#come right out and tell her to dial it back several notches

[theragamuffininitiative]

😃

[whumpsoda]

A Weak Mind

I’m going insane I’ve been writing so much lately it’s crazy

I reallyyy like this one, so I hope you enjoy!

I wrote a part two as well :D Part two

cw: restraints, mild cursing, hypnosis/conditioning, pet whump

———————————————————————

Villain couldn’t move.

The countless restraints made sure of that.

They also ensured his instinctive panic upon gaining back consciousness. He struggled, fought against the leather straps, but of course the fight was futile. Even while squirming so determinedly, he was stuck.

Almost immediately upon his awakening, the room echoed with boisterous screams and shouts. Some were made from confusion, some anger. “Where am I!? What the fuck’s going on!? Let me out! Let me out! I’m going to fucking kill you!” Furious spittle flew from his mouth.

He could barely make out the area around him, only being able to make out a few cluttered tables. Villain continued spitting malicious roars at seemingly nothing.

Minutes passed.

So many minutes, he had no way of telling how many. 

His voice had become hoarse and strangled from the screaming. His words were slowing, quieting, coming to a stop. No one was there. He was alone in a strange place, strapped rigidly to an uncomfortable chair.

“Just fucking… show yourself already… asshole…” No response.

A click.

Villain would’ve looked if he could, but the noise came from behind him, and his head was currently not allowed that type of movement. Or any, really. 

His raspy voice picked up slightly. “Fight me… dickhead…” The determined steps approached closer, until the mysterious figure had walked right past him, practically ignoring the man strapped to the chair.

As the figure walked past, Villain caught a mumble stumbling from the figure’s lips. “Fuck. I missed the best part.” In return Villain forced his voice to return out of pure rage, but continued insults did nothing to catch the attention of the person rummaging around the room. 

A faint hand reached to the ceiling, and with another slight click a singular lightbulb lit across the room. Villain could make out the person a bit better now, their stretched frame, their long silky dark hair. Every step of theirs was determined, made with purpose as they circled around several locations. 

Superhero.

“Hey, fucker-”

“Hush. I’ll be with you in a minute.” Villain recoiled. She was speaking to him as if he were an elementary school child. 

The woman flicked a simple switch, and blue light cast upon the room. Half of one entire wall was filled top to bottom by what appeared to be some sort of giant computer. Superhero mumbled to herself comfortably, as if there wasn’t a man subdued in a chair mere feet away. “Where’s that setting… ah, here it is.” They carefully turned several notches on a large dial.

Villain was quiet, too quiet. He couldn’t ignore the fear anymore, his voice wouldn’t conjure up noise any longer. So many terrified thoughts ran through his mind, blocking out the fact that the woman was now walking his direction. 

She had something wrapped delicately in her hands, a mask-like object. Wires sprouted from all sides, running to who knows where. 

She lifted the bulky box up to Villain’s face, easily slipping it over his head despite his struggles. “Hey, hey! What the hell is going on!? Get this shit off of me!” The mask felt like a mix between a pair of goggles and a VR headset, enveloping his vision and nose. His vision was filled with complete darkness.

A finger rested over his thin lips, ceasing his yells. “Hush. It’ll be okay soon.” Villain could only hear the person’s steps stalking around the room, now. 

Seconds later, he heard yet another mechanical click.

His vision was overwhelmed by a bright lavender light. Villain urgently squeezed his eyes tight, refusing to open them. As he sat there, the color trying to seep into his eyeballs, a pair of bulky headphones slipped over his ears, and nimble fingers began massaging his head.

He could hear faint voices at first, or maybe all the same one, he couldn’t tell. Not until they grew louder, and louder. They blocked out any of his thoughts, a tight grasp leaking into his brain. 

Most of the voices Villain did not recognize. One of them though, the very loudest, he definitely did.

“Hero…?”

“Open your eyes, Villain. Let the light in. It’s meant to help, Villain, it won’t hurt. Open your eyes.” All of the voices robotically chanted the same words in his ears, constantly looping back to the beginning.

Villain held back, he held back as long as he could possibly manage, but soon, he wanted to do it. To open his eyes. He wanted to see it. His curiosity got the best of him. At least that’s what he believed. 

As soon as his eyes fluttered open, he never wanted to shut them again. He couldn’t even make out the images, the words. His brain was clouding, the visuals taking a hold on him.

As soon as his eyes opened, the voices picked up. “Good, Villain, so good. Such a good boy.” An intense, pleasurable feeling spread throughout Villain’s body upon the praise. The scratching upon his head mixed with the traveling feeling felt better than anything ever had before. It had to have been the most enjoyable feeling he had ever felt. It felt like heaven.

Villain yearned for more.

He continued to focus on the screen, the words and imagery becoming clearer and clearer. He was so focused, so obsessed.

“Focus, Villain. Relax, focus.” His body cuddled into the chair, it’s once uncomfortable feel being replaced with an unhealthily beautiful one. “Focus, Villain. You’re doing so well, so good. Read the words, Villain, repeat them.” 

The words began to spill out of Villain like water. 

“Obedience.”

Good.

“Submissive.”

Good boy.

“Do…cile.”

Good boy, Villain.

“Oh…obediencccceee…”

Good boy, Villain.

“Sub… submisshivvvee…”

Good boy, Villain.

“Da… da-docillllleee…”

Good boy, Villain.

“Pettt...”

Good boy, Pet.

The constant praise was filling his senses completely, overriding everything else, liquefying his brain. The pleasure he felt was constant and unimaginable. The words, the voices, the ideas, mixed together in a mix of marvelous pleasure. 

Any previous feelings of fear or anger had melted away so long ago, not even an afterthought to Villain. He wanted this. He wanted the good feels. He wanted it to continue forever. Submitting didn’t feel so bad anymore.

Each new flashing image, surrounded by the tender purple color, pulled Villain in deeper. His brain was melting, turning to mush. He couldn’t think. He shouldn’t think.

He didn’t want to think.

The words didn’t make sense anymore. To him the images were now accompanied by symbols completely foreign to him. The meaningless words though, they pulled him in, comforted him.

The voices continued, whispering sounds, some nonsensically to him, just like the words on the screen.

Except on the screen and in the voices, there were a few he could make out. The words he did understand, the ones he wanted to.

Obedient, submissive, docile.

Sit, stay, rollover.

Good boy.

Sweet pet.

They swirled in his mind, plastered across the walls of his brain. 

Villain sniffed vigorously. A scent had been released in front of him, released from the mask. He was caught completely in the familiar smell that filled his nose. 

“Sweet pet. Be so good for me won’t you? Your best behavior?” It was just one voice now ringing through his ears. The familiar voice. The one that had constantly remained the loudest. 

The scent matched the voice perfectly, causing Villain’s head to go wild.

“Heeeroooooo…” His voice didn’t even feel like his anymore. 

The voice, the scent, the words.

He could muster no thoughts, his head empty and smooth, enforced by the firm massaging of delicate fingers.

The imagery looped, so did the familiar words. Over and over again. The many voices returned behind the main one, filling his ears. Villain had no desire for it to end, not a drop in his whole body. 

His being was encased in a pure sense of bliss, relishing in the sweet buzz of the voice.

As soon as it had started, the experience stopped. Villain barely even noticed, his mind too compromised to understand. The fingers lifted from his hair, the headphones  gently being slipped off. The mask stayed on.

“What are you?” Villain recognized the voice instantly, one of the many that had been feeding him praises only moments ago.

He wasted no time mulling over a response.

“Pppetttt…” his words were slurred, coated in a fuzzy glaze.

“Who do you belong to, Pet?”

“Hhheerrrooooo…” Each time an automatic response exited his mouth, a feeling of intense satisfaction spiked inside him once again.

“Good boy. You’ve done so well, Hero will be so pleased. We only have a little more to go.”

Villain’s smile, desperate for the praise, stretched.

“Once you can’t so much as speak, it’ll all be over.

You’ll be fixed.”

—————————————————————

Soon enough, the mask finally slipped from his flushed cheeks.

Villain had no idea how long it had been, hours, days, maybe even weeks, the concept of time no longer carrying any meaning to him.

As the restraints he had gotten so used to were all unclipped, his whole body slumped, sliding out of the chair and onto the tiled flooring. He stationed himself on all fours, instinctively. Villain’s eyes sat half-lidded, heavy after being open for so long. He was still, prepared for instruction.

A thin, tall mirror was stationed several feet in front of him. Superhero was positioned next to it, guiding his eyes into the reflection. Someone, the one staring back at him, looked unruly and unkempt. Their hair was a mess, their clothes wrinkled and slipping. Their eyes were hollow, blank. Something sat on around their neck, something thick and irritating. 

A dog collar.

Villain didn’t even comprehend the fact that it was himself he was looking at.

“Do you like it?” No response. The words meant nothing to him, not registering in his feeble mind. “Too easy,” the person flipped around, stepping to a hook on the wall. They slipped a long, thin piece of fabric off, with a clip on the end. “I was really hoping for more of a fight.

At least I’ve got a wonderful gift for hero.”

[dantooined]

Perhaps

post on ao3

Pairing: Thrawn x Fem!Reader (she/her pronouns used) Word Count: 3.6k Series Rating: Mature (18+ only, minors DO NOT INTERACT) Chapter Summary: Thrawn notices everything, including the way his newest Imperial officer looks at him when she thinks he's not looking - and decides to do something about it. Chapter Warnings: explicit sexual content, smut, POV Thrawn, xenophilia, no y/n, POV female character, orgasm delay/denial, BDSM, vibrators, voyeurism/public, workplace relationship, light dom/sub, our blue boy is into power play and don't we love him for it

You were pretty sure that time had, somehow, stopped.

Sweat slowly trickled down the back of your neck past your collar, threatening to stain your perfectly starched grey Imperial uniform. The thermoregulators couldn't be malfunctioning since none of your colleagues sitting next to you at the command table seemed to be perspiring like you were. You’d also been in this kriffing meeting for hours, so you wouldn’t be able to pretend like you’d just come from a workout either.

Praying no one would notice, you tried to keep your face as neutral as possible, staring straight at your commander’s blue-skinned face as if this was just another day, just another meeting. Nothing to see here. Nothing to —

“Is there something you’d like to say, lieutenant?” Thrawn suddenly queried, interrupting some moff droning on about last quarter’s numbers.

Your eyes — which were apparently glossed over, damnit— instantly refocused on Thrawn’s piercing red gaze, seemingly beaming straight through you and whatever facade you trying to project. He folded his arms behind him and stared right at you. He knew.

He always knew.

If anyone had been paying attention, they might’ve noticed the room’s apparent background buzz suddenly silenced. One might’ve thought the mild buzzing noise was simply part of the room ambiance, perhaps some monitoring gage simply cycling through. Definitely not something very specifically inside of you, vibrating, and being controlled by the Grand Admiral running this meeting.

“N-no, sir,” you stammer, immediately straightening your posture and giving him a curt nod.

The corners of his mouth ever so slightly ticked upwards as he paused for a moment, looking at you, almost baiting you to make the next move. Everyone’s eyes on you, Thrawn secretly pressed a controller hidden in his uniform cufflink to turn your vibrator back on, dialing it up a few notches in an attempt to probably catch you off guard.

Summoning every ounce of strength you had left, you pressed your legs together and bit your tongue. You controlled your breath best you can and stared straight back at him, giving your best impression of a nonplussed Imperial, hoping everyone else in the room would buy it but him. Praying they would all assume the sticky tension in the room was strictly professional, nothing more.

Knowing it was anything but.

The moment passed. Thrawn dipped his head gently and moved on with the meeting’s agenda, deftly guiding the conversation with his usual brilliance and aptitude. You had to admit that you admired him for it. There was no one else like Grand Admiral Thrawn, even if these middle management Imperials couldn’t get over themselves enough to ever admit it. He was special. Incredible, really. Always came out on top, always in charge, always the victor.

This entire situation revolved around that dynamic. You loved it. But today, you wanted to tease the Grand Admiral. Show him that you were more than just a plaything, a pet. Two could play this game, surely. Had anyone ever called Thrawn’s bluff successfully and lived to tell the tale? Something sinful inside of you needed to know. Needed to watch him lose his cool for once.

What would it look like to see his blue skin blush?

—-

When you had first been transferred to The Chimaera, you thought your instant admiration for him was for his clear prowess in the battlefield, incredibly able to calculate and strategize several steps ahead seemingly on the spot. Everyone else was terrified of him, but you found yourself drawn to his quiet, restrained kind of power. You couldn’t help yourself, like a moth to a flame. It should have scared you, how much you were drawn to him - but it never did.

And then, one day, when you were personally tasked with bringing Thrawn a report, his red, glowing eyes locked with yours for the first time … and you felt like you were on fire. A warm, devastating flame that melted your heart into some kind of lava now flowing through your veins. You suddenly knew you would do anything for this man. He knew it too, even then.

Months passed, and you both gravitated more and more towards each other, like two suns irretrievably trapped in orbit. A lingering touch as he passed by your console. A stolen glance as you passed each other in the hallway. Soon, Thrawn requested for you to be on his personal detail, insisting on all non-urgent communications while off-duty being run through you. You thought your heart might explode.

The two of you quickly became familiar, even almost friendly; a tentative bond that only strengthened with more time and experience. You made sure you never let him down. You were always on time, always ready, always prepared.

You’d also convinced yourself that you put your best foot forward because you admired him. But in the middle of the night when you touched yourself thinking about all the ways you wished he would, you knew better. And up until today, even though you’d desperately wanted to, you’d never made a move.

He was a Grand Admiral. You were just a lieutenant. What if you’d been reading this all wrong? You couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk losing whatever this was.

So when he unexpectedly called you into this office before this meeting, you’d slightly panicked. Thrawn never did anything unintentionally, but meeting alone in his office was highly unusual, even for him. And as you briskly walked the ship’s hallways towards his office, you tried to run through every possible scenario or reason for being called in so unexpectedly. Stopping in front of his door, you ran your shaking hands over your hair and pulled down your crisp uniform tightly to make sure you’d at least look at pulled together as possible before going inside.

You held your breath as you opened the door.

—-

Grand Admiral Thrawn was nothing if not always prepared. Always analyzing, always dissecting, always watching. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t help that life always seemed so … predictable.

Which is why art had become such a deep fascination: it was expressive, unique, even volatile at times. A true artist knew the rules and knew how to break them. Privately, he liked to think of himself as an artist of sorts, albeit the strategic and militaristic type. Humans rarely appreciated his kind of art, however.

It initially bothered him, but he’d eventually learned to set aside any feelings of unappreciation. He'd told himself that feeling wanted wasn’t practical, and that was that.

But the last few months with his lieutenant had proven unique. There was a warmth, a kind of delicious heat that accompanied so many of their interactions, especially as of late. initially, Thrawn hadn't recognized it for what it was, having practically blinded himself to anything regarding carnal desire. Humans more often than not had exhibited xenophobic tendencies with him, so he forgave himself for his initial misgivings about the matter.

However, it couldn't now be any clearer how his lieutenant felt, and that knowledge set something inside of him aflame. Feeling admired, feeling wanted, feeling appreciated... Thrawn realized a rare opportunity. Perhaps instead of just being an artist… he could also, in a way, be the art.

The idea both thrilled and terrified him, which thrilled him even more.

Thrawn was so used to being the one in power, the one making the call. What would it be like to give in to physical pleasures and just be... desired? He had never done that before.

Curiosity piqued, he rationalized to himself that he could surely still be in control while allowing himself to be admired. After all, how could he call himself a lover of art if he hadn’t done everything he could to fully understand it?

And after months of painstakingly setting the ground for what could be a most fascinating experiment, Thrawn was more than ready to test that theory.

—-

“Hello? … Grand Admiral?” You voiced, tentatively.

A moment, then you heard his familiar timbre call out, “In here, lieutenant.”

Licking your lips and ignoring that fluttering feeling in your chest, you started towards the Grand Admiral, smoothing your uniform nervously while glancing down at your polished boots walking towards the unknown.

As you entered the room, you quickly looked up to address Thrawn. Instantly, your brain short circuited at the immediate image you saw with your mouth agape.

Thrawn had clearly just been sparring with two robots, now standing up from what must have been an intense sparring session based on the sheen of sweat dappling his muscular body.

He wasn’t in his standard Imperial white uniform either, but rather, a black tank that stuck to the ripples of his chest like a second skin. Below, trim grey pants that matched and smartly covered his toned body. His typical sky blue skin was a deeper, more vibrant cerulean, practically glistening in the light. His typically slicked back dark hair was slightly tousled, spare strands hanging down and framing his angular face, making him look ever so slightly undone instead of the typical calm and collected commander. Almost … wild.

He glanced up at you with a gaze so intense you thought you might pass out on the spot.

“Rukh”, Thrawn commanded, instantly turning off the bots and officially ending the spar session.

As he righted himself, you straightened up your posture and tried to look as professional as possible, starkly contrasting Thrawn’s apparently casual approach to this meeting.

“Lieutenant, thank you for coming here so quickly,” he said, chest still heaving gently from the workout. Running his hand through his damp hair absentmindedly, he continued, motioning over to his data pad on his desk. “There’s … something I think you should see.”

You cautiously circled around behind his desk to look at the data pad, only to see a series of videos — of yourself.

Security camera footage of you on your shifts, walking down hallways, even in the mess hall. Your heart racing, you turned to face Thrawn with a quizzical look on your face.

“…Sir?” You queried.

“Tell me what you notice about this footage, lieutenant.” Thrawn responded, now beside you, eyes slightly narrowing as they locked with yours.

Gulping, you turned back to the data pad and looked more closely at the screen. You focused on the top video first, noticing that it was from a meeting only a few days ago, led by Thrawn himself. Scanning to the next video, you saw yourself on deck standing next to Thrawn during a battle presentation. And as you looked at the third video on the data pad where Thrawn walked by you in the mess hall, you gasped.

These weren’t just videos of you. They were videos of you and Thrawn.

And - dank ferrick - you quickly realized exactly what else they had in common.

The footage from the meeting slowly zoomed in on your face as Thrawn went over strategy, clearly picking up the way you chewed your lip watching him. While Thrawn was leading The Chimaera to battle, you were clearly staring at the Grand Admiral with glossy, half-lidded eyes. Kriff, were you rubbing your legs together? You watched in horror as you saw how the security camera caught the way your eyes hungrily flicked down Thrawn’s body as he passed by in the mess hall, only to bite your lip as you watched him walk away.

The air was suddenly too thick to breathe, your uniform collar unbearably stiff. You knew you had it bad for your commander, but had no idea how kriffing obvious it was to anyone who was watching. Panicking, you dropped his data pad on the desk and moved to step back from him, unsure of what you could possibly say to remedy this situation. But before your legs managed to make the first step, Thrawn’s hand shot out and grabbed your wrist, instantly stilling you.

“Lieutenant,” he said, almost purring, still holding on to you tightly. “I don’t believe I’ve relieved you of duty yet.”

“Y-yes sir,” you stammered. “Of c-course, sir, I didn’t want-“

“Oh, but you did want, lieutenant,” Thrawn coolly interrupted as he turned from his desk to face you, your wrist now helplessly held in front of his expansive chest, your body burning under his assessment.

You felt something stirring in your lower body but impossibly tried to control your features so you didn’t do anything stupid. Like think about how he was still touching you. Or how incredible his chest probably looks right now. Or the glint in his eyes that felt like a double-edged sword right up against your throat.

“I typically prefer my officers to be observant and thoughtful,” Thrawn continued. “But perhaps, for the moment, thinking is not what this situation requires.”

So you just stood there, dumbly, desperately, simply staring at your commander like you were waiting for orders. And maybe you were.

“Lieutenant,” Thrawn continued as he let go of your trembling wrist, hungrily watching it fall next to your thigh. “I believe you to be a fine officer, one who can and has operated with discretion. Someone trustworthy. Do you believe that evaluation to be correct?”

“Yes, sir.” You stammered, heat pooling in your chest. “And it’s been an honor to work more closely with you, sir.”

He lazily drew his eyes back up to your face, grinning, subconsciously reminding you of a loth-wolf stalking its prey. You chewed your lip nervously, not missing how his red eyes immediately darted towards your mouth upon doing so.

“Closely, indeed.”

You could’ve sworn you saw his tongue peek out and wet his lips.

Thrawn then cocked his head at you and slowly moved to your right, continuing to look you up and down as if he were appraising a fine work of art. You stood there with your heart racing, eyes locked ahead, body at full attention.

“You also have an impeccable record and have been a loyal servant to the Empire.”

Thrawn paused behind your shoulder and reached around you, grabbing your chin and tilting it back towards him. “And, subsequently, loyal to me.”

Your face, inches away from his, blushed furiously. “Yes, Grand Admiral,” you breathed.

It’s intense. More intense than it should be.

Thrawn carefully leaned in towards your ear, his breath heating the back of your neck and causing your skin to gooseflesh instantly.

“Good girl,” he whispered.

You could practically hear yourself dripping.

“Lieutenant,” Thrawn started, regaining his composure and folding his arms behind him as he started to gently walk around the room. “I brought you in here today to prove a theory of mine. One that I have been holding for months, truly curious what might come of it.”

You nervously watched as the Grand Admiral paced the floor, something you’d seen him do a hundred times during battle. There was something so strong, so compelling about how he owned the room, how he was always three steps ahead of everyone else. But as you watched him now, muscles gently rippling as he moved, stripped of his typical uniform and into something so casual, you thought he’d never looked more powerful. And it thrilled you.

It wasn’t until a few moments later you realized he had stopped talking and was watching you, watching him. Wait, was your mouth open?

You quickly clenched your jaw and shook your head to come back to reality only to see him shoot you a sly smile as he continued.

“The video surveillance was merely a tool to easily show you what I had already noticed. And, seeing you today, so willing … I believe my theory to be correct.”

You gulped. “Willing, sir?”

Thrawn stopped pacing and stared out of the transparisteel viewport on the far side of the room. You could see his red eyes burning in the reflection, their smoldering intensity surpassing the twinkling stars outside.

“Perhaps,” he mused.

—-

“Perhaps,” Thrawn remarked with a wave of his hand, dismissing the captain’s concerns about … wait, what are they talking about? Kriff. You’d been thinking back to how this all started and clearly lost focus in the current meeting.

It didn’t help that you could feel yourself dripping down your thighs by this point. He had clearly been slowly ramping the vibrator up as the meeting progressed, wanting to see how much you could take before one of you broke. If you moved your hips back just a bit, you could probably end this all right now—

You gritted your teeth in frustration. No, you could do this. You were practically panting and squirming so much it was surely distracting the other meeting attendees, but you couldn't think about them right now. Not when you were this worked up and affected. Glancing over at Thrawn, you expected to see him as calm as always. However, you noticed something small that made your entire chest go white hot.

He was clenching his fist. A moff was talking about hyperspace fuel routes and Grand Admiral Thrawn looked as tense as a leader in battle.

He must be just as affected as you were.

Playing with fire, you decided to tempt fate and stick out your chest ever so slightly. This ended up backfiring as your pelvis rocked back and sent pleasant electric shocks up your body nearly taking you over the edge. You were so wet. Your mouth slightly opened and eyelids grew heavy with the new pressure, instantly captivating Thrawn as he immediately looked your way, unable to help himself. You absentmindedly wondered if Chiss men had heightened senses of smell.

In an attempt to rein it all in, you cleared your throat and slowly leaned back, regaining that Imperial stiff upper lip everyone in this room would expect. Thrawn continued to stare at you, a slight purple seeming flushing his cheeks. So that’s what it looks like.

“Pardon me,” you began. “This meeting has unexpectedly gone over and I’m needed elsewhere urgently.”

“I’m afraid I must also join the Lieutenant,” Thrawn immediately added as he scooted his chair back. It seemed as if he was about to stand, but then thought otherwise and remained seated, crossing his legs. “Might you summarize the remainder of your findings so we may conclude this meeting?”

... Wait, why didn’t Thrawn just end the meeting? It took you a moment of frustration until you realized gleefully that he must be unable to stand.

Biting back a smile from this heady realization, you nodded at Thrawn and turned your attention back to the moff, who was clearly planning on berating a lieutenant for interrupting him until Thrawn threw his support behind you. That’s not the only part of Thrawn I want behind me —

As if he could hear your dirty thoughts, Thrawn decided to punish you and turned the vibrator up even higher. You could have screamed in any other circumstance, but your immense need to beat Thrawn at his own game managed to somehow hold it all together. Everything inside of you was whirring around, flowing like hot lava through your veins, pulsing to a rhythm only you and the Grand Admiral could hear. The buzzing seemed so loud; surely even these Imperial dolts were catching on by now, you worried.

You didn’t dare look away and see what Thrawn’s face looked like. It would send you over the edge for sure. Seeing a man with such power and such control being completely undone — by your pleasure — was almost too much to even think about.

You knew this was not how he thought this “exercise in self-control” would go, and you knew he was going to punish you for disobeying him. You hoped he would. Hoped he would take you back to his room and take you in front of that transparisteel viewport in front of all the stars, all the galaxy watching you —

“Lieutenant.” The moff quipped dryly. “Are you well? You seem quite distracted. Surely a matter of this importance is not boring you.”

Snapping back to reality, your eyes focused on their displeased face and tried to think of the first thing to say that wasn’t drenched in the filth that almost fully occupied your mind right now.

“Of course not,” you responded, fidgeting with the hem of your uniform. “I just want to respect the Grand Admiral’s schedule and conclude this meeting as quickly as possible. Do you not share the same goal?”

It was borderline bratty, you knew. You couldn’t help it. Not with this vibrator pulsing inside of you, threatening to undo you at any given moment.

You didn’t even have to look at Thrawn to feel his small smirk spread across his face.

“The Lieutenant is quite right,” Thrawn purred. “Please continue with the meeting, so the rest of the room may be up to speed. Forgive me as I take my leave to attend to other pressing matters.”

The purple blush from his face seemingly cleared, Thrawn stood up decisively and pushed his chair back into the table, turning to leave. You froze, not sure if you were able to leave or were being asked to stay. You weren’t even sure you would be able to physically get up and walk out the door, if you were being honest. Maybe Thrawn had won after all, and he was leaving you here to continue to suffer as a punishment.

The Grand Admiral paused, and looked back over his shoulder. “Are you joining me, Lieutenant?”

In that moment, you knew he would never leave you like that. He needed to watch you, needed to see you suffer for him. Leaving you with a bunch of stuffy middle management to enjoy your suffering? Thrawn was a connoisseur, a patron, a purveyor of the arts. He wasn’t about to let one of his most intriguing artistic endeavors blossom without him. He needed you, needed to enjoy what he’s done to you.

You could suddenly see it in his eyes. The hunger. The appetite. The quiet pleading.

Oh.

The surge of power was almost too delicious to bear. Knowing you were actually the one truly in control, you grinned, wickedly.

“Perhaps,” you quipped.

[iphoenixrising]

How do you think the boys will react to Dr Tim in fear gas (like full dose of it)??

Hi babe.

I’ve said it before, but ah. Be careful what you wish for, heh. 

But no, really hasn’t poor Dr. Tim been through enough? Guy has already narrowly escaped collapsing bridges, been up close and personal with the Joker, fought off Scarecrow’s goons, AND was smack dab in the middle of an honest-to-God Arkham Riot.Now we’re going to just get him all up in some fear toxin? Good Lord, can the man get a break? He hasn’t had some smut in a while tbh. (winks over to chippon)

BUT.

WARNINGS FOR: 

Mentions of child abuse 

Mentions of gore, blood, grossness 

You will be crying by the end. Guaranteed. 

Extreme mental and emotional HURT 

Tim’s fears are Jesus-Fucking-Christ level bad 

You’ve been warned :D

**

He’s not even back to work yet after that ambulance wreck, still feels the road rash, pulled muscles, and residual owfuck from a little rough and tumble time at Arkham Asylum. 

But, he’s in a convenience store for fuck’s sake because Jay wouldn’t let him have coffee this morning (nah, Sweets. Ya ain’t godda get up yet. Jus’ go back ta sleep wid’ me, yeah? We’re gonna stay here all warm n’ snug. Sshh. I gotcha, Timmy), and he’d managed to wrangle himself out of Jay’s arms when he woke up again, found out there’s only enough grounds for a shitty, weak pot, and Tim can’t even stand the thought of it.

Unfortunately, he gets a whole lot of random bad guys stopping in for those terrible hot dogs and road drinks on their way out of Gotham.

(Crane looks just as horrifying as he remembers from the hospital that one time, and Tim fervently hopes, hopes none of these henchmen recognize him in a beat-up hoodie and saggy sweatpants.)

What makes matters worse?

Crane isn’t even trying to be, you know, an evil villain.

