#and the strongest painkillers known to man

[cleaningbones]

hey moots got any advice for wisdom teeth recoveryyyyy

[bloodhoundsandplagues]

want me

leon kennedy x reader

2K words

summary : you're given a vaccine to cure you of the man-made virus you're infected with- but no one told you it would be painful, or that it would cause an old crush to surface. as your thoughts clear, you realise that leon kennedy is right next door, so you may as well, right?

warnings : lots of swearing, mentions of nsfw (just jokes, no actual smut), one vaguely gory description at the beginning ? potential for some actually REALLY heavy making out and like. hands under the shirt (no boobs tho soz)

no use of Y/N, gn reader, no spoilers for any of the games, no set time when this is supposed to be set. again kinda short but idk what yalls standards are for fic lengths

A/N : no picture for this one bcs my tumblr fucks up the quality of EVERYTHING. also for u lot to picture whichever leon u want <3

Pain is nothing new to me. 

I’ve been thrown off buildings and out of cars, drowned, strangled, smacked, shot, punched, kicked, bitten- the works, really. I know what it feels like to hurt; when your insides twist and turn and burn as if begging you to just die, relieve the pain a little. 

But this? 

Oh, this is a whole new kind of pain. I know it’s not normal. Some fucker put a man-made virus in me; doctors had to give me a vaccine, because my life was on the line, et cetera, et cetera. But what they didn’t tell me was that the bioweapon living in me would fight, claw, and scream; that it would not go down easily, like I hoped it would. 

I can hardly breathe, curled into a ball on a cot in an empty hospital room. My throat is burning, my heart thumping violently in my chest. I am Prometheus; an eagle standing over me, tearing out my liver, letting the blood drip onto my face as it chews. I feel the dread of regeneration; the knowledge that as soon as the eagle is finished, it will tear back into my belly, cawing happily. I see it, for a moment, as I dance in and out of reality; only the eagle has bright golden eyes and there is so much blood. 

I feel like I’ve been bent over and fucked raw with a sword made of fire. 

I sob and scream into my hand; the doctors have given me painkillers, but they’re doing shit fuck all for the pain. I swim in and out of consciousness for hours, my vision blurry, everything around me muffled. I can’t tell if they’ve actually left me alone, or if I’m just losing my mind. 

Occasionally, people enter the room. I think they talk to me, but I can’t tell over the sound of my own crying and the shapes, silhouettes dancing around me. At some point, someone touches my forehead, as if to check my temperature. Groggily, I think, this isn’t a fever, shitbag. Ever the eloquent one, me, especially when in excruciating pain. 

Finally, it dulls, and I manage to move without wanting to pull out my eyeballs. It’s nothing special, only a turn of my head, a flutter of my eyelids as I try to open my eyes. 

There’s someone in the chair next to my cot. At first, I hallucinate- the shape slumped there goes from being my mum, to my sister, to my uncle, to my supervisor (which is the weirdest of them all, because he’s the only one I’ve talked to in the last decade). But finally, it shifts to something more solid, something real. 

My heartbeat picks up significantly, which the monitor I seem to be hooked up to decides to broadcast. I sit up, and the pain courses through me again. The shape seems to look up, and I recognise blond hair, blue eyes, a bruise on the cheekbone as my vision clears. 

“Leon,” I say. It comes out as more of a grunt, my tongue heavy and sandpapery in my mouth. I feel like I’ve downed fifteen shots of the strongest alcohol known to man and hit by a car. I try again. “Leon.” It comes out clearer this time. 

He reaches out, grabs onto my hand and squeezes. I try to squeeze back but nothing happens except for another not enjoyable shot of pain. 

“Careful,” he says, his hand moving up to my wrist. He’s checking my pulse, I realised. Why? The machine is practically flatlining, with how fast my heart is beating. 

Oh. That’s why he’s checking my pulse. 

“Leon,” I say, and it finally comes out right. I grin, and am filled suddenly with a wave of happiness. My heart jumps into my chest and I’m struggling to breathe as I gaze at him. I don’t know what I must look like to him right now, but I do know that he’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. 

“I’m here,” he reassures me. His other hand comes up to gently touch my face, the pads of his fingers brushing over my cheekbones, my eyebrow, my nose. He stops before they reach my mouth (if I wasn’t in this much pain, I would have grabbed his hand, pulled him back) but I think I see him hesitate. 

Is it the pain meds that are making my stomach flutter, the tips of my fingers tingle? 

I open my mouth and nothing comes out. What is there to say? 

His eyes are so, so blue. I hadn’t quite realised until now, now that he’s so close. 

“Y’pretty,” I slur out, and I grin. The pain in my limbs is slowly dulling, and I somehow push myself up on my elbows. Leon immediately puts a hand to the back of my neck, supporting me as I sit up. And his skin is warm, and I am feeling warm in all kinds of places, and I don’t know if it’s the pain meds or my beating heart or the virus currently being wrestled out of my body, but before he can even breathe in to answer, I open my mouth again. 

“So pretty,” I say. My words are clearer, but my vision is dancing between blurred and clear. His brows are furrowed, and I lift my arm, ignore the pain to trace the lines of his face. They seem to shine gold and silver in the soft light of the hospital room. 

He says my name, almost like a prayer falling from his lips. He breathes it out, taking my wrist and gently moving it away from his face. I feel a little drunk, but at least the pain is numbed slightly. 

“You’re-“

“No.” I shush him, shaking my head. “I’m nothing.” My words are mixed up, coming out all jumbled and wrong. That’s him, making me feel that way, I try to convince myself. 

He stands, clears his throat. Goes to the door; I think he calls the doctor, but I’m too far away to hear, dancing in some strange minds cape again. Colours flow around me, like liquid sunlight. I reach out and try to catch some in my hand. 

It takes what feels like a thousand years for the doctors to clear me to go home. I have to be helped into a wheelchair by nurses, and it’s Leon (sweet, beautiful, lovely Leon) who pushes me out, into someone’s car (not his, I hope, because I smell terrible). It’s Leon who drives me home, a quiet song on the radio, checking every few seconds to make sure I haven’t passed out. 

I am able to stand by the time we get to my place. I wonder briefly how he knows my address, then remember that time he came over, years ago. Did he find the text I sent him? Or does he have it memorised? I watch his face, entranced. 

He opens the door, helps me out of the car. Keeps his arm around my waist, supporting what feels like my full weight. He pulls keys- my keys, I realise when I recognise the tacky keyring hanging off them- from his pocket, inserts them in the lock. I refuse to let him carry me up the stairs, although he insists and insists. His arm stays tight around me, muttering very quiet encouragements to me as we go. I almost collapse in relief when I see my front door, still painted atrociously yellow. I should change that, I think. 

He gets me into my apartment, and I am finally able to stand without help (although I stumble a little, and my head spins every time I move). He offers to leave, but I gulp down whatever feeling is rising in my gut, let out a muttered “stay,” give him my best puppy eyes. He agrees without hesitation, asking me if I need anything. 

“‘M gonna- gonna run a bath,” I garble very attractively. He nods, sits on the couch that doubles as my bed (studio appartments, amirite?) and waits, so pretty. 

I shut the bathroom door- don’t lock it, though- and sit on the lip of the bath, watching the water running. My thoughts are beginning to clear, the pain now just a dull throb in the background rather than an overwhelming burning in my throat. I swallow it as I dip my fingers in the water, trying to blink the fog out of my eyes.

“You okay in there?” Leon calls. I look up, and the painkiller fuelled what-the-fuck-ever takes control once more. 

“Yeah,” I say, my voice slightly strangled. The last thing I need right now is a distraction. I need a bath, normal clothes, I need his hands on me and his mouth on mine- 

I check that the bath is full enough, and dunk my entire head under. 

God, what is wrong with me? I’ve always had less than appropriate feelings about Leon, sure, but in a coworker/friends way, not in a dirty thoughts in the bathroom way. 

Unfortunately, these thoughts remain when I come back up- my hair is just soaking wet now, and my eyes sting a little. 

“Fuckin’ stupid,” I mutter to myself. I don’t reach for a towel; instead I sit on the lip of the bathtub, staring into the water, dripping onto my trousers. Y’know, like a loser. 

I start to take my shirt off, then stop. The simple movement makes my ribs feel like they’re being torn out and used to stab me repeatedly; I stop and immediately lower my arms, groaning. 

Fuck. 

I get up, and manage to hobble to the door. Open it- luckily I don’t have to fumble with the lock. 

“Leon,” I say, and he’s on his feet in half a second, in front of me in the second half. I reach out and he grabs onto my waist, steadying me as I sway back and forth. 

“I don’t wanna bath,” I say, my words jumbling together. I reach up, cup his face in one hand. “Want- want you.” 

He hesitates, almost moving away from me. His throat bobs, his eyes narrow and widen; there’s a tic in his jaw, which I smooth down with my thumb. 

He says my name, and I shake my head. 

“I feel fine,” I say, and thank god my words are clearer. “Do you?” 

Almost involuntarily, it seems, he pulls me a little closer. I touch my forehead to his, my pulse racing. I can feel his too, I realise when I shift my fingers. It’s racing just as fast as mine. 

“I’m sorry,” I say, “this isn’t- I’m not. But you’re… I…” I shake my head. I hope he understands what I’m saying, because I certainly fuckin’ don’t. “Want to kiss you.” He seems so nervous, bless him; maybe unsure of how willing I am to really kiss him, if it’s just the painkillers talking. I nudge forwards with my nose, and he kisses me. 

As soon as his lips meet mine, my legs buckle. He catches me, supporting me fully without breaking the kiss. Fireworks erupt in my chest; if someone were to set me on fire, I would hardly notice- the feeling in my chest, in my throat, is enough to drown out any pain the painkillers might have neglected. 

I stumble into him, and he holds on, his mouth not leaving mine for a millisecond. I thread my fingers through his hair, press the other to his neck, fumbling for his pulse. His heart is beating almost as fast as mine. 

“Leon,” I mumble into the tiny space that opens between us when he pulls away for air. His eyes open and worry fills them. 

“Are you-“ 

“‘M fine,” I quickly say. My speech is almost back to normal. “Just- wanted to say it.” He smiles, for the first time since I woke up, I think blearily, and kisses me again. My back hits the wall, and he pulls me away slightly, a hand at the small of my back. I grin against his mouth, teeth lightly bumping into his. We both laugh and I take the opportunity to kiss the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his neck, down to his collarbone. He’s still holding me up, and I like it- like not having to support myself. Any thought of pain is gone for my mind as he tilts his head to the side, allowing me better access to his bare neck. God, we’re both such sluts. I lift my head again, and he kisses me, as hungry as I am, I realise. It’s messy, and my hands are all over the place, but he is kissing me in a way that is making me vaguely lightheaded, and he has a hand at the back of my neck, and now he’s the one with his mouth on my throat, whispering what feels like prayers into my skin. It’s no longer the pain that’s making my legs weak. I sigh, then gasp when he presses a long kiss to the dip in my collarbone. He looks at me, and I thread a hand through his hair again. “Shirt,” I say, not politely, despite my little smile. He’s smiling too, and he kisses me as I work at the hem of his shirt, tugging it upwards so I can press my hands to his bare back, feel his hot skin. He shudders lightly, and I feel his mouth in the crook of my neck, whispering things to me that I wish I could hear. His own hands go under my shirt, resting on my bare waist. His thumb brushes an old scar, hovers there; I feel the question in the touch, and wrap my arms around his neck. 

“Gun,” I murmur into his neck. “Five years ago. Fucked up an op.” He doesn’t respond, but he finds every scar on my back and stomach, and I tell him about every single one, pressing soft kisses to his neck as he searches my skin. The way he makes me feel- the attention he gives me, the gently touch of his fingers, as if I’m something holy- it should be illegal. He kisses me when he finds the last scar, and I kiss him back, and fuck, how’s he got my shirt off? The garment is discarded onto the floor. And I keep kissing him, and he keeps kissing me. I manage to tug off his shirt as well, and of course I know where this is going, and god, I am not going to fight it. 

His hand goes back to my hips, and he pulls away, examines me. Just- just looks at my face, traces the lines of it with his blue blue eyes. I tilt my head at him, and he can’t seem to resist pressing an open mouthed kiss above my pulse, whispering something that sounds like beautiful into my skin. I lean into him, letting out a soft sigh; once again, he moves down, to my collarbone, to the now exposed skin of my shoulders. He takes my hand, kisses my wrist. I feel like I’m being worshipped (although, if I were a god, I wouldn’t want people making out with my statue). 

“Fuck,” I murmur, tightening my grip on the back of his neck. He’s so gentle, and yet… I tip my head back. 

This better be a long night. 

[silentmoths]

what a weekend

well that was a time, life stuff below

I may have spent the last three days in hospital. Long story short, a bout of gastro had me throwing up 9 times in an hour, promptly off to the hospital we goes.

only to discover that I had dehydrated to such a dangerous degree that it sent my diabetic ass' blood sugar skyrocketing into the 30's (540's for any american standards users) and my ketones also went up, putting me into ketoacidosis.

I had shown up expecting to be given that funny lil pill that put under your tongue to stop nausea and be sent on my way, I had work that afternoon.

Now? Now im admitted.

Somewhere along the way I, a severely needlephobic whore, end up with 4 cannula in my hands because mfs can never catch a vein in my arms, so im riding high (not) and then the big one.

'oh, the doctor wants us to put a catheter in'

you want to put a what. in my WHERE.

so now I am like a cyborg. I'm septic, I have Insulin in one cannula, two lots of antibiotics fighting fuck knows what in another, saline and potassium in the third, and the 4th was meant to be for just drawing blood. oh and now im sitting here with no pants and a fucking TUBE STUCK IN PLACES TUBES SHOULD NEVER BE.

oh and for the first 36 hours I was nil by mouth. no food, no water. I had so many bags of saline/hartmans being pumped into my system they didnt deem any excess liquid intake necessary. I also have this raging headache that not even the strongest painkillers they were willing to give me would touch (later, i discovered this was because it was a caffine withdrawal headache and iykyk)

SO! what did we learn from this? why did my body suddenly attempt to unalive by way of acid blood? well.

we arent too sure.

The diabetes team seems to have a theory, one thats been brought up a few times in my life with the unfortunate illness because I have the markers for it, but there is potential that i have a fun (not) secret third type known as LADO diabetes which is a whole different ballgame, reacts to medications differently, and sometimes just needs hole new fucking medications but it's a lot of trial and error.

for now, im home, finally, I can eat, finally...even if i'm not all that hungry, remember the throwing up that started this? yeah. gastro is a bitch, im still not hungry. but I feel like hot flaming cheeto trash, I've been ordered to bedrest for the rest of the week and man am I glad my new boss is a fkn kind and understanding woman because i cant imagine many would be so chill about their new employee almost offing a week after starting.

the takeaway from all this? if you throw up more than thrice in an hour, kid. please go to the hospital.

[catachan-jungle-fighter]

The City AU: Mad Wolves, District 23

The Mad Wolves were just a small syndicate at first, a bunch of starry eyed Rats who aspired to be something greater then the Rats they were scrabbling in the dark for what wealth they could scrounge together, but they slowly started to grow by absorbing other Rats into their group until they managed to claim a chunk of W Corp's Backstreets for their own.

They'd make their way onto the scene by slaughtering a group of Fixers from a small office that had been hired to clean them out, the first appearance of 'The Six' being them slaughtering the strongest Fixers among the group that had recieved the contract. Each of the Six wearing masks resembling animals, from the mask of a owl on the first woman to the ragged mask of a Wolf on the last member, these were the unofficial leaders of the Mad Wolves and were known as the Councilors... well except for the 6th member, who was seen as the Enforcer for the Syndicate thanks to his overwhelming strength and his fondness for his Workshop Made Weapons.

Upon the retreat of the remaining survivors of the group, the corpses of the fallen Fixers would normally be swiftly dismantled by Rats who would sell the organs and augmentations, but in this case the 6th Member would order some of the Syndicate members to take only the weapons and to ready the corpses for being sent back to their office, the man crushing a dissenting member of the Syndicate's head with his bare hands after they had tried to talk the others around to tearing apart the corpses.

-

'Owl': The 'Head' of the Council and the Syndicate, she personally interviews and recruits anyone who is to be one of the Wolves, preferring those who hadn't partook in the cannibalism common to the District but willing to take them into the Syndicate even if they were swiftly shoved under the 6th's command.

'Scorpion': The individual in charge of the Syndicates weapons and armor, Scorpion sends out mass orders to various workshops when they have the funds to afford workshop grade gear for large chunks of their forces, otherwise they tend to focus on fulfilling the requests of the 6th for Workshop made weapons, primarily blunt weapons and bladed weapons.

'Rat': The Syndicate's money maker, Rat runs a variety of 'legal' businesses and schemes that make the majority of the Wolves Funds, sending out the 6th when they need to crush anyone who won't sign onto the protection 'business' they charge for by the week. Rat also ensures that the Syndicate's taxes are paid on time, from the lowest 'Pup' to their fellow Council members, to make sure that the Head never feels the need to deploy a Claw to 'motivate' their payments.

'Bull': The Caretaker of the Syndicate, their underlings acting as makeshift doctors and nurses for any wounded members of the Syndicate, the 6th and his underlings being common patients which eat through the small supply of K-Corp Regeneration Bullets they have for serious injuries, if anyone dies on their tables or in their care they will swiftly sell the bodies to any nearby 'Restaurants' that can process them into meals for anyone willing to eat them.

'Viper': The Drugmaker of the Wolves, Viper cooks up everything that the Syndicate uses, from the painkillers that Wolf uses quite heavily that leaves him in a constant state of numbness to the highly addictive products that they test on their own subordinates before releasing them for sale. Wolf and Viper know each other, Viper preferring Wolf doped to the gills on something they made compared to the alcohol they would commonly drink.

'Wolf': The Enforcer of the Mad Wolves, Wolf handles any issues that spring up for the Syndicate from people not paying their dues to attempts by other Syndicates to push into their territory, outside of these duties he tends to 'train' his underlings (read:torture) until they fit his preferences for their skill level. He spends most of his time high on painkillers made by Viper, the drug leaving him thankfully numb compared to the extremely heightened senses he normally has ever since he escaped the Corp that he was 'volunteered for' by his mother.

-

The major groups they tend to avoid are some of the more notable Fixer Offices and the Index from the Fingers.

The Index being avoided solely because their Prescripts tend to give the Council and their Subordinates headaches.

[tamelee]

i just wanna say that you’re so brave for reading sasuke hetsuden, you may be god’s strongest soldier for being able to read such a cringe content fr

@narcissiques ! 💕

Brave? Then why do I feel like:

I’m on 3 painkillers 😂

Yes. They are a happy family after all. (Yay to search functions)

The moment Sasuke sees Sakura at the prison he is worried about her and thinks something happened. “Is Sarada ok? Where is she?” 

The second time she is mentioned is when Sasuke and Sakura look at a pool of water, taking their sweet time even though in it, there is supposed to be a clue that could help Naruto from this disease he’s suffering from, but no- Sasuke needs to take a long time to be all sentimental as he grabs Sakura’s hand and they get all romantic.

Remember this? Sasuke's Inner monologue in Chapter 698:

This is just a snippet, but take that in its entirety, make it different and romantic in words and about Sakura. That is what happens next to the lake. Also add that Sasuke adds that during his travels alone he feels lonely and wants to touch her, but obviously can't :((( aw.

Sarada is mentioned, because he wanted to show Sarada the lake also.. which is located at the prison.. which he only saw briefly.. which is really unimportant.. which I highly doubt.. which honestly makes no sense- but ok. 

Sasuke goes on and sort of makes his insecurity about getting replaced as a man known to Sakura, but then they talk about wrinkles on their faces and it’s funny I guess which makes them laugh. 

Laughing together is Sasuke-kun’s only wish, but again.. he has to help Naruto :(((( Anyway Sarada is mentioned here because he thinks her dreams can only be realized as long as Sakura stays in Konoha..

So because of their daughter and Naruto (damn them) they can’t travel together and Sasuke-kun’s sincere and only wish, which is laughing together with Sakura can’t happen. OML. Let that one sink in for a moment. 

And lastly Sarada makes dinner for “the Uchiha household” as they all peacefully stay at home, relaxing. No one important needs help now anyway. 

Well this account exists a little over a year and I haven’t had one argument that I can remember tbh, at least not one with any specific argument-points, which to me is even funnier. But I do feel a little delusional atm, like someone just tore away my last 2 remaining braincells. Even brainless I can tell you that yes, the novel is OOC. 

[ruinikaidoexplodedbadly]

who else wants to BE PUT ON THE STRONGEST PAINKILLER KNOWN TO MAN

[writingsbychlo]

smoke and fire (13)

word count; 14,463

summary; in the aftermath of an unusual rescue, some big revelations come to pass.

notes; y’all are gonna hate me but love me.

warnings; descriptive gore, gun use, reference to death, violence, gang activity, reference to drug use, reference to arson, reference to house fires, main character injury.

It was a known fact that it took three whole seconds in the morning before you could process where you were, and remember anything other than your own name.

That first second was spent in a quickly disseminated state of serenity. Your head wasn’t yet hurting, and you eased back into consciousness with a slow start, the darkness surrounding you oddly reminiscent, but the chilling cold and the damp was less so.

The second was when panic rushed through your system.  Your throat felt blocked as you came back to consciousness, the pain in your head came crashing back over you like a crushing tidal wave, the blood rushing on your head as coughs racked your body, trying to take a deeper breath, and panic filled you.

The third second made you roll onto your side, spluttering a little as pain throbbed behind your eyes and your head was spinning, making you feel like you were falling for just a second, before your nails were scraping at the material underneath you as you tried to sit up, everything along your body screaming out in agony and almost giving out with your weakness. It wasn’t soft cotton like your sheets, it was gritty like stone, tearing at your nails.

And then, you remembered.

You remembered exactly where you were, and what had happened, and why you were here. Well, that part was still a little fuzzy, you’d never really been given a reason. The pain in your body made sense, the dull throbbing in one eardrum more than the other and the shock of residual adrenaline left in your sore body that was beginning to make a resurgence in your fear, and you forced yourself to take a deep breath.

The familiar burn of tears in your throat as a lump formed and the stinging of salt in your eyes as they threatened to fall, and then you found the strength to sit up, to blink and clear dust-filled eyes a little more, before wiping a hand over your face to get rid of it all. There wasn’t much light where you were, but there was a clear spot of musty-yellow lighting in the centre of the room, your body curled in the corner, dumped in uncomfortable positions that made your legs ache, and there was a figure you recognised leaning over the table.

