#except it apparently really happened if we believe the press reports

[angrybell]

Earlier this week, there were reports that Israel shot down a missile headed for Eilat. What wasn’t reported immediately was how it took down the Houthi fired missile.

The missile in question was apparently a Qadr-110 missile, which is an improved version of an Iranian ballistic missile called the Shahab-3A.

The missile in question was intercepted by the Arrow-2 missile outside the Earth’s atmosphere. This makes it the first time there has been space combat outside of drills in the 1980s (a USAF F-15 shot down a satellite to test an antisatellite missile) or science fiction.

[mypoisonedvine]

Seeing Red | bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x reader (part 7)

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6)

series summary: bucky used to brag that he didn’t have a celebrity crush, or really care about famous people at all, which is what made him the perfect person to start working for a celebrity like yourself.  except, of course, it’s just his luck that he’d fall for you.  

word count: 2.5k

warnings: um just implied smut and fluff and a reference to bdsm I guess?? but it's pretty chill overall

Liked by starkcosmetics and others

y/n.y/l/n okay first of all, it takes an act of god to get a picture of this guy smiling, but it’s always worth it.  he really changed everything for me and I can’t thank him enough for that.  so happy ❤️ 

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caroldanvers 😍😍😍

flowercrowny/n oh my god this is so sweet i’m gonna cry

1 HOUR AGO

He smiled as he stared down at the post you’d made, remembering how much effort you’d put into finding the perfect picture (in your opinion; he thought he looked kinda dopey in it) as well as writing and re-writing your caption.

The speed at which your post gained likes and comments was inconceivable to him; even more impressive was the speed at which gossip rags were picking up the story.  Sure enough, his phone’s alerts to new headlines about you were not only going off like crazy, but had started to include news about himself as well.  

Y/N Y/L/N Shocks With Romantic Instagram Post, Confirms Dating Rumors

You’ll Never Guess Which Hollywood Starlet Is Dating Her Driver

Who is James Barnes?  Everything We Know About Y/N Y/L/N’s New Beau

Skimming one of the articles, he was impressed at how much information they’d managed to get without actually getting anything from you or him.  Born in Brooklyn, disabled Army veteran, worked a list of odd jobs before becoming your driver and bodyguard.  ‘No social media presence, prefers to keep a low profile’ one of them said; you can say that again, Bucky chuckled to himself when he read it.

He found another from People and didn’t particularly appreciate that it spent half the time going through all your past exes and rumored partners (turned out ‘rumored’ is a fancy word for ‘a bunch of fans deluded themselves so hard that it somehow turned into news without any proof necessary’).  But he still smiled when he got to the part that was actually about you and him.

‘The relationship is pretty new but they’re so happy together,’  a source close to the couple reported.  

Close indeed; that statement came from your publicist, who he’d never even meet.  

‘He’s a very private guy and she’s got this huge following, so they’re sort of an odd couple in that way, but she knows her fans are respectful and will let them have their own life outside of the spotlight.’ 

Bucky wasn’t sure that the respectfulness of fans was such a given here, but he hoped you were right.  To be fair, they’d been very sweet on your original post insofar. 

However, when he scrolled to the bottom of the celebrity magazine articles and realized they had their own comments section, he discovered that they were a little less forgiving than the ones on your Instagram.  

Is this the best she thinks she can do?  So sad tbh :(

a military guy…. yikes, she could get any guy she wants and she goes for a murderer. 

He looks like a hobo that found a coupon for a free haircut lol

I don’t buy it, I know she’ll always love Pietro!

Pietro being your former co-star that so many of your fans were convinced was actually your soulmate.  From what he’d heard from you, those speculations had made things so uncomfortable between the two of you that it killed your friendship.  Those were nothing, though, compared to the comments about someone you actually had dated.

she’s obviously not over sam… they were so good together

He’d better watch out for her ex, he still likes tweets about her and they have so much chemistry

Wait, she’s not still with Sam Wilson??  I could’ve sworn they’d been dating for, like, five years.

You were scrolling through your phone with a smile as you walked past where he was sitting on the couch, and he just couldn’t help himself from asking even though he knew it wasn’t the best idea.  “Do I need to worry about this Sam thing?” he blurted out, trying to play it cool and not sound too anxious.  “People are really obsessed with you two…”

“Sam and I…” you sighed, staring off into space for a second.  He made himself anxious imagining what you were thinking about in that moment.  “I haven’t talked to him in… years?  I think it’s just because our relationship was so public that people are still talking about it.  And it had a lot of gossip material— we did a movie together, people thought it was sweet that we got together during production, it was great promotion for the picture… and from the outside, we made a lot of sense for each other.  But he has his own problems.  I loved him, but… he wasn’t ever going to be a one-girl kinda guy.”

“But you’re not just any one girl.  You’re… you know, you,” he emphasized.

“You’ve been reading too many headlines,” you shook your head as you sat down beside him.  “Please don’t turn into one of those guys who thinks of me as a celebrity first.  Before that—” you pointed to your own name where it was bolded on his screen in the trending topics page of Twitter— “was popping up on movie posters and in gossip magazines, it was just my name.  And I’m not perfect.  Not even close.”

Bucky sighed and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into him and holding you tightly.  “And before I knew you were famous, or rich, or incredibly talented, I was totally obsessed with you just for who you are.”

“You’re too fucking amazing,” you sighed as you held his face and gave him a gentle kiss— the kind of kiss that instantly melted his heart and banished his worries.  When you pulled back and looked up at him with a smile, it was like everything else just… faded away.  “Don’t read the comments, okay?  None of them matter.”

He smiled and brushed his thumb over your cheek, overwhelmed by not only the softness of your skin but of your spirit as well.  In all his life he’d never been handled so… gently, with so much care.  “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he mumbled, not even really realizing he’d said it aloud until you gave him a beaming smile.

“I can’t believe you’re my boyfriend,” you giggled pridefully.

“Seriously?  I can… very easily believe it,” he scoffed.

“I just mean… you’re so…” you searched for the words.  “You’re actually good to me, that’s the thing.  I’m not used to that.”

“You deserve the world,” he assured.  “I’m just gonna keep trying to give you as much of it as I can find.”

He watched his hand trail over your face, down your neck and to your chest where he played with the hem of your t-shirt.

"It's odd to know there are millions of people who are jealous of me,” he admitted quietly, remembering some aggressive comments from some very angry dudes who had apparently also watched your nude scene a few too many times.