There’s a put-upon sign behind the mask, and the fear gas comes out of nowhere, getting everyone in the store because the guy just doesn’t want to deal with civilians right this moment. He missed the break-out and decided to have a party all on his own, but he hasn’t even gotten the time to get the plan for his next evil scheme ready yet.

So he raises a hand and sprays a little gas to keep people from being lucid enough to call the cops and rat him out. He needs some time for a good getaway.

Tim, however, sees the inevitable coming and is frozen to the spot, can’t get his weak knees to unlock so he can at least try to duck. Instead, he gets it full in the face.

In a sweep, Crane sprays the small store as his henchmen drop a $20 in front of the coughing clerk and take off back out the door. Hotdogs and all.

Tim scrabbles for his phone, the noxious cloud makes his eyes water, his lungs fucking burn on the first choked, shocked breath. Even when he tries to hold his breath, he’s too terrified, knees going out just as he thumbs the screen behind his back.  

“Timmy?” is tinny and far away while he tries to at least breath shallow, eyes dart to the door, his brain tuned into the whole get out and away before the inevitable happens.

He’s got to get to Jay, he’s got to get out of here and get to someone. If he starts talking while hepped up on fear gas, he could give away everyone’s secrets. He could tell random strangers who everyone really is, he could tell anyone their weaknesses, he could put everyone in danger.

Building blocks. If he can get to a lab, to Steph’s, back to his penthouse, anywhere not here, he can probably crack the building blocks of the toxin before it takes him over completely.

He doesn’t even hear, “Baby? Ya there? Didja butt dial again? Thought I tol’ ya ta stay in bed with me, yeah?”

Not with the door right there.

All he has to do is make his weak knees fucking work, ignore the burn in his lungs, his brain, his eyes teary with the cloud still thick around him, with the abrupt slam of his heart in his chest, with the sudden shadows in the niches that hadn’t been there before.

He just has to get to that fucking door. Has to be able to run.

Tim manages to mostly get there before the screaming starts.

**

Dick is working the day shift in the uniform when word Crane struck come over the wire.

Whenever it’s one of the big bads, he gets close enough to get the details before handily disappearing to slip into something a little more comfortable.

(He knows his ass is spectacular in the Nightwing suit.)

A boop from his pocket is his Batcomm notification, and he pops it in just as he dips into the men’s room with a plan to get out one of the usual windows.

“We’ve got Crane on the move, O. Might want to drop B a line.”

“Already aware, Boy Wonder. It’s more severe than you realize.” His phone goes off as Dick is shimmying out the window and up the building where he keeps a spare suit in a nice waterproof bag hidden in the overhang.

When he checks whatever oh shit is added to a potentially deadly scene, he’s got a text from Jay and a picture from O.

Surveillance footage from inside a convenience store where Crane evidently attacked some civilians. His breath catches when one of the faces turned away to try avoiding the gas is–

Timmy.

“Fuck,” is a little breathless with a very different kind of fear, and Dick immediately turns it up a notch, throwing his suit on and slapping a domino over his eyes. “What can you tell me, O?”

Quick check on what he’s got to work with.

“B and Rob are already in pursuit. Signal is approaching to assist. As far as we can tell, this is the only place Crane managed to hit. Everyone’s mostly been accounted for by GCPD.”

“I sense a but coming–” and he checks his phone two seconds before time to fly, and the text from Jay is something about Tim and screaming, and now he won’t pick up the phone...

“O?” Because dread strikes him in the chest.

“He’s the only civilian missing. He must have already taken off before the patrol car got there.”

“He was hit with fear gas, and he took off?”

The jumpline is already in his hand before he even hits the edge of the roof at a run. It’s go time.

So, it’s a race to find Tim, all doped up on fear toxin and probably tripping out of his mind in one of the most dangerous cities in America where people like the Joker and Two-Face might hold a grudge.

Jason was already suited up before he sent that text to Dickie, was outta there when the sounds came over the line, the familiar screams. It’s a particular flavor of terror spelled out that Timmy, was probably in trouble.

He hits up O with the deets while Nightwing hits the almost-night, making the first swing fucking count.

**

The world alters and shift around him, almost throwing him off his feet more than once.

He’s already completely lost his sense of direction, trying to keep his eyes closed in a last ditch effort to keep the hallucinations at bay.

(It’s just chemicals fucking with your brain. You can beat this. It’s not real. None of it is real. You know that. You know it’s just–

Brick under his fingertips, abrading the sensitive skin. Stumbles over a curb, and the loud whonkkkkk almost rips a surprised yip out of him. Tim cracks his eyes open, heart picking up when the yellow lights look like the porch light from the Johnson’s house–

– before they brought him back.

“He’s…a special child. He needs more than we can give him–”

“He can’t get along with the other children, so I’m afraid–”

“Well, you see. Mary is pregnant! It’s-it’s a miracle, and we like Tim, really we do–“

Tim grits his teeth, hears so much wahwahwah than anyone really talking, telling him to get the hell out of the street, what is he thinking?

But instead of a shadow of a motorist that had pretty much almost run him over, all he can see is Detective Gordon, way back when he’d been the one to come to the Drake’s manor and give him the news.

His mom and dad weren’t coming back, not ever.

“N-No,” he whimper screams, slamming his eyes closed, and takes off again. It’s a full tilt run, every person he meets with someone else’s face.

Michael McCannon, the guy that beat the shit out of his foster kids.

Lilly Wright, wanted the income from having a foster in her house, didn’t care if he went to school, if he slept, if he ate, if he was dead in a gutter because he fell off a roof running after–

He smacks his palms into brick, scraping his face, turns and there’s Tony Stark back when he’d first met. Intimidating and imposing, eyes narrowed in distaste.

He runs faster, only half recognizes the buildings as he goes. He knocks into someone, eats face in an alley, panting and sweating, eyes full of tears, brain on fucking fire.

“Drake!” Hissed from the shadows, the darkness parting for red, gold, and green.

But it’s too much red, too much red.

“N-no, nonono,” and now he’s outright sobbing, scrabbling to his feet because Dami, Dami, is in a ragged, torn tunic, skin broken and blood fucking pouring out of him.

He’s got both hands on the vigilante, brain failing him, spitting out the mortality rate of being run the fuck through.

“No, no, no Dami, Dami,” he’s pressing on the worst wound, tears streaming down his face, babbling incoherently, apologizing, begging this kid, the little brother he should have had, not to fucking die and leave him too.

Robin, laying where the doctor had apparently thrown him, is staring up in shock, hands on Drake’s forearms where he’s pressing at some imaginary wound.

“Don’t die, Dami. Stay with me! Please stay with me!” Is fairly screamed in the cold night.

And Robin catches his breath at this, this, as one of Drake’s worst fears.

“D-Don’t leave me. I can’t lose you. I-I can’t lose you, too.” Tim weeps, pulling both hands back, staring down at what must see as blood and viscera.

“I am sorry, Timothy,” Robin breathes out hoarsely, frees a hand to pull back, teeth clenched against what he’s about to do, and punches their doctor with real intent.

As he hopes, Tim goes down like a stone, unconscious on the dirty ground, tears still on his face from terror and grief.

In a breath, Robin is on his feet, kneeling over Drake, tapping the comm in his ear. “Hood, N, Father. I have located him. He has been…affected. I am uncertain if the anti-toxin in my belt would do further harm, so I have not administered it as of yet.”

“Rob,” Hood’s response is immediate, “Big Wing’s with Daddy Bat takin’ care a’ the last of ‘em.  I’m headin’ atcha now.”

“Meet me at the Black Bird. Hurry,” Robin cuts off, and gently, oh so gently for his normal, lifts Tim’s upper body against his chest, points a gauntlet at the roof to fire the jump line, reel them both in.

At sixteen, the youngest vigilante has nearly outgrown the doctor, and has no trouble lifting Tim up to carry him across the roof, occasionally looking down to make sure Tim is still out.

His own vehicle, the Black Bird, is hidden close to a safe house for the Bats. Balancing Tim in his arms, he taps his utility belt, the container hiding the car folding away.

Hood is on the ground, immediately takes Timmy from Rob, looking at the scrapes on his face.

“In, in!” Robin snaps, shooing Hood in the back with their Doctor. “We must get him to the Cave immediately.”

He dives in the driver’s seat, revving the engine fast, tapping his mask for the whiteouts to slide up. He takes in the immediate area with a glance, and peels out into the night.

Jay deactivates the helmet, tosses it in the front seat, wraps both arms around Timmy in his lap, tapping the comm to listen up at Dickie and B on clean-up whiles he winds up to get all the deets outta the Demon.

“Tell it ta me straight, Lil’ D. How bad wassit?”

He’s looking in the rearview because the kid’s eyes always give him away.

He ain’t prepared to see the Demon blinking rapidly, jaw clenched tight. “He is fully effected. Hallucinations, inability to discern outside voices. I called to him. He was not able to hear me. See me, yes, but he believed I was…dying. He attempted to treat me, asked me not to…”

Robin makes a hard right turn, shoves his foot against the pedal to drift it. He shoves in the clutch, shifts the gears, biting down on his lower lip (“Don’t leave me, I can’t lose you.”).

He evens out, hitting the Robert Kane Bridge to take them out of Gotham proper and closer to the Manor.

“Dames?” Jay makes it soft because the kid is obviously shook.

Robin pushes the car to 105 mph to sail over the bridge.

“His fear was he would be unable to save me. The wound…he believed the wound made by Hush would kill me yet again, I believe.”

Jason Todd breathes in sharply, freeing up a hand to fit at the back of Rob’s neck, make circles with his thumb.

“Sorry that mighta brought ya back.” His tone is low with sympathy, empathy.

And for a moment, Damian Wayne, not Robin, leans back into that hand, lets it ground him while the night flies by the window, while he watches the darkness for everything while he downshifts, when the road starts getting less defined further out of the city they go.

“It is not that,” Damian admits, “one day, one of us, perhaps all of us, will not return. Nothing he can do will prevent that.”

“I know, Baby Bat. Let’s hope it ain’t any day soon, you feel me?” And Jay, tries to keep it gentle, tries to keep the circles going, tries to be easy about it so Baby Bat won’t try ta pull away, put it all back inna box to fester.

“Agreed. However, do not be surprised if he comes to fighting. We must monitor his vitals closely if this toxin is similar to the last batch.”

“I gotcha. S’all right, we’re gonna take care of him, ain’t we?”

Damian makes an affirmative noise and leans forward out of Jay’s grip, pressing the gas, then gearing back up.

**

Tim comes to as the restraints are tightened, Alfred Pennyworth securing several sticky discs to his chest, and a pulse oximeter to his finger.

“We’ll see you soon, Son. Be a good boy while we’re gone.”

Makes his eye fly open wide, his heart slam painfully against his rib cage, his arms jerk where his wrists are restrained.

“Boys,” a cultured voice calls the second his eyes open, but Tim can’t see anything, not with his heart in his throat, not with his Dad’s voice ghosting out after over a decade and a half.

When he glances over, horrified at the tall figure coming closer, hands raised up in surrender, and his eyes were empty, gorey sockets, black sludge from the empty cavity. Purple lips and half-rotting flesh, the last clothes he’d seen his father wearing, his best suit, the one he’d wear to Drake Industries on the stints they were home and Dad worked in the office.

Tatters and grave dirt, bone peeking out from shriveled flesh…

“Dad,” is a broken, hoarse croak, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I tried. I tried to be good,” and the closer his dead, decaying Father gets, the more he fights whatever is keeping him still, won’t let him run for his own fucking sanity, “I tried! I tried and you still didn’t come home! It wasn’t my fault, it wasn’t–!”

He chokes, gags because Dad is right by the bedside, and now Tim can see the inside of his black mouth, the tongue putrid and pale without blood, and the smell–

He’s probably screaming, even if he can’t hear himself.

Something is strapped over his face, and he fights it, knows it’s a plastic mask, pumping something into his lungs, just like the fear toxin.

A turn of the head, and it’s the reversal of his first meeting with-with

The Joker.

Harley isn’t on the table bleeding out this time. It’s the two of them standing over him, a huge needle full of green sludge right by the Joker’s shoulder, right next to his horrifically sick smile.

He’s wearing a mock head lamp and white coat, Tim’s own badge dangling from his pocket. He turns to the smaller figure of Harley, the nurse sidekick with a frightening set of tools. The orbitoclast is brown with old blood and brain matter, the leucotome wire is rusty, the plunger to send that wire into his brain almost black with old gore.

And he fucking chokes.

“Hold on to those, Nurse. If my wonderful formula doesn’t do the trick, then we’ll have options! Huh, huh, huh,” and the bastard leans into him, that sickening smile, those wide, lucid eyes.

“He’s going to be our good boy, one way or the other, isn’t he?” And the dark growl of it, the promise is what makes him start screaming again.

Hands on his straining arms, a big body right by the bed when he turns, flinches away as far as the hold could let him.

“Oh no. No no no,” is a whimper, a plea, “I didn’t say anything to anyone, Mr. Johnson, I swear. I didn’t tell anyone anything.”

The grip on his arms becomes bruising, painful, terrifying all over again.

Tim clamps down, remembers the beatings hadn’t been as bad if he could keep quiet.

“Jesus Christ, you’re such a little shit.”

It’s Mr. Johnson’s words, but Jason’s voice.

“You need a good ass beaten’, kid. That’ll straighten you right out. That’s what all you fuckers need. Lucky for you I don’t mind making sure you keep on the straight and narrow.”

He doesn’t realize he’s chanting, “don’thitme, don’tdon’tdon’t, please please,  don’t,” while Mr. Johnson backs off, the old recriminations and reprimands rolling right out in Jay’s smooth baritone.

He’s outright sobbing, arms trembling above his head where he’s trapped, trapped. He can’t move, he can’t run, he can’t hide, he can’t–

And a blink takes him to the same fire escape outside his penthouse where he’d found Nightwing bleeding out, pulse already weakening, breathing shallow–

“What–“

The whiteouts on that domino are up so he can see Nightwing’s blue eyes flutter open weakly, can see the hand move gingerly to the bleeding wound on his abdomen.

“I can help you,” he yells out, hoping to make those eyes look at him, to get the vigilante to come to him, “I can save you, but you’ve got to get here.” This time his hands, his arms, his whole body is straining to get free, to reach the vigilante that needs him, that’s dying on him while he fucking watches.

The vigilante half-smiles at him, finger stripes more dark than blue, and his head goes back, visibly slumping.

“Nightwing, Nightwing, look at me! Open your eyes!” He knows he’s begging, fighting, but there’s bands around his chest, around his wrists, his ankles and thighs.

“I need, I need sutures, gloves, blood bag, and-and, I need, I need–“ but Nightwing’s head flops and his chest stutters, “LOOK AT ME! You can’t die like this, you can’t. I’m right here, I can save you!”

He sobs out loud, whole body jerking to get free.

“Ssshhh, baby doll, ssshhh,” makes him open his eyes even though he can barely see through the tears streaming down his face, his sobbing, his heart pounding copper in the back of his throat.

And there’s Jay, lying on his chest, all soft and sweet, with a post-sex grin. He’s too beautiful to be real.

“Jay?” He croaks.

“Yeah,” all soft and sweet.

Until he tilts his head, and the horrific smile below his chin leaks rich red down his throat.

“J-Jay?!” His eyes go wide and horrified because there’s his vigilante boyfriend bleeding out all over his chest, far gone enough to be silly and loopy with blood loss.

“S’okay, yeah? When s’time, s’time. Don’t gotta be sad about it, Timmy.”

“N-No, no, put-Jay, listen to me, put pressure on it, okay? Put both hands and press down. You-you’re loosing too much blood. I need you to–“

“That ain’t what’s happening here, Timmers.” Slurry and low, Jay’s face getting pale, eyes fluttering. “Like I tol’ ya b’fore. One day…one day I ain’t gonna come back. S’ just gonna be my time.”

And Tim’s shirt is wet with it, Jay’s blood staining him, soaking through his clothes, the weight of his big body heavier as his strength goes, as his eyes get dimmer, the jade flecks all but gone.

“You can’t. Jay, babe, you can’t. You have to fight. Please fight,” his hands are straining, but he’s so tired, weak, isn’t strong enough to get to them, to save them from their fates. "I don't... I can't be the last one left standing again. I can't. Please, fight. Please!"

'"Nah, Baby. Small right now. Love ya. Love ya s'much."

"I love you too," he sobs, can't breathe, can't think.

(He’s never been strong enough, has he? He’s not strong enough to be what they need.)

He finally can’t fight anymore, just stays pinned under Jay’s weakening body to cry and shake apart.

**

“Do something,” Dick yells, tears running down his face where he’s pinning Tim’s legs down so he stops hurting himself fighting the restraints.

Alfred, eyes narrow and wet-looking, huffs and turns on his heel abruptly. He fishes out supplies from the cabinet, uses a clean hypodermic to puncture the sedative.

Master Jason is staring up at Master Tim’s face, trying to be that boy in the Robin cape from all those years ago. Trying to be strong in the face of such horrors.

“Master Bruce, account for general anesthesia,” Alfred calls briskly and injects carefully into the IV.

“Understood,” the quickly working vigilante calls back from the lab, running the number a second time, darting looks at his children doing one of the hardest jobs he’s ever asked them to do.

He can tell by how Damian’s shoulders are shaking, Dick is opening crying against Tim’s hip, Jay’s lower lip trembling, eyes wet where he’s keeping Tim’s forearms pinned around the IV in his arm.

He add the variables, taking deep breaths, makes mental notes all over the place to look into Tim’s past foster parents.

Johnson. Right.

And the hardened bat can’t say his heart isn’t thundering in his throat watching Tim’s struggle, scream, cry out in grief, trying to use his reasoning and logic, having the fucking Joker of all people as part of his perpetual nightmares…

Bruce takes a calming breath, forces himself to be the Bat while he aches for the kids.

**

Twelve hours later, he comes to somewhere not his Penthouse or Dick’s apartment.

It’s chilly wherever he is, but for some reason his whole body just aches, hurts like he’d been in another damn car wreck or something. It’s too much effort to lift his head and look around, not when he’s pretty sure he’s in Dick’s lap, recognizes the smell of Dick’s jugular.

He hums a little, glad someone at least gave him a blanket because he’s at least mostly warm. His nose is pretty cold, but he just snuggles into Dick’s neck and sighs.

He tries to raise his knees to fold in, get warmer, but his heels bump into legs, and cracking his eyes open, he realizes Jay is sitting by Dick on the floor of the Cave, Tim laying over their laps.

He’s got a cotton ball taped to the inside of his forearm, and no idea why. He blinks a few times, lifts up enough to see Dami on Jay’s other side, head nudged against Jay’s shoulder. A hand is still on Tim’s ankle.

The sudden need to go to the bathroom drives him from their huddle on the cold floor, but at least he spreads the blanket out over them after he manages to pull out of their arms without waking them.

From their faces and expressions, whatever he isn’t immediately remembering couldn’t have been good.

But first, bathroom. Then, maybe coffee? Because that? Would be absolutely stellar at this juncture. Maybe some ibuprofen.

Luckily, there’s swanky digs in the Bat Cave, a set of lockers, showers, nice hot tub for long soaks after a night of kicking bad guy ass.

All the vigilante amenities.

He’s bleary and sore, staggering to the bathroom, noting B is asleep on the big computer, and Alfred sitting back in another chair, tea cup and saucer on the hard drive next to him.

He smiles a little, wonders if he can find a few more blankets somewhere.

A glance in the mirror as he was washing his hands shows him a bunch of road rash city. Man, he must have been caught up in the middle of something again.  

Seriously.

He splashes cold water on his face, works out the low throbbing ache of his bandaged wrists.

He’s shuffling back, thinking about just waking everyone the hell up to send people to bed, like themselves because his ass is numb, and there’s warm beds upstairs. When there’s pounding footsteps, skitters, and slides, whoosh of air, and Dick is right there up in his face, panting like he’d just sprinted all the way across the Cave in a quick hurry.

“Timmy?!”

He blinks up, still bleary about everything, his throat and voice wrecked as fuck, “hey honey. How was your night fighting shitty bad guys?”

He has no idea why Dick’s expression crumples, his eyes getting teary out of nowhere. He’s not prepared for Dick to start crying, to see his beautiful boyfriend hold a hand over his eyes and break down.

“Dick? Dick?”

He goes from holding himself, shuddering with the cold and ache in his bones, to up in Dick’s face, hand on his shoulder, looking for some injury, something to tell him how to help–

But Dick takes a few shuddering breaths under his hand, and Tim just wriggles his arms around Dick’s chest to hold on for a few long seconds before he gets full-on octopus hold right around his everything.

(Okay, that’s a relief.)

“…was it bad?” He asks softly, making circles with his palms as wide as Dick’s hold will let him.

“Y-Yes. It was bad. You don’t remember?” Dick sniffles against the side of his head, rocking them both gently.

“Not yet.” He shrugs an unconcerned shoulder. As someone who’s had a concussion (okay, okay, concussions), and has worked in the medical field in one of the most dangerous cities on the fucking planet, he knows there are plenty of bad guys with chemical weapons that don’t always leave short term memories in tact.

Dick shakes a little and holds him tighter.

“Fuckfuckfuck. Didja find 'im??!” As Jay rounds the corner and almost slams right into them.

He skids to a stop as Dick swiftly shifts them around out of the way. Jay doesn’t do anything to dislodge Dick’s grip, but palms the sides of Tim’s face, his eyes a hard, icy blue.

“Hey, Sweets, hey,” low in a dark way, not the usual, fun dark way. Tim has a strike of fear, takes stock of himself, of Dick, of Jay, wonders who else in the Cave might be hurt! That’s why they’re here. Someone got hurt coming after his ass, didn’t they?

“Dami? B?” He interrupts, eyes going from Jay to Dick and back.

“Fine, everyone’s fine,” is curt, short with him in a way that doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t have enough evidence.

“O-kay. You both are fine. B and Dami are fine. Alfred?”

Over his head, his boyfriends exchange a look that is really starting to worry him.

But the next twelve hours are virtually impossible to escape. The sordid details come out once Tim remembers being in that convenience store. He gets snatches of half-lucid memories, probably never will remember the entire things. The brain is the most fascinating part of the body for a reason, not only as the control center, but also as the decision-maker on what things to blot out to protect itself. 

By the time Dami starts out, they’ve migrated up to Wayne Manor, parted ways to shower and wash off the night. Dick and Jay bracketing him in, being absurdly gentle, consistent soft touches, fingers wrapping around his, hands on his back, kisses pressed into his hair.

There’s some scrapes on his forearms along with the ones on his face, washed gingerly in the shower where he finally feels warm again. Alfred leaves a special bled of his healing goop and has set out pajamas for all of them before he left, requesting them to please come have breakfast.

Tim’s stomach rumbles while they’re getting dressed, and he’s pretty much picked up, and carried down the massive staircase.

(Ugh, this is after the bridge fiasco all over again.)

But the end result: food and coffee in Wayne Manor, so bonus?

Dami is looking at him like a kicked puppy. A perpetual pissed off kicked puppy, but he tilts his head to the side inquiringly, raising his eyebrows in invitation.

“I found you almost at Sheldon Park,” Dami starts softly, but at least everyone’s eaten first.

He flinches a little when Bruce tells him what he’d said about his Dad. When Alfred tells him about the Joker and Harley Quinn either going to inject him with some crazy sauce or lobotomize him.

(Yup. Pretty horrifying either way.)

Dami tells him about seeing everyone die around him while Dick has a firm hand on his knee under the table, their chairs closer together than necessary. Jason gives no shits keeping his fingers wrapped up tight, squeezing occasionally. Alfred keeps the mug in his free hand full, stands just by Dick’s other shoulder.

“I mean,” he finally starts after everything is out in the open, “it’s literally a toxin that fucks with your brain chemistry. Not shocking I’d see pretty awful things. I see awful things...a lot, so,” he shrugs a little helplessly in the face of the whole family looking utter raw and split open. “I...I’m...sorry, really sorry I worried everyone. I’ll try to stop getting into trouble so much, you know? But, um. It is Gotham.”

The family crowds around him, bringing in rank around the table. 

And if he doesn’t have to stay at the Manor for the next week, geeze, and get coddled as fuck by the Batfamily, and get picked up from Mercy General every. single. night. for a while, and get wrapped up against two incredible vigilantes that whisper soft things against his throat, his ear, his mouth, his, well, his everything. 

If he doesn’t get Bruce herding him into the study where the fire is burning, and it seems like the Batman is the most patient person ever to let him–let him talk about some of those old pains when he was in the system. 

If Alfred literally can not make him eat enough food to be satisfied. Ever. And gives him a side-eye when he starts to push away a plate that has even a bite left.

(Alfred pizza is god-level, and you’ll never convince him otherwise. But if he eats anymore, he’s going to die. Please stop killing him with your tasty love.)

If Dami doesn’t make him watch NatGeo Wild with popcorn and boxes of candy, then grudgingly plays Mario Kart with him until Rainbow Road is like theirs. No questions asked.

If he finally doesn’t go back to his penthouse, breathes in the familiar smells, gets absolutely destroyed in the Best. Possible. Ways for the next five straight hours. If he isn’t a boneless pile of I can’t possibly come again, for the next week at least. 

If Baby Bird, Timmers, Sweets, Timmy, and Baby aren’t wrapped around him with arms and sweet kisses pressed to his forehead and hair every time he leaves for work or they leave for patrol.

If he was before this, in the slightest bit uncertain he belongs with them, as part of their family–

–he sure as hell knows better now.

At least that’s one less thing to be afraid of.

**

Note:

In Tim’s fear fueled delusion, the Joker is Alfred, Harley is Dami holding equipment to treat him. His dad was really B taking the blood samples from Alfred to analyze. He’s horrified once he realizes what Tim is seeing.

Mr. Johnson, the abusive foster parent is Jay, which Tim kind of associates because of the accent.

Dying Nightwing is Dick bent over to hold his legs down, and the next switch is really Jay laying over him upper body to keep him from hurting himself more.

(Congrats for making it to the end. *Hands tissue*)

[rhetoricalrogue]

Zoe/Mason and #21

Thanks for the ask!  This was in regards to my 2020 Spotify Unwrapped.  #20 was Lord Huron’s Fool for Love.

Well I’m not afraid to fight Let’s step outside and I’ll show you why

Mason frowned when he saw that Zoe’s office was empty.  It was well past her time to be off the clock, and the fact that she hadn’t left was troublesome.

Not that he was waiting for her or anything.  

He didn’t bother flicking on her light, his eyes looking at the oversized desk calendar.  Ah.  He remembered her talking about the self-defense class that she and Tina were hosting, but he hadn’t caught what day she was going to be doing the clinic on.  Grabbing her pen, he crossed the date out, seeing that it was Zoe’s habit to do it for all the other previous days of the month and she had missed doing it with that calendar square.

Not like he was concerned it may throw her off in the morning.  It was just his way of being polite.

The police station had a decently sized gym and Mason leaned against the doorframe to watch the last bits of the class.  He had to admit, he didn’t expect Tina to be so capable in breaking holds or throwing her attacker into the mats.  She had good form and was a decent opponent.  You know, for a human.

Then again, it didn’t take much when your opponent was a scrawny string bean of a teenager, constantly blowing his hair out of his eyes.  Mason sneered.  If there had been anyone nearby, he would have bet that Douglas had volunteered for the class purely so he could touch Zoe, even if said touching was her slamming her knee into his solar plexus.

He winced.  Mason could tell that Zoe was pulling her punches, but he’d been on the receiving end of that hit - he’d felt generous their last sparring session and slowed down enough for her to connect her punches.  She hit fast and she hit hard, much to his approval - and he knew that even without her full power that Douglas was going to feel that one in the morning.

He waited until the class had been concluded before approaching.

“Thought I’d find you here,” he drawled, watching as Zoe started snapping folding chairs together and handing them over to Douglas, who stacked them up alongside the wall.

She grinned.  “You remembered.”

He scoffed as he moved to help her pick up chairs, quietly smirking when Douglas turned and jogged over to them, body language all but screaming that he didn’t like the fact that Mason had shown up.  “Of course, sweetheart,” he drawled.

She raised an eyebrow. “Uh huh.  You went into my office and saw my calendar, didn’t you?”

Mason decided not to answer that one.  “Nice class you put on, I caught the last fifteen minutes.  Covered a lot of ground, though I highly doubt that anyone’ll have to put that knowledge to use any time soon in this town.”

She shrugged.  “It’s still good information to have on hand.  You never know when some stranger will show up and crowd you in an alley.”

He sidled up to her, hovering close enough to feel the heat of her body radiate towards him.  She’d put on a plain t-shirt and yoga pants for the demonstration and his hands itched to rove over dips and curves he’d all but memorized.  “That an invitation for something, Sweetheart?”