Covered in blood, frantic, brown eyes fixed on you that glittered under the low light, you swallowed thickly.

“Nice of you to join us, sleeping beauty. Think ya’ can come give me a hand over here?” Your brows furrowed, still trying to piece the puzzle together, but then there was a clicking that made you jump unnecessarily violently in fear, the memory of the last time you’d heard it flashing behind your eyes like a scene from a movie. Newt was panicked, but clearly trying to stay calm, his eyes widening just a fraction in a messaged for only you to hear, and despite the pain you felt, you forced yourself to your feet.

Your bag was weighing you down, medical supplies rattling, and you stumbled on feet that you could barely feel until your hands were braced on the edge of the table, and you could see what was going on a little better.

A gunshot victim, at least four bullet wounds, two packed with gauze that was rapidly soaking through as Newt had pressure on two others; swapping between them frantically if the pile of blood-sodden gauze on the floor was anything to go by. You assumed from the recognisable tattoo on the other half of this mans face too that he was a part of whatever gang this was, and clearly, an important member if they were willing to commit these kinds of crimes to save his life.

“You got more gauze, ‘cus I’m running out, and I could use your help getting him fixed up before we both end up looking like him.��

His words were low and whispered, and you gaped as you stared at the man. “This guy needs a hospital, and a team of professional medical surgeons. Like, Derek! Or, Dr Lahey! We aren’t trained for this!”

“Yeah, well, we’re all he's got.” Newt huffed, a spit of blood leaving the unnamed man’s body between Newt’s gloved fingers as he tried to shift his weight, a whispered curse from his lips as he tried to stop the flow again.

You nodded, swallowing thickly and squeezing your eyes shut in a desperate attempt to quell the pain bouncing around the inside of your skull. You assessment the scene, noting the Newt really hadn't been able to do much, and thankfully, if the change in the daylight outside was anything to go by then you had only been out for an hour or so, maybe a little longer, light still coming in between the cracks in the boarded-up windows.

The man in the corner was slumped in his chair, gun sitting beside him on the table, and your heart was racing so fast that the headache you sported was only getting worse. Your voice felt raw and hoarse as you tried to speak on it, squeaking and cracking the first time you tried to speak in anything above a whisper.

“We’re gonna’ need some water over here, boiled if you can to stop an infection, but even just bottled water would do at this point.” The man sitting on the chair stopped his rocking, the groaning of the seat against the concrete pausing, and you jumped as the front two legs slammed back down onto the floor. He stared at you for a moment, analysing you, before giving in, wandering over to the door and undoing a heavy deadbolt to open it up, never turning his back to the two of you and keeping his gaze locked with yours before throwing a demand for bottled water over his shoulder.

There was scuffling, various sounds of movement on the other side and you assumed there would be multiple people, before the door was closing once again, and the grating sound of metal was making itself knowing again in such a piercing scream along the lock that you shivered, wincing at the chill it gave you, stomach twisting.

“All right, this is a fucking mess.”

“You don’t say, love.” Newt grunted, a soft laugh falling from him as you opened up your bag, hands shaking as you tore it roughly, the zip ricocheting along its tracks to expose the contents to you. A fresh pair of gloves, and two of the strongest painkillers you could find that you forced yourself to choke down dry, and then you were attempting to focus.

Your scissors came first, chopping around Newt’s hands as best you could to remove the sodden clothing that covered his body to expose blood-smeared and frayed skin, torn from bullet wounds and bruised from the bleeding under the skin. Pushing the fabric aside, Newt pressed down a piece of gauze that was turning redder from pink by the moment, no white left on it, and the colour of his skin was beginning to turn sickly pale.

Grabbing for your flashlight, you noticed it was gone, left nowhere on your bag and missing from your person, patting down every pocket, before your partner simply huffed. “I wanted to do a trauma exam, except my torch is on my keys, too, and they took those a while ago because they have things that could be used as a weapon on them.”

“What, like my star-shaped plushie keyring?”

“Apparently.” You rolled your eyes, reaching a hand up to the lamp overhead, and tapping your fingers against the metal, hissing at the heat building up along the cover of the lamp, but deciding it would have to do. It wasn’t ideal, and it wouldn't give results all that accurate, but if there wasn’t any functioning or reaction at all, then there was no point in doing this at all, because the bleeding in his torso wouldn’t be the bleeding that would kill him.

Grabbing onto the stem instead, you covered his eyes with one hand, adjusting the lamp to sit a little differently, holding it over his head. Moving your hand back quickly, you lifted his eyelid, his pupil sluggish in his movements, but there was definitely a reaction, and you let out a little breath of relief. One more thing you could deal with. Checking the other eye, just to be certain, you got much the same reaction, not a speed you were overall happy with, but certainly better than nothing. This guy really had seen the worst of it, there was swelling along his jaw, cut and battered, a blackish bruise forming above his cheekbone and burst blood vessels in the same eye, and that was just his face.

He was coated in blood, and you couldn't tell whether it was his or someone else’s, some dried and other patches still oozing, body marred with bruises and cuts, both old and fresh, most of which were unrelated to the gunshot wounds he had. A fist came banging on the door, just in time, water bottles being handed through when it was cracked open a fraction, and there was only six of them by your count, eyes flittering over the sealed packets of water that hadn't even been opened, and you’d have to stretch it to make it last.

“How’s your leg?”

“Better than this guy, he has a bullet in his thigh.” The joke was to brush off his own pain, but for the past couple of minutes, he’d been shuffling his weight from one foot to another, and you glanced around, noting the box that was sitting only a few feet away. The unidentified man set to guard the two of you was coming over, the door sealed up tight once again and the packet of water in his hands.

“Can you put them down on the box? We could use the extra surface?”

He paused, glancing at it, considering the request, before agreeing. Silently, albeit, he accepted your request, dropping the bottles down onto it and kicking the crate across the floor to you, wooden container scraping over the stonework and bumping against your leg roughly, and you tried not to glare at him as your leg buckled.

A coppery taste filled your mouth as you licked over your bottom lip, wincing at the slight pain of the cut, swollen and sore, but not as much as the pain along your forehead, a cut you assumed you gained on the drive here. “So, first up, we need to try and stitch up those holes.”

“If I let go of these cuts, he’ll lose a lot of blood.”

“I know. We can work fast, but I need you to do the stitching, because I’m not sure I’m up to it right now.” You held your hands up, the uncontrollable trembling taking you over was far too violent to be able to do sutures, but you could definitely hold down pressure. Newt nodded, your hands closing over his, the squeeze of cold blood between your fingers from the gauze making you gag slightly, choking down that feeling of nausea.

His hands slipped out from underneath your own, and you pressed down the second they were gone, the man underneath you groaning under his breath as he constantly walked the border between conscious and unconscious. As you held down, Newt reached across his body, snatching up the first of the water bottles. Unscrewing the lid and placing it down, he left the cap beside it, before he was shuffling through his bag.

Pulling out the kit with needles and thread in, your emergency stitches kit that you’d ever actually to use in the field, and you were having flashbacks and pinpricks of pain along the tips of your fingers as you remembered practising the stitches in the academy, constantly poking your fingers with the metal thread.

The strongest antiseptic followed, dark brown liquid in a half-empty container sloshing against the sides, and it dripped across the edges, spilling a little in his haste, before he was diluting it in the first bottle. Lid back on, shaking it to mix, the once drinkable water turned a murky brown colour, and your eyes were stinging a little front he still open bottle letting strong fumes out into the air.

“I’m thinking chest, stomach, stomach, thigh.”

“Should probably elevate his legs if you wanna’ go thigh last, it’s pretty close to his femoral.” Newt nodded, glancing around, before realising there wasn’t much for the two of you to work with.

“Alright, chest, thigh, stomach?”

“I guess.” You mumbled, none of the odds being in either of your favours, and you watched as your partner pressed his fingers down against the pulse in the man’s neck, frowning at what he found and holding the position down for longer than what was good, the results silently given to you simply by the actions. “Do you need me to push the cut shut so you can stitch?”

“I do, but if you let go of those other ones, he’ll bleed out.”

You gnawed a little on your lower lip, fear and panic building once again, because every slip this man made closer to death, he was dragging both you and Newt with him. The words hadn't been specifically spoken, nothing was clear, but you could read between the lines, and if this man didn’t survive the day, then neither would you and Newt.

You didn’t know what had happened to him, you didn’t want to. Whatever kind of illegal activities, gang territory fight or simply men wreaking havoc upon one another had caused this, you wanted no more part of it than keeping him alive long enough to hope that you and your friend might get out of this situation. The hand under your heart thudded a little more violently as he surfaced back into total consciousness once again, a gasping breath followed by sputtering, fresh red bubbling in his spit as he tried to clear the blood that was pooling in his throat, before an agonising sound was leaving him.

“What the hell are you doing to him?”

You jumped at the loud voice, yelling from across the room and the gun clicked again, the sound a threat that made your entire body stiffen painfully, nails digging into the mains chest as your hands tried to ball themselves into fists.

“We’re trying to save his bloody life!” Newt yelled back, and you gasped, eyes widening a little, because if the two of you had already learned anything from talking back to these people it was the risk of a ruptured eardrum and a killer headache. Clearly, this wasn’t the same man who’d taken you hostage, the rasp in his voice a little different and this man simply grunted at the pair of you disdainfully, rolling his eyes and shuffling in his seat beside the door.

“Alright, what if we use the bags for weight? It’s not ideal, but if we work quickly, I can hold one shut while the bags put some pressure on the other two, and I can hold it shut.”

The blond before you flicked his eyes over everything, fiddling with the tools as he toyed with the tweezers he had retrieved, wiping them down as best he could with some tissue dipped in the antiseptic water. “This guy is so gonna’ fucking die.” He whispered, and you couldn't help the chuckle that left you, swaying on your feet a little as you did, the rush of a chemical other than adrenaline being overwhelming.

“Well, we’re all he’s got.” You repeated his words back to him, a cheeky flash of white teeth in a smile that was gone as fast as it came, before you were shaking your head and refocusing on the task at hand, chasing away anything else you might be feeling in the moment. Daring to free one hand from his thigh, you watched the rapid spurts of blood that came free, trickling over his trousers to the table below, before you were putting your bag down on top. You couldn't see much, whether or not it was even working, but it was the best chance the two of you had.

Newt copied your action, placing his bag down over the wounds on his stomach, much like you had done, giving the two of you the chance to focus on the wound on his chest.

Taking the disinfectant from his hand and pressing down a cotton pad over the end, you soaked the small white ball in the liquid, packing it into the wound as Newt tried to clear the area to see what he was doing, but really, it was only smearing the blood around further. You could clean him up and do a better job of it later, but the first thing you needed to do was get the blood flow under control and wash off the antiseptic once it was clean.

You pinched the hole shut, temporarily stopping the floor, beads of red pooling at the corners, and Newt spilt water over the tops of your fingers, the cold feeling making you shiver, because despite the freezing temperatures in whatever kind of warehouse you are trapped inside of, the layer of clammy sweat coating your skin was hiding you from the chill. Once you could see what you were doing, Newt sighed, taking the tweezers in one hand, and nodding his head.

“Push up around the edges to stop the bullet slipping, I should be able to get it pretty quick. I was good at this part.”

“You scare me a little, why the fuck were you a bullet removal prodigy?” He shrugged, winking a little and holding the metal tongs over the wound, before nodding his head once. Slipping your fingers out of the way, you pressed down around the edges, blood spurting up again but you pressed down, stopping the bullets from shifting as Newt pushed into the man's chest through the hole already made. There was a scarcely audible sound, one deaf to the untrained ear but like sirens to a paramedic, the cling of the tips of the needle against the tip of the bullet, and newt shifted his fingers a little.

Letting the metal open back up from where he’d squeezed them closed like a bullet, the edges of the hole stretched around the expanding metal, and an intense look of concentration took over Newt’s face, not even looking at the wound but staring at the wall behind you, looking right through it as he operated purely on instinct and the touch as he felt his way through it. He let out a victorious little noise, pulling back, and as he did, he brought out the shell of a bullet, one that looked to be homemade, though that didn’t exactly surprise you, and it let out a much louder clanging as he dropped it back down onto a metal tray beside the victim’s head.

You moved instantly, the second that it was pulled back you were pushing your thumb and forefinger back up against the edges of the cut to contain the bleeding. Holding it tightly, Newt picked up the next set of his equipment, an atraumatic needle, one of ten and you hoped he was as good as he boasted being because you only had ten between you both, and you’d need two per wound with the length of these wires to seal them up tight enough.

You watched, carefully, as Newt threaded the first of the holes through the wound, pulling it out of the other side with the tweezers, and beginning to tie a series of surgical knots to keep them closed. He gave it a test tug, the skin pulling as he did, but it didn’t rip or tear, neither the wire nor the flesh, a solid base with which he could work. Beginning to sow him up further, Newt moved in steady motions, each gap only two millimetres apart at the maximum, pulling them tightly enough to stop the blood flow and allow tissue repair to began, but not enough that it would tear at the inevitable strain it would undergo when it was done up.

As soon as she was halfway through, attaching a new thread to continue with, and the wound was getting closer to being shut, allowing you to move your fingers out of his way, a slight breath escaping you as your breathing hitched each time the needle or thread came too close to you, because the last thing you needed right now was to get an infection from someone else’s blood and a dingy warehouse, or to lose time on this man’s life by having to start disinfecting everything all over again.

As he sealed it up, he pulled all of the threads a little tighter, working his way along to make sure the thread was evenly distributed, before fastening up the thread. He pulled back, the both of you waiting with bated breath to see whether blood would come free or whether they would bust open once your fingers moved, and while they pulled tautly, they never broke or tore.

You flooded with relief, Newt letting out a mix between a chuckle and a sigh, relief overlaying it all, and you took just a second of reprieve to know that you were just one step closer to this all being over. Opening your mouth, you weren’t sure what was coming, words of gratitude and accomplishment sitting on your tongue, aimed at any kind of higher power that might be watching over the two of you right now, but your partner beat you to it.;

“Let’s check the bag wounds.”

You nodded your head, swallowing back whatever you were going to say, beginning to feel a little dizzy as your head spun, and you squeezed your eyes shut for a second, containing the way you were feeling. Lifting away the bag that was sitting over his thigh, you were both surprised and impressed that the bag method had held reasonably well. There was more blood than there would be if you’d held it yourself, but you could work with what you had, and as your eyes flicked to where Newt was checking his stomach, you found similar results. Your gut was twisting again, bile rising in your throat at the sight of the blood in various places, an unusual phenomenon as blood had never bothered you before, and you turned away, gagging as vomit threatened to make itself known, and you tried not to clap a blood-soaked hand over your mouth, the thought only sickening you further.

“Woah, you alright?” You gagged, dry heaving a few more times as you tried to keep back the vomit that was on the verge of making itself known, tears lining your eyes and heat flooding over your cheeks as everything within you threatened to let go, but you managed to keep a lid on it. “The fuck was that?”

“I don’t know. I’m fine. Just aftershock, I think. Hunger, too, maybe, been a long time since I had anything real to eat, I think my body is just all fucked up right now.” His eyes narrowed on you, but he nodded, accepting the answer because the two of you needed to focus on things that were more important.

Once you had suppressed your nausea, you were picking the scissors back up, Newt resetting and disinfecting the equipment once again as you cut away at a patch of the ruined jeans the man was wearing. The denim was stiff while wet, and you struggled to cut it, your fingers aching as the metal of the handles pressed into the edges of your fingers, and you released a breath as you were holding as it was finished. Wiping down the area and packing the hole with disinfectant to make sure it was clean.

The procedure between the two of you started up again, only a second later you were pinching the wound shut, waiting for Newt to extract the bullet before moving to knot the thread and begin to fasten the stitches. It felt like time was coming to a stop while also speeding along, your fingers moving to the pulse point on his neck to monitor how it was going, counting the beats you could feel and trying to remember how light it felt so each period check would reveal whether it grew stronger or weaker.

You felt like the clock was ticking by too fast, every time you glanced up to the musty glass barrier hanging over the door seemed like it was spinning by at double speed, the hand constantly moving in starling jumps around the clock, the shadows in the room growing more pronounced and sharp as the sun moved across the sky, the light becoming duller as the one hanging over you both seemed to become brighter, and you watched Newt work.

As a team, you stitched him up, making sure that each wound was sealed up tightly and that they wouldn't burst, the pair of you physically exhausted. You could see the ache in Newt’s leg, he’d given up on even trying to hide it a while ago, as the two of you had moved onto the third bullet hole, all of his weight sitting on his good leg as he balanced barely anything on the bad one. Four bullets were sitting in a row, lined up neatly beside his head, and you let out a sigh, scrubbing over his skin carefully to wipe up the traces of blood.

Once he’d been stable enough, you checked his vision again, his reaction times having increased by a fraction of a second, but it was enough to mark an improvement, and his pulse was picking up with both strength and speed. You could see the bruises and cuts along his skin more clearly once you’d wiped him down of excess blood, littered with marks that would fade, only the bullet holes to turn pinkish-purple with scar tissue eventually, to join all of the other battle wounds along his flesh. Various tattoos to match the symbols on his face were across his body, and you made sure to treat every single cut, not wanting to leave anything up to chance, your body screaming out in protest as your adrenaline died down, and exhaustion was crawling in.

You were overwhelmed, tears building in your eyes, and Newt mentioned nothing as a few fell free, because you were sure that at some point - perhaps before you’d surfaced back to consciousness all that time ago - that he would have done the same. The situation was terrifying and you were struggling to process it all, every thought you had was like a swirling hurricane, melded with every other thought and emotion you were feeling, leaving you hopeless to process your thoughts but just lay rampant to them.

Anxiety was spiking through your system, choking it down by focusing on the methodical cleaning of the man, but eventually, there was nothing left to do. Fresh gauze and bandages were stark in comparison to his sickly-coloured skin, wrapped neatly and tightly and finally staying crisp and clean as you had everything under control, and your legs were threatening to buckle. You packed away slowly, stepping back from the table, and removing your gloves to join the scattered piles of medical waste that covered the floor and the edges of the workspace.

Newt didn’t even bother to put things back properly, to look after the equipment, he simply dropped it all inside, doing the zip up enough to hold it shut, before it was dangling from his fingers by the straps, and you followed suit.

Noting the movements, the man in the chair stood, his movements slightly wobbly from how long he’d been sat down, and you realised how long must have passed. As he approached, he kicked one of the empty bottles aside, all six used to the last drop for cleaning and disinfecting, and he pulled the gun from his waistband, making sure his finger was over the trigger in case either you or Newt made an attempt to pull something.

Not that you had any chance, there was a pile of everything that could possibly be used as a weapon over on the table beside where he had been guarding.

“He’ll live?”

You raised your hands, folding them behind your head in a symbol of your cooperation as he turned to you, and you tried not to sway too much in your weakness, simply nodding your head to him, and swallowing thickly. “He’ll need to keep those wounds clean, you can take the stitches out in about a month, or longer, wait until they start to form flesh for a scar but take them out before the skin gets too puffy.”

He nodded his head before lifting the gun up a little higher, motioning to the bag you held, and you trembled, his finger flexing a little on the trigger. “Whatever we’re going to need to keep it clean. Get it out. Put it on the table here, and then walk over to the wall until your back is pressed to it.”

You lifted the bag slowly, the dragging of the zip over the metal was all that field the room, tense silence taking over before you were reaching inside, daring to take your eyes off of the man and quell your fear to be able to reach inside. Pulling out both the diluted and undiluted bottles, you hoped he didn’t notice the lack of canister spray you’d left at the scene, your mind suddenly becoming aware of the life you’d left hanging in the balance, and wondering whether he’d survived.

By now, the shift at the firehouse would have been over, and you did not doubt that a missing persons case would have been filed for you and Newt, the abandoned ambulance after over an hour of no check-in would lead them to know something had happened, but you didn’t know how long it would take to find you, or if they even could.

Placing the bottles, spare bandages and wraps, as well as some painkillers down on the table, you stepped back, fastening your bag up.

“He’ll be in a fair amount of pain for a while, they should last two weeks, he can’t take any more than two a day, or else he’ll OD.”

The man nodded, motioning backwards toward the shadowed walls, and you stepped back slowly, Newt following when his command was given, and his hands were held up into the air too, both of you proceeding with caution.

While one danger had dissipated, another was making itself known, the purpose of being brought here was over, you and Newt had served your purpose, and if the man asking for supplies and advice was anything to go on, it meant that either they planned to let you go or planned to kill you, because you clearly wouldn't be sticking around to follow through on a treatment plan.

Once your back hit the wall, you stilled, Newt coming to stand beside you. The door was unlocked, several more men coming in, and the four of them all lifted their comrade carefully, carrying him out, and the door slammed shut behind them, leaving you both in cold silence. This area of the room seemed even colder than that of your impromptu operating theatre had, the shadows creating a drop in temperature, but you were simply too tired to care anymore.

Your head was still throbbing, your eyes felt heavy each time you tried to hold them open, the adrenaline and fear in the situation had been all that had helped to even keep you awake, and you rolled your head from side to side, trying to ease the pain in your neck.

Newt followed beside you, your legs pulled up before you as his stretched out, your bags abandoned together between your bodies, and your head came to rest on his shoulder, a heavy sigh let out.

“I think you have a concussion.”

You chuckled, but it was dry and humourless, simply a sound made to fill the silence and bush him off, but he wasn’t accepting that answer. His hand closed over yours, lacing your fingers together comfortingly and squeezing tightly, and you did your best to squeeze him back just as firmly. “I don’t have a concussion, I just have a headache.”

“Yeah.” He hummed, and you thought for a second, you may actually have won an argument with him. “But you also have nausea, you passed out, you’re a little confused, you’re weak on your feet and you can barely stand up straight.”

“It’s a-”

“You say aftershock and I’ll slap you.” He teased, a genuine laugh leaving you this time, and your shoulders rose and fell with a shrug. “When we get out of here, w-”

“If.”

“When we get out of here,” His voice was a little firmer, commanding you to have as much faith as he did, “Will you please just get it checked out? Just to make me feel better.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes behind closed lids, and groaning when he jostled his shoulder to wake you back up to the fullest alertness you could muster. “Fine! Fine, when we get out of here, I’ll get it checked out.”

Silence encased you both, darkness taking over, and the man who’d been tasked with guarding you both returned, taking his seat again and setting up to play on his phone from the second that he was comfortable, and you waited. He said nothing, not noticing the stare both you and Newt had fixed on him, your heart sinking as he remained quiet. The longer his lack of information dragged on, the more you felt doom beginning to sweep over.