"Do you like it?  Do you like how it feels to know you're making them angry every time you touch me?"

"Couldn't care less," he refuted.  "Nobody else matters when I'm touchin' you."

“Do you maybe wanna… touch me a little more about it?” you smirked, opening your legs slightly in invitation.

“Always.”

//

Bucky had, thankfully, not let the newfound fame get to his head.  In fact, he had demanded that the two of you hunker down in the house, since he feared that going out would lead to being recognized.  What he apparently hadn’t anticipated was that that might not be enough.

“Will you get that?” you requested when the gate buzzed, too wrapped up in the book you were reading to answer the intercom.

He hopped up and held down the button to communicate with the gate speaker.  “Who is it?” he asked.

“I’ve got a delivery from Anjappar Chettinad on 23rd?”

Bucky didn’t even reply before hitting the green button and granting access to the driveway.  BEEP BEEP BEEP! you heard the gate signal its opening, and the car pulling around up to the door.  Bucky didn’t open it until there was a knock, greeting the delivery guy with a smile and the necessary cash.

“I’ve got a lamb korma, hyderabadi mutton dum biryani and an order of— woah,” the man suddenly stopped, staring at Bucky’s face.  “Are you—?’

“Hungry?  Yes,” he frowned.

“You’re the guy dating— holy shit, congrats man,” he beamed, smacking Bucky on the shoulder pridefully before leaning in with a mischievous smirk.  “Say, is she a freak or what?”

“She is,” you piped up from the couch, making both men turn their heads; but one was chuckling while the other looked mortified.  “You better not have forgotten my paneer pakora or I’m gonna chain you up and whip you.”

“Uh, I— no, I got it right here,” he promised weakly, handing the bag over to Bucky and starting to dash away before Bucky grabbed his arm, making the smaller man whimper fearfully.

“You forgot the money,” Bucky reminded him gruffly, stuffing the bills into the driver’s front pocket.

Finally, he let go, and the delivery man instantly pulled away, rubbing his arm and looking a bit like a kicked puppy as he went back to his car and drove away.

“You didn’t need to scare him that bad,” Bucky chuckled.

“I could say the same to you!  Grabbing somebody with the metal arm like that will put the fear of God into them pretty fast.”

“I didn’t mean to grab him that hard,” he admitted, examining the prosthetic hand as he came back to the couch with the bag of food, handing it to you while he focused on watching his motorized fingers curl and uncurl.  “I think I need to get this thing recalibrated… it’s been bugging out lately.”

“I dunno, it was working just fine last night,” you smiled, remembering how delightfully cool those fingers felt inside you.

Bucky seemed to miss it entirely, though, as he stared off into space.  “I can’t believe I got… recognized.”

“You’re a star,” you winked.  “And not just with random delivery drivers.  I’ve had a lot of press requests, everybody wants to be the first one to get nice pictures of us together— we’ve had a dozen event invites as a couple.”

“Seriously?!” he scoffed, snapping back to reality slightly enough 

“Yeah, and look what came in same-day mail this morning!”  You leaned over to shuffle through the mail on the side table before finding and handing him a letter in a gold-embossed envelope, watching him read what you knew was inside.

The Hollywood Foreign Press Association extends an invitation to Y/N Y/L/N and James Barnes to the annual Grant Banquet in support of the Young Artists Fund.

“It seems like a good first event for us,” you explained.  “Relatively small and low stakes, it’s for a good cause…”

“Are you sure I’m ready to be, you know… seen?  By people?” 

You scoffed, hardly believing how insecure he could be sometimes.  “You look great, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Will I have to talk to anybody other than you?” he asked, grimacing as if that were a form of brutal torture.

“Probably,” you admitted.

His frown deepened.  “What if I say the wrong thing?”

“I’m not that worried about you,” you smirked.  “You’re a lot better at this stuff than you think you are.”

“I don’t have anything to wear…”

You smirked, a little too proud of yourself, when you remembered the email your publicist had forwarded to you just this morning.  “Hugo Boss will pay you $1500 to wear one of their suits on the carpet.”

“They’ll pay me to wear free clothes?” he repeated with wide eyes.

“Yeah, that’s one of the cooler things about fame,” you laughed.  “I make a grand every time I wear this watch outside!”

“I guess I should send them my measurements then…” he trailed off.  “Any chance I can get in on that watch deal?”

“No, but you can make $50 by getting papped at Jamba Juice.”

He paused for a moment, scratching the back of his neck as he thought.  “Is the smoothie comped?”

“I don’t know.  Do you want me to ask?”

“...kinda…” he admitted with a shy smile.  

“Well, I will, and I’ll RSVP to this invite saying we’ll be there next week,” you decided as you started to open up the food, but Bucky stopped you by reaching for your hands.

“Are we really doing this?” he asked.

“If you want to,” you mitigated.

“Of course I do.  I guess I have to accept that you’re actually willing to be seen with me,” he chuckled.  “It’s just sort of hard to believe.”

You leaned in and kissed him; it was meant to be a casual, reassuring peck but he held you closer and you melted into him, moaning softly at his touch as you started to climb into his lap.

“The food’s gonna get cold,” he reminded you with a mumble against your lips.

Unfortunately, your literal hunger was a bit too strong to ignore, even with the growing intensity of a metaphorical hunger for Bucky.  “Alright,” you relented, getting off of him and returning your attention to the meal on the table.  “Just know that I really, really want to be seen together, in public, just in case anybody missed the news about us already.  I’m not embarrassed by you or afraid you’re going to do something dumb.  I…”

One of those words that can’t be unsaid started to bubble up in your throat and you coughed, banishing the thought.

“I really like you.  I think we have something special.”

He smiled gently, giving you one more kiss on the cheek.  “I think so, too.”

//

Since this was slightly less of a big deal than a premiere or press tour, you had managed to convince your styling team to let you dress yourself, which was why he was laying on the bed and talking to you through the bathroom door while you put on your gown.

“Do you want me to hire a new driver?” you prompted him, voice muffled slightly as he imagined your head covered in the fabric, trying to navigate through the dress.  “I don’t want you to feel… I don’t know, like a servant?”

“A servant?  You’re still paying me,” he reminded you.  “You are still paying me, right?”

“Yes,” you laughed, “but still, I would hate it if you felt like staff.  You’re my boyfriend!”

(His heart still fluttered every time you said it.)

