#but it's still not working so i gotta wait for a tech to come out tomorrow

[beneathsilverstars]

my home internet has been out for days bc a storm fried our router and suddenly last night my phone started refusing to act as a hotspot as well 😭 fuck my stupid baka life

[queers-gambit]

Blue Bunny

prompt: you and the Twins show up to collect the same debt.

pairing: Tangerine x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Bullet Train

word count: 4.4k+

warnings: Tan's real name being Aaron, Lemon's real name being Brian, Mafia antics, depiction of murder, blood, guns, brief physical violence, given nickname [ Bunny ], Daddy's Girl trope? dialogue heavy fic.

"I like the lilac, what do you think? Maybe the yellow?"

"The pink's rather nice."

"How's about green? For St. Patrick's Day? Celebration of spring?"

Your lover chuckled over the receiver, phone set on speaker to the desk in front of you. "Think I prefer the blue," he replied, the smirk evident.

"You always prefer blue," you teased, handing the bottle of pale blue nail polish to your nail tech. "So, tell me, where are you now? Haven't seen yah all week," You pouted, placing your AirPods in to keep the conversation private. Not like it mattered, your nail tech, Collette, only spoke French, and she was the only other person in the room.

"'Fraid I can't divulge that information, sweetheart," Aaron sighed, "on a bit of business right now."

"Now? Like, in the present?" You chuckled, nodding at Collette when she pointed at the length of the acrylic.

"Yeah," Tan mused back, "say hello, sweetheart!"

"Hello, luv!" Brian, or otherwise known as Lemon, was heard calling. His twin, your lover, used the codename Tangerine for the contract agency they worked for - keeping their identities safe. Something you didn't necessarily have to worry about, being as your name held power. It was something like a shield in the criminal world, everyone knowing your surname dictated fear.

"Oh, hello, my sweetness," you cooed, grinning slyly. "What's it you two are up to? What sort of business are you on?"

"Ah, hang on a tick, love," Aaron mused, setting his phone down. You waited patiently, hearing a series of gunshots ringing out as you watched Collette paint the pale blue in sleek, professional strokes. Screams echoed over the line, tires screeches, several grunts of exertion, but you didn't so much as flinch, just admiring the work your nail tech did.

You blew on your nails, admiring the color.

Collette asked if you wanted to keep the paint shiny or add a matte overcoat, you humming, replying in French that you preferred the shiny coat. She held up a bottle of silver glitter, perking her brows, watching you nod - trusting her artistic eye.

"Hello? Still there, Bunny?" Aaron got back on the line, using your pet name he bestowed on you after your first date. You had a cold coming on, and after he kissed you, you instantly sneezed - nose screwing up like a fluffy bunny.

"I'm here," you smiled.

"Right, what color did you go with?"

You grinned, "Take a guess."

"Blue's your color."

"More like yours. I much prefer pastels, but I think this color's the best of both our preferences."

He chuckled, "Listen, yeah? You free Thursday? I'l be in your neck of the woods."

"Ah, I'm traveling this week," you answered with a pout, "what about next week?"

"I might be able t'swing that, yeah," Aaron agreed easily. "You hear from that Edward bloke recently?"

"No, no, I've told you, I'm done with him. You're quite the jealous type, you know, scared him off real good."

"Ah, well, don't like folks touchin' what's mine, now, do I?"

"Apparently not," you smiled, phone line beeping with an incoming call. "Oh, shit, I gotta go, Aaron, Daddy's calling."

"Mhm, and we all know you betta answer, huh?"

"It's how we all stay alive," you laughed. "Bye."

"See yah real soon, Bunny. Make sure your toes match!"

You hung up with a laugh, then accepted your father's incoming call, "Hi, Daddy."

"Hello, sweet one," he answered. "What are you up to?"

"Collette's doing my nails."

"Ah, very good. What color?"

"A pretty pale blue."

"Wonderful. Tell Collette I say hello. We'll have t'get her a sensational Christmas bonus with the way you work her."

You chuckled, "Yeah, yeah, I know."

"Listen, poppet, I need you to do something for me."

"Mhm, anything you need, Daddy."

"One of our associates is late on payment."

"How late?"

"A week."

"Oh, you're taking time in collecting," you mused, appreciating the full set Collette was detailing. "What's the hold up? Why wait?"

"I'm stuck in Prague."

"Daddy."

"I know," he rushed, "but I need you on this one, princess."

"Who's the associate?"

"Fella name Wilmer DeLano."

"I know of him, doesn't he own the chain of pharmacies? His son and I went to university together, right?"

"The exact same," your father confirmed. "I need you to go collect, princess, please."

"How much is the debt?"

"With the added week, chalks it up to $3 million."

"US dollars?"

"Yeah."

"Since when do we deal in US dollars?" You asked with a curled lip.

"Not the question I think you want to be asking."

"Uh, no, you're right, okay, sure, I can collect. Tonight?"

"He's not expecting it, knows I'm still in Prague. Take Rufus and Gunther with you for protection detail."

"I'd rather take Samuel."

"No, he's doing a different favor for me."

"Daddy."

"He's making a delivery, all right?"

"What about Gunther and Casey? Rufus creeps me out."

"That's fine," your father agreed with a sigh. "Listen, princess, tonight might get a little hairy, so I want you prepared."

"Daddy, I'm literally getting my nails done, I'm not handling a gun. That's what Gunther's for."

"I taught you better than that. You protect yourself, you can't depend on anyone else."

You nodded, "Yes, sir. Do you wanna call the boys or...?"

"I'll call them, don't worry. Just be ready to go by 8. Remember, princess, $3 million - and make sure you count it, too."

You agreed, promising you loved him, then wishing him luck in Prague on whatever his business was. After hanging up, Collette smiled, asking in French, "When are you going to tell him?"

"Tell him what?"

"That you have a boyfriend," she laughed. "He's your father, he'll be happy for you."

"I don't have a boyfriend."

"Oh, please," she scoffed, swiping the glitter on your nails. "That boy that you're always on the phone with? You're not hiding it, not from me."

You felt warmth flush your chest, heating your core. "He's still not my boyfriend," you mumbled stubbornly.

"He picks your nail colors," she grinned, "that's a boyfriend!"

You double checked the address your father sent, nodding at Gunther in the driver's seat. "All right, lads, I want this a clean collection. Just got my nails done," you smirked, the lights of the three-story home still on and indicating DeLano must've been home.

"Yes, ma'am," Casey agreed, getting out of the backseat and opening your passenger door; helping you out, letting you readjust your clingy black dress. Gunther moved around the back of the car, grabbing the usual go-bag brought to every collection.

Slowly, carefully, you stalked up the long driveway, heels clacking with every pace. You let Gunther peer through the windows, him nodding before leading the way to the backdoor. It was simple enough to jimmy the lock open, silently swinging the door wide open and stepping over the threshold.

Casey went around the side to enter through the living room as you walked through the kitchen, surrounding your target. Wilmer DeLano was sat at his dining room table with his wife, looking up when you cleared your throat. He jolted in shock, but Casey blocked the only other doorway; his gun in hand, both clasped in front of him.

Gunther checked the rest of the house.

"Hello, Mr. DeLano," you greeted casually. "Oh, something smells wonderful in here, you cook this?" You asked his wife, casually strolling up to the table, Red Bottoms sounding over the polish hardwood floors. You plucked up a slice of roast, tearing a bite off and humming, "Oh, very good that. You're a lucky man, Mr. DeLano to have such a talented wife."

"Who are you?" The portly woman begged, flinching when you hummed and brandished your gun.

"Right, guessing you don't know," you nodded. "Your husband's in a bit of a lucrative business, Missus. Nice house, though," you gazed around, "lot of fine art you've got hung up, saw all name-brand appliances in your kitchen."

"H-He owns a chain of drug stores - "

"Yes, yes, yes, I know. Very true," you agreed, "but that's only a front, it's not the full picture. I'm here to help illustrate, if you will. C'mon, why don't we all go into the living room? Hear that's where the safe is kept."

"What is happening!?" Mrs. DeLano demanded, gun pointed at her temple.

"Up, up," you demanded.

Slowly, Wilmer lifted from his seat with his hands held in peace, "Okay, okay, we can - let's go talk in the living room. Just don't threaten my wife, she's got nothing t'do with this."

"For now," you agreed, gathering the couple to the living room couch.

"Boss," Gunther alerted, dragging your old university classmate and a previous lover, Edward DeLano, up from the basement, "found this one down there, smoking a joint. Rest of the house is clear."

"Wonderful," you nodded, gesturing for Eddie to sit. "You bring enough to share with the class?" But your old peer just looked around the room of criminals. "Guessin' he didn't wanna share," you pouted, then rolling your eyes. "Well, now that we've all gathered - "

Suddenly, there was a noisy crack and bang as the front door was kicked in, making all three of you gangsters turn with weapons drawn and aimed. However, you chuckled and dropped your arm when you realized it was the Twins, Aaron and Brian, or Tangerine and Lemon, standing in the splintered doorway.

"At ease, lads," you chuckled, holstering your gun to your thigh. "These are friends of mine."

"You outsourced the job? Out your fuckin' mind, princess? Huh?" Casey growled, not lowering his gun as Tan and Lem strolled in.

"Don't fuckin' talk to her like that," Aaron snapped instantly.

"Fuck off, Casey, I would never outsource, I know the fucking rules," you sound more amused than anything.

"Well, ain't this fun?" Aaron mused with a grin, strolling in casually before pausing in the open foyer as Brian tried shutting the door again - but it the very doorframe was shattered, making it impossible. "Sorry 'bout the front door, ol' chap, but you understand, yeah? 'S just business," He nodded at DeLano. "Bunny," he smirked at you, hands in his tailored suit pants pockets; polished Italian leather shoes gently scoffing across the floor.

Aaron magnetized to your side, coiling his arm around your waist to lean in and peck your cheek.

"Hi, handsome. Thought you weren't in town until later?"

"We wrapped a different job early," he answered. "Question is: what're you doin' here, love?"

"Collecting debt payment."

"No shit," he grinned, "so are we."

Your head cocked; leaning into his side with your own arm wrapping around his chiseled waist. You asked, "He owes my father money. You?"

"Owes an associate, too." He smirked at the DeLano's you two stood in front of, "Ain't that right, geezer? Got yourself into a bit of a pickle, didn't yah? Got a bit of a problem with the nose candy, don't'cha, naughty boy?"

"You told me you quit!" Mrs. DeLano hissed, "now you're in debt!?"

"I have it under control," Wilmer deflected stiffly.

His wife sobbed and begged, "W-Would someone please just explain what's going on!? Who are you people!?" Tears fell fast. "What do you want from us!?"

"This ain't rocket science, love, fuck you mean what do we want?" Lemon snickered. "You not listenin' or something?"

"Ah, right, well, I was in the middle of explainin' the situation," you told the Twins, waving a manicured hand in the air as if swatting away a pesky fly. "'Ello, lovie," you grinned at Lemon when he stationed himself on your other side, "good t'see you."

"Sweetheart," he nodded, offering a side hug when you released his brother, "been too long, hasn't it?"

"Since Cancún," you agreed. "Right, then! Onward, ho! Casey, darlin', would you be a doll and open the bag? Get us set up t'count up?"

"'Course, boss," he agreed, kneeling at the mahogany coffee table and unzipping the duffel you brought.

"Right," your hands clapped, the family jumping at the sudden sound, "back to what I was sayin'. See, your husband owns the drug stores, that's true," you allotted, "but he also launders money for the Mafia. For my father, my family. Maybe you've heard of him?"

You relaid your father's first and last name, seeing the Fear of God paint over the DeLano's. "What?" Eddie snapped at his father sat beside him. See, despite dating briefly, you kept your identity a secret from Ed. "What have you done!? Do you know who her father is? Know what he's done!? He fuckin' gutted his own brother - "

"Allegedly," you interjected sharply.

" - all in the name of business! You don't know what this family is capable of!"

"Yes, boy, I'm well aware, the man is my bloody business partner," Wilmer snapped right back.

"Well, not so much of a partner now, are yah? Just more of a fuckin' nuisance," You smirked, earning the attention again. "So, you see, your husband washes our money, earns a significant cut for shouldering the risk. Payment's collected every two weeks and as of today, your husband's a week late on delivering our cash load."

"I-I can explain, please - "

"No need," you cut Wilmer off, "because I didn't get t'where I am now by listening to pathetic explanations. I don't listen to excuses. Fact is, you own my father money, and because you're late, the total is now $3 million - and he wants it in US dollars."

"Well, ain't that somethin'?" Tan smirked at Lem. "Turns out, he owes our client some million, too."

You hummed, nodding, "Right, right, but see, thing is, if my Daddy ain't paid, he goes postal. Nasty business, truly messy, just a chaotic clusterfuck, bodies left everywhere, cities in shambles." Turning back to the family, you offered, "So, we're just gonna make this easy. You cough up what you owe, we won't blow your brains out all over this nice Persian rug. Mmmh! See that, love?" You pointed to the fabric you stood on, looking at Aaron. "That's real authentic, you can tell by the threading. Be a shame to ruin it, yeah? Exquisite work."

"Sure is," he agreed, "but did you see up there, Bunny? 'Bove the mantel?"

"Oh, yes," you breathed in impression, "an ancient Aztec tribal mask. An artifact, very hard to get your hands on. Heard the British Museum was actually lookin' for that particular mask."

"Seems like Mr. DeLano is quite the collector of finer things," Lemon admired, pointing at a portrait on the wall. "Oi! Is that what I think? Is that a fucking Monet?"

"Priceless," you nodded.

"Listen, right, we've got strict orders, yeah?" Your lover sighed, shifting his weight. "We're t'collect payment by any means, a message is t'be sent. Right?"

"That's right, yeah," Lemon agreed, crossing his arms. "Make sure this kinda misunderstanding don't happen again."

Gunther asked, "You need tarps for this?"

You refused, "No, we're not here to kill anyone. We're here to let a loyal man the opportunity to pay us what's owed."

"Listen t-t-to me," Wilmer begged, stuttering in fear, "I don't have the money. Okay? The government came sniffin', I had tax liens to pay off to avoid prison time - "

"More fuckin' excuses! Jesus, fuck, man!" You groaned. "Who do you think can do more damage - the bloody government or my family? Huh? Look, lad, I know you've got what we're owed, so, be a good li'l boy and open the safe. Huh?"

"Fucking do it, Dad!"

"What're you doing, Wilmer? What are you waiting for!? You can't play this game! You'll get us all killed!"

"I don't have the money! How can I pay with what I don't have!?"

"Why do I not believe that?" You mused to Tan.

"'Cause you've been in this business a helluva lot longer than he has," Tangerine / Aaron answered. "You know a rat when you smell one, I reckon."

You nodded, then pulled your gun out again, aiming, and firing at Eddie's knee to shatter his kneecap. Blood splattered onto the couch. He screamed in agony, you raging above the panicked cries and shocked shouts, "Do I have your fucking attention now, Mr. DeLano?"

Edward sobbed in pain, trying to staunch the bleeding, Mrs. Delano gasping and shrieking. "Do whatever they want, Wilmer! For fuck's sake! Just do it!"

"Listen to your wife, mate," Lemon advised. "Unhappy wife, unhappy life, innit?"

You aimed at Eddie's other knee, firing, causing another flurry of screaming, crying, and begging. "If you want your son t'only have two bullets in 'im, I suggest you get moving!" You barked, aiming at Wilmer. "Now!"

"Well, wait a tick," Tangerine halted, "if we're both on the job, how's it gonna look if the geezer's telling us the truth, hey? Who gets the money?"

"Let's find it first, darlin', distribute later," you breathed as Casey finished setting up the automatic money counter. "Mr. DeLano? I advise you to do what we're asking. See, I use to duck hunt - I'm an excellent shot. The next bullet's goin' in your son's head and I never miss. Now, where's the fucking money!?"

"I don't have it! Please!"

"The money, DeLano, where's the fucking money!?"

"Please - "

"You want a dead son!?"

"All right!" He sobbed, "All right, fine! Yes, you win! Just please, please! Don't hurt my family anymore! Please, just leave them alone! I'll do what you want, just - leave them out of this!"

You nodded, "Well, you fucked with my Daddy's money. Only right I cripple you in a sense. Hey? Now, chop chop," you checked your watch for the time, "I'm a very busy bee and don't have all night."

"You're a smart lad, DeLano, we know you would've wanted to prep for a comfy fall if it came to it," Lemon laughed easily from beside you. "Ain't no way you're bone dry, know you have money stashed for security. Just c'mon, mate, these two sickos consider this a sort of foreplay, they'll go all fuckin' night with yah if you continue to refuse," he gestured at you and Tan.

You tacked on, "Lotta places to shoot someone without killin' 'em. Just saying..."

Wilmer stood from the couch, his wife shooting across the newly vacated space to embrace her whimpering son. The money launderer approached the Monet painting and lifted it from the wall; revealing an iron safe. You shared a look with Tangerine, smirking as the combination was entered and the door opening.

"That's what we fuckin' thought," Tangerine sneered, seeing the stacks and stacks and stacks of money. " Fuckin' hell. Right, so, look, count up the lady first. We'll settle after," he sniffed, fluffing his suit's lapel, picking off a piece of lint.

Wilmer began handing stacks to Casey to count, one of your arms crossing over your stomach to prop up your other arm; hand limp in the air. "Faster," you demanded, the man sweating bullets.

"Oh, now, look at that," Tan mused, taking your hand to admire your fresh manicure, "you went with blue."

"Like it?"

"Looks real pretty, Bunny, but I know something these would look better wrapped around," he grinned, making you smack his stomach playfully. "You wanna go get drinks afta this? My treat."

"Sounds like a date," you accepted, Gunther storing the counted cash into the dark duffel. "How's it lookin', Casey?"

"Looks 'bout right, boss," he reported, handing over another stack of banded money. "You want me t'count the Twins up?"

"Oh, if you would please, darlin', it would be very helpful," you nodded. "But I'm having a thought, right? Stay with me, would yah?"

"Oh, go on, toots, you've got great ideas," Lemon encouraged with a chuckle.

"Not always," Casey snickered, "remember what happened in Texas? At that Western bar?"

"Oi, the electronic bull was not my fault!"

"But the incident with the tequila and donkey was!"

"Hush!" You scolded. "Listen, all right, you see, this fucker tried to stiff us all... Let's clear the safe out. Take away any safety net? Truly cripple him, set him back to nothing?"

"Sound like your father," Gunther chuckled.

"That's a compliment," you shot back. "Go on, I want the lot."

Gunther agreed, standing, and approaching the safe. He shoved Wilmer out of the way, sweeping his arm into the safe and starting to load up the duffel. "You can't do this! If you take it all, what are we supposed to do!? How is my family supposed to survive when leeches like you suck us dry!?" Wilmer barked, making the amusement drop from your face.

"Watch your tone."

"No! No, I will not! You think you're high and mighty because of your father, but you're just a spoilt little girl! You all break into my house, extort me - "

"Can you truly extort a criminal? For the money they owe other criminals?" Brian / Lemon wondered out loud as he meandered the living room, making you shrug.

"He likes playing victim," you mused, but in the time you looked over your shoulder, Wilmer charged. You gasped when his shoulder bullied into your gut, tackling you past Tangerine and into the coffee table, shattering it.

"GO! RUN!" He shouted at his family, Tangerine lunging instantly to wrangle him off of you; the breath knocked from your lungs.

"Got some fuckin' nerve, don't yah!? Touchin' my girl!?" He raged, throwing the man to the floor again. "Nobody fuckin' moves!" Aaron growled, gun pointed at Wilmer.

"Not like they can, two blown out knees," Brian grunted as he helped pick you up from the wreck.

"Yeh all right, Bunny?"

"All right, love, yeah," you answered and adjusted your dress, picking up your weapon as Tan began wailing his balled-up fist into Wilmer's face at a jackhammering pace. It was wildly attractive, watching the man you were in-love with beat the shit out of someone who offered you threat and harm. Then something caught your eye, gasping, "Oh, you rat bastard! You broke my fucking nail!"

You yanked Tan back; aiming at Wilmer, pulling the trigger to let a close-range bullet explode the man's head; leaking brain matter on the Persian carpet. You turned to Mrs. DeLano and Eddie, cocking your head as they begged and pleaded for their lives, but you weren't listening anymore. "Got it all, boss," Gunther informed, dropping the stuffed duffel. "What we doin' with them?"

"Exactly what my father would do," you decided. "No witnesses."

"PLEASE! NO, GOD! NO, DON'T, PLEASE! WE WON'T SAY ANYTHING, I SWEAR! I SWEAR! PLEASE! MERCY! MERCY MERCY!"

Three more gunshots sounded, Tangerine's gun smoking before being tucked back into his shoulder holster under his jacket. "Well," he fluffed his lapels again, sniffling harshly, "shall we be on our way, Bunny? We good here?"

"Oh, might as well - got what we needed," you agreed, grimacing when blood bloomed towards your expensive shoes. "Ugh, what a mess. I'll make a call, have this cleaned up, pose it as a murder-suicide," you side-stepped the puddle. "Gunther, Casey, take what you want from this place, get the cash back to the stash house. I'm gonna grab a drink with the lads," you smirked, looping your arm with Aaron's.

Lemon / Brian packed up their share of the money, following behind as Tangerine / Aaron lead you from the house; placing a cigarette between his lips and lighting the end, inhaling, tossing his free arm around your neck. The night was dark and brisk, refreshing on your clammy skin as you stabilized your breathing; always a little shaken after taking life.

Call it morality.

Once in their tinted Mercedes, Brian got in the backseat, Tan rolled his window down to smoke, and you pulled out your ringing cell phone to answer, "Hi, Daddy."

He breathed in relief, "Good, you answered. Means nothing bad happened."

"That's not entirely true," you admitted. "We're leaving now."

"What happened?"