The fact that he had nothing to say to you both screamed volumes into the void. There were no threats to keep your mouths shut, or looming promises of what would happen if you exposed the group’s location, or even any information on when you’d be leaving, and it seemed that they had no intention to let you go at all.

As you wiggled a little against the concrete, butt becoming numb from the stone underneath you, your legs stretched out to match your partners, and your eyes closed. You were fading away again, drifting towards sleep as it called out to you, the spinning of the room, the dizziness that was bordering on vertigo and the nausea with the headache, it all seemed to lessen as you slipped from consciousness.

Newt was talking to you, forcing you to stay just enough awake that you didn’t drift completely, but you weren’t processing what he was saying, the words just becoming background noise that disturbed you from being able to slumber, but you suspected that was the whole point. He wasn’t talking about anything important, he was telling you his mother’s recipes and the time he once went to buy new work shoes but almost walked out of the store while wearing an un-purchased pair because he was so tired from a double shift.

You missed the banging in the other rooms, you missed the actions taking place, barely roused by the sudden shaking your body felt, and you only snapped back to consciousness when you felt hands on your body. You kicked roughly, Newt barely avoiding the blow as all the pain you’d felt came flooding back over you in shockwaves, making you shudder violently at the surge of pain and nausea, before you were blinking at the dull lighting in the room.

“Stick with me, love. Tommy would kill me if we had to take you to the hospital after the final hurdle because I couldn’t keep you awake.”

“Oh, shut up.” Your words were slurred, and you shook your head, eyes squeezing closed at the throbbing taking place behind them. “You’d love that, I’m surprised you haven’t sacrificed me for a trip to the ER yet, anything to see Dr Derek in his lab coat, right?”

Pink flushed his cheeks, his eyes flickering over to the door, and he leaned in a little, hugging you tightly and shaking you enough to jolt energy through your body, a groan on your lips as he did. “Something is going on outside, and I never pass up a chance for an I-told-you-so!”

“A what?” You questioned, confusion still washing over you, but you never got a chance for an answer. The sound of a bullet pinging against metal was so sharp that it left another ringing in your ears as you cupped your hands over the sides of your head just a second too late. Newt did the same, falling away from shock with a grunt, and the man beside the door was in a little more agony at his close proximity to the sound.

You blinked blurry vision clear, watching smoke curl up from the lock, before the heavy metal door was falling open. It was a uniform you recognised, one of the police members you’d already seen much of over the last few cases, your brows raising a little as you watched them enter. You kept your hands over your ears, at least two more shots reverberating through the air and you felt them more than you heard them, body feeling the impact and breath feeling knocked from your lungs at the vibrations over the airwaves.

It was all like a dream, detached from reality as you were pulled to your feet by an officer, Newt’s hand dropping away from yours and you stumbled, feelings as though your movements weren’t your own. As you were guided through the halls, you tried to remember some of it, any of it, but everything you saw and heard seemed to be going in one ear and out the other.

Flashing blue lights outside with wailing sirens signalled the police cars, and several men around you were all being arrested, pinned down face first and snarling as they were cuffed, but you didn’t have enough energy to feel intimidated right now.

The fresh air was a shock, like plunging into water below the freezing point, and you took a sudden and gasping inhale, coming to a full stop, and everything out of focus suddenly went into overdrive. As you stepped out of the building the haze seemed to drop away, and you took another lungful of the air, panting breaths as you tried to fill your lungs with the source of oxygen, a panic attack building as you finally let everything cup back through, and gentle hands were guiding you to an ambulance.

You recognised the paramedics waiting inside, they were friendly as they greeted you by name and you recognised them from another case, perhaps the one on the bridge or at the chemical plant, you weren’t too sure, but it didn’t matter. An oxygen mask was placed over your face, fresh breaths of air racing through your lungs on a steady distribution that forced your breathing to even out, and you were grateful for it, not wanting to break down until you were curled up in your own bed tonight.

You winced at the flashlight that flickered over your eyes, stars in your eyes flashing for a second as you blinked to clear them, and while the paramedic around you shuffled within their own devices, you shifted yourself slightly on the stretcher, turning to stare out at the collections of cars instead, trying to see more than just the inside of the ambulance.

You searched for Newt, unable to find his blond hair for a good few minutes, before finally, you spotted him. Messy mop head in a far corner, beside a collection of cars that didn't belong to the public services, but instead to the members of the public services.

He was wrapped up tightly in his best friend's arms, Thomas patting his back comfortingly, as Minho all but bounced with excitement at his side. Brenda was leaning on her car, and Gally was standing beside them, hands tucked into the pocket of his hoodie. They were all in casual clothing, clearly having changed since the end of their shift had rocked around so long ago, the night sky closing in overhead as the day was being chased away, and you took another deep breath through the mask, smiling again.

Just the sight of your team was reassuring, to know they’d found you, they’d come to collect you, to make sure you were okay, and your heart thumped steadily and surely in confirmation that you needed their comfort right now. They were talking, Newt using a lot of hand gestures and while you couldn't tell much about their features, you knew they’d all be flickering from amusement to confusion to horror. Newt was quite the storyteller, at any time, no matter the trauma.

They turned, Newt pointing over to the ambulance you were within, and you raised a hand to wave to your friend as you watched all of their attentions move to you, before the paramedic before you was summoning your attention once again. You turned to her, the call of your name snapping you to the moment, and as much as you didn't want to look away from them all, you knew you’d be reunited with them soon enough.

“Well, you definitely have a concussion.” She confirmed, and you pouted, taking a final deep breath from the oxygen mask, and then taking it off.

“Newt is going to live for the ‘I-told-you-so’.” You scowled, and she seemed to come into more focus within your memory now. You remembered her, she had been there at the chemical plant, she’d been new at the time, a trainee, fresh out of the academy and on one of her first cases, and you’d tried to comfort her about the card system, making sure to navigate as many red cards away from her as you could to make a hard day just a little easier.

She grinned, handing you a plastic cup with some tablets inside, and a bottle of water, with the lid already unscrewed. “I’ll spare you the medical analysis, I’m sure you know what to do.” You only nodded, taking both from her gratefully and tipping the pills onto your tongue, before following them with a gulp of water, and taking them down eagerly. “Two painkillers to keep the headaches and muscle soreness at bay, as well as the nausea.”

“As much as I’d love to chat, I’m going to have to rain-check. Am I good to go? I’m desperate to just get home.”

She chuckled, nodding, and you stood up, still feeling a little unsteady and lightheaded, but it was beginning to get easier. Giving her a final thanks, and climbing down from the van, you closed the doors up for her, banging on the back when they were sealed up, and she gave a thumbs up from inside of the window, before sorting everything out and preparing for their journey back.

Turning around, there was a body directly behind you, and you cursed loudly while jumping, eyes trailing up from a familiar chest to his face and raising a brow as warm honey-coloured eyes stared at you. “Fuck, Tommy, hasn’t anyone ever told you not to sneak up on someone who’d been freshly rescued after an abduction? We tend to be jumpy.”

He grinned, shaking his head a little at your words, before your own smile was following. His hands came up, cupping your cheeks, and you leaned into the warmth that his palms brought over the cold skin of your face, sagging a little at his touch. “I have a lot of questions, but the main one is; are you okay? I just need to know you’re alright, and everything else can wait.”

“I’m okay, Tommy, I promise. A little battered and bruised, but hey, what’s new?” He rolled his eyes softly, a yawn following on your lips as you covered it, not missing the fond look he held as he continued to stare, eyes sweeping over your features. You waited for a second longer, before nudging one of your feet forward to bump your toes against his, your brows raising a little. “What’s wrong?”

“I was just really fucking worried about you.” He whispered, eyes dropping down a little, fixing on your lips, and licked over his own. His hands fell further down, sitting over your jaw and he dragged a thumb across your lips a little, your mouth pouting instinctually as he did, and his lips flicked up at the edges, never taking his gaze from where his finger was resting. “Chasing after you is like being on a damn rollercoaster.”

“How’s that?” You mumbled, breath clouding in the cold air slightly but the words were whispered, and his lashes tickled against your cheek as he shifted to bump his nose against yours, dragging them together slowly, his lips pressing to his own finger on the other side.

“Exciting, addictive, a total rush, but a little scary right at the big drop.”

You brought a hand up, sitting over his cheek, his head tipping into your hand, and his thumb slipped away, leaving nothing between you to stop you from being able to taste the overly sweetened coffee on his breath that he drank whenever he got worried. “Don’t kiss me yet.”

“Why not? It’s me and you, and now I know you’re okay, and I just really want to.” He teased you, pushing in enough to trace his lips very gently against your own, sparks of electricity shooting along you at the fleeting brush that you could still feel but wasn’t enough to be a kiss, but already left you wanting more. “If you don’t give me a reason soon, I’m gonna’ kiss you breathless, and they’ll need to put you back on that oxygen mask.”

You let out a soft breath, an airy laugh, before finding the strength to pull back by a fraction. “I have a concussion.”

He snapped back, eyes wide and brows furrowing so tightly you thought he'd get permanent perry lines, his jaw dropping in disbelief. “You said you were fine! You little liar!”

“I am fine!” You took his hands, pulling them away from your face and weaving your fingers with his on both sides, before rocking up on your tiptoes, and pressing your lips to his lower cheek, hearing him whine a little at the near-miss kiss. “I’m just a little woozy, and tired, and shaken up.”

“You promise that’s all?”

“I swear.” You offered, and he smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to your own cheek in return as he respected your boundaries. “If you can set rules for our first kiss, then so can I. I want to be at my peak when we do, I don’t want anything to spoil it, I want to remember it perfectly, and not have such a killer headache, preferably.”

“I can live with that. We’ll wait. For now.” You nodded your head, foreheads resting together once again, and your eyes closed, simply soaking in how it felt to be surrounded by him, before a loud and exaggerated clearing of the throat was breaking you apart, and Brenda stood with her hands on her hips, a wicked smirk on her face as she stared at you both.

“Do we get any greetings, or do we not matter anymore? Because I was kinda’ worried about you too.”

You grinned, the woman who you were proud to call your best friend was holding her arms out for you, and you dropped Thomas’ hands, feeling him let you go and step back just as quickly now that everyone else had come over, and you wrapped her up in your arms as she squeezed you tightly, rocking you from side to side. Another pair of arms wrapped around you, and you grinned as the familiar smell of your partner’s aftershave overwhelmed your senses, the man clinging to you from the back as he wrapped his arms around the both of you.

Minho followed, a wicked grin on his face as he draped himself across Brenda’s back, squeezing all of you even tighter, and Thomas followed beside Newt, Gally and Fry coming next, until you couldn’t see out past the mass of bodies that had joined, feeling as though you were in the middle of a rugby scrummage and you could barely breathe, the laughter you were letting out doing nothing to help.

Eventually, Brenda was elbowing the men back, letting you slip free when they all backed away, and you missed all of their body heats, wrapping your arms a little tighter around yourself to keep warm All you had was the thin material of your uniform shirt, soaked in blood and clammy sweat, as well as various medicines and chemicals, with a vest underneath. It was doing little against the cold of the night closing in, twilight well past as stars started to make themselves known.

You shivered, rubbing your hands up and down your arms, wondering how Newt wasn’t feeling the cold, but he was excitedly retelling the tale already of the surgery the two of you had been forced to perform, a story that would last him for ages, no doubt, but it was his way of processing the trauma; to turn it into something he was proud to remember instead of something he was scared to think about, something that made him feel bold instead of terrified, and you wanted to support that, so you kept your mouth shut.

Stepping back over to Thomas, his gaze left his best friend, flicking down to you, his hands tucked into the front pocket of his hoodie, and raising a brow when you tugged his arm out of his pocket. He let you, his arm limp in your hold as he let you guide him, a soft pink flushing his cheeks as you tucked yourself under his arm, your cheek moving to rest on his shoulder, your hands tucking into his pocket and one set of fingers weaving with the fingers of his that were still inside. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, before turning to look up at him as his arm squeezed around you a little more tightly.

There was a grin on his face, one with a hidden meaning as he bit at the inside of his cheek to contain it. “You know, Newt is gonna’ give us shit for cuddling.” His fingers were moving over your back in slow patterns, large palm rubbing slowly and transferring warmth back to you where you were chilled to the bone.

“I don’t care. I’m fucking cold, and you’re nice and warm.” You moved, face pressing into him a little further, the rest of your words becoming muffled, and he chuckled.

“Well, in that case,” He simply rested his chin on the top of your head, freeing up his other arm to hold you more securely, and letting out a slow breath that became a slight yelp as you pressed cold hands under the edge of his hoodie to sit on warm skin, grinning cheekily at the scowl that formed as you did. “Is any of the story Newt is telling actually true?”

“Surprisingly, most of it.”

“Well, which p-” He was cut off, the gruff clearing of a throat making him fall silent, and you pulled back, slightly embarrassed as heat made itself known along your cheeks when you found the police officer to be looking for you, the rest of the squad falling silent too and all turning to look at you, following the officer’s gaze, and you untangled yourself from Thomas.

“Sorry to interrupt you all. I just need your statement, ma’am, it’ll only take a moment.”

“You haven’t given your statement yet?” Newt quizzed, clicking his tongue in a tutting fashion, and you stuck your tongue out a little bit at him.

“You still haven’t been checked out by a paramedic yet?” You mocked, his amused face falling as he mock-glared at you, Minho pinching his arm as he tried to insist he was perfectly fine, his friend telling him otherwise.

“I’ll meet you over by that car in a moment, it’ll only take a few minutes to get your statement.” You nodded, the policeman giving you a polite smile, before tapping his pen against the pad in his hand and wandering away to the vehicle.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Lips brushed against your ear, making you jump a little, and you turned back to face the man behind you, your lieutenant standing back up to his full height as you did, and raising his brows.

“No, I want you to take Newt over to an ambulance and force him to get a check-up. He’s more than happy to diagnose me, but he won’t do a self-diagnosis.” Thomas laughed, a hearty and full sound, and you assumed there were memories flashing behind his eyes of a childhood full of similar circumstances. “I’ll come and meet you over by the cars afterwards. I’m going to need a lift home, y’know..”

His hand came up, tucking away stray hairs behind your ear, and nodding his head. “I was already planning on that, don’t worry.” You smiled, head ducking a little, and you tensed up a little at the clenching in your gut again, fearing it was another bout of nausea rising, but instead, your stomach rumbled, loudly. There was a snicker, hidden in your hairline, and your lips pursed, a shy feeling growing within you once again. “I’ll take you to get some food, too.”

“Shut up.” You mumbled, a finger hooking under your chin, pulling your face up, and there was a smirk there that only made you flush further. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like you’re adorable? Because, you are.” You scowled, blush only growing stronger, and he smoothed a thumb over your cheek as did, glancing away over your shoulder for a second. “Go give your statement, I’ll wrestle Newt into an ambulance.”

“Mhm, ‘kay.” You twisted your head, nuzzling a little into his palm for a second, before pulling it away from your face and squeezing his hand. “I want McNuggets. McDonald’s drive-thru.”

“Whatever you want, angel.”

You raised a brow, hand smoothing down over his chest to sit just above his stomach, and his eyes dropped, following your hand, a slightly more vulnerable look on his face when he turned back to you; wide eyes, swallowing thickly. “Whatever I want?”

“Anything.”

You tugged on the front of his clothing. “Can I wear your hoodie?”

He froze for a second, before a rush of a breath was leaving him like a punch, and he smiled, reaching behind his head with one hand and tugging it up, stripping the garment off and shucking it down his arm, the long-sleeved shirt underneath rising up a bit as he did, and you forced your eyes away from the happy trail revealed or the flex of his biceps, taking the warm garment from him. He held it out, soft green material looking warm and inviting, flooded with his body heat and the smell of him, your fingers twitching to take it.

Undoing the buttons on the front of your shirt, you cursed under your breath at the cold while taking it off, just a tank top left underneath, before taking the hoodie. It caught on your ponytail, Thomas helping you to adjust it over your head before taking the ruining uniform from you and draping it over his arm like a waiter’s towel, nodding his hair and lifting your hair free from the collar.

He leaned in, lips pressing to your forehead, a soft kiss given to you, before he was pushing you backwards. “Go. Go give your statement, the sooner it’s over, the sooner we get you those nuggets. I’ll meet you at the cars.” Tucking your hands into warm pockets, you wandered away, bumping your hip against Brenda’s as you did and she stumbled a little from where she’d been balancing mid-yawn, flipping you off as you laughed while walking away, and making your way over to the officer.

He stood up straighter from where he’d been leaning against his car as you approached, offering you his hand and introducing himself politely, and you freed up a hand to shake, giving him your name for the record, before your hands were once again clenched with the oversized hoodie’s pockets.

It was a simple case, there wasn’t much to tell. In all honestly, you didn’t know much. You wouldn't be much help, you’d been unconscious for the first half of the journey and in the midst of your concussion symptoms the second time, and you’d never seen the man pull up. You did tell him what you could, about the unusual call, you and Newt splitting up to check the area, before finding the man under the bridge. You tried your best to patch him up, before the two of you had been taken at gunpoint, and you’d lost consciousness when you’d been put in the car.

You asked about the fate of the man under the bridge, your heart sinking a little at the answer you got. He hadn't made it, he’d tried to use the equipment you’d left him but had passed away before the hour mark had passed, and you gripped onto yourself tightly to contain how you felt. He attempted to comfort you about it, to tell you that it was the gang activity you and Newt had speculated it to be, and that the man who’d been stabbed was a criminal, but it did little to ease your suffering.

You were a big believer in second chances; if you didn’t you wouldn't be in the place you were now, with the family you’d found.

Once he had you sign off on the confidentiality forms and disclosures, your name signed next to Newt’s chicken scratch signature, you were free to go, more than ready to just go home. Everything ached, you were still sore and covered with pain, your muscles all tensed up and torn from the strain of the day, your hunger making you feel like you were being eaten from the inside out by your own stomach and the headache that came with it wasn’t a highlight of your day, and your bed was calling out for you.

As promised, the teams were over by the cars, music playing on the radio from within Brenda’s as the door was open, letting her lean against it, and Newt was sucking happily on one of the lollipops reserved for little children that some of the ambulances carried, his tongue turning purple from the false-grape flavour of it.  

He saw you coming, a little bounce in his step as you approached, before he was coming to stand before you, a smacking sound making itself known as he pulled the sweet treat away from his mouth. “You okay? Did he tell you about the guy?”

“Yeah.” You sighed, and he frowned, shrugging a little, but holding his arms open.

“He was a bad guy, you can’t save everyone, but you tried, okay? You gave it your best.” His words were true and you knew they were, you didn’t want to wallow in self-pity, you’d done everything you could without losing your one life, in which he would have died too, and you were trying not to risk your own life as much these days. “You’re okay, right?”

“Yeah.” You huffed, and he squeezed you a little tighter, clearly not accepting that answer, and waiting for me. “God, I hate this job sometimes, but I love it too. We save more lives than we lose, we change more lives for the good than bad, but every job has its bad sides.” It felt like you’d been having an awful lot of the bad side lately, but that only meant there was a lot of good to come to balance out the scales. “Have you texted Derek, yet, I bet he’s pretty worried.”

Newt let out a breathy sound at the mention of his crush, sagging in your arms a little before pulling back, and pale cheeks were flushed with warmth, the men avoiding your gaze and scratching at the back of his neck. “Not yet. Bren had my bag in the car, I got a lot of missed texts and a missed call, but I don’t really know what to say. It’s late, he finishes shift soon, I figure I’ll just wait until I get home.”

“Maybe you should go and see him.” You teased, poking at his shoulder, and your friend’s flush only deepened, shaking his head a little.

“I want to take a hot bath, and watch embarrassing rom-coms and eat an ungodly amount of food in a very unattractive way, and I don’t think me and Derek are quite at that stage. Yet.” He added the last word on, smirking as that cheeky attitude came flooding back, and you felt a presence coming to stand behind you. You knew who it was without having to turn, feeling it instinctively as a slight thrill raced through you, before a kiss was being pressed to the back of your head, an arm slipping around your waist, and a chin hooking over your shoulder.

Newt smirked, eyes moving over the pair of you slowly, and you ignored the look as he busied himself by moving to the backseat of Brenda’s car to retrieve your bag as well, and rifling through his own for his phone.

“Is this okay?”

“Why wouldn't it be?” You relaxed a little further into his hold, his fingers toying with the stitching underneath the pocket of the jumper idly as you sagged into him, feeling the movement of the muscles in his chest as he shrugged.

“Whole teams here, and you’re kinda’ the centre of attention right now. You and Newt. I didn’t really wanna’ push my boundaries, but I’m kinda’ afraid that if I let you go again, you’re going to get into some more stupid shit and get me all riled up again, and I’m still all full of adrenaline form these last few hours worrying about you.”

You moved to the side a little, twisting your head to be able to look up at him, eyes scanning over his face as you analysed his words, nothing but honesty and vulnerability shown to you. “Hey, I didn’t get myself into this one, it just happened. For once, I have no blame! I was cooperative with the criminal, kept my mouth shut, for the most part, you would have been proud of me.” His lips twitched with a soft form of amusement at your joke. “Besides, they all know how I feel about you, anyway. I’m not exactly subtle about it, and neither are you. I don’t think whatever this is, is exactly a state secret.”

He beamed at that, you weren’t sure why, but his face lit up with pure joy, and he nodded his head sucking down to peck the tip of your nose with a sweet kiss, one that made you feel ticklish, your face screwing up slightly. Turning back to your friends, you watched Newt stare at his phone for a second, considering accepting a call as his finger hovered over the accept button, the vibrating device with Derek’s name flashing along the top going off after a second, and you frowned.

“You sure you don’t want company tonight, Newt?”

“Yeah, I don’t really think either of you should be alone. Especially not with your concussion.” She pointed at you, but her attention quickly moved back to Newt, and the lanky blond shrugged. “How about a girl’s night? You can join in, Newt, because you can talk guys, so you’re acceptable.”

“Wow, thanks, Bren.” His tone was sarcastic but his face lit up a little, and he chuckled. Brenda turned back to you, raising her brows.

“Girl’s night?”

“How about a girls day tomorrow?” She pouted, and you grinned. “You’re right, I really shouldn’t be alone for forty-eight hours with severe concussion symptoms, but I think I can monitor them myself by tomorrow night.”

“Exactly, tomorrow night! Who’s gonna’ look after you tonight, huh? Girls. Night.” She punctuated her words with emphasis, and you tried to hide your giggling at her confusion behind your hand as even Minho groaned, both Fry and Gally snickered. “What?”

“Brenda..” Minho sighed, nodding his head towards you, where Thomas was squeezing you a little tighter, pressing a series of kisses along your hairline, and she studied you both for a second, before scoffing.