“No new driver,” he decided.  “I can drive just fine, and considering how things went between us… let’s not open the door for anybody else,” he smirked, making you laugh in that way you did when he made a stupid joke but you still liked it somehow.

“Okay, sure, but what about being my bodyguard?  Is that too weird?” you continued.

“God no,” he scoffed, “if anything I’m gonna be better at my job than ever.  As your boyfriend, keeping you safe is my job, but since keeping you safe was already my job… it’s, like, doubled-up now.”

He lost his train of thought when you opened the door.

“How do I look?” you asked as you stepped in and gave him a spin in your new dress.  Your whole body was draped in red silk, with the exception of your back which was almost entirely exposed, as if it were begging him to run his fingers down your spine.

“Like everything I ever wanted,” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

And it was so odd that you questioned his desire to drive you, because those moments where he could steer with one hand and rest the other on your thigh, when he could catch a glimpse of you looking out the window at the city rolling by, when he got to listen to you ramble about something to kill the time during a drive; those were his favorite moments, and he wouldn’t trade them for anything.

After a relatively brief trip, you arrived at the venue, and all of a sudden he was doing what he’d fantasized about more than he’d like to admit: escorting you down a red carpet.  It was almost overwhelming— yelling, chattering, reporters speaking into camera, flashes going off in every direction—

“Hey,” you whispered, bringing your hand up to his cheek and instantly taking all his attention.

“Hey,” he returned.

“Just follow my lead,” you instructed.

“That was the plan.”

[littlesniggy]

Savior

Anon: IT‘S OPEN AGAIN! 🎉 im the Anon who asked for the Sakazuki request at the 100 followers event. Would you do a scenario where he takes female readers virginity ? I just can’t imagine him being the best choice for it but maybe you have a different take on it! Love your work so much and thank you!!! 💖

Sakazuki taking reader‘s virginity Anon here! I’d say maybe reader is not in a relationship with him but if you can’t come up with a scenario where this could be the case then can also be in a relationship. It’s up to you! Thank you so much !

Well...this is rather long and I apologize. I couldn't come up with a scenario where he would take reader's virginity without them being in a relationship except for this one. It has a lot of story in the beginning so feel free to skip to the dirty part if it's too long....anyways, I hope you like it and let me know!

Warning: 18+, nsfw, masturbation, superior x subordinate

Parining: Sakazuki x female reader

Word count: 4.1k

He had saved you when you were a child; kidnapped by pirates and to be sold off to god knows where. He, a Vice Admiral at the time, and his men caught the pirates off guard like a sudden storm, the outlaws not having anywhere to run. You watched him from afar, barking orders at his men and not paying you any attention. He scared you more than the pirates did, with his cold eyes and his unapproachable aura.

You joined the marines when you were old enough, wanting to stop piracy and the suffering pirates caused to innocent citizens. Oddly enough, Sakazuki became like a role model to you in his consequent behavior even though you had no interactions whatsoever. It was also no surprise to you when he was promoted to be an admiral. You admired him, wanting to climb the ranks like him and in the process became somewhat ruthless in your pursuit of pirates as well though not to the extend he was.

He came to the base you were stationed at, ordered by Sengoku to help catch the rising numbers of pirates sighted in this area. Apparently, he was not amused about it, thinking all of you had done a terrible job of letting this happen. First thing he did was give an angry speech to everyone, scolding you for the lack of effort in catching the pirates. The Vice Admiral’s got an even bigger scolding; everyone leaving the meeting room smaller than before.

You were called into his office a couple of days later. One of your superiors had recommended you to become Sakazuki’s assistant for the time he was here, not wanting to do it himself. You felt excited to be even thought of, wanting to see the admiral in action. So, you knocked on his door, waiting for him to call you in.

“Hello, Sir. I’m-“

“You’re late, marine.” His voice was harsh and annoyed, his eyes boring into yours, making you swallow. To say he was intimidating would’ve been an understatement – he was terrifying! You were taken back to more than ten years ago when you first saw him. You felt like a small child that did something wrong and was to be scolded by their parent.

“Sit down.” He ordered you, gesturing to the empty chair in front of the desk. You nodded, hurrying over and sitting down, not wanting to let him wait any longer. Your enthusiasm had dropped significantly; you weren’t even able to look him in the face, your hands fidgeting in your lap. You felt his eyes mustering you in irritation and it made you even more uncomfortable.

“I’ve heard you were the right one for the job but when I look at you I’m wondering what kind of marines work here when you’re the best they can offer as an assistant.” His words stabbed you like a knife in the heart. But he was right? The moment you entered the room you felt so nervous, not even a kid would take you seriously. Taking all your courage, you looked up and right at his face, feeling the need to look away immediately but pushing this urge away.

“Don’t you have anything to say, marine?” he got more irritated by your silence and you could understand; you were not making a good impression on him. “I’m sorry I was late, Sir. It won’t happen again.” You finally managed to say, trying to sound more confident than you actually felt. “That’s what to be expected of a marine. I don’t need any half-assed assistant who I can’t even rely on being punctual. Next time this happens you’ll be punished.” He said, meaning every word he said. You swallowed again, nodding at him. “Understood, Sir.”

From then on you spent a lot of time together. You were mostly ordered to run from A to B to collect reports or documents for him and being yelled at when you did the smallest mistakes. The first time you boarded a ship with Sakazuki, however, was the most exciting moment in your life so far. Over the last three weeks you’ve been his assistant for you have gotten used to him and somewhat could anticipate which mood he was in (most of the time not in a good one). Your admiration for him never really wavered; just the respect you had for this man grew even more.

“Y/n, is everything ready for departure?” he asked, standing at the bow of the marine ship, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Yes, Sir. Everything is set and we will leave any moment.” You informed him. Akainu simply nodded, turning around and walking towards a Vice Admiral, talking to him. While he was gone you were following your own train of thought. You never told him that he was the one who saved you and you doubted he actually remembered. You wouldn’t even know how to address it, never finding the right moment. You also doubted he actually cared enough to listen to what you had to tell him so you made the decision to not mention it at all. At least at the moment.

“The admiral wants the reports from today. Bring them to him.” Your Vice Admiral told you, handing you the reports his subordinates had written over the day. You nodded, making your way over to Sakazuki’s office. Cold wind blew inside the small room when you entered, closing the door behind you.