“Yeah, if you want to get your ass kicked.”

Mason’s head whipped over to where Douglas was sullenly grabbing chairs and hauling them over to the wall.  “What was that, kid?”

“Mason -”

He ignored Zoe’s warning and crossed his arms over his chest.  “Couldn’t quite hear you.”

The tips of Douglas’ ears turned pink.  “It’s just that she’s been showing off her moves all night.  She’d eat you alive if you tried anything in an alley with her.”

“That’s…”  Zoe took a breath to try to gather her composure and try not to laugh out loud while shooting Mason a look that said don’t you dare make an innuendo.  “Thank you, Douglas, for the vote of confidence.”

Douglas smiled and gave her such a look of blind devotion that Mason found his hackles rising.  “You’re an excellent teacher, Zo,” he said dreamily.

There was a thread of irritation in Mason’s voice that he couldn’t quite get out.  “She really is, kid.  And since you’ve been tossed around all evening, I bet you picked everything up right quick.”

Douglas squared his shoulders and puffed his narrow chest out.  “I sure did,” he said, looking Mason in the eye.  Mason had to give him credit for not immediately backing down.  Then again, he hadn’t given him a proper intimidating look backed with a burst of pheremones to make the boy unnerved.  “In fact, I could probably teach you a thing or two.”

The harsh bark of laughter couldn’t be stopped, but then again, he also heard the indelicate snort Zoe gave.  “Kiddo, if you really think you could take me on, you’ve got -”

“It’s Officer Friedman,” he said, coming out of his perpetual slouch in order to stand up to his full height.  Granted, he was still several inches shorter than Mason, but the defiant look in his eye earned him the tiniest of nods of respect.  “And yes, I know I can take you on.”

Zoe stood in between them.  “Okay, I don’t think that’s the best of ideas. It’s late, we should all be getting home.”

“No, no, I want to see how this goes.”

Zoe looked over Mason’s shoulder to glare at Tina.  “Really?”  

Tina grinned.  “Honestly, I want to see just how many seconds it takes for Douglas to hit the dirt.”

Zoe reached out and grabbed Mason’s arm.  “Can I speak with you privately?” she asked, not waiting for a response as she started dragging him towards the other side of the gym.  “What is going on?”

He shrugged.  “Kid’s feeling his boundaries and wanting to pick fights.”

She narrowed her eyes.  “And you’re encouraging him.”

“Sometimes people need to know how far to test things and when the things they’re testing start to bite back.”  He tossed a look over to the teenager, who had gone back to helping Tina clean up the remaining chairs.  “Unless you want him to continue mooning over you.”

Zoe stood up straighter.  “You’re jealous.”

“Can’t get jealous of someone who doesn’t have a chance, now can I?”  The statement was said calmly enough, but he tapped out a cigarette and stuck it in his mouth irritably.

She yanked it from his lips and shook her head.  “No smoking in police buildings.”

“Whatcha gonna do with that then?”

“Maybe I’ll give it back to you if you ask me nicely.”  Her smile faltered.  “Look, he’s a kid that’s thirteen years younger than me. Whatever little crush he has on me is just that, a crush.  We all had them at that age and for the most part, we all got over them.  It isn’t going to do anyone any good if the guy that he sees as some weird competition sends him to the hospital.”

Mason rolled his eyes and let out a long-suffering sigh that would have impressed Nate, had he been there. “Fine, I won’t hurt the kid.” He sneered. “Even if it would get him to stop dressing like a knockoff version of me.”

“Face it, you’re just jealous of his fancy new boots.”

He scoffed at her calling him jealous for a second time that evening. “Whatever. I have boots older and better than his.”  His grin widened as he reached out to palm her hip, his arm pulling her closer to him.  “That’s not the only thing that’s older and better either, Sweetheart.”

Zoe leaned in and pressed a kiss to his chin.  “Careful, Sunshine.  He’s going to wind up landing a lucky hit on that enormous ego of yours.”

Mason rolled his eyes and smirked. “I’m letting him get one good hit in, only so he feels like he’s doing okay.”

Zoe reached up and ran her fingers through his hair, her nails scratching against his scalp in a way that had him letting out what could only be described as a satisfied sigh, his hand sliding down to cup her backside and bring her in until she was all but riding his thigh.  “Be careful with my officer, Mason.  I’m going to need him to be well enough to start doing patrols.”

“You two gonna make out in the corner or is Douglas going to have to go in there and break you up?” Tina teased, cupping her hands around her mouth to be heard across the station’s gym floor.

“I didn’t know that was an option,” Mason retorted, giving Zoe a quick kiss and a parting nip to her bottom lip before moving away, his mouth teased up into a knowing grin as he caught the barely inaudible whine she let out at the lack of contact.  “Don’t worry, Sweetheart.  I’ll deal with this and then maybe we can go back to your place for a little wrestling match of our own.”

“Just…” she sighed.  “Dial it down a notch or a million, will you?”

Mason shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to her.  “Yeah, yeah.  I’ll go puny human level, don’t get your panties bunched up.”  Pushing the sleeves of his henley up his forearms, Mason lazily sized Douglas up, watching as he got into a fighting stance.  “Well?  You gonna throw a punch or are we standing here all night?”

Douglas narrowed his eyes and struck out, the blow easily dodged.  “Not a bad start, let’s see if one of these actually connects.”  

“Five bucks says your boy toy knocks him on his ass in less than five minutes,” Tina whispered.

“Not taking that bet.  We both know how this is going to go.”

“Yeah, with you leaving me to tend to Douglas’s bruised ego while you go and get freaky with that tall drink of oh shit, he got a hit!” Tina bounced on the balls of her feet as Mason reached up to dab at his mouth with the back of his hand, the smallest dab of red streaking across his knuckle.

“Not bad at all.  You’ve got some potential.”  Zoe was positive that there was a tiny spark of respect in Mason’s voice before he struck out with a speedy one-two combination, hitting Douglas in the chest and stomach with enough force to knock him to his knees.

“You know,” Douglas wheezed, slowly getting back to his feet.  “You don’t hit that bad either.”

Mason narrowed his eyes.  “You’re a persistent one, I’ll give you that,” he told him, dodging another punch.  Somewhere along the line, a demonstration of what Douglas had learned had boiled down to what looked like a plain fistfight, a haymaker that would have connected on anyone else going wild as Mason zipped out of the way.  He was still using enough speed and force behind his punches that didn’t raise any eyebrows, and Zoe had to roll her eyes at the fact that he even made sure to pant every now and again so it looked as if he was running out of breath.

She knew better.  He was a shitty actor, even if no one else but her could pick up on it.

Their impromptu fight ended abruptly when Mason’s fist connected with Douglas’s jaw, sending him sprawling onto the mats.  “You okay, kid?” Mason asked, flexing his fingers as Tina and Zoe ran towards them.

Douglas sat up with Tina’s help.  “I think you broke my jaw.”

Mason shook his head.  “Nah.  Trust me, you’d know if it was broken.  Put some ice on it when you get home.”  He turned to look at Zoe.  “We done here, Sweetheart?”

“Everything okay, Douglas?” she asked instead, holding out a hand to help him to his feet.

“Yeah, Zoe.  It’s all good.”  She inwardly winced at the sad expression on his face, but also hoped that it would mean the beginning of the end to his fixation with her.

“Come on, Champ,” Tina said, patting him on his back.  “We’ll make a pit stop to the break room for a bag of ice and then I’ll take you out for some ice cream.”

Mason waited until they were alone.  “You’re pissed.”

Zoe turned back to face him.  “What makes you say that?”

“I bruised your officer.”

She shook her head.  “You could have done worse, but you didn’t.”  She pulled out the cigarette from her pant pocket and handed it to him.

“I didn’t even ask nicely.”  Still, Mason shook his head.  “Keep it.”

She watched his eyes darken as she shrugged her arms into his jacket, the garment too big on her.  “Maybe I’m feeling generous,” she said, digging into his jacket pockets until she found his slightly crumpled carton of cigarettes and replaced it inside.  Turning on her heel, she made her way towards the gym’s doors and flicked off the light.  “You coming or am I walking home alone?”

There was a whoosh of air and Zoe let out a grunt as her back gently hit the wall next to the light switch.  “I seem to remember me talking about having our own little wrestling match,” he said, tightening his fingers in her hair, his palm cushioning the back of her head from hitting the wall when he crowded her.

“I don’t remember agreeing,” she purred, sliding her fingers up and under the hem of his shirt, feeling the muscles of his stomach contract at the contact.  “Though maybe if you ask -”

He kissed her then, just like he’d wanted to all damn day, his mouth moving over hers and tongue dipping into her mouth to taste her.  “Please,” he murmured, lips trailing downwards over her throat as he wedged his thigh between her legs.  “Pretty fucking please.”

It took all his willpower not to shove her pants down her hips and have her there against the gym wall as she whimpered a shaky yes when his fangs skated across her skin, but he did muffle a groan into her shoulder as he let her grind against his thigh before grabbing her hips and smothering a pleased cry with his mouth.  “Keep that up, Sweetheart, and we’re not going to make it back to your place any time soon.”

“Promises, promises, Sunshine,” she replied, nipping at his lips until he melted against her, forearm braced against the wall and his other hand wandering to cup her backside and yank her closer to him.  Giving him one last kiss, she ducked under his arm, grabbing her bag and slinging it across her body before heading out of the gym and into the night.

Mason quickly shut the door behind them, letting his long legs catch him up to Zoe, who hadn’t gotten quite to the edge of the parking lot yet.  He shoved the sleeves of his shirt down to his wrists and rubbed his hands down his arms before casually resting an arm over Zoe’s shoulder.

“You want your jacket back?” she asked, wrapping her arm around his waist as they walked.

“Eventually.”  He sighed as the warmth from her body soaked into his side.  “Besides, it’s just going to wind up on your bedroom floor in a few minutes.”  Her scent was also going to linger in the lining for days, making him reluctant to light up a cigarette and have the smoke drown it out.

Not that he’d tell her that or anything.

Zoe grinned at his smile.  “Promises, promises,” she repeated, moving closer to him until she was all but glued to his side.

Mason’s smile widened into a full-blown leer.  “And you should know by now that I’m good with keeping my word.”

“I’m not arguing with you there.”  She stopped them under a streetlight and teasingly nipped at his jawline.  “Just looking forward to when you make good on them.”

Mason quickly looked around the empty streets, ears straining to hear anything over the tempting sound of Zoe’s heart.  Making a calculated move, he reached down and grabbed her, slinging her over his shoulder as he moved away from the light and zipped down the dark parts of the street in a blur until they were close to her apartment.  He would have rushed them into her complex properly, but he knew that there was that nosy neighbor on the second floor who always seemed to be looking out their window when he showed up and he didn’t want to risk anyone witnessing a display of supernatural speed.

“Don’t worry,” he drawled as she unlocked her front door.  “I’ll make damn good on them.”

[full-hd-sun]

answer me

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationship: Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Nakamoto Yuta Characters: Dong Si Cheng | WinWin, Nakamoto Yuta, Moon Taeil, Suh Youngho | Johnny, Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas, Qian Kun, Liu Yang Yang, Wong Kun Hang | Hendery, Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten Additional Tags: Awkward Flirting, Attempts to flirt, Fluff, Attempt at Humor, Firefighters, Phone Calls & Telephones, alcohol mentioning

The Japanese never paid strong attention to people’s voices.

  It started on a cool October season when a hotline operator called him. He reported that a few streets from the fire station, a flat was burning, in which, according to the victims’ neighbors, there were kids and two old humans. Nakamoto thanked him, writing the coordinates and some info on a piece of paper, and, calling the team, moved to work.

  A few days afterward, the same voice reported about a kid whose hand was stuck between the bars of the fence.

  “The injured kid is about nine years old. Previously, he got stuck till the shoulders, as the incident reporter struggled to help the child, but he did not move a millimeter.”

  “Did you find and tell his parents?”

  “No, but the informant told his parents, who know the victim.”

  “OK, thank you for the report. We will get there as soon as possible,” with these talks he instructs his colleague Jisung, who, after passing his eyes over the piece of paper, thanks Yuta and rushes towards the squad. Nakamoto is bad at granting first aid, so he is useless there. He leans back in his chair and stretches, crunching his back stiff because of long sitting. Then he closes his eyes.

  The first thing that comes to his mind is that he has not even started the edge of housekeeping, since because of regular shifts. To get into his room, he must complete a quest from uncleared boxes from pizzas eaten on the go in the morning and scattered clothes everywhere; in most cases, he justifies his job as a firefighter - if you want to take out somewhere on his day off, wake him up first.

  And suddenly the voice of the operator creeps into the image, which anyway attracted him. Usually, when the operators announce what happened, they have a panicked tone, as if it, God forbid, happened in their family. But the tone of this operator is entirely calm, and if the condition was fatal, he announced this in a quiet voice with slight hoarseness; probably talks a lot during the day.

  The loud sound of the phone brought out of his dreams, so Yuta had to open his eyes and in four steps be near the dial.

  “Well, already ... Are you firefighters or who?” he discovers a recognizable and somewhat annoyed voice on the other hand of the line. “Be more gathered,” the same voice reads, and the Japanese just grins. It delights him.

  “Did something happen again?” asks Yuta keeping a pen with a piece of note wide-awake.

  “I’m calling because of a child whose hand stuck in the fence. We called the parents. But they are a somewhat dysfunctional family because they just so violent to me when I told them of the event!” on the last words the operator’s voice breaks down a bit, which touches the firefighter. “So the boy will come to you, and there you will already call the guardianship authorities and all the cases.”

  “Ok, I found out. Thanks for the info.”

  “And be more responsive to calls. A person dies because of your delay in responding, how will you live after that?” the operator says in an instructive manner.

  “Are your parents not dragons by any chance? Then how do they explain that you are such a fire?” Yuta says in a languid tone, and, covering the mic with his palm, he giggles. There is a silence of the phone for a minute, accompanied by a deep sigh, and Nakamoto swears that he can feel the operator rolling his eyes.

  “Excuse me, of course, but did your grand-grandfather teach you how to tackle, or are you so ancient?” the tone is humbler - sweet and smooth.

  “It did not work?” expresses the firefighter in a somewhat agitated tone.

  “Of course not. You have to study and understand the art of a flirt,” here is a minute of silence, “but your voice is as sweet as honey, which I add to my tea.” Yuta hears a gentle chuckle on the other side.

  "Was it a tackle or are you teaching me to tease, mister..." - the firefighter stumbles, because he does not know the name of the operator, he never introduced himself. In response, there is the most magnificent and pure children’s laugh that a Japanese has ever heard.

  “I’ll tell you my name if the next time you pick up the phone when I call,” a voice murmured on the other side,” and now I have to go to accomplish my shift. So let’s try your luck, Big Time. See you.”  and the operator drops the call, leaving Yuta with an idiotic grin all over his face.

            He had never run-up to the phone so rapidly before when it called, picking up a call and holding his breathing, expecting, but it was not him. This was the second week. Some voices were regularly repeated, but the one he lacked so much was seldom on duty. It’s marvelous how much Yuta wants to hear this operator. He rushes headlong, even if he is standing at the other end of the hall, at the sound of the ring.

  When Nakamoto comes to the later shift, having already given up any confidence when the call sounds, he pauses to pick up, but something inside pushes him to receive the call, and he responds to the call.

  - Hey? - he is silent for a couple of seconds, and suddenly it dawns on him that the firefighters should not say in such a way. - Oh sorry. Fire station number one, what can I be ...

  - Well, hello, - the voice says with a laugh, making Yuta fell into a stupor.

  - You…

  - Me, - the firefighter hears on the other side a slight laugh in his voice. - What am I calling. There, several people were stuck in a shopping center elevator.

  Yuta writes all the details and the street and then gives the piece of paper to Doyoung. After making sure he’s gone, Nakamoto returns to the phone. - Well, honey, you were right, I am lucky.

  There is a chuckle on the other side, and the Japanese man quite closes his eyes.

  - You only thought about it all the time?

  - Well, really, you developed a reflex of Pavlov’s dog. I’ve never picked up my phone so immediately, - says the firefighter, sitting down on a chair and throwing his legs over the back of a nearby chair.

  - For a second I imagined you in a collar and with a chain which I hold at the end, - the operator laughs. Yuta just chuckles and looks at himself in the mirror - maybe it would suit him.

  - Why were you not on duty for so long? Probably fell from your home - paradise? - at least in the Japanese's head this tackle sounded cool, but judging by the silence of the operator, it was again a failed number.

  - Now you asked to teach you how to roll from your great-great-grandfather? - the operator imitates the stern voice and then laughs. - But tell him that this is much better.

  The firefighter is glad to understand that he’s already doing better.

  - So, tell me your name, I picked up the phone when you called.

  - Did I say that? - The voice asks in surprise.

  Yuta chuckles in response, straightening his red hair, which sticks into his eyes although he tied it in a ponytail at the back.

  - Well, then I want to take back my promise.

  - Why? Am I unpleasant to you? Don’t you like my voice? - tries to hide Nakamoto’s anxiety.

  There is a burst of sincere laughter that caresses his ear.

  - No, of course not. I just like to play, and you heartily accept my rules - the voice becomes languid, or does it seem so to a Japanese in love?

  The corners of the firefighter’s lips spread across his face in a grin, exposing his fangs.

  - Well, you may be right. I like to hunt you, - taking off his legs from the back of the chair and sitting down, he adds in a whisper: - But baby, take it down a notch, that I am not as simple as I look, - leans back and feeling unbearably good, says Yuta. The operator chuckles in response, and the Japanese involved in this game likes it. He likes that this kid does not so easily fall into the clutches of a predator.

  They were silent for another minute, and Nakamoto felt uneasy.

  - Um ... How are you? - Coughing softly, he asks.

  On the other side, he can hear a peal of chesty, rolling laughter.

  - Are you asking this to talk a little longer?

  - Stealing your time? - Yuta’s cheeky grin grows as he looks at himself in the mirror. - Yes, I’m such a thief. And you, by the way, are also a thief.

  - And why is that? - the operator is indignant, and it amuses the firefighter.

  - Because you stole a piece of my heart. - Now it’s Nakamoto’s turn to laugh out loud while the operator thinks about something.

  - Hmm, it was good, - the voice finally answers, and Yuta, burying his fingers in his hair, conducts through them, pleased with himself.

  - But back to the previous one. It was you who brought me into the game, so I’m running after you.

  - Well, I did not force you to do it.

  - Hmm. Here you are right. I’ll reformulate - I’m running after you of my own free will, - says the firefighter, stretching in his chair.

  - Did I interest you so much? - says the voice on the other side.

  - You don’t even know how much, - the Japanese grins.

  This seems, surprised the operator very much, as he became quiet. Yuta runs her tongue over her dry lips in anticipation of an answer, and when it doesn’t follow, she asks:

  - Are you surprised that your fabulous voice charmed my callous heart and envelops it with the desire to live on and continue your game?

  Nakamoto hears the operator on the other end speaking Chinese and then brings the phone to his ear.

  - No.

  Yuta bites her lower lip as she imagines that voice just got embarrassed.

  - Oh, the dear angel was embarrassed.

  - Not true! At the last word, the guy’s voice breaks again, and Nakamoto smiles triumphantly.

  - Yah? You flirt like a god, but here you were embarrassed by a compliment from me? The fireman purrs, teasing the operator.

  - Yes! I’m not embarrassed! Is a blatant lie, but Nakamoto rolls his eyes and runs his tongue over the gums under his lower lip. He senses how long it takes for the kid to answer, so he’s sure he’s blushing.

  - Good, good, red maiden. I’ve got things going on here, so I have to leave you. Until the next call, - without waiting for an answer, Yuta drops the call and grins triumphantly, exposing his fangs.

  If the kid wants to play, he will suit him. One: one.

          Their subsequent calls were purely working, with no game. During this time, Yuta manages to find out quite by accident that this is operator number 2810. Of course, this information does not bring him closer to revealing the guy, but it pleases him even more because the game continued.

  Unexpectedly, Taeil, their department head, after intercity meetings of all fire departments, decided to put several operators on the first floor of the fire department in which Japanese works. He explained this by the fact that the operator’s department has so little space that they almost sit on each other’s heads, and the first fire department has an empty floor idle. Everyone didn’t care if there were more people or fewer, but Nakamoto, deep down, hopes to see the operator who has been encrypted for three months now and has not been led into his bait.

  Closer to Christmas, some of them already have all the communications that operators need so badly, and somewhere the other day they should announce themselves.

  Everyone goes home, only Yuta and Johnny remain, who, alas, will not be able to spend this New Year with their relatives. They decided to pass the time by decorating the site with a Christmas theme. Youngho takes out garlands and toys from the attic, while Yuta cleans the snow tree in the courtyard to decorate it. Of course, one cannot do without a snow carnage, but Johnny, due to his height, is less agile, so Nakamoto throws snowballs at him from head to toe.

  Decorating something is a favorite of the Japanese. He pleases to create the everyday interior colorful, so on the table near the phone on which he speaks to the operator, there are always animal figures made of wood or any other material, and next to the desk there is a huge pack with Valentines. He works here not so long but has a lot of valentines for that time. He’s a local Don Juan in their little area.

  When Nakamoto helped Youngho get shit off the snow, they set about decorating the tree. Yuta does all, and Johnny only gets to the places where the Japanese could not get it. So for an hour of such friendly work, the Christmas tree lights with a sweet and gentle white light, without eating away the eyes, since this time. Suh took a garland with a less bright light. In a few more hours, the entire department is decorated with socks in which you need to put gifts, Santa Claus, which hang on the walls and, having asked the workers in advance not to close their lockers, Yuta and Johnny throw each a packet of sweets and a small handwritten card with wishes for a Happy New Year and Christmas. The guys also arrange a small concert, turning on New Year’s music for the whole department, and dancing their wild dances, because there is no other way how Yuta “flies” on a broomstick, and Johnny imitates playing the guitar, holding his leg. Suddenly Youngho seems to remember something and slaps his forehead, walks over to the speaker, and reduces the volume.

  - I forgot that we have a club where you can have a lot of fun every New Year’s Eve. My friends invited me there. I’ll go and call them back, ask if everything is still valid, and let’s go there, - without waiting for an answer, Suh went out the door.

  Yuta takes off the jewelry that the elder hung around him and puts them neatly in place. On this New Year’s Eve, he truly wants to call the 2810 operator, but how? Nakamoto slowly walks to the window, looks through the snow-covered window at the sky, noticing the shooting stars. Once upon a time, his parents told him that if you absolutely believe and wish, and when you see a falling star, make a wish - it will surely become true. Nakamoto only smiles with the corners of his lips at these memories, but the Devil may play any trick. He closes his eyes and makes his wish right before Youngho walks back into the room.

  - So, I will make you happy - we have a team, so come on, change from work to normal clothes, and let’s go hang out. You will remember this New Year, - Johnny smiles, mysteriously twitching his eyebrows, which annoys the Japanese a little, but it won’t hurt to try, so let’s go.

  Changing from suit into a fiery sweater that matches the color of his hair and thick black pants, he places a few jewels in his haircut, braiding them into a ponytail, and fixes his naughty bangs with several invisible ones. When Yuta comes to work in this form, he usually hears sighs behind his back about his amazing image. And the Japanese himself dreams of hearing this from his beloved phone caller, whom, though, he counts on to see tonight, because all these conversations of the elders are true, right?

  Johnny, looking at such a Nakamoto, whistled, and thumbs up.

  - Now, besides my boyfriend, you will also glow in the club, - he laughs with joy, picking up his bag over his shoulders. Yuta rolls his eyes at this.

  - There can only be one star on the tree, and that’s me, - he replies, running his palm through his hair and smirking. The Japanese don’t even need alcohol to be so confident and ready to roll.

  - Let’s go then, a taxi is waiting for us, - Youngho points to the exit, letting Yuta ahead.

  Saying goodbye to the few on duty who remained there, they disappear from the fence of the station and get into a taxi. Johnny gives the address and the car moves. As the Japanese one understood - they will go to the other edge of the city. They are silent all the way - Suh writes something to friends and seldom shows some memes to the boy, and Yuta looks at the night festive city. People walk in crowds on the street, having fun and wishing everyone a happy New Year. Someone is dressed in costumes, someone is handing out small gifts, street musicians are singing, there are many booths where you can buy hot mulled wine and warm up. In general, the atmosphere of a holiday is in the air. Nakamoto always spent New Year in his hometown of Osaka, Japan, but he was suddenly offered a promotion and needed to move to Korea. Leaving friends and family, he went to a completely unfamiliar country with great fear that he would not be accepted here, but fortunately, he came across such a boss as Taeil - a truly good person: he can be strict, but he never raises his voice and does not scold him for any then minor misses. He also got Johnny as his partner - just like him, a boy who came from America, who has been working here for four years, but this is their first joint New Year, which they spend together.

  As he thinks about his friends and family, he doesn’t even recognize how the car has stopped, and it is only when Youngho pinches his side that he wakes up.

  - We’re in place, getting out, - Johnny announces, extending his hand. Nakamoto looks around, sees the Neo Club sign, and after thanking the driver, gets out of the car. People around stand and smoke in large crowds, chatting about something of their own, but the entrance to the club is almost deserted, so, after standing in a small line of four people in front of them, they finally enter.

  Suh is already waving to people at the table, is almost at the other end of the entrance, and realizing that only he can see where these guys are, he grabs Nakamoto’s hand and drags him through the dancing heat. It surprises the Japanese to see how already drunken enough bodies are trying to move to the music, how everyone huddles together, and only grins at this - he likes this. Twice, someone tries to grab his free hand, but Johnny drags him along so quickly that Yuta, even if he wanted to, could not free himself from Youngho’s tight grip.

  When they are already leaving the crowd, Nakamoto sees a sofa where five “ready-made” guys are already sitting. Of all of them, he knows only Taeil - their boss and, in combination, the guy So, who, noticing his workers, waved to them and point to a place on the sofa next to him. Yuta is the first to let Johnny, who is near his boyfriend, kisses him nicely on the nose, and again on the lips, placing his hands on Moon’s hips. Later a Japanese man sits down next to him. All eyes at the table are looking at him, but he leans back on the back of the sofa, straightening his hair and showing with all his appearance that he is dad here.

  - This is Nakamoto Yuta, he is Japanese and works with me in the same department. This is the same legendary guy who, appearing on the doorstep, won the hearts of many firefighters. - introduces the guy Johnny, while everyone is looking at the red-haired one. He, it seems, is not nervous in an unfamiliar atmosphere, radiating all his sexuality and blinking innocently.

  -Nice to meet you, - he shakes hands with everyone, eyes shooting, making the two strangers blush slightly.

  -This is Lucas and Kun, - Suh points to the guys sitting opposite, - they were once in our department, but now they are a few streets away, in the third.

  Lucas and Kun smile as they shake the guy’s hands. Yuta realizes that they are only seemingly formidable, especially Lucas. Until he smiled, the Japanese thought he had squeezed something from Yukhei, and that he would now hit his face. Kun is calmer and looks like a bear, Nakamoto wants to pinch his cheeks.

  -And this is Yangyang and Hendery - our operators, - continues to introduce Youngho, pointing to the previously blushed guys. They shake hands and quietly squeak “Nice”, and suddenly Yuta recognizes the voice he sometimes heard in the background when talking to operator 2810; Sometimes Yangyang allowed himself to sing WAP in the background, which surprised Nakamoto very much if the kid knew about the translation, but his interlocutor did not seem to be surprised, because a few seconds after the start of singing this song, Kun appeared and scolded the boy. - They will soon be taken to our first floor. We will have about fifteen operators, right, Moonie? - asks Suh to the boy’s, who looks so sweetly at the American with loving eyes.

  - Yes, we planned more, but the electrician said that if we put them close to each other, this could affect the network and may not get through to the station, - the boss smiles, and Johnny pulls him into his bear hug under the enthusiastic sighs from everyone sitting at the table.

  Then a waiter walks up to them and updates the amount of booze on their table. Yuta hasn’t drunk for a long time, almost a year, but it’s time to remember what the taste of alcohol is.

  While talking about work and plans for this year, everyone is well intoxicated, and Lucas offers to play Uno for wishes. Of course, crazy desires come to a drunken head: Taeil, as the first loser, is told to lick alcohol from Johnny’s press; then Hendery loses and they told him to kiss with Lucas for a minute (as Johnny later explains, Hendery has been sighing for a long time towards Lu, but Wong does not see it, so they decided to bring them together). In the last game, Yuta loses, and having seen enough desires, which each time become more and more vulgar, he is ready to uncover. This time Kun makes a wish.