“Really? You’re taking Thomas home instead of me? Boo, you whore.”

You gaped, not sure whether to be offended or amused, and Thomas made the decision for you, protesting in offence on both of your behalves as he questioned why he was deemed as a ‘bad’ choice. “He’s bigger. He gives good cuddles. He promised me McNuggets. He smells good. Those are compelling arguments.”

Thomas’ chest puffed out a little against you and the compliments. “Uh, I smell excellent, I give great cuddles, I’d buy you a share box of nuggets that you wouldn't have to share, and I could put on tall boots.” She raised her hands, her voice teasing now, and your head tipped to the side as you stared at your best friend. “But, fine, girl’s day tomorrow it is.”

“I’ll come to that!” Newt chirped, sticking his hand up, and you nodded your head, Brenda taking the opportunity to high-five him.

“If Newt gets to go, then I’m staying.” You huffed, Thomas squeezing you a little tighter, and you lowered a hand to rest over his, soothing as his intense affections were based on the need for his comfort as well as your own.

“Uh, no.” Brenda deadpanned, her bluntness making you laugh. “You’re one of the main topics we’re going to be talking about. Newt gets to come because he can talk boys, and he tells me about hot doctors.”

“So I can’t come?” Minho chipped in, pouting a little for effect as he stared at Brenda, and her words went silent, no arguments to offer as her eyes narrowed on him, a silent argument between two colleagues that only you knew to be between two lovers, and you chuckled to yourself. He knew he’d won that battle, a smirk taking up on his face, and she huffed.

“If Min gets to go, can I come then?” Gally took a more polite approach, and you nodded your head.

“Sure you can.”

“You’re gonna’ fit all these people into your living room? On your two-seater couch?” Thomas teased, a couple of smirks being thrown in his direction at his reference to knowing your apartment so intimately, and you hadn't even realised that you’d been so freely inviting people to your home until now. You felt a little winded by the realisation, by the idea that it would be so simple to accept someone into the place that was so private to you, the place you’d retreat to after a long day to get away from work, but now, work was your family, and you wanted to share it with them.

“Well, Tommy-boy here can drive himself and you over to my place instead?”

“Team day at Minho’s!” Newt cheered, throwing his hands up in the air, and you laughed, the sound fading into a yawn as you covered your mouth.

“Okay, but late afternoon, because I’m exhausted, and I want a lot of sleep.”

“Late afternoon.” Brenda teased, rolling her eyes. “Midday. You better be there.” She barely gave Newt the chance to get the bags from the backseat before she was slamming the door closed, Gally twirling his keys on his finger and Fry already leaning against the car, half-asleep as his head was popped up on his hand.

You took your bag from Newt, who was catching a ride with Gally, the member of the firehouse who lived the closest to him. Brenda’s car was leaving first, spinning dangerously on mud-tracks as she left, and you were impressed with how recklessly she dared to drive surrounded by cops, but that was probably playing it safe for her. The rest of the team slowly followed, Thomas’ arm still wrapped loosely around your waist as he guided you over to his car, fresh mud spattered up along the polished paintwork, and your bag was placed on the backseat.

He was holding open the passenger door for you when you were ready, and you sank into the seat, offering him just a smile in acknowledgement, before he was rounding the vehicle to get in too, car starting up smoothly, and his hand on the back of your seat as he reversed out of the spot.

Switching gears, he inched forward slowly, pulling up the track carefully, and glancing back in the mirrors, before both hands were sitting on the wheel, and he was flicking on the indicator for the highway.

“You still want to go to the drive-thru?”

You considered it for a second, watching the road as he pulled out, before giving in to your craving. “Yes.”

“Okay.” He hummed, a hand reaching down to find one of your own where it was sitting in your lap, linking his fingers together loosely with your own. The radio was playing softly, the cars were flying past you on the highway as you weaved between lanes, an area you didn’t recognise, and clearly, Thomas wasn’t all that familiar with it either because he didn’t talk much, instead, focusing on the signage along the road for a long time.

It was a longer journey than you’d expected it to be, almost thirty minutes passing before you were entering an area of town that you began to recognise, the very edges of your territory as far as you’d expanded so far, and you squeezed Thomas’ hand a little tighter, letting him go every so often when he needed it to change gears or to drive, but his hand always seemed to find it’s way back to being pressed up delicately with your own.

Your mind slipped a little bit, wondering just how it was that you found yourself here.

It had been a long time since you’d allowed yourself to trust anyone, to really let anyone in, and now you found yourself surrounded. Your entire team had shown up to collect you tonight, all of them wanting to make sure you were okay; honest and true with nothing to gain from it themselves except for knowing that you were safe, and the man beside you had let himself dig in a little closer.

Instead of just holding your heart, he’d managed to let himself inside, residing there and making it his own with everything he did. The moment you’d laid your eyes on him, you’d hated him, hearing him already hate you felt like a bittersweet mouthful, making it easier not to get attached but hard as it always made you one step further from home. You’d spent so much of your life forcing people away while dreaming about one day finding your home that you’d never stopped to watch the time slipping away around you as the chances seemed to get further and further away, until Newt had forced you to.

You had your own history that made you the way you were, but you’d never stopped to give Thomas the benefit of the doubt that he did, too, and you’d taken out your anger on him when it was unwarranted. He’d clearly forgiven you for it and moved on, but you’d never really apologised.

“I’m sorry, Tommy.”

He frowned, the neutral expression he’d held switching to a frown as he began to slow the car down, navigating through the car park as a surprising number of cars still milled around, shopping at the mall in the stores with later hours into the night and various fast-food joints, the illuminated letter ‘M’ calling out to you, and Thomas joined the queue of cars.

“I never said sorry for the way I treated you. I had stuff going on, I had a lot of issues, but I didn’t stop to think that maybe you had stuff going on too, and I’m sorry.”

He seemed stuck for a second, like a deer caught in the headlights, before he sank into his seat a little bit. “That’s okay, I forgive you. You didn’t know I had stuff going on at the time, I shouldn't have been mad at you, either. I took it out on you, but really, I had issues with someone else.”

The name was on the tip of your tongue, but before you could speak your next words, the static of the intercom requesting your order made the both of you jump, and Thomas rolled down the window. It took a moment, deciding as quickly as you could and putting in an order for what it was that you were craving as your stomach rumbled again, that typical greasy smell of fast-food drifting through the open window.

You stayed quiet for the rest of the transaction, reaching out to turn the music up a little bit as you switched over to a classical station, finding the latest chart-toppers to be a little overwhelming in the moment, but late-hour classical piano and violin notes were much more comfortable. The bags were hot in your lap as Thomas handed them over clutching his McFluffy in your hand carefully and staring down longingly at the chunks of chocolate candy and caramel sauce through the lid, somewhat regretting your decision not to get one when he’d offered you one.

Parking up at the back, a little bit away from where everyone else was, and you unclipped your seatbelt, watching him do the same, before he was pushing his chair a little further back and getting comfortable. You handed him over his cheeseburger, and the fries that followed, stealing one from his portion and watching as he grinned, sitting them on his lap and unwrapping the burger, while you opened up a box of nuggets, offering one to him.

You sprinkled some salt over the box, shaking the nuggets after he’d taken one to mix the seasoning, but you couldn't eat one, couldn't focus, not when a certain question was still hanging on the tip of your tongue.

“What’s up? They make it wrong? It’s pretty hard to mess up chicken nuggets.” He teased, leaning over to inspect them and winking cheekily as he plucked another from the large box, popping it into his mouth and chewing happily, a sound made as if to confirm to you that they were okay, but the food wasn’t what was bothering you.

“Can I ask you a question, and you promise you’ll answer honestly?” his brows furrowed, but he nodded, taking another large bite of his burger. You hesitated, picking at the edges of the bag, ripping the brown paper slowly, and you sighed. “That woman in the bar, that was Teresa, wasn’t it?”

He stiffened at the mention of her name, his face falling, and he was stiff as his head turned away from you to stare out of the dashboard, and your lips pursed, anxiety coursing through you at the time that it took him to reply. He chewed slowly, eventually swallowing his mouthful, and you took a cautious bite out of a chicken nugget as you waited. “Yes.”

You nodded, keeping it to yourself and looking through the bag for a packet of ketchup, opening up the small tub and dunking the savoury treat inside, swirling it around, and eating the other half. You licked salt from your lips as you finished, and turned back to look at him, where he was staring down at his food, a confused look on his features. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

He took a breath, seeming to have an answer ready to go, as though he’d anticipated your words, before his jaw snapped shut, and he put his burger down, sighing a little and nibbling on his lower lip, before giving in. “I didn’t want you to know.” You raised your brows, not the answer you were expecting, and he turned to look at you, taking in your expression, and shrugging a little. “You said you wanted honesty.”

“But why?”

“Why didn’t I want you to know that was her?” You nodded, and he took a bite of his food, prolonging the suspense as he procrastinated on his answer. “I guess,” He spoke through his food, grimacing a little upon realising, and you couldn't help your smile, eating another one of your chicken nuggets. “Because you’re nothing like her, and what we have isn’t the same, and I didn’t want you to have to cross with her.”

“Did you love her?”

“Yes.” He didn’t pause this time, stiff once again as he gave you the truth without even considering lying, and you felt conflicted. You weren’t sure whether you wanted to reach out and comfort him, or comfort yourself and put your walls back up; in the end, the person best at comforting you was Thomas, and so you needed to be that for him. Reaching a hand out, you placed it on his arm, and he jumped at the contact, seeming shocked by it. He turned to look at you, eyes dropping to where your hand was sitting on his arm. “Are you mad at me?”

“I don’t have anything to be mad at you for, Tommy. I’m just sorry you got hurt.” You whispered, and he let out a shaky breath, his hand coming up to sit on your cheek, his face dropping to bump his nose with your own, sharing a breath and nudging into you.

“Just so you know, this is one of those moments that I would kiss you, if we’d already had our first kiss.”

“I’ll remember that.” You grinned, bumping back against him, before pulling away, and eating a chicken nugget as he whined slightly at the loss of intimacy.

“She, uh, she was a paramedic. You reminded me of her, at first.” You turned, realising that in the interest of honesty, he was going to tell you it all; the information that other members of the team skirted around and answered vaguely, a mystery that had been locked up tight to keep you out of, all of them having gotten hurt in some way. “She had the same attitude you did, she didn’t really let people in; a lot of walls. We were.. something. She didn’t want to put a label on it, she wanted me behind closed doors but never wanted me near her in front of the rest of the team. She had boundaries, she wanted me to come over late but never wanted me to stay the night, she wanted to have dinner and drinks but never in public. It felt exciting, but wrong. But I couldn't stop.”

“Thomas, you don’t have to tell me this.” He sniffed a little, eating his fries quietly and shaking his head a little as he relived the memories.

“I want you to know.” You felt touched that he wanted to share one of his deepest pains with you, but it was scary, because it meant you had to do the same. “I should have seen the signs, she always wanted more, and she never wanted to settle down, kind of like you.” His words cut a little, stinging, despite knowing them to be true. “She said she was leaving one day, out of the blue, and I blamed myself for it. We got into an argument, she didn’t even tell me she was moving house until she asked me to sign her transfer papers. We yelled a lot, and I was upset, so I signed them and told her to just leave. She did.”

“Is, uh, is that the day that-”

“Newt got hurt? Yeah.” His voice cracked slightly as he spoke. “She left, and I was upset, and about an hour later, we got a call. I’d been too busy pacing my office and seething over it that I didn’t call in for a substitute. Newt told me it was okay, he’d been comforting me. He went alone on that call, got stuck under material that had fallen on his leg. Minho found him and carried him out after he passed out.”

He crushed the empty cardboard carton in his hand, the sudden sound making you twitch at the shock, and he whispered an apology upon sensing the environment he’d created.

“Newt’s been my best friend since I was a kid, and because of my feelings, he got hurt. I shouldn't have taken it out on you, but there were just so many similarities, it was overwhelming. I didn't want you to meet her, because you're nothing like her.”

“I’m not? Kinda’ sounds like we’re the same.” You finished your food, packing the wrapped back into the bag, and facing him more confidently as you turned in your chair, and he chuckled.

“You’re nothing like her. She may have been what I loved once, but you’re something entirely different.” He picked up his ice-cream, peeling back the lid on it and poking at the contents with a smile on his face now as he mixed the toppings in. “You’re sweet, you get along with everyone and you want to be with us, I can tell, even if you were going to leave at first. You.. you want me, you don’t hide it. I like that. You’ve spared my best friend a lot of pain instead of causing it, and you make Brenda feel like a woman again when she’s surrounded by men, and you cook with Fry. You’re a real part of our family, I don’t think she ever was.”

Once he deemed it thoroughly mixed, he took a large spoonful of it, holding it up and poking it against your smile lightly.

“Take a bite, I know you want some. You can share mine.”

You did as told, accepting the ice-cream he was offering to you, and relishing in the sweet flavour. He took his own bite, and despite how happy you were, there was still a pang of lingering guilt as you kept back your secrets from him after he’d told you his. “You’re not the first firemen I’ve been involved with.”

“I figured as much.” You were a little surprised, pausing in your words as he looked at you like it was no big deal, and he shrugged, offering you another spoonful. “I mean, I figured you had to have some kind of history in a firehouse, with your transfer record, more switches than a lightbulb sees.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning at his joke a little. “Well, you were right. In my first house, I was straight out of the academy and young, and there was a fireman. He was charming, and very attractive, and he had this way that made my heart race.” You reached up, wiping a stray piece of ice-cream for the edge of Thomas’ lip. “Like you do.”

“I make your heart race?” He was smirking, liking knowing he had such an effect on you, and you redirected your attention to the dessert, turning the spoon he was bringing to his mouth and stealing the spoonful, the chill helping to calm your flushing features.

“You know you do.” You swallowed the treat, licking the sugary taste from your lips. “He had a previous injury, and a drug problem. I was young and naïve, and he wanted the ambulance stock for the pain so he could avoid surgery. When the truth came out, I took the fall and lost my job, while he got off with a reprimand and being put on probation. I had to move to a whole new state to escape it and find a new firehouse. When someone tried to get close to me there, I panicked and thought they would use me again. I moved, and I moved, and I moved. Whenever someone got close, I panicked. I got confused. I wanted family, and I was so set on finding that perfect family that I never stopped to let anyone in, until I came to ‘21, and encountered a moody lieutenant.”

Thomas grinned, cold lips pressing to your cheek as he ducked down, and you squirmed at the slightly sticky feeling of melted ice-cream, the cardboard cup empty as it had been shared between you both.

“My real family, there’s not much to say about them. I don’t have much, my mother hasn’t spoken to me in a while, she sends a birthday card every year, and that's about all there is for me. Until I found all of you.”

“It was just me and my mom when I was a kid, and there was a house fire. She’s never been quite right since, I grew up looking after her, and Newt was the kid across the road who brought me trays of food his mom made for us, and who brought me the homework sheets when I had to leave school early. He’s my family, too. This whole squad is.”

You felt like a weight had been lifted off of your chest from the confessions, from finally trusting someone enough to tell them your story, feeling the burn of tears in the back of your throat, but you were too tired to cry, having no tears left to give. “Tommy?”

“Yeah, angel?”

“Can we go home now?” He nodded, starting the car back up, and you leaned over the centre console a little to rest your head on his shoulder, feeling him turn to press a kiss to the top of your head. “When we get there, I want to go to bed, and I want you to stay the night, and then I want to spend the whole day with you tomorrow, in front of our family, without hiding anything.”

He took a second to reply, letting out an unsteady laugh, before starting up the car and nodding for you as you pulled back. “I would fucking love that.”

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king epilogue: hongjoong || atz

The sky is a light blue today.

In the conference room, both booted feet propped up on the table, Hongjoong leans back in his chair with his eyes closed, listening to the officers sitting at the meeting table with him debate heatedly in raised voices.

“We can’t just go after the pirates at Tortuga! It’s the strongest pirate base, and even if we expend all our efforts to capture it, the pirates will just head for the Windward passage and escape, all our efforts to capture them will be for naught!”

“I know that. But as you said, Tortuga is the largest pirate base operating right now, and if we don’t strike first, there’s no telling if other pirates will move to back it up.”

“But-”

“Silence, the lot of you. I’m thinking.”

The quarrelling officers abruptly fall silent at that one command, turning to look at Hongjoong, who’s been lounging there without a word for the entire meeting. His poisonous green eye is narrowed as he levels a piercing stare slowly at all of them, arms crossed over his chest. An officer swallows.

“Yes, sir.”

“Mingi, get the map out for me.”

The tall man rises from his seat to stride over to the bookshelves, pulling out a heavy oakwood box reinforced with iron strips and setting it on the table with a heavy thump. Reaching into the pocket of his navy blue coat, he pulls out an iron key and sets it into the lock, before he removes several yellowing pieces of parchment from within the box and places them on the table.

Hongjoong leans forward, placing his chin on interlaced fingers as he studies the maps laid out before him with a critical eye. The rest of the officers don’t say a word, only watching the man at work with a mixture of slight doubt and anticipation, wondering what plan he’s going to fashion to eradicate the pirate strongholds once and for all.

Kim Hongjoong. Ex-captain of the pirate ship called the Treasure. Known as the ruthless Pirate King by any who had encountered him and even those who hadn’t, immortalised in folk tales and stories that crossed lips to ears.

And yet, here he is, sitting before them in the flesh. Rising through the ranks rapidly, from a nameless trainee to the Commander in Chief of the Piracy Eradication Expedition. Younger than many of them have expected. Smaller than many of them have imagined him to be.

There are rumours that the Queen herself places high hopes on him.

“We’ll carry out a pre-emptive attack on Tortuga first.” Hongjoong finally says slowly, voice even and measured. The officer who had protested this earlier moves to argue.

“Sir, here are fierce currents around the island port, we won’t be able to launch a concentrated attack. Doing so would be expending too many men and resources. How are we going to capture it?”

“I said, we’re launching a pre-emptive attack first.” Hongjoong says evenly, tapping a finger against the paper. “Send in some men to burn the food stores and warehouses, and cut off the pirates trying to escape at Hispaniola. I want to flush them all towards the Windward Passage.”

“Sir, isn’t that allowing them to escape?” A newer officer raises his hand timidly, and Mingi raises a sharp eyebrow.

“Are you implying that captain, I mean, Commander is trying to help them escape just because he was a former pirate?”

The younger officer blanches, waving his hands desperately. “No, no, I meant-”

“Mingi, stop scaring him.” Hongjoong cuts in before the poor man can finish his apology. “I haven’t finished explaining my plan. I want another fleet to head to Port Royal discretely and do the same.”

An older officer tilts his head as he looks at the map, half moon glasses falling over his nose. “Flush pirates from both strongholds towards the Windward Passage? Will they not choose to work together and attack the Royal Navy in a bid to escape?”

Hongjoong shakes his head. “It’s not a pirate’s nature to work with others. Besides, all those pirates must be running low on supplies since we burned all their food. Ships usually don’t stock up on supplies right until they leave port to keep their food fresh.” He draws a circle at the Windward Passage, eyes cold. “If any of them encounter each other, well... it’s likely that they’ll end up fighting each other for supplies.”

“You’re going to let them fight it out while all we have to do is stand watch at the sides.” The older officer says quietly, raising an eyebrow. The rest of the officers are silent, studying the map intensely as they try to envision the plan. “A pincer attack, but the bulk of the fighting won’t be done by our men. Quite the devious plan, Commander. It is not one I would have thought of.”

There’s a slight meaning to his words, and Mingi bristles slightly at the tone of his voice. “What are you trying to say here, Advisor Bang?”

“Mingi, sit.” Hongjoong speaks before Mingi can say anymore. “He’s not wrong.”

Advisor Bang continues to watch him for a moment more before letting out a sigh and fixing his glasses. “Well, then. I will bring up this plan with the Commander of the Royal Navy and see it approved. A devious plan, yes, but ingenious, no less.” His clear brown eyes, still sharp despite his age, fix on Hongjoong. “I suppose you already have designated fleets in mind for your plan?”

“I have people trained for underhanded means like this. And as for the fleets, I’ll trust you with it, Advisor Bang.” Hongjoong rises to his feet, adjusting his coat and inclining his head slightly to the advisor. “If there’s nothing else to discuss, I’ll be leaving first.”

Before he steps out of the door, Mingi trailing behind him, he pauses and turns back to look at the officers still seated with a calm stare. “Also, we won’t be meeting tomorrow for drill training since it’ll rain. That’s all.”

With those words, he leaves the room, the door clicking shut behind him. The moment he leaves, the officers relax visibly, some even slumping over in their seats and rubbing their temples.

“Why must the commander be so intimidating all the time?” The younger officer wails, burying his face in his hands. His friend pats him on the back, trying to reassure him.

“I mean, he’s cool, isn’t he? He used to be the legendary Pirate King, you know!”

“Who doesn’t know that? Having all that pirate experience must be amazing, he can predict all their behaviour so easily.” The younger officer retorts, smacking his friend’s hand away before he looks cautiously at the door his superior has just left. “He’s still terrifying, though, even though he’s joined the navy.”

His friend nods, frowning. “He’s a harsh taskmaster, alright. But the great thing is, no drill training tomorrow since it’ll rain! I can finally have a day off!”

“What? Isn’t the sun shining so brightly today? What does he mean it’s going to rain- ow! Why did you smack me?”

“Commander has a gift for these kind of things.” His friend whispers to him conspiratorially, shoving the maps back into the chest. “You’re still wet behind the ears, there’s a lot you don’t know.”

Advisor Bang doesn’t say a word, only looking out window at the sun shining brightly outside the window. Lips pressed into a straight line, he recalls the one eyed pirate turned commander, and lets out a small laugh.

What an intriguing man.

>>>

The second Hongjoong reaches his office, he takes a seat behind his desk, a soft groan of pain leaving his lips as he rubs his temples. Mingi clucks in fright, rushing over to his captain’s side. “Captain! Captain, are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Just the headaches, as usual.” Hongjoong struggles to blink away the bright flashes of noise and colour that run wildly in his mind. The phantom smell of sea salt and storm thick in air makes it difficult to breathe and he pops open the top two buttons of his uniform shirt to ease his breathing, the white material damp with cold sweat. “Also, don’t call me captain. I don’t have a ship anymore, don’t you remember?”

“You’ll have your own ship for the PIracy Eradication Expedition, so I don’t see why not.” Mingi retorts sharply, moving towards the shelves and drawing out a little round pill from a glass bottle. “Here, have a painkiller.”