You winced, brushes already forming, "DeLano got bold, he attacked. So we left no witnesses."

"Good girl," he praised. "You feel all right?"

"Yeah, I'm good. I'm actually going to drinks with some, uh, friends," you glanced at Tangerine - seeing his lips pulled in a smirk as he started the car and pulled off down the street. "Turns out, DeLano didn't just owe us, but some coke dealer, too. Right, love?" You checked.

"Right," Aaron confirmed, reaching over to plant his hand on your thigh and give a soft squeeze.

"Right, yeah, so, he tried lying 'bout money, I shot his son's kneecaps - "

"That's my girl!"

" - and cleared the safe out. That's when DeLano attacked me - "

"WHAT!?"

"Daddy," you reprimanded softly. "I'm okay. Actually, the hired contractors on the job saved my arse - they showed up after we did with the same agenda. Gunther and Casey are gonna take the cash to a stash house, I gotta call Mr. Brooks about cleaning up."

"Did you say contractors?"

"Yeah, uh, you know, from The Agency?"

"You mean hitmen?"

"Yeah, guess you could say that. Think they're more like contract killers? Verbiage is so fickle."

"Who? Who exactly was there?"

"The Twins, Daddy. Don't worry, they're absolutely charming, only took their payment. We're gonna go for drinks, yeah?"

"Huh," he grunted, "must've been some bigwig t'send them two. Or a considerable debt." You were about to reply when he gasped in realization, "Wait, no. No, no, hang on a tick, don't bloody tell me."

"What?"

"This the lad you've got a thing for, innit? The one that sends yah flowers every other week?"

"Daddy."

"Don't tell me it's that Tangerine fucker, princess, please!"

"Oh, no, look at that, we're heading into a tunnel! I'm gonna lose the call; talk tomorrow, be safe, good luck in Prague, okay, muah! Muah! Muah! Love you! Bye, bye, bye!" You rambled quickly, blowing air kisses, then hanging up swiftly.

"The hell was that about?" Aaron chuckled. "He mad we were there?"

"Not entirely."

"Was he mad you're gettin' drinks with us?" Brian laughed from the back.

"That's a little more accurate. Well," you winced, "he was a bit testy that I'm goin' with Aaron..."

"I haven't done a damn thing to him," he grumbled.

"You do have a bit of a reputation, bruv."

You smiled sweetly, gripping Aaron's hand on your thigh, "He's my father, 'course he's gonna worry."

"'Bout time he found out, keeping you two a secret was mad frustrating, yeah? You two are disgustingly in-love."

Tangerine squeezed your thigh again, sending you a bright grin, "That we are."

requesting rules and masterlist

Bullet Train masterlist

[erwinsvow]

have you ever written something where shy reader is too anxious to tell someone they got her order wrong or tell the lady at the nail salon she didn’t exactly like the color/shape

no but omg this is soooo real

getting your nails done was always fun—though sometimes, you leave with something completely different than what you came in wanting.

you found it hard to speak up to anyone, your nail tech included. instead you'd nod politely and smile sweetly when they were doing your nails.

it was just nails—it didn't matter if they were a little shorter than you wanted, or if the pink was a little more bubblegum than baby. they looked pretty and you avoided someone getting upset with you—you considered it a win-win situation.

and it was beginning to work itself out—you had discovered your favorite nail lady, the one who always understood what you wanted and didn't make you nervous when you'd show her the picture you'd brought for inspiration. and going today, you were expecting your appointment to be with her—like always.

until you found out she was home sick. normally you'd wait—but you were at the salon today specially since you were going to a party with rafe tonight, and the idea of going with your bare and currently very ugly nails seemed completely out of the question.

and even worse—rafe had brought you. you didn't want to turn to him and tell him to take you back home, not when he'd driven you all the way here and agreed to sit with you even though you're sure he doesn't want to.

so you suck it up—you show the new tech your photo, a pretty pink and white french tip with some bows and flowers, and hope for the best. she's doing fine, it looks like the picture for the most part.. except your nails are looking more square than round, and it's a little too long for your taste. she's about to start painting, telling you to go wash your hands.

you get up, heart thudding uncomfortably. you hate this about yourself—hate it worse than anyone else could. the nail lady couldn't care less if you ask for them shorter and rounder, but you can't bring yourself to do it. instead you stare down at your nails in the sink and feel like you might start crying.

rafe has a sixth sense—he can always tell when you're feeling upset. you don't know how he does it, just that he does.

all he had noticed was that you had stopped smiling back at him every few minutes about half way into the second hand getting done—and then just now, when you got up, you didn't look at him on your way to the sink.

rafe follows you there, a hand on your shoulder to turn you around. he's got a candy in his mouth, plucked from the bowl they keep near the entrance.

"what's wrong?" he comes out a little raspy, his tongue red.

"nothing," you reply, too quickly. you look up at him with your watery eyes, trying your hardest not to cry.

"c'mon, kid. what is it? someone say something?" he asks, turning around to where you were sitting and the two techs in the vicinity.

"no, no. nothing. it's just-" again, you hate this. you don't know why it's so hard to find the words, why they just don't want to come out. you swallow it down.

"what? you gotta tell me if you want me to help," he says, quieter, leaning in a little. you feel better immediately when he says it, but you still can't look up at him. you stare down at the too-long, too-square acrylics.

"it's not.. exactly what i wanted. i don't know how to tell them. i don't want them to be upset-"

"is that it?" rafe asks, and you look up quickly, eyes getting teary again. is he mad at you too now? your expression gives you away, lips turning into a sad pout. "baby, she doesn't care. they get paid either way. gotta ask for what you want."

"but i don't want her to-"

"s'okay. i'll tell her. c'mon. don't cry, it's fine."

you follow rafe back—cheeks burning with embarassmnet. bad enough that you can't ever speak up for yourself, now rafe is involved and he probably thinks you're some kind of child-

"stop overthinkin'. it's easy for me to tell her, it's harder for you. so i'll tell her, okay?" looking up at your boyfriend, your ears ring a little. you hear him talk to your tech—you see his mouth moving, maybe making out shorter and she likes round, okay?

you can't hear anything, it feels like there's music in your ears. the tech nods and smiles at you, fixing them and before your very eyes, your nails look exactly how you wanted them to. rafe pulls his chair closer to yours, a hand on your knee.

his words keep repeating in your head—stop overthinking. and like always, you listen to rafe.

[bruisedboys]

🎀 - send in a character + an au for a blurb! e.g rockstarleddie, rugby!james etc. add a prompt if you'd like

rockstar!eddie x shy!sound tech who he loves to flirt with. but only he’s allowed to <3

aerial i love u for this

summary: rockstar!eddie loves to flirt with you (and look after you)

shy!fem!reader 0.8k words

Eddie has this way of finding you wherever you are, even when you’re trying to hide from him. You’ve snuck away to the lobby of the venue his band is set to play at in a few hours. You need a break from all the sounds and commotion that come with being a part of the sound team. Your break doesn’t last very long.

The door to the main concert hall opens and even though you’re looking at your laptop, you know it’s Eddie because you can hear his jewellery jingling. He wears a lot of jewellery.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he says jovially. You don’t look up for fear of swooning on the spot. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Work,” you say quietly, even though you’re not working at all because your fingers have gone still over the keys at Eddie’s arrival.

“I thought you were taking a break.” You can hear Eddie’s frown. Again, you don’t look up because you think if you do, you’ll melt into a puddle.

“I am,” you insist.

Eddie sighs loudly. You know he’s not sighing at you, but for you. He’s always telling you to stop overworking yourself. You sometimes listen.

You’re still staring at your laptop screen when Eddie’s legs appear in front of you. His scent washes over you, cologne and musk and something metallic. He smells exactly like you’d expect a rockstar to smell like. His hand reaches out and he hooks a ring-clad finger under your chin, pushing gently, forcing you to look up.

When you finally look Eddie in the eyes you know how much of a mistake it is. He’s pretty, beautiful really, with his wild curly hair and his big dark eyes, his pale skin, tattoos peeking out from the edges of his clothing. You flush just looking at him. Then you remember his hand at your jaw and flush some more.

“Sweetheart,” he says sympathetically. A frown pulls at his pretty lips and you think you’d like to kiss it away, then immediately scold yourself for that rogue thought. Eddie ignores your flustered quiet, as usual. “You gotta stop taking on so much. There are other people to do some of the jobs you do. If you keep at it like this, you’ll make yourself sick, you know?”

You nod even though you don’t particularly agree. You like doing the jobs you do, you like making yourself so busy you barely have time to think. If you have too much time to think you’ll think about Eddie, and you really don’t want that.

“Can I sit with you?” He asks, as soft as you’ve ever heard him. “We don’t have to talk, if you don’t want to.”

You nod again and finally find your voice. “Okay.”

Eddie smiles, gives your jaw a squeeze and then plops down next to you. Again, you get a whiff of his heavy rockstar scent. It makes you dizzy in a good way.

Silence falls over the two of you. You don’t turn back to your laptop, because you know Eddie will protest. You sit and try not to breathe too loud, try not to let your leg touch Eddie’s or your hand brush over his thigh. It’s been all but two minutes before Eddie starts talking again. You hadn’t expected him to stay quiet for very long.

“You know …” he says slowly, and you brace yourself for what’s coming. “I saw you laughing at something Garrett said earlier. What was that all about?”

You’re so confused you forget all about his closeness and turn to look at him, quizzical. He’s looking at you in a way you don’t understand.

“What?” You ask, a bit surprised.

“Earlier!” Eddie says earnestly, as if trying to justify himself. “When we were waiting for the mics to come back on, and you and Garrett were talking and he said something, and you laughed real loud and— shit, I sound jealous don’t I?”

You gawp. He had sounded a little bit jealous, and that plus the look he’s giving you is enough to make your heart skip a beat. Eddie? Jealous because you’d laughed at his bandmate’s joke? You think maybe you’re dreaming.

“No!” You rush to say, after a too-long pause. “No, um. You didn’t.”

But Eddie groans and buries his face in his hands. “I so did.”

You don’t know what else to do so you put a tentative hand on his shoulder. He’s firm under your hand, strong. You’d like to touch him forever, you think.

“I didn’t really think his joke was funny,” you say shyly. “I just laughed so it wouldn’t be awkward.”

Eddie straightens up and whirls on you, your hand dropping from his shoulder. You miss his heat immediately but you’re quickly distracted by his knee pressing into your thigh.

“Really?” He asks, his eyes wide and too hopeful.

You giggle. “Well, yeah. It was an awful joke, Eddie.”

Eddie laughs now, a lovely chesty laugh, and you want to savour the sound forever.

“Please don’t tell him I said that,” you say quietly, even though you know he wouldn’t.

Eddie grins wolfishly. “Not a chance, sweetheart.”

[rosepetalkitty]

more mechworld story after the break!

ok, so since y'all liked my last one so much here's a follow up on that mechworld story. to recap, here's the color coding, names are a work in progress rn:

the pilot, she/her

the handler, she/her

the lead training technician/supervisor, he/him?

fair warning that im having a bit of a rough time deciding on how to narrate this in a way that isn't boring as shit so im kinda winging it here. enjoy!

it's been... an hour i think? longer maybe? it's hard to tell. my head is spinning from her voice and the link, and her teasing smile is stamped on my brain. i barely process the technician walking into the room until he speaks.

"hey, you two ready for your sim? we have it all set up for you."

"oh of course, let's go pilot!"

"yeah, i'm ready!" yes ma'am wait. wait hey no fair! she's still in my head. she says she can't read my mind, that all she sees is a little window into what i'm feeling, but i don't know how much i believe her.

"alright, follow me."

we follow the technician down a brightly lit hallway lined with doors. one of them is open, and inside are a couple other technicians sitting around a table with a holoprojector in the center. off to the side is what looks like a metal seed, a few feet taller than me. its panels are open, revealing a seat angled such that it's more for leaning on than sitting in. the tech walking with us gestures to a chair, and my handler (miss oh shut up!) sits down.

"right. so, you're going to need to connect here"

he pulls a retracted cable out from a recess on the edge of the table. she takes it and pauses

"got it, do I just-"

"connect that cable to the port on your wrist and sit tight while we get your pilot prepped"

she's a little annoyed at being interrupted (how do i know that...?) but she doesn't show it.

"alright, easy enough"

he turns to me, already pointing to the giant seed thingy. as i turn away from my handler she gets... spiky? is she shaking? i can't tell what exactly i'm feeling but it's coming from her.

"great. pilot, come over here"

"am i going inside of that?" he's already walking, so i follow

"yep! don't worry it doesn't bite. it's just a sim pod."

"okay..." it's not as much that i'm scared as nervous. what if i screw something up...?

shhh, it's okay. you'll do fine. just relax.

i jump. i swear that was her voice, but it sounds... different.

hey, hey, calm down. sorry for startling you. we can communicate with the link, i assumed you knew that but i should have made sure before doing it.

what? wait, so i can just

talk to her?

there you are hun, isn't this nice?

so you can read my mind!

only when you let me~ and before you ask, i can feel that you're anxious. believe me, i am too, but we're gonna be fine.

so that's what that feeling was from before. anxiety. wait, is the technician talking to me? oh! gotta pay attention, right.

"...like a b-series cockpit without the rest of the mech, and the sensor data is faked by the simulation console. you'll get used to it, trust me."

"right, ok, so how do i-"

"arms on the arm rests, wrists in the rings, and sit on the seat. it's kinda awkward, it'll feel better once you close up the shell."

another pang of annoyance from my handler, this time with a protective streak to it. i lean onto the seat and slide my hands through the metal rings at the ends of the arm rests. i can feel something dangling behind my ear.

"i'm going to plug you in, look down for a second."

i do as he asks, and i can feel him plug the cable into the thumb-sized socket on my neck. as he does, the cockpit comes to life, and the rings tighten around my wrists. they feel like bracelets.

"great." he turns to one of the other techs "everything look good?"

the other tech nods and gives him a thumbs up. he turns back to me and smiles. "perfect. then you're ready! you can close the cockpit once you want to kick things off."

close the cockpit? how do i... wait. ok. i can feel... something. almost like a... handle? i'm not touching it and i can't see it but if i pull on it-

the cockpit doors slide up and slot into place in front of me. everything is black for several seconds, and then... woah...

"welcome to basic, pilot!" the voice is definitely the tech's, but it sounds... distorted. like it's coming over a radio. "before we do anything else, can you see?"

"i think so?" i can feel my handler nearby. she's happy, but tense. as i look around i start to register the space i'm in. i'm standing in the grass of a sunny meadow, with a tiny tree a couple dozen yards in front of me. or- wait... is it tiny or am i just... i look down. oh. that would explain it.

when i look down i don't see my body. well, i do, but it isn't the same body. or a real body at all. i'm currently a fifteen foot tall metal shell, shaped like a human but with wide legs and heavy arms.

i am inside of a mech. holy fucking shit i'm piloting a mech! a simulated one i guess, but still! my handler must feel my excitement because i can feel her voice over the link

there you go, took you a second huh? liking the new look?

oh my god yes are you kidding?

"yeah, i can see!"

"great. can you move your arms around? and try walking a few steps too. we need to make sure your connection is stable."

easy enough. i try to do some stretches but as my arms touch i feel what can only be described as the tactile version of nails on a chalk board.

note to self: mechs can't stretch.

i opt to just wave my arms at the tree instead. i walk towards it a few steps. it feels like i'm moving through honey, but i don't fall or stumble or otherwise struggle to balance.

"looking good. normally we would have engaged the neural stabilizer before passing through the sensors to your brain, but we wanted to give you a chance to process everything normally first. we do have to get that online now, though. fair warning, this will feel weird."

neural stabilizer? isn't that the implant that shuts off my..........

can you hear me pilot?

...yeah...

her voice is quieter. a bit spacey. hopefully that's normal and she isn't passing out. "should she sound so out of it?"

"yep, that's pretty common. she's fine. just don't ask her to do any math right now." the technician laughs. i don't. i'm genuinely worried about her... i know this is completely routine, but i needed to make sure she was safe. so long as she is, we're good.

alright hun, focus on my voice. stand up straight for me.

...okay...

i can see her mech straighten up over the holofeed. y'know what, she's kinda cute like this. i'm starting to get used to it, i think...

"paint the tree red and tell her to shoot it."

i wish the tech weren't so pushy. he seems bored. he needs to chill out. i reach out and drag a line from the red cube in front of me, floating just above the table, to the tree. it gets highlighted in bright red.

weapons free, pilot. shoot red targets.

this part feels natural. we covered the target painter in pre-basic, before i was assigned a pilot. she, presumably, was taught what the colors mean: red means kill it, yellow means it's not friendly but you can't kill it, blue means it's friendly, green means it's part of your unit. she hits the tree with a few plasma bolts while the technician watches, somewhat more interested than before.

"that's enough."

stand down pilot.

she stops shooting immediately. the tree sizzles and starts to fall before snapping back into place as one of the techs resets it.

we spend a couple of hours walking around, shooting trees and testing her reflexes. the techs spawn in a couple of tanks for her to shoot at, some soldiers for her to defend during a simulated evacuation, and a few different environments for her to walk through. we're mostly just helping her get used to the feeling of being in a mech. once things start shooting back at her, i can feel her getting scared, and i comfort her as she goes through the exercises.

calm down pilot. you're doing great. stay focused.

the techs seem impressed by the time they're done. she's stayed mostly calm, with my help, but i can't shake the feeling that we're only now getting to the most difficult part.

"alright, time for disco. tell her to stand by."

"right." i feel sick from the anxiety. they told us how awful pilots can feel after a disconnection, even if it's just a sim. i want her to be okay...

pilot, get ready to disconnect.

...oh...okay...

she has the same flat, dazed tone that she's had the entire time. i disconnect from the table and head over to the sim pod. the doors slide open, but she's still connected, not registering the real world around her. i step forward to catch her as the tech unplugs the cable from her neck.

...ready....oh god where's my handler where's-

she falls into my arms, breathing fast. i just hold her as she clings to me. i can feel how terrified she is. "hey, hey, you're safe, i've got you. you're okay."

"i'm okay..." i cling to her. when she says it like that i really do feel better. the ringing in my ears is quieting down and i can feel my breathing returning to normal, but i keep holding onto her.

do you want me to help you sit down, or would you prefer to just stand like this for now?

like this... please... ma'am...

alright, we can do that.

the tech gives me a pained half-smile of understanding.

"first disco is always rough. they'll get better. for you at least."

"not for her?" he just shrugs.

"here, i'll take you to the barracks, they've got a bed ready for you there. she should rest, or at least just lie down."

i'm going to start walking, just walk with me hun.

yeah...

she whimpers a bit out loud. hopefully her speech is coming back to her, but this works. i keep my arm around her waist as we walk to our bunk bed. there's a fold-out table attached to the lower bunk. i try to help her onto it and she lies down, tugging on my hand. i sit next to her and she rests her head in my lap.

"you did so so good hun. i'm so proud of you."

"th...thank you miss" i look up at her. she's smiling at me. she's still so pretty...

[thezombieprostitute]

Tech Tuesday: Jonathan Pine

Summary: Jonathan Pine is very nice to work for but you've been fooled before.

Warnings: Mentions of age discrimination

A/N: Reader is 40+ years old and female. No physical descriptors used.

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Jonathan walks into his office after sending off the new hire with Steve and her laptop. He smiles at seeing you focused on your work. He thinks you look quite lovely. Of course, that's inappropriate for the workplace so he never tells you. He'll say “you look nice,” or something small like that but what he really wants is to say is, “you look ravishing.”

He really couldn't understand how he got so lucky as to have you for his assistant. You were far more capable than any other he'd had. You were polite without taking any crap from his employees. You were adaptable to his sometimes hectic schedule. Ever since he'd hired you he never once missed an appointment or forgot a deadline. You were amazingly good at your job.

Whenever he asked you about your previous employment you told him you'd been let go because of “personality conflicts”. He wasn't sure anyone could ever not enjoy your company but maybe he was biased. At one point he thought you'd been let go from previous employers so they could try to woo you but, from what little he saw of your personal life, you did not appear to be dating anyone.

“Oh, hello Mr. Pine,” you smile politely as your startled out of your focused state. “There are a few more meetings today so I went ahead and ordered some lunch for you. It's waiting in your office.”

“Thank you,” he nods. “And I do hope you got yourself something as well.”

“Mr. Pine,” you gently chide, “I have my own lunch. Gotta be careful with those company cards so that they don't think you're doing something wrong.”

“I'm allowed to provide for my staff.”

“As a whole, yes,” you agree. “But just buying lunch for yourself and your assistant is not an option.”

He smiles, nodding, “right as always. I thank you for your wisdom in these things.”

Your cheeks heat up a little. It's been a few years and you're still not used to the praise your boss gives you. You've been burned by praise before. They tell you you're a great worker, that they couldn't get anything done without you, and then find excuses to fire you or pressure you to quit when someone prettier and younger comes along.

Every day, every compliment, every smile from him, you remind yourself to just focus on your work. Don't get attached to the job. Don't let his words distract you into think you're anything more than a replaceable cog. Keep professional and hope you can get a good reference when he inevitably drops you.

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Tagging @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82 ; @ronearoundblindly

[armored-angel4798]

Eddie was excited. It’s hard not to be when you get to hang out with your best friend who you hadn’t seen for TWO WEEKS. Steve had been clocking a lot of overtime at his new vet tech job. While he loves that Steve is doing something he enjoys now, he misses his beautiful face. Robin was coming much later in the day because unfortunately, she still had to work. Eddie was so excited to get some alone time with Steve. He could hear the stereo playing from the front door. Not really Eddie’s music, but if it makes Steve smile he’ll listen to anything. The scene Eddie was met with when he walked into the house turned his brain into mush.