  -See the guy with raven hair? Come up to him and get his number, - Qian smiles, leaning back on the sofa. Yuta looks around and sees a lonely guy looking at the dance floor. His “victim”, even with his drunken misty gaze, looks great: a dressed shirt that bares a little collarbone, a harness worn over a shirt and lose pants - just a boy for sore eyes. Not doubting that he can easily cope, Yuta picks up from his seat, but sways, since he is helped by Suh, who is sitting next to him.

  Nakamoto walks over to the guy who is sipping a cocktail and just seems to be resting. A Japanese man approaches him and, using all his charm, says:

  - You, by any chance, are not a frying pan? Because you’re hot, - Yuta winks and grins. The boy hung, as he runs his eyes over the body of the fireman and rounds them. Shock can be seen in his eyes. He understood something, but Nakamoto is too drunk to find out, he only wants to fulfill the conditions of desire.

  The Japanese grinned with his trademark smile.

  -Did you swallow your tongue when you saw me, dear angel? - Yuta asks, grinning. The guy is down, as he shakes his head and only briefly asks in a voice a little rougher than his own.

  - What do you want from me?

  The firefighter smiles.

  - Just your number. By the way, your voice is so familiar ... but I do not remember where I could hear it, - at these words the stranger’s gaze becomes insane as if it had been opened.

  - Um ... It seemed to you. Have you heard a few similar voices in your life? - in neat handwriting, despite the anxiety inside, the boy writes his number and hands it to the Japanese, if only he dumped. He smiles triumphantly.

  - See you again, angelic creature, - Yuta says with satisfaction, hiding in the crowd and leaving Sicheng alone.

  “Oh no, it’s hardly him”, Winwin convinces himself. When Yuta is far enough away, Sicheng starts to run and quickly closes the door to the restroom behind him. After washing, he looks at himself in the mirror. He just happened to meet a man with whom he flirted so much, and could not even combine words into a sentence in his presence.

  He replays in his head everything that happened a few minutes ago. Dong recognized Yuta only from his tackle since his voice, in reality, sounds much lower than on the phone, which the Chinese like to goosebumps. This is unmistakably the firefighter with whom they have been communicating so sweetly for many months.

  Winwin imagined him, but not so fabulous ... He once again washed and dried himself with the napkins that hang nearby. This voice, this wink, this grin ... Sicheng is just an idiot that let him go.

            Taking the boy’s number, Yuta says goodbye to him and goes to the company, where everyone is already smeared on the sofa in pairs. He puts down a piece of paper loudly, drawing attention to himself, and sits down next to Lucas. He picks up a piece of paper and reads the contents, and only whistles, showing his thumb. The others clap their hands contentedly. Nakamoto, in his joys, hides the number, or suddenly they want to get drunk to meet his “victim” or call.

  They have been drinking and having fun for several hours, but the drunk guys do not have so much strength to have fun until the morning. And as the most sober, Kun takes them all home, calling a taxi. When the turn comes to Utah, he is already snoring on the sofa, and Qian cannot wake him up, drags him home.

  As soon as he opens the door of his apartment, he dumps the drunken body on a soft ottoman next to the door, closes the door behind him, trying not to make noise. But the Japanese, as luck would have it, wakes up and resents. Qian barely calms him down by sending him to the shower, he will not let him like that on his sofa.

  The firefighter, indignant and stumbling, drunkenly swinging from side to side, stomps in the bathroom's direction. He takes off all his clothes and gets up under a stream of hot running water. It’s very relaxing, but not right now. When he finishes the procedures, he realizes that he cannot get back into the alcohol-soaked things, and wrapping himself in a towel, he goes to look for Kun, who is looking for hangover pills in the medicine cabinet.

  - Kun-a, I have nothing to wear now. Maybe you can borrow something from yours? - asks Yuta, leaning on the corner. Qian clicks his tongue, surveying the Japanese from head to toe, and then walks into the room, returns with a shirt and shorts.

  - Thank you, Kun-a, - Nakamoto was about to climb with his hugs, but Qian stops him.

  - Your pills for the morning and water. I made a bed for you in the hall. Good night, - and leaves the kitchen, turning off the light.

  Yuta remains standing in the dark kitchen, and later, it looks that it reaches his drunken brain. He turns on his heel and stomps toward the audience. Turning on the lights, he puts the water and the pills on the coffee table next to him, while he looks for the phone. After spending ten minutes on this, he even finds him near the ottoman in the hall. From the cover sticks out the tail of a piece of paper on which he had previously written a number. The firefighter chuckles contentedly and calls this number back.

  He gets to the room, turns off the light, settles down snugly on the sofa and dials the number under the light of his mobile phone, but it takes an eternity before the subscriber answers the call.

  - Yes? - mutters a voice with a low tone from sleep, which gives Yuta a herd of goosebumps. He is silent for a minute, listening as the guy on the other side comes back in bed and yawns, emitting a kitty purr. - Are you going to speak, or am I ending the conversation? The voice says.

  Nakamoto wakes up immediately.

  - No. I’m that guy from the club, remember? - the Japanese asks with a heartbeat. Now the silence goes to the other side. The firefighter hears incomprehensible Chinese words, and he is ready to swear that elsewhere he heard it. -When I looked at you, I feel that I have known you for quite a long time. But I just can’t remember where I saw you.

  The second caller is silent and then speaks with a somewhat rougher tone than before.

  - As I said at the club, many people have similar voices. Maybe you imagined it. - Yuta hears how loudly his interlocutor swallows saliva. - Why are you not sleeping? Don’t you work?

  - Yes, I was going to sleep, because in a few hours on shift. - stretched out on the couch, Yuta whispers in a husky voice, which, as Winwin notes in his head, sounds insanely attractive.

  - Mmm ... - all that Sicheng answers. - And I’m going to go to visit my new workplace tomorrow, - says the Chinese, and then realizes what Nakamoto said. The Japanese smile from this.

  - So you are one operator who will now sit downstairs with us? - Yuta asks, remembering his mysterious operator.

  - You make it sound like you already know who’s going to work there, - Winwin says, stretching on the bed.

  - Well, I’m already familiar with three, - the firefighter grins.

  - I’ve only seen you with two, - Sicheng says in a surprised voice. Yuta raises an eyebrow at this.

  - So you saw me with Hendery and Yanyang? - Nakamoto asks. For a minute, his interlocutor is silent, and Yuta bites his lip in anticipation. And then, either from the past tense, or so the shower worked, the gears spin in the Japanese’s head, and he scrolls the vague, but events of the night. After that, his face lights up with a grin.

  - I’m ready to argue, my secret operator, I’ll find you tomorrow, - the firefighter whispers into the phone with the same insolent grin. The silence continues on the other side.

  - No! You won’t find me! - the voice is indignant with slight notes of panic.

  - You will discover, 2810. Sweet dreams, - dropping the call, Yuta has already thought through the plan for the morning.

  Two: one

            Yuta thinks about the plan to expose Sicheng so much that he falls asleep an hour before the alarm clock. Of course, he did not hear it, as did the next three repetitions.

  Only the disgruntled Kun could wake him up, who on his day off wakes up from the Japanese alarm clock at five-thirty in the morning, and to wake the guy up, he puffs water from the spray bottle and scolds. Nakamoto wakes up with the words “Well, if you don’t know how to drink, then don’t drink!”, after which Qian pauses and just glares at him, pointing to the phone.

  The firefighter rises on his elbows, straightening his hair, and reaches out to the glass - the events of last night make themselves felt. Having devastated him, he looks at Kun, who looks at him.

  - Good morning to you and Happy New Year, - Yuta mutters hoarsely as he gets out of bed wearing what his mother gave birth to. - And what happened?

  - Oh, I’ll tell you what happened. First - you ought to be ashamed of yourself. You couldn’t wait till I leave and after that did your striptease? Second - you drunks had very good fun yesterday, so I brought you back home. Third, - he points to the phone, - this devilish brat will wake up even the dead, but not you, and I, by the way, have a day off. Well, fourthly, now it is clear with whom our cute operator was flirting there.

  The Japanese almost falls as he tries to squeeze his leg into his trouser leg.

  - In the sense it is clear?

  - I have ears, I can hear, and I heard your conversation at night, and all the puzzles came together, - Kun smiles.

  Nakamoto looks around the room.

  - But how did you know about it?

  - Well, my boyfriend works with Winwin. And everyone noticed that he had a delightful conversation with someone and more than once at dinner said that he often talks with a firefighter with a charming, deep voice, - Qian shrugs. - And at night, when you were saying goodbye, you called him operator 2810, and I connected everything in my head.

  Yuta runs a hand through his hair, creating even more mess on his head.

  - Oh Qian Kun, oh Sherlock boy.

  He only bows.

  - And now it’s almost half-past six and you’re late for work.

  Today, a firefighter’s bowler hat cooks better, because the meaning of what has been said reaches him, and without even saying goodbye, he flies into the corridor with a bullet, barely putting on his shoes and grabbing a backpack, flies to the elevator. Taeil-Hyung, although his friend, even comes to work after noble celebrations, despite his condition. And after such a walk, he will check Nakamoto.

            After Yuta dropped the call, Winwin’s sleep vanishes.

  He spins in bed for another hour and a half, thinking about something of his own. Sighing, Sicheng sits up, shaking his head and driving away various thoughts. This is not the time to think too much. Then his gaze falls on the clock - only half-past five in the morning. It is very early, but if he lies back now, there is no guarantee that he will fall asleep.

  Winwin rises quickly, and from the sharp rush of blood to his head, everything floats before his eyes. Deciding that the morning shower can relax him, he grabs the phone from the nightstand and heads to the bathroom. By turning on his favorite dance playlist, the guy by any means tries to distract himself from what happened. But the year has just begun ...

  Today he needs to look presentable, as this will be an acquaintance with a new team, although Sicheng deep inside hopes that he will not meet Yuta among unfamiliar faces. The operators wear a loose dress code - a cute New Year’s sweater and black jeans. Examining himself in the mirror, his spinal cord catches someone’s gaze.

  -Aahh, Sicheng-a, have you finally emphasized your sweet side, and not dress like a bad boy? It seems that this firefighter flipped the right switch in your head, - Ten smiles, and then walks to the coffee table where Winwin keeps jewelry, and takes out a cute pendant with a star. He walks up to the guy and puts it around his neck, which makes Dong look so soft that he wants to be crushed.

  - You made a doll out of me, but I have to work, - Winwin mutters into his reflection, glancing at Ten.

  - I’m doing this so you can finally meet your firefighter and stop taking all the oxygen with your sighs about his beautiful voice, - Chittapon shrugs.

  - Oh, okay, it was only a few times, - Sicheng rolls his eyes, and then leaves the room.

  - Shall I count? Sorry, but not enough fingers. You started the game yourself, - says Ten following Winwin down the hallway and then looks at his watch. - Aren’t you too early? Only seven in the morning.

  - We need to familiarize ourselves with a new place, - Dong replies. I just came early to hide and not crawl out of my corner, rushes through my thoughts.

  - Good luck at work and don’t be as hidden as you can be. Especially in front of him, - Ten playfully twitches his eyebrows, to which Sicheng once again rolls his eyes and leaves the apartment.

          Having broken off with all his might to run, Yuta still arrives at the department before the chief. Nakamoto is thankful to himself for always keeping a spare set of clothes in his locker. Taking off his coat, the Japanese goes to the shower. It is an awful smell of alcohol on him, which needs to be interrupted with something. Fortunately, for the same reason, he bought himself a vigorous shower gel with a strawberry scent, which also works well as a shampoo.

  Changing into an elegant white shirt with puffed sleeves and not buttoning three top buttons, Yuta admires herself in the mirror. He twists and turns and then pulls her on his shoulders a little to reveal the view of the chiseled collarbones. He likes to radiate the energy of his grandfather, and everyone who works with him is already accustomed to such a Japanese, giving him a mountain of compliments every time, as if they are seeing him for the first time.

  Suddenly, the phone vibrates in the back pocket of his trousers, and it displays a message from Taeil in their work chat on the screen:

  Meeting in ten minutes on the first floor.

  Nakamoto closes his locker and, winking at himself in the mirror again, confidently leaves for a meeting with the operators, where he intends to reveal the identity of his beloved.

            The department is located not far from his home, so he walks slowly, enjoying the frosty winter air and the New Year’s atmosphere around. With a nice Christmas melody playing through the headphones, Sicheng notices a tree decorated by Yuta and Johnny. He has a well-developed sense of taste, so he has the right to dig into shortcomings because in the previous section it was he who decorated everything, for which their department was called the most elegant and ideal - it was simple and tasteful, nothing superfluous. He walks around the tree from all sides, looking at the multi-colored confetti, which is no longer in fashion, Winwin even manages to spy out among the branches a boot stuck in by someone and a used fire extinguisher, which is hung on a branch by a string. Shaking his head, he realizes that this will be a fun department, and just starts to wait for the others, sitting on a bench and taking out his mobile phone to while away the time playing another strategy.

  He does not know how much time passes, but he senses someone’s presence nearby due to the strong smell of alcohol and his gaze. Sicheng abruptly rises from his place, frightening the person looming over him, but it turns out to be none other than Hendery, but something in his form is not right - he does not push up, as usual, but looks happy and without the jokes on his face.

  - Can I wish you a good morning, or is it better to say good night? - asks Winwin Deri, who with all his appearance shows that he wants to share information about how he spent the night with the very Lucas, with whom they are spreading the site from the excess of stupid ideas that were in their dark heads. - Well, come on already, tell me ...

  - You can’t even imagine who I was with today! We first met at the club, then Kun sent us home, but Lucas told the driver to take us to that hill, from where the most charming view of Seoul opens. And then it turned out that we were both fat-headed fools who were embarrassed to confess their feelings to each other, but did not hesitate to create that crazy game for the entire department. And now we, as it were, are meeting, - the younger almost squeaks with happiness, and Winnie, pleased that everything worked out for his friend, approaches him with open arms.

  - And who are you leaving me to? Now, among all of us, I am the only loner left, - Sicheng says in a mock sad voice, moving away from the guy. - You, hike, warmed yourself too much because from you it smells of alcohol.

  - No, it was Yukhei-Hyung who gave me alcohol for the courage to give him… - Dery muttered embarrassingly, making Winwin touched.

  - Just go ahead without details. Of course, I’m glad for you, but I don’t want to be privy to such secrets.

  - Hyung ... - Kunhang nudges him lightly on the shoulder, and Sicheng just smiles his most innocent smile.

  - I would advise you to run home, change clothes, and drink something from a hangover, otherwise on the very first day Taeil-Hyung will regret taking us.

  - I have half an hour left, - Wong says, confused.

  - I think it will be closed for you to go to Lucas. - Winwin points out, playfully twitching his eyebrows. - If you hurry, then I don’t even have to cover your ass.

  - After what happened, soft chairs would not have interfered with me, otherwise ... - Sicheng interrupts the guy’s words, pushing him towards the house.

  - Save me from the details, feets in hands, and run, - Winwin laughs after the guy who is trying with all his might to walk straight, but God only knows how much alcohol he drank for the courage.

  Ten minutes after that, the meeting begins - slowly a small number of people from different departments meet and warmly get to know each other, so this helps Winwin to relax a little and forget about the call.

            Yuta loved to meet people, because connections, wherever they are, are never superfluous. He stands at the other end of the corridor and, leaning against the doorframe, drinks coffee, examining the newcomers whom Taeil leads around their department and introduces everything around. His eyes immediately lookout for the same guy, so all the time they walk down the corridor, Winwin nervously straightens the edges of his clothes, feeling the gaze on him. Sicheng madly dislikes being studied. “I’m not an exhibit”, he usually says. But here Nakamoto would argue: in the bright light in the corridor, Winwin’s skin looks like porcelain, his profile when he turns his face to Moon’s words “Look left”, as if the jeweler was doing because of these soft lines of his face, and the face itself is so childish and tender, that it is hard to believe that this guy can flirt and even give advice on how to do it right.

  Operators and Taeil walk down the corridor, and when they are already disappearing, then from the Japanese, as if a veil of charm falls. He remembers the gathering and, having made himself another portion of coffee, since he did not sleep, goes to a large hall on the second floor, where they usually have conferences.

  It’s a gigantic room with a lot of shapeless pillows to sit on and a big projector that their boss likes to display all kinds of statistics, graphs, and figures about the rescued or something. All seats are almost taken, but suddenly Utah notices Johnny, who waves to him on the other side of the “ocean” of people.

  Nakamoto sighs, “Could you take a seat in some other ass-place?”, he thinks to himself, but he’s also very grateful to Youngho that he didn’t forget about him. Having somehow reached, he collapses next to him, almost spilling coffee on himself. The familiar red top of Taeil comes out to the projector who congratulates everyone on the holidays, then he apologizes for disturbing those who, in theory, have a weekend, and begins to sum up the past year. All this lasts about twenty minutes, and when they reach the “sweet” - the operators.

  - This year we will have an amazing experience with operators on our site. I believe that they, as the main decoration of our department, will give a different look to the main department of the fire department and increase efficiency, we will be able to receive calls better, since now, so that there is no confusion, we will attach a firefighter to each operator to whom he will report accidents cases. For this, I give you a week so that you have time to make friends and choose your partner. This, of course, I do not by order, because I was told to distribute it myself, but it is within my competence to make your already hard work pleasant. So you have time, and I want you all to get along with each other. That’s all for me. Once again - all happy holidays and the beginning of the New Year, which, I hope, will change for the better for many, - with these words Taeil looks at Johnny, who smiles back with his soft smile and shows his thumbs-up: Moon is very afraid of performances, so Suh always sits down near the stage so that if Taeil gets scared, he can find his beloved face and calm down.

  The next to go to the projector is the operators themselves, who introduce themselves and talk about some of their interests. When it comes to Sicheng’s turn, Nakamoto puts his coffee cup on the floor next to the ottoman and, resting his face on his palms, looks straight into the guy’s eyes.

  Winwin tries hard not to look at this interesting face, but involuntarily he meets Yuta’s gaze, which is why a herd of goosebumps runs down his spine and he stumbles, and the Japanese at that moment innocently slaps his eyes and, covering his mouth, smiles disgustingly.

  Dong prays to all known gods that not all firefighters will be dismantled but noticing that most of the operators he knows are approaching their guys, while others are already openly flirting with unoccupied firefighters when he suddenly notices Doyoung who is trying to spy out the remaining guys.

  - Hey, what are you standing here for? Taeyong and Yuta are still free...

  - Who did you like more? - asks Doyoung watching Sicheng’s reaction.

  - What’s the difference? We don’t choose husbands… - Dong mutters as he tries to hide his gaze from the Japanese studying him, turning his back to him.

  - I suggest we must play rock-paper-scissors? - Young smiles. - Who loses - goes to Yuta.

  - Why Yuta? Why not Taeyong? - Sicheng’s lips are blowing, blushing at the mere mention of this fireman.

  - Sicheng-a, lose, for God’s sake. We want to see you two together, - Hendery’s voice suddenly sounds from somewhere behind, causing Dong to jump up and down and then roll his eyes. Kunhang comes up to them, hugging sleepy Lucas, who even looks like he is ready to go to be photographed on the cover of a magazine right now.

  - If you continue to shout so loud, then I will let you down the stairs, Yuta is close ... - mutters Sicheng, blushing.

- Let’s play, - Doyoung interjects. - Rock-paper-scissors!

  Do fall out scissors, and at Winnie - paper. A happy couple squeaks from behind, and Young smiles nasty and points to a Japanese who is standing and talking to some guy. Winwin gets a little angry with an unfamiliar cute guy near Nakamoto since he already believed that Yuta was in his chains. Sicheng sighs and blushes and heads towards the Japanese.

  Coming closer, Sicheng strains his ears to hear the conversation, but when he comes closer, the conversation stops abruptly, - Nakamoto smiles at the guy and nods, saying goodbye. Dong mentally hates him, because even when he smiles, it’s a smile with his whole face, and it makes him feel at home next to the Japanese — safe and comfortable. Sicheng hates to blush.

  - Did you want something, dear angel? - Yuta smiles and looks away so as not to embarrass the boy like that.

  - I wanted to ask if you are free? - stammering, says Sicheng quickly.

  - Alas, but no. One boy took my heart a few months ago, and it seems he has no intention of returning it at all, - Nakamoto shrugs.

  - Damn it, I mean, do you have an operator? - Dong blushes, trying to look only at Hendery, who stands in the background with his fingers crossed. Following the gaze of the operator, the Japanese smirks and, while the guy has not yet turned, wraps his arm around his waist.

  - Let’s go and discuss, - says Yuta hugging.

  If it had been someone else, Sicheng would have already run away and yelled at the entire site, but either falling in love dulls his brains, or is he so afraid - he allows the Japanese to take him to their call waiting room. All the way, Nakamoto holds Sicheng’s waist, stroking the thin waistline with his thumb and tapping with the rest of his fingers. Already just before the door, he releases the guy, opening the door in front of him and letting him in.

  The room is medium but quite cozy: Christmas decorations are scattered everywhere, various soft toys that were given by children for the firefighter’s day, and many photos of Yuta with his friends from Osaka.

  Winwin looks around the room with interest as his hands rest almost weightlessly on his waist again.

  - If you’re interested, you can take and look, - Nakamoto says, forcing the introvert Sicheng up to this point to run like scalded from object to object, looking around. Then he seems to remember his reason for being here, and Dong looks around absently.

  - Why did you bring me here?

  - So that you do not blush because of your friends, - smiles Yuta, - well, I need to find out how much more time you will play cat and mouse? I’ve already declassified you, operator 2810, - Nakamoto approaches the guy, runs his fingers over his hand. - Why did you start this game?

  - I thought everything would remain at the level of flirting. I was very afraid, - lowering his gaze, mutters Winnie. The Japanese man tilts his head to one side, gently pushes the guy’s chin with his fingers, lifting it.

  - What were you afraid of?

  - That in reality, you don’t like me, - Sicheng says, looking into the eyes.

  - Why? - Yuta’s tone of voice becomes more alarming, and his hand is already holding Dong’s hand, fingering the guy’s fingers.

  - Well then, in the club ... You were incredible. And you know, that day I made a wish to find my soul mate, but no one came up to me all evening. And when I was already drunk, but still thinking, you approached. At first, I thought it was just another guy for the night, but when you called me ... I sharply sobered up. I was scared to tell you my number, although the drunks remember little, - Sicheng says while Nakamoto listens to him intently, intertwining their fingers.

- And when I saw you, I realized that I would be like an ugly duckling - only I would spoil the whole impression of you. You look like a prince from a fairy tale, and I’m just a free... - unexpectedly, Dong’s confession is interrupted by a soft kiss on the lips from the Japanese, who gently crushes the lips of the guy opposite who have not yet closed.

  - Don’t talk about yourself like that, you’re wonderful. You are a little riddle that I have found and I want to solve the rest of my life. I want to love you madly, making you blush, because then your face takes on indescribably cute features, I want to fill you with love in every sense of this phrase; I want to hear your delightful voice; I want to take away every fear and anxiety you have; I want you to feel close it’s cozy with me, because I’m your home, - all this is accompanied by Yuta’s kisses on various parts of Winwin’s face, leaving not a single part of the skin without a gentle touch of his lips.

  Sicheng blushes at these words.

  - So you’re not mad at me for my stupidity? - Dong asks when the Japanese man stops kissing the operator and puts his arm around the waist, pressing him against the wall.

  - Of course not, silly, - the Japanese laughs. - I can’t be angry with such a miracle. By the way, can you teach me a couple of flirting tricks? Are you my operator now?

  - I’m yours for a long time, you just didn’t know about it, - Sicheng chuckles while gently kissing Yuta. - And you have not yet learned how to flirt with such a guy?

  - Well, why not? I need a professional opinion.

  Winwin chuckles, waiting for Yuta’s answer.

  - Can I borrow a kiss? I promise I will return.

  Dong blinks his eyes for a moment, and then pulls the Japanese into a kiss, biting his lip slightly.

  - Would such an answer suit you?

  - So ... I did well?

  - A kiss is not enough? I expected everything, but not this. It was powerful. You make me happy, - smiles Sicheng, reluctantly moving away from Yuta.

  They have a special love - they don’t need a lot of words, just a few touches or the light presence of the shadow of a kiss on each other’s lips is enough to feel loved and desired.

[xxx-cat-xxx]

Keeping Company

Authors: @whumphoarder and @xxx-cat-xxx

Summary: While attempting to look after his migraine-riddled mentor, Peter manages to injure himself badly enough to need Tony’s help. 

Word Count: 3k

Authors’ note: Basically, Bethany and Cat are incredibly predictable people, so we each wrote our favorite whump tropes (Tony + migraine, Peter + stitches) and combined them to make our first collab story in response! Hope you enjoy reading as much as we enjoyed creating it together :D

Link to read on Ao3

Tony spits saliva into the toilet bowl for the umpteenth time, wishing that his stomach would get it over with and empty itself already just so that he can get back to bed. Not that it would make much of a difference; his head hurts no matter where he is, but he knows the rest of his body is not going to like the hour he just spent kneeling on the tiled bathroom floor come tomorrow.

“Tony? Are you in there?” someone calls quietly from outside the door. It takes Tony’s migraine-riddled brain a moment to place the voice. Peter, right. Peter, who is staying over at the lake house this weekend to help him upgrade FRIDAY’s interface while Pepper takes Morgan downtown for a day trip.

“Tony? Can I come in?” Peter calls. He sounds a bit more anxious now, making Tony realize that he never actually answered.

“Yeah,” he rasps, and his head thanks him with another vicious throb of pain that he can feel reverberating in the pit of his stomach. He reaches back for the doorknob with an arm that isn’t there before recalling that he took the prosthesis off in the garage because it was hurting him earlier. Then he remembers that he didn’t even lock the door to the bathroom. God, he’s a mess today. “‘S open.”

Peter steps in and immediately winces at the sight of Tony slumped on the floor. “Hey. Uh, did you throw up?” he asks.

Tony shakes his head. “Just nauseous.”

“Ah, okay.” The worry in Peter’s voice is clear. Tony has been getting migraines more frequently since the snap, but the kid has never witnessed one quite like this before. It was bad enough that Tony didn’t even make much of a fuss when Peter sent him to bed after his hands were shaking so badly that he’d slopped coffee over some exposed circuits in the mainframe and shorted them out.

He squints up at Peter. “Don’ worry, kid. It’ll pass.”

Peter nods. He crosses his arms awkwardly, looking like he’s not quite sure what to do with them, and leans against the doorframe. “Uh, how long have you been in here?”

Tony shrugs a bit. “An hour? Two?”

Peter’s face falls. “Why didn’t you tell me it’d gotten this bad? You said I should just do my homework because you were gonna fall asleep anyway.”

“Well what would you have done about it?” Tony retorts. It comes out ruder than intended and Peter’s gaze immediately drops to his feet. A pang of guilt hits Tony and he sighs, sluggishly rubbing his forehead. “Sorry. ‘S just frustrating.”

“No, it’s okay,” Peter reassures, sighing as well. “Just wish I could do something.”

“Build me a new brain,” Tony jokes weakly. “Sell this piece of crap on eBay. Someone’ll buy it—they always do.”

Just then another wave of nausea washes over him. His stomach clenches and for a moment he’s sure he is going to throw up. He bends back over the bowl and squeezes his eyes shut, breathing out carefully. Saliva is pooling in his mouth and the urge to gag is overwhelming, but still, he fights it. Despite how close he and the kid have gotten in the months following Thanos’ defeat, Tony isn’t quite ready to let Peter witness him losing his lunch.

“Actually,” he gasps out after swallowing thickly, “I think there’s some ginger ale in the kitchen. Can you, uh...?” he flaps his hand around.

Peter nods eagerly. “Yeah, for sure,” he says, and disappears through the open door.

The moment he’s out of the room, Tony gags. Nothing comes up, but the pain accompanying the movement is so bad that it sends white lights crisscrossing through his vision.

After another few dry heaves, he lets his head sink down against the rim of the bowl with a low moan that luckily nobody else can hear. He’s shaking and drenched in cold sweat. Pretty pathetic, Iron Man, he thinks.

Then he hears the sound of glass shattering downstairs.

Tony lifts his head weakly. “FRI?” he rasps. “Wha’ was that?”

“Peter appears to have broken a drinking glass,” FRIDAY reports, her volume a bit lower than usual.

“Hm.” As long as it’s not that hideous French sculpture in the dining room that Pepper’s grandmother gave to her, they should be fine. Not that Tony wouldn’t  love  an excuse to finally be rid of that thing—it gives him the creeps. “Is he alright?” he croaks.

“He assures me he is perfectly fine and will be clearing the mess up momentarily,”—Tony gives a small, satisfied hum and lets his eyelids drift back closed—“just as soon as he manages to stop the bleeding,” she finishes.