“Thanks.” Hongjoong mutters, throwing it into his mouth and biting down hard on it. The bitter herbal taste makes him gag at first, but then it’s soothed by the sweetness of honey. “Reminds me, I need to head to San’s apothecary today and get more of these.”

Mingi frowns, taking a seat in front of Hongjoong’s desk to stare at his captain. “Captain, be honest with me. How bad has it gotten?”

“Not too bad,” Hongjoong tries to say weakly, but from the expression on Mingi’s face, he isn’t buying any of it. “Alright, fine. I’ve been hearing things, seeing things. Like hallucinations.”

Mingi swallows, fingers digging into the wood grain of the desk as he looks at his captain. He feels painfully helpless at the sight of his best friend suffering before him like this, and he’s unable to do a thing. “Hallucinations of what?”

“A woman.” Hongjoong exhales, a hand running through his hair. roughly. “A woman with one hand, and the clearest eyes I’ve seen. When she smiles, my heart aches. When she cries, I feel like I’m bleeding. She asks me for her name, and I know it’s there, on the tip of my tongue, but everytime I try to say it, she disappears into the waves.” He sighs, teeth gritted. “And when I wake up, I never remember what her name is.”

Mingi looks at his captain slowly. “Captain... seriously, this can’t be good for you. We should look for more doctors, see if anyone can treat you. Of course I trust in San-ie’s skills, but...”

Hongjoong shakes his head. “No, San used his healing powers on me. He says there’s some sort of powerful magical affliction on my mind, and he’s working on it. All he can do now is give me painkillers and sleeping pills.”

Mingi opens his mouth to say something else, but Hongjoong cuts him off, rising to his feet. “Enough, Mingi. I’m really alright, I’ve gotten used to it. The headaches aren’t that bad, and San’s medicine is effective. I’ve just got to pick up some more from his shop later. That’s all. Now, don’t you have a meeting with the rest of the lieutenants?”

“Yes,” Mingi protests, “but-”

“I’ll be fine on my own, so shoo.” Hongjoong says, stretching. “Go on, Mingi. I want to take a short walk to the cove. I’m fine now, I promise.”

Mingi hesitates, before he rises to his feet. “Alright. But you tell me the second it gets worse, got it?”

Hongjoong nods obediently, a slight, fond smile on his face. “Understood.”

When Mingi leaves, Hongjoong lets out a sigh and places his forehead against the table, closing his eye. The second his eyes close, the memory of howling wind and unnatural massive waves fill his mind again, and he rises to his feet hurriedly, shaking his head.

Pulling off his coat, he reaches into his wardrobe for the red fox fur coat and shrugs it around his shoulders. The material soft against his skin, he buries his fingers into the thick fur and takes a deep breath, feeling his headache abate ever so slightly.

He should get to San’s.

>>>

San comes back to the shop toting baskets full of weeds and flowers.

“Oh, captain, you’re here!” San tries to wave as he steps in from the back door, very nearly trips and Hongjoong catches the basket that falls from his hands just before it can hit the ground. “Thanks for that.”

“I wasn’t expecting to come here to see a closed shop today.” Hongjoong remarks, turning to look at San’s worktable in the back. Just as he thought, there’s no space to put absolutely anything.

“I decided to go foraging. I got a good haul, there’s just this huge patch of patchouli growing out back.” San babbles excitedly, balancing the baskets on his arms expertly. “I didn’t think I’d get so many though, so I didn’t call Wooyoung to help out. He’s busy today, anyway.”

Hongjoong takes a seat at the wooden table, shifting the messy stacks of stacks and random twigs on the table top to make space for San’s baskets as the man moves to wash the dirt from his face and hands at the washbasin. “Wooyoung? What’s he up to?”

“Babysitting the younger ones at the orphanage with Yunho while Yeosang gives his literary classes.” San calls, drying off his hands and slipping his usual apron around his neck. Bunches of wildflowers hang out of the front pocket, and Hongjoong recognises eidelweiss and dandelion. “What about you, Mr Commander of the Royal Navy? What brings you to this humble abode?”

“Don’t call me that.” The side of Hongjoong’s mouth curls up in a slight smile of amusement as he shakes his head at San. “I need more of the painkillers.”

San pauses, before he frowns sympathetically. “You’re not the only one who needs them. Yeosang has been having some strange dreams lately. Have they gotten worse?”

Hongjoong nods wordlessly.

“The woman...” San hesitates for a moment, fingers stilling on the long stem ofa flower. “What does she do? What does she say?”

Hongjoong chews on his lower lip, slightly confused by the tone of San’s voice. “Well, it varies. Sometimes she smiles, sometimes she laughs, sometimes she’s crying. No matter what she does, she always asks me for her name at the end. But I just don’t... know her name.”

San smiles wistfully at the flower down in his hands for a moment, a soft murmur leaving his lips. “Oh, no. You do, you just don’t remember it.”

Hongjoong raises an eyebrow, tilting his head in confusion. “What did you say?”

“Nothing.” With a slight smile, San shakes his head and resumes snipping the leaves off the stem with a pair of scissors. “Well, I did read about this ancient method where people cut open their skulls to let the bad stuff out, and apparently the patients survive. No records on effectiveness, though. Want to try it out?”

“Just say you want to kill me and be done with it.” Hongjoong snorts, leaning his chin on his palm as he regards the healer. “San, this... not knowing what’s going on, not remembering... it’s tiring.”

San’s face softens minutely. “I know.” He says quietly, and as he passes by his captain to the shelves at the back, he drops a soft pat on Hongjoong’s head. “You’re hanging in there, captain. It’s admirable.”

Hongjoong lets out a little laugh. “There’s no one to impress. Except the Queen herself, maybe.”

“Didn’t they say you’d get a private audience with her if you succeed at this expedition?” San calls from behind, and Hongjoong can hear the rattling of glass jars. “That reminds me, how is the planning going?”

Hongjoong watches a spider in the corner of the room slowly making its web. “Good. We finalised plans today, and we’re just waiting for approval to go ahead with preparations. Which reminds me too, San.” Hongjoong turns to look at his healer, busily collecting pills from various jars. “Would you be willing to join me again... on an expedition?”

“Pshh.” San snorts loudly, and very near drops a jar. “Even if the Commander of the Royal Navy himself came and begged, I’m not going back out there into that dangerous ocean! Once was more than enough, I don’t know how I’m still alive. Never again! I’ve got an amazing shop to run and money to make. I was never meant for that crazy sort of lifestyle.”

Hongjoong lets out a soft laugh, but looks down at the table in understanding. “Got it. I won’t ask again.”

“But...” San’s voice is a little softer this time, and Hongjoong looks up to see the slightest smile on the man’s face as he sets down a neatly packaged parcel filled with paper pill sachets. “If it’s Captain asking, then who am I to disobey orders?”

This time, Hongjoong really laughs. “You little bastard.”

“Come on, as if we can’t tell that you were already planning to ask us to come with you. How long have we known each other?” San snorts, rapping his captain on the head with his knuckles. “I’ve arranged for some people to take over my shop for the time being, Yeosang, Yunho and Wooyoung have been waiting for you to ask them as well. We’re following you no matter where you go, captain. Just like the good old times, eh?”

“Yeah.” Hongjoong’s smile is calm now, and he picks up the packet, stuffing it into his coat as he rises to his feet. “I’ll see you on board soon, then. Have fun finding your sea legs again.”

San glares. “Shut it before I change my mind. The thought of being seasick for a whole week might just outweigh any loyalty I have for you.” He warns, and Hongjoong laughs, waving as he steps out of the shop. “See you soon, Hongjoong.”

>>>

The walk to the cove along the docks is peaceful. The sun has just begun to set, and at the docks the fishermen have just begun to bring their boats back to shore. Lost in thought, Hongjoong doesn’t hear someone calling his name until a few drops of water land on his nose and cheek.

“Who is it-” He whirls around in surprise, before he sees a familiar man sitting in a small fishing boat next to the docks, face twisted into a slight scowl of exasperation and an incriminating oar in hands. “Jongho! I didn’t notice you were there.”

“I called you ten times, damn you.” Jongho grumbles, setting his oar down. He jabs a finger at his nets, and Hongjoong whistles in appreciation at the number of fish he sees. “Woah, that’s a good catch today.”

“Exactly.” Jongho says shortly, face still fixed in his permanent stoic expression. “I’m bringing these over to Seonghwa-hyung’s eatery tonight, so you’d better come eat dinner with us. I’ve caught a yellowtail, so Seonghwa-hyung’s gonna make his signature braised yellowtail stew.” A hint of nostalgia runs through Hongjoong for no reason, and his head pounds a little. “Got it?”

Under his rock hard exterior, Hongjoong can see the hint of concern in his youngest’s eyes and his face instinctively softens in a reassuring smile. “I promise I’ll make it. Sorry for making you worry, Jongho-ah.”

Jongho splashes water at him with his oar, and Hongjoong is forced to leap out of the way of the droplets. “I’m not worried.” He says flatly, before turning back to busy himself with his nets. Hongjoong can see that his ears are slightly red. “See you later for dinner, captain.”

Hongjoong smiles at his back, taking off at a brisk walk again, a slight spring in his step.

“See you later, Jongho.”

>>>

When he reaches the little beach, the sun has just begun to dip behind the horizon.

Hongjoong takes a seat on white sand, letting out a soft sigh. This beach is isolated from the town, and takes walking quite a distance to reach here, thus there aren’t many people who come here or even know about its existence. That’s why Hongjoong likes it so much. It gives him a place to think, to relax, to try and... remember.

Closing his eyes, he lies back in the sand and exhales loudly.

What is it that he’s missing?

Three years ago, the Treasure had been caught in a massive storm during a face off with an armada of the Royal Navy. The ship had been damaged beyond repair, but was still seaworthy enough to stay afloat until the Navy had come to arrest all of them and haul them to prison.

Hongjoong had been found along with Yeosang and Wooyoung, unconscious on a small strip of sand, and San had been picked up with the rest of the crew. All of them had been brought back to the Royal Navy headquarters, where a high ranking official had given Hongjoong a choice: join the Royal Navy and have his crew spared, or die by the noose with them.

Of course, Hongjoong chose the former.

It wasn’t the wrong choice to make, Hongjoong thinks quietly as he watches the sky darken, bit by bit. It wasn’t the wrong choice at all. Everyone is leading fulfilling lives now, peaceful and content. Seonghwa has opened up his eatery, which became an instant hit in his hometown Nassau, although Hongjoong sometimes wonders if the patrons go there for his food or for him. He supposes the cute godson that comes over every weekend doesn’t hurt either.

Yeosang has become a teacher who gives weekly lesson at the local orphanage, while Yunho and Wooyoung who help him do odd jobs in between and squabbling the entire time. San has his apothecary, although some people are scared away by how eccentric he likes to act sometimes, and Jongho is fishing like he’s always wanted to, following in his father’s footsteps. Mingi followed him even into the Royal Navy, acting as his supporter and lieutenant, just like he has all his life.

And Hongjoong is here.

Content, happy, and at peace.

But he’s still missing something.

It feels like a gaping chasm in his heart.

With a sigh, he sits up to look at the horizon. The sun has almost sunken completely behind the waves, orange light slowly swallowed by the sea, and Hongjoong gets to his feet slowly, brushing off his trousers. If he leaves any later he’ll be late for dinner, and neither Jongho’s chokeholds or Seonghwa’s flying knives are something he wants to deal with.

He turns to look at the horizon a final time.

And stops dead in his tracks.

He sees a ship silhouetted against the dying rays of light where the sky meets the see, its outline ghostly and faint. Torn sails and chipped wood with the barely visible word Mael something painted along the side, Hongjoong doesn’t understand just how that ship is still afloat, but then he catches sight of a man standing at the port side of the ship, and somehow, Hongjoong feels like that persons looking straight at him.

A familiar feeling wells up in him, he knows this gaze. The word forms on the tip of his tongue before he knows it.

“Father?”

But when he blinks again, the ship vanishes together with the last rays of light just as the sun dips behind the horizon.

Still reeling, Hongjoon stands stock still on the beach, gazing out in the direction of the water. What had he just... seen?

It begins slowly at first. The tide pulls back slowly, further and further out, before they twist and turn like they’re alive. Hongjoong can’t move, every bone in his body in shock, and watches as the waves rise and swirl lazily to form a path of bone dry land to the beach from the heart of the sea.

Suddenly, the scene before him overlaps with a dream he’s seen many times in his mind. The woman, smiling at him last one last time, walking towards the sea as it rises around her, a whisper hanging from her lips, “Please don’t forget me, okay?”

Hongjoong takes a step forward. It can’t be.

Promise me, tomorrow won’t be the end.

Another step, another step.

No matter what, we’ll find our way to each other somehow.

Faster. He’s running as fast as he can.

A familiar figure steps out of the waves, and even though it’s dark, Hongjoong knows who it is, and throws himself into her arms.

“You’re back.” Hongjoong sobs, blubbering, feeling warm skin and soft flesh under his fingers. “You’re alive. You didn’t die. Y-you...” He can’t believe it. A wild dream come true, memories pouring into his mind all at once like a floodgate finally opened after three years. “You came back.”

The person smiles, wiping the tears from his cheeks with one hand while the other traces his eyepatch gently. Warm, warm and real. “I did. I promised, didn’t I?” Your voice is just like how he remembers it, clear and honest, not a hint of deceit in every word that leaves your lips. “Tell me, Hongjoong. Call my name again.”

Hongjoong sobs harder, but his laugh is bright enough to light up the dark beach all on its own.

“Your name,” he says, “is Chin Hae.”

“That’s right.” You say, and kiss him.

[mydeardeath]

Forever mine

TimDamiWeek day two : League of Assassins

Sorry for any mistakes, this was not proofread.

Also on AO3

¤

Tim is no longer a vigilante, not really. He still worked as the new oracle on a regular basis, but he was rarely on the street himself. Most of his time was dedicated to WE and to creating a better future. He had abandoned his role as CEO to work for the research department, putting his brain to good use. While most of his projects were for clean energy, he also worked on better equipment for the bats. 

It had been weird to hang up his cape, for him and the family. He had been the first one to abandon the R peacefully and chose his own replacement. He hadn't known Duke that well at the time, but he never regretted choosing him. The man had easily fit into the family, Bruce hadn't complained much, and Jason had been accepting of the new Robin.

A few years had passed since he had hung up the cap, and he had picked up his habit of following the dynamic duo at night. He did not indulge in it that often, but they were nights where he would climb on rooftops and watch the action from afar. Tonight had been one of those nights. Tim had finished his most recent project and had taken a few days off. He sat upon a building overlooking the diamond district, offering a great view of the fight going on below. It still amazed him to see Dick flying through the air, even after so many years spent working alongside the man.

A few months back, he would have been tempted to jump in to fight alongside Dick, but now he just appreciated the show. Dick is going up against a major threat, just kicking the ass of a few wannabe robbers.

The night is somewhat calm for Gotham, and Tim doesn't see the attack. One minute his eyes were on the street below, the next he's swaying dangerously on the roof's edge. He had barely time to regain his footing that another blow came to hit him in the back. He thankfully managed to avoid the next one and rolled back to a safer place.  It doesn't take long for his attacker to come at him again, but this time he's facing him. It took a split second for Tim to identify his opponent as League of assassins. His memory takes him back to his meetings with Pru, Z, and Owen. He had not hesitated to fight them. This man, even standing alone, seemed more dangerous than they were. It's obvious by his stance that the guy has proper training, but what made Tim anxious were his own abilities. Tim was still dangerous himself, but he imagined that this man trained more frequently than him recently. Probably studied Tim's fighting style before attacking him, knowing the level of preparation the league put behind its assassination attempts. Tim can't afford to make a mistake. Hell, he should call Bruce or someone, but he doubted the assassin would let him make a call or even reach for his phone. 

They danced around each other, exchanging a few blows. Tim could see that the man was holding back as if he was playing with his prey and waiting for him to get tired. He needed to find a way out of it, quickly.

His biggest hope might be to catch Dick he was still near him, but that would mean giving his back to that guy, and Tim didn't like that idea much. He still decided to attempt it. He packed a powerful punch toward his assailant before taking off to the next building's roof. Tim had never been the strongest in the family, but he was fast. He also had the advantage of having spent years on those rooftops and knew them better than this man. In the end, it didn't matter at all. The man didn't try to catch up to him, just threw a small knife to his leg that made him lose his balance. Then the man jumped after him. He was on Tim in no time, katana in hand. He managed to avoid the first slash but, soon, he felt the blade sliced through his skin. The wound wasn't deep, but the assassin kept going, covering his body in cuts. 

Tim retaliated with a few blows of his own or attempted to anyway. The man was more than good. He could read him so easily, and Tim stood even less chance as time passed as his movement became slower and sloppier while his assailant was moving with grace, dancing around him. Tim fell to the ground a few minutes later, hitting his head hard on the floor. He tried to stand, but a harsh blow to the head made his vision blur, and all he could do was try to crawl away. 

That was not how he had imagined dying. 

 ***

 Tim startled awake to the sound of his alarm clock. He attempted to reach for his phone, but searing pain stopped him midway. Yesterday's fights came back to him, and Tim wondered how he was still alive. It had looked like an assassination, not a kidnapping.

Tim slowly pushed himself in a sitting position in the bed, in arms straining under the effort of carrying his aching body. His wounds had been tended to and bandaged. Some painkillers were even waiting for him on the nightstand, next to his phone and some clean clothes.

Somebody had taken him to what seemed to be a hotel suite and taken care of him. Whoever it had been, wasn't part of their family or they would have taken him to the batcave. It didn't seem that Tim would have an answer quite yet about his mysterious savior. He couldn't hear a sound in the suite, and unless his savior was hiding, he was completely alone.

Tim didn't want to stay in bed too long and force himself up despite his body's protests. He needed to inform Bruce of what had happened. He wasn't a fool, the league didn't like to leave jobs unfinished, and the whole fiasco of the previous was proof enough that Tim couldn't protect himself from that threat. The realization had not been pleasant. But keeping in shape was apparently not enough, not against that kind of opponent.

Once he managed to gather the energy to get dressed and inspect the room(to no avail, there was no clue of who had brought him here), he hailed a taxi to drive to the manor. He was far too tired to make the trip to his own house and take his car.

Tim hoped that the driver hadn't recognized him, he didn't need to make the front page while looking beaten up. That would be hard to explain to the press, and Tim still didn't like dealing with them despite how many times he had to. 

Tim gave him a good tip before exiting the car, hoping he would keep silent about dropping off a beaten up man at Wayne Manor. Then he made his way to the front door where Alfred had appeared. The butler led him straight to the medbay with a somber expression. He knew that Tim wasn't the kind to get in a fight. That was not supposed to happen to him now that he was retired.

The cave was empty at this hour. Bruce was probably sound asleep at this hour, and nobody else was living at the manor nowadays. Tim let Alfred examine him in silence, still tired and preferring to wait for Bruce to start speaking. He was sure to get a thorough interrogation, so he didn't see the need to tell Alfred every detail right now, simply informing him that it was the league of assassins.

Tim was glad to learn that he didn't have any kind of internal injury. He had hit the ground pretty hard, but he was not concussed. The only problem Tim could have to face now was septicemia because of his weaker immune system. Alfred would keep an eye on him to check he didn't forget his medication, and that would give even more of an excuse to make him stay at the manor for a while.

 ***

 Tim couldn't shake off the feeling that he was being watched. He had already checked his room twice for cameras, and even though he had found none, he still felt observed. It was hard to tell if the presence if was feeling was a friendly one, watching his back, or an enemy waiting to strike him down.

He knew that Bruce was worried about the league of assassins. Batman hadn't run into Ra's Al Ghul in a while, and Bruce couldn't decipher why he would send his men after Tim now. Tim's works with Wayne Enterprise didn't interfere with any of the league business. There was nothing he could think of that would explain the sudden interest in Tim.

Everyone was worried about him. Bruce had demanded that Cass came home. She was by far the best fighter in the family and had been assigned as his unofficial bodyguard. Wherever he went, she was never far.

Usually, Tim would appreciate the time spent in her company, but he could tell she was tense. She was better at hiding than most, but they had known each other for a while, and Tim had been getting good at reading her microexpressions. 

Not that Tim was faring better. Barely a day after he had gotten to the manor, he had received a gift elegantly wrapped. Bruce had been the one to open it in the batcave, not trusting a mysterious package arriving shortly after the attack.

The box hadn't exploded as they opened or anything of the kind. It simply held a dagger on a velvet pad. A very ancient and beautiful one, that was still sharp and ready to use. Guessing the origin of the dagger wasn't a hardship, especially considering the note that accompanied it. "You should always be prepared, Timothy."

That was a warning, Tim was sure. The assassin was playing with him. He wanted Tim to offer a bit more of a challenge. 

Bruce had taken the note and analyze it thoroughly, from the type of paper to the handwriting. It was a lot of effort for nothing. It was unlikely that any of Ra's assassins would be in the cave database. Bruce didn't like not knowing why Tim was suddenly targeted by the league and not being able to predict when the next attack would come.

The next days passed in a tense atmosphere. Tim tried to relax and appreciate the time he got off work, but there were always shadows or doors creaking that made him jump to his feet, ready to fight for his life. That was not the greatest time off Tim could have had.

Tim was glad to be back at his office, finally able to take his mind off the attack to concentrate on his work, even if it meant waking up thirty minutes earlier than usual to put on make-up to cover his bruises.

Tim smiled at his secretary as if he was perfectly rested and had an awesome time during his break. She returned it with a knowing smile as if she was on a secret. Tim was pretty dumbfounded. He didn't think he had fooled her enough that she would actually think he had had that sort of fun while he was away. She seemed pretty excited nonetheless and Tim finally understood why when he entered his office. There was a beautiful bouquet of red tulips waiting for him in his office. Tim wasn't an expert when it came to the language of flower but it was pretty sure that red was the color of passion or something like that. It was doubtful that it was the company or a client sending it to him to say "good job".

Tim dismissed his secretary and gave a suspicious glare at the flowers. He had not been on a date in a while or even flirted with anyone recently. There was no reason for him to receive such a thing. Tim was almost tempted to send the flowers to be analyzed in case there were hiding poisonous spores but he would most likely pass as a madman to his employees. Still, he put in a far corner of the room, near the windows with the prepared excuse that flowers needed the sun to thrive. In a few days, it would be deemed acceptable for him to throw them away without generating gossip about him turning down an affectionate lover.

Tim spent most of his time working in the labs instead of his office, all to avoid the bouquet. Maybe he was just paranoid, but he preferred to be careful. Plus, that allowed him to also avoid his secretary who seemed to make him want to spill interesting details so that she could report them to the rest of the employees. Not that there was any to give. Tim just preferred to avoid the subject.