Steve was dancing through the kitchen in his briefs that left NOTHING to the imagination and using a spatula as a microphone. Eggs were frying on the stove, almost seeming forgotten as Separate Ways played. Eddie officially loves Journey, in fact, he needs to go buy their tapes right now. He’s frozen. Looking away from Steve being happy and free (read: in tight little briefs) is the most monumental task he has ever attempted. He failed. Much like his first two attempts at senior year. He was debating on clearing his throat to let Steve know he was there when he pointed the spatula right at him. Steve froze. Eddie, still frozen, gulped and kept staring. Really, what else was he supposed to do? He has been in love with his best friend for the better part of a year and he walks in on this? His brain is gone. It has leaked out of his ears and been replaced with his dick. His dick that had very much chubbed up without his say so.

“Eddie!” Steve sounds shocked.

It broke Eddie out of his brainmushdickhardfrozen state, and he panicked.

“I’ll go, um, I should leave, yeah. I’ll leave and you can call me, uh, when you’re decent. NOT that you aren’t decent. You’re the most decent man I know and I really respect you so much. So I gotta go.”

“Eddie! Eddie! Wait don’t go.”

“You’re…. IT’S really fine, Steve. I can come back later I’m sorry to interrupt your morning.”

Eddie convinced his cinder block feet to turn so he could walk away. A hand wrapped around Eddie’s wrist before he could take a step.

“Eddie, please stay. I’ll.. I’ll put on some clothes and we can hang. I just didn’t realize you’d be up so early.”

“I would rather you didn’t put on clothes.”

Steve’s eyes widened and Eddie slapped a hand over his mouth.

“Oh, really?” Steve asked.

“Oh my god!” Eddie shrieked not hearing Steve’s seductive tone. “I can’t believe I said that out loud! I’m so sorry Steve, I will go. I’ll just go. I don’t need to be here today. I’m just making a fool of myself. I’m…”

Eddie was shut up by a pair of lips pressing to his. Operation brainmushdickhard was back in full swing as he was pressed against a wall.

“Shut up, Eddie.” Steve whispered when he pulled away.

“You, uh, you are really good at making me.”

“I gotta get my eggs, but then we can discuss further what our plans are for the day.”

Eddie has died. This is the only explanation. He’s dead and this is his heaven. The only thing that would make this better is if Ozzy Osbourne burst through the door asking him to join his band. He stared at the door waiting for it to happen. Then he realized looking at the door was making him miss Steve’s ass jiggling. Can’t have that. Steve was turning back towards him. Plate of eggs abandoned on the counter, pan in the sink. Eddie imagines that this is what it feels like to be a prey animal stalked by a lion. Steve kissed him again and Eddie was helpless, his knees weak as Steve ran his hand down Eddie’s torso. Steve nipped at his ear and Eddie /whined/.

“What do you say we see what we can do about this, hmm?” Steve whispered in his ear as he palmed Eddie through his jeans.

“Is this real?” He asked

“If you want it to be.”

“I want it. I want you so bad.”

“You have me, baby.”

Eddie melted. When Robin got to Steve’s house they were clothed on the couch (thank God). Eddie was practically in Steve’s lap.

“Oh, you finally got your shit together.” She said when she saw them, “also, I’m not staying over if you didn’t change your sheets.”

Eddie blushed and Steve laughed opening his other side for Robin to join them.

[happysaddca]

This is. Incredibly self-indulgent and requires context.

You are a veteran FazCo employee who worked as a janitor (and eventually dates that location's DCA) when the Glitchtrap virus infects the plex. Unlike the game, this virus affects all the mega pizzaplexes, and it leads to you getting mauled by Moon. You nearly die, the DCA is deactivated and replaced after the virus mysteriously vanishes, and eventually you start working at a new plex, with a new DCA and staff.

After a long and bumpy road, you finally have your DCA's chips installed in a functional animatronic. It's time for a reunion.

Parts and Service still creeps you out, even with the changes the tech team here made. At the very least, you’re allowed to wait in the cylinder instead of outside with everyone else. 

You take a peek through the glass, catching Gemma and Anika watching you. Your body locks up, and you manage a stiff little wave before focusing on Sun behind them. Sun isn’t watching you (at least, you’re pretty sure he’s not). Sun’s watching the body on the table. Your turn back to it as well. 

It’s another Daycare Attendant unit, currently completely off. The color changing material of the animatronic’s pants and paint sits at a muted, muddy brown color, the light not bright enough to bring out Sun’s colors but too bright for Moon’s. When you touch its faceplate, it’s cold, unmoving. It’s an older model, a spare body for the DCA standing outside. And it currently holds the chip that is your 

That is your Sun and Moon. 

“Everything good in there?” Gemma’s voice is tinny over the speakers. You nod quickly, giving a thumb’s up. “Okay, I need you to back away for a second. Gotta plug in and give the OS one last check before we power them up.” 

“Okay.” You give a reluctant half step back, then another at Gemma’s prompting, retreating closer to the wall and the people outside. Overhead, electricity thrums as the diagnostics and repair tools come online, a cable snaking down to plug into the back of the animatronic’s head. “You’ll warn me when they’re about to be turned on, right?” No answer. “Guys?” 

The sounds overhead changes, with a chime sequence signaling that no, you were in fact not being warned ahead of time.. Some pseudo-soothing, corporate beeps that remind you of commercials advertising anti-depressants begin, but when you go to approach the body again, the speaker crackles on. 

“Stay right there.” 

“But I want—” You’re cut off before you can even turn to face the trio waiting outside. 

Anika’s frown is made more severe by scarring distorting her forehead. 

“We don’t know how they’re going to react to being woken up for the first time in three years. For them, it’s only been a moment since they shut down, and we don’t really know how that… hey. Don’t look like that. I thought you’d already worked past the guilt.” 

“No, I have. But. I.” Another chime sequence has you whipping back around, but there’s no change. You shift so you can keep half an eye on what’s happening while you’re talking to everyone on the outside. 

“Sunshine.” Sunny speaks over Anika, leaning forward to take the microphone. “Think about what might happen if they come online and hurt you.”

“It’d be—”

“It’d be an accident, but.” Sunny holds up one long finger, indicating that you should wait. You look back at the table again, but there’s still nothing to indicate what’s going on. “Friend, turn your screen around. They’re going to be fretful unless they know what’s going on.” 

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Gemma turns one of the monitors around, showing off a series of progress bars that you don’t know what they mean. She taps the monitor. “Once this hits a hundred percent, they’ll boot up.” 

“Thank you.” The lump in your throat eases, just a little. You stare at the little bars slowly working its way up. 

“Sunshine.” Sunny catches your attention with his talking-to-children-about-complex-topics voice. “We should stay here until the other attendant wakes up and has a moment to process that they aren’t affected by the virus—and that they’re safe.” 

“As safe as they can be in here,” you mumble, and Sunny’s smile widens as he gives a small nod, setting the microphone back on the table. The progress bar fills ever so slowly, and any noise behind you makes you twitch and look back at the animatronic with concern. Your palms itch, suddenly slick, and you wipe at them quickly before shoving them in the pockets of your overalls. 

Overalls. You are bringing back your oldest, dearest friend that you’ve not seen in years and you’re wearing the world’s most fucked up, stained overalls. And that does count farmers and mechanics around the world. You take a peek at the progress bar and—how has it jumped up 30% already? It had been dragging just a minute ago! There’s now no way you can slip away into something better, and of course you couldn’t have gone anyway. 

The noise from overhead changes, and there’s an error sound, sharp and blunt, followed by the mechanical squeak of the monitor getting jerked back around to Gemma. “Anika, can you grab the thingie?”

“The thingie?” 

Gemma gestures vaguely behind her and Sun, who is standing frozen, rays partially retracted as he stares at the table. Anika zips off to find whatever it is Gemma needs, but you’re turning away again, watching as the spare daycare attendant unit twitches. 

“Sun?” you ask, stepping closer. The animatronic twitches again, one hand, then a whole leg, spastic and out of control like it’s being electrocuted in bits and pieces. Their rays start to poke out, then snap back into place with an audible click. One gets stuck, tangled up in white and blue fabric. “Moon, Sun, it’s okay,” you say, voice barely audible over their fans starting and immediately going into overdrive. “You’re safe. It’s me.” 

“Sunshine!” Sunny’s voice breaks when you are close enough to touch the twitching attendant’s foot. 

Your ears pop as the doors open, and you twitch, turning just enough to hold out a hand. “Sunny, it’s okay. I know but… they’re glitching out. I think they’re going to Eclipse.” 

“All the more reason to stay away!”

“You stay there if it makes you comfortable, but if they’re Eclipsing…” You turn back in time to catch the rays spring out, a handful caught in the hat, shredding into it. “I’m staying. Sun? Moon?”

There’s no reply from the animatronic, just more twitching and spasming. You want to free the rays from their hat, but this early model has no silicone softening the metal edges. They’re just a bunch of very dull knives and with no consciousness controlling their movements. You settle for touching their shoe instead, feeling the twitching of their actuators. Are they in pain? Can they feel anything at all?

“Hey, be careful in there! I’m unplugging the cords now and sometimes they can be a little whippy.” You grimace, pulling away as far as you could without relinquishing your touch over the moon patch. You give a thumbs up without looking away. 

The cords are a little whippy, jerking away from the table and snapping back into the ceiling with such force that it makes them look alive. You hate Parts and Services. 

“We’re at ninety percent now. Sunny, if you can step back? We don’t know how they’ll react to another Attendant hovering.”

“Right… right.” Sunny’s voice is closer, and you’re surprised to find he’d crept well inside the cylinder, the distance between the two of you halved. He holds his hands up, retreating back to the door. You stare and he gives a timid little shrug, his faceplate tilted towards the now waking animatronic. 

You’ve been around FazCo branded animatronics for ten years now, been in love with one, this one, for almost as long. Even in a new body, even Eclipsed, you know they’re waking from the change in their fans, slowing briefly with a little click clatter click before returning to overdrive. The foot under your hand twitches one last time before stilling and pulling away.

There’s static, climbing up your arm and into your mind as you look up. There’s static there too, a thin, trembling stream from Eclipse’s hidden speakers. They’re staring at you, eyes locked on. You shift, and they shift, ever so slightly, eyes tracking the scars visible on your face. 

“Eclipse?” you ask, holding a hand up as they start to answer. “No, it’s okay. I-I am happy to see you. You’re here. You’re safe. You’re both safe, right?” 

You have to walk around the table. They still watch you, hands limp at their side until you reach for the nearest one. They flinch away, dragging their hand into their lap, claws catching on the coarse material of their waist ruffle. Once, a long time ago, you’d asked about those claws and Moon had explained they used to play stringed instruments, just like the glamrocks did now. 

“You won’t hurt me,” you tell them, taking their hand anyway and squeezing it so hard you can feel a joint in your wrist pop. You toy with one of the claws with your thumb, worrying the little gear that makes it flip back into their fingers, sighing softly. “You didn’t hurt me.” 

You look up to see them staring at you, and despite things, you give a little laugh. A wet laugh, something sticking in your throat uncomfortably. “It wasn’t you Moon.” 

You don’t know how or when, but a cold hand brushes over the ruined half of your face, stroking the skin just under your eye. It pulls back, metal shiny with tears. You laugh again, hiccuping and holding your free hand up to your face as you force yourself to calm down. “I’m okay. I’m here. You’re here. I missed you so much you big stupid dummy.” 

You can’t wait any longer, so you throw yourself at Eclipse, worming your hands under their arms, tucking your face carefully under their faceplate, away from the metal rays. They can’t see you crying like this, but it’s an ugly messy, human thing and their neck ruffle is horrifically itchy. The slow weight of hands on your back make you sob, voice breaking. 

There’s a few minutes that are likely very awkward for everyone not currently on or half on the cylinder’s table, but you don’t notice any change until there are claws digging in your back. “Eclipse,” you mumble, lifting your head, but the hands pin you to their torso. “Eclipse, what’s wrong?”

“I-it might be me!” Sunny’s voice trips over itself. “I, we, all of us wanted to make sure you were okay?”

“I’m okay,” you say, a little too softly at first. You feel up for Eclipse’s cheek, stroking it gently. “‘Clips, let me up. Sunny isn’t going to hurt us.” 

The hands dig, and you can feel those claws in your skin, but they loosen as you continue to push up. You settle on the table a little awkwardly, perched to avoid hurting Eclipse with your weight. You wipe at your eye, trying to clear your vision, before taking Eclipse’s hand again. “Sorry Sunny. I know things aren’t going as planned but…” You clear your throat, smiling weakly. “Sunny, this is Clips. They Daycare Attendant from my old plex. Eclipse, this is Sunny. He’s the Daycare Attendant here in Sandusky. He uh, he helped convince me it was worth trying to save you.” You hesitate. “He and his Moon went through it too,” you say more softly. Eclipse’s grip tightens on you and Sunny grimaces. “We’ll talk about it later, when everyone’s recovered. Sunny, move.” You gesture and he gives you a confused look before stepping out of the way.

Anika and Gemma are staring through the thick plexi of the cylinder. Gemma’s mouth is hanging open, but Anika looks vaguely smug. You hold up your entwined hands in a wave. “That’s Gemma and Anika. Gemma helped get this body back online and you in it, and Anika helped me save you. We saved you.” Oh, you’re starting to cry again. 

“Welcome back to the world of the living.” Gemma’s voice is clipped, and she turns her monitor back to you. You can just barely see some graphs and charts, but the orangey-red lines, and the continued strain of Eclipse’s fans clue you in before Gemma can. 

“Oh, oh, Eclipse, you need to restart with just one of you fronting.” You turn back to them, catching them staring at you once again. You twist around to hold their face, stroking over the edge and the craters, finding the large swirl of an eyebrow before you reach their hat. They flinch as you pull at it. “I know. But I’ll stay right here the entire time. I won’t even let go of your hand.” 

“Sunshine, that’s—”

“I’m staying right here Sunny,” you say, a little more sharply than you meant to sound, but the intent remains. You don’t look away from Eclipse, leaning forward to press a kiss over the moon’s eye. “I am staying right here. You can restart. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.” 

Eclipse stares, and there’s a long, long minute where you worry they’re going to refuse until they burn out but finally there’s a soft stream of static and a nod. Eclipse leans forward as you pull on their hat, freeing it incrementally from their rays. The light from their eyes dims and goes out, their fans slowing a couple minutes later. You pull the hat free successfully, their hand slipping from yours as you check over the fabric. It’s torn and greasy where it’d gotten caught in the gears, but you can probably fix it, if they want. Or perhaps you’ll be able to get help remaking their old hat, if that’s what they preferred.  

“Is everything all right?” Sunny’s voice is quiet, and his hand is soft as it rests on your shoulder. You twitch but don’t pull away, watching your attendant’s faceplate intently for any flicker of light. “They’ll turn on again.” 

“I know they will. But will they be able to let go? It’s got to be Moon, I think. It’s always been more willing to take control.” Sunny’s gentle verbal prodding compels you to continue. “Sun’s a softie, even if she does have a spine about the rules, her rules. The ones that are important to her. She tried so hard…” You trail off into a cough, swallowing back the lump wrong and making it worse on yourself. You have to wipe at your eyes again, sniffing hard. “But if Moon is scared or upset, they might Eclipse again.”

The startup is quieter, so you miss it in your talking to Sunny, until you feel more than hear the thrum of the animatronic’s inner workings. Sunny steps back, out of reach, when the rays retract, one at a time, jerkily, like the mechanism controlling them is unfamiliar to the Moon currently in control. Because it’s Moon who is waking up now, and it’s Moon’s gravelly voice that lets out a surprised noise when you immediately push into a hug. 

“Starlight?” 

The nickname is enough to make you cry again, and you squeeze him so tightly your arms hurt. “I’m here Moony. I’m here. And I’m never leaving you again.” 

[violettduchess]

Hello Vi! I have a request for you, only if it inspires

Tutor AU! With one or more of your fave suitors tutoring you for your upcoming exams;

Leonardo, Comte, Gilbert, Leon, Silvio and Clavis!

I'd love to see what you come up with ❤️❤️❤️

A/N: I had a very immediate idea for Comte so I went with him for this request!

Comte x Reader, Tutor AU/ Modern AU

WC: ~1.9k

The library looms large as you hurry up the wide, slate-colored steps under a sky exhaling its last breath of evening color. The stars are slowly blinking into existence, determined to shine before they are hidden behind the slow-moving blanket of clouds heading their way. You would pause to enjoy the ephemeral moment when dusk ebbs into night.....

Except Comte is inside, waiting for you.

You’re still not sure how it’s come to this. Comte as your tutor. Your mind travels back several weeks….

Several weeks ago:

One minute you're balancing an armful of books along with your backpack and several bags of uneven groceries that are seriously testing your stubborn decision to do it all in ONE trip. The next, however, everything is falling onto the polished grey tile floor of your building’s lobby, the objects seeming to leap like lemmings out of your arms. As you stand there, staring defeatedly at the scattered mess, lost in the gravity of your poor decision, the elevator doors you were originally trying to reach slide open and like the pearly gates unveiling an angel, Comte de St Germain steps out, in the process of buttoning his elegant camel-colored coat with one hand.

Before you can say a word, he takes in your forlorn expression, the embarrassing pile of your things at your feet, and he is by your side, kneeling, helping you gather up your stray apples and the mini-boxes of cereal you are probably way too old for but love anyway. Your cheeks flush as you stammer a thank you. 

You know him more by reputation than actual acquaintance. He lives in the sprawling penthouse at the apex of your building, the crowning glory of the gothic structure, and is usually spoken about in whispers and sighs by the other residents:

“Comte? He’s a museum director downtown.”

“I hear he is a world-famous antique dealer who has made millions.”

“He’s gotta be a tech-millionaire with all that dough.”

“Well I know someone who knows someone who swears he’s a member of the royal family of some tiny European country.”

“I don’t care what he does. He’s got to be loaded to live up there.”

“I hear he’s never been married.”

“My cousin’s best friend’s neighbor's babysitter says he’s divorced from someone super famous.”

“You know what he is? I'll tell ya. Drop dead gorgeous.”

This mysterious man with eyes the color of desert sands is on the ground in his expensive suit and coat, helping you gather your plebeian things and oh, do you want to melt into the floor and disappear.

Until……

He stops, holding one of the books you had been juggling, a surprised expression crossing his classically beautiful face.

“‘The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire’ by Edward Gibbon. Fourth edition.” He seems impressed, curiosity flaring to life in the mesmerizing gold of his eyes.

And you take that lifeline, words stumbling over themselves across the knot of your tied tongue as you explain you are a graduate student, majoring in history, mentally preparing yourself for the avalanche of final exams heading your way.

And how he smiles, his long fingers tracing the embossed lettering along the spine of your book, borrowed from the local library. Entranced by the movement, you can't look away from his hand, reverence hushing his voice as he explains how he works for a museum (Points to the woman in Apartment 15B for getting that one), how he also studied history.

And then one thing leads to another and your rambling about the stress of your exams and crunch for time has evolved into Comte St. Germain, the mysterious Bruce Wayne of your building, offering to tutor you.

The Present:

And now here you stand, the night of your final session, heart prowling, turning circles in your chest like an unruly feline.

Taking a steadying breath, you continue up the steps and head inside, enjoying the sound of your heeled boots across the polished wooden floor. Past towering shelves filled with books you go until you reach the narrow iron staircase in the back, the one that spirals upwards to the second floor. Your feet follow the path they have gotten used to over the last few weeks, through the racks, down a narrow gangway until you reach the small cluster of tables at the western corner of the library, the ones underneath the imposing arched window that allows you a clear view of the darkening sky and the pale orange glow of the streetlamp across the street.

Comte looks up from the book he has been reading and offers you a smile, at once familiar and exotic.

“Ah, there you are, chérie. Ready for our final session?”

Something inside you constricts at the thought that this is the last time you will be here with him like this, tucked away in the surprising intimacy of a large public library, listening to his honeyed voice as you discuss not only history, but also the mundane: what music he listens to when he goes on long drives, his favorite type of wine, the best tea for a rainy Sunday morning. And it isn't just his speaking….Comte listens. He really listens when you talk, when you ask questions, when you give an opinion. He rests his chin on his hand, head tilted ever so slightly, his entire attention focused on you, whether you are explaining the fine points of one of the many Treaties of Paris or doing your best to convince him that dipping your French fries in your milkshake really does make them taste better. 

With the glow of remembrance in your smile, you slide into the seat next to him, running your fingers along the soft grain of the elegant wooden chair as you settle in.

“Ready as I'll ever be,” you say, returning his smile while looking at the array of books he has spread out across the table. “Let’s do this.”

“Oui,” he says as his smile curves into a grin. “Tonight we’re focusing on art for your art history final. You already sent me the list of pieces your professor wants you to know for your exam so we can work our way through those.”

You breathe in, trying not to get distracted by the warm, earthy scent of his cologne.

“Professor Leonardo is great but it’s such a long list….” Your shoulders slump at the thought of tackling everything on it. And then you feel Comte’s hand there, on your forearm, warm even through the soft material of your blouse.

“Then let us begin.”

He spends hours, guiding you through Girl with the Pearl Earring, The Birth of Venus, Las Meninas, and Water Lillies. You wander through the great masters like an enamored visitor in an enchanted garden, listening as Comte helps you to remember what you have learned about the paintings as well as unlocking secrets you have never heard before. He leads you through the design of the Colosseum, the Parthenon, Hagia Sofia, Notre Dame, his voice a golden thread that spins you across the architectural wonders. And now, in your final hour of study, he opens the book of sculptures. You visit Rodin’s Thinker, Michelangelo’s David, the Venus de Milo. And finally, you come to the last sculpture on your list: Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss by Antonio Canova.

“Ah…” He pulls the book closer, the photograph of the sculpture filling the page. “This….is a masterpiece of….” He glances over at you, brow lifted as he waits for the answer.

“Neoclassicism…but with strong elements of the Romantic, given the subject matter.”

