have to face the record label was a bad idea. And maybe, hand on heart, the right solution to your problems is not to waste your days away in a well-hidden pub in a backstreet in London with the cutest pub owner you’ve ever seen, with biceps that makes you want to drool. A pub owner who has no interest in you and finds you annoying beyond belief.  

Yet here you are,  

again.

***

“It’s Tuesday” Tom informs you as he hands you cherry coke and a straw.

So, it goes like this. Tom is obsessed with time. He’s always informing you of either what day of the week it is, or the time of day. As if he’s trying to shame you into realising that 10 am on a Tuesday is not an acceptable time to order a dry martini.  

“So?” You ask, feigning ignorance as you open the can. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed that this is a coke and in fact completely free of alcohol. I mean in the good ol’ day they at least had the cutesy to put cocaine in there.”.

“Don’t worry” he says, scrubbing the surface of the already clean counter-top “there’s a shit load of other stuff that’ll destroy your insides in there”.

You try not to roll your eyes, honestly you do. You fail. “Oh no, is it sugar? Please, doctor say it isn’t sugar!” you wail dramatically.

“No, not just sugar” and you can tell he’s also trying not to roll his eyes at your exaggerated play acting. “You know, I saw this documentary once about what they put in coca cola and –”

“No, nope, no, no. Absolutely not” You shake your head vehemently as if that will stop his words. "I would literally rather hear you talk about goddamn golf for an hour than put me of one of life’s few great pleasures”.

This time he doesn’t manage to stop himself from rolling his eyes at you. “Oh, I think we both know you find more pleasures in life than coca cola”.

Before you can answer him something insanely witty the door to the office behind the bar opens and an anxious looking Harrison step out. “Tom, Sam says the fish delivery didn’t show up again so we’re out of cod and therefore fish ‘n chips.”  

Tom rubs his face, looking worried. “Alright, I’ll call him up and see what happened.”  

But Harrison still looks tense. “Also…” he trails off, losing courage.  

“Also, what?” And Tom too sounds tense now.  

“Well, Downey from the bank called, he says the invoice is way over due and he wants a meeting. I told him you’d call today”.  

Tom keeps rubbing his forehead, as if to literally fight of a migraine, and his shoulders tense. “Yeah, yeah I’ll call him this afternoon”. Harrison nods and walks back into the kitchen

“You know, I cou –” but you don’t get to finish your sentence before he interrupts you. “Don’t” he says, voice sharp as a whip.

“But, it would just be a loan, honestly I – ”

“No, and I mean it.” And you judging by the tone of voice he uses and the stern look he gives you you’re well aware that he isn’t joking. It’s like his usually warm and kind eyes are nailing you down into your seat. “I’m not gonna borrow money from a customer, as you well know.”  

The problem is that really wouldn’t be a big deal for you to offer him a loan or give it as a gift really. You love this pub. You love the people working here and the patrons and coming in for a drink or a meal or simply a chat and a laugh. It’s your safe haven. No one ever hardly ever bothers you here. No one asks you for a selfie or asks you about when more music is coming out. No one tugs at your sleeve or try to sneakily take a photo of you. Here, you are normal. And it would devastate you to see the Holland boys lose it all when you know you can help. You have more money than you know what to do with.  

However, you know there’s no arguing with him when he’s got that look on his face so you don’t, just keep sipping on your cherry coke as your foot taps along to the song on the radio. From inside the kitchen you can hear the faint sound of the Holland twin's laughter.  

Tom turns away from you to sort out the whiskey glasses on the counter behind him. But when picking up a glass he fumbles, and it falls out of his hand and lands right on his foot, though it fortunately doesn’t break.

“Ah, fucking bastard!” he shouts, grabbing hold of his injured foot.

“You shouldn’t swear in church, you know” ¨you say, as you finish your coke.

He looks at you indignantly, pouting like a child, “well, lucky for me, this is a pub.”

“You say potato, I say tomato, now make me a real drink.”

“For fucks sake, darlin’, you gotta eat something.”

***

So, it’s either late or early, depending how you look on it. On tube stations all across London early worker are already gathering on the platforms to take their commute to work. Not you. Not Tom either.  

Now, Tom is an early riser and has been since childhood. His nanna used to say that he had energy enough for three children. Despite regular closing shifts at the pub he likes to be up at dawn. Says he likes to get an hour at the gym and a walk with Tessa in before he heads to the pub to make sure everything is in order. After having checked with Sam that everything is stocked for the day, he has his protein loaded breakfast while ordering supplies or read through whatever paper work he need to be on top off before opening up the pub for the day.  

Tom hates having this routine disturbed.

So, it goes like this. Harry had been the bartender most of that night, since Tom had ‘other business to take care of’. Whenever Harry was bartender he’d usually spent more time drinking with you than he did serving up the other costumers. When Tom came back and saw the state of you, he’d sent you home, telling you that you’d had enough for one night and asking Harrison to walk you home. Then he’d giving Harry a proper telling off. You had dutifully walked with Harrison to your apartment, thanked him sweetly, and then as soon as you saw that he had passed the corner walked into another pub just across the street for more. It wasn’t as charming a place as The Hollands and their bartender sure wasn’t as handsome or as fun to annoy as the regular one at Hollands. But in a pinch, anything will do.  

Upon closing hour however, as you made your way home, you’d discovered that your keys were missing. Being absolutely wasted this did not worry you in the slightest. You just strolled back on unsteady legs to The Hollands to see if you’d dropped them there. Tom, who had closed the pub for the night, was still in. From the windows you could see him going through stacks of paperwork in front of him, a frown on his face. Upon hearing you knocking on the window at 2 am he’d jumped out his chair to see what was going on. When seeing you three sheets to the wind, dressed in a thin dress on a cold summer’s night the frown on his face had gotten worse.

Now here you are, in his apartment, in the dead of the night, and he’s offering you a plate of tortellini. Tessa had been overjoyed to see you and after having been allowed to greet you she had then been sent to her place and out of the way of your drunk, stumbling feet.

“But I hate tortellini” you whine.

“Christ sake, Popstar, just eat the damn food”

“No, I hate it, Tom, I hate it so much, it makes me think of- of- ” you hiccup.

“Are you actually crying right now?”

“It makes me think of- of - cheese sauce and -”

“Sorry, but what now?”

“And – I – I – I hate cheese sauce”. You’re full on sobbing and he just stares at you in disbelief.  

Then, somehow the world seems fall the wrong way around. It takes you a second to realize that you’ve slid down on the floor and that you’re staring up at the ceiling. Tom’s strong arm take a hold of you and he guides you to a sitting position, leaned up against the wall. With your face in his hands he stares at you in indignation but there’s something else there too. You’re drunk enough to dare to call it tenderness.  

Suddenly you’re aware that you’re sobbing, but you can’t remember why that is.

“Fuck who knows” he responds and when you give out a sound that’s something halfway between a sob and a laugh he starts laughing too. “If I make you something else to eat, will you eat it then? You’ll feel better in the morning if you do”.

Your head feels heavy, so you lean it against his hand and nod. “No cheese sauce, please”.

He rolls his eyes, but he’s laughing too. “Sure, no cheese sauce for Pop Princess.”

“Oi!” You call out “You promised to never to call me that!” Pop Princess was the title the tabloids had given you early on in your career. He keeps smiling, but it’s a gentle smile, and trace the frown between your eyebrows with his finger, as if he’s trying to erase it.

“Will you please just sit here while I cook?”

You nod again, too tired to say anything. He gets up, and you can hear some pouring water and then he places a glass of water in your hand. “Drink” he orders, then he’s gone again, and you can hear the clattering of pots and pans as he starts cooking. You’re just staring into the wall, trying to make it stop spinning; limbs heavy with sleep and whiskey, a nice buzzing numbness in your head.

Then he’s in front of you again, looking at you with a frown “I thought I told you to drink that” and you look at the full glass clasped in your hands. “Seriously, you’ll feel better if you do”.

You roll your eyes “oh, please, Tommy. Remember who you’re speaking to. I’m the local drunk, there’s no need to lecture me in hangovers”. But you do as you’re told and chug down your drink and hand him the empty glass. “Good girl” he says and gets back to his cooking. Before long the delicious scent of food is spreading through the tiny, cramped kitchen.

You start humming a song you wrote years ago but never released, low enough so you think Tom won’t hear you over the sizzling pan. But he does.  

“What’s that?” he asks, curiosity in his voice.

“Oh” you say, leaning your head back against the wall as you close your eyes in the hope that the world will stop spinning. “Just a song.”

Everything goes quiet for a while and you find yourself wondering if you’ve fallen asleep. But then you hear his voice. “Keep singing, please”.  

It surprises you, the amount of tenderness in his words; such a gentle bequest. So, you do as you’re told. In a voice raspy from the whiskey but sweet from his kindness you sing.

“I’ve been holding my breath, I’ve been counting to ten, 

Over something you said, I’ve been holding back tears 

 While you’re throwing back beers, I’m alone in bed

You know I, I’m afraid of change, Guess that’s why we stay the same, 

So tell me to leave, I’ll pack my bags, get on the road, 

Find someone that loves you better than I do, darling, I know, 

'Cause you remind me every day, I’m not enough, but I still stay”

You trial off and he keeps quiet too and goes silent again. Then he slides down beside you, a plate of pasta carbonara in his hands which he offers you along with a fork. “Eat” he orders gently. You do, and it tastes delicious.

“God, Tom, you could rival Sam in the kitchen”.

He snorts but you persist. “Seriously Tommy, I’d hire you as a private chef if I didn’t know you’d be an insufferable employee”.

He snorts again, but you can tell he’s amused. “Wow, thanks a lot”

“Seriously, you’d always complain about my lack of organization, or the fact that I keep all of my face masks in the refrigerator, or that I never have any food at home or that I don’t eat at regular hours or that I sometimes just forget to eat and just have a Red bull for dinner instead or that I – ”

“Jesus Christ” he interrupts you “who the fuck let you be an adult? What’s wrong with you!?”

You’re wolfing down your food, so it takes you a moment to answer. “Someone said my problem was ‘a mind-boggling lack of general discipline and a staggeringly low ability to organise’” you finally say.

“Who said that? I mean they’re not wrong”.

“You said that” you point out as you finish your plate of carbonara. “Also, this was scrumptious, and also, may I sleep here tonight?”

He looks at you in disbelief “Yeah, duh, I’m not kicking you out? I mean, I thought that was the general idea of this”.

He grabs a hold of your plate and takes your hand in his other as he guides you both up to a standing position. He places the plate among the other dirty pans in the sink and then lead you to his bathroom. Giving you a new toothbrush, he orders you to brush your teeth while he changes his sheets. He hands you a shirt to sleep in and when you’ve changed you argue for a good 10 minutes while about who’s to sleep on the couch before he puts his foot down and say he’ll ban you from his pub unless you take the bed instead of him. So, you do.  

His bed soft and comfortable and smell of his detergent. From the living room you can hear Tessa’s deep breaths and the sound of Tom tossing around on the sofa. You wonder how uncomfortable he is.

“Tommy just come in here instead” you call out, voice drowsy.

“No, I told you, you take the bed”

You snort. As if you were going to give this bed up, no chance. Not now that you know how comfortable it is.  

“Yeah, duh” you answer. “Wasn’t planning on taking the sofa, but the bed’s big enough for the two of us, innit?”

Dead silence from the living room. Even Tessa seems to have been struck silent.

“You sure?”

You sigh. “Yeah, I'm sure, for fuck’s sake Tommy, just come in here”.

You hear the sound of footsteps slowly making their way across the floor, then he’s in the doorway. Clad in a pair of black boxers and a black t-shirt, awkwardly scratching the back of his head as he avoids looking at you.

You pull down the covers and he lay down beside you, keeping his distance in the bed. You have your backs against each other, staring into separate walls and even through the whiskey you can tell this is awkward. You want to ask him to hold you, but you’re scared he doesn’t want it. Scared he doesn’t even want to lay beside you. You are after all just a costumer in his bar. A costumer you know he can’t afford to lose.

You don’t know how long you lay there in silence, his scent surrounding you, the soft sound of his breath lulling you into further relaxation but eventually you drift off to sleep.  

When you wake, he’s gone. A note on his pillow tells you he’s gone to the gym, telling you to take anything you want for breakfast and just leave the keys at the pub later.  

When you close the door behind you you can’t help but feel that something tender happened in there, something important; but you know he doesn’t feel the same.

***

It’s Monday night, as Tom has been so kind to remind you off, and you’re plastered.  

Earlier the pub had been full to rim of football supporters shouting and singing and sharing pints before a big game, filling the entire place with an excited buzz. Now they’ve all gone off to cheer for their heroes on the field and only the patrons remain.  

Harry is bartender tonight, and Tom has placed himself in the back of the pub, a stack of paper in front of him that he keeps leering at. With a drink in your hand and a happy-go-lucky attitude you seat yourself on the opposite side of his table, determent to cheer him up.