 ***

 A week after he had gone back to work, Bruce deemed it safe enough for him to go back to his own loft. Alfred had dropped off some casseroles while Tim was still in his office, so Tim could sink onto his couch to eat a delicious meal while watching some shitty tv show.

It's only the following morning that he noticed the flowers in his room. A bouquet of purple hyacinth this time, according to the quick search he made. 

Somehow, he doubted those had been from Alfred too. There was a note accompanying it this time, still handwritten in the same beautiful calligraphy. "Please accept my sincerest apologies, Timothy."

That had Tim wondering. Had the assassin not been sent by Ra's? He hadn't thought of one of Ra's agent going rogue. It could explain why he had never come back. Betraying Ra's often meant death.

Ra's Al Ghul wasn't the kind to lie, not like that anyway. If he had been the one threatening Tim's life, he wouldn't have tried to pretend otherwise. And the man did have a weird obsession with Tim at some point that could explain the tulips.

Tim wasn't one hundred percent sure that his life was no longer in danger, but he did finally start to relax.

Three weeks after the initial attack, Tim's peace was once again shattered. It was a different assassin this time. Not one trained by the league or with any real experience, Tim was sure of it as the man started to taunt him instead of doing his job, telling him how much money he would make from killing him and what he would do with that much in his pocket. His obvious excitation was short-lived as a bullet pierced his skull right in front of Tim. Tim saw the man's eyes widen suddenly in stupor just before he fell to the ground, lifeless.

Assassins were a daily occurrence after that, Tim having up to three attempts to his life in the span of twenty-four hours. Not that Tim expected anything else when he learned how much his head was worth. It seemed that if Ra's hadn't been behind the first attempt to his life, then it had given him an idea. 

Weirdly enough, it seemed that all his attackers were taken down by the league's own agents before they could do any harm to him. It was as if Ra's was trying to eliminate all competition. But, Tim hardly understood why he had to be involved in that business.

It went on for weeks. Weeks spent worrying about an attack that may never come. Tim didn't understand why the league was stalling this much to finish the job. So he decided to finally act instead of waiting for assassins to attack again.

Without warning anyone of his intentions, Tim boarded a plane headed to Ra's latest known location. The probability that the man was still in a known base was very low, but Tim would try nonetheless. 

Tim hesitated once he landed. He didn't have much of a plan, beyond demanding an audience with Ra's. He could be killed as soon as he crossed the threshold, and none would be the wiser. Tim wondered if he had really been the smarter Robin once upon a time, sure didn't felt like it now.

Tim took a hesitant step out of the plane before steeling himself. Showing weakness would do him no good, the least he could do was appear confident.

Guards watched him climb up the stairs without a word, not showing any signs that they would try to stop him even going as far as opening the door for him, slightly bowing as he passed. Tim's face was blank, seeming emotionless, but he was freaking out. It was almost as if his arrival had been expected, awaited even.

The White Ghost himself came to greet Tim quickly. It was yet another one. Ra's had gone through a few in past years. None had last long since his son's death.

Tim was lead to a grand room where a man that on a throne. The first thought when Tim's eyes felt on him was that the man looked regal in his green robe.  The second he said aloud: "You're not Ra's Al Ghul." 

The man seemed familiar even if Tim couldn't pinpoint from where, but not the leader of the league Tim knew. Definitely too young, the pit never made Ra's rejuvenated that way. Could be that Ra's soul had been transferred to a new body. He really hoped not.

"Ra's Al Ghul is the title of the one leading the League of Assassins, which I am. The man that preceded me is dead. For good."

"Did you kill him?" The question was out of Tim's mouth before he could stop himself. But the man didn't seem offended by the accusation.

"I did. Grandfather wanted to use my body as a vessel for himself. I choose to take his empire instead. It was my birthright, after all."

"You are Talia's son." They hadn't been aware that the Al Ghul family had expended. Tim hoped that hadn't been done with just the idea to provide a new body to Ra's. That would be twisted and horrible for the guy to be born for that sole purpose. And despite the moral instilled by his mentor, Tim found it hard to condemn Ra's murder.

"And Bruce's. I think you know my father rather well."

"What?"

Tim was having a hard time processing that bit of information. The man didn't seem to be lying, but how could the 'greatest detective' have ignored that bit of information.

"I believe you did not come to talk of my lineage, Timothy. I would like to reiterate my apology for hurting you the first time we met."

"That was you?"

"I'm afraid that yes. I had just taken control of the league, and I wanted to consolidate my power by eliminating all that Grandfather had seen as potential successors. Thankfully I saw your mark before my mistake became irreparable. I see now that you are not a threat to my reign. I will never again cause you harm. And I doubt any other will after all that tried in the last few weeks and failed. The world must have gotten my message."

"I'm not quite sure I understand."

The man stood to cross most of the distance separating him from Tim, stopping only a few feet away. His face only showed determination as he took the hem of his clothes in his hands and started to divest.

"Ra's." Tim stammered out, not quite knowing how to refer to the man.

"You may call me Damian, habibi." 

Tim didn't react to the pet name, his eyes fixated on his mark adorning Damian's skin. Their soulmark.

Tim gaped inelegantly, short of words to express his emotion. He was beyond shocked. He hadn't given much thought to his mark in years. Not many had one, and finding one's match was rare as most people preferred to ignore it to make their own choices.

"I would like to offer you a place at my side to lead the league."

Tim was about to answer but Damian shushed him.

"Do not think of what the league had done so far, but what you could do with its many resources. Take your time to think about it. I will in Gotham in a few days, you can tell me your answer over a date."

Damian escorted back to his plan, bidding his goodbye to Tim with a single blossom of red salvia. A token of his intentions.

Tim was quite relieved that Damian didn't insist he stay longer. He had a lot to think about and some time alone would do him some good.

A true partner of Batman should have said no right away, but Tim saw all the possibilities, all the changes he could bring to the world with the league shaped to his image. The proposition was tempting and Tim was already making plans in his mind.

Tim wasn't quite sure what to make of Damian. The man's apparent desire to date, since he was not based on anything relevant. But Tim's love's life had been non-existent since Tam and he could admit that sometimes he got pretty lonely. He could even admit that Damian was easy on the eyes when he wasn't trying to kill him. It wouldn't hurt to go on a date. 

The only problems were Damian's role as the leader of a criminal organization that his family had often fought against. And that he was Bruce's son.

Tim rolled the flower between his fingers, a soft smile on his face. For once, he would take time to enjoy his life and worry later. He didn't have to tell anything to his mentor and let Damian deal with it when the time came. It sounded like a good plan.

[babybottlepop96]

Someone to Love (Sai x Shikamaru) 18+ Only

Warning: Smut, minors DNI, cheating, breakups, getting drunk, I think that’s it?

A/n: I just really had this idea in my head and ShikaSai is like a rare pair that I really enjoy. So here you go.

“Sai, what do you mean by ‘You're not interested anymore?’” Ino asked her husband of the last four years, the father to her child, the man she had fallen for when they were teenagers. He simply looked at her, sitting in their shared bed, hair a mess, eyes turning red with all the tears she refused to let fall. He knew this would be hard, he knew this would hurt her so badly, but during the last few years he had grown more as an emotional person. Realizing that he simply didn’t love her as he thought he did. He tried, he really did. The learning experience he gained from his readings and interactions and watching his friends who acted truly in love with their partners or spouse had been nothing but hard for him as well. Seeing how Naruto and Hinata looked at each other, how TenTen and Shino shared soft touches when out on a date, even how Kiba and his partner would play with Akamaru and have a great time. He came to the understanding that he didn’t get those feelings when he was his wife. He realized he never actually did, it was a facade, an illusion he created to feel more human, to fit in with normal society. He wanted to feel that way, he tried everything in his power to feel the love and passion in his relationship with Ino. To put the same energy into this like Ino has done.

“I mean, I don’t love you the same way you love me, Ino.” He sighed as he looked at the floor, wishing he didn’t have to do this. 

“After all these years? After all we have been through together? What about Inojin?” She asked, her heart breaking with every passing second he sat there, feeling further and further away from the man she married.

“Ino, I can’t keep pretending that I’m in love with you. Maybe I was at one point in time, but I can’t be certain. I also can’t let us still be a thing just for the sake of it, that's not fair to you, me or our son. You deserve someone who can make your world brighter, who can give you the same love and energy you give. I’m just not capable of it, I’ve tried. God, I tried. I tried so hard to give you what you rightly deserve from a husband. But, I can’t. I just can’t. I’m sorry.” Sai spoke, voice cracking slightly due to the emotional state he was also putting himself through. “I’ll still be a part of Inojin’s life. He is still my son, I’ll still be a part of your life as a friend, if you still want me to. But I think, this is what we have to do, if we ever want to be truly happy.” He looked at her this time, her bed head shaking softly and eyes shut trying to suppress any loud sobs from escaping, fear of waking up her sleeping child a few doors down.

“I understand, Sai.” She said, voice barely above a whisper, scratchy from being woken up in the early hours of the morning and the force she had to use to keep herself from fully breaking down in the moment. She understood his point, in fact, she thinks it was the bravest, kindest thing she ever heard, but that doesn’t make the fact that he was leaving her hurt any less. She loved the clueless man with all her heart. She wanted him to stay, but agreed to the unfairness and selfishness that would be if she asked him to stay. No more words were said as Sai stood, grabbing a bag to stuff some clothes and other necessities in. No words were spoken as Sai exited their once shared bedroom to stroll a few doors down to their son’s room. Sneaking in and giving his son a kiss to the forehead. A silent goodbye for now. And not  noise was made as Sai removed himself from the only actual home he had ever known. Leaving behind the shattered heart of his once lover. 