“Bien joué.” The praise falls from his lips softly, slides over you like melting wax, sends a jolt of heat across your skin. He doesn’t seem to notice as he flattens down the pages with both hands, his bright eyes roaming over the image.

“So you know the story of Cupid and Psyche?”

You try to remember what Professor Leonardo explained in class when he had introduced the sculpture. “She opened a forbidden jar and was put to sleep as punishment?” 

Comte nods. “Venus forbid Psyche from opening the jar. It supposedly held Divine Beauty. Psyche could not resist temptation and instead of beauty, she was overcome by the Sleep of Innermost Darkness.” He grins slowly. “Very dramatic. Cupid sees his lover unconscious and pricks her with an arrow, awakening her. This sculpture captures that moment.”

Outside the library window, the streetlamp glows a soft orange. A light rain is now falling, making the light seem as if it is dancing, shimmering against the night.

“Just look at the lines,” he murmurs. He takes his index finger and slowly begins tracing the line of Psyche’s body. It follows the curve of her torso as she stretches up towards Cupid. “Her arms reach back for him.”

You lean in, closer to Comte, watching the path his finger makes along the glossy page. Your heart is suddenly hammering a woodpecker’s song against your breastbone.

“Her hands are in her lover’s hair, the gesture so familiar, so loving.” He traces down the line of Psyche's neck. “And here….she is bent back to him, so exposed and vulnerable, tilting to look up into his face. What do you see there?”

His voice winds itself around you, wrapping you in golden vines of warmth and want. You need a moment to find your own. When you do, it is only capable of expressing itself in a breathless whisper.

“Tenderness. Joy.”

He nods slowly, trailing his finger down Cupid’s strong arm. “And what do you see in him?”

Your thoughts are bright butterflies, sparks that fly up into the haze of your mind and explode in little pinpricks of light. Blinking, trying to control the overwhelming wave of attraction that threatens to pull you under, you reach out and touch the same page, your fingers scant centimeters from his.

“He’s…..adoring. The way he holds her head, his fingers touching her face. And he’s smiling at her, affectionately. Openly.” Your gaze drops down to where Comte’s finger points to Cupid’s left arm. You clear your throat and continue. “He covers her breasts with his arm, shielding her from the viewer, and yet that one hand holds her in a way that’s….it’s so intimate. It feels somehow more intimate than if we would see her bare.” Your voice is a whisper, soft and woven through with delicate wisps of yearning. “He touches her as if he’s done it a hundred times and still revels in it…..” You trail off, pressing your lips together, unable to go on.

Comte’s fingers brush against yours and you turn your head, startled to find that your faces are so very close. Outside the rain gently rolls down the massive glass window. The streetlamp flickers. Comte’s gaze is a steady golden sun.

“He adores her,” he murmurs, his voice rolling through you. You feel his fingers move, covering yours on the page. 

“She marvels at him,” you answer quietly, your fingers curling around his in response.

He leans down ever so slightly, his mouth so close you can feel the warmth of his words on your lips. “He dreams of her……” 

“.....and he is what makes her waking sublime…” The words are hardly more than the breaths between heartbeats.

His mouth brushes faintly against yours, the softest touch, a silken feather, a velvet caress.

“....He wants nothing more…..” His hand tightens around yours, his chest rising and falling with the contained power of his emotion. “...than to kiss her….”

“He should,” you say, soft as a nightingale welcoming a summer evening. "He should kiss her."

And he does, pressing his lips against yours as the wave that has been looming ever closer pours down upon you both. One hand rises, gripping the nape of your neck with tender ardor. You plunge your free hand into the soft wilderness of his tawny hair, opening your mouth to taste him.

Your other hand? It is still tightly holding onto his, a promise you won’t let go.

An echo of Cupid and his beloved Psyche.

Pysche Revived by Cupid's Kiss- Antonio Canova, 1793

Tagging: @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @olivermorningstar @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @ikesimpleton @ikemenlibrary @namine-somebodies-nobody @cellophanediamond @whatever-fanfics @justpeachyteastea @chirp-a-chirp @got7igot7family @kookie-my-little-sunshine @mastering-procrastinating @portrait-ninja @fang-and-feather @bubblexly @kiki-tties

[drafthorsemath]

Tooka Dad

Crosshair x Veterinarian OC Rayla

Word Count: 6.331k

Warnings: None really – Fluff, new relationship, cuddling, bed sharing. Brief descriptions of a stray animal in need of medical attention, TLC, and spaying. Brief mentions of Crosshair’s medical trauma / tomophobia.

A/N: This came to my brain and now it’s words. I don’t know what else to say about it. No description of Rayla’s appearance outside of her being fem and using she/her pronouns.  Thank you to @staycalmandhugaclone @eclec-tech and @lightwise for the encouragement.

It had been months since Crosshair had rejoined his siblings and they found themselves on Pabu. The adjustment had been difficult. It was still difficult. There were many things he wouldn’t speak about. His brothers gave him some space, not pushing too much, but making sure he knew he wasn’t alone. He, Omega, and Tech had spent time together healing physically after Mt. Tantiss, as well as healing whatever mental wounds they could. Those were taking the most time, especially for Crosshair.

He didn’t want to leave the house today, but Wrecker insisted (in his own Wrecker way) that he come to the docks and help move some cargo. Crosshair rolled his eyes but got to his feet and followed his brother down to the ocean. They spent the morning moving crates from boats on to the docks, but as the sun continued to beam down on them, Crosshair’s eyes started to ache from the light.

“I got it from here,” Wrecker said, knowing his brother’s sensitivity.  Crosshair simply nodded his thanks and headed toward some shade. Before he could sit down, he saw something small scamper away from behind one of the crates Wrecker picked up. He followed the movements and kneeled down, looking under a bench that sat under a tree.

“What is it,” Wrecker asked.

A tiny gray tooka kitten peered at them through crusty eyes. Crosshair wasn’t entirely sure how the little creature could see.

“Tooka,” Crosshair answered. Wrecker knelt down further and smiled at the scared kitten.

“A baby tooka? Aww, Crosshair we gotta take it home.”  Wrecker smiled and tried to make space so he could grab the little ball of fur, but the kitten would have none of it and scurried to hide behind the other side of the bench.

“Just wait,” the Crosshair advised. His brother sighed but nodded and got back to work. Instead of sitting on the bench, Crosshair sat on the ground next to it.  The next two hours were spent waiting for the animal to come out. He wasn’t going to force anything. Wrecker checked in after he was done with the crates.  Although the tooka hadn’t moved, he knew that if anyone had the patience to wait it out and earn its trust, it was Crosshair.  Wrecker went home, grabbed some lunch, and brought it back. He silently held out some homemade bread and fruit to his brother, sitting next to him as they silently ate. The tooka let out a little squeak and Wrecker saw just the smallest tug of a smile on his Crosshair’s face. Eventually Wrecker decided to head home and help Tech with moving some big equipment.

As the time passed, Crosshair thought of his time away from his siblings. How much doubt and fear were in his heart despite deciding to stay on the platform on Kamino. Of the ongoing pain he had each time his chip was enhanced. The absolute horror in his soul when his actions felt like they were someone else’s, but he knew his hands pulled the trigger. He had never wanted to lose control and yet the Empire had him in its grasp and his mind wasn’t fully his own. He’d been so conditioned and the chip only added another layer of complexity. He closed his eyes and sighed as he pressed his hands flat on the ground beneath him in an attempt to center himself in the here and now. He wasn’t alone anymore. Just as he had this thought, he felt some tiny fluff brush against his hand.  He opened his eyes to find the kitten sitting next to his fingertips.  He gently picked up the creature and stood. The tooka didn’t make a sound and didn’t fight as Crosshair walked back them back to Upper Pabu. He was fairly certain the lack of fight was only because the animal was fur and bones.

“Tech,” was all he said upon finding his brother working on the Marauder. Tech stood, adjusting his goggles, and raised his eyebrows.

“A tooka,” he replied, “and in a sorry state.”

Crosshair hummed in agreement. Tech knew this was his brother’s way of asking for help. He pulled out his datapad and examined the kitten in Crosshair’s hands.

“There appears to be an eye infection, parasites, and a serious lack of nutrition,” noted Tech. “I could possibly find some food for her, but I cannot immediately find appropriate medication for her ailments. Why don’t you take her to the veterinarian?”

Crosshair sighed. At least he now knew the tooka was a she and some of what was going on with her, but he wasn’t quite sure about a veterinarian. He didn’t want this little girl to be scared any more than she already was and he understood how anything medical might cause her more fear.  Then again, she looked miserable and he couldn’t let her stay that way.

“Alright,” he agreed. He didn’t even realize the island had a veterinarian.  Tech gave him the location and he headed back down the path.

It had been a long day for Rayla. One of Pabu’s residents had decided to buy a pair of orbaks to help cart goods around and she hadn’t treated anything with hooves since veterinary school. One of them was particularly stubborn, but she liked a good challenge. It was never about forcing something on an animal. It was about reading body language and helping them feel safe enough to get through any needed procedures.

She looked up as a tall man came through the door. She smiled to herself. Rayla had spent time with his brothers since they settled on Pabu and Omega was fascinated with her career choice.  They talked about him briefly, but she hadn’t met him yet.

“Hello,” she said with a soft smile. “Crosshair, right? I’m Rayla. How can I help you?”

Crosshair looked at the woman in front of him and then down at the tiny tooka. “Found her,” he said.  He didn’t seem surprised she knew his name. There were some people on the island who guessed who he was based on association.

“How about you come back to the exam room and we’ll take a look,” Rayla offered. He simply nodded and followed.  Crosshair looked around the room, almost more afraid than the tooka. There were various instruments, and he was sure there were even more in the cabinet. The veterinarian washed her hands and put on some gloves.

“How about we start with a weight,” she suggested, nodding to the scale. Crosshair put the kitten down, almost afraid to let go. She weighed much less than she should. Rayla noted her weight and then suggested a particular food for her. He nodded and moved her off the scale. He couldn’t quite keep his hands off her, trying to keep the contact while the exam was completed for fear of losing her or seeing her scared.

“She’s got an eye infection. I can give you drops for those and show you how to put them in.” He nodded.  He noticed Rayla stopped and gave the kitten a little break and spoke kindly to her before looking through her fur.

“She has fleas too.” 

His eyes got wide, but he still didn’t pull away from her.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “Fleas are species specific. Her fleas won’t harm anyone but other tookas. We can give her a flea bath now if you’d like.” Crosshair nodded and let out a little relieved breath.

He held on to her while Rayla filled a small tub with warm water. Crosshair tentatively put the small creature in the tub. While the veterinarian worked the shampoo in and rinsed, he held the kitten and helped keep her head up.  The little tooka clung to his thumb with her front legs and Rayla couldn’t help but smile.

“She’s really taken with you,” she said.

“Mm,” was all he let out, but his eyes went soft. 

“Are you planning on keeping her or would you like me to find her a hom-“

“No,” he firmly blurted out before quieting his tone again. “I’ll keep her.”

“Sounds good,” she replied, getting a towel. 

Crosshair took it upon himself to wrap her up.  Rayla showed him how to put drops in her eyes. 

“In about a week you could give her a dewormer pill.” 

He nodded and followed her out of the room.  She gathered the dewormer pill, some food for the kitten - explaining that for the time being she needed food that would be easy on her digestive system - and a lightweight slip lead. Rayla put everything in a bag and handed it to him.  Getting out a data pad for her records, she asked if the newly adopted animal had a name yet.

“Vaar’ika,” he said.

“What does it mean,” she asked curiously.

“Pip-squeak.”  Just as he said that, Vaar’ika let out tiny peep that made Rayla smile. She entered the relevant information.

“Well then,” she replied, “congratulations Vaar’ika. And congratulations Tooka Dad.”

Crosshair felt warmth flood his cheeks and ears, but it wasn’t unwelcome. He nodded at all Rayla’s directions about the dewormer and a follow up appointment. 

As he left, Rayla couldn’t help but think that she quite liked him. He may have said very few words, but he was so expressive.  He was easy for her to read and she knew she could trust a man who adopted an ailing kitten without question.

Crosshair took Vaar’ika home. Wrecker had already told Echo, Hunter, and Omega about her and Omega waited at the window to meet this new addition to the family.  Crosshair came through the door and held the little one close to his chest. She was exhausted and he could feel her little body shake from the stress of the day.

“I want to help,” Omega declared.

Crosshair didn’t say anything as he walked toward his bedroom. He simply nodded in the general direction of the hallway and Omega’s smile grew as she knew it meant she could follow him.  Crosshair put the tiny bundle on his bed and started looking for something to make a tooka bed.

“What’s wrong with her eyes,” Omega asked.

“Infection,” Crosshair answered. “Needs to be given eye drops for a few days at least.”

“I can help,” Omega answered.

“Omega,” Crosshair warned. He knew she was excited, but he wanted to approach the kitten’s treatment in a methodical way.  He looked at his sister for several moments and then nodded. “Fine, but she won’t need more drops until tomorrow.”

Crosshair shuffled through his belongings in his closet and found an old pair of blacks. He used a spare pillow to make something of a little bed with the blacks as a bedding.  He placed the new bed on the floor near his own.  Omega watched as the little tooka crawled on the bed closer to her brother.  He put her on the new bed and quietly told her he’d be back soon.  Omega followed him down the hall and grinned at her other brothers who were all at least a bit curious about their new roommate.  While Crosshair grabbed a small plate and spoon and headed back to his room, Omega helped Echo and Hunter with dinner.

Vaar’ika was hiding under his bed, but Crosshair sat down, opened a can of food, and spooned out a little on the plate.  He placed it on the floor and she came out to eat.  He smiled while watching her eat. She had an appetite and he knew that was important in her healing. He retrieved a little bowl of water for her and gave her a bit more food.  After she finished eating and drinking, she jumped up on the window and pawed at it.  Crosshair pursed his lips and then decided to take her outside. He looped the leash around her and picked her up.  His hunch was right. Almost immediately, she found a spot to relieve herself.  Maybe he had lucked out when it came to house training.

When finished, she tried climbing his leg and he picked her up. Her eyes were less messy than they were before, and he could make out the way she looked at him. He felt a little glow in his heart at the thought that this creature had chosen him and wanted to be with him.  He took her back inside, took off the leash, and placed her back on the makeshift bed. During dinner with his siblings some questions were asked, but no one asked if he would be keeping her. Based on what they saw, they knew she would stay and it would be a good change.

Once dinner was over, Crosshair made his way back to his room to give Vaar’ika another small meal. She ate it quickly and climbed on the window again. He took her out and this time she wandered around a little bit, exploring her new home.  He took her back in, holding her in the crook of his arm and heading to bed. He placed her on her own bed, but once he climbed into his own, he could see her moving in the darkness. She made her way up the side of his bed post and purred as she snuggled against his chest.  Crosshair smiled to himself and fluffed her hair before they drifted off to sleep together.

Crosshair spent the next few days helping her find her feet. They established morning and evening walk routes.  He purchased a little pink collar for her, making sure it included her name and his.  It wasn’t long before he was comfortable taking her around off-leash. She never wandered too far and for the most part, seemed to like watching this world from her perch on his shoulders.  He let Omega hold Vaar’ika when it was time to put her eyedrops in, but he never let Omega put the drops in. Finally Omega managed to wear him down and convinced him to let her try.  Crosshair held the kitten, holding her back to his chest and supporting her back end with one hand. Omega approached the tooka’s eyes with the dropper bottle, aiming for the middle of her left eye.

“Omega, no!” It came out a little louder than he meant. He leaned back to pull his little bundle away. He gave his sister a warning look.  She looked confused and a little hurt. He took a deep breath and found calm again. Until he had visited Rayla, he wouldn’t have known what to do either. It wasn’t fair to expect Omega to know without help.

“Aim for the corner of her eyes. It’s easier that way.” He offered her a smile and Omega tried again, this time leaving a couple little drops in each corner of Vaar’ika’s eyes.

“Perfect,” he said to his sister.  “Thank you.”

“Happy to help,” Omega replied.

He was supposed to give the tooka her dewormer pill, but wasn’t sure he could do it and certainly didn’t expect Omega to. He remembered Rayla’s instructions as he sat Vaar’ika on his bed and held the tiny pill between his thumb and finger.

“Simply open her mouth, pop the pill in, and hold her mouth closed until she swallows,” Rayla had said. He hadn’t thought much about it since at the time, he knew it was a future problem and he was only focused on eye drops and establishing some routines.  Now that it came to it, he looked at his little friend and couldn’t just open her mouth.  And what, he thought. Force her to swallow a pill?  It reminded him too much of the procedures he and his brothers had been forced through. He remembered thinking a warning before a necessary injection or asking him if he was ready would have helped him a great deal as a young cadet, yet he had never really been afforded that dignity.

He sighed to himself, picked up Vaar’ika and the pill, and marched to the vet clinic.  Rayla was just finishing with a client and about to go to lunch when he walked in.

“Crosshair!” She beamed at him, happy to see him with the tooka. “And Vaar’ika. How are you?”

“I can’t give her the pill,” he said directly.

“Did she not want it,” Rayla asked. Many animals had trouble taking medication and it wasn’t an uncommon concern.  “Did she spit it up?”

“No,” Crosshair said, revealing he still had the pill in its original form. “I can’t make her take it.”

Rayla sensed a great amount of empathy in him. He seemed scared to hurt this kitten, this small creature he’d already becoming so very attached to.

“She might take it if you mix it in her food. Is she still eating?”

Crosshair nodded.

“Okay,” Rayla acknowledged. “Cut the pill in quarters and put it in her dinner tonight. If she doesn’t eat it all, stop by tomorrow and we’ll see about another way.”

Crosshair nodded again.

“May I,” Rayla asked, hands out to touch the tooka.  Crosshair nodded a third time and Rayla petted the little pile of fluff.  She purred at the vet.

“I’m glad to see her eyes have cleared up,” she said. “She probably doesn’t need the drops anymore after tomorrow. Just keep the rest of the bottle should she need them in the future. She already looks so much better. She’ll need a few vaccines as soon as you feel she’s strong enough and she’ll be old enough to spay in a couple months. Unless you want more kittens.”

Crosshair froze a bit. He’d assumed that was further down the road, but not this soon.  He didn’t want her to get pregnant. He wanted to do the responsible thing for her and was sure Hunter would have a few words with him if there were kittens. Besides, he didn’t want to worry about her going through pregnancy and labor.

“Let’s schedule that now,” he said.

Rayla nodded and pulled up her schedule. He’d be back in a week for the vaccines. They decided on a day for the spaying and she gave him instructions for what to do the night before and day of as far as food and water.

“See you both in a week for vaccines,” she said as they left.

Crosshair held Vaar’ika a little closer to his chest, hugging her before letting her perch on his shoulders. He didn’t like the thought of putting her through surgery or even the vaccinations. He knew they were necessary, but he didn’t want her in pain ever. Still, he knew it was for the best. To help him relax, he took the long way home, chuckling as Vaar’ika hissed at a few moon-yos who tried reaching for her.  His thoughts also went to this veterinarian. Most people on the island were nice enough, but he didn’t let anyone close. This person was watching him at some very vulnerable moments whether she knew it or not.

That evening he cut the dewormer pill up into quarters and mixed it into the tooka food.  He placed the plate down and Vaar’ika started eating. She paused at one point, knowing there was something different, and Crosshair held his breath. She took a taste and didn’t seem to mind and finished the entire thing. He felt so much relief. That night, like every night at this point, the kitten climbed into his bed and slept cuddled up against him. When she got up to stretch her feet or if she needed to go outside, he immediately woke up at the loss of her tiny body’s warmth. Then they’d get back to bed and fall asleep together.

Crosshair started finding reasons to visit the vet clinic in the days leading up to vaccination day. The smallest question about changing her food as she grew, asking questions about exercise, and some of the more mundane things. He knew that he just wanted to see Rayla and have an excuse to get outside with Vaar’ika. Rayla didn’t mind. He always patiently waited if she was already with someone or had an appointment. She liked seeing him and the positive impact the tooka and the sniper had on each other.  She let Crosshair say as much or as little as he wanted. She asked questions but knew when to back off. She wasn’t a completely open book, but she shared parts of herself with him too. He got curious and asked how she ended up on Pabu one day after she’d shown him how to make sure the kitten’s nails didn’t get too long. She explained how she left her home world when the Empire started taking over cities on the other side of her planet. She wasn’t going to wait around to see what would happen.

“Smart,” he replied. Rayla smiled sadly. She missed her former home, but knew she was lucky to be here. The threat of sea surges was much less daunting than dealing with the Empire.

“See you next time, Crosshair.”

He let a tiny smile escape and he left.

When he showed up for the kitten’s scheduled vaccines, he was a bit of a mess. He didn’t want her to be upset or hurt, but he also didn’t want to risk her dying of something preventable.

“I’ll be quick and I’ll use the smallest needle I have,” Rayla promised. “Do you want me to take her in the back and just get it over with or do you want to be with her.”  She knew some animals did better away from their nervous person, but it was very much a case-by-case situation.

“I can’t leave her,” he replied.

Rayla nodded and instinctively put a hand on his arm.  He let out a breath. They went back in the exam room and she weighed the tooka, noticing she’d put on a good amount of weight.

“Would you like to sit and hold her instead of keeping her on the exam table,” the vet asked.

Crosshair nodded and sat down, holding Vaar’ika. A small smile pulled at his cheek and he relaxed as she looked up at him. She wasn’t scared. The little fluff ball was just happy to be with him.

“I’ll be quick. Just two little jabs. Here we go.”  Rayla moved quickly and precisely.  The kitten let out a couple of squeaks, but nothing too bad. After it was over, Rayla smiled as she heard him quietly telling Vaar’ika what a great job she did.  As he was about to leave, Rayla decided to take her chance.

“Hey, not to be too forward,” she started, suddenly feeling very nervous now that she was putting this into words.  Crosshair turned back to look at her curiously.