“’m gonna write a song about you.” You inform him, voice only somewhat slurry.

“Go on then.” He doesn’t look up at you, just jots something down on the form in front of him. He’s wearing glasses tonight and they make him look so handsome you want to scream in frustration.

“Well, what rhymes with Tom? Rum!”

“Oh, Christ, no. No, I’ve changed my mind.”

“Tom, he serves rum and tequila.” You sing. “Wait, what rhymes with tequila?”

“Please don’t”

“Heliophilia!”

“Okay, ’m literally begging you not to do this.” He’s looking at you now, his caramel eyes filled with both amusement and genuine dread. You don’t listen, no, you sing.

“Tom, he serves Rum and tequila,

he loves the sun, it’s called heliophilia

his pub needs fundin’, he lives in London”

“Wow. That is a hell of a forced rhyme, pop princess.”

“No, no wait!”

“Wait? I will literally pay you to stop”.

But then you start singing for real, in a voice so sultry that it makes him freeze mid motion, hand just about to turn the page over.

“Have you’ve seen my bartender

he’ll serve you whiskey, he’ll pour you rum

so sweet it’ll make you tender

but all the whiskey in Tennessee

couldn’t have that man agree

to ever share a drink with thee

no, all that sweetness’s just for me

cause babe, he’s my bartender

Yes, have you’ve seen my bartender

He’ll hand you wine, he’ll sell you gin

I think it’s a sign when he hands me my wine

When hand’s touching hand, skin touches skin”

Tom seem to be frozen in place when you stop, and over at the bar you hear Harry give a loud whistle. “Fucking hell, popstar” he cheers.

Tom still doesn’t say anything, just observes you, seemingly speechless. And maybe you’re imagining it, but he’s cheeks seem pinker than usual.

"Well, at least I didn’t rhyme rum with cum” you say, trying to get a reaction out of him. And then “I did think about doing it though” and you lift your glass to him as if in a toast before you down it.

He snorts, back to his normal self and stare down at the paper again.

“Now, honestly, Tom. What did that piece of paper ever do to you?”

“Huh?”

“You’re staring at it like you want to set fire to it. You’d like me to do it for you?”

“No thanks, reckon he’d sue”.

“Who is he?” you lean over the table and closer to him and you swear you can practically see him ordering himself not to look down at your cleavage. “Is he god?” you whisper in mock horror. “Cause, I wouldn’t worry too much, Tommy. You see, God can’t sue. Well, someone in America tried to sue Satan once and they couldn’t cause they couldn’t hand him the papers. Turns out Satan hasn’t got an address. Reckon the same goes with God”

He rolls his eyes “oh, this guy definitely has got an address. He lives in Knightsbridge.” And then, in a voice unusually bitter he adds “posh twat”.

“Oy” you warn, jokingly, “those are my neighbourhoods'”.  

A sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh escapes him “Oh please” he laughs “please, you might live in Primrose Hill now, but you’re not Knightsbridge posh. Sorry to disappoint, Pop Princess”.

You glare, but it’s all in good humour. “So, who is this not-God-but-rich-as-God man sending you paper?”

The humour disappears from his face. “Downey, from the bank”.  Then he turns to the bar and shouts, “Harry, hand me a pint, ye?”

“And a whiskey for me, please” you request sweetly.

“No way, Harry, she’s cut off for the night. Tell Sam to make her something to eat” he orders his younger brother who rolls his eyes but obediently begin to head into to the kitchen.

“Not tort -” you begin shouting as an instruction.

“Not tortellini” he shouts at the same time. “And no cheese sauce either” he then adds.

You smile at him and this time you swear he’s blushing.

“Who’s Downey? You ask. And you know you’re prying, but you also know that Tom needs help with something and if there’s anything you can do to help, you will.  

“A bank man who wants me to pay my loans back”. He answers eventually after a long silence, when he figures you’re not going to give up and talk about something else. Harry comes back and hands Tom a pint and then leaves to take care of a costumer at the bar.

“A bank man, who lives in Knightsbridge?” You ask, bemused.

Tom smiles “oh, believe you me, Downey’s not your average bank clerk.” Then, in a serious tone, “look, I know you want to help, but there’s nothing you can do, ye? So drop it”.

“But I-”

“Drop it. Seriously, pop princess, there’s nothing you can do, I’ll figure something out”. He doesn’t sound harsh and the way he looks at you is positively adoring. Then he does something unexcepted. He reaches over the table and pulls a loose string of hair behind your ear. It’s a soft and sweet gesture and you want to reach over and kiss him but before you can he removes his hand and seconds later Harry places a dish of steaming pasta carbonara in front of you. You smile and thank him and he makes his way back to the bar.  

You eat in silence for a while as he continues to read through stashes of papers. You decide to leave the subject, for now at least.

“Yours is better, by the way”. He looks up at you, confused. “Your carbonara” you clarify. “I mean, Sam is an incredible chef and you’re lucky to have him, but yours is my favourite”.  

His cheeks heat up, again.

***

R E A D    P A R T   T W O     H E R E

[hallowed-be-thy-username]

If You’re Good At Something, Never Do It For Free Chapter One: In Need Of Some Assistance

I figured I’d post the first chapter of my WIP on here! TDK Joker x Original Female Character. It is currently at 17 out of ? (Where it stops, nobody knows!) chapters on AO3! 

**Warnings for full fic include: Graphic violence, explicit language, blood and gore, smut smut smut, graphic depiction of corpses, murder, aaaand recreational drug use!**

Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! I might eventually put all of the chapters up on here or check it out on AO3!

Meet Nora Hawthorne. She spent her time like most Gotham residents. Go to work, go home, keep up with the news. That changed one night. Her life becomes even more interesting after Gotham's own Clown Prince of Crime comes crashing in with a life-threatening injury, leaving her questioning her morals as well as her romantic desires

Jesus, it’s been a long day. A woman with brunette hair above her shoulders, wearing a pair of loose teal green scrubs stands from her desk chair to twist her torso until a satisfying *crack* is heard, followed by a deep sigh. The noise of her tired spine popping into alignment is heard only by her as she stands alone in the treatment area of the now empty veterinary hospital. The brick structure sits between an apartment building and a law firm in West Harlow, the Gotham City neighborhood west of downtown, adjacent to The Narrows. This location makes Dr. Nora Hawthorne one busy veterinarian. On a daily basis she tends to anything from impatient businessmen toting in their wives’ teacup Yorkies with a little cough to large Rottweilers with deep neck wounds. To say she’s gained a variety of experience is an understatement.

She doesn’t own the place, though. Two years out of school and 30 years old means she has some hefty bills to pay. Dr. Moore owns the clinic. Taking this job meant long hours and a busy schedule with not much sympathy from David Moore. “Your generation expects everything handed to them, don’t you? I had to work harder than this to get where I am,” as he just loved to remind her of every time she requested time off for a little… what is it called again? Oh right, work-life balance. Sure, Moore. Enjoy your mini mansion in Uptown since it seems you have no problem balancing the weight of your business on a pair of younger shoulders. Even if it means those shoulders are constantly wound up in to deep knots that no amount of morning yoga can seem to unravel. But she can’t quit. Those bills to pay threaten to pile higher and she’s afraid of heights. Plus, job security in Gotham is hard to come by. Especially since the Joker escaped from Arkham two months ago.

That was in May. Everyone in the city has been on edge since then and the Summer heat is not helping. The days go by but not a peep has been heard in regard to the Clown Prince of Crime’s whereabouts. Same for the Batman. The eerie silence has only been making it worse. The traffic congesting the city streets increases in intensity every evening as Gotham’s citizens rush home in an effort to avoid getting caught up in whatever devastating scheme the Joker has been cooking up during his involuntary vacation. But the threat never comes, leaving the city’s inhabitants to nervously watch and wait. Maybe it won’t come. Maybe he left Gotham for good. Left to terrorize a new city. Wishful thinking is what gets us all through the day. But the tension still weighs on everyone’s nerves, making Nora’s day that much harder when she gets an earful from her clients on a regular basis for things that are out of her control. “Sir, you don’t need to speak to me like that. I did not give your cat a urinary tract infection,” is not something she thought she’d ever find herself saying.

It is what it is. All she can do is keep her head on her shoulders and do her job, care for Gotham’s only truly innocent citizens. Animals don’t dwell in the past, they only live in the present. In that regard, they’re smarter than the majority of Gotham’s inhabitants. She made it her job to advocate for their health and well-being, since they can’t do it themselves. Nora was staying late to finish medical records for the sea of patients the clinic took in that day and she wanted it all recorded while it was fresh in her brain. If you don’t write it down, it didn’t happen. She told her assistant, “You go on home, I’ll just be here finishing notes. Get some rest.” The heavy set women expressed her concern for Dr. Hawthorne being here by herself but the job has gotten her used to being out well after dark. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep the door locked,” was the response her assistant, Jen, would always get in return. She didn’t want to argue so she would leave Nora to her work within the off-white walls of the dimly lit hospital in silence.

Nora stretched once more and shifted a glance to the clock on the wall. 9:58pm. Had it been fourteen hours already? Her stomach responded with a growl as if to answer in the affirmative. The hard-working staff finished cleaning the treatment room a couple of hours ago leaving the two metal tables in the center of the room shiny and ready for whatever tomorrow brings. The room wasn’t very large but the open design left ample room for patient care. The treatment tables against the walls opposite from each other extended toward the center of the room, leaving a four foot space between them, and had ceiling-mounted exam lights above them. Along the walls there were shelves of neatly organized equipment and tools. Essentials. White medical tape, boxes of gloves, bandage scissors, IV catheters in a variety of sizes, thermometers, bottles of isopropyl alcohol and hydrogen peroxide, jars with gauze soaked in chlorhexidine scrub, sterile lubricant, needles and syringes, and bandage material being among the most heavily utilized items. Along the back wall is a bank of cages and kennels for patients spending the day in the clinic (any patients in need of continued care were transferred to a nearby twenty four-hour hospital) flanked by drawers full of IV fluids and sterilized tools. The back right corner of the room opened into a short hallway leading to the area that housed a small surgical suite, devoid of any light this time of night, where a cart with monitors and a gas anesthesia circuit sat in wait for its next use. Just beyond this suite is a small door marked “Radiology” indicating the digital X-ray equipment kept inside, keeping radiation exposure to the rest of the place at a minimum. Nora’s desk is in the back left corner of the treatment room, a shelf full of medical reference books sitting above her head.  Also that “World’s Greatest Dog-tor” certificate Jen gave her last Spring. Nora didn’t have the heart to tell her she found it kind of insulting.

With the last medical record completed, details of the day’s procedures noted in succinct but thorough language, it was time for the doctor to make her way back to her nearby apartment for some much needed rest. She left her seldom-worn long white lab coat on the back of her chair where it always was and removed the black stethoscope from around her neck to place it on her desk. Walking toward the red-lit exit sign above the side door leading to the alley, she flicked the switch to turn the remaining lights off. She usually had a small can of pepper spray readied in her hand when she left alone at a late hour. But Nora had been practically beaten into the ground with exhaustion at this point and her thoughts were instead centered around a hot shower and her soft bed.

She opened the door to receive a gust of warm night air to her face, intensifying her sleepy feelings. Letting out a rather large yawn, she turned to put her keys in the door to lock it. As she removed the key from the lock, she felt a strange sensation on the back her neck. Like a crawling of her skin, a feeling of dread. Before she could turn around in search of the source of her body’s sudden danger signal, a purple glove slammed onto the door next to her head. Her eyes snapped to the glove and she froze, unable to breathe, while her heart jumped into her throat.

“Evening, doc,” a nasally, raspy voice said. She slowly turned her head to find herself face to face with the Joker himself, leaning with his gloved hand against the door. His makeup was smudged wildly and he was wearing his signature purple overcoat and suit. All color drained from Nora’s face as her breathing quickened to a practically panting rate, the idea of sleep drowned in a surge of adrenaline. Before she could make a sound his other gloved hand clapped over her mouth, a knife tucked between his thumb and index finger, the blade laying flat across the top of his hand.

“Ahh tah tah, no screamin’, doc. Wouldn’t want to wake the neighbors, would we?” he said, his dark eyes staring straight into hers. Nora struggled to regain her composure, it did her no good to panic. She knew begging and crying would get her nowhere with the Joker. Better to have as clear a head as possible. She took a sharp inhale through her nose. The wave of gasoline and extinguished matches that met her nostrils was overwhelming. It almost made her dizzy. But she slowly let the breath back out through her nose. Their gaze into each other’s eyes, hers wide with fear, his black and hooded, had not been broken since his zeroed in on hers. It was like magnets were keeping her eyes on his, no matter how hard she tried to look away, she couldn’t do it.

“Now. I’m going to move my hand and youuu are not gonna scream. Got it?” his voice getting slightly higher as he spoke. Without thinking Nora nodded slowly, still not breaking their stare, as he slid his hand from over her mouth.