“Do you have the reports, Y/n?” he asked, not looking up from his desk. “Yes, Sir. They’re all here.” You replied, handing them over to your boss. He nodded, not acknowledging your presence any further. You were about to leave when his deep voice caught you off guard. “Have I told you to leave?” he asked, still not looking up. You were confused, stopping in your tracks. “No, Sir.”

“I want you to take a look at this an tell me if you find anything suspicious.” He said, holding a piece of paper up. You nodded, still confused but took it and sat on the other chair, starting to read. You felt his eyes on you, watching you while you read and it made you feel nervous. It was hard for you to concentrate, your eyes looking up at him from time to time, needing to find where you had left before and taking unnecessarily long. Of course, he noticed.

“Is there a reason why you stop reading all the time?” he wanted to know, a scowl on his face. “N-no, Sir. It’s just difficult to concentrate.” You mumbled, pressing your lips shut after realizing you said it out loud. The admiral raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?” he insisted. You shook your head, trying to let the topic drop. “It’s nothing, Sir.”

“I want to know why my assistant is getting distracted when I gave her an order. It must be something very important when it takes up your mind this much.” He narrowed his eyes and you knew you had to tell him something believable. But coming up with a lie was rather difficult with his intense stare so your only option was the truth. “I-it’s just a little distracting when you….look at me like this. It makes me feel nervous.” You admitted.

Sakazuki was silent for a moment, making the whole situation even more unnerving for you. Then he huffed, leaning back in his chair. You looked up at him again, his stare now even more intense than before and with a blush you lowered your gaze again. “If I make you nervous I suggest you get used to it.” He just said. “I guess so, Sir.” You mumbled, trying so hard to focus on the sheet in front of you.

Out of the corner of your eyes you saw him get up from his chair and walk around the small room, waiting for you to finish reading. You felt his presence behind you, your body tensing unconsciously. You imagined his eyes wandering over you back up to your neck, creating small goosebumps on your skin. You wondered what he was thinking about. Your mind all of a sudden went crazy, the most bizarre scenarios played in your head and you lost your focus completely.

Your face as beet red at the thought of him possibly considering you attractive, him thinking about seducing you, him thinking about touching you – all those thoughts and you didn’t know if they were actually true. Your mind was playing tricks on you; the time you’ve spent together apparently had you develop feelings towards this man behind you and you caught yourself more often than not imagining being intimate with him.

There was this one time where you accidentally saw him shirtless in his office, after he had spilled something on his shirt (he denied it of course) and was changing into a new one. That night you had your first wet dream about him but you tried to play it down, telling yourself it was just the close proximity you two were sharing that naturally made you feel sexually attracted to him. But it never stopped. Soon, you actively fanaticized about him and you felt ashamed about it.

“Are you done, Y/n?” he brought you back to reality and you slowly shook your head no. “I-I’m sorry, Sir. I don’t seem to be able to concentrate. I think I might be too tired.” You said, hoping he believed you. You didn’t dare to turn around and look at him but you put the paper down on the desk in front of you, showing him that you were being honest. Akainu huffed. You heard footsteps coming closer to you until you saw his shoes next to your chair.

You looked up at him unsettled, anticipating his scolding.

“You seem awfully tense around me the for the past week. Is there something you need to tell me? If not, I suggest you get over it and take your job seriously. I don’t need someone who gets distracted so easily.” You couldn’t possibly tell him that you were thinking about him being naked and between your legs!

“I just wanted to say how thankful I am for getting this opportunity serving under you, Sir.” God! This sounded wrong! What if he thinks I want to have sex with him? Well, technically I do but he mustn’t know!

Sakazuki didn’t know what was going on in your head but just nodded. You were sure he didn’t believe you but also knew you wouldn’t tell him. So, he left it at that. “If you can’t do a better job tomorrow, I will replace you.”

You were ordered to stay on the ship today for whatever reason. The admiral was probably still not pleased with your performance yesterday that he wanted to punish you for it since he kind of knew how much you wanted to fight. Besides you there were a handful of other marines still on the ship but it was quiet over all. You had the order to organize the various reports in his office.

When you couldn’t find one you were sure you had seen yesterday you looked for it in his entire office. When you still couldn’t find it you thought that he might’ve taken it with him last night to his room. You were not allowed to enter his room but maybe this was an exception? Plus, he wasn’t here yet and it probably wouldn’t take long. But when it was gone, he would know that someone was in his office. But maybe he wouldn’t be too mad…

Before you knew it you had opened his door (surprisingly it wasn’t locked) and stepped inside his room. It was dark and you needed to turn on the lamp. The dim light barely illuminated the room but you could see enough to find your way around. On the nightstand you saw them – the five missing reports. You hurried over and picked them up, you were almost out the door when a thought hit you. You stopped dead in your tracks and turned around, looking at his neatly made bed. It was huge.

You slowly walked back, stopping in front of it and contemplating with yourself. You should just leave and never come back here! But you really wanted to lay down in his bed – just once – and see how he was sleeping. Without thinking twice you laid down on his big bed on your stomach and pressed your face into his pillow, closing your eyes. It smelled like him; he had this distinct smell of musk and a hint of cologne that made your knees go weak every time you were close to him.

Unconsciously, you let your hand wander down and between your legs, pushing pat the restraints of your uniform pants and panties. You felt your sex getting wet the more you smelled the pillow, your finger starting to rub against your folds, spreading your slick on your cunt. You moaned into the pillow, imagining it being his hand stoking you, his weight pressing down on you and his hot breath tickling your neck.

Your fingers entered your core, moving in and out, imagining his thick dick taking you as he pressed your head into the pillow. Another moan, this time a little louder, when you entered a second finger, spreading them inside of you. You’ve never had sex but you liked to imagine what it would feel like. His dick going deeper and deeper, taking your virginity as he praised you how good you were making him feel.

You turned on your back, pulling down your pants, spreading your legs, and taking the pillow from under your head, pressing it to your face with one hand while the other one entered your core again, thrusting inside of you. Your mind was in a frenzy, now imagining how he would take you like this, his cold eyes looking down at you with this cold gaze. You shivered, your fingers thrusting in and out faster.

“What do you think you’re doing there, Y/n?” You stopped dead in your tracks, your body tensing at the sound of his voice. Why was he back yet? He wasn’t supposed to be back for at least another hour! You were frozen in place, not being able to move, not wanting to pull the pillow aside and look at the man that was standing in the room, watching you fuck yourself on your fingers in his bed.