She continued, trying to keep any shakiness at bay.  “You’ve stopped by a lot and we’ve gotten to know each other more and I was just thinking… if you want to spend some time together after hours, let me know.” 

“Dinner,” he asked.

“I’d like that,” she replied.

“Tomorrow?”

“You know when I close.”

“I’ll be here.”

Both felt a warmth radiate over their cheeks as they said their goodbyes for the day. Crosshair carried his little bundle home while his mind ran wild with all kinds of thoughts. He didn’t want to let his nerves get to him and at the same time, he was giddy at the thought of spending more time with Rayla. He had to grin to himself. She liked his company. He hadn’t gotten very close to anyone who wasn’t a clone. There was an understanding with his brothers. He’d grown up with them. Omega was incredibly understanding of everyone, almost to the point of his annoyance. Even with the regs, there was an understanding. Learning about someone in-depth with a completely different background was a newer experience to him, but he found that Rayla embraced each bit of himself that he revealed. Even when he was having an extra grumpy and stressful day, she seemed happy to see him.

The next evening, he left Vaar’ika with Wrecker and Omega. They were more than happy to babysit the tooka.  They were having a movie night and Crosshair knew she would be doing her utmost to steal their snacks. The thought made him very happy.

He tried to pick out his nicest outfit and headed to the vet clinic.  He sat in the waiting room and listened to Rayla explain the medication dosage for someone’s pet bird. Rayla joined him a few minutes after the bird and their owner left.  She’d quickly changed out of her scrubs and into a simple dress before joining him.

“You look nice,” she said with a smile.

“So do you.”

“I thought I’d try to wear something nicer than my scrubs,” she replied.

“You’d look nice in anything,” he said as heat rose to his cheeks.

Rayla wasn’t sure what to say. She felt seen and beamed up at him.  They headed to a quiet restaurant on the other side of the island. While people all tended to know each other on Pabu, they both wanted some time just the two of them so the calmer spot seemed more ideal. They ordered and sat while watching the sun start to set.

“I’ll level with you,” Rayla said. “I’ve talked to your siblings. I feel like I know quite a bit about you, but I want to learn about you from you.”

He simply nodded. “Not much to say,” he replied.

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

Rayla asked him some questions, wanted to know a bit about sniping, and how he liked the island.  She was also interested in his enhanced skills. The scientist in her was curious, but she wanted to keep it respectful. Crosshair’s comments were short as usual, but as time went by and they ate, he shared a bit more about himself. For now, they avoided the topic of the Empire.

“Tell me about yourself,” he said before taking a sip of his drink. He was much more interested in learning about her than talking about himself.

“I think you already know a lot about me from our earlier conversations,” she answered.

“Hmm,” he said thoughtfully with a bit of a smile on his face. “Have you always worked alone? You do so much.”

“I had a vet tech until I came here. Actually, I purchased a GH-7 medical droid recently and I’m trying to modify it for veterinary work.”

“Tech will be pleased to hear that,” Crosshair replied. “He loves those kinds of projects. He’ll pick your brain next time he sees you.” Crosshair was pleased too. He saw how hard she worked and felt she needed a bit of a break sometimes. Having an assistant could go a long way in helping make her job easier.

“I’m sure. If I run into trouble Tech’s the first person I’d ask for help when it comes to droids.” She took a couple more bites of food and added, “Of course it helps to have the personal touch and I’ll still be very involved. It’ll just help to have a droid to do some of the more routine and boring things, measuring out and compounding medication, answering comms, billing, ordering supplies, passing my tools during surgeries, and making sure procedures are as precise as possible.” She then told a story about a droid she knew in vet school who was reprogrammed to only want to work on massiffs. A couple of her fellow vet students thought it would be funny for the professor’s droid to randomly refuse to help with other animals during demonstrations and who tried to switch places with other droids so it could work exclusively on massiffs. He watched her with a soft smile on his face while she told this story. As she finished, she paused for a moment.

“Sorry,” she said. “Didn’t mean to go on. It was just a silly thing to watch unfold.”

“No, I liked it,” he replied. He didn’t want her to stop. “Dessert?”

She beamed and nodded. They shared a piece of cake topped with all kinds of local fruit. He let her have the last bite but hoped it wouldn’t be the last time they shared a meal.  He walked her home and once at the door bit his lip as his eyes darted a bit.

“Could we do this again,” he asked.

“What are you doing on Benduday?”

Each date felt a little more comfortable than the last. His favorite dates were whenever they would go out on a boat together just the two of them. It was incredibly peaceful and gave him the chance to be a bit more open without worrying about anyone else around them.

One evening she was supposed to meet him at the restaurant and didn’t. He’d brought flowers and wore a new shirt and definitely didn’t love the feeling of sitting at the table alone. He thought to himself that this was the first time in a long time where he was consistently seeking the presence of another instead of solitude. Before he could spiral and let too many negative thoughts enter his mind, he decided to check at the clinic. He knew there might have been an emergency that required her attention.  When he arrived, the clinic door was unlocked and he saw a light coming from an exam room.  He let himself in and sat in the waiting area.

In the exam room, Rayla explain the situation to the worried owner. Her scans indicated a foreign object blocking the stomach and she and GHost – the now modified GH-7 droid – completed surgery to remove the offending mass. She sent the patient and their person home with a course of medication to help. Not long after they left, Rayla came out to find Crosshair dozing in his chair.  She walked up to him and kissed his forehead.

“Mm.” He opened his eyes to look up at her. “Missed you.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “It was an emergency.”

“I know,” he replied, standing up and kissing her cheek. “These are for you.”

She took the flowers and kissed him again. “They’re lovely. Thank you.”  After a pause and check of the time, she added, “I’ll clean up quickly. Walk me home?”

He simply nodded. She cleaned off all the equipment and the table in the exam room, turned out the lights, and took his hand. They took their time walking together. It was a pleasant night and both were a little sad they didn’t get to have a relaxing dinner together.

“We should go out after Vaar’ika heals from her spay surgery,” Rayla suggested, knowingly adding, “I know you won’t want to leave her until she’s all healed up.”

“I just want to make sure she’ll be okay,” he answered. “But yes. I’d like that.”

She squeezed his hand and they grinned at each other.

The night before Vaar’ika’s spay, Crosshair was a mess. He barely slept. The only thing that calmed him down was the little tooka herself. She had no idea what was coming but was simply living in the moment and in this moment, she wanted to sleep on his chest. He sat in front of a holovid with his family and slowly stroked the her soft fur. They fell asleep together as usual, but the next morning, his jitters were back.

He walked her to the clinic, letting her perch on his shoulder, but carrying a crate since she would still be drowsy on the way home and Rayla insisted she needed a crate to limit movement while she healed.

“Good morning,” Rayla said as they came through the door. “Ready?”

Crosshair didn’t respond but tried to smile.

“She’s going to do great. I even have my droid GHost ready to go, unless you aren’t comfortable with him assisting me.”

Crosshair simply shook his head that he didn’t mind. “I trust you.”

Rayla took Vaar’ika and the crate as Crosshair tried to decide if he wanted to sit or pace. Her experience said that getting this over with was the best plan. Her voice softened and she tried to reassure him.

“It won’t take long. I’ll make sure she has pain management and that she’s fully anesthetized, so she doesn’t feel anything during the procedure.”

He nodded and sat down.  Rayla took the tooka to the back to prepare her for surgery. GHost weighed her and drew the appropriate levels of medication. As the tooka went to sleep and Rayla shaved her belly, Crosshair could hear the calm way she addressed his little companion.

“Looks like you’re asleep already. Oxygen levels and heart rate are normal. Let’s begin.” It wasn’t long before Crosshair heard her say, “There’s that little uterus. Tiny thing. Already out. Let’s close.”

Crosshair started shaking but breathed through it. The adrenaline that was coursing through his system all morning had finally started to wear off and it left him feeling a bit dizzy. He sat back and focused on his breathing while he heard the woman he loved talking sweetly to Vaar’ika.  Not long after, Rayla reappeared with a sleepy tooka in the crate. Without thinking about it, Crosshair embraced her as he became overwhelmed with relief.

“She did great, love. She really did. She should heal up perfectly.”  Rayla went over care instructions and ended it with “She should stay in her crate as much as possible for the first week. No climbing or jumping. I used surgical glue that has some bacta in it so she will heal faster. Try to keep that cone on her so she doesn’t lick.” Crosshair nodded. “And comm me if anything comes up.”

Vaar’ika slept most of the day. She whined a bit at dinner time and Crosshair let her outside only long enough to relieve herself and then it was back inside before she could go exploring. She seemed like her normal self but was also pretty groggy. He ate in his room so he could watch her and made sure she took her medication and ate enough. That night, he knew he was supposed to let her sleep in her crate, but the drugs from earlier had worn off enough that she knew exactly where she was and didn’t understand why she wasn’t allowed to sleep in bed with him. She cried until he relented and purred as she snuggled up against him in his comfortable bed.

The next morning was the hardest. She felt an ache at the incision site and it clearly hurt her to move compared to yesterday, despite the pain medication. He tried not to think too hard about it, feeling unsure of when to ask for help and what was normal. She’d had surgery after all, it was impossible for her to feel completely healed in less than a single day.  He laid around the house with her, cuddling her close since that seemed to help her stay more comfortable. He was grumpier with his siblings, though. He tried to keep to himself, but once Omega and Wrecker started playing and making a bit of a racket, he took Vaar’ika to the clinic. He wasn’t sure exactly why he was going. He didn’t think it was an emergency, but knew Rayla would be done with her work, barring anything urgent. He sat in the waiting room and talked gently to the little ball of tired fluff laying in his arms. He rhythmically stroked her fur, but didn’t feel her usual happy purr.

“She okay,” Rayla asked, appearing as she finished cleaning up the exam room.

“Not sure,” Crosshair replied.

“Mind if I look?”

Crosshair handed the tooka over to Rayla who carefully turned her over.

“Looks like it’s healing fine. Don’t see any sign of infection. She might just be in a bit more pain than anticipated. I can give her an extra little med patch if you want to try that.”

Crosshair nodded. As Rayla retrieved a patch and cut it down to the right size, she asked, “What else is going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“You have a lot on your mind and you look… gruff.”

He shook his head and let out a breath.  “Just worried about her and it’s loud at home.”

“Well, you’re welcome to have some quiet time here. I have some paperwork to do, some blood tests to analyze, and then I’m headed home. You’re welcome to join me if the two of you need a change of pace.”

Crosshair’s eyes warmed and he returned her familiar smile.  He sat back down and went back to petting Vaar’ika until she fell asleep. The patch seemed to help her feel better and by extension, he felt better.  Rayla worked nearby, looking through her datapad, taking inventory, and updating her notes as she went along. The rest of the day went by without a hitch. It was a good day when there were no major emergencies. She made sure her comm was on, knowing that some days no one needed her until she left for home. She packed up and walked home with Crosshair and Vaar’ika.  As they headed down the road, she broke the silence.

“She hasn’t slept in her crate, has she?”

Crosshair grinned almost shyly. “She’s used to sleeping with me. She stays still.”

“As long as she’s still. Don’t want her hurting her incision.”

The evening was perfectly quiet. They ate a simple meal and cleaned up together while Vaar’ika napped in the armchair. Later, they found themselves in bed together for the first time. Crosshair lifted his arm and pulled Rayla to his side. She laid an arm around his waist while Vaar’ika curled up in the crook of his neck. He felt his heartbeat syncing with Rayla’s. She smiled and kissed his cheek before she closed her eyes. They soaked in each other’s warmth and fell asleep.

[0heartangel0]

Pt 2: Alice Hiragi's High-School And Earning Trust

Okay, let's fast-forward a bit to after the thieves successfully infiltrate Alice's castle, but can't get inside her birdcage due to this invisible door being in the way. Touching it reveals a voice taunting and being rude to Alice. The voice sounds like it belongs to a high-school girl. With the help of Sophia, they conclude that in order get rid of this door, they have to find the place linked to where these voices came from. They realize that it's a school, so go back to the real world in search for the high-school Alice Hiiragi used to go to.

However, Futaba, despite being the tech-wiz, can't seem to find any info regarding her high-school, almost as if someone intentionally wiped it off the face of the web.

Oh, no! How on Earth are they gonna get out of this one? If only there was some random guy working for the government, who just so happened to have the very information they're looking for, just strolling around here, willing to give up said information!

Well, look who it is! The thieves are once again up in arms about Zenkichi’s mere presence, with Yusuke even calling him a "shady detective." The funniest bit about that is that the part of the title that bothers Zenkichi is the "detective" part, and seemingly missed the shady part, until last minute:

(Bizarre how just last night, he would be all smug about being called shady in an optional dialogue, but now, he's very worried about coming across as such. Weird.)

He's here to offer information regarding where Alice Hiragi went to high-school - the exact information you need right now at this convenient moment!

Wait a sec-

What the actual-

But that doesn't even answer my question!

Oh.

Well. Okay then. He wins that one, I ain't gonna argue.

Anyway, since any info on Alice prior to her career is seemingly non-existent, seems only reasonable to happily take some off the hands of an equally reasonable PubSec offic-

Oof. Well, that didn't go so well.

Haru reminds Zenkichi once again of her least favorite kinds of people (him), which gets him to realize out-loud that if he's gonna get anywhere with them, he's gotta earn their trust. And with that, he reveals that she was their "senpai" (except for Yusuke. We needed that cleared up, apparently). As soon as he drops this info, he giddily tells them:

Except, they don't?

He gave them the information with no strings attached. In fact, he was able to even drop them information because he realized he needed to earn their trust, since they never wanted his info due to being a shady cop.

And yet, he makes it so they just miraculously owe him now that he has given them his very useful intel that he worked so hard to retrieve! And wait a second-

According to an optional line of dialogue, it's implied that he only *just* found out about the high-school thing that they needed so desperately. He even offers to go back to HQ to retrieve the information they might need on her. But, he somehow already knows which school she went to, off the cuff. How? How is that the first thing that sticks to your mind upon looking at her file? We know he has been at least looking into her, especially considering he approached them with the whole Alice interview, but everything? Is he just really good at memorizing things and/or is he really just that thorough with his investigating? I should probably stop there, or we'd be here all day.

The scene concludes with the thieves realizing the police seem to also be suspicious of Alice, considering he already had info on her (so I AM right, but still doesn't answer why he just remembered such an odd and seemingly irrelevant piece of info on her), and that they might have to reluctantly trust Zenkichi in what he says (even though they really shouldn't).

We don't see Zenkichi again, till a blink-and-you'll miss-it moment during the Shibuya calling card, where he's seen among the crowd watching the whole thing unfold. We get a few close-up shots of him, but one that stood out was the final shot, where we only get a side profile of his face below the eyes, showing him smirking:

my theory is that it's him realizing that his plan is working. I mentioned this "plan" before in the first part, but never specified it. All I'll say for now, is that he's gonna get the thieves to finally accept his deal, whether they want to, or not.

This will be further elaborated in part 3, where all is revealed!

Pt. 1

Pt. 3

Pt. 4

[lt-taylor7]

i have a headcanon about Javi Rivera

He knows NOTHING about the actual car aspect of the storm par truck. (The Lion) if anything goes wrong with the actual tech part? Nah he’s fine he has no problem. But god forbid it goes unbalanced, or the oil change light comes on? He’s got no idea what to do.

(not proofread, bad grammar, GN reader, just a blurb that got too long)

that’s where you come in, a small local shop owner, one of the only in Oklahoma with a four post hoist. He had no idea what that means but he knows you specializes in heavy weight vehicles, and at a good price for its quality. So here he was, pulling the rig into the front of your shop, rushing in with a hand through his hair.

“can I help you?” You ask with a small laugh at his frantic state, washing some oil off your hands with an already dirty rag. He looks up at you, unsure as to what to say frantically searching for his words. “My truck- it’s custom- the tires.” You put a hand up and cut him off, “Javi Rivera, The big ram right?” You ask, remembering the booked consultation. He let out a relieved sigh, “yeah.” He said, his shoulders visibly dropping. A nervous hand through his hair again, “it needs an oil change and I was thinking of putting it on all season tires but I wasn’t sure if it would fit the truck well, or if I can even change them without rotations-“ he rambled, this time you let him go until he let out a large sigh and looked at you, “sorry it’s just, I’m not good with the actual truck aspect of the rig.” You smiled, “people come in here alot worse then you don’t worry. So your trucks just on summer tires? Oil change is no problem but those might cost you a pretty penny depending what your looking for.” You explained, picking up a sales book from behind your counter, flipping through until you found tires in stock, finding a few larger tires.

it took a while but the rig was finally up on the hoist, you could see Javi looking through the reception window into the shop as you walked past, you opened it, “wanna come in? I can tell the rig means a lot. She’s in safe hands.” You say, holding the door for him as he nervously steps in, unsure of where to sit or stare. You worked quickly as you mounted the tires into new rims, before tossing each tire into the balancer, he watched your work in awe. “How did you do that so quickly?” He asked as you lifted a tire under each arm. “Been doin’ it since high school, pretty much muscle memory.” You say with a shrug as you drop the tires under the truck, bringing the other two over.

There wasn’t any talking as you quickly pulled off the old tires, quickly labeling them with chalk, before lifting the new ones on. Waiting to torque them until it was on the ground. “That’s all it takes to change a tire?” Javi asks as you walk over to a large cabinet, searching for the oil you needed. “Yeah, then I torque them once it’s on the ground.” You said as you got under the truck again, sliding a catch pan under the rig, Pulling off the cap, letting it drain.

—-

it wasn’t long before the rig was back on the ground, You torqued the tires before jumping into the drivers seat, just barely turning the key. “What are you doing?” Javi asked as he came over to the side of the door. “Gotta run through the safety checklist after every oil change, just to make sure everything is in working order.” You explained as you looked at the reflection to make sure all the back lights were working as well, and the wipers. You checked off everything before signing off and putting on a new oil change sticker. “So your gonna need some blinker fluid but other then that she’s good to go.” You said as you pulled the keys from the ignition. “Blinker fluid?” He asked, “I’ve never had to replace that, Is there any kind?” His response made you laugh, “Javi, Blinker fluid doesn’t exist.” You said still laughing as a hand laid on his shoulder, Shooting warmth through his bloodstream. “Oh- yeah yeah right I knew that.” He said nervously.

(I miss my mechanic job so much)

[hugmekenobi]

Goes Both Ways

A Bad Batch Series interlude oneshot

Gif by @transkestis​

(no, the S2 fits aren’t here yet, this gif just worked the best)

Hunter x femaleJedi!reader

Summary: You and Hunter both realise there are trickier feelings that need navigating in a relationship but the two of you manage to work with them.

Warnings: Swearing, possessiveness/jealousy, reader doesn’t really stick the Jedi teachings (but we knew this anyway lol), pet name (sweetheart), Gregor being what I need in the form of a flirtatious plot device, Force communication working how I say it does, brief mention of death, no y/n, PDA in the form of making out, affectionate biting/marking, spicy and suggestive language and touches, awkwardness, getting caught/interrupted

Masterlist for S1 chapters

Word Count: 3.4K

Rating: 18+

Author’s notes: I can’t justify the main trope here, my brain just went into this headspace and took it and ran lol. Things get a bit spicier, but I appreciate this sorta thing isn’t for everyone but to those who do read, hope you enjoy :)

The three of them watched from the bar at the scene unfolding in front of them. They weren’t sure how exactly you would react once you came back from putting Omega in Cid’s room, but one thing was certain, you weren’t going to be very happy.

“Hey guys, what are we looking-” You stopped as you saw what it what they were staring at, or rather who they were staring at. “Who the fuck’s that?” You asked, attempting levity but it wasn’t very convincing.

“We don’t know. She appeared once you left.” Tech answered.

“Did she now?” You replied, your voice tense. The feelings bubbling within you were unfamiliar and you were still getting used to the whole relationship thing, but you could already tell you weren’t a fan of what was happening in front of you.

You continued to stare at the young woman currently standing by Hunter at the other end of the bar counter. She was being a little too touchy-feely for your liking, her hands kept wandering to Hunter’s chest and hands. Hunter, to his credit, kept inching away every time she did that, but she was not for dissuading.

“Are you alright?” Echo asked.

“Uh huh.” You replied stiffly.

“You sure?” Wrecker asked as he saw the way your jaw clenched.

You sucked air through your teeth. “Yup.”

“You know he’s not going to do anything.” Tech added.

“It’s not him I’m worried about.”

“Are you sure you-”

“Relax Echo, I’m not going to cause a scene.” You said calmy as you watched them.

You understood to a degree, hell if you were in her position you’d probably try too, but he was taken now.

Now he was yours.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, where the fuck did that line of thought come from? You thought to yourself, shocked that you’d even gone down that road so quickly. That jealousy and possessiveness was something you’d been taught for years was a very bad thing, yet you jumped to it immediately. You took a deep breath. “It’s fine, I’m fine. He’ll come back over once he's done talking.”

The three of them regarded you suspiciously.

“Chill with the fourth degree. I’m okay.” You reiterated as you felt their eyes on you.

“You’ve still not looked away.” Tech pointed out.

“And that bar stool leg wasn’t bent like that before.” Echo said, indicating to the chair you were closest to.

You glanced down and sure enough, the leg has curved slightly. Clearly you weren’t as fine as you were trying to make yourself out to be. “Wrecker, stand in front of me.”

Wrecker did as you asked. “That better?”

You took another deep breath. “Yeah. Just gotta wait until they’re done.” You stole a swig from Echo’s drink and willed the streak of possessiveness that was residing with in you to go away.

--

“Okay, how long has it been? Seriously, what could she be saying that’s so interesting?” You asked irritably. “Also, Hunter isn’t exactly a conversationalist, what could she be so captivated by?

The others shared a smirk. It had been five minutes and you’d only lasted two before you’d moved past Wrecker to watch them again.