She allowed herself to blink. Then, trying not to let her voice crack, she quietly said, “H-How did you know I’m a doctor?” Stupid stupid stupid. You are an idiot Nora Hawthorne.

Joker let out a breathy giggle and Nora’s gaze then fixated on his mouth. His scars. They were even more striking up close. Nora was no stranger to stitching up wounds and these must have been awful. She didn’t want him to see her eyeing them so she shifted her eyes back up to his.

“Who else would be here this la-te, hm?” Nora couldn’t do anything but open her mouth and shake her head, her eyebrows knitted together with anxiety.

Still bracing himself against the building on his left hand planted on top of the door he said, “Enough with the formalities doc. I am in need for some, uh, assistance, you see.” It was then that the doctor noticed the Joker’s breathing. It was shallow and rather fast. Like he couldn’t catch his breath but was trying to. Oh shit, what does he mean by that. She wasn’t sure how she didn’t notice his labored breathing until now. She supposed being paralyzed with fear would do that to a person. Nora watched as the Joker then lifted the flap of his coat from his right side, revealing a two inch wide piece of glass sticking out from between his ribs. There was blood trailing from it, down his green vest. She gasped. He dropped the fabric and grabbed her by the chin, jerking her head so her eyes met his yet again.

“So, my little doctor, youuu are going to provide said assistance-ah,” he growled. Nora’s eyes grew even wider.

“Wait wait, what? No no I’m a veterinarian, I’m not a human doctor,” she said in a panicked voice. Yeah, nice one, Hawthorne.

“I can read, doc,” the Joker said, gesturing to the painted door that read Gotham City Veterinary Urgent Care. “I know you’ve got what I need in that pretty little head of yours.” He tried to stifle a gasping sound from his throat as he attempted to inhale before speaking again. “I am an animal after all aren’t I, hm?” he said, leaning his head forward and bouncing his eyebrows suggestively. Nora was stunned.

“Why me? Why did you come here for help?”

“Can’t quite go to the emergency room, can I doc? Besides, you take care of little doggies and kitties all day. Just think of meee as a lost little, uh, puppy,” he said, shifting his weight to put his knife-wielding right hand against the door on the other side of her head so Nora was trapped beneath him, their noses inches apart.

Fear bubbled its way up into her head again. She couldn’t think straight. How did Gotham’s most notorious criminal end up here, in front of her, with a life-threatening injury? It didn’t matter how, it only mattered that now it was happening. But, how could she justify helping the Joker? He caused so much death and destruction to this city, her city. She could do her best to fight, she might stand a chance against him in this weakened state. But he was the Joker. He’d probably still be able to slit her throat faster than she could get out from under him. He was the Joker but he also was a person. A person in what she was sure was a significant amount of pain. Another gasping sound made its way out of Joker’s mouth.

“Haven’t got all night, doc.”

Nora’s expression softened. What the fuck am I getting myself into?

“Ok,” she said, lifting her keys and turning to unlock the door.

[hptruefan-cheekytorah]

Nano-vember | The Glue

⚠️

Warning: This chapter contains strong language and soppy emotional garbage 😅😉❤️

Tagging my Drarryville friends: @drarryruinedme7 @keyflight790 @cassiaratheslytherpuff @dewitty1

Thank you to the very wonderful @keyflight790 for Beta Reading this story ❤️❤️❤️

If anyone else would like to be tagged for updates please let me know!

Previous chapters:

(I) | (II) | (III) | (IV) | (V) | (VI)

~*~

Part VII

It was probably petty. Definitely petty. With it being still a few days before he could take leave for the weekend, he had changed the wards for his chambers. He pouted like a petulant child, listening to Harry knocking and calling sweet words and apologies through the door. It was probably half two when Draco had gotten tired of it, put up a silencing charm and went to bed. He half expected, half hoped Harry was waiting outside his rooms when he emerged in the morning, but Draco supposed he had a bit more decency than that. Of all the romantic ideals, it was highly inappropriate if students were to see that sort of spectacle.

Draco was particularly exhausted. No amount of Pepper Up potions could help the bags and red eyes he had from the tears and lack of sleep. He sunk into his regular seat at the table, which he didn’t register as his first mistake until he made the second mistake; he turned to speak to Harry immediately, momentarily forgetting his anger. He froze, the words of greeting stuck in his throat and he swallowed them back and opted for what he hoped was a look of indifference. He reached for the platter of steaming bacon instead and chose to ignore the puppy dog eyes which Harry sported.

“Come to my chambers at lunch?” Harry whispered into his ear. Draco shivered involuntarily.

“I think not.”

“Then I’ll come to yours.”

“Nope, sorry I’m busy, I have a thing with Longbottom.” Draco sniffed, forgetting one important thing.

“I think we can push that thing to later, don’t you think, Malfoy?” Neville said from his right.

Draco glared at Neville, who just looked at him with an amused yet innocent expression. Draco scowled at his bacon. He hadn’t slept right; his world had flipped, Harry had humiliated him, and NOW he wanted to talk?

“Why?” Draco flinched at how vulnerable he sounded.

He wasn’t even sure if Harry would know Draco was talking to him. Only that he wasn’t going to go off with the idiot to be dumped. One rejection in twenty-four hours was enough. Something about the look on his face must have made Harry change his mind.

“Because, I could announce how much I love you and what a fool I was last night--right here, right now--but I think that’s better said in private,” Harry whispered, his breath tickling Dracos ear, before standing. “Wouldn’t you agree?

Draco nodded absentmindedly, his face turning an embarrassing shade of red. He watched as Harry walked away, and Merlin if he hadn’t wanted to jump him when he had spoken those three stupid little words, he’d want to right then, wearing the bloody trousers Draco had left in his room last week. His head was full of horribly inappropriate thoughts for the rest of the morning, and he all but ran to Harry’s class which let out a few minutes after his own. They walked silently back to Harry’s rooms, and once inside Draco sat with shaking hands in his lap, while Harry thanked the elves for bringing them their soup.

“I’m sorry.”

“Harry, look I-”

“No, I need to say this because you deserved better than that. I want more, and it scared me. I love you but I’m not perfect.” Harry seemed to hesitate. “I need you to know something.”

Draco recognized that look, it was the one Harry had been wearing for days, and now registered it for what it was. He looked guilty.

“If you slept with someone-”

“What? No!” Harry laughed, but there seemed to be little humour in it. “Merlin, no! That’s the thing, I would never do that to you. Fuck, I’ve loved you for probably longer than I even knew. I couldn’t do that to you.”

“Then what is it, Harry?” Draco could see so many emotions on Harry’s face: guilt, sadness, fear, but through it all he looked at Draco with a fierce sort of love. “We’ve been through a lot, I think whatever it is, that we can get through it! Look at us, I have scars across my chest, I gave you a broken nose and put you, and all your--our--friends through hell. If we can get through that, then I don’t think anything can get in the way. As long as we, er, love--ahem-- each other.” Draco felt his face turning red again at the disgusting sentimentality he was spewing.

“You alright?” Harry cracked a grin. “Gonna make it? Or you gonna die from all these emotional outbursts of yours?”

“I just might.” Draco groaned and buried his face in Harry’s neck.

Harry chuckled and wrapped his arms around Draco. He sighed into Draco’s hair--surely messing it up--but Draco could hardly care. He just felt so warm and good right now.

“I love you, Merlin, so much. It’s just that--” Harry sighed again. “I have a stupid crush. It’s nothing compared to how I feel about you, and I would never ever do anything about it. Draco please understand that, you are--well i hope you are--my boyfriend. I don’t want to ever risk that.”

Draco listened to Harry talking so fast, anxious that Draco might have stormed out. Might have found Harry’s admission unacceptable or unforgivable. He couldn’t help himself, he started laughing over the ridiculousness of their childish behaviour lately.

“Er, Draco?”

“Sorry, it’s just, that’s why you’ve been feeling so guilty lately?” Draco asked, and when Harry nodded he continued. “You love me right?” Another more frantic nod. “Then I don’t care, I mean I don't expect you not to notice other people for the next, er however long we are together. I’ve done my fair share of noticing.”

Draco felt some bile in the back of his throat. This is where he should admit that he’s harbouring more than a crush sort of feelings for one of their best friends.

“That’s not the worst of it, Draco,” Harry seemed to take a deep breath. “It’s who the person is that makes it-”

“Harry, I don’t care. My mother told me something once. Love is about making a choice to be with someone, making a choice to choose them every day, to choose a life with them in it, no matter the other shit.” Draco looked away as he recalled the memory of asking his mother to leave their father when he was sixteen. “I’ve done some noticing, have felt things for other people and do still about someone, but you are the one i want to be with, the one I love, the one I can’t imagine not being with. I don’t need to know who it is, you don’t owe me that. I’m not sure I want to know anyways.”

“I love you.”

“Stop saying it.” Draco laughed and kissed Harry’s neck. “Especially when there are so many better things you could do with your mouth.” He added cheekily.

Harry hummed in agreement.

________

Next

[savvysass]

Self-Sacrifice is a Bitch Chapter 5

Ao3

Chapters 1 2 3 4 5

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Sorry this is late! I was slow writing and my beta was busy. Thank you @minkcatus​ again for betaing! Also guys I am now understanding this is going to be REALLY LONG so like... hang in there. I’ll get better as I go along.

*updated tags and rating. I’m combining all the parts into one, and it gets dark as far as death and illness. No major character deaths tho- don’t worry.

Rating:M

Category:Gen

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Chapter: 5/?

Chapter Summary:

“Kid, you’re okay. You’re arm is gone, but you are okay. We are just going to sit here and breathe, and I will take care of everything else. You are okay now.”

Okay… he was okay. The doctor put something in his IV, but he was okay. He tasted metal in his mouth as the drugs entered his system, but he was okay. He felt like his body just turned to lead, but he was okay.

He couldn’t move, and that wasn’t— that wasn’t okay—that wasn’t—

“Peter shhh…It’s fine.” Tony said, and May was running her fingers through his hair. The pain dulled, and he breathed.

He was okay.

Additional Tags: endgame fix it fic, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Whump, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Near Death Experiences, Recovery, Amputation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, probably more than i remember, Sickfic, Major Illness, Blood, Legoland, Kidnapping, Torture, god what else happens everything happen, Seizures, Fainting, Medical Trauma

.

.

.

Peter didn’t want more medicine— that much he knew. Mr. Stark was right though— it hurt too much. All of this hurt too much. He was tired of being in pain.

He wanted to reach out and hold his hand. He wanted Mr. Stark to squeeze his hand tight and suck out all of the pain in his arm.

When he tried to move it though, nothing happened. Only a sharp agony in his shoulder.

Why won’t his arm move?

He looked down.

His eyes widened as he was greeted with the sight of his shoulder, wrapped in bloody bandages and very much missing what goes underneath.

He was missing his arm.

The beeping in the room started screaming in his ear, but everything was muffled as he looked at his shoulder, the agony spiking as he realized what it was he had felt.

They had been amputating his arm.

His chest felt tight, air coming in short gasps as he tried to grab at his shoulder. This couldn’t be real. He didn’t really lose his arm. That’s crazy. This is crazy.

A gentle hand took his chin. It turned him away from his arm, carefully avoiding the side of his face.

“Pete-Pete, look at me.”

His eyes searched Mr. Stark’s face as he stared down at him, sympathy pouring into his gaze.

“You’re okay, Peter.”

A sob tore through Peter’s throat. 

It wasn’t okay.

He wasn’t okay. 

His arm is gone.

He desperately reached for Mr. Stark’s hand with his other arm-— thank god still attached— and tried to pull him as close as he could. He needed Mr. Stark to fix this. He needed someone — Anyone— to fix this. Panic was making the pain more intense, and he could feel the knife slicing deeper and deeper and deeper—

“Peter, calm down. Cho—”

“Peter, we are going to give you the medicine now,” a woman said, and no please not yet he can’t yet!

“Peter.” It’s May this time, her hands in his hair.

“Relax Peter. Tony and I are right here. Just breathe.”

Breathe. Right. Breathe. He was panicking. He knew this. He just lost his arm and he was panicking. Of course he was panicking because his arm, his arm—

“Kid, look at me.”

His eyes flicked up. Tony was staring at him, the same panic that he was feeling reflected in those tired eyes.

“Kid, you’re okay. You’re arm is gone, but you are okay. We are just going to sit here and breathe, and I will take care of everything else. You are okay now.”

Okay… he was okay. The doctor put something in his IV, but he was okay. He tasted metal in his mouth as the drugs entered his system, but he was okay. He felt like his body just turned to lead, but he was okay.

He couldn’t move, and that wasn’t— that wasn’t okay—that wasn’t—

“Peter shhh…It’s fine.” Tony said, and May was running her fingers through his hair. The pain dulled, and he breathed.

He was okay.

-

Tony held Peter’s hand as the panic in his eyes started to fade. His body was slack, and Tony begged whoever was listening to please let that mean he was in less pain. The kid’s eyes were still open, but he wasn’t talking.