“Hm… wait, what?” It takes about two seconds longer than usual for Tony’s impaired brain to latch on to the meaning of that sentence. “What bleeding?”

“I’m totally fine, Mr. Stark!” Peter’s voice hollers up the stairs. Tony winces at the sound; he always forgets about the kid’s enhanced hearing. “Got it handled!”  

“In attempting to catch the falling glass, he sustained several lacerations to his right hand,” FRIDAY informs. “Most are superficial, though one of the cuts is bleeding quite heavily and may require medical attention.”

“God, kid, what did you do this time?” Tony groans quietly as he reaches for the sink to pull himself upright. The change in altitude dials up the pain another few notches and makes his vision swim. He maneuvers his way through the dimly lit master bedroom, swaying almost drunkenly.

The sunlight streaming in through the hallway windows when he opens the bedroom doors feels like a personal assault. Tony groans in pain, unable to stop himself, and brings his elbow up to cover his eyes. “FRI, blinds,” he manages to say through clenched teeth. The AI immediately draws the integrated blinds and the hallway blissfully darkens.

“Mr. Stark? Are you okay?” the kid calls from downstairs. “Don’t come down―I got this!” The slight waver of Peter’s voice at the end of the sentence however makes it clear to Tony that the kid has not, in fact, got this.  

“Too late,” he calls back, and then flinches at the volume of his own voice.

The stairs are a challenge with the added aura and wooziness on top of the usual balance issues he still has whenever he doesn’t wear his prosthesis. Holding tightly to the railing with his left arm, Tony concentrates on putting one foot in front of another. He has to stop twice—once to wait for a dizzy spell to pass, and the second time to breathe through another wave of nausea—but he makes it down in one piece.

“Pete?” he asks when he reaches the landing.

There’s a clattering sound and a muffled swear from the kitchen.

“Whatever you’re doing, just stop,” Tony says tiredly as he moves toward the kitchen, keeping his hand on the wall for balance. “Just sit down, and wait for….” he trails off, standing at the room’s threshold now and getting his first glimpse of the scene. “Yikes.”

It looks like something straight out of a B-grade horror flick. Peter is crawling around on the crimson droplet-stained floor, frantically trying to pick up glass shards with his left hand while holding his right—wrapped in a thick, bloodsoaked wad of paper towels—pressed against his chest. He glances up when his mentor stops in the doorway, eyes wide. “I’m fine—I promise,” he blurts.

“Yeah, you and me both, kid,” Tony mutters. He stands there for a moment, his gaze traveling blankly from the blood and glass pieces littering the floor, to the kid’s Pokémon-socked feet, and waits for his sluggish brain to formulate a plan of action.

“Broom,” Tony decides finally, and side steps carefully in his leather-soled slippers over to the pantry to retrieve it.

“Uh, did you still want the ginger ale?” Peter asks nervously. “Because it’s right over there,” he rambles, nodding to the bottle on the counter as he continues picking up glass. “It’s not cold or anything, which is why I was gonna put it in a cup with some ice, but—”

“Pete,” Tony interrupts.

Peter glances up at him. “Yeah?”

“I’m not all useless, alright?” Tony says. Peter opens his mouth like he’s about to protest, but Tony just holds up a finger, shushing him. “Just let me help you. Please.”

Closing his mouth again, Peter gives a single nod. “Alright.”

Tony grabs the broom and uses it to clear a path across the floor to Peter. The closer he gets, the easier he can see the kid’s pallor, which does nothing to decrease his worry.

“Alright, let’s see it,” he says, nodding to Peter’s towel-wrapped hand.

Looking reluctant, Peter peels back his makeshift bandages. Fresh blood immediately starts flowing from a deep, lateral gash spanning across the top of Peter’s palm. Smaller, superficial cuts cover his fingers, and Tony can see at least one piece of glass still sticking into his hand just below the thumb.

“Jesus…” Tony breathes. He isn’t a squeamish person, but this would be sickening even if his stomach wasn’t already on the verge of crawling up his throat. “How did you even do that?”

Peter gives a pained smile. “Super strength? Tried to catch the glass on the way down, but I guess I grabbed it too hard. Kind of embarrassing, actually...”

Tony swallows thickly. “Please don’t ever try to catch me if I’m falling.” He briefly closes his eyes, breathing out, and then forces himself to open them again. The blood flow from Peter’s palm hasn’t stopped; on the contrary, it is now steadily dripping onto the floor. “Alright, stitches,” he decides, covering the wound again. “Bathroom. Let’s go.”

Peter doesn’t protest, but he does pale somewhat upon hearing the word ‘stitches.’ Whether it’s from nerves or the blood loss starting to take its toll, the kid is visibly unsteady on his feet once he gets up. Tony would have offered a supporting hand, but he isn’t faring much better himself. The two of them start shuffling down the hall like a pair of tipsy penguins—Tony holding onto the wall for balance, and Peter clutching his injured hand to his chest, swaying ever so slightly.

“Sit down,” Tony orders once they reach the bathroom, motioning at the toilet. Peter obeys, letting himself sink down onto the lid with a heavy exhale. Tony flips on the overhead light and can barely suppress a moan when the brightness hits his retinas, but if he has any hope of fixing this, he needs to see.

He leans into the doorframe a little and briefly wonders just who he pissed off in a past life to deserve this delightful day before turning his attention back to the teenager currently bleeding all over his luxury white bath mat.

“I’m so sorry,” Peter mumbles. “You should just lie down, actually―I can take care of this on my own.”

“Sure kid,” Tony huffs. “If ‘taking care’ means passing out on the bathroom floor.”

Peter raises an eyebrow. “You’d rather us both pass out on the bathroom floor?”

“Gets lonely down there. Can keep each other company,” Tony mutters. He pushes himself off the wall and moves over to the medicine cabinet to start gathering the supplies they’re going to need. The suture kit he locates quickly enough, but it takes him a full minute to remember where Pepper keeps the tweezers and his hands are shaking so much that he almost drops the box of gauze pads. Then he pulls Morgan’s little step stool out from below the sink and sits down on it next to Peter. “Give me your hand.”

Upon closer inspection, there are two small pieces of glass still embedded in Peter’s palm. It takes Tony a couple of tries to remove them with the tweezers, but eventually he succeeds. Then he picks up the bottle of disinfectant from the counter and holds it out to Peter. “Can you open this?”

Peter gives him a puzzled look. “Aftershave?”

“Hm?” Tony frowns, then squints at the label of the bottle. “Oh.” He sets it back down. “Just testing you.” Peter rolls his eyes and Tony reaches behind himself for the correct bottle this time. Between their two working hands, they manage to remove the childproof cap and Tony gets the bottle in position over Peter’s hand.

“Okay, deep breath,” he advises.

Peter sucks in a sharp inhale, then bites his lip as Tony pours bubbling disinfectant over the cuts. Once the wounds are clean, Tony uses his teeth to tear open the packet containing the (thankfully pre-threaded) surgical needle. Peter gulps at the sight.

Tony carefully picks up the needle with forceps. “You alright?” he checks.

“Yeah, fine,” Peter grits back, looking anything but fine. “Let’s just get it over with.”

That turns out to be easier said than done. Try as he might, Tony can’t get his eyes to focus properly on the wound and his trembling fingers keep causing the needle to jump—not to mention the kid’s anxious flinching. After five full minutes of fiddling with the needle, Tony’s barely managed two stitches. Then the pungent stench of disinfectant mixing with the scent of Peter’s blood suddenly becomes too much for his stomach to take.

“Hang on,” he mutters before standing up and spinning around just in time to heave violently into the sink.

(So much about not throwing up in front of the kid.)

“Tony?” Peter asks in a weak voice when Tony’s retching tapers off.

“Just gimme… a minute,” Tony gasps, trying to breathe through the blinding pain searing through his skull. He shakily wipes his mouth, praying that he isn’t in for another round. “Sorry. I’ll fix it.”

“I know, I just—” Peter looks down at the needle, which is still stuck in his hand mid-stitch, and breathes out a careful exhale. Sweat is glistening on his face. “Maybe it’d be better if you just talked me through it?”

Somehow, the kid manages to look at him with both pleading and pity, and it causes a flare of anger in Tony’s chest at his own patheticness. He has to swallow hard to clear the tightness from his throat before croaking out, “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that.”

Peter picks up the needle and forceps with his left hand and follows Tony’s muttered instructions. The knots are the hardest part to explain. Tony has to talk Peter through which direction to pull the threads and how many times to wrap them around before tying them off, and it’s taking all of his patience to do so.

“It’s like the time May tried to teach me how to tie my tie for homecoming,” Peter murmurs, pulling the needle through his skin with the forceps. “Same frustration, just more blood.”

Tony huffs a bit and massages his own aching temples. “Still can’t believe you made it to sixteen without ever wearing a tie…”

“No, I’d  worn ties before,” Peter retorts, keeping his voice low, “but Ben always tied them for me.” He lets out a little hiss as he tugs the thread to pull the skin closed.

“Not so tight, kid,” Tony corrects. Peter nods and gives it more slack. It seems to be helping the kid to have something else to focus on besides the sutures, so Tony continues. “Jarvis had me doing double windsors the same week I learned to tie my shoes. Think I was three.”

“Child prodigy...” Peter huffs, though there’s no heat behind his words. After a moment he says, “Did Jarvis teach you to do stitches too?”

“Nah, that was Rhodey.” Tony feels his stomach twisting again at the recollection of that night and shudders a bit. “Don’t mouth-off to drunken frat boys, kid. Never ends well.”

Peter smirks a bit as he starts the next suture. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Eventually, they manage to finish stitching the wound closed. Tony douses him with antiseptic again, then wraps Peter’s hand in gauze bandages until it vaguely resembles an oven mitt.

“Okay.” Tony lets his head fall back against the counter and sighs exhaustedly. “Congratulations, kid—you just cleared another level on the way to becoming a full Avenger.”

Peter grins weakly. “It was kinda badass, wasn’t it?” He gazes down at his hand as if he can’t quite believe what he just did. Then he looks over at Tony and his face sobers. “You should go lie down. And I need to clean up the kitchen.” He starts to get to his feet, but the second he’s up, the color seems to drain from his face. Tony shoots out his hand and grips the kid’s bicep. “Or maybe I’ll just sit for a minute,” Peter murmurs, sinking heavily back down onto the toilet lid. “Or two.”

“Yeah, you do that,” Tony says in concern. “Please don’t faint and break your leg or something. I’ve hit my capacity for field surgeries today.”

While Peter rolls his eyes, Tony mutters for FRIDAY to dim the lights. The brightness in the room immediately decreases to a minimum and Tony could honestly cry in relief. Giving up all pretenses, he slides down off the step stool and stretches out on the floor mat, crossing his arms behind his pounding head to make a sort of cushion.

“Gross,” Peter mutters.

“I threw up Pep’s carrot soup today,” Tony murmurs in response, letting his eyes slip closed. “Don’t talk to me about gross.”

He lies there for a minute before he feels Peter getting up and stepping over him toward the sink. The water turns on briefly, then goes off again and the next thing he knows, a cool washcloth is being draped over his forehead and eyes.

“Thanks, kid,” he breathes. “Now let’s never do this day again.”

Peter groans and lies down beside his mentor on the absurdly plush bath mat.  “Agreed.” 

Bethany’s fics | Cat’s fics

[esperanzacboronial]

for the three word prompt, can you do elmer + #20? thank you!

Tempestuous, Rabbit, Hurt

[ Read on Ao3 ]

By the time the clouds rolled in, they were already several miles too far into the middle of nowhere for stopping or turning around to be a sensible option. Maybe that’s the reason Elmer would give if he cared about reason or sense at all, or if anyone in the car with him thought he cared about reason or sense enough to demand any of him. (They did not.) 

The upside to being on a deserted, mountainside dirt road with no civilised life around them was that there was no real risk to his recklessness; there were no other cars on the road, meaning no bystanders would get hurt if they crashed, which meant no one would get upset, which cleared up all concerns in Elmer’s mind. Crashing would be at worst an inconvenience for the immortals among them, and Phil was dispersed very evenly between their two cars, so in any case the odds were in her favour that she would come out of this alive and well. Better to continue on to their destination than to pull over and wait, and put the top priority on the line. The collective happiness of the group was sure to suffer if they were delayed. Elmer could imagine it now: Sylvie would glare, and Nile would stromp about, and Czes would grumble. That wouldn’t do at all.

Rain splattered against the windshield and slicked the road, but Elmer just switched his headlights on and drove straight into the tempest.

The radio, a quiet murmur of chart-topping singles interspersed with light, breezy commentary and a nearby village’s local “news” — never anything important, adopted kittens and lottery winners — cut out every few seconds due to shoddy signal. Elmer still enjoyed the noise. It was a warm, amicable buzz around him. It made him feel like he was sitting in a bar or a coffee shop, surrounded by happy, chattering people and the faint hum of music. He did not need to follow any of it to find it joyful.

(In this way it differed from background chatter in bars and coffee shops, which he would always follow as intently as he could – without eavesdropping, how would he solve the problems people did not ask him to solve?)

Phil was asleep in the back, along with Czes and Phil. In the passenger seat, Sylvie was curled up into her corner with a book and a reading light, trying to drown out the noise Elmer enjoyed so much. The dial was on the lowest notch, but any time a song came on that he was familiar with (and in three-hundred years, he had familiarised himself with an unfortunate sum) Elmer hummed at twice the volume. Phil and Czes slept through it fine, but every few minutes Sylvie would cast him a disparaging glance, foolishly hoping he might be perceptive enough to notice.

Elmer might have been perceptive enough to notice, but he did not show any sign of it if he was. For all his faults, he managed to keep his focus firmly on the road — so firmly, in fact, that when he saw a grey blur dash across it in the glow of the headlights he slammed his foot on the brakes without a second’s hesitation.

The sudden, skidding stop sent Sylvie’s book flying out of her hands. Czes bumped skulls with the Phil on his right, and the two awoke with a start while the Phil on his left, miraculously, continued snoring away.

“Are you trying to kill us?” snapped Sylvie when she regained her composure. 

“What good would that do?” Elmer said, laughing lightly. He had already unfasted his seatbelt with a click, opened the door, and, as he spoke, was climbing out into the torrential rain. Feeling a chill from the wind, Sylvie quickly leant over to shut the door closed as soon as he was out.

Not far behind in another car, Maiza had almost swerved off the road to avoid rear-ending them. Elmer gave he and the others an energetic wave, followed by a thumbs up to indicate that nothing was wrong with the vehicle, followed by no further answers to the numerous other questions they might have had. He ducked in front of the car and began to inspect the ground underneath and around it.

“Ah-ha!” Spotting the thing, fortunately still squirming, he half-dove-half-slipped down to the gravel, mud and snow, to lay on his stomach and dig around under the car. At this point Nile had gotten out to see what the fuss was about, but watching Elmer’s actions was not providing him with any explanation.

— Until he returned to his feet a minute or so later, now cradling a mud-soaked creature in his arms. Or perhaps less cradling, being that this was Elmer, and tender care was not his strong suit. Perhaps more waving wildly in the air.

He spotted Nile through the downpour and yelled over, “Hey ol’ pal, any chance you’ve got some spare bandages?” He strode over to their car, mud-soaked himself. “You must carry them with you, right? ‘Case you unravel?”

No one would be able to say how deeply Nile frowned beneath his mask; no one would be able to say how loudly he sighed beneath the drumming rain. Despite his imperceptible exasperation, he soon confirmed that Elmer’s assumption was correct. With a wave of his hand, he motioned for him to come closer, and he pulled the trunk open.

“Allow me to clarify:” he said. “You risked our safety for a rabbit?”

“That’s right!” Elmer nodded, shaking some water from his hair. He climbed into the back of the car, where a couple of Phil’s vessels were sat staring at him curiously. He turned to show the rabbit off to them, and their stares became ever more curious.

“I saw him dash in front of us and I‌ thought he might’ve gotten scratched up —” From the looks of it, its back leg had been caught under one of the tires; it was bent at an odd angle, and further inspection now that the rain had washed off most of the mud revealed bleeding. It wriggled a bit in Elmer’s hands, but did not seem especially intent on escaping his grasp. He gave the rabbit a gentle pat, and its ear twitched. “Bunnies are such happy little fellas. Didn’t seem right to just leave him without checking.”

“You’ve certainly got a unique sense of right and wrong,” Maiza chuckled from the driver’s seat.‌ “Most people would prioritise the convoy of people over the rabbit, but…”

“Well, sure, even I know that! If we were normal people it’d be different… But none of you were really in danger,” he explained, nonchalant. “I‌ mean, if one of us died, that’s no big deal, but a dead rabbit — like, a dead dead rabbit, that would be really sad, right? That’d definitely ruin the mood of the rest of the trip.‌ I couldn’t let that happen.”

“I say this: we would not have known about the rabbit, dead or alive, hurt or otherwise, had you not stopped the car. I do not see how it would have impeded on our good cheer.” Nile grunted and threw a satchel his way. Elmer caught it with a grin, then rummaged through it to pull out a handful of cloth bandages.

“But, but, hear me out: a living rabbit — that’s not just not sad, that’s got the potential to be a really happy thing, right?” He tore a bandage in half with his teeth and began wrapping it around the rabbit’s leg. He hardly paid attention as he did, chattering on and tending to the wound as though out of mechanical memory. “Who wouldn’t smile at the thought of having an adorable new pet?”

“I say this: the animal belongs in the wild. You would do well to release it after you are finished.”

“Aww, c’mon, look at him,” came his plea. “Tell me you don’t feel so happy you could melt.”

“I will tell you, then: I do not.”

“You’ll warm up to him eventually,” said Elmer dismissively, tying off the excess bandage. After a second he continued: “Anyway, I think we should call him ‘Huey’.”

“You would name this small creature after that scoundrel?”

He hummed in affirmation. “I used to say he was like a dense bunny.”

“May I remind you: he is a known terrorist.”

“He can be both.”‌ He shrugged. “Besides, you never know – what if this little guy is a terrorist, too? Should we interrogate him? Hm?” With this, he turned his attention to the rabbit, squishing his nose against its face so that he could meet it eye-to-eye, and cooing: “Are you a little scoundrel?‌ Are you hatching evil plots, eh?”

Then he practically flung the rabbit in Nile’s face. “What do you think? Are his eyes full of secrets?”

He said nothing for a moment. He stared at the rabbit, then answered reluctantly: “I concede: those are the eyes of an innocent. He is no scoundrel.”

“So we can take him with us?”

“I‌ say this: I am not your keeper,” he said, taking the satchel and tossing it back into the trunk. “Leave me be and do what you will.”

Elmer took this as a win. He thanked Nile for the bandages and hopped out of their car, leaving the space a good bit messier than he found it. 

“Do you think he knows he won’t be able to take a wild rabbit on the plane when we go back home?” Maiza asked, good humour in his voice, as they watched him amble back to the other car with the rabbit tucked beneath his coat.

“It is Elmer. I say this: my worry is that he will be able to.”

Elmer returned to the driver’s seat, dragging in mud and rainwater. He set the rabbit on his lap, and set his slightly-blood-stained hands on the steering wheel. Sylvie looked up from her book. He smiled at her broadly. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but shook her head and said nothing instead.

“I found a bunny,” said Elmer, gesturing with a nod.

“I‌ saw,” she said, returning to her book. 

“Do you like it?“

“I suppose it’s sweet,” she replied, mostly in earnest. “As long as it doesn’t have rabies.”

“If you smile I’ll let you hold him!“ 

“I’ll pass on that one, but I will smile,” she assured him. “If you promise to clean this car before we return it.”

[razorblade180]

Shackles pt4: A Rocky Start

“So let’s get started shall we?” A click of a button illuminates a completely white room devoid of windows. The gaurd reaches for Jasmine’s wrist and she promptly yanks a way and walks to the only chair in the middle of a room. She knew the drill already. Jasmine was at least gonna do it at her own pace.

The child sat down and placed both arms on the arm rest in between the thick leather straps. Her mind was racing; the nerves in her body already feeling like fire and making the chair creak with her slight trembling. “Let’s just get this over with already.” The soldier scoffs and tightens the straps before leaving the room. It wasn’t long before the door opens again with Sobek himself coming through it with a utility cart that has an array of tools. Each one unnerving her more. Regular needles, injections, a metal bar, wire, and worst of all, the shears. Jasmine can’t keep her eyes off them.

Sobek:So you’re causing trouble little one? I had I feeling I’d see you in this room again. You’re pretty feisty for a girl your age; certainly more grit than your brother it seems. Not to mention your parents.....you have your father’s charisma.

Jasmine:And then you tried to beat it out of him....

Sobek:Correction, I tried to carve it out of him. Unfortunately the man was beyond salvation much like your mother. *grabs injections*

The man methodically stares at the tip of it as he stands in front of her. Jasmine jumps slightly the moment Sobek’s hand grabs her arm.

Sobek:Don’t be scared, I’m not going to be as crude with you. Children....don’t survive that kind of strain.

The need goes into her arm easily. Jasmine stares at the mysterious clear liquid gets injected into her right arm. In mere seconds she started feeling strange. The room started getting even brighter to the point it was straining to keep both eyes completely open. A rapid pounded in her ears and Sobek’s calm grip felt more like a vice. Even the air itself stung each time she took a shallow breath. The man before her watched the drug kick in then snapped his fingers. The sound made her yelp in pain like a gunshot had went off right next to her. “Several hours of pure sensory overload should change your tune nicely.” He spoke in a hushed tone for her sake. It was last bit of mercy she would be given.

Sobek left the room but left the tools. His way or keeping her alert and making the girls own heartbeat a weapon against her. He walked into room that was right before her where the wall that would be her back wall was in fact a one way mirror. Connected to it was a panel with a variety of switches and knobs. He reached for one that was labeled temperature and dialed it down to forty degrees Fahrenheit then reached for another that increased volume. The only sound was feedback steadily rising. Waiting for just the level until.... “Aaaaaaaaaaaa~” he turned it back down on notch and could see Jasmine heaving; cold air visible with each exhale.

“Poor child. I’ll cure you in no time.”

xxxx

Yang:Are you sure this is the right way?

Blake:I don’t travel in the desert Yang. This is just as much of a leap of faith for me as it is for you.

Jacquelyn:Gee I’m glad I can feel the trust in this group.

The three had been walking through the desert for at least half an hour now. It was the dead of night, cold, and the moon was the only witness to anything out here. Yang was not a happy camper about any of that. She might’ve been aggressive to Jacquelyn earlier today but it was from a mix of shock and other things that were going on. Fighting a maiden was absolutely in every worse case scenario she came up with. Yang had sparred with her mother and helped Ruby push back Cinder in battle, however that only told her how different maidens all are from one another. Case in point, the floor right below them.

Right now the three women were walking in a straight line about a foot away from each other. Jacquelyn was of course in the front. Not simply because she’s the one with direction, but because she’s keeping them out of danger. Her powers allow her to change the sand below their feet into rock temporarily; a trick like that had to come with tons of practice. It stayed long enough in that state for Yang to tail her. Followed by Blake and the sand returned to normal.

Yang:Can’t you make this strip of solid land wider? You aren’t exactly lacking in resources.

Jacquelyn:The point is to disturb the ground as little as possible. White Fang and Nightstalkers burrow underground and sense vibrations in shifting sands so they can set sinkholes in appropriate spots. If I change the terrain too much then I’m bound to attract something.

Yang:White Fang....? You can’t be talking about the group right?

Blake:The group got its name from a grimm indigenous to menagerie. They’re build is almost like an dingo and they walk on all fours constantly unlike beowulves. Their face is a strange mix of feline and canine structure. Digging is sort of their thing and you might’ve guessed but their canines are white as bone; incredibly long too.

Jacquelyn:Being bitten by them with or without aura is a real pain. Let’s not deal with that shall we?

Yang:Why would your dad name an organization after a grimm?

Blake:One White Fang is ferocious and will do just about anything to get by.

Jacquelyn:A pack becomes organized and follows the alpha. In numbers they can shape the land around them and will try and stand against just about anything that stops them. That unity is the reason right?

Blake:Adam tell you that?

Jacquelyn:Who else? You gonna tell me that was a lie?

Blake:N...no....

Yang:......So Nightstalkers?

Jacquelyn:They’re basically Deathstalkers but prefer to trap their enemies instead of coming above ground. They do not waste time. The moment you fall into a trap they will try and sting you to stun you, then immediately eat you.

Yang:Yet these are the ones without “death” in their name.

Jacquelyn:I don’t name them. I just try to avoid them. I almost got eaten once but luckily I wasn’t alone.

Yang:I’m pretty sure magic helped.

Jacquelyn:That too...

Yang:Speaking of which, I can’t imagine this stone stepping trick is easy. Must have taken a lot of practice to get it right.

Blake:Yang....

Jacquelyn:It’s fine Blake. I know she’s gauging my strength; I can feel your eyes on me the entire time. It must be a bit unnerving for you to not to be the toughest person around right now isn’t it? Adam had a similar problem.

Yang:Never compare us.

That was a nerve hit Jacquelyn expected. The way Yang said that was enough to tell just how serious she was about it. A blast of warm air against her back was also a sign that the blonde was quite literally heated. It didn’t help that Yang probably could tell that she said that last part on purpose.

Jacquelyn:I was simply making conversation. Are you always like this? You must save hundreds on heating; I know I do. My maiden powers were given to me from a very young age. So yes, I’ve had plenty of time to learn “tricks” like controlling sediments.

Blake:Given?

Jacquelyn:From my mother. She lost her life when I was seven. Been more or less on my ever since. Well I guess that’s not true. James and even Ozpin made sure I lived well; it was in their best interest after all. They taught-

Blake:Wait. Your mom was all you had?

Yang:No town? No dad or anything. A grimm simply killed your maiden powered mom and left you defenseless.

Jacquelyn:Sigh...I said she lost her life; never mentioned any grimm. As for my dad and the village I grew up in, well, they’re the reason my mom lost her life in the first place.

This new information made the partners stop on their tracks. Yang looks at Blake who is just as surprised as she is. They look forward to see Jacquelyn staring at both of them. Her face was calm and more befuddled by the reason stopped.

Jacquelyn:Uhhh we’re sort on a time crunch and I can see my house from here. What’s with the stopping?

Yang:You just told us something heavy. Like really heavy.

Blake:Your dad and own people killed your mom?

Jacquelyn:Don’t forget smashed my hands and tried killing me as well hehe.....*frowns* people fear power, especially power they don’t understand. I don’t let it weigh me down anymore so no need for it to start weighing you both down. Let’s get a move on alright?

Blake:O...okay. I just don’t believe I could handle something like that if I was in your shoes; even with time that’s-

Yang:Extreme. Traumatic doesn’t even begin to describe it. People change after that. Not necessarily for the best, but to survive.

Jacquelyn:You’re not entirely wrong. I wouldn’t exactly say I’m the best version of myself or probably even the most sane.

Yang:That’s not what I want to hear. *scowls*

Jacquelyn:Would you have preferred a lie? I know how you and Blake feel about that sort of thing. You know, people pretending to be what they aren’t? Listen I get why you’re doing psychoanalysis on me, trying to figure me out, and you’ve made it very clear from the start that everything about this situation upsets you. I can understand that; respect it even. However, you’re being really annoying and pissing me off so either ask direct question or shut up.

Yang:Oh you have another thing coming if you think you can talk to me like that.

Jacquelyn:What are you gonna do about it? Did you learn enough about me to think you handle me.

Blake:Guys.....

Yang:I know I can handle you. I just wanted to know how much effort I was gonna need.

Blake:Guys yo-

Jacquelyn:That’s big talk from someone who needed help from her partner and bike to take down Adam. I beat him first try you know? Complete child’s play and I did it over and over again. I bet you figured that at though. After all... you don’t see any metal parts on me right?

Yang:Oh I am gonna-

Blake:GUYS! THE SAND!

Jacquelyn and Yang stop arguing and look around them. Moving mounds circle around them. Their speed makes it hard to count but it’s clear there’s a massive pack around them. Yang starts rolling her shoulders and puts her fist up. “So much for avoiding conflict.”

“Yeah well getting angry in the middle of nowhere might as well be a dinner bell.” Blake said with annoyance as she cocked her gun. “What were you two thinking?”

Yang bites her lips. “Not my finest moment I’ll admit. What’s the best way to deal with White Fang?”

“Ugh, against these numbers, we don’t.” Jacquelyn raises her right foot and then slams it against the sand. Her eyes glow and the ground below all three turns to rock and raises into air ten feet; creating a pillar of rock. Blake and Yang watch Jacquelyn take a knee I’m exhaustion. ‘Damn...I’m more drained than I thought.’ Her body trembling slightly. “We’re going to have to wait.”