“I asked you a question.” You could hear his footsteps coming closer and soon after the pillow on your face was being lifted, making you look at your superior. “Are you having fun?” he asked, his harsh eyes staring right at you. He’s gonna kill me! Your mind screamed. A huge lump had formed inside your throat, making it impossible for you to answer. He let the pillow fall next to you on the bed, his eyes not leaving your face.

“If you need to masturbate this badly, why don’t you do it in your own bed, Y/n?” You couldn’t reply, shock was written all over your face. His gaze now wandered down your body to where your fingers were still buried in your went cunt. You didn’t know what he was thinking, his face this unreadable mask. He didn’t sound mad but he didn’t sound pleased either. But maybe this was a good sign.

“Don’t you have to say anything to your defense? Nothing like ‘Oh, my bed is broken so I used yours, Sir’?” Your face turned red and you slowly pulled your fingers out, his eyes following the motion. “I…..” you started but didn’t know what to say. “I should throw you out just like this, making everybody see what you’ve been doing in here.” He mused.

“P-please, don’t do this.” You found your voice, horrified at the possibility of him going through with this thought. “And why shouldn’t I?”

“I-it was a mistake, Sir! I was just….I wasn’t thinking!” Akainu huffed and amusement, his eyes finding yours again. “Is that so. What made you think it was acceptable to masturbate in your superior’s bed? Does it give you some kind of kick?” You shook your head and were about to pull your pants up but his next words stopped you.

“Were you thinking about me while you fucked yourself on your fingers?” mortified, you looked at him. “Were you thinking about how it was me fucking you?” you didn’t know what to say, too horrified to answer. “What makes you think you could handle me, Y/n?” still, no answer.

Sakazuki tilted his head to the side, watching you in slight amusement. “Take the rest of your clothes off.” His order caught you off guard. “S-Sir?”

“Did you hear me stutter? I said, take the rest of your clothes off.” His tone was harsher, leaving no room to argue.

With shaky hands you sat up and unbuttoned your uniform blouse, revealing your bra which followed soon after. You weren’t sure what he wanted to do; maybe he would throw you out like this, completely naked and humiliated. But you weren’t prepared for what came next. The admiral unbuttoned his shirt as well, revealing his muscular chest and more of his tattoo. Your eyes grew wide in disbelief. What was going on.

“I take it if I fuck you now you’ll become more focused on your tasks again, right?” he asked while opening his pants, pulling out his still soft member. You were afraid of your eyes popping out at the sight, inching away from him by instinct. He kneeled down on the mattress, towering over you.

Your heart was hammering in your chest when he positioned himself between your legs, pulling you closer to him. His hand started stroking himself. You watched in amazement as his dick turned harder and harder until it laid heavy in his hand. “Let’s get it done and over with, shall we?” he made it sound like a transaction at a crowded supermarket where he just wanted to leave as soon as possible.

“W-wait! I…You…you shouldn’t…” but he pressed a hand over your mouth, shutting you up. “What I should and shouldn’t do is none of your concern.” He positioned himself at your wet entrance, sliding his dick over your folds, making you mewl in response. He took his hand away and put it right next to your head, kneeling over you completely. When he was about to enter you, you inched away, looking at him scared.

“P-please….be gentle….” You pressed out, realizing that his dick was way bigger than you had imagined. It would hurt, you were sure of it. Akainu pulled you closer again; you could feel his thick mushroom head at your entrance again. “Please…! I….I’ve never had….I’ve never done it before…” you stuttered, averting your eyes. The admiral’s eyes narrowed in response, looking your body up and down again.

He didn’t answer, you only felt his weight press against your entrance, his dick slowly but surely sliding inside your body. Your whole body tensed up, pain filling your core as he pushed further and further. You grabbed his arm next to your head with you hand, clawing at his skin in discomfort. “S-Sir! Please…give me some time!” you pleaded, eyes tightly shut.

You could hear his slightly uneven breathing and felt his big member slowly fill your up. The stretch was more than uncomfortable and your body tried to move away from him with every new inch he added. You felt a hand come up to your breasts, playing with them and squeezing them. You opened your eyes a little, looking up at his stern face. You looked down, seeing your hips raised to meet his dick, ass hanging in the air. You saw his dick not even buried half inside of you and it made your heart skip a beat in fear. This was never going to fit completely!

He pulled out a little before moving back in. “Ungh!” you gasped, your grip on his arm tightening at the feeling. He repeated the movement, each time pushing in a little further. His hand moved down from your breast and between your legs, finding your clit and circling it lazily with his thumb. You legs twitched at the feeling and you wanted to close your legs but he wouldn’t let you; his hips were in your way so you had to let him do.

“S-sir…..this feels kind of good…” you panted, trying to concentrate on his thumb on your clit. “Just because it’s your first time. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be this kind.” His words made your stomach tingle inside. So, he at least cared a little about you. Your legs slowly wrapped around his hips as good as possible and you pulled him a little closer, looking him in the eyes while you did it.

Sakazuki grinned a little, starting to pick up his pace. His thrusts became deeper and deeper, filling you out more and more. His thumb pressed down in your clit, adding a little bit of heat, making you moan out in pleasure. “S-sir!” you panted, grabbing at his wrist. “You want me to stop playing with you clit?” he asked, about to pull his hand away. “N-no! Please, keep doing this!” you begged, looking at him desperately. “Then let go of my wrist.” He replied.

You let your hand lay next to your head while the other one was still grabbing the arm right next to your head. Akainu’s thrusts became harder, the fabric of his pants scratching at the back of your thighs and his heavy balls slapping against your ass. He was filling you out all the way, your cunt pressed flush against his pelvis.

Your moans got louder, the uncomfortable feeling already pushed to the back of your head thanks to his thumb on your clit, adding heat from time to time. You saw your tits wiggle at his thrusts, you back arched when he hit a special sweet spot inside of you. The admiral groaned above you, slamming his dick inside of you without mercy.

He put his hand that was next to your head on your hip and hold you in place, panting heavily while he fucked you without any hesitation. Since you needed a new source of support to grab on you reached over your head to head of the bed, grabbing the the mattress and clawing your fingers into it.

Sakazuki closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of your tight cunt squeezing him with every thrust, ready to milk him. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to make you cum, being it your first time but he was honestly more fixated on his own at the moment. His hips snapped back and forth, your moans filling his room your writhing body underneath his – it all was really appealing to the older male. He wouldn’t say it out loud but when he found you lying here on his bed with your legs spread he would’ve loved to take you at once but his self-control was stronger than his instincts.