“Cho—”

“We didn’t give him enough to put him under. He probably can’t talk, but he should be able to at least blink. He can definitely feel when you touch him though.”

“Peter baby, can you blink once if that sounds right?” May cooed, and Peter blinked.

“Does it hurt less, baby? Blink once for yes, twice for no.”

One blink.

Tony sighed in relief.

“Is it numb? No pain?”

Two blinks.

He frowned. That was to be expected though. He rubbed his thumb against Peter’s knuckles, the hand limp in his grasp.

“You should talk to him, Tony. Distract him,” Cho said. He nodded softly, tapping Peter’s cheek to get his attention.

“Let’s shoot the breeze, kiddo. Get yourself out of your head, huh?”

Peter breathed deeply as he tried to push through the pain. He looked at him expectantly.

“So… I guess you heard it’s been five years,” Tony said softly.

One blink.

“Well a lot has happened that I’m sure you want to know about. Pepper and I got married— I’m sure that doesn’t surprise you.” Tony chuckled. The kid’s eyes crinkled a little in what he guessed was a tired smile. “The ceremony was small in the end. It just didn’t feel right to make a huge party after what happened.”

Peter blinked up at him rapidly, and Tony could see the sadness in his eyes.

“Don’t worry about it, kid. It was still wonderful. It was nice actually— Only having a few people. Rhodey was there, Happy. Some of Pepper’s family. It was nice. You and that monkey suit I bought you would have fit in well.”

Peter’s eyes flicked to May, and harshly squeezed before blinking again.

“Me?” May asked quickly, furrowing her brow as she tried to decipher his signals.

Peter closed his eyes slowly then snapped them back open.

“May got dusted, Peter. Is that what you’re asking?” Tony said quietly. Peter blinks once and then looked to her pleadingly.

“Yes baby. I did, but it’s okay. It meant I didn’t have to go a single day without you,” May said soothingly, scratching his scalp. He relaxed into her touch. “Ned did too. He called me to check on you. I told him you were going to be okay. He’s going to come see you when you feel better.”

Peter let out a deep breath of relief. He scrunched his face again though, as if the action pained him. Tony scooted closer.

“I had a kid while you were gone,” he said softly. Peter’s eyes fly open, looking at him in shock before blinking like a mad man.

“Okay, okay, Jeez!” Tony laughed, squeezing his hand. “Her name’s Morgan. She’s 4 now. Looks like me and acts like Pepper.”

Peter’s eyes sparkled despite the exhaustion, joy radiating through them. The kid was happy for him.

“I think you’ll like her. She uh— I’ve mentioned you once or twice, and she always seemed interested in you. I bet she’ll like you too.”

Peter’s eyes softened. Tony didn’t know how to interpret it. He pushed on though.

“She doesn’t give me as many heart attacks as you do, though. The worst trouble she gets into is sneaking sweets before bed,” he chuckled, and Peter rolled his eyes with as much energy as he could.

“I don’t think any kid could give you heart attacks like Peter can,” May teased, and Tony snorted

“Only one kid ever came close to giving me a heart attack like he gives me,” Tony said with a shake of his head, flattening his hand on Peter’s sheets. “At Stark Expo 2010, there was this kid— must have been around six or so— that stood toe to toe with one of Hammer’s drones. Do you remember that incident? It was a PR nightmare.”

Peter eyes widened before forcefully blinking.

“What- what is it kid?” Tony asked as he looked to May. She was smiling.

“Did you come up and save that kid? Telling him ‘nice shot?’” she said with a grin, and Tony frowned.

“How did you—”

“You were right, Peter. He did remember you,” she laughed and Peter breathed out what Tony guessed was a chuckle.

“What do you mean? Kid—” Tony clicked his mouth shut before looking at him incredulously. Peter was beaming.

“Oh for fucks sake— That was you?! You were the kid that scared the shit out of me?!” He breathed out in exasperation. He could picture the shit-eating grin Peter was trying to give him.

This kid was going to be the death of him… if the guilt of almost getting a child Peter murdered didn’t kill him first.

“You know I always thought— ‘God that kid must have driven his parents crazy. What is that kid up to?’ and I guess this is it! You’re out here, saving the universe— giving me all the heart attacks I thought were going to be someone else’s problem!”

May snorted next to him.

“We will both need pacemakers at this rate,” she said breezily. “I know I’m going to need one after this.”

Tony hummed in agreement, but he looked down to see guilt in Peter’s eyes.

“Hey-hey…” he chided, squeezing Peter’s hand. “Don’t worry about us, kid. We’re just glad you’re okay. We’ll get you back in shape in no time. Then you can get back to giving us regular sized heart attacks that comes with being a Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman, okay?”

Peter relaxed and blinked once.

“Good man.”

The next few hours pass easily, with May singing songs and Tony droning on about things that had happened in the past five years. Peter never quite fell asleep, the pain keeping  him up, but did seem to fade in and out every once and awhile. Now, about 12 hours after the battle, Tony could barely see straight as the kid zoned out to the sound of May’s humming. He absently stroked the kid’s hand, staring at the heart monitor with the reassuring and steady beeping.

“Tony.”

The man startled at the sound of Bruce’s voice, Peter blinking at the jump of his hand.

“Shhh… Sorry kiddo. Just relax,” Tony said softly, turning to see Bruce looking at him apologetically.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you. Sorry,” he said quietly, leaning over to fiddle with Peter’s medicine. “How are you doing, Peter? Still hurting?”

One blink.

“That means yes,” Tony said tiredly.

“Okay, well I am going to take a few samples and mix them with the medicine I’m making. If it works, I will come back and give you a dose, okay? You should feel a lot better after I give it to you.”

Peter blinked, exhaustion pooling in his eyes, before looking back to Tony.

“You’ll be okay, kid. All of this will be over before you know it.”

Bruce cleared his throat.

“Tony, can I talk to you for a minute?” he asked while motioning to the hall. Tony frowned

“I’ll be right back Peter. You hang tight, okay?” he said tightly. God he didn’t want to leave this kid, especially not in a room like this— sterile and foreign— even with May there. Peter blinked in acknowledgment, and May nodded.

He followed Bruce into the empty hall outside of the room, the brighter lights making him squint. It was quiet without the beeping of the monitors, and exhaustion seeped into Tony’s bones in its absence.

“What’s up?” Tony asked as he dragged his hand down his face. 

“I just—. I wanted to check on you,” Bruce said in a hushed tone. “You came straight from a battle with Thanos into the waiting room, and then immediately into Peter’s hospital room. You haven’t left since. I think you need to take a break.”

Tony scoffed.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll just go home and sleep this off while the kid lies in agony. Great idea, Bruce.”

“Tony, listen to me,” Bruce said softly, placing his big hand on Tony’s shoulder. Tony’s eyes looked anywhere but his face, not wanting to hear what he had to say. “I know you want to stay by his side, but you are going to collapse if you don’t take a breather. The kid wouldn’t want that. Pepper’s at a hotel with everyone else— why don’t you go see her? You have another kid wondering where you are.”

“Low blow using my daughter, Brucey,” Tony said with a scowl. After a moment, he sighed, rubbing at his neck. “And you’ll call me if anything happens?”

Bruce smiled softly. “I promise. The medicine should be done in about 12 hours if the tests are successful. We don’t know the long term effects of the stones, but so far everything seems to be progressing without damaging him. We are playing the waiting game now, and you have to sleep when you can.”

“I’ll be back in four hours max,” Tony said as he ran his hand through his hair.

“Eight,” Bruce said firmly.

“Six, and that’s my final offer.”

Bruce sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Okay. I will see you in six hours minimum.”

“FRI, start a timer.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Tell him you’ll be back soon.”

“Yeah yeah… Whatever you say, Doc Green,” Tony said with a small smirk.

Bruce returned it with his own lopsided grin.

“Fatherhood looks good on you, by the way. You’re suited for it.”

Tony scoffed, a fond look in his eyes.

“Yeah, yuck it up. Just go make my kid some medicine.”

He turned on his heels, pushing through the doors quietly as to not disturb Peter. May looked up at him in exhaustion and motions for him to sit down.

Tony returned to his chair, grabbing the kid’s attention and brushing through his curls.

“Hey kiddo. I’ve been sentenced to bed by the Jolly Green PhD— says something about staying up after a fight isn’t good on my body. Personally, I think I could run a marathon right now, but the good doctor could not be convinced.”

Peter blinked up at him, worry on his face.

“I’ll be back, don’t worry,” he said, but Peter blinked firmly twice. Tony frowned.

“I think he’s telling you to take care of yourself,” May said softly. “When you get back, I’ll take a break too. I haven’t been fighting aliens, so I’m good to go for a few more hours.”

Peter relaxed at her words, looking up at him pleadingly.

“Jeez kid… You shouldn’t be worrying about me when you’re the one in the hospital bed,” he chuckled, but the guilt still sits heavily in his stomach. This kid was here because of him, after all. He shouldn’t be leaving his side. “I’ll be back in six hours. I don’t think Bruce will let me back in a minute sooner.”

Peter blinked once and then closed his eyes, May returning her fingers to his hair and smiling at him.

“Tony… Thank you,” she said as he started to stand. “For being here.”

Tony blushed. These last five years have definitely made him less emotionally constipated, because he doesn’t brush off the comment.

“Of course. I’ll be back soon.”

May nodded, and Tony stepped outside. Exhaustion washed over him as he walked down the hall, catching a ride with a shield agent to the hotel everyone was staying at. His mind was numb now that he was out of the room, and he could barely keep his eyes open through the ride, the trees and headlights blurring before him.

When he arrived at the hotel, he was too tired to really take in his surroundings, but he did notice the beautiful mop of golden hair that stood in the lobby, soothingly talking into her phone.

“Pep.”

Pepper turned when she heard his voice, murmuring something into the speaker. She rushed to him, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him softly. She brought her phone to her ear.

“Yes, Daddy’s right here. Everything’s okay.”

Tony motioned for her to give him the phone, and he could cry with relief when he heard his little girl’s voice on the other end.

“Daddy! I saw Spiderman on the TV!” she squealed, and Tony chuckled fondly.

“Yeah, Baby. He saved everyone,” he said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. He couldn’t let her hear how tired he was.

“Is he hurt? He looked hurt,” she said sadly, and Tony’s heart clenched. Pepper looked up at him expectantly.

“He’s a little banged up, but he will be okay. He’s resting right now.”

“You should rest too, Daddy,” she said firmly, and he could picture her little nose scrunching up as she laid out orders. This was definitely Pepper Potts’ kid.

“Okay, sweetheart. I will rest. When Spiderman is better, you can come visit him,” he said with a small smile, and an excited squeal echoes in his ear.

“I get to meet Petey! Daddy, tell him to get better soon!”

Tony chuckled. The thought of his kids meeting was like a dream, and he held onto the thought as he tried to ease the anxieties that came with being away from both of them.

“I will baby.”

Pepper took the phone back, wishing Morgan goodnight before turning back to him.

“How is he really, Tony?” she asked quietly, her hand clenching on his shirt.

“He’s hurting, but Bruce says he should have medicine ready soon. I’ve been ordered to rest up for… Five hours and 42 minutes.”

Pepper smiled fondly before pulling him towards their room.

“You clean up and then get in bed. I could use some sleep too.”

Tony nodded as he headed to the room and into shower, watching the blood of battle wash down the drain. He absently ran through the motions before climbing into bed next to her.

“Just try and close your eyes for as long as you can. He will be here when you wake up,” she said as she pulled him close to her, running her hands through his hair. Tony nodded.

Thoughts of his kids playing by the lake-side lulled him to sleep.

[feel199x]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚apple of my eye ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ Chapter IV

I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X

gang member!han jisung, gang!au, florist!reader

masterlist

a/n: (tiny evil laughter)

warnings: gun mention at the end!

 Jisung was still there when you woke up, entangled in his arms. But he was already awake, even with fatigue making his eyelids droop slightly. You were worried that Jisung would disappear again, without reason or explanation, but here he was. Looking out for you even when he must’ve been overworked with his band business. You moved slightly, wanting to attempt to make breakfast for the both of you when he wrapped his arms around your waist, peppering kisses on the back of your shoulder. “Just a few minutes more,” he persuaded, “I don’t want to ever leave.” And you wish you could, you wish you had. You stroked his hand, tracing small circles on the back of it. “I have to make breakfast,” you whispered, “And open up shop. Make calls.” He rested his head on the crook of your neck. “No you don’t,” he whined, “We can just stay here.” He sounded so tired, so exhausted, and rightfully so. So, you didn’t argue.

Instead, for a few more hours rather than the suggested minutes, you laid there. Entangled in each other’s limbs, in comfortable silence and warmth. But as the noon sun rolled around, you felt more compelled to do something productive- to move past the stressful month and get back to your regular routine. You fought through Jisung’s pout and made a modest breakfast, sipping tea as Jisung refused to leave your side, sitting behind you on the living room floor, mindlessly kissing the nape of your neck as the TV news filled the room with white noise.