Yang:Wait!? We can’t just-

Jacquelyn:There’s at least thirty down there and trust me, you do not want to fight these things right now.

Blake:She’s right. I can definitely hear more of them around. Who knows how many sink wholes are around. Nice going you two; we were almost there.

Yang:I...Jacquelyn, can’t you float or move this hunk of rock to your house? I can see the oasis. That’s the place right?

Jacquelyn:I am tired and moving the entire rock causes vibrations. No way you slice it, we are stuck until they leave.

Yang:....*sits down* Shit.... how long is that gonna take?

Jacquelyn:Few hours maybe? I don’t know when grimm give up.

Yang:*lays down* Juuuussssst great.

Blake:Hopefully before the Sun comes out. I hope no one notices we’re gone too long.

She layed down on her back and stared at the shattered moon. Thoughts lingered aimlessly one after another; so many things were on her mind to keep up with. So many things that she wanted to say about the situation but didn’t. Instead she laid there quietly. ‘Sun, what would you do if you were here? Probably find a way to make those two get along no doubt. Hopefully whatever you’re doing is a walk in the park.’

xxxx

Ilia:Sun this is crazy.

Neptune:You can’t be serious. This is a life or death decision.

Ilia:If you screw up then that’s it. Your life is over. Just another man who lost it all in the streets of Vacou.

Sun:*sweating* Guys relax, I got this.

The trip goes silent as well does the audience around them. Many on lookers watch the monkey faunus stare at three upside cups in front of a well known peddler and part time scam artist. It all comes down this, one cup holds the boy’s future while the others hold despair. Slowly he reaches for the cup in the middle.

Peddler:Are you sure about that one?

Sun:I’m as sure as the rising tides and the fish that travel along them.

He lifts the cup triumphantly to find....nothing. The crowd groans in mass disappointment and dispersed in seconds. Neptune dropped to the ground in defeat. While Ilia face palmed. “Hahahaha! Better luck next time kid” the peddler laughed heavily and proceeded to gather his things and walk off with lien in his pocket and a new pair of goggles.

Neptune:Un....believable.

Sun:I know right? I was so sure it was the middle one.

Neptune:You just lost my money and goggles!

Sun:For the chance to get anything for free he had. That dude always has the best gems. You know we always gotta pay the minimum fee for those sort of deals.

Neptune:So why didn’t you borrow any money from Ilia!!!!?

Ilia:Because you’re his best friend. Plus I couldn’t have an invested interest in the wager. That means I’d have to watch the whole time instead of stealing from him.

Neptune:Still you-....you what?

The girl smiled and put her hands together before rubbing the right one over left and revealing a black diamond ring. “Sun taught me some things. A fitting jewel for your future bride to be huh?”

Sun:That’s if she says yes. *takes the ring* You are right though. I can’t wait to show Blake!

Neptune:Hopefully she doesn’t ask a receipt.

Ilia:Pffft just don’t mention one. Let’s go back to the hotel before-

“My Diamond!”

Neptune:Scatter?

Sun and Ilia:Scatter.....

All three make a dash in different direction through the busy crowd with laughter in their voice. Well, two of them at least were laughing. Ilia watched her idiotic enemy turned best friend climb up on buildings and start booking it like there was no tomorrow. ‘Yeah like that isn’t obvious.’ She took a different approach; maneuvering through people almost like a snake so any pesky peddlers couldn’t get a fixed location on her. The moment she had the opportunity to duck into an alleyway she did so with a gleeful hop; satisfied her years of espionage had not gone to waste or gotten rusty. “Child’s play...”

“Having fun, you little thief?” Said an unfamiliar voice behind her that made her jump. ‘Okay, maybe not child’s play.’ Ilia put up her hands and slowly turned around. “Listen if a peddler that rigs games by secretly hiding things in his sleeves was-” her train of thought was cut off by what stood in front of her. Ilia has expected an angry peddler or some sort cop. Not several armed men wearing cloaks and gripping guns. Each one giving her a look as if she was cornered prey. “Asking.....for....it.”

Captor:Well look at we stumbled across here men. Ilia Amitola, another sick beast in need of curing. The doctor will be pleased.

Part 3

[essieeeeeeeee]

Shobbs romcom au part 3, comin’ at ya.

---------

Deckard slips down the hall with an expression that he can only assume projects every ounce of his rage, as the few people lingering in his path quickly side-step out of the way. He doesn’t pay much attention to it, though. His thoughts are otherwise occupied, a whirlwind of emotions that he can’t quite seem to shove down far enough to escape from.

He ends up ducking into the first bathroom he comes across, and slams the door behind him.

A cursory glance at the stalls tells him that it’s mercifully empty. Shaw makes a beeline for the sink, leans both hands up against the porcelain counter until his knuckles whiten from the tightness of his grip, and slowly releases a long, shuddering breath.

Brixton.

How could this have happened? Five years of vigilant avoidance - declining invitations to any functions his ex could show at (all of them, really), ignoring texts and phone calls, changing the channel when Lore was even so much as mentioned - and somehow, fate finds a way to get him stuck with the man all over again. And not just stuck, but having to work with him? To have to acknowledge his presence, to make conversation, to pretend Lore hadn’t ripped his still-beating heart from his chest and stomped on it, in front of millions?

Fate was a fucking cunt.

With a strap-on, apparently, considering how much she enjoyed fucking him over.

A shudder works its way down his spine, and Deckard grinds his teeth together. He grabs the tap and wrenches it on with more force than necessary, cups the cold water in his hands, and splashes it onto his face. The shock of cold doesn’t help as much as he’d hoped; he still feels tense, trembling with anger and other emotions he doesn’t bother to name (because anger is fine - anger is all he needs, and all he’ll let himself feel).

And oh, is he angry. So, so angry, to the point that he’s not quite sure what’ll happen, if they stick him in a room with Brixton in this state. He can’t afford it - not after Toretto.

Hattie would kick his arse, if he had a repeat performance of that shitshow again.

A brief pang of guilt strikes him. He shouldn’t have yelled at Hattie. None of this is his sister’s fault, and logically he knows this, but he can’t help the bit of blame he wants to lay at her feet for strong-arming him into this situation in the first place. Deckard squeezes the sink ledge even tighter.

He really needs to hit something.

He raises his head, and stares at his face in the mirror. Watches the rivulets of water drip down the curves of his cheeks for a few silent, contemplative moments.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Shaw snarls - and then, abruptly, rears his fist back, and sends it slamming into his own reflection.

The glass shatters instantly. Deckard revels in the sharp jolt of pain radiating up his arm, and watches the broken pieces of mirror rain to the ground with a crash. It’s oddly soothing, he thinks, eyes caught on a drop of bright red on the sharp edge of one sliver, to watch the destruction he could cause from a single strike.

The following silence, after the chime of splintering glass, is almost deafening. Shaw stares listlessly at his fractured reflection in the few fragmented pieces of mirror left behind.

He thinks, briefly, about how appropriate the sight feels.

The sound of a throat clearing over his shoulder jolts him out of his musings.

"I know the sight of your face can be traumatic, but maybe don't take it out on the mirror."

Deckard closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath in.

As if his day couldn’t get any worse.

"Piss off, Hobbs," he hisses, pulling his fist back from the mirror and resting it on the sink ledge. He can feel the wet slide of blood dripping down his wrist, but the numbness that swept in after his initial outburst makes caring about that a difficult task.

Hobbs chuckles behind him, and Shaw can’t quite muster up the amount of irritation he knows he’d usually feel about that.

“Seven years bad luck, you know,” the big man says, closer this time. Deckard raises his eyes to the busted mirror again to see Hobbs stroll into view behind him.

Ten minutes alone, Deckard thinks. Couldn’t even get that, in this miserable shitstain of a day.

“Put it on my fucking tab,” he mutters absently. He raises his hand to take a look at the damage, and Shaw frowns at the sight of his split knuckles. Several small shards of glass are still embedded in the skin.

Those were going to be a bitch to get out.

Movement in the mirror catches his eye again, and he glances back up to see Hobbs coming closer, a frown on his face. The furrow in his brow almost looks concerned.

The expression makes Shaw’s hackles rise. He doesn’t need the man’s pity.

“Why don’t you make yourself useful and go pick up something heavy?” he snaps, and Deckard knows the insult’s weak, but he doesn’t have enough energy to deal with Hobbs’ shit on top of everything else right now.

Hobbs outright ignores it, though. And instead of stopping, he moves closer, and in the next moment he smoothly snatches up Shaw’s wrist before Shaw can even register the movement.

Deckard stiffens; the sudden warmth of a big hand against his cold skin is startling, and freezes him in his tracks. He stares at it in some surprise.

“You should see medical,” Hobbs says, and Deckard half-registers it as he watches the other man’s thumb brush an absent-minded circle over the skin of the Brit’s inner wrist. Shaw can feel a flush start to make itself known around his neck from the action. “Some of these are deep, might need stitches.”

Deckard stares for another moment, caught up in that small, continuous brush of the other man’s thumb - before abruptly gathering his wits about him and snatching his hand back from Hobbs' grasp.

“Deaf as well as dumb?” he barks, taking a step back from the bigger man to recenter himself. “I said leave me the fuck alone."

Hobbs' lips tighten and he rolls his eyes. “No,” he corrects mockingly, crossing his arms, “you said ‘piss off’ like a whiny prepubescent child. And since I am actually a grown ass man, I made the executive decision to ignore it.”

“Pretty sure you’re just a grown arse,” Deckard sneers.

“Pretty sure you’re just a pain in the ass.”

“Tch,” Shaw scoffs, but instead of leaning into the argument as per their usual, he turns his back on the other actor and moves his attention back to his damaged hand instead. He didn’t have the time or energy for this conversation right now; all it was doing was reigniting his earlier fury, and Shaw needed some semblance of calm if he was going to survive the upcoming meeting.

With great effort, he ignores Hobbs' presence completely, and focuses on gently wiggling a small shard of glass from his knuckle. Another dribble of blood wells up as it slides out without much fuss. He dips his hand under the still-running tap to wash it away.

"So, what's got princess Deckard in a snit now?" Hobbs asks calmly beside him, leaning his hip against the adjacent sink.

Deckard fishes out another sliver of glass and sneers.

"Tell me, Hobbs - when exactly did you get the notion that my life was any of your business?"

Hobbs laughs, soft and low. "Wow, someone really did just piss right in your wheaties, didn't they?" He leans closer, and the wide, charming grin the actor's sporting is hard to miss as he moves further into Shaw's personal space. "Come on, now: tell papa Luke all about what's got little Deckard wound up this time."

Deckard bristles. "Here's a thought," he snaps, brusquely grabbing at the last splinter still wedged into his skin, "how about you go and fu-"

Shaw cuts himself off with a hiss of pain; the glass is bigger, and deeper than expected, and sends a sharp bite of agony through his hand as it slides out. Another fount of blood slides sluggishly down his arm.

Hobbs' brows furrow, expression warping from playful to concerned again, and he immediately reaches out a hand towards Shaw's wrist. "Here, let me - "

But suddenly Shaw thinks of Brixton - his hand reaching out, on his shoulder, squeezing, an unwanted, spine-shuddering presence, and he smacks Hobbs' fingers away, stepping back with a withering snarl.

"Get your mitts off'a me!"

Hobbs jerks back, and holds his hands up in surrender. "Sure thing, cupcake," he snaps back, his annoyance obvious.

Deckard doesn’t care, though. He aggressively turns to the sink and washes off the remaining blood before grabbing a paper towel to wrap around the wounds. Hobbs lowers his arms again, then crosses them, and snorts.

“Just saying, though - you might want to start getting used to my mitts on you, if you really want to be a part of this movie.”

Deckard stills. He glances back to Hobbs, and his eyes narrow.

“I'm a goddamn professional, Hobbs,” he says, each word sharp and pointed. “I'll do what needs done in front of the cameras, but outside that? Stay away from me."

With that, Deckard decides it’s time to leave. He turns, and strides to the door, posture tense and bristling.

"Professional, huh?" Hobbs replies, pointedly eyeing the broken mirror as Shaw sweeps by him. "Then maybe you should try dialing it down a few thousand notches. Don't need you punching anything else on set."

Deckard's gait falters, and he stiffens. Toretto. The reference was obvious. And, strangely enough, the dig actually hurts.

He didn’t expect that. Didn’t expect that he’d give enough of a damn about Hobbs’ opinion of him, at this point, considering their history, but -

He guesses his skin isn’t quite as thick as he’d thought.

Something to work on, then.

"Stay out of my fucking way,” Shaw says slowly, not bothering to turn back around to face the other man, “and we won't need to worry about that, will we?"

Deckard slams the bathroom door open, and storms back out into the hall beyond.

Day one, and this was already turning into a fucking nightmare.

[readbeneaththelines]

Just The Person I Need Pt. 5

Kwon JiYong is a Multi Million Dollar business man thrown into parenthood when his brother and sister-in-law die in an accident. leaving A son and daughter behind. Y/N is a nanny that loves what she does. What happens when their lives become intertwined? Will she be Just The Person He Needs?

Characters: Business Man!Kwon JiYong X Nanyy!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut somewhere along the way

Word Count: 3266

Warnings: None really for this chapter, language, maybe angry JiYong? 

cr to gif owner..... why is he so damn good looking?

JiYong exhaled, trying to regain his composure. His hands were drawn into tight fists, the knuckles turning white from the pressure. Walking to the door that Mr. Mueller had just left through, he raised one of his fists, slamming it hard and straight into the solid wood. He heard a crack, but would not let it register that he had probably cracked a few knuckles or possibly broken his hand. Red with rage, he strode to his desk, picking up the receiver with his good hand. Pressing numbers hard enough to break them, he dialed a fellow conglomerate overseas. Taking his tie from around his collar, he began to wrap his swollen hand while waiting for an answer. 

As soon as Eric Teller picked up, JiYong was seething. 

“Teller Incorporated, Eric Teller speaking.” this man’s voice was pleasant and friendly.

“Eric, It’s Ji. We have a problem and I need your help, now!”

As JiYong relayed everything to Eric, he became increasingly agitated at the whole situation. This was not how he normally reacted to these types of threats. He never permitted physical retaliation anywhere. But here he was, knuckles swollen, face red, and brows covered in sweat. He was nearly screaming by the time he finished explaining every detail to Eric.

“Ji, first take a deep breath and calm down. We will figure out the best steps to take in bringing Mr. Mueller down a notch or two.” Eric spoke gingerly, not wanting to make JiYong more upset than he already was.

“Eric, dammit! I don’t want to bring him down a notch or two. I want him destroyed! I will own his companies… No, I will own him when I am finished with him, do you understand me? I will own him. That fucking piece of German shit will pay for this!” he was yelling at the top of his lungs by this point. He didn’t care, for once, what people were hearing outside those doors.

“Ji, we will own him, okay. Just let me make some calls then I will get back to you. Until then, don’t do anything erratic and stupid, okay?” Eric’s voice was still calm and collected.

“Fine. I will be expecting your call. Goodbye” and with that he slammed the receiver down. He suddenly collapsed into his desk chair, his hands trembling and the pain from his injured hand intensifying. Taking a few calming breaths, he stood and cradled his wrapped hand. Walking out into the lobby, employees began to scatter when they saw the doors open. No one made eye contact or got in his way. He left without a word. 

The drive to the hospital was more difficult than he thought, since the pain was so intense he could not even shift correctly. Once he arrived, the woman at admissions saw him and ushered him directly in. She picked up the phone to message the attending and inform him of the special patient they had.

He was placed in a private room and the door was closed for privacy. He normally hated this kind of special treatment, but was thankful for it this go around. Dialing his cell phone single handed, he called his house to inform them that he would be late and to make sure his mother and the kids were fed. The gentleman on the other line informed him that his mother had already planned on keeping the children overnight, and for him to call her later. As he was hanging up, Dr Choi stepped in.

“Ji-, you had better be thankful that I heard the call over the speakerphone. If it got out that you were here with an injury, you know what could happen. Now, please tell me what or who you hit, and why”  his voice kind but firm letting him know he meant business.

“How did you know I hit something? You are very aware, aren’t you Dr. Choi? I hit a solid wood door, out of anger. Better than hitting the person though, right?” JiYong tried to lighten Dr. Choi’s demeanor.

“Ji, what were you thinking? What has gotten into you lately? Every time you stop by my office, you seem more distant, more tired than the last time. If you are overwhelmed with something, you need to let someone know, especially before something worse than your hand happens again. Now let’s get that X-rayed. I can tell you just by looking at it, you have a few broken bones in there.” Dr. Choi led him to X-ray where they confirmed four broken metacarpal bones and one broken finger.

After being set in a cast, he thanked Dr. Choi for his assistance. The kind doctor took him by the good wrist, leading him to his private office.

 What if this had been seen by those kids? Has all that has been happening lately been the reason for this outburst? We are friends, but I need you to talk to me, see if maybe I can help.” He sat on the edge of his desk, looking down at JiYong.

“I’m tired, Chang-min, exhausted actually. Don’t get me wrong, I love those kids and wouldn’t have things any other way. It’s just that... I don’t know... how I am going to run my business, care for these kids, and everything else all by myself? I’m afraid I’m going to fail them, and I don’t want to do that. Especially after all they have been through at such a young age.”

“Why don’t you hire a nanny, like we have? She is wonderful, and she only works a couple days a week with us and then another family a few more days. We use another nanny on her off days. I tell you what, let me send her over to your place, that way you can meet her, let the kids meet her, and if everything feels right then we will be happy to let her go so she can help you out. It has been a lifesaver for us.”

JiYong wondered why he never thought of a nanny before last night. He lowered his head and sighed heavily. He wondered if that would be the solution to maintaining his sanity in all of this. 

“Why don’t I call her and send her your way? I am willing to give her the time off, if it in turns helps you.” Dr. Choi stood from the edge of his desk and handed JiYong a prescription for pain medicine. They walked together down the service hallway so that he could go unnoticed. 

After he finally arrived home, he was ready for pain medicine and a stiff drink. He rushed through the doors, taking a brief second to greet the staff on the foyer. Once he reached the kitchen, he poured a snifter of whiskey with ice and took the large pill in one gulp with the entire glass of warming liquor. Making his way to his bedroom, he was silently thanking his mother for taking the kids for the night. He knew he had to call her and inform her of the events that had transpired over the day. 

After explaining everything to his mom, she convinced him to let her and his father keep the kids for the weekend, giving him a chance to rest and recuperate. He was immensely grateful and told her that he would let her know when the nanny was coming. Hanging up, he scooted his legs under the covers and fell asleep before his head hit the pillow.

The light was pouring in through the floor to ceiling windows, warming his face. Slowly he stretched, a sharp pain reminding him of yesterday’s events. Checking his phone, he realized he had overslept by three hours. There were seven missed calls from his assistant, two from Eric, and one message from Dr. Choi. He quickly tapped on it to read the message.

Talked with our nanny, she would be happy to meet you at your convenience. This week or next. Just let me know which one works for you.

He pulled up the keyboard and began responding.

Dr. Choi,nthank you, later this week would be fine. Please let her know that I will be available after 2:00 pm. Please send her my address and number in case she needs directions. Thank you again for this kind offer.

Pressing send, he rose from the bed and headed for the shower. Looking at his arm, he reconsidered and opted for a bath. The warm water soaked into his muscles, easing the tension that had been there since yesterday morning. Once the water became cool, he stepped out and dried off. Wrapping a towel around his waist he checked his phone again. Another missed call from Eric and a message from Dr. Choi. Message first, then call Eric, he told himself.

She will be there Friday at 2:00 promptly. She is a stickler for being early so expect her around 1:45 and she will wait until 2:00 before coming to the door. No problem, Ji. Anything to help you. Let me know how it goes.

He called Eric before heading down for some late breakfast. Eric informed him that several oversea conglomerates had been approached by Mr. Mueller. They were all willing to give any assistance in bringing him down. He thanked Eric and told him he would call him Monday. His stomach growled, causing him to venture downstairs. 

Sang-hoon greeted him cautiously. JiYong recalled how he appeared last night and the cast on his arm.

“Sang-hoon, I apologize for my behavior last evening. I had a rough day and just needed some privacy. Trust me, you are all fine and I am not upset with any of you”.

“Pardon Mr. Kwon, but I did not believe any of us were at fault. I have seen how chaotic it has been around here lately, so I figured you needed some space, which I told everyone to provide you. Please go to the dining room and enjoy some brunch. It should be about ready.”

JiYong was grateful for Sang-hoon. The older gentleman was a soothing presence and patient as all get out with two kids running around the house. Patting the older man on his shoulder, he headed for the dining room. He did not realize how hungry he truly was until he sat down. He finished off three plates of bacon, eggs, fruit and pancakes. Satisfied and sated, he went to his office. Stopping short of the door, he changed his mind, opting for going outside to enjoy the warm summer air. The warmth surrounded him, loosening the remaining tension from his body. He set himself down on the ledge of the fountain, dipping his long fingers into the cool water. He let his mind wander back to the last time he spoke with his brother. It had been the night before the accident, and they had been discussing plans for a vacation this coming summer. The entire family was going to get together and spend some quality time together. His brother told him he was proud of him and he couldn’t wait to see him. 

After you and Ha-eun had spent most of the morning shopping for wedding dresses, decorations, and your bridesmaid dress, you both settled down for an early lunch.

“Oh Y/N, I have had the best time today! I have really missed the times when we would do this every weekend. I can’t wait to make a new life here with Seung-hwan and get to spend more time with you too! I am excited for what’s to come. Now all we have to do is find Mr. Perfect for you then we will be set as the two power couples of Gangnam!” How she wasn’t exhausted baffled you as you smiled at her friend’s enthusiasm.

“Ha-eun, I am so happy that you found the one for you, but as for me, I don’t think Mr. Perfect is in my cards.”

 Except for the perfect Mr. Kwon JiYong, you said to yourself. Smiling, you continued.

“I think that in this life I am meant to be just what I am now, a nanny. My heart is drawn to this, and since all the dads are married, well then, I guess I don’t really have time to find the One. Besides, I haven’t found anyone that piques my interest.”

 Except for that gorgeous specimen Mr. Kwon, your quiet subconscious voice told you. 

Pushing the thoughts back in their recesses, you honestly believed that you would remain single in this lifetime. Not that you were troubled by this, but you had to admit that, just like every young woman, you had certain needs. The touch from a man, the feel of soft lips pressing to yours, the shivers they would send all over your body. Sometimes, you craved that, but lately with two families, you never had free time to meet anyone that you found special enough to be intimate with. Who knew, maybe one day. 

Ha-eun was waving her hand in front of your face, attempting to get your attention. Shaking your head lightly, you came back to the present conversation.

“What’s got you all flustered? Your mind keeps wandering off and then you get this cheesy grin. Who has caught your eye young lady?” Ha-eun laughed when you blushed a bright red.

“No one really. There is this gentleman, he is friends with one of the families I work for. I have literally bumped into him twice now. He is so fine looking Ha-eun. Expensive suits, manicured nails, a smile that would make you melt. But he is just a fantasy guy for me to fawn over in my dreams”.

Ha-eun’s eyebrows raised at the mention of the mystery man. She looked at you, a glint in her eye.

“Whatever you are thinking, Miss Ha-eun, get your dirty thoughts out of your head right now. We are not going man hunting for my dreamy Mr. Perfect!” You swatted at your friend’s shoulder, but laughed when you saw the mischievous grin spreading.

“Whatever you say dear. Just keep him in your dreams. At least that way, he can’t screw anything up.” and at that, you both doubled over laughing.

While eating your meal, your phone rang. Looking at the screen, you quickly answered when seeing Dr. Choi’s name pop up. Excusing yourself from the table, you answered the call.

“Hello Dr. Choi. Is everything okay?”

“Yes, Y/N, everything’s fine. I was wondering if you could do me a huge favor?”

“Yes Sir, sure thing. What do you need?”

“I have a close friend that is looking for a nanny to help I out. I told him that you may be the perfect fit, especially since you only work a couple days a week now with us. We would miss you, but he really needs the help more than we do, and I think you would enjoy working for him.”

“I would be happy to meet with him. Of course I would miss you all too. But if you highly recommend him, then I would like to help any way I can.”

“Great! How about this Friday? Are you working with the Kims this weekend?”

“No sir, they actually treated me to a long weekend. So I won’t be working until Monday.”

That is perfect. How about two o’clock? I will send you his address and number.”

Thank you very much, Mr. Choi. I will be sure to call you after the meeting.”

Hanging up, you returned to the table. Your friend was now on her phone chatting endlessly away with Seung-hwan. Settling down in your seat, you began wondering who this new family could be. You began to fret, bringing a fingernail to your mouth to chew on a nail. Ha-eun slapped your hand away and shook her head. You put your hand in your lap and smiled back at Ha-eun.

“So, what was the mystery call about?”

“Oh nothing maybe, just one of the families I work for may have a more permanent family for me. I am going to meet with them this Friday”.

“Hmmm… must be loaded, to come recommended by Dr. Choi.” she giggled when you attempted to smack her again. 

Both of you finished the meal and began the long trek back to Ha-eun’s hotel. You were going to stay the night, taking advantage of one last single girls night in before her best friend got married.  Thanking Hyo-min for lunch, you hopped the next bus back to the Choi household to grab some clothes and ask about the friend you were interviewing with. You were greeted by Mrs. Choi and the children, who rushed at you with open arms for hugs. Bending down on one knee, you wrapped them tight, swaying back and forth with exaggeration. Kissing them atop their heads, you sent them off to play. Mrs. Choi handed you a fresh cup of coffee before pouring herself another one.

Mrs. Choi sat across the spacious counter. She looked at you and began speaking in her usual soft voice.

“Y/N, the gentleman my husband referred you to, is a kind man. He is in a tough spot right now and really needs someone to be there and help him. Things are turned upside down for him, so I know that you would be the perfect one to lift him up while helping him out. As much as we adore you, we also adore our friend. He is the only person I would be willing to lose you to. I hope it works out for you both.” Her smile was kind, and you knew she was being sincere.

  “I hope it works out well for the both of us too, Mrs. Choi. If I do end up working with him, then maybe we can get all the kids together often.”

The lady nodded her head in agreement. Not many people knew JiYong’s situation, and it broke her heart that he was doing this alone. She knew you would be the loving person the kids needed, and also a strong support for him.

You spent the rest of the week with your friends and enjoyed some free time to yourself. SEeing that you didn't get much of it, you took full advantage. Friday arrived before you knew it. She went to the Choi’s to put on fresh clothes and get ready.

Looking at her watch, you readied yourself to leave. You really hated being late, and always tried to arrive at least fifteen minutes early. Hugging your employer tightly, you scooted down the hall to tell the kids bye. you put the address in the GPS, then headed out for the meeting. When you pulled in the driveway, you were greeted by a speaker at the gate. After verifying who you were, the gate slowly opened and you inched the car through. You saw him before he noticed the car. JiYong was wearing linen pants that hung low on his slender hips. His shirt was a pale baby-blue that was unbuttoned to his mid chest, caramel honey toned chest showing. His hair was tousled, as though he had been running his fingers through it. He was toned yet lean, his chest peeked out from the unbuttoned shirt. He was her possible new employer? Was he married? Divorced? Widowed? She slowly stepped out of the car, her eyes locking on his as she approached him. The only thing she heard was her heart beating loudly in her own ears.

@beautifulseoulliar @lynnbyun @astronomyturtle @aspaceformyself  @trashkazuya @maxinaptak @micky1518 @rosiemilas @karri570

@seoulsunshineandstories @kwonnansi @xjamlessparkx @berryjam17

@kingsuckjin

[nevergiveupneverrun]

Bodyguard- Chapter Thirty-seven “Private world” Part One

Hello, I hope you’re all doing great and that you’re happy. Here is chapter thirty-seven of my Story Bodyguard.  I’m so sorry for not posting for a long time, I was busy and I didn’t find time to translate it... but here I am now with a new chapter. 

I’m sorry by advance for the mistakes… English isn’t my first language and I do my best. Here is the link of the previous chapter because it’s been a long time since the last update: Click Here.

I hope you will enjoy this chapter :) 💛

                                    –––––––––––––––––––––––

- Well, that’s it, can I go down? I launched from the floor.

- Owen, you were told not to go down or approach the kitchen before 8:30 pm! Exclaims Rosie from the ground floor. And what time is it?

I sigh while taking a look at my watch, 8:25pm… I still had to wait five minutes.

It had been three hours since I was cloistered in my room. I had invited Rosie to dinner with us, but I had not foreseen her legendary imagination and her sense of initiative.