“I don’t think it’s his conversation skills she’s interested in.” Tech said simply as if he was answering a question about the weather.

You shot him a glare as Wrecker and Echo both shook their heads at him. “Sometimes Tech, I forget you’re the smartest one here. I know what she’s interested in but how many times does he need to back away for her to get the hint? Or better yet, why doesn’t he leave?”

“Maybe he’s just being polite?” Wrecker offered.

“Or they’re genuinely having a conversation?” Echo suggested.

You hid your head in your hands, but you couldn’t help but laugh. “Sometimes I really can’t talk to you boys.”

“Although I doubt a genuine conversation would involve that.” Tech said indicating over to them.

You lifted your head and that possessiveness you had been attempting to quash came to a head as you saw the way she looped an arm around the back of his neck and drew her closer to him. “Oh, for fucks sake.” You muttered. The Jedi were dead, and they weren’t perfect anyway, so you didn’t have to be. You downed the rest of your drink and began to walk over to him.

“I have 5 credits on her bumping into her and making her spill her drink.” Wrecker said as he watched you go.

“Nah, she’ll use her Jedi abilities for that.” Echo countered. “Tech?”

“I think she’ll rise above and merely ask her to leave.”

Echo and Wrecker just stared at him; eyebrows raised.

Tech sighed, “Fine. She’s using the Force.”

--

Hunter had been itching to leave for the past ten minutes but this woman was not getting the message. He had just taken her hands off him for what felt like the one hundredth time when he felt you next to him as you wrapped an arm around his waist.

He glanced at you and saw a hint of darkness in your eyes as well as something he couldn’t quite place. “Hey, how are-” Your lips on his abruptly cut him off and it was a kiss that was definitely not meant for a public space. It was deep and intense, and he was sure it had something to do with whatever it was that was lurking behind your eyes. After what was probably too long for a casual expression of affection, you pulled away and he found that all words had left his brain.

“You were stolen away from me. I had to come check on you.” You said sweetly as you gazed at him, pleased with the slightly dazed look on his face. Keeping your hand wrapped around him, you faced the woman, and you felt a hint of smugness as you saw the flash of irritation on her face. “I see you’ve met my Hunter.”

Your Hunter? He regarded you curiously, but your eyes were focused on the woman in front of you.

“Yeah, we just got chatting.” She said innocently.

“Oh, chatting, was it? Looked to me like you were hitting on him.” You said with fake politeness.

Oh, that’s what this was, Hunter realised. You were jealous. He worried for the woman across from him since he’d never seen you like this, so he didn’t know what to expect. “Sweetheart, I wasn’t-”

“Oh, don’t worry, I trust you.” You said, leaning up to plant a kiss on his neck and you smirked to yourself as you saw her frown out of the corner of your eye.

You faced her again. “Honey, you should really look for men that are interested in you. You’re not going to get what you’re looking for here, I can tell you that.”

“Oh, I’d never-” She began, placing her hand over her heart as if she was shocked by such an insinuation.

“No?” You asked as if you were willing to believe her.

“It’s just he never mentioned you, so I assumed-”

You could tell she was lying and that was confirmed by the way Hunter stiffened next to you. “See, I think he did, and you just don’t know when to quit.”

“Well, I didn’t think sewer rats were his type.” She sneered.

You were glad you could be done with the fake niceties. You placed a hand on Hunter’s chest as you sensed him getting ready to speak. “I think you better be going now.” You said coolly and with a subtle flick of your finger, her drink spilt on her lap.

She shouted in annoyance at the red puddle that was now forming on her lap.

“Oh, now that’s unfortunate. You better get outta here and sort that cause white and red? That’s a bitch to clean and I wouldn’t want your lovely dress to get ruined.” You said with a cat-like grin.

She glowered at you and walked out of the bar.

“That wasn’t very nice.” Hunter kidded into your hair as he kissed your temple.

You looked back at him and looped your arms around his neck.

Hunter’s hands found your waist and as he stared into your eyes, he saw that that hint of possessiveness hadn’t left yet, and he realised it wasn’t necessarily just the woman he had to worry about.

“She was trying to take something that wasn’t hers.” You said as your hands threaded themselves in his hair. You pulled on it and brought his lips down, so they were mere inches from yours.

Hunter had to bite back the groan that threatened to leave his mouth and instead he tightened his hold on your waist. “We can’t… not here.” He managed to rasp out.

“See, I think it should be here. How else are people going to know that you’re mine?” You purred as you moved your lips to his ear before you bit down on his neck, using your tongue to sooth the sting of it.

“Fuck.” Hunter hissed out and he had to grab the counter so as to stay upright.

“Did you like talking to her?” You continued to whisper as you kissed along his jaw.

“No.” He replied hoarsely. His brain was having to work overtime to form even the simplest of words.

“You didn’t leave.” You murmured as you traced your lips over his. You took them away as you saw him go to make something more of it. “Why didn’t you leave?” You asked again, your hand trailing up and down his chest- thankful that they’d all decided they could take a break tonight since his armour would’ve made this difficult- whilst you sucked a mark on his pulse point.

Hunter’s head fell back, and it took all the willpower he possessed not to let out a moan. “Didn’t- Maker- didn’t want to be- Fucking hell- rude.” He ground out as your lips and tongue continued to do things to his neck that left him unable to think straight.

“If there’s a next time, Sergeant…” You crooned, bringing his head back up. “Be rude.” You whispered before kissing him once more, gently biting his lip and relishing in the way he couldn’t keep it together anymore as you heard him groan and hold you tightly to him.

“Oi, you two! This is a public space. Do that in your own place!”

Hunter snapped back to the current moment. He broke away and he saw Cid standing behind you.

You didn’t seem bothered at all. “We will.” You said simply as you took Hunter’s hand and led him out the bar.

All Hunter could do was follow you, too hooked on whatever it was you were acting like to argue or even really think.

--

The others had turned away from the moment that was unfolding between the two of you now, but Wrecker handed the credits over to Echo and Tech.

Echo heard Cid shout and risked a glance over his shoulder and as he saw you lead Hunter out, he guessed they’d be banned from the Marauder for a while. He sighed.

Tech and Wrecker stopped their conversation and followed Echo’s gaze.

“Ah.” Tech said plainly.

“Guess we’re going to be here a while.” Wrecker grumbled.

--

Hunter watched as you laughed at whatever it was Gregor had said. He wasn’t that funny. His jaw went tight as he saw the way Gregor placed a quick hand on your back. He felt that cold stab of jealousy, something he thought he’d risen above since he knew that it was really nothing more than friendly banter between the two of you, you’d told him as much and he trusted you. Plus, Gregor was a brother, and he was doing what brothers do which was very successfully winding him up and Hunter knew he should’ve been better at ignoring it. But seeing the flirtatious repartee come so easily to Gregor and watching him lean in closer to you was doing enough so that the primal feeling of possessiveness was able to take over his brain.

He got up as he saw you pass the table and followed you as you headed into Cid’s office.

--

Echo, Tech, and Wrecker watched from another table as you picked up your communicator and gently nudged Gregor out of your path, making your way out of the bar. Their eyes then fell to Hunter, who stood upon seeing you leave and followed you out of the room. The scene was all too familiar, and they all shared a knowing look as the deja vu settled over them.

“Who knew he could get jealous too.” Wrecker said. “I figured he’d be better than that.”

“Not with her, he’s always had an issue with Gregor. He flirts with her. It’s innocent enough but it gets to him.” Echo said.

“Yeah. Remember when Gregor brought her those flowers? Hunter didn’t leave her side the entire day.” Tech reminded Wrecker.

Wrecker nodded his head in agreement as he remembered.

“Hey fellas.” Gregor said as he sat down next to Wrecker. “Where’s the Sergeant?”

“No idea.” They all said together, and they were thankful that Omega was out running errands with Cid.

--

You finished finding those datapads Cid had asked you to bring to her but just as you were turning to leave, you felt Hunter’s presence but before you could say anything, he’d whirled you around and brought his lips to yours. It was the kind of kiss that took your breath away and left your head spinning as he pulled away. Gathering yourself, you put the datapads down and stared at him as he kept a firm grip of your waist. “What was that for?”

Hunter didn’t answer. He just kissed you again and tangled his fingers in your hair.

You felt it then. You felt the possessiveness that was flowing through him, and this kiss definitely had that in it. It was rough but it felt really fucking good. You just didn’t know what had set this off. What’s going on? You managed to send as you kissed him back just as eagerly.

“I never like it when he flirts with you.” Hunter muttered as he followed your jawline with his lips.

Letting out a happy sigh, you tilted your head back and let him explore your neck. “Who? Gregor?” You watched as his gaze met yours and you nearly let out a groan at the sight. His eyes were dark, and he was breathing heavily. “He’s harmless.” You managed to say, though it was a struggle.

“He wants you and I don’t like what that does to me.” Hunter growled as he kissed you again and pressed himself tighter to you.

“What if I like what it does to you?” You whispered breathlessly as you broke away, a coy smile on your lips as you leaned forward.

No. He wasn’t going to let you turn this one around. It was his turn now. “I don’t like people coming for what’s mine.”

The guttural way he said that had tingles running down your spine and your toes curled as he made his own mark on you. You’re lucky I love you, had that come from anyone else, I’d have kicked their ass.

“I must not be doing a very good job if you’re still able to find a way to speak.” With that, he kissed you again and he tugged on your lip, delighting in the way your breathing hitched as he did that. He grabbed the backs of your thighs and picked you up and carried you over to the edge of Cid’s desk.

You were grateful that the mission you’d been on had been tamer and involved blending in because if he was wearing his armour right now, you wouldn’t have been able to grab fistfuls of his shirt to hold him close to you.

Hunter brought his lips back to your neck. “Do you like it when he flirts with you?” He rumbled against your skin whilst his hand began to steadily trail a path along the inside of your thigh.

You couldn’t help the moan that left your mouth, but you stopped his hand from going any higher. “Someone could-” You broke off with another groan as he bit the sensitive spot just behind your ear before he cooled the sting of it with his tongue. “Walk in.” You said, your voice hoarse with effort.

“Maybe that’s what I want.” Hunter crooned. “Maybe Gregor should see who you’re with so he could get the message that you’re mine.” He kissed you again before he repeated his question, “Do you like it when he flirts with you?” He needed you as speechless as he was when you were this way, so he made another mark on the junction where your neck and shoulder met.

“Fuck!” You couldn’t help but shout and you removed your grip on his wrist since you needed both hands to keep yourself upright.

“Answer me.” Hunter ordered as he slowly continued to move his hand upwards.

Right. Words. Come on. “I-um- shit-” His teasing touches were killing you. “No. I’m just being nice.” You managed gasp out as your head fell back.

“Hmm.” Hunter stopped just before he reached where he knew you were wanting him. He grabbed the back of your neck so that you were forced to look at him.

You could barely keep your breathing under control. You’d never seen him like this, and you were scared by how much you were loving it. You found the edges of his shirt and found that all worries of being discovered were rapidly leaving you.

“If I went higher, what I would find there, would that be because of me or because of Gregor?” He hummed against your lips as he moved his fingers in small circles at the juncture of your thigh.

You could only moan in reply and your head fell into the crook of his neck.

Hunter paused what he was doing, pleased that you were as wrecked as you’d made him.

“You.” You croaked out as you felt him stop. “Please, Hunter.” He’d reduced you to a begging mess, but you were too far gone to care. “It’s only you. I’m just being nice. I’m yours. Please just-”

Your words sent him over the edge, and he kissed you hungrily.

You were about to lift his shirt over his head when the office door opened.

“Kriffing hell! Not my office!”

You pushed Hunter away and jumped down from Cid’s desk and you wanted to curl up on the floor and die but Hunter… he looked cool as can be.

“You two, out!” Cid yelled, shooing you out the door.

“The datapads are there.” You said sheepishly as you pointed to the small pile on the end of her desk.

“Well, now I know why you never brought them to me.” Cid snapped. “What if it was the kid instead of me?”

“It wasn’t.” Hunter replied breezily as he re-entered the bar.

You glanced at him, confused as to how he could answer so casually, but then you saw the look on his face, and you could feel that he wasn’t done with you yet and the thought sent a thrill through your veins.

Hunter snaked an arm around your waist and began to hurry you out the parlour.

“Ready to hear the rest?”

You stopped and turned to face Gregor. Hunter’s arm had wrapped itself around your front and he was pressed into your back. “Not right now but yeah, Gregor, you can finish that story later tonight.” You let out a small yelp as you felt Hunter nip the back of your neck. “Tomorrow. Can talk tomorrow.” You corrected quickly and you let Hunter push you out the parlour.

Neither of you had noticed Omega squashed between Wrecker and Gregor.

“Um…” Wrecker said.

“I know, I know. ‘We’ll tell you when you’re older.’” Omega said grumpily as she crossed her arms and slouched.

“Just don’t go to the ship tonight. I think we gotta crash here.” Echo said.

“Those two…” Cid came in shaking her head.

“Hey, we gotta live with them.” Wrecker pointed out.

“So long as we don’t get our timings mixed up, we should be fine.” Tech said.

“We can only hope.” Echo muttered.

Masterlist

Tagging: @noeasyisnoisy​, @tpwkcalli​, @fuckoffthanos​, @arctrooper69​ @graciexmarvel​, @flyingkangaroo​, @nightmonkeysstuff​, @a-streakofazure​, @ladytano420​, @dragonrider9905​, @keep-calm-and-drink-caf​, @yyourmotherr​, @xxeiraxx​

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Year Two

Part Three of Three Years

Year One | Masterlist | Year Three

Pairing: Nathan Bateman x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only.

Length: 7.2K

Notes: ….Hi! It’s part three! Huzzah!

Warnings: Cursing; angst; enemies to enemies who fuck; tech-talk; angst (I know I said it before but really); Nathan being Nathan; slapping; grinding; biting; the next chapter has more spice

Summary: Despite how irritating he can be, you’re finding that you mind Nathan less and less these days. He’s more like a common fungi: opportunistic, probably not harmful if consumed—not that you’re rushing to consume him, as it were. 

Jenn is. 

“We’ve gotta jump, we’ll be late on another call.” 

It’s a warning that’s almost never been heeded before, but you say it as firmly as you can. You can feel your team casting a wary glance between you and the landline that you’re crowded around in the otherwise sparsely decorated conference room. 

The old conference rooms at Sc(ai)le’s original headquarters could be a little tight for team conference calls, but at least they were comfy. The tables weren’t too big, but could fit most everyone’s laptops, and a drink or two. There had been armchairs, couches—enough space for people to chat, take calls, have a quick huddle—whatever was needed. By contrast, the conference rooms at the new headquarters feel like blank, sterile canvases. They have yet to be outfitted properly. For now, you’re all stuck with the chairs from your desks that you’ve rolled in, sitting around a long, bland, white conference table, with a landline in the middle.

“Move whatever you’re going to back,” Bateman’s order is haughty. “We haven’t finished ironing this out. I still have questions.” 

A year and a half ago, you would’ve heeded him. A year and a half ago, you would’ve been afraid to push back, wary of Nathan’s burgeoning relationship with Jenn, and with Sc(ai)le. But now, a year and a half in, you’re far more aware of what you are and aren’t willing to put up with. It’s a gamble, a stupid one, but you roll the fucking dice: 

“I hear you, and I’ll be more than happy to answer them. Pop them in an email and send them over at your earliest convenience. Thanks so much for your time, Nathan.”

You can only hope that your using his name softens the blow of how abruptly you hang up on him. You glance down at your computer repeatedly, eyeing the number for the other meeting that you’re dialing into the landline as you punch it in. You glance around, finding your team slack-jawed and stunned. 

“I cannot believe you just did that.” 

It falls out of Amelia’s open mouth with a shocked laugh. She’s one of the product owners, someone that you’ve been working with since before you brought onto the C-Suite—and has had a front-row ticket to the rapid decline of your giving a fuck. You shrug a shoulder. 

“He’ll get it,” You insist. “He knows how these meetings run over. If it’s between cutting him off or being late for our biggest client, the fuck is he gonna do, tell us to lose money?” 

A couple of your team members guffaw, and you glance up to see some of them trying to fight back smiles. It makes you grin. 

“Alright, c’mon,” You urge, even as you chuckle, yourself. “Button that up, we gotta work.” 

-- 

You wait for the slap on the wrist from Nathan. When it doesn’t come, you wait for it from Jenn. As your monthly one on one closes out, you expect the question: Why the fuck did you hang up on our biggest backer? Stunningly, it never comes. Maybe Nathan didn't mention it to her, even in passing. Maybe he recognizes that your judgement call was the right one.

The company is in a better place than it was last year. Sc(ai)le is drawing clients and revenue in hand over fucking fist. With the newest burst of AI chatbots coming out, there has been a wave of prospective clients. Companies that used to be too busy for you are now beating down your doors. For the first time, you have a chance to be selective about your clients. They’re chasing you and your tech, not the other way around. The company has swelled from 150 people to 400 in just under a year.

Most of your local workforce is coming into Sc(ai)le’s office at least three times a week. Some opt to come in more days than their contracts necessitate, not because they like it, but because it’s just faster to run over someone’s desk to ask a fucking question than to Slack them and pray that they’re somewhere near their laptop. You’re busy, busier than you’ve ever been. The amount of work that you’ve been hit with in the first six months of your second year is closer to what you’d initially expected when you’d agreed to take on two C-Suite positions.

Are you tired? Yes. 

Do you remember what your apartment still looks like in the daylight? Not really. 

Do you have personal relationships outside of work anymore? Definitely not. 

But you’re staring down the barrel of a year and a half of work for stock options and a job wherever the fuck you want. 

There are some moments, rare moments, when you almost want to thank Nathan for strong-arming you into this position. But there are other, far more frequent moments when you want to tell him to take his ego and his backing and cram it up his frighteningly round ass. 

--  

“Knock-knock.” 

You don’t bother to look up; you know the voice well enough. It sets your teeth on edge. You keep typing, eyes on your computer as your fingers fly across the keyboard. 

“You know, there is a door there,” You point out, “Most people actually bother to knock on it.” 

“That’s standard procedure for a closed door. Yours is wide-open. Saying knock-knock was just a formality. I could’ve walked right in.” 

“If you want, I can get up and shut the door, let you knock like a normal human being.”

“Nothing about me is normal, sweetheart.” 

The endearment makes your fingers freeze over your keyboard. It’s not a surprise that he does it so damn easily—but what is surprising is how it seems to just knock your brain offline. 

“Are you in my doorway for a reason?” You finally ask. It’s a moment too late; you can hear him lower into a seat across from you. 

“What are you doing tonight?” He asks. You fight back a sigh. 

“I’m assuming I’m having dinner with you.” 

“You catch on quick.” 

You let your eyes slide to him. “You’re more predictable than you’d like.”

Nathan’s expression flickers with annoyance, but he’s quick to cover it up again. 

“That’s something I’ve never been accused of.” 

“First time for everything. We going to the diner again?” 

He huffs a humorless laugh through his nose, head jerking back with it before it tips forward again. You fight back a smile as you turn toward your computer again.

“Just be ready by seven,” He adds. 

“Alright.” 

“And don’t try to worm out of it,” Bateman warns as he pushes himself to stand and rounds toward the door. “I’ll pull my funding.” 

“I’m shaking in my boots.” 

You force yourself to keep typing, even as you hear Nathan’s step hesitate before it fades complete. It’s just a little, just for a second—but to sense that you’ve managed to put a hitch in Bateman’s day and workflow when he’s put such a hitch in your life? Hell, that feels like your birthday came early. 

--  

“Too bad Jenn couldn’t join us.” 

You’re trying to goad him. From her reaction to your mention of having dinner with Bateman—the way she’d pouted just a little before brightening, telling you to have fun, and to charge it to the company card—you’re fairly certain that he hadn’t mentioned it to her at all. Bateman hardly blinks as he excuses: 

“She had a conflict.” 

That’s bullshit. 

“Besides,” He pushes on before you can argue, “You and I haven’t had a one on one since you came onto the team.” 

“There was that time at, uh…Karaoke,” You correct. 

“Thanks for the reminder. What are we singing?” 

You raise your brows, unimpressed. “Why don't we just pencil that in for my retirement party.” 

“You already have that planned?” 

“Oh, sure. I’m going to make you rent out that, uh—That palazzo, out in Beverly Hills? I want an ice sculpture, the most VIP of VIPs, a whose-who of the tech industry’s who’s.” 

“You make a playlist yet?” 

“No, but it’ll be done, don't you worry about that.” 

Nathan searches your gaze for a moment, and you see a wrinkle of curious confusion there. 

“What are the hang ups?” He asks. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You, in this position. You’re pushing the processes forward, you developed a uniform product release cadence and communications workflow. The efficiency is through the roof, but you’re still unsatisfied.” 

You look away, lips pressing into a thin line. You let your gaze drift over the decor of the restaurant, rather than hold Nathan’s eye, and let him find a hundred little faults in you. The restaurant that he’s chosen is startlingly intimate—it has a short bar, with just two seats, and only a handful of tables and chairs. The recessed lighting has been dimmed for the evening, and if the table between you and Nathan had been just a little bit longer, you might’ve had to squint to get a better look at him. As it is, your knees are brushing under the table, and if you make one wrong move reaching for the drinks menu, you’re going to make even more contact with the guy than you’ve ever wanted. 

“Is it the pay?" He presses into your silence. "Because frankly, you’re being paid more than you’re worth."

“Really? I’ve been offered more to do less.” 

He bristles, and you bite back a smile. He doesn’t like that—and he doesn’t need to know that it’s a bluff. You’re sure he’ll make inquiries, now that you’ve said it, and you’re sure that every one of them will tell him the truth: that you’ve never been approached by any one of them. He won’t trust it. It’s just an added little bit of discord. Hell, you’re almost proud of it. 

“What is it?” He presses. 