Around the late afternoon, you were able to drag Jisung downstairs, keeping you company as you called your frequent clients, informing them that you had opened again. They were all relieved to hear that you were alright, and that the shop was back up and running smoothly again. Some of them even stopping immediately by, bringing comfort gifts and ordering new arrangements. Still, the feeling of uneasiness rested in the demon pit of your stomach. But nothing was outwardly out of place. At least, nothing you could see. You tried to repress the feeling, a record player you had fished out from under your bed playing some soft jazz music. You were teaching Jisung to make some flower crowns out of daisies, and he was surprisingly very good at it, not needing your help after a half hour.

“Sungie.”

He paused to look you in the eyes, gently grabbing your hand to give it a tight, reassuring squeeze. “What is it my love?”

You grew flustered at the pet name, playing with the flower crown you were working on with your free hand. But for the past two weeks, all you could think about what a beaten up Jisung. You worried endlessly about him, that night was emotionally fulfilling and draining, but you had to soothe a question that pounded into your brain.

“That night..,” you hesitated, glancing nervously at him, “That night you kissed me. How did you..who hurt you?”

He made you turn to face him, hands resting on your waist. He grabbed both your hands, still maintaining eye contact. “Is that what’s been bothering you?” he asked sadly, “Is that all you’ve been thinking about?” You nodded, refusing to make direct eye contact with him. “I just had a run in with an asshole,” he explained, “You should’ve seen him though, he was much worse off.” He laughed, trying to lighten the atmosphere, hating how tense and serious it was. “Besides,” he added, planting a kiss on his biceps, “These babies would never let me down.” Your shoulders relaxed a bit, the tension in them releasing and you threw a handful of daisies at him, laughing and smiling at his ability to dissolve any sort of oppressive undertone.

He wasn’t telling you the truth, the full truth, but there was no way you could’ve none at the time.

“How’s stray kids?” you asked, “Do you have any gigs coming up?” A flicker of nearly imperceptible worry passed through Jisung’s eyes. You’d always admired the deep brown of his eyes, especially the way that sunlight shone on them, making them warm like melted chocolate and golden sun flecks swirling within them. You could draw his eyes from memory, and seeing his worry made the uneasiness creep up your chest.

“We’ve been pretty busy,” he turned to work on a second flower crown with the daisies you threw at him, “Becoming a lot more popular than we had intended. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to be with you more.” You played with his hair, tucking a few unruly strand behind his ear.

“Any time with you is a good amount of time.”

A smile spread across the face, the type that made you swoon, the type where all other smiles would be ruined for the rest of your light time. He pinched your cheeks lightly, stretching them out as he teased you. “You don’t have to be so cute okay,” he fake scolded, a smile still on his face, “If you say stuff like that, my heart is going to burst.” You make an unintelligible noise as he kept messing with your stretched cheeks. But eventually he stopped, hugging you instead. “You’re my favorite person,” he said quietly, “Thank you for being here.” He stayed in that position for a few minutes, as you played with his hair, his head resting on your chest due to his seated position. The record music still played, giving the room an ever softer, escapist feeling.

But reality had to hit sometime.

You noticed the sun setting, the orange glow filling the room in a warm, soft light. The flowers’ color illuminated by the glow. The light through the stained glass piece leaving a puddle of prismed colors on the side of Jisung face. He had never looked so relaxed, so soft, so angelic as he did now. The world felt like it calmed down, slowed, even if it was for those few minutes. You stroked his hair, before you moved to lock the shop’s door, evening approaching- and business dying down. You normally never close earlier, but today you felt you deserved it. You locked the door, shutting the blinds and the warm orange glow disappeared.  Leaving you and Jisung in artificial, fluorescent light.

That’s when the first shot was fired.

[b1ipblip]

In Too Deep

Chapter 4:

Mafia! AU

Warnings: cursing

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: WOOOO BOY. This school year as not been kind! I’m sorry for such sporadic updating, I hope and pray to get on a more regular schedule. Fell free to leave comments and asks ~Admin OG <3

Next ->

From the conversation you had with RM, you have concluded three things.

1. Your parents weren’t who they said they were.

2. They’re also dead.

3. You aren’t going back to your former life anytime soon.

4. You have a massive headache.

You were wondering why they didn’t contact you when they left. Guess the whole being dead thing will do it. Your parents weren’t a large part of your life as much as you hate to admit it. You felt as though you weren’t sad enough. However, after all the lies and secrets that they withheld from you for “your safety” came to light, you realized you didn’t know your parents at all. Is that mean? But apparently, they trust RM with your life. If you weren’t so exhausted, you would have pressed him for more answers. Sleep sounded like a more desirable state.

You drift off to sleep and when you wake, he wasn’t there. Not really a shocker. You’re quite boring when you’re asleep. The bed next to you was currently empty and an eerie silence filled the air. Then it strikes you.

You really need to use the restroom.

Your legs weren’t in too much pain, so you yank back the blanket and set your bandaged feet on the reflective tile. That was a lie, you were just telling yourself it didn’t hurt. You pull the IV out of your hand, as one does, before beginning to walk. Blood bubbles in the crook of your arm. Your legs were unsteady but you could hold yourself up with the aid of the wall under your palm. Your small feet pad along the perimeter of the clinic until your hand reaches the doorknob. 

You were wearing an unfamiliar t-shirt but the same sweat shorts that you left the dorm with. You wonder how long it’s been since you left the dorm. You poke your head out of the door to find someone who knew where the hell the bathroom would be. A tall figure slumped onto the couch in the same living room you saw down the hall last time you were here. His head leans back and faces the ceiling.

“RM?” You hold the door frame with your feet turned inwards as you inch your way into the hallway. His head pokes up.

“Wah, You’re not supposed to be walking around,” he scrambles off the couch and starts towards you. “Jin! She’s up now!” he calls out over his shoulder.

“Where’s the bathroom?” he stops midway and sighs. “What?” you say defensively.

“Second door right of the clinic,” he pinches the bridge of his nose and turns back around. You smirk at his reaction.

As soon as you open the door to exit the bathroom, Jin blocks your way out with a glare. “You’re supposed to be in bed,” You sigh loudly, making it known that you were annoyed.

“Sorry but I’d rather not piss myself just because I have a couple bruises,” you state bluntly.

“And did you rip out your IV?!” he pulls you by the wrist to take a better look at your exit wound.  His eyes bore into yours before he falters his gaze and huffs. “Let’s get you back to bed,” he supports you as you walk to the infirmary. The harsh white lighting greets you once again. Despite this only being the second time you woke up in here, you were already tired of it. So sterile and cold. You missed the homey feel of the crowded dorm room you shared with Jennie.

“Since I’m here might as well check the swelling and bruising,” You hold your torso up with your hand pressed to the bed. He bends your knee and lifts your leg from the mattress. You watch him as he gently unwraps the gauze and reveals red and purple skin covering from your knee down. “The swelling around your ankles seemed to have gone down,”

You hum in response, but your thoughts were elsewhere. RM said earlier that now you are on the underground radar as a person of interest. If anyone finds who your parents are, you’ll become a target. So it’s in your best interest to stick close to people you can trust. Or at least your late parents could trust.

They always went on ‘business trips’ and left unannounced. They’d skip town for upwards of a year and then one day greet you when you came home from school. You didn’t even know they died until this morning. It wasn’t the best family situation but it wasn’t the worst. You learned how to be independent pretty quickly. “Hey, are you listening?” a voice brings you out of thought.

“Hm?” you ask.

“I said if you need to move around, you’ll need to do so on crutches,”

You flop your head backward and sigh. “Oh don’t give me that. Your three-week recovery will only be longer if you don’t use them,” he shoots back.

“Jin Hyung,” V walks through the open doorway and rests his arm on Jin’s shoulder.

“What do you need. I’m trying to bandage her up again?” He grabs a roll of bandage and began wrapping it tightly around your ankle.

“Namjoon hyung got dinner,” Jin hums in response.

“I’ll be there in a second,” he looks up from his work and at you. “Want anything?” you shake your head, rejecting his offer. You wanted to be alone so you could think. “Fair enough, I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything,” he secures the bandage and follows V out of the cold room, closing the door on his way out.

You pull your sore legs to your chest and rest your chin on your knees. Would it be worth it to try to run away? They are a form of protection and with your recent abduction, it seems like you need it. You weren’t sure how large the gang that kidnapped you was. But the fact that they found you in your safe place, on campus, makes your stomach feel sick. You know what those people will do to you if they caught you again. Then again, RM and his gang could be after the fortune your parents have accumulated. They probably have it stored in some off shore account.

Your head keeps spinning with thoughts until it finally shuts down and leaves you staring at the wall with a blank stare. You zone out somewhere between the spectral plane and reality, quite a popular tourist attraction.

~~~~~~~~

A gentle knock disturbed your peaceful disassociating. When the door opens in reveals Jungkook with a Styrofoam takeout box. “Figured you’d be hungry,” he sets the box in your lap. Inside was barbecued meat, kimchi, and japchae with chopsticks wrapped in paper. Your mouth twists up into a small smile at the delightful sight and smell. You pull your legs in and pat the bed right in front of you.

He simpers before taking a seat cross-legged on the bed as you urged. The two of you don’t talk much at first. You quietly enjoy the company as to munch on dinner or lunch, you weren’t sure what time of day it was. Jungkook can’t seem to take his eyes off the kimchi residing in your meal and you can’t help but smirk. “You keep staring at the kimchi like it’s going to run away,”

His thoughts are broken up by your sudden remark. You pick up a wad with your chopsticks and hold it out. “Take some, I won’t be able to eat all of it,” almost immediately he bites into it and drags it off the chopsticks. He covers his mouth with his hand as his eyes turn to crescents in delight. You snicker at his animated reaction.

“You can have the rest of it. I get sick if I eat too much kimchi,” you offer.

“Thank you~” he says. mouth still full. He runs out of the open door momentarily. 

You overhear him talking to someone. “She’s letting me have her kimchi!” he exclaims to whomever. When he comes back, he is clicking a pair of chopsticks together. He hops back on the bed and crosses his legs. He looks hungrily at your plate.

“Pork belly is off limits though. I can eat it all day,” you warn before taking another bite. You hear someone else pad into the doorway and skid into the room.

“I heard there was extra kimchi!” V scrambles over in his socks.

“Ah- mine,” Jungkook duels V’s chopsticks away with his. V wines in disappointment and continues to dodge Jungkook in attempt to get some of the red gold.

“Share,” you rebuke. V looks down at Jungkook with a victorious smirk.

“See even (y/n) said to,” he turns to you. Jungkook grumbles but ultimately follows the order. “Thank you Jungkookie,” V smiles innocently. You contently eat your food with Jungkook sitting on your bed and V in a chair beside it.

You all eat relatively quietly a few words being exchanged every once in awhile. School comes us somehow and Jungkook asks you about the grade you got on the chemistry test. “I got a 96, what about you?” 

He looked down with a pout, “A 70,” V smirks and leans forward in his chair.

“Looks like our college boy has some catching up to do.” he wiggles his eyebrows.

He scoffs in response and stuffs more food in his mouth. “Not like I need to for computer science,” V covers his mouth and snickers. “By the way, what’s your major?” he asks.

“Chemical engineering”

Their eyes widen, “That must mean you’re smart right?” V asks. You shrug. 

“Maybe, I always thought I was just slightly above average,” you offer in return. You had this habit of brushing off any positive remarks.

“Speaking of college, what am I gonna do about it now that I’m here?”

“RM hyung’ll probably move you out of the dorms. You’ll still go to classes but you’ll live here,” V reasons. That’s not too bad you think to yourself. But you’ll have to say goodbye to your room mate. Your heart skips a beat when you remember a key detail about your life.

You shove the takeout box out of your lap and scramble for your phone that was charging on top of the counter of medical supplies on the right wall. “Crap! I haven’t texted my boss for two days!” You lunge for your phone and scramble back before your legs can even think about giving out on you. You begin typing a long-winded apology text.

“Where do you work?” Jungkook inquires, setting the takeout box back on your lap.

“At The Rusty Nail,”

“Really? That’s quite the hole in the wall bar,” V pipes up. Jungkook’s lips formed a line, clearly not pleased by whatever you just said.

“I’m just glad that my boss loves me. He’s the big brother I never had,”

“Shownu?” You nod in response to Jungkook. “The right hand man to one of the most ruthless mob boss in Korea?” His voice was harsh. V looked at him in alarm.

“No way,” You drop your phone on the bed.

“You can’t go back there. At least for now. The X’s are allies but who knows what they’ll do when they find out you’re on the radar.” You shake your head.

“There’s no way. Even if there was, he would have no way to find out unless one of us told him,” you reason. You’ve been working there for almost five months now. You look to Jungkook to see if there is any shred of doubt in his eyes. There wasn’t, of course.

“Trust me. You don’t know him like we do. He treated you like he does now because he just thinks you’re not tied to anything related to the underground. And if it is the job you’re worried about, RM owns a few bars that you can work at that are much closer to our offices and base,” You prop your head up with your fist and looked blankly at the takeout tray. 