‘I’m doing this for all of us.’ He thought to himself as strolled through the empty streets of Konoha, heading to the inn on the other side of the village. After purchasing a room for a few nights, Sai decided he needed to stop thinking for a bit. Deciding to stop by the bar he passed by earlier, he needs to drown out the events of the last couple hours. Sitting at the bar, he ordered a glass of their strongest liquor.

~~~

“What the actual fuck, Temari?!” Shikamaru spoke loudly outside his home, his wife standing there, eyes wide and red from crying. Shikamaru had a lit cigarette hanging between his lips, hand running through his hair, loosening the neat ponytail he always wore. 

“I’m sorry Shika!” She spoke, voice cracking every other syllable. 

“You're sorry?! How long has this been going on?!” He spoke, trying to keep his own tears at bay.

“A few months.” She spoke honestly, voice quiet as she looked at the grass beneath her bare feet, wrapping her robe around her frame tighter to keep the chilly night air from nipping at the bare skin.

“A few months.” He spoke to himself in disbelief. 

“You're never home anymore! Shikadai keeps asking where his daddy is and I have to keep explaining to him that you're at work! He wants his daddy! I wanted my husband! But your always fucking working!” She cried, body physically shaking with anger and grief. 

“So you thought it would be better to cheat on me instead of just telling me all this?! I have to work to provide for us! I’m the hokage’s right hand man! My job takes up a lot of my time! You knew this before we even got together, Temari!” He took another long drag from his cigarette, pacing in his yard. Temari didn’t say another word as the two stood in the tension filled air, the weight of everything settling in like a four hundred pound weight on their shoulders. “Did nothing in our years together mean nothing?” He whispered.

“Of course it did! Shika, I love you! I love you so much!”

“Then what is the real reason you cheated?” He looked her straight in the eyes, wanting the honest, unfiltered answer.

“I needed someone to satisfy me, touch me, give to me the needs a woman wants from her husband.” She spoke harshly. He knew what she meant, she wanted to have someone who could be there for her, to be there touch her with soft caresses and gentle kisses. Something he barely did anymore due to the amount of work he had to do. He understood what she meant.

“But you didn’t have to go behind my back and betray my trust, Temari.” He turned around and left. He couldn’t be there right now, his heart cracking with every step he took away from his home. Walking past a bar, Shikamaru thought he deserved some drinks, drowning out the numb feeling that took over his body. As Shikamaru drank, a familiar face appeared a few seats down. Face looking just as sorrowful as his own probably looked. “Hey, Sai.”

Sai turned to look at Shikamaru, “Oh, Hello Shikamaru.” He faked a smile at his wife’s… ex-wife’s teammate. “What brings you here?” He asked, making his way to his friend after his drink was placed in his hands. 

“Wife cheated on me, so I came here to drown out my sorrows with some good ol’ fashion painkiller.” Shikamaru chuckled darkly. “You?” He asked, taking a sip from his own glass.

“I broke things off with Ino, couldn’t let either of us stay in the relationship if it was only one sided.”

“She cheated?”

“No, I just came to learn that I don’t reciprocate the same feelings she does.”

“That sucks, I’m sorry man”

“Don’t be, I’m sorry about your situation as well. From what I read, cheating isn’t a good thing.” Sai sipped his drink. Shikamaru chuckled slightly at his friend, still the same Sai he met years ago. But he was older, more mature, better at understanding feelings. He grew into a handsome young man. The two drank more together, little by little, the two began to forget about their home troubles as more and more alcohol filled their systems. By the time the bar closed, both men were hammered, drunk off their asses as they stumbled against each other down the dirt streets of Konoha. “D-do you have a p-place to sleeeeeeeeeep?” A very drunk Sai asked and equally drunk Shikamaru.

“Oooooh fuuuuuuck. N-no!” Both men laughed holding onto each other for support. 

“Come back to my room th-then.” Sai smiled and Shikamaru nodded quickly. Both men finally got to the room Sai had rented, both falling backwards onto the soft bed, sinking against it slowly. “I...I wish I could find someone like you Shika. I.. I mean… You’re a hardworking person. Like… like you're just so pretty too. Like a duck. Ducks are pretty SHikamaru.” Shikamaru couldn’t help but laugh.

“I wish I could find someone like you too. Don’t expect to be constantly followed around like a lost puppy. You...you are also pretty. But like… like a um.. What are those things with feathers? The things with two legs?”

“A peacock?”

“No.. no.. It’s.. it's like a cow… but not a cow.”

“Penguin?”

“YES! THAT!” The two burst into fits of giggles. After they calmed down, they just stared at each other, eyes locking intensely to each other. Neither moved nor said a word. 

Suddenly, lips collided and hands grabbed at anything and everything they could find. Hair, limbs, the bedsheets. It was the most intoxicating thing either have experienced in so long. They felt electricity coursing through their veins that were once filled with grief and sorrow. Every touch sent heat compared to a fire everywhere they went. Clothes were discarded and thrown around the room, neither caring where they went or if they would be able to find them later. Sai was lying on top, forearms resting on either side of Shikamaru’s head. The man underneath had his hands in the other’s hair, slightly tugging to bring him closer. One of Sai’s hands slid down Shikamaru’s body, tracing and outlining every muscle until it came to the organ that needed the most attention.

His hand firmly gripped Shamaru’s cock, stroking it ever so gently. The small gasps and mewls Shikamaru let escape were swallowed by the other’s mouth, Sai’s tongue already winning the battle for dominance. With his other hand, Sai started to tease Shikamaru’s ass. Slender fingers running around the ring of muscle, lightly prodding the opening before slipping one in, already lubed from the small amount of natural lubricant that came from the tip of Shikmaru’s dick. “Oh, fuck!” Shikamaru gasped, mouth slight gaping at the unfamiliar intrusion. But he wasn’t about to complain, if he was being honest with his drunken self, he always felt something for the man on top of him. He just never realized it before, never fully cared to even consider the option. But here he was, letting himself get lost in the feeling of another man.

Sai entered another finger, scissoring the other open. Was this the feeling he wanted to so desperately give Ino? He didn’t know, but he did know that he liked whatever feeling this was. It was.. happy. Carefree. Addicting. He wanted more. He wanted to get drunk, not off more booze, but off the feeling Shikamaru gave him. He needed more.

He took out fingers, smiling slightly as the whimper that left Shikamaru’s swollen lips. He stared at the beauty of the man under him, eyes dark with lust. He aligned himself up with Shikamaru’s entrance. “I’ll be slow. I promise.” He spoke softly as he caressed the heated skin of Shikamaru’s cheek. He only got a nod in response as he slowly inched his way in. He read about using lube to help make things easier, but it seemed like neither cared at the moment, the slight burn actually felt good, maybe it was the drinks they had talking, but again, neither cared. They only relished in the feeling of one another, drinking in the blissed out faces each wore as Sai finally bottomed out. Both were still, letting each other adjust to the other. 

“Move.” Was the only thing Sai needed to hear to start thrusting his hips against Shikamaru’s. Both let out a groan at the feeling, becoming more intoxicated as the thrust kept getting faster and harder. The tip of Sai’s cock hit Shikamaru’s prostate, causing the man to let out a loud moan, causing Sai’s dick to twitch, it was like the world's most beautiful song, a song being played just for him.

“You sound.. So beautiful.. Shikamaru.” Sai grunted as he aimed for the same spot over and over again. 

“I.. I’mma… cum?!” Shikamaru moaned out, eyes rolling to the back of his head. He was so close, so terribly close it almost hurt. Sex with Temari was never this good, never this emotional, never this….. Free.

“Cum with me, Shika. Let me see your beautiful essence all over us.” Sai grunted, nearing his release as well. With one hand firmly planted on Shikamaru’s hip, the other went to vigorously pump his dick. Shikamaru came with a loud moan, Sai followed soon after, releasing his seed inside his friend. All movement ceased, the only sounds being the heavy breathing coming from the two men. Said pulled out and Shikamaru felt the cum seep from his ass and onto the blankets beneath him. The two looked at each other, both their eyes slowly closing. Sleep was finally taking over them, from the emotional night of heart beak, drinking and great sex, both closed their eyes, slightly snuggling against each other. Consequences can be damned till the time they woke up. Right now, everything was okay. They were at peace.

[suzu-kun22]

Not Quite Invincible

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30488721

Prompt: Hallucinations Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen Pairings: Nanago, Satosugu Warnings: Illness, mentions of past canonical character death Summary: Nanami returns home to find a sick and delusional Gojou, talking to his long-gone best friend.

@badthingshappenbingo​

If there are any specific prompts you’d like me to write and any specific scenarios/fandoms/pairings you’d like me to write for, just send in an ask!

Story below the cut!

To most, Gojou Satoru seems invincible.

To most that encounter him, he seems as though nothing bothers him. He doesn’t seem to know how to take a hit, what with an ability that stops just about everything from making contact and a tendency to reach speeds incomprehensible to most human eyes. To most, he is flawless. A beacon of hope. The pillar that holds up the feeble roof of Jujutsu Sorcery. Were it not for Gojou Satoru, would the institution even still be standing? It’s a question that has been posed many times, and yet it’s never one that Nanami Kento has seen answered in a way he finds satisfactory. 

Still, for all of his power, for all of his strength, and for as many opponents that have fallen to Gojou Satoru, there are still things that even one such as he is weak to. There are still things that can leave him as vulnerable as the child that he pretends to be. There are still things that steal that confidence from his voice and leave him doing just about everything that he possibly can to cover up the shaking that’s left in its wake.

Apparently, Nanami Kento is one of few privileged enough to see it.

“What are you doing in my house?” Nanami asks with eyes narrowed and arms crossed over his chest. He had walked through the door to find a pair of shoes that were most certainly not his and a pitch black coat hanging on one of his hooks. Nanami owned nothing black. He had discovered, while working in a boring office where the only goal was money, money, and more money, that black made him look far too uptight, and made him feel the same way. If he was going to be saving people, he would be better served wearing a less depressing color. 

There’s only one person who Nanami knows well enough to suspect them of being in his house, who also wears a black coat and... whatever the hell those shoes even are. How frustratingly annoying, that it’s also the man known for his ability to inflict just about anyone he speaks to with a migraine that just might last days, depending on his mood. If Gojou Satoru is feeling particularly annoying today, then Nanami will have to make sure to stock up on painkillers. If he’s feeling just mildly frustrating, then perhaps Nanami will manage to kick him out the door with minimal incident.

“Hmmmmm…?” There’s a long hum coming from the lump on Nanami’s couch. Wrapped up in blankets, Nanami can barely make out a head of ethereally white hair resting against one of his throw pillows. “…oh, you’re home?” The voice is familiar, but also not. It’s obviously the voice of Gojou Satoru. There’s no way that Nanami would ever be able to mistake that voice for anyone else. And yet, there’s something off about it. Something shaky, quiet, weak, vulnerable, and maybe just a bit broken. 

“Yes. What are you doing in my house?” Nanami repeats his question, and there’s a long minute with no answer. Then the pile of blankets shifts, groans, and settles once again. This is going to take a while, it seems. “Are you going to answer me, or are we going to stand here all night?”

“…head hurts.” The pile mumbles. “Stop talking so loud–“ A hand pokes itself out from the mountain and waves at Nanami, as though asking him to quiet down. “–Shouko said… uhhh… somethin’ about sleeping until it goes away,” Gojou’s voice says with an edge to it that Nanami doesn’t recognize and most certainly doesn’t like. He furrows his brow, reaches down, and shakes the pile until it lets out another loud groaning sound and rolls over. Finally, there’s Gojou Satoru’s face. His signature blindfold is nowhere to be seen. His hair is even more disheveled than normal. His eyes are squeezed firmly shut and Nanami can make out beads of sweat on his brow. His skin is flushed, and Nanami would be willing to bet that those scarily blue eyes hidden behind lids are glassy. 

“You’re sick.” Nanami states, and Gojou seems to flinch at the statement. “Why did you not go home?” Nanami asks with a raised eyebrow. Gojou lets out yet another groan and rolls over, tucking his face into the back of the sofa and hiding himself from view once again. Honestly, what a child. He can’t even be bothered to look Nanami in the eyes when they’re speaking. “Gojou–“

“Satoru.” Gojou interrupts. “When’d… When did you stop callin’ me that..?” 

Nanami blinks. He stares, for a moment, unsure of what to do. As far as he remembers, he’s never used Gojou’s given name. Certainly never to his face. He reaches a hand forward, trying to rest it on Gojou’s forehead to feel for a temperature. The moment his fingers brush against the man’s hair, however, Gojou almost seems to jump away. Nanami pulls his hand back. Stares, for a moment, before reaching forward again and this time managing to rest his fingers against Gojou’s forehead. He doesn’t pull back, despite the intensity of the burning that he finds there. 

“Mmmmm…” Gojou hums. “…your hand’s cold, Suguru.” He whispers, and it gives Nanami pause. Of course it does. What else is he meant to do, in response to that? 

“Gojou, I’m not Getou.” Nanami says, because he can’t think of anything else to say. Gojou has a fever – which was obvious even before Nanami rested a hand on his forehead – which seems to be high enough to be giving him delusions. Nanami wonders, briefly, how the older of the two of them could be irresponsible enough to let himself get so sick. Then he remembers that the older of the two of them is Gojou Satoru, infamous for his strength and his complete and total lack of responsibility. “Why did you come here?”

“Missed you,” Gojou mumbles. “Ahhhh, prolly shouldn’t have said that. You’ll never let me live it down,” Gojou laughs. It’s humorless. Nanami hates the sound of it. “…Shouko said somethin’ about staying in bed… but bed is super boring when you’re alone,” He grumbles, turning his head as though going to look up, but his eyes stay firmly closed. Nanami wonders, absently, if the six eyes serve to worsen his headache or improve it. “…been a while since we could hang out, Suguru. How’s the afterlife treating you?” Gojou’s lips quirk up, into a smirk. Nanami could spot how fake it is from a mile away. “Having fun in hell?”

“Gojou.”

“Awww, c’mon!” There’s a shakiness to the happy tone that Nanami is certain most would miss. Most, however, haven’t known Gojou Satoru quite as long as Nanami Kento has. Most would assume that he’s playing some sick game with himself that no one else is allowed to get in on. Nanami knows better. “…j-just cause I killed you… d-doesn’t mean that we can’t still…” Gojou breathes a heavy exhale. As though something is pressing on his chest and Gojou can’t quite shake it. Nanami sighs. No matter what he says, it doesn’t seem to be working. For now, he might as well try and do something about the fever. 

Gojou continues mumbling. Nanami crosses the living room and makes for the nearest bathroom. Once inside, he collects a rag and a basin, quickly filling it with cool water and allowing the rag to soak in it for a moment. With a sigh, Nanami lifts the basin and makes his way back to the sofa. Gojou has shifted slightly. His eyes are still closed, but he’s lying on his back now. One arm is slung over the back of the couch, and the other is resting on the floor. Normally, Nanami would comment on what a messy pose it is. Now is not normally. 

“Stay still,” Nanami commands, setting the basin down beside the sofa. Gojou mumbles something that Nanami can’t quite make out – aside from the use of the name Suguru once again – but otherwise complies. What a strange sight, a Gojou Satoru who actually follows orders. 

Nanami lays the damp folded cloth over Gojou’s forehead. It causes the white-haired sorcerer’s brow to furrow and his lips to twist into something of a grimace, but he doesn’t complain. The thought briefly crosses Nanami’s mind to take a picture. He can think of countless people who would appreciate a picture of the world’s strongest Jujutsu sorcerer in such a state. But the thought fades as quickly as it came. No matter how satisfying it might be to see someone as strong and insufferably annoying as Gojou humbled like this, that’s no excuse to take advantage of his pain for something so petty. 

“…’m sorry, Surugu,” Gojou mumbles. His hands clench into fists and then unclench once again. “…’m sorry… d-didn’t wanna kill you.” There’s another moment of silence. Gojou’s breathing is labored and maybe a bit pained. Nanami wonders, for a moment, how Ieiri could even allow him to head anywhere on his own, if he was this sick. The thought is quickly replaced, however, with– 

“…miss you,” Gojou whispers.

Nanami feels something ache in his chest. 

He buries it. Like always.

“Go to sleep, Gojou. You’re sick.” Nanami gives another command. The last one worked well enough. Perhaps all it takes to get Gojou Satoru to actually listen for once is to give him a high fever and a bit of delusion. It just might be useful information, somewhere down the line. 

“Mmmm… fine,” Gojou mumbles. His eyes stay closed, but the expression on his face relaxes a bit. “…see ya later… Suguru.” It’s the last thing he says, before his breathing begins to even out and his muscles lose a good amount of their tension. Nanami breathes a sigh of relief. He can only hope that the fever will break before Gojou wakes up again.

Gojou Satoru seems invincible, but Nanami Kento knows that he’s far from it. 

As satisfying as it is to see the mighty Gojou Satoru humbled, Nanami can’t say that he wants to see any more of it.

[hello-im-not-a-possum]

" Leave! Me! Alone! " (for the prompt thing :3)

*Fully dusts off BATIM Monster AU due to it being the spooky month* You know, I don't think I've pinned down what type of monster Thomas was when I started this...

And I recently realized that I have a strong lack of vampires in this AU.

The GENT Mechanic wasn't a full-on monster hater. He had no interest in joining any monster-hunting group that sniffed him out, he often rolled his eyes at small-town preachers who looked down at them, and he mostly minded his own business when it came to the tricky relationship between humans and monsters.

But he also wasn't anywhere as enthusiastic about the studio as Joey and Allison were. He was a sensible man, he knew that monsters were dangerous and that it was stupid not to only trust them at an arm's length.

He could admit that he admired that his client could go as far as to start an entire animation empire just to ensure that his friend (and many others he had met along the way) would be in a place where they weren't seen as outcasts and wouldn't stop doing what they loved because of their circumstances, but he couldn't help but feel... wary of the majority of the studio's strange inhabitants.

Nobody would blame the human mechanic for avoiding the music department as often as he could, knowing the Music Director and how he viewed humans, it would be like blaming a mouse for avoiding a lion's den.

At the same time, he would get funny looks from others as he never went near the studio without a silver cross, an iron ring, a small bag of mixed herbs that was dubbed 'monster bane' due to it being a mix of various monster-repelling plants, and a bag of salt. Because of this, Thomas was not a popular person in the mostly-monster populated studio, but that didn't matter to him.

This wasn't his circus, it wasn't his monkeys, and once his contract ended, he'd probably never go there again. At least, that's what he would tell himself until the day wearing his cross started to burn himself.

--------

"It's a good thing that Allison found you in this state and threw your... wards away imminently." Dr. Hackenbush sighed as he continued to apply the numbing paste to his still twitching patient's neck. "Due to the secrecy surrounding vampire covens, their reluctance to talk about their various races' weaknesses as they're a monster hunter's favorite prey, and the many different types of vampires in the world, it's actually hard to determine what can and can't kill a recently turned vamp. Especially when one can't remember the circumstances of their change."

Tom was partly focusing on what the doctor was telling him, partly freaking himself out by trying and failing to remember how and why he had turned, and mostly keeping an eye out on the entrance to the infirmary as if he expected something to fly in and finish him off.

"Vampires in general might be notoriously hard to keep down for the count, but the process of the metamorphosis from human to vampire is extremely exhausting on the newly made fledgling." The doctor stated as he moved on to put more of the paste on Tom's other injured areas. "While this wouldn't be lethal to an older vamp, it's still extremely painful to them and considered to be torture among many of their races. In your current state and judging based off of the traits I've seen so far... ...I strongly suspect that the cross would've eventually burnt your head clean off your neck if you had not been found in time."

Thomas absentmindedly put his hand where his cross would normally be and gritted his teeth.

Nobody visited him yet, nobody aside from Allison even approached the door before the doctor shooed her out. He wasn't in the state to receive visitors yet, but he could already feel the parade of smug monsters gawking at him. He could already hear them laughing at the loss of his humanity, he could already picture several of them sticking their noses up at his misery declaring 'serves you right!' at him.

"...Could you open your mouth for me Mr. Conner?"

"Huh?" The mechanic snapped out of his day-nightmare and acknowledged the doctor's request. "Oh yeah, sure."

"Thank goodness, it seems that you've been brought in just at the cusp of changing..." While Tom didn't close his mouth on the doctor, he did look at him funny when he began to paint a different paste in his mouth, specifically, on his gums and teeth. The stuff made his mouth feel strongly like static in a matter of seconds. "Comment all you want, but you'd be thanking me if you knew exactly how much of a bitch it would hurt if you had to go through this without the strongest painkillers mankind could make."

"Well I ned mure af ha stuff if I turn inta a baht manstah?"

The mechanic half sarcastically asked through an extremely numb mouth as soon as the doctor was done putting the paste in there.

"No, unlike a werewolf who will transform based on the position of the moon, a vampire's ability to turn into a bat is normally rooted in the said vampire's willpower and or their mental and emotional state. It will not hurt unless you will it to. But turning into a bat and back again will use up a lot of energy and burn a ton of calories, so I don't recommend it as of right now. For similar reasons, I also wouldn't recommend swimming twenty miles and running a marathon back to back either."

The doctor did a once-over on his patient's treated injuries and checked his vitals before giving him his normal clothes back.

"Alright, it seems that everything's up to order..." The doctor proceeded to write down a list that he handed to Thomas. "Don't eat anything until after you can fully feel your mouth again, otherwise you might accidentally cut out your own tongue. If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to either come to me about it or ask around the studio for either werewolf packs or vampire covens. The latter's rarer than the former but werewolves and vampires have been known to get along well due to the pair often engaging in a symbiotic relationship."

"I thawt tat Wahwoles an vamhires hated each other..?"

He was internally grateful that the staticky feeling of his mouth was subsiding just enough for him to be able to talk normally again.

"That's a common misconception that came from World War II I'm afraid; American soldiers who happen to be vampires hate Nazis who happen to be werewolves and vice versa."

Thomas frowned as he stopped to read the list, it was basically a bunch of common vampire dos and don'ts, mostly don'ts; avoid sunlight, religious symbols and texts, mirrors in public areas, etc. He ran his tongue against his top and bottom canine teeth and while his tongue still felt off from the medicine, he could tell that those teeth were longer and sharper.

He knew that with each passing second, he was becoming more and more like one of the studio's many monsters that he was wary of, and he felt gutted because of it.

"...Thanks for everything, doc. I... I'll go ask Joey for some time off to adjust to all of... this."

-------------

Instead of going to Joey, Tom had spent the rest of the day trying to carry on with his daily tasks and work as usual, fixing up the pipes, checking on the Ink machine, mostly just trying to bury the knowledge of his vampirism in work.

Thankfully he was unbothered by the studio's workers, so it mostly worked out fine for him. Until he got to his least favorite part of the studio to work in: The music department.

Part of him was tempted to just make Wally do this, but as a werewolf, Wally would sense that he wasn't wearing silver or wolf's bane anymore and would be curious as to why he wasn't wearing any. He didn't want to lie to him but he also didn't want the Janitor to find out about his ...condition, he wasn't ready for that yet. In fact, he didn't want anyone in the studio's wolf pack to find out about this. He had goosebumps on the outside and inside just thinking about how they'd react.

He knew that they wouldn't be smug about it like how he assumed other monsters would, even worse than that. They'd know that he didn't have a coven as he was only recently turned, so they'd probably welcome him into the pack with open arms, especially if he was one of those vampires that was able to turn into a wolf too. They'd freely and willingly accept them as one of their own, a monster.

He tried to shake those thoughts away and continue to work on pipes that had been bitten into by the godforsaken raven monster. He cursed about Sammy under his breath as he fixed them as usual. He could feel the music director's presence as he did so, but unlike how this normally went, he didn't sense any hostility or hunger coming from the looming shadow of the beast in human's clothing.

Thomas had his back turned away from the normally wrathful monster, he wasn't seeing what the man's expression was. He didn't know if the damned bird was proud of his lost humanity, looking at him like he was now worthy of being an underling of his, or if the musician simply pitied him for god knows why.

But the mere presence of the beast alone was driving him crazy.

"Leave! Me! ALONE!" The vampire mechanic spun around and half-shouted half-hissed at the confused looking music director. "I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU'RE THINKING ABOUT ME, BUT I DON'T NEED YOU TO LOOM OVER MY WORK AND RUB IN WITH YOUR PRESENCE THAT I'M A FUCKING UNDEAD, BLOOD-SUCKING, FANGED FREAK!"

Thomas wasn't sure which reaction he was excepting from the beast, but he felt a mixture of goosebumps and anger as the director stepped forward and looked at him with intrigue.

"...Do you mean a vampire?"

"Yes, of course I do." The mechanic rolled his eyes as he fought back the urge to fight the raven. "What gave it away?"

Sammy smiled at him, not in that hungry 'I want to eat you but know that I can't' kind of smile, but also not a smug 'haha! you're a monster too now!' way. Before today, Thomas wasn't sure that Sammy was physically capable of smiling like that and it both creeped him out and made him angrier about this situation.

"Nothing, you simply told me that yourself."

"...Then why were you starring at me like that?"

The Bird monster shrugged.

"I was just wondering why your presence didn't seem to harm anyone anymore." He stated as he turned to leave Tom to do his work. "I guess I know why now."

[worldserasingandcreatinginmymind]

Flesh & Blood | Part Six

Series Summary: A mysterious stranger with ties to your past shows up in your small village

Pairing: Count Dracula x reader

Word Count: 1670

Warnings: none? maybe slightly out of character Drac 

A/N: as always spelling and grammar is not my strongest skill so please be kind :) if you want to be added to the taglist let me know (please note I cant reply to comments using this blog)

Masterlist | Part Five

- - - - -

“Ughhhhhh” you let out a loud groan as your alarm blares through your room, waking you up before you're ready. You sit up and the pounding in your head reminds you of the amount of wine you consumed the night before, and the vampire you consumed it with. Slowly it all comes back to you. The candle lit picnic. The heart wrenching love story. The almost kiss.

Butterflies flutter around your insides as you relive the moment in your head. But they soon disappear when you remember how close you came to being Dracula’s kill of the night. 

The clock on the nightstand reminds you that you have somewhere to be. You quickly get ready for work, take some painkillers and head to the high street. 

“Morning love!” Maggie calls from the kitchen as you enter the bakery 

“Morning Mags” you say, not quite matching her cheerfulness 

“How was your evening?” She asks as she continues to knead the bread she’s making “did you get some sleep?”

“Not really no. I, uh… I kinda had a date” 

“What?!” She spins around to look at you, spilling flour in the process. She grins at you “who’s the lucky man?.. Or woman? No judgement here”

“Man” you giggle as you carefully consider whether to tell her the truth “well, actually… vampire” you say sheepishly and her face drops. 

“Y/N. Please tell me you're joking” 

You shake your head and she stares at you. 

“Do you understand how dangerous that was? He could have killed you!” 

“But he didn’t” you shrug, choosing not to admit he almost did “look, I know it was dangerous but I needed answers from him Mags. And it was actually a really nice night. We talked and laughed a lot, and he told me things that I don't think he would have told me if anyone else was there.”

“You're talking about him as if he isn’t a vampire. A murderer!”

“Maybe that’s not all he is! Maybe he’s more than that. I saw a different side to him last night.”

She watches you for a moment before coming to a realisation “oh my God, you're in love with him”

“No! No, I’m not in love with him”

“But you have feelings for him?” 

You look at her and take a deep breath before slowly nodding your head. Maggie closes her eyes and lets out a sigh.

“Oh Y/N. What am I going to do with you, eh?” She walks up to you and pulls you into a hug.

“Are you going to tell Zoe?” You ask quietly.

“Not if you don't want me to”

You let out a sigh of relief. 

“BUT you have to keep me in the loop. Okay? You tell me when and where you meet him, every time. And you let me know you're safe. Always.”

“I will, I promise. Thank you Maggie”

“I love you Y/N, I just want you to be happy”

The sound of the front door opening ends your conversation as Maggie goes to serve the first customer of the day. You take your phone out of your pocket and decide to quickly send Dracula a text.

“Can I see you? x”

— — — — 

Lying in bed that night you once again find yourself thinking about Dracula. Even though you’ve only known him a short amount of time, he has completely taken over your thoughts. You wonder if he thinks about you as much as you do about him. Clearly not since he hasn’t replied to your text today. You sigh as you roll over in bed and gasp as you see him lying next to you. Before you can say anything his hand is around your throat. You try to scream but no sound comes out. You try to fight, but your limbs disobey. You're completely at his mercy and he manoeuvres himself on top of you. 