She had suggested spending time with Amelia and preparing dinner… but on a very specific condition that I don’t take a look at their preparations… I had given in to my greatest despair now, but if that could change Amelia’s ideas… and I knew that Rosie had all the qualities for that.

My gaze remains fixed on my clock-radio near my bed, focused on watching the minutes scroll… and finally, see the time of my deliverance ring.

I almost dreaded the evening because Rosie’s conundrums intrigued me. I knew her spontaneity and I was just hoping she did not think too much about Amelia and me… I didn’t want to relive embarrassing moments from my past. Especially episodes of my teenage years when Rosie could not be more insistent… 

Thinking back to this period of my life, my apprehension goes up a little more than a notch while the time is displayed in red numbers on the dial of my clock-radio: 8:30pm… the time of my deliverance... 

I get up from my bed while laughing inside, mocking myself.

To fear a simple little evening that Rosie was able to prepare. When I think back to missions that I was able to assume in the past… I was sometimes pathetic… 

.

I take a look in the mirror of my wardrobe and breathe a great blow, replacing the collar of my shirt properly. I had made an effort for the evening and I was practically doing my usual bodyguard look, tie less. 

.

I open the door to my room and go down the stairs without telling me or check that I could actually get out of my hiding place: I’ve been waiting for quite a long time. 

As I go down the stairs, I quickly notice in my field of vision that the table in the living room is ready for dinner: cutlery for three and a vase that stands… revealing white and pink peonies.

I find the floor leaving the last step and the silhouette of Rosie appears immediately leaving the kitchen, hands loaded with two dishes.

- You are impossible…

- Rosie, it’s 8:30pm… I can come officially, I reply smiling.

- Yes, I grant you and I see that you left your jeans and your t-shirt… flattered that you made an effort for this dinner… or maybe for something else, right? She asks with a wink. 

I hold her gaze for a few moments when a movement behind her catches my attention.

Another silhouette that comes forwards and that I know perfectly… and what strikes me first is her outfit. Like an air of déjà vu and yet, I don’t have the memory of having seen anybody wear it. 

Amelia is indeed dressed in a short aqua dress… a dress in a hook.

And it is this detail that revives my memories. This dress I had already seen but never finalized.

It was one of the last creations my mother had worked on, but she had never finished.

I take a surprising look at Rosie, who smiles at me briefly, and her gaze, which is coming down: it’s her who completed this creation of my mother and offered it to Amelia. I look back at Amelia and discover her again: this dress seemed made for her, like a second skin, subtly marrying all of her curves and unveiling her legs. I look up at her face and it’s a second surprise: her hair is subtly curly, place on both sides of her shoulders, her eyes are magnified by a makeup perfectly tuned to the color of her eyes, which stand out as two stars, and her lips are dressed in a light red which draws them perfectly… no doubt that Rosie was behind all that, but nothing to complain about.

The result was spectacular…

A throat clearing me out of my contemplation and I discovered Amelia, in front of me, a little uncomfortable under my fixation.

- Rosie helped me get ready for tonight…

- I didn’t have much to do sweetie… I have very little merit…

- I think the opposite, Rosie, you have…

- You are very beautiful, Amelia, I resume by cutting her off.

She stops and looks at me, then quickly looks down, almost embarrassed as I see a light pink color her cheeks.

- Thank you… she whispers as she continues to move towards the table, a bottle of water and the breadbasket in her hand.

I watch her evolve in the room, fascinated by the grâce that emanates from her. 

She then sits slightly to one side before turning completely face to the table and my breath is cut literally.

The dress releases all of her back until the small of the back, and my heart accelerates a little more than I realize that she doesn’t wear a bra under these centimeters of the crochet stitch.

- If we went to the table, kids!

 I turn my head to Rosie, her voice cutting into my thoughts that were wandering dangerously.

I follow Rosie to the table and empty my head for a few seconds, before settling. 

- Now, you’ll thank us for waiting three hours.

- Oh yes, and why?

- For that! Rosie launches eagerly as she uncovers the lid of the two dishes she has brought.

And I understand better what she is referring to because what I have before me is one of my favorite dishes… one of those I shared with my father and we had found many times to eat here with family. 

- Not disappointed, your tastes have not changed so much?

- No, don’t worry! Fillet of duck breast with honey, it remains one of my weaknesses. And tell me, it is what I believe or is it an ordinary gratin Dauphinois?

- Ordinary… not really because it’s the famous gratin with truffle, you know I have the recipe too!

I smiled at her and I was already salivating in front of this feast. 

Waiting and impatience had almost completely disappeared at this moment.

- Besides for the gratin, it’s not me who did it. You’ll thank Amelia… same for the dessert…

I meet Amelia’s eyes on my right.

She looks at me smiling, with a little hint of fun in her eyes.

- Since you have prepared everything and thank you for all this work, I do the service!

I get up and equip myself with spoons and I distribute the portions to these ladies, before serving my turn.

A religious silence echoes while we enjoy our first bite but my pleasure leads me to break it quickly. 

- Hum, it’s divine… always so good, it’s been a long time since I had eaten.

- Do you like it, Amelia? Rosie asks on my left.

- It’s very good Rosie, the meat is succulent. I’m not used to eating duck but’s it’s really a marvel. 

- And I must congratulate you for the gratin… the balance between truffle and potato is perfect. I am relieved that you like it so much… you must know that it is Amelia who insisted that we cook one of your favorite meal Owen!

I stare at Rosie briefly and she completes her statement. 

- At first, I wanted to cook something she likes, but she told me it was your turn… It seems that you did her cooking… she finished in a tone full of implied, that I know her well.

- It seems so, I answer, looking at Amelia.

- You never cooked for me, Owen. You’d have to tell me what’s so special about Amelia, Rosie replies in a laugh. 

- Yes, I’d have to tell you.

I smile, satisfied to have cut short the teasing of Rosie, leaving the mystery floating, without revealing me unnecessarily.

- Always so secretive… I don’t know if you managed to see right through him, Amelia, but Owen is one of the most mysterious men I’ve ever known… I know that after joining the army, he joined special units, but he never wanted to tell me the precise service, the missions in which he participated… where we sent him and for what…

She turns to me and stares at me before I resume.

- I saw it five years ago, that you had experienced something traumatic…

- Rosie, I told you several times that I could not tell you everything… that’s the rule and it’s for your safety.

- Excuse me… but it works me it’s stronger than me…  you’re what I have dearest since the death of my Georges… 

- I know, Rosie, I answer, furtively taking her hand.

She had her share of misfortunes to live also on her side and she was the closest person to a mother and a family that I now have.

- But don’t worry about me, please.

I leave her eyes after smiling shyly at her.

Her sincere concern touched me, I had never been able to explain to her what I was doing… and even after leaving the special forces, I had not told her that I had converted to bodyguards. A trade with fewer secrets but just as dangerous and I did not want to feed unnecessarily her anxieties.

.

I find the look of Amelia who observes us with interest and compassion.

Rosie quickly changes the subject, troubled by the moment we had just exchanged and she speaks freely for the next fifteen minutes of the region where we were: praising with passion the nature around us and her desire to preserve this little piece of paradise. 

Amelia and I listen attentively until we finish with the plate, and I get up immediately to clear.

- So, where is this famous dessert?

- I’ll get it, says Amelia, getting up already.

- Out of the question, Amelia, you are invited to these places. I’ll go! Owen come help me, says Rosie.

I go to the kitchen, hands loads with two dishes already well-opened duck breast and gratin that I cover with their cover. 

Rosie opens the oven in parallel and pulls out a cake pan.

The famous dessert of Amelia.

- She knows you well to know that you’re a crazy of chocolate… Rosie whispers by my side. 

- There are things difficult to hide, you know. Thank you for this meal, Rosie, and thank you for taking care of her, I have the impression that you knew how to change her mind taking care of her like that.

- Don’t thank me, this young woman is adorable and I had a great time with her. 

I remain silent a few seconds before ending up asking her the question that had been run through my mind for over an hour.

- You never told me you had finished mum’s dress?

She does not respond directly, pretending to be focused on unmolding the cake.

I keep my attention on her, waiting patiently for my answer.

- She was not finished, two days ago, you know… I still had some stichs to do. I never had the strength to finish it, knowing that your mother would never wear it… but when I saw Amelia at the market with this lace dress on her, I went back to it and I finished it… I knew someone could wear it, someone, worthy of your mother’s memory.

- Thank you, Rosie, it touches me a lot, you know…

- And I could see that you like a lot this dress… she replies in a laugh. 

It was the spitting image of Rosie, able to change the atmosphere in a second.

She moves away with the cake unmolded and cut into a large plate in the direction of the living room.

I join after a few seconds and find my place at the table, my dessert plate already filled with a generous slice.

- No, thank you, Rosie, I don’t think I have more space, Amelia answers as Rosie prepares to serve her. 

- Are you sure? It would be a shame not to taste your own dessert.

- No, really, I have already eaten enough.

- If you’re not hungry anymore, I don’t insist, but I hope it’s not up to the stupid diktats of fashion that reign in our day. Owen, reassure me, you don’t feed this nonsense!

- She does not have to worry, her silhouette is perfect, she knows it… it will be necessary that you really taste it, I resume turned towards Amelia, it is just excellent.

- A tip, Amelia: keep an eye on him, he would be able to eat it all! I know those eyes there, says Rosie. 

Amelia laughs heartily at this remark and I follow her with enthusiasm, touched by this irruption of her joie de vivre.

- He is formidable, but you have noticed, I am sure… his eyes have pretty incredible power. When he was little, he was able to have everything he wanted with just those two little pupils. I’m sure you’re still using it when you need it.

- Rosie…

- His father had the same eyes, Amelia, you know, resume Rosie turning to the singer. That’s what made her mother fall for him. You told her, Owen, how did your parents meet?

- I’m not sure it interest Amelia, I answer, starting to clear when I was done with my slice of cake. 

- I am sure of the opposite, replies Rosie. 

I head for the kitchen with plates and cutlery in my hands, while hearing Rosie’s voice coming to me. I preferred to stay away from the conversation. Of those memories that Rosie was going to revive. 

- Owen’s father was a guitarist, a genius guitarist, really. At the time, he was in a group that was looking for a voice to accompany them. Evelyn, Owen’s mother, was a young stylist, who worked in a studio but whose true passion was music… and she had come to this audition. 

She was not selected, the group dissolved a few days later, but the love, at first sight, had taken place. At first sight. Evelyn told me this first meeting several times… she had been mesmerized by this look, and apparently, the effect was just as reciprocal… they are no longer left the thirty years that followed. 

I place the dishes in the sink while listening to the story of Rosie that brings me back to another era, which revives the memory of these two beings so important in my life.

- They had special alchemy between them. They were able to communicate without talking to each other… so much happened in their eyes… it was disturbing to see two people in symbiosis… the kind of couples who make you think we all have our other half… connected to life, to death… 

 Rosie’s voice gradually fades on these last words.

I stare at my hands in the sink, eyes in wander. The minds elsewhere on this end that she mentions, on these two losses that touched me so hard.

A silence of a few seconds sounds like deafening…

- Owen’s mother was a singer?

Amelia’s voice suddenly rises, and I’m surprised by the interest that comes out of her question… the interest in my own story. 

- She was singing divinely well… a pure voice, a real angel’s voice… but she has never realized this passion. She lived it a little proxy through her husband, who was a formidable musician. But I think this environment scared her and as soon as Owen was born, it was even more incompatible for her to be a mom and an artist. At the time, it was different you know, artists were not recognized as today, they were considered more marginal, and it was even harder for a woman. So she continued working as a stylist, quickly designing her own creations, but she sang regularly… I heard her dozens of times, in this house, to mix her voice with the guitar…

- It must have been beautiful, I’m sure… this house is full of vibrations, moments of sharing, moments in family…

- This house is special, it has marked so many stages in the life of Owen’s parents. A place they fell in love with… a place where their love has become stronger… this house is sweating love, I’m sure you feel it.

And I know that’s why Owen comes back when he needs to recharge his batteries.

It’s his little private world…

                                    –––––––––––––––––––––––

Thank you for reading. I hope you like this chapter! The plates in this chapter are french and if you don’t know it, please taste it, it’s so excellent! 💛

[a-deadly-serenade]

The Shield and the Sword: Chapter 6: Familiars Are A Girl’s Best Friend [Alucard/Reader]

You’re a witch that is skilled in herbology, one that has been persecuted by the church for practically your entire life. In spite of this, moving throughout different towns has allowed you to pick up some chatter about a woman in a village called Lupu. She is supposed to be a wonder when it comes to medicine, and this immediately perks up your interest. So after plucking up some courage, you’ve made it to her door… hoping that she takes you as her apprentice.

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16724856?view_full_work=true

~ Click here for the masterlist.

tag list: @pastelteabubbles, @heartwards, @2-many-fandoms-2-count, @top-notch-shitposting, @theotakufairy, @illiniana

if you want to be added to the tag list, please send me a message and i will tag you in every update!

You ran over to your bedroom door and pulled it open, Adrian joining you out into the hallway as you quietly shut your door. “So, who would be the quickest from here?” you asked.

He hummed, and then turned to face the opposite side of the corridor. “The long library is the closest to your room, so let us start there.”

With that you started on your adventure, having to quickly follow alongside Adrian so that you wouldn’t get lost amongst the winding halls of Castlevania. It turns out that Adrian was correct in choosing this supposed long library, because you arrived in front of a large marble doorway quicker than you expected.

“This is it,” he said, and easily pushed it open. Dark marble tile lined the floor and walls, portraits of famous Greek monsters lining the walls, such as Medusa, the Minotaur, the Manticore, and the Siren. Bookshelves towered high, so high that you nearly tripped on yourself as your craned your neck to try and see the top. Large lanterns that burned with bright red flames, helped illuminate the long wooden desks that lined one side of the immense room. Two plush, purple chairs with golden frames were pushed inside each of the desks, and rows and rows of bookshelves stood behind them.

There were various other doors within the room, which surprised you to think that this place was even bigger than this. Adrian led you down a long corridor and up a set of marble stairs, and finally through another door, which held a small room inside.

A large, antique desk stood in the middle of the room, cluttered with books and parchment and spilt vials of ink. A long white candle sits inside an iron candlestick that is nearly covered in thick wax, the flame flickering along with a small fire that sits behind a metal gate. Two bookshelves are jammed packed with books, scrolls, plays, and maps, ancient artifacts hanging from the walls, like Medusa shields and pots from ancient civilizations.

“Young master, welcome!” cries out an old, nasally voice. Sitting in a large, worn, green chair was an old man. He had a long, curly white beard and piercing black eyes. He almost resembled the great scientist Galileo, you thought, with his dark maroon cap and robes; he appeared about as knowledgeable as well.

“It’s been a bit, old one,” Adrian said with a smile.

“What brings you here today?” he asked, before his expression changed to one of shock when he finally noticed you. “Oooh, now I see why you haven’t been stopping by as much.” there was a twinkle in eye, waggling his finger in teasing as the both of you jumped to argue against it.

“Now, now, calm down. There is no need to get into such a huff,” he laughed. “I can tell that this one is wise beyond her years. It is too much of me to say that you are in the medical profession?”

“Uh… yes, how… how did you…?” you stumbled over your words in mild shock.

He laughed again, but it was not a mocking sound. No, it was more akin to a grandfather laughing at a joke that seemingly flew over your head. “I am this castle’s librarian, my dear. I have quite the talent at reading people.”

“Wow,” you sound breathless. “Well, yes, you are correct. I overheard about Lisa’s abilities, so I sought her out and asked if she would accept an apprenticeship from me.”

“Fascinating,” he replied.

“I don’t know if Adrian told you, but I came from a clan of witches that specialized in healing,” you explain.

“Ah yes,” he nodded. “Although, it was not the young master I talked to. I recall when the Master and I had a conversation about you. He seemed hesitant, knowing about the reputation of other witches that dabbled in dark magic. But, he saw something in you. It seems as though he was correct in making that assumption.”

You were dumbfounded that Vlad had said something like that about you. It was very humbling to know that even Dracula could be impressed by someone other than his family.

“We,” you finally find your voice, a bashful smile on your face. “We actually came here looking for one of Adrian’s familiars.”

“Oh of course I have to fetch that blubbering buffoon,” the librarian grumbled to himself.

“There’s no need,” Adrian replied. “I can fetch him, he is mine after all--”

“No!” he shouted. “I know where he is, off making a ruckus,” he walked over to a small stepping ladder that had been set in front of a bookshelf. He climbed up the first two stairs, muttering to himself as his finger slid across the spines of several books. “There you are!” he abruptly shouted, and heaved the large tome off of the shelf. He plopped it open on his desk and flipped through several pages, he then gave the passage a good slap. “Come on! Don’t waste our time! The young master wants to see you!”

The book suddenly lifted itself off of the desk, something flipping through the contents very rapidly. A low groan rumbled from the text, and in an instant, a human skull covered in a layer of wavering protoplasm emerged.

You gasped, and the skull gave a shake before it turned to seemingly glare at the librarian. “What’s the big idea here, old man? You had no right pulling me out of there!”

“Hush you old fool!” the librarian scolded. “Your master is here!” he pointed at Adrian, and the ghost let out a terrified cry when he saw him standing beside you.

“Master…” he floated over. “I apologize, if I had known that you were coming--”

“That’s enough, Matthias.” Adrian said. “I wanted to speak with you, for there is someone that I would like you to meet.” he gave you a firm tug and pulled you beside him as he introduced you to the ghost. “You will treat her with respect, you understand?”

The skull looks at you with an air of disregard. “You’re the witch that I have heard about,” there was mild disgust in his tone. “Off to drink the blood of the innocent, eh?”

“Excuse me?!” you nearly shriek.

Adrian placed a hand on your shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “How many times do I have to tell you that the Countess you once ruled over was not a vampire! You live with vampires!”

The ghost let out a horrible wail. “Do not remind me! The fact that I was cursed to serve a family of vampires is so humiliating!”

Adrian rolled his eyes and turned to the librarian. “I suppose now would be an appropriate time to head out.” he said, and bid him good luck as the two of you left the old man with the chattering, whiny ghost.

“Well that was certainly… interesting,” you laughed, and gave Adrian a grin when you heard him groan.

“I apologize for his behavior, he’s usually not so… insufferable. He usually reserves only nasty fits like these when someone comes into the library unannounced, for he’s usually serving as the librarian’s secretary while he’s away.”

The both of you chuckled as you walked down hallways and staircases, until you were finally led back outside into an outdoor courtyard. Tall, stone pillars towered above the two of you in a circular formation, ledges connecting all of them to form a long pathway that was lined with overgrown ivy. Small candelabras lit the way, the candlelight creating an eerie glow under the moonlight as you walked side by side.

A sundial stood in the middle, and you grazed your finger across the dial as you wondered just what sort of familiar would reside here.

Adrian gave a whistle, before crying out, “Cereza!”

Tiny squeaks filled the night air, and a large black mass blocked out the white light of the moon as a bat with huge, startling red wings flew down from the sky. Its claws dug into the fabric of Adrian’s shirt as it hung upside down off his arm, cleaning its face with its big, leathery wings.

“Who’s that?” you whisper, the bat pausing its grooming to look at you with large, brown eyes.

“Her name is Cereza,” Adrian explained. “I’ve raised her since she was a little baby,” he gave her a good scratch on her chin, and then introduced Cereza to you.

The bats ears flicked from side to side as Adrian spoke, and when he was finished, she turned her massive body around to get a good look at you.

You felt yourself flush under her gaze, silently hoping that she approved of you, although you were unsure what she searched for as she continued to silently stare.

After several tense seconds, she flapped over and gave you quick licks on your cheek, her form of kisses. You giggled, heart aflutter that Cereza had at least judged you to be worthy of being here.

“Thank goodness someone has some sense,” Adrian gave you a smile, happy that Cereza was so fond of you already. “Would it be alright if she tags along? She wanted to come with us.”

“Of course!” you reply. “Who are we off to see next?”

“We will need to head lower into the castle,” Adrian stated. “Follow me, I have a shortcut.” he grabbed a hold of your hand and started to lead you to where he wanted to go.

You felt your cheeks heat up, but you hurried to keep pace as he ran towards a peeling wooden door that looked practically ancient. He pushed down the iron handle, and urged you down a set of stone stairs that glowed blue under a mysterious light.

The farther down you walked, the louder the sound of running water grew, your hand getting slightly damp as you ran it across the surface of the wall. Before long, the two of you had made it to the bottom of the stairs, into an enormous underground cavern that stretched for miles.

Giant stalactites hung from the ceiling, dripping with their mineral rich solutions onto the growing stalagmites below. Tiny bats flew out from small holes in the stone above, eagerly gobbling up all the dragonflies and other bugs that buzzed in the air. The croaking of fat, green bullfrogs could be heard as well, and you almost felt as if you were on an entirely different planet, as you walked beside a thunderous waterfall.

Adrian followed the river, and before long, you spotted a boat floating at a dock. The ferryman gave Adrian a wave, his sunken gaze lighting up as a large sack of gold was thrust into his hands.

“Hehe, thank you!” he cried out, clambering into the boat as he grabbed the great big oar that would be used to steer.

You climbed in after Adrian, the ferryman having to use hardly any force as the swift currents easily tugged the boat along. The old man put his oar in the water to slow the approach as the rocky shore neared, and when the boat came to a full stop, the two of you (and Cereza) continued on.

It finally seemed as though you had arrived, when Adrian stopped walking so he could knock on the wall. The small space was littered with branches and tiny animal bones, and an array of round rocks and geodes.

Cereza let out a cry and flew over to a hole in the ceiling, where she flapped her wings to cause a gust of air to tunnel inside. “Alright, alright! Give me a sec!” a shrill voice shrieks.

Cereza backs off and allows for a purple, winged demon to hop down from one of the stalactites. The creature had bright red eyes, small horns, and walked on its hind legs, which were, surprisingly, covered in brown tattered pants. Long, thick claws helped it pick up a crudely fashioned spear, and it walked over to Adrian, its hooved feet making loud clacking sounds against the stone.

“Hatred, I would prefer it if we could speak face-to-face,” Adrian said, and the demon leaped into the air, its wings flapping as it hovered in front of its master.

“What brings you down here, Master?” he asked, before letting out a cry of alarm when his eyes landed on you. “Who’s that?!”

Adrian introduced you, and after he let slip that you were a witch, the demon’s demeanor instantly shifted.

“Oh! You’re a witch?” he leaned over to look at you. “Hmm… it doesn’t seem as though you’ve ever communicated with my kind before.”

“Of course not,” you snapped. “Demons are untrustworthy, why would I ever want to summon one?”

Hatred clearly looked offended at your words. “I am not untrustworthy! I protect my Master! Isn’t that right? Tell her!” he shouted.

“I would put aside your demon biases when it comes to Hatred,” Adrian whispered. “I know they have quite the reputation, but he has sworn allegiance to me.”

Hatred nodded his head in agreement. “Yes sir, I have. I would never betray my Master! To do so, would be punishable by death!”

“Well, I don’t know about that--” Adrian tried to say, but Hatred interrupted him.

“No, it is the only deserving punishment! And because he trusts you so much, I will swear my loyalty to you, miss,” he said, giving you a bow.

“There’s no need to do that!” you said, embarrassed.

“Nonsense!” Hatred stated. He snapped his fingers and out game a card, which he handed to you. “From this day forth, should you ever need me, simply focus your energy into that card, and I will appear to you, no matter where you are.”

You thanked him as you took the gift, shocked that two of Adrian’s familiars had accepted you so quickly.

Adrian reached into his pocket and pulled out a small sack filled with big, juicy green beetles, which he hands to Hatred. The demon happily gobbled them up, a long leg sticking out from the side of his mouth as he chewed up the last remains.

Cereza gives a few squeaks, and Hatred rolled his eyes. “You always have to criticize me about something, don’t you princess?” he said the nickname scathingly, giving her the stink eye as the bat continued to talk to him.

“That’s enough you two,” Adrian said. “If you’re going to get snippy with each other, we might as well leave.”

Hatred gave Cereza one last glare before he flew over to the pile of rocks in one corner of the room. “Alright, that’s fine by me!” he cried out, picking up a geode and attempting to crack it open with his teeth. “Remember what I said little lady!” he shouted, as you gave him a wave as you and Adrian began walking out of the cave.

“I’m glad that went well, he can oftentimes be very abrasive to people that he is unfamiliar with.” Adrian mused, his hands behind his back.

“I guess being a witch has its benefits,” you joked, Adrian giving you a playful smile in return.

“Off to the last one, then?” you stated.

Adrian nodded and took a hold of your hand once more as he lead you down the pathways back to the ferryman, who took the both of you back across the river, free of charge. Cereza had decided to remain inside the caves, wanting to rejoin the smaller bats that lived there to partake in their current feeding frenzy.

When the moonlight finally made itself visible again, he lead you through the courtyard and back inside of the castle.

The next room that you found yourself in was an extravagant ballroom. Massive would have been an understatement in describing its sheer size, the floor being made of smooth, polished wood and the walls being made of pristine black and white marble. Two chandeliers hung on opposite sides of the room, their large candles igniting themselves as soon you walked through the doors, allowing you to see the beautiful artwork that adorned the ceiling. It curved upwards to form a dome, intricate paintings of Greek figures like Zeus, Hera, cupids, and beautiful nymphs hiding amongst the clouds surrounded a large circular roof window. This part of the architecture was in a league all its own, an enormous stain glass piece that caused the floor below it to be dotted in twinkling rainbow lights.

A gigantic painting hung above a marble fireplace, a lifelike portrait of a main with long black hair and a sharp, pointed face that resembled Adrian. He had gray eyes that shined with hunger and power, a luxurious, silky robe made of ermine draped across his shoulders, that had been fitted into a shining set of armor. A sword was in his hands, legs spread apart in an authoritative stance and he appeared ready to take on the world.

“Is that… your father?” you questioned.

Adrian nodded, taking a spot beside you as he gazed up at the intimidating work of art. “Indeed. This was far before he met my mother, however. This was when he was still a soldier, and a formidable one at that.”

“It’s hard to think of your father before meeting Lisa,” you said. “I cannot even imagine what he must have been like.”

“Mother tells me that humans were terrified of him, believing him to be more myth than man,” Adrian said this in an amusing tone, his heels tapping softly against the hard wood as he walked up to the fireplace.

It was then that you noticed the two swords that hung on the wall, and Adrian easily grabbed a hold of the lowermost, letting the blade rest in his hands.

You were a little confused, but before you could even say a thing, the sword slid out of his grip and effortlessly hovered just above his shoulder.

“How did you--?”

“This, is my final familiar,” his eyes darted over to his right shoulder, and the sword slid off its current pedestal and moved to levitate between the two of you.

“A sword?” your tone was laced with skepticism. “That’s your last familiar? How can a sword be a familiar?”

He took a firm grip of the handle, lifting up the blade so as to inspect it. “Mother tells me that it is a family heirloom, and when I was of age, she gifted it to me.”

Your eyes widened in shock after hearing this. “This sword belong to Lisa?”

Adrian shrugged, lowering the sword so that it rest at his side. “I am not sure if she used it herself, she did not tell me much about it. But it is a very loyal and powerful weapon.”

You looked at him, and then looked at the sword. Curiosity was starting to get the better of you, and you wanted to see how this thing operated when it was being used in battle.

“Show me.”

It was not a question, and one of Adrian’s fine, blond eyebrows rose up, as if challenging your statement. “Are you sure?”

“Did I stutter?”

A grin erupted on his face, the dhampir taking a step back and putting his hands behind him as his sword cut through the air. It did several sweeps, before it stopped dead, and made a direct beeline towards you.

You let out a scream, eyes screwing shut as you raised your hands up in a defensive posture. You didn’t think that he’d just charge at you like that!

A dull thud thrummed up your fingers, and when you didn’t feel any pain, you slowly opened your eyes to find the sword floating in front of your hand, as though it had been stopped by something.

“Did… did you stop it?” your voice wavered, a bit more frightened than you wanted to be.

“Interesting,” he hummed. “Seems as though you created a barrier and put a stop to it.”

“What? A barrier…” you looked around you, confusion etched upon your features. There was nothing surrounding you, so how could he say that you had summoned a barrier?

Adrian grabbed his sword and a stabbed the exact same spot, the blade wobbling slightly as it ran into… something.

“See?”

You were astonished, as you had never done anything like that before. “I never knew that I could form barriers.”

“It seems as though you are powerful than you gave yourself credit for,” he gave you a smirk, sword in hand as he stood before you.

You looked down at your hands, clenching them into fists as you felt the undeniable sting of magic course through your veins. You thought that it would be useful if you could somehow practice the use of this new spell, understanding the only way for it to become stronger was through continuous use.

“Adrian, I have a proposition for you.”