~~~~~~~~~~

In the following days, RM submitted your withdraw from student housing. He refused to let you do anything physical so you had to hand your key over to Jungkook so he could pack up your things and move them over to their base which is further out of Seoul from where you originally were. You told Jennie that your parents wanted you to move in with your uncle who lives in Seoul.

Surprisingly the place you have been cooped up in was not where they lived. Rm said that despite running a mob, they are still businessmen. He said that the ‘professional’ front was handled in the offices, while more personal matters were handled at their home. For instance, Jin runs a clinic in the office building, which is where you have stayed.

After Jin deemed you well enough to move around more freely after a daily checkup, you are led to a sleek black car and ushered inside. Jin follows closely behind in an identical car. You were left in the presence of the silent chauffeur.

The lavish mansion sat outside of Seoul in a grove of trees. Your eyes sparkle with curiosity as you exit from the back seat. Carved Roman columns line guard the grand entrance that stood atop a flight of marble steps. The pristine black and white exterior gave the home an aura of harshness and prestige. 

At the top of the steps where you stood, you looked up at the massive door. It reminded you of something you’d see right before you entered a boss fight in a video game. From behind, Jin reaches past you and pushes the door open.

The interior begins with a marble foyer and a chandelier hangs overhead. However, the deeper into the new home you go, the more lived in it feels. It still holds that sophisticated feel but you no longer feel the need to watch every step you take in fear of breaking something.

The living room floor is covered in a gray shag rug and populated with darker gray couches that looked like they could swallow you whole when you sat down.”Your stuff should be in your room if I’m not mistaken. Third floor, fourth room on the right,” Jin breaks your thoughts.

You nod slowly, taking in everything you could as you ascend the black marble stairs. Very minimalist, very chic. You follow Jin’s words and walk silently to the fourth room on the right, at the very end of the hall.

What greeted you inside was a room fit for royalty. Your jaw drops as you flit over to the giant bed. Dark red velvet tops equally red silk sheets on a canopy bed. Cherry wood furniture was so dark it could be mistaken as black decorates the room.

And just as Jin had said, your suitcases sat in the center of the room. You unpack your minimal amount of personal items and clothes. You keep yourself occupied well into the night judging by the light diminishing from your tall window. You do finish up some homework and organize your things until you got bored. Glancing at the clock on the wall, it was around eleven at night.

You decide that a shower sounded good so you gather your necessities and open the door to the en suite. The monochromatic color trend continued with the white counters, shower, and tub. As you look around, you failed to realize until now that there was a second sink and a door on the other side of the bathroom. So who’re you sharing it with? You shrug it off and set your things on the counter before making sure the other door is locked. 

                                                           //

When you shower, the delicate floral scent of soap fills the room. On the other side of the locked door, Yoongi lounges on his bed with his headphones on and phone in his lap. He catches a whiff on the foreign smell, breaking his concentration he held on the repetitive bass booming in his ears. He takes off his headphones and goes to investigate the source.

He follows it to the bathroom. He tries the handle, but it is locked. When he presses his ear to the door, the hears running water and finally connects the dots. That girl’s room must be next to mine, he thinks. Namjoon didn’t tell him much except for the fact that her parents entrusted her to them, and she’s going to be staying here for awhile at least. How long awhile was beat him. He didn’t have a problem with her as long as she knows her place and stays out of the way.

But he had a feeling that wasn’t going to be the case.

[skeletonscribbles]

Wishes - Ch. 2

she promises, she delivers. this is the Mike Hanlon chapter which means it is Blessed. I think I got everyone on this taglist but if I missed someone lmk I’m a little outta my head atm

Rating: M, eventually. G right now, except for cursing. Pairings: Reddie, Stan/Bill/Mike, Benverly WC: like 3k? idk math Summary:

you know what tumblr there was gonna be a summary here but since you keep fucking up my apostrophes ive decided you dont deserve it

Other: Martin Short is actually a blessing dont listen to Mike

Chapter 1 / Read on Ao3

Tag List: @roobarrtrashmouth @jem-carstairs-is-perfection @tozier-club @aizeninlefox @stanheartsbill @latinxrichie @softeds @pretzelstoday @melancholypurple @wheezygreens @ayyyymichele @loser-marsh

MIKE HANLON - KIDCOT STATION AT THE CANADA PAVILION, EPCOT CENTER THURSDAY, OCTOBER 8TH 6:55 P.M.

There were two hours and five minutes until the Epcot fireworks show began, signalling the imminent close of the park, which meant there were three hours and five minutes until Mike Hanlon could finally clock out.

Not that he was counting, of course.

Sighing, he shifted in his seat at the Canada KidCot station. He’d been scheduled for an afternoon 8 hour shift, 11 to 7, but they’d asked for someone to extend because they were short-staffed and he apparently couldn’t help himself. He agreed to work until close, which was an extra three hours. Normally, he wouldn’t be phased by that, but he was bone tired today. He’d been up late with his Imagineer roommate, poring over plans and ideas for Star Wars.

He should have known better. No amount of arguing for Lando Calrissian or Finn was going to make Bob Iger, the CEO of the company, less racist, which meant that there was little to no hope for representation in the new Star Wars World. His roommate Ben had tried to warn him, but he’d pushed the issue anyway, feeling restless and irritated that he worked for a company that didn’t value people like him.

Now, he was paying the price. He stifled a yawn as a mother with two children hustled them by his table - he would kill for someone to actually talk to, but he wasn’t the type to hustle people over to him Gaston-style. (The Magic Kingdom Gaston was notorious for cat-calling girls, which Mike supposed was in character...but it was deeply unsettling to watch.)

Sighing, Mike picked up a marker and began to color one of the Duffy* drawings at his station. As bored as he was, he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Disney, for all its flaws, was more of a home for him than Canada had ever been, and KidCot was his favorite rotation. He loved telling stories and teaching kids about his home country - he loved teaching.

He loved Canada, too...it was his home, after all, but it had never been freeing for him like Florida had. Home came with expectations - from his peers, from his teachers, and most of all, from his parents.

Mike loved his parents, but he was definitely not the son they needed. He had no interest in hanging around and taking over the farm. His dreams were bigger than that.

His parents, for their part, had totally supported his move...at their own expense. He felt guilty about that sometimes, but he had a feeling that all three of them knew, in their hearts, that it was the right choice for Mike to go.

He’d come to Disney World because he hadn’t known where else to go. Disney had a work program for international students that promised to give him opportunities to connect with people around the world, and that promise had really appealed to 21 year-old Mike Hanlon. It had been the right choice, definitely - his first three months at Star Tours had been like a dream. He got to talk Star Wars all day, he got to choose Rebel Spies**, the ride wasn’t that complicated, and he hadn’t had to slog all the way around the perimeter of Hollywood Studios to get to his attraction like the Tower of Terror bellhops did. (There had to be a more efficient way of moving around backstage, and someday, Mike imagined they’d invent it, but for the time being, it was long walks and bikes over at Studios.) All in all, it had been a perfect fit for him.

Then, he had three months doing outdoor vending (ODV) at Studios, and that was...less exciting, to say the least. ODV was hot, sweaty work, and the guests that wanted popcorn or pretzels or light-up Mickey ears were usually tired, hungry, and cranky (and sometimes racist). Still, that was manageable, especially when he got into the groove of Fantasmic shifts. In fact, he still picked up Fantasmic shifts from time to time, for nostalgia’s sake.

After that, his program was over, but he didn’t feel ready to do something else, so he went to Casting to see about applying for a more regular job (and what he would have to do to renew his US work visa). The only full-time position they had to offer him was in the Canada Pavilion, so that’s where he was for the time being. It wasn’t ideal (he was putting in to transfer back to attractions as soon as he was able), but he’d gotten that temporary worker visa for it, so he had no choice but to make it work. So far, the only thing that had been completely ruined for him was Martin Short movies, because after watching the Martin Short ‘O Canada’ film a thousand and twelve times per work shift, he’d sooner die than watch Three Amigos ever again in his life. (He considered himself extremely lucky to have found the roommate that he did via the CM Housing Facebook page, but if Ben put on Father of the Bride one more time, Mike was going to kick him out immediately and permanently.)

Mike finished coloring his Duffy and looked around. There were no kids anywhere in sight. It was around dinner time, and the Canada pavilion wasn’t a highly popular family destination to begin with, so Mike was going to be alone for a long while, people-watching as young hipster couples walked by with Disney shopping bags full of maple syrup and plaid clothes.

He was so zoned out, he almost missed the two attractive men that were walking out of a shop and towards him.

Now, Mike had spent quite a bit of time coming to terms with his sexual identity. His father extremely traditional - which was not to say close-minded, but there was just no opportunity for exploration on the farm. It wouldn’t have made sense.

Disney was on the extreme opposite end of that spectrum. A huge percentage of male Cast Members were gay, and for the first time, Mike had the opportunity to consider his own feelings.

As it turned out, he was pretty equally interested in men and women. He’d had a couple of short relationships during his time in the States with people of both genders, and they’d all been pretty nice...just, not lasting, and none of the people he had dated had been as compelling as the two men - a redhead and a boy with light brown curls, he could see now - that were walking his way.

It was a bit disconcerting, actually. Mike usually wasn’t attracted to white people (they were so entitled and pasty), but there was something almost cosmic about these two. It felt like the universe calling.

Before they got close enough to see him, Light Brown Curls stopped and turned to the redhead, holding up a Disney bag and smirking. The redhead blushed and grabbed for the bag, but Curls swiftly moved it behind his back. They began to engage in a game of keep-away. Mike was mesmerized.

“You trying to stamp their passports?” Mike jumped at the sound of a leering female voice, and almost fell out of his chair. “If you know what I mean?”

“Ma’am, I---” he began, turning to look at the perpetrator and stopping short when he saw her pretty green eyes. “Huh?”

She laughed prettily. “The ginger making an idiot of himself is named Bill. He works Guest Relations over at MK, and he’s been super hung up on these two guys he saw in passing in the Boardwalk slash Epcot area recently. Classic pining gay.”

Mike looked back over at the two men. The ginger (Bill) had retrieved his bag, and was waving it in front of Curls’ face. Curls seemed unimpressed.

“Is the skinny brunette boy one of the guys Bill was pining over?” Mike guessed, watching the bounce of the haughty man’s curls.

“Yep,” said the girl, joining Mike in looking over. “His name’s Stan, apparently. He’s a front desk coordinator over at Yacht, because of course he is. Everyone at Yacht is so fucking put together. Pardon my French.”

“It’s a relief to hear cursing every once in a while,” Mike admitted. “It can’t be princesses and rainbows all the time.”

The girl nodded appreciatively. “I like your style. I’m Beverly. I work in costuming over at MK.”

“Oh, word.” Mike stuck out a hand for her to shake. She took it, and he was immediately impressed by the subtle strength in her grip. “I’m Mike. You wanna learn about Canada?”

“At some point,” Beverly said, smiling amusedly. “Right now, though, I’m trying to play matchmaker.”

Mike squinted at her, confused. “Aren’t your friends already together, though? I thought you were just third-wheeling.”

“Fourth-wheeling, if all goes to plan.” Beverly waggled her eyebrows. “Weren’t you wondering who else Bill has a crush on around here? I did say that he was pining over two guys.”

Mike’s stomach lurched. Pretty boys weren’t generally in the business of looking Mike Hanlon’s way...unless he was reading the whole thing wrong?

“No, but there’s already...they’re already….” Mike protested weakly, hoping his assumptions were correct. “I couldn’t intrude.”

Beverly shrugged her freckled shoulders, looking down nonchalantly. “Two’s an arbitrary number, bud. You can do whatever you want.”

The boys’ eyes were on Mike, now - they must have noticed him talking to their friend. The redhead was smiling, and Mike suddenly felt hot.

Being with more than one person at a time had never occurred to Mike, but now that the idea had been planted, it was taking root in a really fast and embarrassing way.

“Bill, Stan,” Beverly called, beaming, “meet my new friend Mike. He’s from Canada.”

Feeling a little stupid, Mike gestured to his nametag. “Saskatchewan.”

“Mike from Saskatchewan.” Stan stepped forward, confident and smooth. “Very, very nice to meet you.”

Bill smiled knowingly. “Told you, didn’t I?”

“You were right,” Stan said, eyes never leaving Mike.

Mike looked between the two, hoping for an explanation, and Bill promptly provided him with one. “I saw you here the other day, talking to kids. You’ve got incredible charisma.”

Mike was painfully cognizant of the blood rushing to his cheeks. “Thanks. Uh. Bev says you guys are CMs, too?”

“Yep!” Bill tapped his chest where his name tag would be if he were in costume. “I’m in the Magic Kingdom, and Stan’s your neighbor over at the Yacht Club.”