“I…I think I’m gonna…I’m gonna cum, Sir!” you moaned, raising your hips more to meet his thrusts, your legs pressing him closer to you to feel him even deeper. He watched you trow your head back, your small body tensed underneath him before your muscles spasmed around his dick, clenching and unclenching as you came with a loud moan, your back arching, you tits bouncing a little.

The admiral huffed and groaned deeply, joining you in your orgasm soon after. Before he came he pulled out though, mind not clouded enough that he might forget it. His slick semen was covering your stomach, his hand stroking himself eagerly to let every drop of his seed come down on your body.

You were panting heavily, watching thick ribbons of cum cover your stomach. You reach out, collecting some of it on your finger and licking it up, tasting him on your tongue. It was salty and bitter, nothing like you expected but it was somewhat good nonetheless. You bit your lip at his stare, feeling so shameless and dirty to just taste his cum like some whore but you simply couldn’t help.

“Are you gonna be able to focus on your tasks from now on, Y/n?” he asked while he pulled out, inspecting the mess you two have made. Blushing you nodded shyly, pulling your legs to your body and closing them. “Good. We wouldn’t want this small incident to repeat itself, now would we?” you blushed even deeper at his smirk, knowing this probably wasn’t the last time. After all, this mission would take at least another month.

[danniburgh]

Rushingly Bittersweet (Javier Peña x f!reader) part 20

Pairing: Javier Peña x ofc//f!reader with name.

Summary: After the fall of Escobar everything starts happening way too fast for Javier; his raise, his new office, his new team, the Cali cartel’s operation, the sudden arrival of a new agent that was transferred to his team for no apparent reason, the way he was falling in love with her almost unintentionally.

And he couldn’t seem to stop any of that.

Word count: +4.3k

Chapter warnings: more feelings, the whole truth, brief mention of drugs, a lot of tears lmao

A/N: This chapter is set after season three, episode nine. // I AM SO FUCKING SORRY in advance, i think this and the next 2 are gonna be heavy for me and you so... yeah, WE ARE ALMOST DONE GUYS KEEP YOUR CHINS UP THIS IS GONNA END WELL!!!!

ao3 // fic index // Masterlist // fic playlist

comments and reblogs are eternally appreciated 💓 let me know if you wanna be tagged

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gif: @bestintheparsec​

If Javier hadn’t seen you cry like you were crying in front of him, he would have thought it was a joke.

A bad, sick, horrible joke.

But there you were, shaking and crying and bracing yourself and standing in front of him telling him you knew things he didn’t know and your name wasn’t your name and he wasn’t even your boss as if he not only needed to know he was being used but he deserved it. As if he could avoid to think everything you had told him before wasn’t a complete lie. Bullshit.

He stood up straight and took his eyes off you. He couldn’t bear to look at you shaking like a small puppy trapped in the cold rain, he couldn’t bear to look at you like that because he was fighting with himself and the need to rush and hold you and tell you everything was going to be fine when he knew and you knew and he knew you knew nothing would be the same. As if he wasn’t angry, furious, infuriated.

You let out a sob, because you knew he was about to avoid looking at you at all costs.

“Well,” Javier let out, “I’m sorry if I don’t say it’s nice to meet you,” and then he laughed bitterly, shaking his head, “who the fuck are you?” his face quirked in something you, between tears, could recognize as anger and pain.

“I–” you mumbled, but he cut you off.

“I’m giving you one chance to explain everything to me,” he hardened his voice and you couldn’t seem to stop yourself from crying, he lifted a finger in front you, “just one, take it,”

“Javier,” you whispered, and he shook his head.

“Are you even DEA?” he scoffed and crossed his arms on his chest, “since you knew things I didn’t and your name isn’t your name, are you even an agent?” you only got to nod “so why,” he breathed in before continuing “why are there CIA reports with your signature?” he turned with a scowl on his face and with one hand he skimmed through all the pages on that file, “you kept tabs on me,” he said, purposefully not looking at you “fuck,” he tapped several times on the last one “you did fool me.”

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” you sighed out, it was really hard for you to breathe.

“What wasn’t supposed to happen?” he chewed out “you telling me? or you with me? or you in my bed? or me fucking you? what?”

“Stop,” you pleaded, not having the energy anymore to chase his eyes “let me explain,”

“No,” he shook his head and flared his nose in anger “you’re not worth listening to, get out,”

“At least let me tell you the truth,” you pleaded again.

“I have it here!” he smacked his hand on the files and you jumped out, startled at the way he raised his voice out of the sudden. 

But you didn’t blame him, you only blamed yourself, but that self-preservation instinct inside of you was forcing you to keep on pushing him to listen to you and your reasons. It was forcing you to keep pushing him, even when you knew he was already at his limit.

“Please, let me explain everything,” you pleaded again. Javier shook his head and fought himself harder to stop from looking at you and reach for you and hold you because you just sounded so broken. But you were breaking him.

“Get out,” he whispered, half a plea and half a demand, you shook your head.

“Read them,” you sniffed and cleared your throat “read the last few reports, please,” you were hating how much you were shaking and he glanced at you for less than a second, and you cried at how short it felt. Javier took you in with that glance and as if it wasn’t enough, his chest tugged at the sight of your puffy eyes and the tears that dampened your cheeks. He indulged and skimmed through them “see how they get shorter? see how they get briefer? how they get–”

“Shittier? he cut you off “so you did a bad job, what about it?”

You bit your lip and breathed in and out twice.

“That was the point!” you let out, “fuck, Javier,” you finally found your voice inside your chest and you went off “I’ve been wanting to tell you everything for the longest fucking time, I just couldn’t, I swear I wanted to tell you ever–”

“Since when,” he cut you off again. You looked at him and tried to get him to look at you but he didn't. 

“There were so many nights where I just wanted to tell you everything, but it just wasn’t safe for either of us! I swear I did planned to te–”

“Since when?” Javier raised his voice again and you sighed.

You closed your eyes for a few seconds, feeling more tears sliding down your cheeks.

Javier allowed himself to glance at you in those few seconds that you closed your yes, and tightened his jaw. How the fuck he had allowed all that shit to happen? He had asked you a question he wasn’t sure if he wanted the answer off, but then you opened your eyes and he painfully unglued his gaze from you.

“Since the first time you kissed me,” you muttered out. Javier shook his head several times and turned around to stop seeing you.

“Get out,” he pointed to the door.