“Oh?” he leaned forward slightly, his blond hair almost creating a curtain on either side of your face.

He smelled of leather and books, with just a hint of fresh grass, his golden eyes shining like rare gems in the candlelight. You felt yourself unconsciously draw yourself closer to him, your teeth digging into your lower lip as you nodded your head.

“Seeing as how I’m helping you improve your magic skills, it would only seem fair if you assist me in my combat skills.” you gave him a toothy grin, your pulse quickening as he laughed, and his fangs gleamed in contrast to his richly colored locks.

“That sounds fair,” he brushed a stray piece of hair out of your face, your skin burning under his touch. You felt his hand linger on your cheek for a moment, before it slid down your neck and then finally rested on your shoulder. There, it remained slightly indecisive, before he relinquished his grip and put his hands behind his back once more.

He gave a flick of the wrist and his sword flew back onto its spot on the wall, while you silently hoped that he could not hear how loudly your heart was hammering within your chest.

“I will see you tomorrow then,” he gently grabbed your hand, peppering not one, but two kisses to your knuckles. “Small lady.”

You were certain you were blushing now, as he called you by the nickname you had given Aria. You gave him a silent nod as he walked away, the words of the hibiscus echoing inside your mind,

I know the true feelings that lay in your heart… of the one with the beautiful golden hair, the prince of darkness.

The reality was so obvious that it was staring you in the face, but still… you refused to believe that these feelings were justified, that they were real…

You let out a deep sigh, laughing up at the moon that hung high in the sky. “What am I going to do…” you muttered, as you walked out of the ballroom, trying to deny the butterflies that fluttered in your stomach, and the beating of your heart as your mind reminded you of how he smelled, reminded you of his voice, and reminded you of the way that he had looked at you--

You shook your head to try and clear away these messy ideas, and while you told yourself there was nothing to these feelings, you could not deny that the last thing you thought of before falling asleep was a pair of brilliant golden eyes.

[kumkaniudaku]

Trick and Treat

A/N: The first of two Halloween one shots. Enjoy. 

“C’mon and ease on down, ease on down, down the road! Don’t you carry nothing that might be a load…”

Songs from “The Wiz” oozed from the Bluetooth speaker positioned at the edge of your vanity as you put the finishing touches on a simple scarecrow makeup look from Pinterest. From the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of Micah attempting to mimic Michael Jackson’s iconic cross foot shuffle only to get her feet tangled before crashing to the ground with an amused giggle.

“Mommy’s sorry she passed down her two left feet to you, baby. Trust me, it gets better.”

“For her, sure. The jury is still out on you.”

You rolled your eyes with a small smirk as Chadwick rounded the corner into the closet carrying the co-star of the Halloween Night Show in his adorable costume. For months you spent time brainstorming the perfect family costume that would proudly stand next to the couple’s costumes that Chadwick planned for the adult parties. Separate events saw you and Chadwick as Dwayne Wayne and Whitley Gilbert before transitioning into outfits that resembled Michael Jackson and Iman’s ‘Remember the Time’ get up. Though your husband had set the bar high for the family costume, you knew just what to do.

Micah had been obsessed with The Wiz from the moment she heard ‘You Can’t Win,” often begging to watch it multiple times a week. So, it came as no surprise when she was firm in her decision to be Dorothy for Halloween at school. The idea carried over into the house, and with four members of the family, the idea fit like a glove.

“Hush, Tin Man. How’s my mean ol’ lion,” you cooed, allowing Chadwick to carefully place Noah in your arms.

“He’s been mean alright. He refused to take a nap while you and Mikey went out for candy, and now he’s cranky.”

“Not my baby. He’s never cranky. Can you give mommy a biiiiiig lion’s roar?” Noah stirred in your arms, peering up at you through hooded eyes before opening his mouth to let out a long yawn and whimper that let you know he was close to tears if he couldn’t go to sleep soon.

Chadwick released a hushed snicker at your expense, “Yeah, that was a huge lion’s roar. Good job, AJ. Maybe we should just, you know, stay home.” Chadwick’s suggestion came with a tug at the uncomfortable collar around his neck. He was attempting a last ditch effort to stay at home to avoid being seen in public as a six foot, dark-skinned tin man.

“I don’t care if he sleeps the entire time, we’re taking Micah Trick or Treating for at least an hour.”

“But, baby -”

“Don’t ‘baby’ me!”

“Okay, then I’ll Tasha you. Look at me. I look like a baked potato. I can’t go out like this.”

“You look shiny like a pretty diamond, Daddy,” Micah chimed in. The thought of her father not holding her hand as she pranced down the street in her custom, ruby-colored shoes forced the corners of her lips to sag into a frown. “Don’t you wanna go get candy with me?”

Chadwick looked between his twin and you, shooting you a glare when he caught you wiping a satisfied smirk from your face. He was no longer in a position to back out, and both of you knew it.

Releasing a deep breath, Chadwick kneeled down to speak to his pride and joy.

“I don’t wanna do anything else but take you to get candy, Princess. Are you excited?”

“Yes! I wanna get all the candies! Especially the chocolates!”

“Especially the chocolates,” he laughed. “Hey, how about you go grab your bag and wait downstairs for me with I talk to your Mama? Can you do that for me, Dorothy?”

“Yes, sir!” The soft click of her hard bottom ballet flats striking the hardwood floors faded with each second until only silence hung in the large walk-in closet. The sweet twinkle in his eye from seeing Micah smile was quickly replaced by a hard glare in your direction that tried to ignore.

“You can stand there and pout all you want, Coffee Can. I’m not giving you any attention,” you warned him with your back turned as you secured Noah’s noise-canceling headphones against his sensitive ears.

“It’s all good, Co. One day, you’re gonna wanna take a sip of this coffee and the answer will be no.”

“Yeah right! You know you want a little cream for your coffee!” Turning to face him, you found him ending his visual journey across your backside with a smirk.

“That’s tempting, baby, but I’m vegan. No cream in this coffee. Coconut milk only.”

“Oh so, you’re Michael now. You’re canceled. Get out of here.”

If not for the barrier covering his ears, Chadwick’s boisterous laughter would have startled Noah from his sleep.

“You can’t cancel this black man, T!”

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

“Micah, what are the rules for trick or treating,” Chadwick asked as the group approached the first house on the block.

“Stay close to Mommy and Daddy, don’t eat the candy until we get home, and say please and thank you every time.”

“Good job. That’s my girl.”

Your usually quiet Los Feliz neighborhood was now teeming with youth of every age dressed in a range of costumes from adorable to downright scary. 

As a child, your mother never allowed Halloween themed activities. If you and Tiana weren’t stuffed in the back of her station wagon and carted off to the nearest Hallelujah Festival, you were forced to stay at home and watch your friends return with buckets overflowing with treats. With that memory in mind, you promised yourself that you would give your children the opportunity to at least experience the cultural activity.

What you hadn’t accounted for was the type of neighborhood you would live in. Never did you imagine to be the ethnic minority on your street. The amount of full-sized candy bars casually left on doorsteps with instructions to only take one was astounding. Even more shocking were the looks you all received as one of a few black families in search of spooky treats.

You and Chadwick would’ve welcomed family photos with open arms if he meant that it would replace the occasional shocked stares from your neighbors further down the street.

Approaching the first house seemed to set the tone for the evening. With her afro puffs swinging in the wind, Micah nearly drug her father to the front porch to test her award-winning trick or treat song and smile.

“Oh, and look at you,” the older white woman gushed. “I’ve never seen a brown Dorothy before! And look at your hair. So wild!”

“Excuse me,” you blurted, earning a look from Chadwick.

Before Chadwick could offer the woman a much more civilized response to the woman’s ill-mannered remark, Micah took the lead.

“My Daddy says my hair grows to the sky like a crown made by God. This is how it’s ‘posed to look.”

All within earshot stood with their mouths agape at the class exhibited by a child that was missing most of her front teeth and not old enough to understand the ignorant undertones directed at her appearance. You, on the other hand, stood tall. All of the confidence you and Chadwick had worked to instill in her from the moment she was born had manifested into a reality tv show caliber read.

“Well...I guess your Daddy is right. Would you, um - would you like Snickers or Twix,” the woman asked, obviously flustered by Micah’s response.

The six-year-old gladly accepted the shiny gold wrapper housing two sticks of chocolate before adding a chipper thank you and grabbing her father’s hand for the journey to the next house.

Four houses down with no mishaps gave you hope that things would turn around for your first Halloween as a parent. Noah was now awake and receiving attention from every mother and grandmother on the block. Micah dazzled with the charm she inherited from her father dialed up to the highest notch. Several families provided extra candy for their cuteness while others requested pictures with the family as a whole to be thrown up on their personal social media channels.

Arriving at a beautifully decorated house swarming with underaged visitors, you noticed a few disappointed faces retreating down the long driveway to other houses. Still, you passed it off as unhappiness with the amount of candy received and followed Chadwick and Micah to the front step.

“Trick and Treat,” Micah exclaimed before she could reach the homeowner.

“A trick and a treat, huh? My kind of girl! Who are you, lovely?”

“I’m Dorothy from The Wiz! My Daddy is the Tin Man, Mommy is Michael Jackson, and my brother is a baby lion.”

The confusion on the young man’s face reminded you and Chadwick that you may have forgotten to inform your oldest that not everyone had seen The Wiz. She assumed that everyone knew Michael Jackson as a scarecrow, but judging by the blank look in his eyes, it was evident he was unaware that there was a more urban version of his childhood classic.

“What she meant to say is I’m the scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz. Sorry for the confusion.”

“That’s great because I was just about to tell you that this is the worst Michael Jackson costume I’ve ever seen!” His attempt at a joke made Chadwick tense for a moment before catching your eyes pleading with him to calm down. At thirty minutes into the adventure, you both were starting to wonder if this was a good idea.

“Where are your candies,” Micah asked, craning her neck around the porch in search of the plastic bowl she’d grown accustomed to.

“No candy here, little one! Candy is bad for your teeth. But, I do have these!” Reaching into the Hello Kitty backpack that accompanied his Deadpool costume, he presented an apple to Micah with a smile. “Here you go, my friend. One Fuji apple just for you and a Koppleman Family Dentistry business card. Feel free to come by and see us for the post-Halloween cavities. Would you like one for the cub in the stroller?”

Chadwick reluctantly accepted the card and the apple meant for Noah. “Uh, thanks man. We’ll make sure check you out when we get a chance.”

“Mommy, I thought Halloween was for candy!”

“Micah Noelle! Hush!”

“But, you said-”

“Have a nice night, man! Dope costume by the way. Let’s go, Munchkin!”

Scooping Micah under his arm, Chadwick led the mad dash for the street to prevent any more comments from his daughter.

From that point, strange happenings seemed to follow that family at every stop. Word got out that Chadwick Boseman had been spotted in the area, drawing families without Halloween goodies out of their homes and into their front yards for a glimpse at the Black Panther.

A family dressed as the Justice held Chadwick on their front porch for several minutes in an attempt to convince him that he should make the switch to DC and play The Green Lantern. Two doors down, a lively bunch of mimes made Noah scream bloody murder at first contact, leading you to stand at the edge of the driveway while Micah asked questions that they would not verbally respond to.

Rounding out the night, perhaps the strangest occurrence you had ever witnessed would prove to cap a bizarre experience.

“Mommy, look, a red balloon,” Micah shouted as she pointed to the object floating in mid-air on the dimly lit porch.

A sign on the home’s mailbox read, “We’re not home, but there’s candy in the bowl. Take IT.”

“Take the whole bowl? That’s dumb as hell,” Chadwick remarked, reading the note a second time for clarity. “It must be a typo.”

“Whatever it is, make this quick. My makeup is starting to sweat off and it’s getting dark.”  

“Can I eat some candy tonight? Pleaaaaaase? Pretty please?”

“Two pieces and that’s it. C’mon so we can grab your last one and get back home for a bath.”

Micah nodded with the same level of enthusiasm that she started the evening with. Her hair bounced in the wind beside her father as they took the short trek up the driveway and to the front porch. An eerie silence greeted the pair, and the closer they got, the more Chadwick sensed something was wrong.

“Stay right here, Boop. I’ll grab the candy and bring it to you.”

Though disappointed, Micah followed her father’s instructions and remained in place.

Chadwick approached the step on the defensive, putting you on edge once you noticed his calculated movements. One step at a time, Chadwick approached the bowl to grab the desired sweet treat for his daughter.

“You’ll float too.” A voice spoke, tiny and almost too quiet for comfort.

“Oh hell nah,” Chadwick spoke to himself. “Aye, baby, let’s go. It’s some weird sh- AYE WHAT THE FUCK?”

In the darkest corner of the porch stood a terrifying version of Pennywise the Clown sporting a morbid smile and glowing yellow contacts. The figure, clearly a member of whatever family lived in the house, stepped from his shadowy hiding place to “greet” Chadwick.

“If you need help, Don, help yourself to a balloon.” The clown never dropped his smile as he walked closer to Chadwick with his hand outstretched.

“The clown is gonna get Daddy,” Micah screeched during her full sprint to find you at the edge of the driveway. “Daddy, make him stop!”

“Hey, man, she has enough candy. We’ll just go home.”

“Want a balloon?”

Without warning, the person behind the costume made a move that startled Chadwick. Quick and misplaced reflexes ended the interaction with a swift jab to the nose and a pained groan from whoever dared to use a demon clown as a welcoming committee for a neighborhood event.

“My nose! Fuck, dude, my nose!”

“Trent,” Chadwick questioned, finally recognizing the voice.

Trent, your neighbor three doors down and a respected pediatrician, slumped against the railing of his porch to allow the blood seeping from his nostrils to fall into his manicured bushes.

“Shit, man, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Baby,” he called out to you to get your attention. “It’s just Trent. I think I broke his nose.”

“You what?! We can’t afford a broken nose? Ask him if he wants a band-aid.”

“No, I do not want a bandaid,” Trent answered before Chadwick could ask the question. “It’s not broken, but I have a hell of a headache. You should have those hands of yours registered as weapons. I’ve never seen anybody move that fast.”

“You scared the shit outta me, man. How can we make this up to you?”

“My wife really loves Tasha’s green apple pie. You think she could make us a couple to impress the family with for Thanksgiving?”

“Baby, he says if you make them some pies he’ll forget the whole thing!”

“I got you, Trent! Sorry my husband punched you in the face!”

“Don’t mention it, Tasha! Thanks!” Standing from his slouched position, Trent pinched the bridge of his nose before heading toward the front door. “Wait until Julianna hears this. She told me it was a bad idea.”

After a final apology, Chadwick led you and the kids back to the safety of your home. Bedtime routines and a brief candy extravaganza at the kitchen counter put everyone in a good mood before the kids were tucked in for the night.

Chadwick stood on your right in the bathroom, brushing his teeth while you finished applying night cream to the area under your eyes.

“I can’t believe I punched someone in the face tonight.”

“I can’t believe you let a clown scare you like that,” you laughed.

“Co, don’t go there. You were afraid of Harry Potter.”

“Not the same! Them spells and shit were demonic. I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Chadwick watched you tie your head scarf around your edges before opening his arms to receive the hug you were initiating. “For the first time, it wasn’t so bad, right?”

“This was horrible, baby.”

“Good. We’re on the same page. Let’s never do this shit again.”

“I ain’t say allat, now!” Chadwick dropped his arms along to match his scowl as he followed you into the bedroom to finally get into bed. “I talked to ‘Vonne and she said that Trick or Treating is way better in her neighborhood. You know she lives around black people. We should try over there.”

“I probably don’t have a say in this, do I?”

“Of course you do, baby,” you answered, adding a kiss to his bottom lip. “You can say yes.”

A bitter chuckled left Chadwick’s mouth before he took his spot behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. “Good night, Michael Jackson.”

“Good night, Ali.”

Peaceful silence enveloped the house, setting the mood for quality slumber after a stressful string of events.

That was into an ear piercing scream from Micah’s room down the hallway, making you and Chadwick’s eyes shoot open. Seconds later, Micah’s fist pounded at the door before she abandoned the rule of waiting until she had permission to enter, and ran into Chadwick’s arms.

“What’s wrong, baby girl?”

“The balloon! It’s outside!”

Chadwick turned to look at you only to find you up and heading out of the door in record time. Sure enough, when both of you entered the room with Micah cowering behind Chadwick’s legs, you found a single red balloon floating past Micah’s window and to an unknown destination. Neither you or Chadwick spoke a word. A non-verbal cue to take Micah back to your bedroom answered all of your husband’s question, and a trip to retrieve Noah was swift.

Crowding into the California king, you made sure to double check the locks and the security system from your bed.

From the corner of your eye, you found Chadwick burning a hole in the side of your head with his intense stare.

“I told you we should’ve stayed home.” 

Rolling your eyes hard enough for them to cause a mild headache, you turned on your side to end the conversation before it could start. There was no way he would know he was right. There was also no way you would ever trick or treat in this neighborhood again. 

                                   _____________

TAGS: @njadont @k-michaelis  @wakandanmoonchild  @idilly  @texasbama@afraiddreamingandloving  @inxan-ity  @daytimeheroicsonly  @onyour-right@brianabreeze  @sisterwifeudaku  @ironsquad @killmongerdispussy@90sinspiredgirl  @willowtree77785901  @maynardqueen101 @heyauntieeee@halfrican-heat  @purple-apricots  @lalapalooza718 @blue-ishx@profilia @ljstraightnochaser  @girl-wtf-lmao  @dramaqueenamby @royallyprincesslilly@melaninmarvel  @thiccdaddy-mbaku  @lavitabella87@purplehairgawdess@unholyxcumbucket  @airis-paris14  @uhlxis@oshasimone @maliadestiny@drsunshine97  @cozyshack2 @zxddy-panther@queentearra @skysynclair19 @retro-melanin @mermaidchansons @misspooh@melanisticroyalty @babygirlofwakanda @wakanda-4evr @sarahboseman @karensraisns@blackmissmarvel @wakandankings  @kaykay4454fan@ororowrites@awkwardlyabstract @mixedmelanin @brownsugarcocoabutterwildflowers@sunflowerpsalms  @panthergoddessbast@justanotherloveaffair @jaeee-http @iliketowrite1996 @blackpantherismyish@thompettiedatheaux @msincognito67 @reignsxjackson @yaachtynoboat711@syreanne  @ilcb7@minim236 @yoyolovesbucky 

[b-radley66]

Preview - The Great Corellian Betrothal Circus

Posts Monday on AO3, here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_Radley/works. 

Two different excerpts.

Meglann Florlin takes a deep breath as she watches Bryne Covenant move his hand to the doorbell, next to a plain door on a small well-kept house. She looks around at the secluded, warm neighborhood on the outskirts of Cosaintheas, the Shield of the South of the main Corellian continent. She notices that Bryne is looking back at her before he rings the bell. He reaches back with his left arm and pulls her close to him. She feels his lips against her still-growing out bronze curls. She closes her eyes. 

“You okay, Meglann? We can still turn around, if you’re not ready.”

She opens her mouth to reply.

“No, actually you can’t, hardhead,” comes a new voice.

Bryne whirls around, his eyes wide at the woman standing framed in the door, a stout cane in front of her, her hands stacked on the knob. Meglann’s eyes track to her face, to the blue eyes gazing at them curiously, but with a tiny hint of suspicion. The old woman’s lips are set, but one side quirks up with suppressed amusement. 

“And why can’t we?” Meglann asks before her mind engages.

“Because you’re already committed—standing here on my porch, girl,” she says. “You’ve gotten this far. If you turn back now, that would imply that you’re a coward.” 

Meglann feels the heat rise as she crosses her arms. The woman holds her hands up, the cane held loosely in one hand. “Peace, love,” she says. “Those brown eyes—that sparkle before the spark—can only belong to someone related to Elann Florlin.”

Both Bryne and Meglann look at one another. “Have you ever met Elann, ma’am?” Bryne asks. Meglann fights a smirk as she sees the charm dialed up a notch in his grin and his drawling inflection.

The older woman stares at him before rolling her eyes. “Don’t try that poodoo with me, your Eminence. I don’t have much to do these days, but I see your face and name all over the holosheets. You seem to be a bit busy, sniffing around like a three-balled tooka,” she says, the humidity in her voiced dropping by several points. “I didn’t get to be a full Sava at two major Universities by being unable to resist a half-way pretty Corellian grin.”

Meglann rolls her eyes as he looks at her and mouths, half-way? 

The resident of the house turns her attention back to Meglann, who is fighting laughter. “So tell me. Have you managed to become one of his conquests? Will I see your face on the holosheets?”

“Might be too late not to be in the Tattler,” Meglann admits, with her own dry tones. “Not quite a conquest.” She smiles warmly, looking at him. “He and a few others are very dear to me.”

For the first time the old woman smiles broadly. “Well said,” the Sava remarks. She reaches out and runs her finger along Meglann’s jaw. “I can see your father in you, as well, girl. Right along your jawline.” Meglann looks down and away at the touch. “He told me how much Elann meant to him. Even up to his last letter. He was so proud to tell me that he had a daughter—as soon as he found out.”

The old woman steps out onto the porch; pulls Meglann into her arms. She feels a warm pair of lips against her cheek. “I’m Sulen Gallamby. I was once known as Sulen Dao.

“I guess that I’m your grandmother.”

+=+=+=+=+=

Ahsoka shakes her head. Rather than return the volley, she changes the subject to calm the fire-red blushes of the co-pilot. “So this is where the coordinates led us?” she asks.

Sylvanus Helm, the first officer, speaks up from the holotank. He consults a datapad. “Yep,” he says. “At least the first leg, to activate the next leg in the Kuat files.”

Ahsoka nods. “Thanks, Obie,” she says. She grins. “Wow, you actually didn’t call me ‘ma’am’,” she adds. “You’ve come a long way.”

Tamsin laughs. “He’s just glad that Jorg here has to listen to tales of your appreciation of my awesomeness—the double entendres—and blush his way through a watch.”

Ahsoka looks away, her smile fading as she thinks of how they had acquired those Kuat files. She knows that Tamsin sees her expression; watches her get up to walk over to her. She shakes her head quickly. The Captain nods, her eyes actually showing a tiny bit of concern, before another smirk creases them. 

She reaches out to the Force, hoping against hope to see the green, purple, and gold light that signifies that her hunt-brother, Bryne Covenant, can touch the mystical partner that binds them. The man who had risked everything, to find the information they were using to locate the half-mythical Katana project. A small fleet of powerful frigates, missing since the beginning of the Clone War. Covenant had found the data, while helping Meglann to free herself from a grasping, powerful Moff. A man who had tried to add her to his collection of legacies, much as he had tried with her mother. Jano Secor had failed spectacularly in both attempts.

She sighs. There is nothing in her Force-sense. She sees Tamsin looking at her intently again. 

“You know, you two are the biggest idiots when it comes to each other,” she says. 

Ahsoka feels her anger spark. Tamsin smiles calmly. “I can see it on your face, Fulcrum. Tempest would probably tell you that he did everything because of the sacrifices you made; just as you’re thinking about his.” 

Ahsoka feels her anger fade. She turns away from the viewport. She’s not wrong, she thinks to herself. I’ll never tell her so, though. She starts to say something; just as a buzzing sensation forms in her Force-sense.

“Proximity alarm,” Obie yells. “Large hyperspace displacement!”

“Shields!” Ahsoka yells. She manages to catch a glimpse of an elongated boom, with a tall superstructure at one end and an engine housing at the other.

A Nebulon-B escort frigate. Just like those in the Katana project.

The world explodes in front of her. Her eyes lock on Jorg, the young co-pilot; his expression of terror as he is catapulted into space. She reaches out to the Force and yanks.

[bondsmagii]

I wanna talk for a moment about the power of cats here because I was thinking about this earlier and I just… am floored by the power that my six-pound tiny Persian had over me.

so way back when, aka when I was like 18, I had a bit of an anxiety problem going on. and by “a bit of an anxiety problem” I mean I was scared of everything and barely left the house for weeks at a time. I don’t know what I thought would happen to me out there, aside from everything, but there you go. I’d spend most of my time online, probably googling every slight twinge of pain I felt to see what horrible disease I was dying of, and because my parents would be at work all day it would just be me alone in the house with my pet cat.

her name was Tabitha, and she was a long-haired Persian who I got as a kitten for my seventh birthday. she lived to the grand old age of sixteen and she was my partner in crime for every day of those years. she was great. top notch kick-ass cat and she knew it. as cats are known to do, she would spend most of the day sleeping and most of the night running around like a mad lad, so this particular morning it was odd to see her up so early. 

what’s more, there was a problem.

the second I saw her, I knew something was wrong. you know how parents can just look at their baby and know something is up? yeah. I can’t explain it. I just looked as her as she flicked past the door of the computer room and I knew. I got up and followed her through to the kitchen, trailing behind her like an anxious ghost, wondering if I was just Back on My Bull Shit™ again because I was always highkey scared someone was going to die or get sick or murder me, but no. there was definitely something wrong with Tabby. she was doing the thing where she sat right against the wall and pressed her head against it and just sat there, looking like the saddest thing I’ve ever seen, and then -- and I still get heart palpitations thinking about it, I’m telling you -- when she went to her litter box there was blood in her pee. 

my child. my daughter. she was sick. immediately I did something that I never thought I would be physically capable of doing.

I picked up the phone.

I need to let you know just what a huge deal this was. the phone was just... yeah, no. thinking about it ringing was bad enough; for me to actually pick it up, in my hand, and physically dial a number and hold it to my physical ear... well, there’s a reason my dad sounded so sincerely surprised when he picked up.

the second shock of the day: I managed to articulate, clearly, calmly, down a phone, that Tabby was sick, and I needed to take her to the vet, but I had £6 to my name so could he help? 

my father, who by that point had long pretended that he hated cats and was totally indifferent to Tabby’s existence, sounded more panicked than I did. “yes! of course! take her now! is she ok? what’s wrong? no wait, just go! quick! I’ll pay!”

at this point I hadn’t even considered that I had voluntarily decided to leave the house. I was too busy embarking on my second impossibility of the day -- picking up the phone again.

this time, to a Stranger™.

I’m proud to say that the phone call I made to the vet was the picture of a normal conversation. I didn’t hyperventilate. I didn’t stutter. I calmly inquired, like a normal, stable person, whether or not they had emergency hours. the lady on the phone said yes, they do, it’s between 9am and 12pm. I knew it to be around 10am. excellent, I said, again sounding like a totally functioning human being. would it be possible for me to bring my cat in? of course it was, what’s wrong with her? I explained, succinctly and with good vocabulary, her symptoms. I was told I could come in straight away.

I jumped into action. I grabbed some shoes. I grabbed my car keys. I grabbed the garage keys and ventured into the spider-infested garage to find Tabby’s travel case. I brought it back in and gently put Tabby in there. we went out to the car. it was only when I was backing out of the drive that I realised I was out of the house. I hadn’t left the house in two weeks. there were people out there, you know? people, and things, and social situations, and the list just went on. but there I was. driving. functioning.

the vet was only a 5 minute drive, but during the drive I got stuck behind a tractor and my anxiety started to grow. what if I somehow got lost. what if I crashed at the whopping 15mph I was travelling at. what if tabby got worse. what if the vet was closed and it was all an elaborate ruse. oh god, what if someone had poisoned my cat in order to lure me to the vet where I would be henceforth assassinated? all of these highly likely scenarios and more rushed through my head. I was practically trembling by the time I parked at the little country vet. I lifted Tabby’s case out of the car and, almost dilierious with fear, finding myself alone and out of the house, forced myself to walk in.

the reception area was small. there were other people in there. they all looked up as I came in. both receptionists looked up. eight pairs of eyes were on me. it was my worst nightmare incarnate.

but I was a parent and my child was sick. such forces are more powerful than we know. I walked normally, like a human, up to the desk, introduced us, explained I’d called. the interaction passed normally. I was shown in to see a vet. in that room I pulled off another amazing bout of being normal, explaining calmly to the vet what was going on, petting and comforting Tabby, and all around being a good cat dad. the fact that I was out of the house slipped my mind. when you’re a parent, you learn to overcome.

so who wins? a chemical brain imbalance causing extreme anxiety and fear, or a tiny ball of fluff who, as it turned out, ate a slug which in turn had eaten slug pellets? the answer is clear. somehow this tiny runt of the litter who deadass weighed no more than six pounds at any given time had moved my ass into two phone calls, a trip out of the house, several prolonged social interactions, and being the central focus of the room for an entire five seconds. and what did she have to say for herself? a disgruntled yowl as I put her back into her travel case.

she was fine by the way. I caught her the next night trying to eat another slug.

maybe she was trying to get me out of the house again? who knows. I stopped her, but appreciated the effort.