“It’s a shame you don’t have any guests,” said Stan, examining the Duffy coloring pages at Mike’s table. “I don’t know why people aren’t flocking to you, honestly. You seem like the kind of person that I’d actually enjoy learning about Canada from.”

“Do you wanna hear some facts?” Mike asked, and then immediately cringed. Why couldn’t he say something compelling for once?

Fortunately, Bill and Stan seemed to find it endearing rather than weird. Stan opened his mouth to speak again…

...and was immediately interrupted by a freckly, frizzy-haired tornado of a human being, who swept in and slung his absurdly long arms over Bill and Stan’s shoulders. Mike blinked rapidly, trying to take stock of the situation, but before he could get his bearings, the new person adjusted his glasses and started speaking in a thick Russian accent.

“Eet eez veddy hahd, Comrade, for me to trahhck you eef you do not answer calls, da?” He was talking to Stan, but Bill seemed to recognize him, too, if his eye roll was any indication.

“Why the fuck did you need to find me at all?” Stan groaned. It was obvious that he was fond of this weird, lanky guy, but he was playing at irritation. “I turned off my phone for a reason, you nerd. Take a hint.”

“Eh, I was bored. Also kinda sad, thanks to Big Bill here.” The guy abruptly stopped with the accent, turned to Bill, and tutted loudly. “Can you believe that Bill stood in the way of true love today? Also, how the hell do you know Bill, Stanny?”

“We’ve literally just met,” Stan said, “and preventing you from feeling love is only serving to make him more attractive to me, so by all means, Bill, continue.”

“It’s not up to me,” Bill said sadly, “and tragically, Eddie does think he’s hot.”

The third guy inhaled sharply. “Hold on, say that last bit again.”

“Mike, this is Richie.” Bill ignored Richie’s request and turned to Mike. “He’s bad, sorry.”

Richie’s eyes flicked up to Mike for the first time. Mike sat awkwardly as Richie took him in, smiled, and said, “A fucking pleasure. Has anyone ever told you that red’s your color?”

“Just you,” Mike replied honestly.

“Glad I could be your first.” Richie winked, and Mike felt charmed in spite of himself.

“Okay, so how do we all know each other again?” Bev asked, frowning. “I know Rich because he’s a giant pain in my ass when he comes through costuming, I know Bill because I know Bill, and now I know Stan and Mike through Bill…”

“Richie’s my roommate,” Stan said flatly. “Unfortunately.”

Bill whipped around to stare accusingly at Richie. “You’ve been keeping that from me?”

“Hey, I didn’t know you were into stuck-up assholes,” Richie shrugged. “Besides, that’s justice in action for not giving Cute Character Attendant Eddie my number.”

“He was working,” Bill said defensively.

“He was working,” Richie parroted mockingly. “That’s never stopped me from hitting on him before, and it won’t stop me again.”

“I wouldn't,” Bill warned. “Eddie’s no joke.”

“Didn’t say he was,” Richie agreed, bouncing excitedly. “Did he actually say I was hot, though, because--”

“Where do you work, Richie?” Mike asked, trying to save Bill from the conversation.

Richie’s smile was huge and sweet. “The World Famous Jungle Cruise, of course! Why, you itchin’ to ride my bote?” His expression turned suggestive. “Because I’d let you. It’d be worth the long, painful death Stan and Bill would put me through--”

“Beep beep, Richie,” Bill said loudly, elbowing Richie hard in the gut. Richie doubled over on to the damp wood of the pavilion floor.

Stan quirked an eyebrow, obviously impressed. “Beep beep, huh? I’ll have to remember that for next time.” He brushed Bill’s arm with his hand as he said it, and the corner of Bill’s mouth twitched up. Mike was enamoured by the interaction, and wanted more than anything to be on the other side of the table, included in whatever it was they had going on…

...fuck, he was so fucking fucked.

“Richie, if you’re not here for any real reason, then you should come with me,” said Beverly, looking like she was already regretting her offer. “I was gonna ditch these three in a couple of minutes, anyway. Let ‘em have a Food and Wine date, or something.”

“You’re sweet, Bevvy.” Richie gave her a sappy look as he peeled himself off of the floor. “Askin’ me out. Adorable. Unfortunately, I’m gonna have to pass, because Bill, I’m not going anywhere until you promise to get me Cute Eddie’s number.”

“You’re really dedicated to that, huh?” Bill asked, tone halfway between ‘impressed’ and ‘alarmed’. “What the hell happened between you two to make you so frigging obsessed, Rich? Normally you’re all jokes and no follow-through.”

Richie tried to be nonchalant, but Mike could see a bit of red creeping up his neck under the collar of his shitty Toy Story t-shirt. He was silent for a moment, and then when he spoke, his voice was soft. “He’s just...I don’t….he’s all the stuff I like, you know?”

Mike looked at Bill, whose forehead was scrunched up in obvious concern at Richie’s words, and then at Stan, who had his hands delicately on his hips and was trying and failing to not seem affected, and understood that he, Mike Hanlon, knew exactly what Richie was talking about.

“Let’s talk more about this later,” Bill finally suggested after a long moment. “Okay?”

Richie nodded quietly. Something had happened in the last few minutes...it was like someone had toggled the Richie off-switch. Mike hoped it wasn’t something he had said. “Roger that, Billiam.”

“Hey,” Mike said, feeling suddenly bold in the wake of Richie’s vulnerability. “Listen. I can’t hang with you all now, because I won’t be off of work until 22:00. If you guys are free and still awake at that point, though, y’all can come to my place after I’m done. I can write down an address. I bet my roommate won’t mind.”

Bill’s responding smile could have lit up the whole park. “I’d love that.”

“Me too,” Stan said immediately, looking between Bill and Mike with a soft expression (well, soft for Stan the consummate professional, anyway).

“You want us there, too?” Richie asked cautiously.

Mike nodded, and was relieved to note that Stan and Bill were nodding too. “Dude, I could really use some friends. I’m fresh out of those.”

With that, the tension was broken. Richie let out a great howling laugh, and moved over to clap Mike on the back. “Oh, Mikey! You just hit the friend jackpot, my man. Just ask Stanley Uris! Richie Tozier’s a top notch amigo.”

Stan shrugged listlessly. “I mean, if you like people that try to give you sloppy handies every time they’re intoxicated.”

Richie’s expression twisted up, and for a split second, Mike thought he was gonna lose it, but then instead of yelling, Richie groaned. “They’re not sloppy, Stanley, Jesus Christ.”

“Jesus who?” Stan asked, reaching out to yank on Richie’s sleeve, which presumably was meant to signal that he was kidding. “Anyways, yes, the three of us will be there, Mike. Bev?”

“That depends,” she said slyly. “Is your roomie hot, Mikey?”

Mike couldn’t help but laugh at that. Ben was an objectively handsome man, but he was less sexy than he was warm and comforting. “He’s a beautiful, wonderful guy, Beverly.”

“Then of course,” she agreed, laughing her little laugh again. “Write your address on the back of one of these Duffys, yeah?”

Mike obliged her, and when he was done, Stan took the paper and folded it up neatly, ultimately placing it in the breast pocket of his shirt.

“All right,” Richie announced. “Parting is such sweet sorrow, Micycle, but we must go purchase overpriced cocktails now. Adieu.”

“Bye!” Bev called, and almost immediately, the two of them were off, merrily making their way to the main World Showcase walkway.

Stan and Bill lingered for another moment. They were both looking at Mike with expressions that made Mike feel like his stomach was going to explode with butterflies. He didn’t know what it was about these two that made him feel all of 17 again, but he wasn’t complaining. He hadn’t been this excited about romance since middle school.

“We’ll see you later, okay?” Stan said assuringly. He slid his hand into Bill’s after he spoke, and Mike watched their fingers entwine. Absurdly, he wasn’t jealous at all...any interaction at all between the three of them felt right and good.

“Have a nice couple of hours,” Mike said, trying to convey the giddiness he was feeling through his words. “Enjoy the fireworks!”

“It’ll be nicer when we’re all together,” Bill said meaningfully, and then he and Stan were disappearing into the throng, too.

It looked like it was going to be another late night for Mike Hanlon...but somehow, he didn’t think he was going to regret this one tomorrow.

One hour and three minutes until park close, two hours and three minutes until clock-out.

Notes:

we don't deserve Mike Hanlon

*Duffy is Mickey's teddy bear, apparently. He's very popular in Japan. You used to be able to go to a Duffy meet and greet in Epcot, which is fucking wild.

**There's a moment in the Star Tours ride where one guest on that particular simulator is identified as a "Rebel Spy". The cast members get to pick that guest. I have never been that guest, and I will be bitter about that until my dying day.

[joeybelle]

Starlight - Chapter 8

Relationship: Cassian Andor x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature

Tags: Pre-Rogue One, Slow Burn, Romance, Foul Language, Hurt/Comfort

Once she got settled in the med bay, Cora’s life had somewhat returned to normal. It didn’t happen instantly, she had to spend a few more days in the cell until they found a better housing option for her and they made sure she understood all the rules and the limitations given by her “still our prisoner” status. But as soon as they convinced themselves that she wasn’t going to go berserk and kill everyone in sight, they let her become a normal human again. Within well established limits, of course, but that was nothing new.

She didn’t really understand why it took them so long to find her a place to live. When they told her they were moving her from the prison cell she assumed they’d give her a bunk bed in one of the barracks, but apparently they still wanted her separated from the rest of their men. She guessed that reinforced the idea that she was still an undesirable person.

When the guards picked her up from the cell for the last time and they brought her to her new living quarters she was surprised to notice that they hadn’t left the underground level. The room they gave her wasn’t that deep in the maze of corridors, being quite close to the elevators. It was one of the few rooms in a corridor that was now abandoned. They used to have a lot more personnel when they first moved to this base so they used most of the space available, they explained. In time, they spread their men to different bases and outposts and some of the living areas remained unused. No one wanted to live in the catacombs beneath the temple if they didn’t have to. Cora wasn’t bothered by it in the least.

The room was a lot bigger than what she expected, but scantily furnished. She had a bed, a wardrobe, a desk and a chair, all standard issue and a small bathroom on one end. It looked like the room used to house more than one person in the past, but she didn’t complain. She’d just have to find things to fill it with, to make it look more homely.

That was an interesting thought. The only real home she ever had was on ISD Corinthia when she was a kid. All the others were dorms or barracks or a tiny room on a crowded ship. They were all standardized and impersonal. She didn’t really have any personal possessions so it was very easy for her to move from one place to another. But right now she was thinking of making this place feel like home. It was an unfamiliar feeling.

Working in the med bay was a pleasant routine that she had really missed. She was doing 12 hours shifts with the occasional 16 hours here and there. She wasn’t allowed to do much else anyway. She was allowed however to be unsupervised in the med bay, mess hall and her room, so she spent most of her time working.

To say their two med bays were understaffed was a huge understatement. There were only ten medics on base, herself included, out of which four doubled as combat medics and were also going off world whenever they were needed. The med bay on the base level was primarily handling the emergencies and the small things like cuts and bruises that could be handled in a matter of minutes. The one upstairs, where she ended up working, handled the more complicated surgeries, the ones that required bacta tanks and long recovery periods, but also common illnesses and regular checkups.

While in the beginning they required her to be under the constant supervision of Doctor Crane or another medic, they soon decided that it was rather counterproductive and that she could manage the infirmary on her own, only needing another doctor to assist her on the more complicated surgeries. For a while she also had a pair of guards waiting by the door, following her whenever she left the med bay, but one day Senator Mothma sent them somewhere else and they never returned.

At first, the rebels were quite cautious in her presence, throwing her apprehensive glances, but they slowly warmed up towards her. That’s not to say that they would become best friends anytime soon, but they started smiling at her and greeting her on the corridors and that made Cora’s heart melt a little. She even met some of the other imperial defectors who were very excited to hear some new gossip from inside the Empire. She was happy to oblige since working in the infirmary of a star destroyer somehow made her an encyclopedia of useless information. She was also starting to have regular patients, like a certain mechanic that was coming in daily with with scratches or bruises. She had to wonder if he was either the clumsiest mechanic that had ever lived or he just liked seeing Cora put a band aid over his scratched fingers.

Another thing that changed in her life was that the interrogations had stopped completely. She assumed that was thanks to Senator Organa. She didn’t miss them, there was nothing to miss, but she wished she could have a few moments alone with Cassian to convince herself that he wasn’t still angry at her. He didn’t seem angry, she saw him passing the med bay almost daily, always in a hurry, and he gave her a curt nod whenever he noticed her, but he never came to say hello. She didn’t expect a “Congratulations for getting out of jail” cake from him, but he could stop by one day and ask her how she’s been doing. After all, they may not have been friends, but he knew more things about her than anyone else on base. Except maybe for General Forehead who was reading his reports.