“Javier, please,” your voice broke again and you saw his shoulders raise and drop several times.

“I don’t want to listen to you,” his voice was low and deep and hurt and you bit your lip again to stop your sobs from coming out. You threw your head back and looked at the ceiling, fisting and releasing your hands at the impotence you felt because he just didn’t want to listen to you.

And you knew this would happen, you knew it. How could you’ve been so stupid to think that if you explained everything to Javier, he would just take it as the historical truth and just… forgive you? How could you’ve been such an idiot to believe so little of him?

Since the first time you had seen him you knew he was a man of straights and grays, you knew he hated lies; you knew he hated liars. Hell, he hated himself for being one. But somehow, deep in your chest, in your… heart, you thought, you imagined, you hoped he would make an exception for you.

But he wasn’t, not for you, not for anybody, not even for himself. 

He just wasn’t.

Javier closed his eyes once he had you out of his sight, he had so much in his head, the thoughts were pouring down like the restless stream of an overflowing river cascading to a bottomless drowning lake; so much to think about, so much to say, but nothing was coming out.

He was hurt, he recognized that one emotion. Pure, deep, raw hurt, he could feel it burning his insides and turning his guts into ashes. Fuck. He didn’t like the pain, he had spent years and years of his life running away from the pain. How could he had been so stupid to allow himself to get to that point? How could he had been such a fucking idiot to let you do that to him? How? When he had become an expert at running away from his own emotions? Why?

He brushed a hand through his hair and tried to regain his composure, but it was nearly impossible. The pain inside him started to feel physical, it was as if someone had shot him directly on the chest over his kevlar; the air knocked out of his lungs. He was struggling to breathe properly. He was about to burst.

He felt a foreign sting inside his throat that he knew exactly what meant. He wasn’t about to cry. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of showing you how much he cared.

Even if you already knew.

“Javier,” you called him.

“Get out,”

“I will, I promise I’ll go,” you sobbed out and Javier felt disgusted by himself for being so weak at the sound of your sobs, he rolled his hands into fists and forced his body to stay put in place “I just want you to understand why I did it.” Javier rolled his eyes and raised a hand to press his eyes shut.

“Get the fuck out, please just get out,” his voice sounded like a plea and a beg and a demand altogether and you snapped at the way he was just trying to escape from an explanation that you were more than willing to give him. An explanation he deserved.

“No!” you raised your own voice, “you dragged me into this! now you have to listen to me!” you accused. Javier turned around, his face quirked in confusion and bewilderment and pain and anger.

“Me?” he raised his voice as well, his finger landing on his chest several times “I dragged you into this? you’re not a child! you made a choice!” he let out, shaking his head.

“I tried to grab onto any excuse to not start this, Javier, you know that!” you reminded him, and he let his hands rest on his waist “Javier, it was never my intention to hurt you.” 

Javier barked out a laugh.

A stinging, humourless, deep hurting laugh that landed inside the crevices of your chest and hung from every nerve of your being. 

“Well, I’m hurt,” he said, finally facing you “you lied to me,” his face was a mess of emotions you couldn’t read “you lied to me on my fucking face.” he gritted out, walking towards you.

“I know, and I’m sorry” you said under your breath, his face was inches away from yours and he frowned and shook his head. You closed your eyes because out of the sudden his cologne invaded your nostrils and you cried harder at the thought of never getting to smell him again.

“And you know what’s even worse?” he rhetored, you opened your eyes and quickly his eyes were on yours, but that time, his brown, soft eyes were hardened, as if fossils had taken over his orbs and his face was a mean scowl and his hands were so far away from your body rolled into fists that it ached deep in your chest how much you were hurting him, “that I fell for it, for all of it, and I fell for you.”

Javier didn’t seem to realize what he had said, but you did and as he put distance between him and you, your eyes filled with thick tears once again, and you didn’t try to stop them from falling and falling and falling.

He fell. He fell for you.

How? How could you let everything go to that point? You knew you knew it, you fool.

Crash, crash, crash, crash.

Ugly, messy, bloody, heart wrenching.

“Was it worth it?” he asked, putting his hands on his waist once again, looking at you, expectant. You shook your head. “then why did you do it?”

His eyes on you were heavy, you remembered that time he looked at you in a crowded elevator and made you forget everything about yourself, and that time you wondered if he was ever going to look at you like that. And there, with him expecting the explanation you were offering, you had your answer.

And you saw him, standing before you, hands on hips, his thinking stance, waiting for you to finally deliver the so-called explanation you wanted and pleaded to give him. But your throat was closed, your voice was nowhere to be found, and you wanted to crawl into a ball and just rock yourself to a deep, all-forgetting sleep.

God, you were so tired.

It took you an entire minute to find your voice from the deep confines of your voided, pained chest.

“Re–remember what I told you the first time we mad–the first time we were… together?” you sobbed out. He closed his eyes and nodded.

How he could fucking forget? It had elated him, that entire fucking day, everything seemed so hopeful, he remembered thinking that he didn’t want to do what he did to you with anyone else. Before you could continue, he allowed himself to grieve that moment and you saw him raise a hand to his chest.

“That was true, most of it,” you assured him. Javier didn’t look at you once he opened his eyes and you, yet again, tried to search for his eyes. Fuck the hour you had let them become your comfort. “after what happened in México, I did get suspended and, fuck,” you brushed away your tears, freeing the way for new ones to fall “I really liked this job,” you chuckled sorely to yourself “but the drugs, and… everything else, I just knew I was screwed,” you sniffed. Javier bit the inside of his cheek and sighed.

Yet another fucking thing you two were more than alike.

He was hating it, loathing it; the way he wanted to brush every single goddamned tear that was falling down your face, the way he just wanted to reach to you, to let you feel him, the way he fucking needed to touch you and then wake up for whatever new fucking nightmare he was having.

“I was marked,” you choked down another sob and sniffed again, you hated being this vulnerable, this exposed, you were dropping your mask and the process of peeling it was so wretchedly painful. You hated that your vision was so flooded with tears you weren’t able to read Javier and just get a glance, a tiny peak at what he was feeling, “marked not only for being a woman, but by every single shitty thing I did up there,” he sighed “so, the CIA approached me, and took advantage of my situation.”

Javier wanted to scream, wanted to punch something, break anything, he wanted so much to stop relating to you and your reasons. It was as if he was looking at himself in the mirror and he didn’t like it. It was as if some all mighty God had already realized what he had done in the past and just started to punish him. And he was so angry that you were that punishment, that you, of all things, of everything he thought good, were the one chosen to deliver his punishment. 