“This wasn’t a choice for me,” You shale your head, “It was a negotiation tactic. Actually, you know what, let’s just call it what it really was: it was a fucking emotional blackmail.” 

He rolls his eyes openly. “Emphasis on emotional.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” You scoff, “As if you’d ever take this shit lying down.” 

“No, I wouldn’t.” 

“Exactly, so—” 

“I wouldn’t have signed on in the first place.” 

The fact makes you go quiet for a moment. 

“Because you don’t have anyone like Jenn?” 

“Because even if I had someone like Jenn, I’d leave them to sort out their own shit.” 

“Well, I’ll just add that to the ever-growing list of differences between you and I.” 

“It’s not that long.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“We’re not so different, you and I.”

“Did you watch Austin Powers on the plane?” 

“Raiders of the Lost Ark.” 

“Isn’t that, uh…Our methods are not so different as you pretend?” 

“I paraphrased. And do I really look like someone that watches Austin Powers in his free time?” 

“No comment.” 

“I think we’re more similar than you’d like to believe. I think that pisses you off.” 

He’s right—and it pisses you off even more. You fight to keep from fidgeting in front of him, giving him the satisfaction of your open annoyance. You finally shake your head slowly, keeping your gaze on Nathan’s.

“I’m nothing like you. And I never wanna be.” 

You wanna slap the widening smile off of his face. 

“Wouldn’t take much,” He goads. “I’d say you’re already halfway there. Start missing a few dinners because you’re working, start keeping a change of clothes at the office, sleeping in one of the conference rooms because you realize it’s four in the morning and you won’t have time to get back to yours, shower, change, and not fall asleep on your couch while you wait for your leftovers to heat up in your microwave.”

You feel your face going hot. You don’t want to admit that you’ve already started doing every single one of those things—that you’ve done two of those things in the last forty-eight hours. 

“You know where you go from there?” Nathan folds his arms on the table, leaning forward and holding your gaze with a smiling smugness. “You stop giving a fuck what other people think. Like it or not, that’s going to include Jenn. The only voice that starts to matter is yours.” 

“I told you,” You press, “I’m nothing like you.”

“And if you realize that you are?” 

“I’ll shave my head, start wearing polo shirts, and move to the middle of fucking nowhere.” 

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” 

“The commute would be a nightmare.” 

“You might look cute bald.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

The two of you fall quiet as the server sets your drinks down. You gaze at yours, wondering if you can drain it and run, feign illness, or snipe that you have to join Jenn at her meeting. Maybe you can tell Nathan that you just don’t want to be there—but maybe that’s exactly what he would do. So you obligingly knock your glass against his, take a measured sip, and resolve yourself to sit through this. 

“Alright,” Nathan finally relents as he sets his glass down, “We’ll move off of work. Talk about something else.” 

“Like what.” 

“You ever think about starting your own company?” 

Your brows raise. 

“This is how you talk about something other than work?” 

“You hate having a boss.” 

“You really like to talk in absolutes, don’t you,” You comment dryly. “I don’t mind having a boss.” 

“You never just wanted to break off, strike out on your own?” 

You consider bullshitting him, but this drink is still pretty damn full, and if you have it too fast, you’re almost certain he’ll insist on your having another. So you consider for a moment, then shrug. 

“I guess I did, once. When we’d just gotten out of here. Jenn was working on getting Sc(ai)le going.” 

“So, what happened?” 

“Nothing ‘happened’. One of us had to keep things afloat until she had her foot in the door.” 

“You resent her for it?” 

“Of course not.” 

“I would.” 

“Well, I already told you. We’re not the same.” 

“What was it?” 

“The idea?” 

“Mhm.” 

“A consulting firm, crisis-response specific.” 

“You could do it, you know. Once your contract is done—as long as you can resist the urge to stay.” 

“I’m not going to stay.” 

“Not even if Jenn asks you to? I know how much she values your opinion. Almost as highly as she values mine.” 

You used to think that Jenn valued your opinion twice as much as Nathan’s, but these days, you’re dismayed to say that you’re not so sure about that. 

“She won’t ask me.” 

“Why do you say that?” 

“If I tell her I’m happy to serve my three years and move on, she’ll be fine with it.” 

“And if she isn’t?” 

“She’ll learn to be fine with it.” 

“You wouldn’t take her wishes into consideration?” 

“The last time I did, I wound up working for you.”

“So the only voice that matters on this subject is yours.”

He’s smiling like the cat that got the goddamn cream. You fight off a groan of irritation. You hadn’t been expecting it—why the hell weren’t you expecting it? You’re mad that he caught you out like that. 

Worse, you sort of admire it. 

--  

Nathan’s little visits begin increasing in frequency. You don’t question it. Maybe it’s BlueBook business; maybe it’s Sc(ai)le; maybe he’s looking into investing with another company and he just happens to be in town more these days. Whatever the fuck it is, you don’t care. You just care that Nathan is now sitting in on your meetings with various departments, with the C-Suite, with you and Jenn. It’s like you can’t swing your laptop without whacking the guy these days. 

But despite how irritating he can be, you’re finding that you mind Nathan less and less these days. He’s more like a common fungi: opportunistic, probably not harmful if consumed—not that you’re rushing to consume him, as it were. 

Jenn is. 

Jenn is soaking up this time with Nathan like a goddamn sponge. You haven’t seen her this bright, this engaged in some kind of personal relationship in a long time, since way before Sc(ai)le.  

Look, maybe you’re being a little judgemental, you’re almost certain that Jenn has a crush on Nathan. And that is…A little alarming. For one, it means putting even more of her time and interest into the guy. Beyond that, it means that she may be pinning her romantic hopes on the guy who the company’s financial hopes are resting on. Sure, Sc(ai)le is getting bigger, doing better, but the cash flow into the company is still coming from Bateman. 

You think of that as you see Jenn throw her head back in a giggle, her hand landing on Bateman’s forearm. He grins, glancing toward you. If you knew less, you’d think he was trying to get you to laugh, too. But it’s Nathan, and you know better. He’s showing off. He’s showing off how likable he is to your best friend. He’s showing off the fact that he’s making her laugh, not you. He’s showing you that your place in your best friend’s life is being usurped. 

Asshat.

You look down at your food as Jenn’s laughter quiets to giggles, then tapers entirely. You can feel both of them watching you, and you make a point of poking through your food, just to have something to do. You hadn’t even planned on  joining the two of them for dinner, but they’d happened to catch you on your way to the parking lot and insisted. 

Grabbing a meal with Jenn is fine. You can sort of tolerate grabbing a meal with Nathan. But the two of them, together? Cripes, you don’t think you can take much more of this. You can only hope this place doesn’t have a damn dessert menu. Jenn can’t resist a piece of cheesecake, and you’re dying to get the hell out of here. You’re not sure you can take much more of her simping and grinning over a man that you find moderately repugnant, and mildly attractive. 

You frown, putting your fork down in favor of taking up your wine and drawing in a deep sip. 

Mildly attrac—Where the fuck did that come from? Whatever it was, it’s left a bad taste in your mouth. 

“You alright over there?” Nathan asks. 

“Great,” You answer flatly once you’ve swallowed, “Thanks.” 

“Food not to your liking? We’ll get you something else.” 

You shake your head, gaze flickering to Nathan’s. “Seriously, I’m fine.” 

“We’ll go somewhere else.” 

“That is even less necessary than getting me something else to eat.” 

“So!” Jenn chirps, breaking into your and Bateman’s bickering, “We should go somewhere after this, right?” 

“You know what, I actually can’t,” You give what you hope is a regretful smile, “I’ve got a call.” 

“This late?” Nathan looks down at his watch, “Who with?” 

“Brickandbound, the SaaS company down in Sydney. It’s only about two in the afternoon over there. And, actually,” You push your chair back, “I did not realize how late it is. I should get back to my office, prep with the team. Thanks for dinner, Nathan.” You glance toward Jenn, warming at the grateful smile on her lips.

“I’ll see you later, Jenn. Bateman, let me know how much to Venmo you.” You offer him a pat on the shoulder, then round him, dropping a kiss to Jenn’s head before heading out. You don’t bother to give them a second look, you just go. 

--  

Mildly attractive. Mildly attractive? When the fuck did that happen? 

Maybe it’s because you’ve been around him so much, and because, well…He is. He’s still an irritating little worm, of course, the most annoying person on the fucking planet (after Elon), but he’s sort of…Hot. His eyes are dark, and when he’s worked up, his gaze can be intense. His lips seem far more pink and plump these days, but that could be the increasing growth of his beard, which he only seems to trim every week or so. And his smile, which you seem to be privy to more and more these days, can be kinda nice—when it’s not smug, or slick, which is fairly rare. Still, you’re certain you’ve gotten a true smile from him a couple of times. They’re in the minority, and maybe that’s why they seem so much more special when you do get them. 

You lean back in your seat in the conference room, listening to the sales and acquisitions team as they prep around you, volleying pitch lines back and forth, tweaking wording. You can only hope that Jenn’s getting those smiles from him—legitimate smiles, the kinds that’ll turn her insides to goo. She better fucking thank you for your hasty retreat later. 

You glance over as you hear the team beginning to dial in. You draw in a deep breath, pushing it out quietly through your lips. You’ve been on tons of these, but they still make you a little nervous. You sort of hate it. If you’re still nervous, it means that a small part of you still gives so much of a shit that you’re afraid to make a mistake. You glance around as you hear everyone introduce themselves on the call, and open your mouth to add your name, but freeze as you see the door open. 

He shouldn’t be there. He should be in some dim bar with Jenn. She should be batting her fucking eyelashes, playing with the hair that she just got done today because Bateman had emailed to let the two of you know that he would be in town—

“Hey, you’ve got Bateman on the line.” He’s waving the person in the seat next to you over one before he sits down, turning your laptop toward him to get a good look at the deck, your notes. You watch, lips parted, absolutely gobsmacked. There’s just a pause before you manage to give your name on the call, to fill in the blank—and then sales and acquisitions push on. 

You hardly speak on the call. You don’t have to. The team has it handled. Luckily for you, Nathan keeps his damn mouth shut, too, save to lean over and murmur the odd question in your ear. The brush of his warm breath against your ear makes your stomach flip. You’re horrified at the feeling—at the fact that the man is there with you, and not out somewhere with Jenn; at the fact that you’re feeling something other than utter disdain for Nathan. 

Is it petty jealousy? The idea that Jenn’s interest is becoming your interest? Like a little girl, jealous of the toy that her friend is playing with? Or is your disdain curdling in the oddest of ways? And what’s his fucking excuse? Is he chasing you down to piss you off? Is he chasing you down because he knows he’s pissing you off? Or did he clock the heat that you’d eyed him with over dinner, and is he after answers? 

You can’t imagine Nathan chasing anyone for anything but answers. 

-- 

You practically run out of the room once the meeting is up after thanking everyone. You nearly snap your laptop shut on Nathan’s questing fingers as you push yourself up, dropping your laptop into your bag, and going. You make it down the hall and around one corner before you feel fingers close around your wrist, his fingers tugging you to slow, “Hey, where the fuck’s the fire—” 

You whirl around, yanking your wrist away from him. 

“What the fuck, Nathan!” 

His surprise splits to smugness. 

“Is something wrong?” 

“You know something is,” You spit. “What the hell is wrong with you? What are you doing here?” 

“I was told there was a meeting.” 

“You didn’t need to be here for it. You should be out.” 

“Out? Doing what?” 

“Out doing anything but pissing me the fuck off.” You whirl away from him, striding down the hall, and foolishly hoping that he’ll let it go. He follows you, and you hope that he’ll stop at the elevator, but he keeps right up with you. You nearly manage to slam your door in his face, but he just pushes it open, chiming, “Knock knock.” 

“Please leave.” 

“Why are you so pissed off?”

“Why are you here?” 

“In the building? In this business?”

“In my office, why are you here right now?” 

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“Well, my purpose is manifold.” 

“Oh, for fuckssake.” 

“But I’m mostly here to piss you off.” 

“Well, mission accomplished, asshat.”

You drop your things on your desk, then glance up, doing a double-take at the sight of Nathan. He has his hands braced on the back of a chair, a wide grin pulling his lips.

“Stop that,” You grit out. 

“Stop what?” 

“Smiling at me. Looking at me, just cut it out.” 

“I was wondering how long it was going to take you to crack.” 

“Crack?”

“You have been dying to snap at me since the day we met.”  

“That is not true.” 

“No?” 

“No!” 

“Since when, then?” 

“Since you locked me into that dumb fucking contract.” 

“I only offered you the contract. You locked yourself into it. Admit it, you hate it. You hate this, you hate me, you hate Jenn.” 

The accusation spears through you like a hot, sharp knife. 

“That’s not true,” You hiss, rounding your desk.

“You do, you resent her for needing you. You resent her for needing me, too. If she could just get her shit together by herself, neither of us would be here.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“And if you’d trusted her ability to get shit done, you wouldn’t have taken this job.”

“I thought you would be good for Jenn—You have been good for Jenn, and for the company—” 

“But not for you. Nothing I’ve done has been good for you, has it—Not the raise, not the titles, not the work.” 

“Shut up.” 

“Am I wrong about that, too? Do you secretly like what you do? Or are you just going along to get along, biding your time until you can get out of here?” 

“Get out.” 

“I paid for this office, I’ll stay here as long as I want.” 

“Get. Out.” 

“Hell, I paid for you, I’ll talk to you as long as I—” 

The slap is louder than his smug pronouncements. You’re certain it stings your hand and his cheek in equal measures. Your gut swoops. Oh—Fuck. Shit. Shit. Your heart pounds; your chest heaves. You swallow thickly as the room falls into complete silence. Nathan’s pupils are blown wide, the darkness nearly fully obscuring the brown you’ve come to know. You see his mouth move, but what he says doesn’t land on your ears the way it should. 

“...What?” You ask warily. 

“I said, do that again.” 

Your stomach churns. He’s got to be kidding. 

“No.”

“C’mon,” He urges. “I’ve been pissing you off for a year and a half now, that’s all you’ve got in you? One slap? A half-decent one at that.” 

Half-decent? There’s no way. Your palm is still stinging. 

“Do it,” He urges, taking a step closer. “Do it again.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Hit me.” 

“Fuck you—” 

“You want me to turn the other cheek?” He asks, tipping his head from one way to the other. You balk at the sight of his red cheek. “Hm?” 

“Look, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” 

“You think I’m mad?” 

“Aren’t you?” 

“No.” 

“You should be.” 

“Why’s that?” Nathan shakes his head. “You just showed me who you are the first time—who you really are.” 

“This isn’t who I am,” You hiss, shaking, "No matter how badly you want to be right, I'll never be you."

“You’re right. If someone I hated offered to let me hit them again, I would’ve done it by now.” 

You raise your arm, winding up for a slap, but Nathan catches hold of your wrist before the blow can land. Panic flares in your chest, and you pull in a nervous breath as he yanks you closer. Your feet stumble, leaden weights keeping your unsteady legs nearly locked into place. Nathan keeps his grip on your wrist, his eyes darting over your face. 

“You do hate me, don’t you,” He murmurs, breath brushing your lips, fanning the embers of your anger. 

“With my entire being, you pompous piece of sh—” 

Nathan’s mouth covers yours with fierce harshness before you can get the rest out. You twist in his grasp, wrenching your wrist away from him. He lets go obligingly, but neither of you get far. You cup his cheeks, sinking your teeth into his lower lip and giving it a harsh tug. His growl snaps you out of it, and you draw back. 

“Fuck,” You hiss, drawing back, “I can’t, I—” You shake your head. 

“Can’t do what?” Nathan goads, hands grasping your hips. 

This.

You can’t do this to Jenn. You can’t give in to the man that’s been waiting for you to fall from the moment he met you. You meet Nathan’s eye. You take in the heat lingering there, the still-pink tinge of his cheek. 

“I can’t do this here.” 

--  

The trip to your apartment is taken in separate cars. It gives you time to change your mind, to clear your head. But you're still just as pissed, just as turned on. The sight of Nathan’s expectant face as he climbs out of his car makes both of those feelings so much worse. He doesn’t ask any questions as he follows you inside, as he stands almost menacingly close in the elevator, as he slouches against the wall as you unlock your door. You toss the keys into the basket by the front door, setting your work bag down. 

“Take your shoes off,” You order, nodding to Nathan’s feet as you lean against the wall, kicking yours off. Nathan follows suit as you walk deeper into your apartment, flicking on the light for the kitchen. 

“Do you want something to drink?” You ask. 

“I want you to hit me as hard as you can.” 

“Drop the fucking Fight Club schtick, alright? I told you I was sorry.” 

“Were you?” 

“I was trying to be.” 

“I don’t want you to be.” He leans against your counter, watching you root around in your fridge. “You lose the fire already?” 

“Fuck you.” You grumble it, with only half of the heat that you felt in the office. Nathan laughs, shaking his head. 

“I knew I should’ve fucked you over your desk.” 

The comment makes heat flare in your stomach. 

“I wouldn’t have let you fuck me in there,” You shake your head. “That place is a fucking fishtank.” 

“You’ll let me fuck you here?” 

“I might have to slap you again, get back in the mood.” 

“I’d be alright with that.” 

“Bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit,” Nathan chuckles. 

“You really are a glutton for punishment.” 

“Little bit.” 

You gasp as he wraps his arms around your waist, tugging you back toward him. You whirl around, hands balled into fists, and find Nathan waiting for you, eyes bright with intrigue. You shake your head, lowering your hands to rest on his arms—his thick arms. 

This is bad. This is awful. Jenn wants this man, has the worst crush you’ve ever seen her have—she needs him for work, for funding, for—

Nathan’s lips catch yours, and all thoughts of Jenn are pushed from your mind. You sigh softly, fingers curling into fists again. 

“Fucking hate you,” You mumble against his lips. 

“I know,” He laughs, even as you pound one of your fists against his bicep. 

“Do you hate me?”

Nathan hums, grasping your hips and steering you back toward your counter. 

“I have no strong feelings one way or the other.”

“Oh—You know what, get off of me—” You protest, squirming, but Nathan’s laughing again, and you’re hardly pushing at his chest with any meaning, any force. He sucks a kiss to your neck, and your pushing hands take to grasping and pulling. You turn your head, catching Nathan’s lips with yours, whimpering as his hands push you into the harsh ridge of the counter. You rest your hands on Nathan’s shoulder’s, giving him a shove. You hardly move him. In fact, he leans more heavily against you, practically crushing you into the marble. He draws back from the kiss with a sucking sound, and a groan.

“I like that,” He murmurs. 

“What?” 

“You know what.” 

You hesitate before you give his shoulders another shove, then pound your fist against his arm. When Nathan doesn’t budge, you raise a hand, smoothing it over his cheek, then giving it a little tap. 

“C’mon,” He murmurs, “You can do better than that. Make it hurt a little.” 

You sweep your tongue across your lip, giving Nathan another tap, just a touch harder this time. Nathan grunts, and it’s all the warning you have before he’s turning you around. You shiver, bracing your hands on the counter. You twist, raising your hands as he draws your shirt up and off. You can’t get your hands out of the sleeves, and Nathan grasps the slack fabric, using the grasp of your shirt to keep your arms behind your back. You whimper, twisting as he presses a kiss to your shoulder. You wriggle against him, pressing your hips back. Nathan groans, pressing his face into your neck as he grinds up against you. Your clit pulses as you squeeze your thighs together, drawing in a shuddering breath. 

Nathan opens his mouth, panting hotly against your skin as his hands smooth up your sides and across your front, groping your breasts through your bra. You groan in frustration, your grinding turning to wriggling. 

“You gonna fuck around, or are you gonna fuck me?” 

You feel Nathan smile before a sharp sting digs into your skin. You hiss at the bite, throwing an elbow back against his gut. Nathan grunts at the contact, jerking away from you. He gives you a harsher shove against the counter, grasping the back of your neck roughly. You suck in a breath as he shoves your pants down around your knees. 

“This is the best you can do?” You snip. “Bending me over a counter?” 

Nathan chuckles low in your ear, nipping at your earlobe.

“This is where we’re going to start,” He murmurs, “And by the time we’re finished, you won’t be able to stand.” 

--  

“Get out of my bed.” 

“We aren’t going to cuddle?” 

You don’t have to look at Nathan to know that there’s a shit-eating grin on his face. You’ve only spilled into your bedroom about an hour ago, and since you have, he’s drawn three more aching, slow orgasms out of you, and you’ve drawn two out of him. Now, you push yourself up and away from him, clammy hands flexing in the fabric of your sheets before you get up. You suddenly feel a wave of self-conscious nerves, naked in front of him. It didn’t matter to you a few minutes ago, when Nathan had been fucking you roughly from behind, his hands grasping greedily your shoulders, pressing with a force that’ll likely bruise you in just a couple of hours. 

“Get out,” You repeat. “You know where the door is.” 

You hurry into your bathroom, cranking on the shower. You force yourself inside before the water warms, wincing as the cool drops practically sting your heated flesh. You strain your ears over the sound of the water, biting your lip. You only stop when you hear the retreating thud of Nathan’s feet, and the subsequent sound of your front door closing. Once he’s out, you feel yourself relax marginally, bracing your hands against the wall and tipping your head under the warming water. You take painstaking care to clean yourself, doing your best to wipe his touch, skin, sweat, and cum from every inch of your body. 

Fuck, you can’t believe what you’ve done. Nathan is the company’s biggest backer. He helped you gain your footing; he helped you create a proper place for yourself in the market. He’s Jenn’s mentor—he’s Jenn’s crush for christsakes. And you just fucked him. 

Repeatedly. 

When you finally pull yourself out of the bathroom, the sky is still dark, and the apartment is quiet. You glance down the hall, trying to decide your best plan of action. You hesitate before you ultimately head to your bedroom. For all of your financial growth in the last couple of years, you still only have one set of sheets. Of all of the things that you made it a point to get when you moved into a newer, bigger place, bedding was never really a priority, and your late nights at the office have lessened the need further. Still, you can’t sleep in them tonight, not until you’ve washed them. You yank them off of the bed, balling them up and striding back into the hall, shoving them into the washer with an excess of laundry detergent and scent beads before turning the water setting to hot and the cycle to deep wash. 