Maybe he was busy, she thought. From the med bay she could clearly see the officers’ quarters aligned to the left and the right. His was the last one on the right. This was a piece of information she wasn’t very proud of knowing, but she sometimes found herself following him with her gaze. He was usually the one of the first to rise and last ones to go to sleep, if he even came home for the night, so maybe he was just too busy to visit. But she couldn’t get rid of the nagging feeling that he only ever talked to her when it was his job. And now, she wasn’t his job anymore.

The nights had become a lot more peaceful for her. Cora liked doing night shifts because there were less people that came in for a painkiller or a scratch and she could really concentrate on the ones that really required medical care. Doctor Crane was happy to let her take those, even though he opposed to her working more than sixteen hours a day. She didn’t mind. She liked being so tired that she would go to her room, take a quick shower and fall asleep instantly. This way, the nightmares weren’t bothering her anymore.

She liked being up when the sun rose. The med bay had a huge window and most mornings were calm enough that she could relax for a while with a cup of hot coffee, watching as the sky lit up. The base started getting crowded about the same time so it was a precious moment of peace.

She took another sip of coffee and contemplated going back to work. With so little personnel there was always something to do in the med bay. Doctor Crane had promised her he would be coming early that day, but Cora was in no rush to go to sleep just yet. The sun shone brightly making Cora hope than when the fog would lift she may see clear sky for the first time since she had been taken to Yavin IV. It was a beautiful morning.

Her attention was caught by a dark figure approaching the med bay. It took her only a second to recognize Cassian’s imperial droid, with Cassian in tow, of course. The Captain did a double take once he noticed her, and seemed determined to turn around and leave, but the droid put a metal hand on his shoulder and pushed him in.

“...and that’s only one possible outcome,” the droid finished whatever he was telling Cassian before they entered the med bay.

Cassian threw him a glare before he turned his attention to Cora. “When’s Doctor Crane coming in?”

“Good morning to you too, Captain,” Cora sarcastically greeted him, throwing her now empty coffee cup in the bin. “He’s going to be here soon, I suppose, but whatever problem you may have, I can assure you I am perfectly qualified to help you.”

“I’ll come back later.” He turned around to leave, but the droid caught him again.

“No, you won’t,” he said, interposing himself between Cassian and his only way out. “At the rate your current condition is deteriorating, there is a 46% probability you will be incapacitated by sundown.”

“What’s wrong with him?” she asked the droid, seeing as the captain had decided to be moody.

“Nothi…”

“He has a sort of rash on his calves that is starting to suppurate,” the droid cut him off.

“Put him on the consultation table,” she instructed the droid, while she washed her hands and pulled on a pair of gloves. “There are restraints under it if you need to tie him down.” Cassian tried to protest, but the droid urged him towards the table.

“Why are you listening to her?” she could hear Cassian hiss as she grabbed the disinfectant.

“She’s the doctor,” the droid simply replied. “Statistically, fewer bad things will happen if you listen to your doctor, Cassian.”

Cora tried stifling a laugh, but failed. “Listen to the droid, Captain. He has more common sense than you.”

“Is that an insult?” the droid asked.

“Maybe?”

Cassian snorted, but gave up on the idea of running away and got on the table. Cora carefully pulled up the hem of his brown trousers revealing the skin underneath. She hoped it would be something easy to treat like an allergy, but it seemed that the Captain wasn’t that lucky. The skin was bright red, hot to the touch and somewhat puffy. The pustules that had formed were already the size of a fingernail and had a sickly, yellowish tint. She didn’t have to test it to know what it was, after all she had treated more than 30 imperial soldiers one day of the same thing, but she took a sample from the pus anyway.

“I have no idea where you’ve been lately, Captain, but you’ve walked into some shit.” She got up and called a med droid. “98% chance of being incapacitated before noon,” she joked.

“That doesn’t sound like an actual medical diagnosis. Are you sure you’re qualified to handle this?” The droid’s expressionless gaze followed her around the room. Cassian chuckled. “And I can assure you my calculations are correct.”

She instructed the med droid to prep one of the operation rooms then put the sample in a slot in the lab machine. “I’m not doubting your calculations, but you’ve underestimated the gravity of the injury. It’s caused by a poisonous vine that grows in swamps. Besides causing purulent blisters on the contact area, it also causes high fevers, nausea, and if left untreated for longer periods of time, internal bleeding and organ failure. Is that diagnosis good enough?” She could see the frown on Cassian’s face accentuating. She assumed he had tried to brush it off as only a minor injury that was now proving to be a lot more serious than expected. “Are you allergic to anything, Captain?”

“Isn’t that stated in my medical file, Doctor?”

“You’d be surprised to find out that my interdiction to access any database includes the medical records. I guess General Draven fears that the Empire may be interested to know if you have hemorrhoids or not.” She winked at Cassian trying to lighten the mood a little.

“The Captain does not have hemorrhoids.” The droid seemed outraged by the assumption. Cora couldn’t help but smile. “And he doesn’t have any allergies either,” he added.

The machine’s screen flashed red, indicating the toxin that was already in his bloodstream. Cora instructed the machine to isolate it and to synthesize an antidote. That would take a few minutes.

“Good morning, Cora! I see you’re busy already.” Doctor Crane entered the med bay, coffee cup in hand and his ever present smile on his face.

“Good morning, Doc,” she smiled.

“Oh, good morning Cassian.” He said, noticing the patient. Cassian greeted back. “Long time no see. It almost made me think you’d started taking care of yourself and stopped getting into trouble.” The doctor opened a locked drawer, pulled out a datapad and started scrolling on it. “I was obviously wrong. What happened this time?” he asked Cora.

“Poisonous vines. He came in early, fortunately.”

“Well, I can take over if you want. You should go get some breakfast instead.”

“No, thanks. I’m good.”

“Are you sure you’d rather be draining pus than eating a healthy breakfast so early in the morning?”

“I’m sure.”

“Ok then. This is his medical file,” he said, handing her the datapad. “Wouldn’t want you going into surgery without all the available information on hand. Take care of our Captain, please,” he said

“Oh, I’m going to take real good care of the Captain,” she said ominously, looking over his medical file. That earned her a fearful look from Cassian and a blank stare from the droid. She smiled at both of them.

She was aware she was being unprofessional. She wouldn’t have allowed herself to behave and joke like that with anyone else, but with Cassian, well, he’d seen her at her worst and didn’t run screaming. Besides, she liked poking and and prodding and teasing him, trying to make him lose that stern appearance. It wasn’t a very good idea, as she knew it would probably end up in a fight, but she felt it was payback for putting her in a cell.

The machine made a “ding” so she knew the antidote was ready. She grabbed it and told a med droid  what other medication she wanted put into his IV. She helped Cassian get up and guided him towards the operating room. He didn’t protest. He was actually a lot more silent that she had expected him to be, but seeing how the colour drained from his face when he got up, Cora assumed he was in a lot more pain than he was showing.

“I’m sorry,” she told the imperial droid who followed them. “I can’t let you into the operation room. You can either wait here or go about your business, but Captain Andor is going to be in the the infirmary for a while.”

“Oh.” He seemed to think for a moment. “I’ll be going then. I’m K-2SO, by the way. Good luck, Cassian. Get well soon.” Cassian nodded.

“Nice to meet you, K-2SO.” Cora waved to the retreating droid.

“He’s in a good mood today.”

“That’s a good mood?” Cora lifted an eyebrow.

“You’d be surprised.”

As the medical droids were helping Cassian get onto the operating table and hooking him to a monitor, Cora put on a surgical gown, a mask and a pair of medical safety glasses. In her experience, dealing with pustules caused by poisonous vines was a really messy process. She remembered the first time she’d done it, in her second year of medical school since the professors really liked grossing out the students early on, she didn’t eat for an entire day. Especially since they had served cheese balls with a gooey interior that day.

Cassian was patiently waiting for her on the operating table, looking a little paler than before. She looked over the monitor, he had a mild fever right now but that may soon change in reaction to the antidote. She attached the vial to the IV and watched as the substance mixed with the saline solution.

“The antidote to the poison is really strong, so it’s very common to feel nauseous or dizzy. If you feel like vomiting, turn to the left,” she instructed him. “If the pain is too much of you feel very ill, please tell me and I’ll administer a sedative.” She’d already given him painkillers so the pain should go away soon, but the cocktail of medication had some uncomfortable side-effects.

“I’m ok,” he said, but his voice was weak.

Cora grabbed a pair of scissors and started cutting the leg of his trousers. Cassian lifted his head of the table and watched her work with an unfocused gaze.

“Are you feeling ok, Captain?” she asked, spraying his legs with a generous amount of disinfectant.

“I’m fine,” he replied, lowering his head. “Just a little dizzy.”

“That’s normal.” She applied a local anesthetic and started cutting open the blisters and draining the fluid inside. It was a tedious task, but Cora worked as fast as she could. She liked her job, even though at times she had to do gross and repetitive things like this, she still loved being able to help.

“Captain,” she suddenly asked, “why were you so determined to leave once you saw it was me in the infirmary? Don’t you trust my medical skills?” She felt he was still angry at her for insisting to see how his wound had healed, so she had to ask. She looked at him over her safety glasses. He had his eyes closed so she assumed he’d fallen asleep. A low chuckle proved her otherwise.

“You once said that you regretted saving my life.”

She blinked a few times, surprised by the answer. That was really the last thing she was expecting. “You actually believed that?” she finally asked. “And you thought I wouldn’t do my job because of it?”

“Maybe.” His voice was barely a whisper.

“Well, I lied. I was angry,” she explained, going back to cleaning the injury. “Before being an imperial or a rebel, I am a doctor. My job is saving people, friends or foes. My feelings will never get in the way of that.” She wondered if she could ever hate someone so much that she’d refuse to save them. She had one name on that list, and one name only. “Besides,” she continued, “I don’t hate you nearly enough for that.”

“But you do hate me.”

“A little,” she joked.

He laughed and said something in a foreign language that she didn’t understand. She wanted to ask him what he said, but then figured that if he wanted her to know, he would have said it in Basic. It sounded sad somehow, but maybe she was just overthinking it.

She didn’t pester him with anymore questions, as she noticed from his raspy breathing that he was starting to feel worse. His fever had gotten higher and there were tiny droplets of sweat forming on his brow. Nonetheless, he didn’t complain once. Cora finished cleaning the wounds and covered them in bacta before bandaging them tightly. It would take about a day for the incisions to heal, but treated correctly, they wouldn’t scar. That, of course, meant he had to stay in bed and let it heal.

“We’re all done,” she told the captain and was surprised when he tried to stand up. “You’re not allowed to get up just yet or the laceration will start bleeding. You’ll be back here in a few hours begging me to stop the bleeding,” she told him, gently pushing him back. “Please don’t be stubborn today.”

“I’m not…” he started to protest, but Cora started administering a sedative to the IV. His face suddenly became serene and his vision hazy as the drug kicked in.

“I’m sorry, Cassian. Not today.”

The med droids started moving him to a recovery room and Cora followed after discarding her gloves, surgical gown, mask and glasses to a recycling bin. Doctor Crane looked at them over his reading glasses.

“You’ve sedated him?” he asked.

“He was trying to stand up and leave as soon as I finished bandaging his wounds,” she explained. “It says here in his medical file that he left hospital early seven times only in the past three months.”

“Well, he doesn’t like being bedridden. But it’s still rather frowned upon to sedate people unless they really need it.”

“Just this time. I’m tying him to the bed next time. And bolting the bed to the floor so he doesn’t leave with it.” The doctor chuckled.

She followed them to a recovery room. The droids had already put him in bed and made him somewhat comfortable. She looked to the monitor. His fever was starting to go down and that was a good sign. Also the redness on his legs was starting to disappear. It meant the antidote was doing its job. He was going to be ok in a few hours.

Cora dismissed the droids and she was left alone with the sleeping rebel, the beeping of the monitor resounding in the quiet room. She took a damp tissue and wiped the sweat off his forehead. The frown had returned, like he was dreaming of something unpleasant. There were fine lines around his eyes and his skin looked like he had spent too much time in the sun, but even so he was still handsome. Cora brushed a few hair strands off his forehead but then absent-mindedly let her hand fall down to cup his cheek. He stirred in his sleep, but leaned into her touch, the overall tension on his face lessening a bit.

She couldn’t help but smile, but it was a sad smile. She just wanted to hug him tight and tell him that she had no idea what he was going though in his life, but everything was going to be alright.

Unfortunately, he was unconscious, she was his doctor and right now she was crossing a line. She took her hand away with faint sigh. She left the room wondering: just how starved for affection was he?

Just how starved for affection was she?

“You seem troubled. What’s on your mind?” Doctor Crane asked, when Cora returned the datapad.

“He’s only two years older than me,” she said.

“Yes.”

“I thought he’d be at least ten years older.”

The doctor looked at her, his expression unreadable. “He’s been through a lot,” he said, putting the datapad away. Cora looked at him hoping he would elaborate. She was really curious. “But that’s not my story to tell, so you’ll have to ask him.” He smiled.

Cora sighed in frustration. “And so another mystery will never be solved,” she joked and Doctor Crane snickered.

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