“You left our little date so quickly last night, I thought I’d finish it now.” 

He grins revealing his glowing sharp fangs. With a growl he lowers his head to your neck and you shut your eyes tight as he sinks his teeth in.  

Your eyes shoot open as you sit upright in bed and bring your hand up to your neck. No bite marks. It was just a dream. You take deep steadying breaths as you reach over to turn on the bedside light.

“You know you really should lock your windows”

You turn your head and see Dracula outside.

“What are you doing?” You ask, climbing out of bed and walking over to the window “Van Helsing’s guard dogs will see you, why don't just you come-” 

“NO!” He stops you “Do not invite me in, it’s not safe. I thought the dream I just gave you would have taught you that”

“You did that?”

“I’m just dropping by to tell you how much I enjoyed talking with you last night, and to say that I am truly sorry about how it ended. After tonight you won’t have to worry about your safety anymore”

“I’m not worried”

“That’s the problem Y/N, you should be! I am a vampire, I have murdered innocent people. You should be terrified of me!”

“Zoe isn’t”

“Zoe has a reason, her blood is like poison to me”

“What?”

“She didn’t tell you? She’s dying, that’s why she isn’t afraid. I can’t drink from her without killing myself in the process. But you, Y/N the only thing stopping me from drinking your blood is my own self control and I cannot rely on that. You saw for yourself last night how quickly I can change, how easy it would have been for me to kill you”

“But you didn’t”

“But I could have! Either you don't understand the danger you're in when you're around me, or you just don't care. Maybe that’s why I’m so drawn to you, fascinated by you even. But I cannot allow you to risk your life any longer” 

“Surely that’s my choice to make”

“Not anymore. I’m leaving the village”

“No”

“I’m not here to debate! I’m here to apologise which now I have done I can say goodbye”

“No!” You reach out the window and grab his hand, taking him by surprise. “Stay! Please, I don't want you to go. Just come inside and-”

He quickly pulls his hand out of your grasp and looks at you with a slight hint of panic in his eyes which quickly turns to anger “I told you not to invite me in. How could you be so stupid?”

“Drac-”

“Goodbye Y/N”

“No! Dracula!” You call after him but he’s gone.

You grab your phone off the bedside table and call him, but it goes straight to voicemail. Maybe he just needs a couple of days and then he’ll come around. But what if that really was goodbye? 

You sink back down into bed and pull your duvet up around you, hugging yourself tightly for comfort as you eventually drift off into a restless sleep. 

— — — — 

Just over a week later you're awoken one morning by a frantic knocking at the front door. You step into you slippers and grab your dressing down, wrapping around yourself as you run down the stairs. You're surprised to see Zoe stood on the other side when you open the door with a young man you recognise from your first visit to the Harker Foundation. Zoe walks straight past you into your living room and the boy looks at you apologetically. 

“Uh, what’s going on?” You ask as you gesture for the boy to come in and close the door behind him. 

“Dracula” she drops a file on your dining table and looks at you expectantly. 

“What about him?” You reply nonchalantly, shrugging your shoulders.

“Were you ever going to tell us he’s left the village?” 

“I presumed you’d know, and clearly you do otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Besides its not like he told me where he was going-”

“London.” Zoe cuts you off “We’ve traced him to London with the help of Jack”

“Hi, I’m Jack” The young man steps forward and waves awkwardly.

“Seem’s Dracula took a liking to Jack’s girlfriend-” 

“She wasn’t my- we were just friends” Jack stutters

“-to Jack’s friend.” Zoe corrects herself “So much so that he killed her”

“I’m so sorry” you offer to Jack and he gives you a small smile before you turn back to Zoe “But what has any of this got to do with me?”

“We need you to come with us to London and talk to Dracula. Convince him to come back to the village” 

“Why me?”

“He’ll listen to you”

“He wants nothing to do with me! He made that perfectly clear! He won’t even answer my texts, what makes you think he’ll listen to me?”

“He has a connection with you Y/N.” Zoe says, but her voice sounds different “just like he had a connection with your great great grandmother all those years ago. Why else would he spare the life of Sister Y/N? Why would he spare yours now? He feels something for you and it scares him. The man who cannot die is afraid to get close to anyone who can”

You think over her words for a moment, then you remember.

“Martha” you whisper to yourself. Zoe and Jack look at you confused “he had a wife, but she died. It makes sense now, why he is the way he is.”

You think again and take a deep breath, nodding your head.

“I’ll come with you. But I don't think it will change anything”

“Get dressed, we leave in half an hour”

Part Seven

Taglist:  @agent-smulder​ @angeli-fucking-cat​ @linakeroline​ @lemonscoffee​ @emmalee090​ @denyeverything1​ @clussysposts​ @a-dorky-book-keeper @kandomeresbitch 

[writer1]

The ghosts that protect

This was inspired by @meridiansdominoes fic Esprit De Corps

Chapter 1

The ghosts have been around for a few months now, ever since FN-2187 arrived at this base he's seen them. He doesn't know how he knows what to call them but he does. They are wearing armor, similar to the white armor the older troopers wear except most of the ghosts armor have colors painted on them. There are many different colors Red, Blue, and Grey's.

FN-2187 usually ignores them, not wanting to be taken away. He's only ten ( at least that's what his trainers tell him) but he knows what could happen to him if he told people what he sees. He doesn't think that the ghost's know that he can see them, he usually does his best to ignore them.

There's many of them, they hang around in groups. He can almost always hear them talking to eachother and it makes it hard for young FN-2187 to ignore them.

Their looks switch around sometime's, there's a blond one that flickers every once in a while; showing an old bald man with a fluffy white beard.

A few other ghost's do this, but not many. It seems that they can't always control what they look like. There's another one that switches between orange armor that's like all the other ghost's, and white stormtrooper armor that FN-2187 has only seen in holo's.

Right now FN-2187 is sitting in the barracks where all the other troopers his age stay, they won't be separated into batches for another few years, so there's quite a few of them staying in here. He's alone right now while two of the ghosts are arguing over something, it's getting annoying and hard to ignore but he doesn't say anything as usual.

The one has a mark of the number 5 on his forehead with a little bit of hair on his chin while the other has what looks like a blue upside down triangle.

"Come on Dogma, stop being such a stickler for rules, they're meant to be broken."

"Fives, rules are not meant to be broken. We're supposed to be in a meeting with the rest of our brothers now." This goes on for a while, with FN-2187 getting even more frustrated by the minute when he finally can't take it any more.

"Please stop." He whimpers, he's afraid of being caught, so it's no louder than a whisper; but the two ghosts seem to hear him just the same as they turn to look at him with open mouths.

"T-thats impossible, he can't see us. Right Fives." The one, seemingly known as Fives flies over to FN-2187, who's quivering in fear.

"Can you see us?" FN-2187 just nods his head, still to scared to speak. The ghosts eyes go even wider and a large smile is on his face.

"We have to go tell the Captain."

"For once I agree with you Dogma." They phase out of existence, leaving young FN-2187 to calm himself down before training starts. He doesn't understand what just happened and is scared out of his mind, when the rest of the young troopers come back FN-2187 makes sure that no one knows what happened.

He doesn't see any ghosts at all for the next few days, FN-2187 is starting to get worried, maybe the first order finally could see them and took them away, like they did to FN-1323. He was able to do things that the other troopers couldn't do so he was taken away, FN-2187 never saw him again.

FN-2187 keeps an eye out for the ghosts during his training but still doesn't see any, he's doing his best during training but the trainers are making them go up against troopers that are two to three years older than him and the others.

The older trooper he's going against throws him against the floor and holds him down, winning the sparring match for the second time today.

"FN-2187! Get up! Stormtroopers are strong and will get up no matter what." FN-2187 groans as he does his best to get up, he knows that he's going to hit the floor many more times today.

The training goes on and FN-2187 does his best to work through it till he can't anymore and collapses; thankfully the trainers give them mercy today and send him and the others back to there barracks.

They are still cruel in the way they don't give FN-2187 pain killers, saying that it was his punishment for being weak during training. They give him a tiny bit of bacta but not enough to cover all his bruises.

He's not the only one going without painkillers and with very little bacta, theirs a few others that go without as well. The victors and strongest of them are in a different room, getting more treatment than them for being stronger.

FN-2187 is in so much pain, all he can do is lay on his bunk curled up in a fetal position. He can hear whispers above him, he listens and realizes it's the ghosts talking. They're back.

"What are we suppose to do, the youngling's in pain."

"Maybe we can try to grab some painkiller's out of the medbay." FN-2187 is listening intently, trying to figure out which ghosts these are.

"We can't do that, Waxer. The first order would notice and then find it in the youngling's system, we don't want him to get punished. Besides our hands will just go right through it anyway." FN-2187 here's the ghost sigh, he doesn't understand why the ghosts want to help him.

"Waxers right, there's got to be something we can do Cody, did you see those bruises. He must be in so much pain." FN-2187 doesn't know who this ghost is, he's not in the mood to even look so he just keeps listening.

"I don-" FN-2187 can't hold back his whimper of pain and the ghosts go quiet, there's silence for a few moments when FN-2187 feels something on his back, it pulls back immediately and he hears a short gasp but after only a few seconds the feeling returns.

It's going up and down along his spine, the feeling is light and airy but it's something nice. It's unlike anything he's felt before and it's making his back stop aching some. He decides to turn around to see what it is, being careful not to hurt himself.

It surprises him to see one of the ghosts sitting there, rubbing his back with his hand softly.

"Shhh, lay down and relax lil'un, I won't hurt you; and neither will my Vod. We're going to protect you." It's the blond one with blue armor, he's not flickering right know like he sometimes does. For some reason the ghost makes FN-2187 feel safe and warm, feeling's that he's never felt before in his life.

FN-2187 looks around and can see the other 3 ghost's sitting on the other bunks across from them. The one with the 5 on his forehead from before waves at him, smiling.

FN-2187 can feel his eyelids grow heavy and he tries to fight his sleep off, scared of the nightmares that he sometimes has.

"Don't worry, we won't let anything hurt you. Just sleep, okay vod'ika." The ghost starts humming and FN-2187 feels his eyes start to droop as his body relax's, and he drifts off. Letting the ghosts humming lull him to sleep.

Taglist: @meridiansdominoes

[whumphoarder]

Who Needs Disney When You Have Russell Crowe?

Summary: When Peter’s ear infection gets a little out of hand, Tony and Morgan have slightly different ideas of how to help.

Word count: 1,874

Genre: Sickfic, domestic fluff, Whump Lite™

A/N: Thanks to @xxx-cat-xxx for beta-reading and ideas <3

Link to read on Ao3

Peter wakes to the sound of quiet whimpering.

It takes a few seconds for his groggy brain to register where he is, but the warm glow of the bunny-shaped night light on the opposite wall illuminating the Arendelle toy castle and the pile of stuffed animals on the floor gives it away. He’s in Morgan’s room. Morgan, who insisted on getting a bunk bed for her sixth birthday so that she and Peter could have sleepovers whenever he came to visit.

Morgan, who is clearly in the midst of a nightmare.

“Mo...” Peter whispers hoarsely. There are a few more quiet, pained whimpers. “Mo,” he tries again, louder. His left ear is throbbing and it’s ridiculously stuffy in this room—he’s actually sweating. Kicking the tangled bed covers off of himself, he lifts a hand to tap the wooden bed frame over his head. She stirs. “Morgan, wake u-up.” His voice cracks on the last word.

Morgan sits up in her bunk. “Yeah?” she asks drowsily. She leans over the edge of bed to look at him, strands of her long hair falling in her face. “What is it?”

She doesn’t seem particularly upset, which Peter finds strange. “Did… did you have a b-bad dream?” he asks.

In the dim light of the room, he can just make out her curious expression. “I don’t think so.” She swings her legs over the side of the bed and shimmies backwards down the ladder. “Did you?”

“Wh-What?” His ear is ringing, the pain feeling almost bone-deep. There’s another whimper, barely audible.

“You’re crying,” she says simply, perching herself on the edge of his bed. Her brow knits together. “Are you sad?”

Peter wipes the back of his hand roughly across his face and finds it’s wet with tears. It takes a second for his addled brain to realize that she’s right, and then an instant wave of self-consciousness washes over him as he looks into the eyes of the frowning six-year-old. “No, sorry, ‘m fine.” He pushes himself up on his elbows, hurriedly brushing the tears away.

Morgan’s eyes go wide. “You’re bleeding!” she gasps.

“Huh?” Peter follows her horrified gaze down to the pillow he’s been using. It’s covered in something dark and sticky. Alarmed, he lifts a shaky hand to his throbbing ear and feels more liquid trickling down. “Oh – um – wow, uh...”

“I’m getting Daddy!” Morgan declares, jumping up from the mattress and spinning on her heel. “Hang on!”

“Wait, no, don’t freak him—”

But she’s already out of the room.

“...out.” With a small groan, Peter carefully sits the rest of the way up and flips the lamp on. The pastel lilac pillowcase is stained with a mixture of blood and yellowish fluid. Grimacing, he grabs some tissues from the box on Morgan’s dresser and dabs them carefully at his dripping ear, hissing sharply at the stabbing pain it causes.

Within a minute, Morgan is back, dragging the hand of a disheveled but surprisingly alert-looking Tony in after her. “See? He’s crying and bleeding out of his ears!” she blurts.

“Just one ear,” Peter corrects, lowering the tissue down to look at the fresh blood and pus on it. “Gross...”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Oh, well in that case I’ll just go back to bed—you’re perfectly fine.” He moves over to the bed, Morgan following close behind. “Anything you wanna share with the class? You take any good hits to the noggin’ recently? Blow something up?”

Peter shakes his head as much as he dares, which only increases the ringing sensation. “No, nothing like that,” he mutters. He wishes this was something cool and Spider-Man related, but he’s pretty sure it’s just his patented Parker Luck™. “Ear started hurting a couple days ago,” he admits. “Thought it would go away.”

Tony pulls out his phone and flips on the flashlight. “Can I see it?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, wincing. He bites his lower lip and does his best to keep as still as possible as Tony peers into his ear with the light.

“What does it look like?” Morgan asks curiously.

“Ugly as hell...” Tony mutters. He flicks the light off and turns to Peter. “Pretty sure you ruptured your eardrum, kiddo.”

“Ah.” The pain seems to ramp up with the confirmation. That checks out. Certainly feels like someone just bored a hole through his ear. He can feel the fluid dripping out down his cheek.

Tony must notice it too because he grimaces and pulls a couple more tissues out of the box to hand him. “You know, if you weren’t feeling well, you could have told us that when you got here,” he points out. “Instead of waiting until”—he glances at his lock screen—“3:37 in the morning.”

Peter manages a small smirk. “Gotta keep you on your toes. You know, now that you’re retired and all...”

Looking very unamused, Tony extends a hand and helps pull Peter up to standing. The movement only increases the throbbing in his ear and Peter squeezes his eyes shut tightly against a wave of dizziness.

“Alright?” Tony checks, still gripping his arm tightly.

“Yeah,” Peter breathes, the ringing growing louder. “Sorry. Just... really hurts.”

“He can have some of my medicine,” Morgan offers in a slightly hushed voice. “The one Mommy gives me when my ears hurt.”

Tony lets out a short laugh. “That’s nice of you, sweetie, but I don’t think grape-flavored Children’s Motrin is gonna cut it here.” He gestures up to the top bunk. “Why don’t you hop back up there and try to sleep some more while I go get Peter fixed up?”

Morgan sticks her lip out in a pout. “But I’m not tired now.”

Instant guilt comes over Peter at having woken her up, but Tony doesn’t miss a beat.

“Nope, you are, you just forgot,” he says knowingly. He lets go of Peter’s arm for a second to scoop the now quietly giggling six-year-old up and deposit her on the top bunk. “Count some sheep, kid,” he advises, flipping off the lamp and snagging Peter’s ruined pillow to toss in the laundry.

With Morgan situated, Tony guides Peter out of the bedroom and down the stairs. He leaves Peter to clean up in the bathroom before heading to the kitchen in search of some kind of painkiller that might work on an enhanced metabolism.

Eventually, Tony returns with a bottle of Tylenol-Codeine, a glass of water, and an apologetic look. “It’s the strongest stuff we’ve got here. Might take the edge off at least.”

Peter murmurs his thanks and takes the pills, mostly to humor him. They both know it’s a lost cause. He can burn through a dose of morphine in less than ten minutes; there’s no way over-the-counter meds are going to do anything.

“First thing in the morning, I’ll take you to see Bruce,” Tony promises. “We’ll get you on some antibiotics and something better for the pain.”

Peter just hums in response.

Tony sighs. “We can try a heating pad,” he suggests. “That helps Morgan sometimes.”

“Sure.” Peter shrugs, listless. He’ll do anything at this point to make his ear stop aching.

Tony locates the heating pad and gets Peter set up on the chaise section of the couch under a blanket with the heating pad resting on the pillow under his ear. It helps marginally, which is slightly more than Peter can say for the pills.

“Sorry, kiddo. If only you’d known me in the nineties,” Tony says with a sad chuckle. “Could’ve tried all kinds of stuff on you.”

Peter lets out a short, empty laugh. “Yeah, too bad. Sure May would’ve loved that…”

Tony settles down onto the other end of the couch and flips on the TV for distraction. After a bit of channel flipping, he picks a period war drama about a badass sea captain fighting during the Napoleonic Wars, starring Russell Crowe.

(It was that or “My Strange Addiction” on TLC, and neither of them felt like watching a woman eat a couch).

Peter doesn’t exactly sleep, but he closes his eyes and drifts in and out while the movie plays low in the background. He’s kind of queasy—probably a combination of the otherwise useless drugs and the low grade fever he’s pretty sure he’s got going—but it’s nothing too awful. At least the sounds of cannons firing and battles being waged on screen drown out the incessant ringing in his head.

He isn’t sure how much time passes before a new voice joins the mix in a stage-whisper:

“Are they gonna cut his arm off?”

Peter’s eyes snap open. He sees Tony dozing on the other end of the sofa, so he sits up a little straighter and turns around to look at the staircase behind him. Sure enough, Morgan is sitting on the fourth step from the bottom, just high enough to see over the couch to the TV.

“I thought you went back to bed,” Peter whispers.

Morgan shrugs. “Counting sheep is boring.” She stands up and tiptoes down the rest of the stairs and into the living room. “Are they gonna cut his arm off?” she repeats.

Peter looks back at the movie. The ship’s doctor is in the midst of a rather intense amputation scene on a young boy’s infected arm. “Yeah, looks like it,” he says through a wince. He should probably change the channel to something more child-friendly, but Tony’s got the remote balanced on his knee and he’s all the way on the other end of the sofa. Oh well.

Morgan nods at the screen, looking impressed. Then she looks back to Peter. “Does your ear still hurt a lot?”

“Nah, it’s not so bad,” Peter lies. “No need to cut it off or anything.” He scoots over on the cushion a bit. “You wanna sit here with me?”

“Yeah.” She nods and hops up onto the couch beside him, snuggling against his right side. “Did Daddy give you medicine?” she inquires.

“Yeah, he did,” Peter assures.

She nods approvingly. “And did he give you the heater thingy?”

Peter lifts the heating pad up slightly for her to see. “Yep.”

“Good.” She nods again. “And cuddles?”

“Eh…” His gaze drifting to his quietly snoring mentor, Peter smirks a bit. “I think I’m getting too old for those.”

“Everybody needs cuddles,” she says knowingly. Scooting a little closer to him, she wraps her arms around his waist. “See?”

A small smile creeps across Peter’s lips. “Yeah, I see.”

They sit there for a moment, Peter doing his best to focus on the steady pressure of the six-year-old’s gentle squeeze rather than the thumping in his head. It’s almost peaceful.

“Either that, or you need a stick,” Morgan pipes up, breaking the spell.

Peter’s brow furrows. “A stick?”

“To bite down on,” she explains, pointing at the TV. “Like the boy in the movie.”

Peter blinks, then shifts his gaze sideways to the little girl watching nineteenth-century field surgery technique with genuine interest.

“It’s so he doesn’t scream,” she informs.

Peter holds out his hand. “Just give me the remote, Mo.”

X

Link to all my fics

If you enjoyed this story, you might also like: Adventures at the Stark Lake House

[redrobinhoods]

Sticks and Stones | Chapter 4, one real thing

AO3 Link | 1,900 words (approx) | Chapter 1, Chapter 3, Chapter 5

A/N: This was going to be the second to last chapter and now it isn't. A little kinder slice of life is planned for the next chapter before the end of the fic. Still have some events mentioned in other fics I want to fit in here.

Chapter Summary: Stone checks in on Fox- and Senator Chuchi- while he is recovering.

Two days, later, Fox was back. While it would take a little longer for him to be cleared for return to active duty, he was to resume his other work in the meantime. Stone could hear the slight commotion in the main offices when Fox entered, a few minutes after he himself had settled into his chair with a cup of caf, but he waited a few minutes to allow Fox to settle in as well before going to check on him.

When Stone opened the door to Fox’s office, he found Senator Chuchi already inside. He had expected that. What he hadn’t expected was for her to be signing a pile of flimsiwork with a near exact replica of Fox’s signature.

“Commander Stone!” She chirped at him as he entered.

“Senator Chuchi.” He greeted, looking past her to where Fox was slumped over, propped up on his elbow, reading through a datapad. He looked exhausted.

“Please, Commander Stone. Would you call me Riyo?”

Stone felt like his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. She couldn’t have just asked him that. ‘Riyo’ was Fox’s name for her, not his. “Why?”

“You’ve been a dear comfort to me as of the past few months. Much too dear for you to formally address me in moments like this.” She smiled up at him before turning back to the flimsiplast before her. Stone watched over her shoulder as her fingers directed the writing instrument in her hand into another near perfect replica of Fox’s signature. “Commander?” She prodded when she didn’t get a response, and that was when it clicked for Stone.

“If I can call you Riyo, you can just call me Stone, ma’am.”

“Okay, Stone.”

“Okay, Riyo.” It felt forbidden, but so, technically, was Riyo’s love for his brother.

She looked back at him with a smile before returning to the flimsi before her.

The moment gone, Stone turned his gaze back to Fox. “Are you okay?”

“I’m great.” Fox rasped. “Why do you ask?”

“You look like some being tied you to the back of their speeder and drove circles in a swamp for a few hours with you dragging behind like a shiny in the heat.” Stone made his way around the desk to Fox’s side, taking off a glove as he did so that he could press the back of his hand to Fox’s cheek. “I’m surprised you don’t have a fever.”

“Let me guess, I’ve got more colors in my face than a varactyl feather?”

“Something like that.” Stone chuckled. “Keep your helmet on if you talk to Thire later. He doesn’t need to worry about you right now.”

“Is Commander Thire okay?” Riyo asked with worry in her voice.

“In confidence, Sen- Riyo, the Chancellor has been very demanding as of late. It’s wearing him down.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” She pressed, and Stone could understand why Fox adored her so. He couldn’t imagine most senators would so genuinely want to help a clone.

Fox solemnly shook his head. “We’ll take care of him, Ri.”

“I’ll let you know if we can’t get more lysinate.” Stone gave her what he hoped was an understanding smile. “It helps the headaches to a degree.”

“Is lysinate the strongest drug you have?”

Stone avoided a direct answer to her question. “It takes the edge off. And we need to be deployable at a moment’s notice. I think Fox is on the strongest drug I’ve ever seen at the moment.”

“His prescription isn’t classified as a strong painkiller.” Riyo protested.

“It is for clones.” Fox shrugged. “Just a flesh wound.”

“I saw your guts, Fox. We both did.” Stone scoffed. “That’s not a just flesh wound.”

“Well, both of my intestines are apparently still in one piece so I would classify this as a flesh wound. It’s my injury, Stone. I get to decide how bad it is.”

“That’s not how it works, Fox.” Riyo laughed before turning her head in Stone’s direction. “Has he always been like this?”

“As long as I’ve known him. I feel sorry for his batchmates back on Kamino, having to live with him all the time.” Though Fox began to protest, Stone continued. “The first memory I have of Fox was listening to him and Wolffe argue from halfway across the training center. I never had a good opinion of him until Geonosis. Nothing brings us clones together like almost dying. I suppose that may have been intentional.”

“Stone fought at my side on Geonosis.” Fox explained. “Our regiments were placed side by side in the battle. He helped me drag Thire out of there, actually.”

“He was hurt?” Riyo asked.

“It’s why he and Thorn ended up running security; they were the most injured of the Corrie Guard officers who survived.” Stone sighed. “It feels like it was longer than three years ago.”

Riyo nodded her agreement. “Feels like the war has been going on forever.”

“It’s going to end soon.” Fox said. “Something’s about to happen, I can feel it.”

“We can only hope it’s the end.” Stone clasped Fox’s shoulder for a moment before stepping away. “I should get back to work.”

Riyo rose from her chair and stepped towards Stone. She held out her arms, waiting for Stone to initiate the hug by stepping towards her before she wrapped her arms around him. “It was good to see you.”

“You too.” Stone murmured out of instinct. This was a new form of intimacy for him. It took the albeit short walk back to his office for him to realize what form of intimacy it was. Friendship. Stone had never had friends before, only lovers and brothers. The feeling would take some time to adjust to.

---

Stone tossed his helmet onto his bed when he returned to the barracks that evening. Fox would be spending the night with Riyo, it would just be him and Thire tonight. He could hear the water in the refresher running and decided to join Thire while there was still hot water left.

“Have you successfully melted the skin off your back yet?” Stone laughed when the wave of steam hit him as he opened the door. A hot shower after a long day was the only form of therapy they could get that didn’t come in the form of other beings or drinks. Stone didn’t think about Thire’s lack of answer until he turned around from shutting the door. “Thire?”

For a moment, the man on the floor before him was Thorn, laying in a pool of blood. Then it wasn’t. With the imagined blood gone, he ran to Thire’s side.

“Thire. Thire!” Stone pulled Thire’s head up into his arms as he looked over Thire’s body for injury. Finding none and getting no response he reached down to check for a pulse, letting out a sob of relief when he found it. “What happened to you, kid?” He murmured as he gently set Thire back on the floor so that he could turn off the tap and fetch a towel.

When Thire was wrapped up in his towel, Stone gathered him in his arms and carried him out of the refresher to lay him down on his bed. Thire didn’t stir when Stone set him down on the hard mattress, nor when Stone sat beside him and gently ran his fingers through his hair. It was only after a few minutes had passed that he stirred under Stone’s touch.

“Hey, kid.” Stone continued to run his fingers through Thire’s hair when he saw how his brother unconsciously leaned into it as he came to.

“What happened?” Thire managed.

“I found you on the ground in the ‘fresher. I thought you-.” Stone’s voice broke and he couldn’t finish the thought.

“Like Thorn.”

“Yes.”

Thire’s eyes turned away from Stone’s, up towards the ceiling. “I am so sorry. I never- I couldn’t put you and Fox through that again.”

“It’s okay, kid. I’m just glad to have you back with me.” Stone reached down with his free hand and clasped Thire’s hand in his, running his thumb in small circles on the back of Thire’s hand. “What happened to you?”

“I must’ve passed out.” Thire’s gaze turned back to Stone. “Maybe the water was too hot and my blood pressure dropped too quickly?”

“Guess you’ll have to stop taking hot showers then.”

Thire’s face broke into a tired smile. “Never.” They sat in silence for a minute before Thire spoke again. “Stone, could you grab my clothes?”

“Yeah.” Stone rose from Thire’s side to reach up for the clothes that dangled from the storage cubby above the bed. “Do you want help?”

“Stone, if I can’t get my greys on then I should probably retire.”

Stone laughed with him as he stepped back to put a fresh pair of his own blacks on. When he turned back around, Thire had managed to get the pants of his blacks on and throw the towel onto the ground. “Do you want a shirt?”

Thire shook his head. “Too constricting. Stone?”

“Thire?”

“Could you hold-.” Thire stopped, biting his lip. He didn’t want to appear weak. Even in just Stone’s presence, the pressure that the Kaminoans had placed on them to be perfect could be felt.

“Of course, Thire.” Stone crossed the room back to Thire’s bed, playfully pushing Thire over so that he could lay down beside him. “Come ‘ere.” He pulled Thire back over to him, wrapping an arm around his waist and tucking Thire’s head under his chin. “Fox thinks that the war is ending soon. When it does, we’ll have a new chancellor, maybe even one you won’t be allergic to. Everything is going to be alright, Thire.”

“I know, Stone. I know.”

---

When Stone woke the next morning, he found Thire’s head still laying on his arm as his younger brother dozed. Despite the numbness in his forearm, Stone stayed still, watching the rise and fall of Thire’s chest. Though Thire was only a month younger than him and he hadn’t been through the stressors that those made to be commanders had, he looked older than Fox did already with his brow furrowed even in sleep. The end of the war had to come soon. But sooner than the end of the war was the time they had to report in by.

“Thire.” Stone murmured.

His brother’s eyes opened on the first mention of his name and he sat up so that Stone could roll out of bed. When Stone came back from the refresher, Thire had already assembled his armor and was reading over a datapad. When he caught Stone’s gaze, Thire turned off the datapad and tossed it back into one of the drawers under his bed. “Do you mind if I borrow Jek and Rys today?”

“Go for it. They’re your batchmates.”

“They’re your men.”

Stone shrugged before bending over to pull his boots on. “I know how close you three are. Besides, I’m not going to have enough work to go around today.”

“Thanks, Stone, for everything.” When Stone couldn’t think of a response, Thire waited patiently for him to finish assembling his armor before falling into step at his side as they stepped back into the barracks.