You turn toward the kitchen next, already bracing for the sight of your discarded clothing, and the items scattered during your first frantic coupling with Nathan. You bite your lip as you come to the doorway, looking around. Cups, papers, a likely shattered BlueBook tablet. You almost want to walk away, to curl up on your bare mattress and ignore the aching in your muscles and core. But you grudgingly walk over and tidy the area, stacking them items and setting them on the counter. You take up the tablet last, wincing at the cracked screen. Yep. Bummer. You ought to expense it, just to spite him. Your lips quirk with a mean smile. Yeah, that’s what you’ll do—at least to annoy him. You’ll send him a repair invoice. Fuck it—you’ll send him an invoice for a whole new one. 

--  

“How was last night?” 

You nearly choke on your coffee at Jenn’s question, but you just manage to swallow thickly and give her a smile.

“Fine! Good,” You nod. “I think we’re close to a deal.” 

“Oh?” 

“Mhm. They just want to iron out some things contract-wise, but we should get the signatures just in time to onboard them next quarter.” 

“Awesome,” Jenn nods, smiling. She hesitates before adding, “Nathan said he was going to listen in on the call.” 

“He did.” 

“Did he say anything?” 

“On the call? No.” 

“Afterward?” 

“Nnn…Nope.” 

“Because a few people said that they heard arguing.”

You bite your lip. You can keep digging the hole that you’ve started, or you can come clean. 

“It wasn’t an argument, it was…A spirited discussion.” 

Halfway clean. 

“Why didn’t you just tell me that in the first place?” 

“Because, I know that you want me and Nathan to get along. And I know about the creepy little crush you have on Silicon Valley’s former boy-genius, so—” 

“Shut up,” Jenn whines, covering her face with her hands, “Oh my god! Am I that obvious?” 

“Probably just to me. I know you, hon. Bateman’s a smart guy, but I get the feeling that he doesn’t really get what the hair-tossing was meant to invoke last night.” 

Jenn groans again, resting her arms on her desk, and setting her head on her arms. You force a smile through the rotten feeling beginning to curdle in your gut. Jenn stays there for a moment before she lifts her head, resting her chin on her arms. 

“So I should be more upfront about my interest.” 

It’s not a question, which is concerning. 

“Jenn, I…I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because he’s our biggest backer, and besides you, he has the largest share of the company.” 

“It’s not a controlling interest.” 

“No, but…If things go sour, are you prepared for the business relationship to go sour?” 

“Nathan wouldn’t do that.” 

“You sure? He’s, like, the king of emotional blackmail.” 

“Maybe, but this has turned out alright, right?” Jenn waves her finger between the two of you. You consider for a moment before you nod. 

“Yeah,” You agree, “So far. But you and I aren’t fucking, Jenn. And I don’t have the industry pull and capital to bring the building down if I decide that I don’t like one of us anymore.” 

Jenn pouts, dropping her gaze to the desk and drawing in a deep breath. 

“Okay,” She mumbles. 

“I’m not saying never. I just think you should consider the ramifications.” 

“Fiiiiiiine,” Jenn pushes herself to sit up. “What was the spirited argument over, anyway?” 

“Just…” You flounder. “How he operates, how I operate. We don’t see eye to eye on most things outside of the business, you know that.” 

“You seemed to be better last night. At least, you didn’t spend the evening biting each other’s heads off.” 

Your palm tingles with the memory of Nathan’s cheek against your palm; you can see the snap of his head turning at the impact, the flash of hot intrigue in his eyes. You turn your gaze down to your notes in your lap, giving a small shrug. 

“We’re getting better.” 

-- 

“Could you sign for this, please?” 

You look up from the email you’re proofreading, nodding when you see one of the people from the mail room holding a slim package. 

“Sure thing.” You stand, rounding your desk and taking the proffered signature pad, scrawling it out and then passing it back with a smile. “Thank you.”

“Have a good one.” 

"You, too."

You take the package, turning away and rounding your desk and opening it. Your brow furrows as you draw out a receipt and eye the Item Description column—

BlueBookTab - x1

Engrave

Your brows rise, a laugh escaping you. There’s no way. You only sent that invoice this morning, how the hell did Bateman get you a new one already? And engraved? You draw the tablet out of the box, turning it over in your hands and eyeing the etching: 

For two years of work

And one night of service

NB

Your jaw drops in shock, a stunned huff leaving you as you shake your head, fingers tightening around the tablet. Oh, you’re tempted to throw it at the wall just to spite him, and invoice him for another—but who knows that nasty shit he’d put on that one? 

You consider for a moment before you pitch it at the wall. It hits the floor with a satisfying thud. You pick your phone up, zooming in on the cracked tablet screen on the floor and taking a picture. You drop it into your current text thread with Nathan, sending it, along with one word: 

Whoops.

Before you can even close the text messages, you see Nathan typing on the other end. Your stomach flips as you wait. Then—

you can’t keep anything nice can you

Send me another one and let’s find out. 

did you like my little message? 

Oh, there was a message? I don’t think I saw anything 

But then, the things that you do don’t tend to leave an impression 

keep it up sweetheart 

You bite your lip, trying to fight back the smile pulling your lips. It fails when his next text pops up: 

im delivering the next one myself. make sure you don’t miss a thing.

Next part

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[multi-fan-dom-madness]

Hello! Spreading more asks around for the first kiss prompt!

I'd love to see the prompt - "don't you dare tell anyone about this." "wasn't planning on it." With Crosshair, but the second part being said by the reader possibly with a wink? If that's too specific just the prompt going either way. (The inner Crosshair simp must be fed!)

Love and Wrecker Hugs! ❤️🖤

ahhh!! this was the perfect prompt for Cross and I had a lot of fun writing it! thank you bb!! I fully intended to wait to answer all of these all at once but I'm too excited so, I present:

First Kiss - Crosshair

Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin, folks. Prompt in bold.

Warnings: some angst (because it's Crosshair), a little bit of a toxic relationship but it's fine, mention of my OC Captain Flare, medic!reader, gn!reader, fluff, confessions

Word Count: 1.4k woops

TBB divider by the wonderful @wizardofrozz, other divider by @dystopicjumpsuit

You’ve worked with Clone Force 99 now for nearly a full year, and while you could technically be reassigned at any moment, both Cody and your supervisor, a bitter old bat, assured you that the Republic had bigger fish to fry than the logistics of shuffling one nat-born medic every few campaigns. And so you’ve stayed with the outcasts. They’ve become something akin to family, at least to you. You know most of them feel the same—Wrecker never fails to express his brotherly affection for you, Tech continues to adjust the ship’s thermostat to a temperature that is best suited to you when you’re feeling off, and Hunter’s silent nod and smile tell you all you need to know. 

Crosshair, though, is a tough nut to crack. 

At first, you swore he hated you. Despite the rest of the squad’s assurances that he’d come around, you’d been skeptical. It wasn’t until several months into your assignment, on a mission you really shouldn’t have been on as the team’s medic, when you saved Crosshair from commando droids that something changed. He still snarked you, still flicked his used toothpicks at your face to bother you. But he slowly began to open up to you. He included you in inside jokes, actually listened to your medical advice, and even let you hold his Firepuncher once.

So despite the hospitality and friendliness of the rest of the squad, it’s Crosshair that your heart has chosen to love. You know he cares about you. You just don’t know to what extent. 

Because even though he still maintains an impenetrable wall around himself, he looks after you. On missions and otherwise. When you go out on shore leave as a squad, he glowers at anyone who dares even look in your direction. 

And that’s exactly the situation you find yourself in tonight. Planetside, on Triple Zero, you’d convinced the others to have a night out with you before you shipped back to the warzone in a few days. The missions have been nearly incessant, and you’re all starting to feel the strain. 

Leaning back against the sticky bartop, you survey the crowded dance floor. Hunter, Tech, and Wrecker lounge in one of the coveted corner booths, looking more relaxed than you’ve seen them in a long time, dressed in civvies and nursing the cheap booze served by the 79s management. A smile lifts your lips. They deserve this, just one night off, to remind them what the war is for.

But you came here wanting more than to drink weak, watery beer. Taking a swill, you glance sidelong at Crosshair perched on a barstool next to you. 

He hasn’t left your side since you walked in. Normally, his presence is comforting, especially in unfamiliar settings, on unfamiliar planets, around unfamiliar people. But 79s hosts none of those things. In fact, the way he’s ordained himself your personal shadow is beginning to grate. You know he’s scaring off any of the regs who might otherwise ask you to dance, or offer a drink, or even just a friendly hello. You know he’s hovering to protect you. 

You just don’t understand why.

Sighing, you take another swill of your drink. “Kark, what’s a person gotta do to get a dance around here?” 

Crosshair doesn’t answer, just shifts his toothpick to the other side of his mouth. 

You huff. “Cross, c’mon. I don’t need a babysitter. Go drink with the others. I’ll be fine.” 

“S’not you I’m worried about,” he mutters. “S’them.” He jerks his chin toward the dance floor, gesturing broadly to the gathering of regs. 

“I can handle them,” you say, an edge of ice to your voice. Frustration at his inability to actually say what he means boils below your skin. 

Crosshair, predictably, ignores the bite of your words. “Didn’t say you couldn’t.” 

“Great,” you say, pushing away from the bar, “glad we’re in agreement.” 

Shoving your half-empty bottle into his hands. He looks down at it with a bewildered expression, then up at you, his eyes narrowed into slits. You give him a sarcastic, two-finger salute before dipping into the crowd. 

You find a clone—Flare, you think he says his name is—who is more than willing to dance. His grasp on your body is unfamiliar but respectful. The pair of you sway and grind through several songs (you’re certainly not keeping track, too focused on trying to avoid the impulse to see if Crosshair is watching). When Flare whispers into your ear, his lips brushing your skin, your eyes slide shut, desperately wishing he were someone else.

A moment later, Flare yelps and his arms are ripped from around you. Eyes shooting open, you whip around to find Crosshair, every line of his body radiating anger, his fists clenched at his sides. Kriff. 

“Sorry,” you call to Flare as you grab Crosshair’s bicep and haul him through the crowd to the front door. “What the fuck are you doing!?” 

Scoffing, Cross yanks his arm free, though follows hot on your heels as you emerge into the cool night air. “Could ask you the same thing.” 

“I was dancing,” you say.

This is going to be an argument, you just know it, and you don’t want to subject all these strangers to the impending shitstorm. So you keep walking, leading Crosshair around the corner where it’s quieter. 

“Bantha-shit,” he hisses. His firm grip on your shoulder spins you around. “His hands were all over you.” 

“He wasn’t doing anything I didn’t want,” you say, glaring at him. “Maker, what is your issue? I can’t even have a fun night out without you stepping all over my plans, can I?” 

“No,” he spits. “Not if it means—” He cuts himself off and looks away, jaw clenching and unclenching. His chest heaves with emotion, two high spots of color on his cheeks. 

Something in you softens, anger cooling into confusion. “Not if it means what, Cross?” 

Nostrils flaring with every inhale, he shakes his head minutely, eyes pressing shut. 

You hesitate, but after a moment, you sigh. Reaching up, you gently cup his face to draw him back to you. His eyes flutter open to meet your own. This is the closest you’ve been to him, you realize, in your entire time with the squad. Besides his medical exams, this is the most you’ve touched him, too. The realization sets your heart pounding. 

“Don’t shut me out,” you say. “Please.” 

He studies you for a moment. Across his face flits several emotions, none of them identifiable, and you begin to grow worried that all the progress you’ve made with him is about to be tossed over the ledge of this Coruscanti sidewalk. 

A worry that is dashed as soon as he surges forward and kisses you, one hand cupping the back of your neck to steady you. A sound of surprise squeaks out of you. Then you’re melting against him. Tilting your head, you deepen the kiss, one hand settled over his heart. It beats hard and fast under your palm, nearly in tempo with your own racing pulse. His lips are chapped and rough against yours, but you don’t care, because it’s him, and this is all you’ve needed these past few months. 

When he pulls away, he doesn’t go far. His forehead pressed against yours, his eyes remain screwed shut. He releases a shaky exhale. 

“Cross, I—” 

He kisses you again. “Don’t. Don’t apologize.” 

“How did you—”

“Because I know you,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

Warmth blooms deep in your chest, right where you’ve made space for him in your heart. “Y-Yeah. Alright. But—”

“No,” he grumbles. “You need to know that I- I’m sorry. For being a di’kut. I should have made a move sooner.” 

A soft chuckle spills from you. “Yeah, you should’ve.” 

At last, his warm, amber eyes flutter open to meet yours. Your breaths mingle in the small space between your faces, and the intensity of affection in his gaze nearly makes your knees collapse. Smiling up at him, you catch the barest hint of a smile in return. For a moment, it’s just you and Crosshair in one another’s embrace, the sounds and smells of the side alley of 79s fading away. 

The moment is shattered when he speaks again. “Don’t you dare tell anyone about this.” 

Laughing in earnest, you can’t help but shake your head. The others are going to find out about this new development sooner or later, but as you meet his gaze again, you realize he doesn’t mean the kiss. Sobering, you nod. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

You can’t resist winking, though. He rolls his eyes and grumbles, but tucks you against his side all the same to lead you back to the barracks.

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[imagionationstation]

Lest we get some wendybird crumbs

Lest?? Lest???

Isn't that a term that means something threatening. "Gotta do this lest the world ends" or "We have to hide lest bloodshed comes"

What's going to happen if we don't. Or do?

AH. I'm confused. I'm going to do the safe bet and give you crumbs.

This is located sometime before the ✨ realization ✨ hits Leo and he enters his villain stage. Undecided about whether the comic book arc has happened yet or not. Mmm. Oh well.

Not trauma but angst is just as good~

Leo was ready.

The two hours and forty-two minutes early kind of ready, but that was probably because he was up every half hour, anxious at the idea of sleeping in. He'd finally gotten his brothers to agree to a family training session after almost two weeks of avoidance. There was always something keeping them from the lair.

He doesn't know what changed, but he was going to fix it.

Tonight was going to be his night and he wasn't going to ruin it.

And so, he waited impatiently for the clock to assure him that it was 8 p.m. Somehow, every clock in the lair managed to fail him in a group mutiny, so he started the night productively.

He let out the anxious energy in the dojo and then managed to settle into meditation. It's how they'd often found their father when they came into the dojo, and it's how he wanted his brothers to see him. Firm, professional, solemn- exactly like a Sensei.

He let himself settle. His brothers boisterous presences weren't exactly easy to ignore, even with a hand into another spiritual plane. He'd know when they showed up.

...Theoretically.

Something told him to check the time. Call it intuition, a spiritual warning, or a sudden, irrational fear that his brothers weren't going to show up that was impossibly strong and all-consuming.

He dropped into his body like there was a bowling ball attached to his conscience, shaking off the feeling and pulling out his t-phone with unsteady hands.

His fist tightened over the tech. He reminded himself to breathe.

Okay, so they were more than half an hour late.

No big deal. No big deal! They probably had late nights, slept in- Leo will just go wake them up. Remind them about the session that they'd all agreed too. Get some food in their stomachs, do some stretches, lead them into a spar, and then the games that he had planned to suit each of their strengths- everything will still be fine a little late.

He's the Sensei. He can be reasonable.

The tension coiled in his gut loosens when he leaves the dojo and almost runs into Mikey. His little brother swerves around him to escape the kitchen, arms full of an array of objects that he adjusts awkwardly to remove the toast from his mouth, hopping backward.

Leo grins when they lock eyes and his brother reflects it.

"Hi, Leo!"

"Morning, Mik-"

"Bye Leo!"

With shinning eyes and the toast returning to his mouth, Mikey dashes across the room and charges into the lab. The leader watches him curiously before entering the kitchen. Raph is in the middle of aggressively shoveling eggs into his mouth. Donnie watches his laptop screen, working on something that Leo does not understand when he passes behind him. There are some eggs and toast on the plate waiting for him. His eyes soften and he goes to grab a fork.

"Do you know Mikey just took a pile of junk into your lab?" He asks as he settles down next to the brother who does not look one swallow away from taking the food down the wrong pipe.

Leo can totally do casual small talk.

Training can wait. He's not needy or overbearing at all.

His eyes subconsciously move for the doorway as Donnie gives a noncommittal hum, "Got it from the junkyard yesterday. As long as it all goes straight to the other dimension, I can allow it."

Leo takes a bite of his toast. A slight hint of butter taps his tongue. Perfection. "And he's taken a pile of junk from the junkyard to our alternates' place because...?"

"Him and Leon are going to harass some Yokai street performers into making it all disappear." He adjusts the lighting of the screen. "Also something about a replacement prank. So they don't think the spell worked or something equally as childish." He shrugs as Leo rolls his eyes. "As long as it keeps them out of our hair..."

Raph chokes on his toast, ramming his fist into his plastron.

"Maybe I'll ask if I can come along tomorrow." Leo remarks as he scoops up some egg. "See how Mikey's slight-of-hand is doing."

"Everything's training with you." Raph rasps as he moves over to the sink. Donnie gives Leo a funny look. "Tomorrow? No, I think they're going over now."

The piece of cheesy egg turns stale as he swallows it. "What?"

"The world's not going to end if you take a second to enjoy your food." Donnie informs the hothead as he downs the water.

Raph sets it on the countertop with an accusing point of his finger. "At least I'm eating."

Donnie looks to his screen, "Touché."

"Mikey's leaving today?" Leo presses. "Right now?"

"With Leon's portals backing him? He's long gone."

"But we have training."

Both of his brothers look at him.

Raph's disbelief is palpable, "We do?"

Donne clicks the calendar application. "Oh. We do."

The Sensei sits up. "None of you guys remembered?"

An exchange of looks between his brothers. His stomach twists. The youngest brother currently in the room admits, "I'm sure I meant too."

"I got things to do." Raph states defiantly. "We gotta reschedule."

"Reschedule?" Leo watches him shove the rest of the toast in his mouth and get rid of the plate. "No, no, no, you guys said you'd do this. You said today. You said-"

"You shoulda reminded me." Raph fires after he swallows. The Sensei levels him with a glare and he snaps, "Back off, Leo. The guys don't train." He points in the direction of the portal hidden in another room. "Why do we gotta make it a priority?"

"I never said it was a priority. You said we would do it!"

"What's the point if Mikey isn't here anyway? Why does he get to skip out?"

"He's not skipping out! I'll- I'll go get him."

His hotheaded brother crosses his arms. "You gotta ruin everyone's fun, dontcha?"

"Training is going to be fun!" Leo stands up to match his height. Raph scoffs, "Yeah, to you, maybe."

Leo narrows his eyes. "It is not up for discussion. As your Sensei-"

"Oh, not this again-"

"Leo," Donnie says with a passive hand on his arm. "We've been fighting nonstop for years. It wouldn't hurt to take a teeny break from everything."

"A break?" Leo asks, baffled. "We're a ninja clan! We- we can't just break from being ninjas."

"Just 'cause you can't get a hobby doesn't mean the rest of us have to be dragged along with you." Raph heads for the doorway. "I'm out of here."

"Raph!"

He disappears through the curtain.

"Raphael, you get back here-!" Leo's attention darts to Donnie as he stands, tucking the laptop under his arm. "-where are you going?"

"I promised Don I'd help him with a few things." He ducks his head and hurries from the island. "He's expecting me."

"You hang out with Don all the time." Leo follows him out, using every bit of restraint to stop himself from grabbing his arm and forcing him to stop walking away. "Why's today special?"

"Today's not special, it's..." Donnie hesitates. "It's not important."

"It is if it means you're going to keep ducking out on me!"

"I'm not trying to." He promises. "But without Raph or Mikey here, it's not really the same, you know? Like Raph said, we reschedule. And I'll makes sure to leave myself some reminders next time."

Leo can see the light from the portal. His heart picks up speed and he blurts, "We can reschedule the family thing later. We can- we can do something though. The two of us. A quick spar or patrol-"

"Leo-" Donnie stops before the portal and Leo steps back. His younger brother looks at him, to the glow, and then back to him.

He turns to face him and Leo's heart sinks. Donnie shifts, uncomfortable. "Look. We don't- I don't- um, the thing about training is- it's- it's good, but it's not- in our interest group. And yeah, we can do it with you sometimes, but maybe not as often? Anymore?"

"We've always trained." Is all Leo can think to say.

"I know." He rubs the side of laptop. "Again, we don't have to stop. But you keep- pushing this on us. Almost daily. And it's- uh, Michael used a word- overwhelming? Yeah. Uh. It's a bit overwhelming."

Donnie doesn't look comfortable. He doesn't even look like he wants the words to be coming out of his mouth. Leo frowns, "Michael told you to say this."

"More or less." Donnie sighs as Leo looks to the portal. "Look, my point is- let's reschedule. And maybe talk about doing something else that Raph is less likely to avoid. Like movie nights. Those were always fun, right?"

"Movie night." Leo parrots. "Tonight?"

"Not tonight. Some other time." Donnie smile sympathetically. "Why don't you go join Mikey and Leon like you wanted? I'm sure they'd let you tag along if you ask."

He looks at Leo hopefully.

"Maybe I will." Leo hears himself say. He hates the idea of being a third wheel to the escapade that made his little brother forget all about him. Donnie doesn't move. He's waiting for Leo to let him go.

He points over his shoulder, smile forced. "Gotta finish my breakfast."

Donnie nods, relief sagging his shoulder. "Okay, then. See you later!"

"Yeah. See you-" Donnie hurriedly disappears through the portal.

Leo is left to the empty lair. "...later."

He doesn't wait around to see if he changes his mind. They never do.

He goes straight to the dojo.

He's already waited long enough as it is.