You, oh so perfect you, so beautiful, so smart, so good, so strong you. You were the one chosen to break him. He wanted to stop seeing the undeniable parallel between you and him being forced to do things by the pure nature of your jobs, by leverage and advantage and just be angry, he just wanted to feel his anger and allow himself to hate you, but he just couldn’t. Not when you were there, standing in front of him, bawling out everything for him, undressing yourself to him, yet again, passing him the control of things. Ironic. He thought, he always had the impression he already had it.

“A precarious situation,” you explained, wetting your lips and taking a deep breath “they assured my job back if I took a six-month assignment for them, they wanted me to ke–”

“Keep an eye on me,” Javier cut you, looking at you with hardened, glistening eyes. You had to drop your gaze to the floor. What the fuck were you doing to him?

Fool, you fool, you stupid, horrible fool. Don’t you see you’re hurting him? Just leave him alone!

“Yeah,” you sighed out, sniffing again, seeing how your tears dropped straight to the floor, “and report all your movements back to them to… shit.”

“To what?”

You shook your head, not being able to lift your gaze from the floor, Javier looked at you and studied what he thought he knew about you. Which at that point he thought it was nothing but your actual name and the way your body quirked and spasmed under his touch. But maybe that was fake too. He saw the way you were hunched under yourself and an amazing yet brief moment of clarity struck him and he knew what you were going to say, fuck he knew, and he let himself smile at the expectation of your answer. For once having a little bit of a leverage.

“To avoid another Los Pepes scenario.” you whispered.

He laughed bitterly. And your chest shrunk at the sound.

Of fucking course.

That’s how you knew, that why you asked him about that the same fucking day you had told him about why you were in Colombia, the day you lied to him, to his face, on his bed, in his arms, after he had let you fuck him, after he had devoured you for the first time

Fucking shit, how he wanted to scream.

His smile became a snarl as soon as the memory of your body pressed against his came back to his head.

“Fuck me,” he shook his head and tightened his jaw.

“I didn’t understand at first why they looked at you like such a menace,” you said, not daring to look at him, and Javier hated it, he hated how you had hung your head low and looked at the carpeted floor, he hated it because he had seen you in your most confident self so many times, he had engraved in his mind the way you would handle yourself as if you were the owner of every building you ever stepped on, but then? right there? you just looked like a selfless child, like a hurt, abandoned girl. Fuck him. How could he keep thinking about you like that when while you looked like it you were destroying everything he had ever thought of you and whatever the fuck it was you two had? “then I met you.”

“So I’m a menace?” he snarked.

“For people like them? of course you are, Javier,” you let out a sigh and shook your head “they painted you as this… monster, that didn’t care about anything but getting shit done in any way you could,” you shrugged and lifted your head to look at him “but you do care, you care a lot.”

He didn’t say anything at the last statement you blurted out.

A thick, foggy silence fell upon you, you could feel it prickling around your face, eating your tears, you were sure that if you pulled out your tongue you could taste it, you could feel it, sneaking inside your ears and screaming at you. You never thought a silence could be so loud. But it was, a deafening silence.

Javier turned and walked to the desk, sitting on the edge and skimming through the other files that you had handed him, some of them were just more information about the corrupt politicians and some more about the cartel in itself. He didn’t say a word about the obvious and illicit origin of the files and for that you were grateful.

“I really thought,” your voice broke the silence again, and he seemed to ignore you “I thought I was doing good,” you closed your eyes, he wasn’t looking at you, yet again, “and then I got to see how things really were down here and… I knew instantly everything was just bullshit, just a fucking game,” Javier kept looking at the files and reading them and you wanted to beg him to look at you, you wanted to rush at him and grab his face and make him look at you in the eyes and tell you something, anything, to yell at you, to scream at you, because at the way his silence felt you were sure his screams would hurt less, “they played you, and they played me, and… I’m sorry.” 

“Why a DEA agent?” he questioned, closing the file he had just finished reading his hand resting on his thigh and the other on his hip, you frowned “why did they send down someone from the DEA instead of one of their own spies?”

You bit your lip, looking at the way his eyes were empty, void of any display of emotion, looking at the way he turned his face sterner, just as it was the first day you’d met him.

“Uh–because it was cheaper, to just create some sub-identity and I already knew the protocols.” you explained slowly, more for it to sink in to you than to him.

Javier hummed and returned his eyes to the next file, the one with your file. The real one.

You stood there while he read it. Trying to figure out what was going through his head, but as you were so emotionally spent you really couldn’t for the life of you read him anymore.

Javier felt his breath hitch as he read your real name, where you went to school, the fact that you had a master and the amount of time you had spent in México.

And then he chuckled. Under the name of your DEA adjacent’s name and your assigned partner there was your callsign: Flor.

He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and pointer and took a deep breath.

“What about your partner?” he cleared his throat “the one that sent you all that intel.”

Your chest dropped again and you felt your eyes fill with tears. Pure guilt and sadness.

“No one in México knew I got suspended, they just thought I got transferred, y’know?” you brushed the few tears that escaped your eyes “so I really did ask them for help, to give us anything on the narcos as we were aware of the connection,” Javier then saw you cover your mouth and sob “I fucking got Marcos fired.” your voice was muffled by your mouth and Javier had to, once again, fight the urge to grab you and pull you flush against his chest and comfort you.

“What else did you lie about?” he asked, not waiting for your sobs to die down, you shook your head.

“No–nothing, I sw–swear,” you sobbed out.

“Okay,” Javier stood from the desk and walked towards you. And for a second, a brief second, you allowed yourself to imagine that he wasn’t going to ask you what he did, and instead, he would brush your tears away, hold you or tell you that he forgave you. What a stupid little thought. “I think we’re done here.”

“Javi,” you called him and he flinched at how high pitched your voice became from the sobbing, he wasn’t looking at you, not really. His eyes were looking past you, “can you look at me?” you begged.

Fuck the hour you had let his eyes become your comfort.

“Get out,” he said, serious faced, lookin at nothing and everything but you.

“Jus–just, look at me? please?”

Javier closed his eyes, bit his lip and shook his head.

And pointed at the door.

“Right,” you tried to control the incoming sobs that were inundating your chest and throat and stood up straight, lining your shoulders and closing your eyes at how hard it was to leave, it was as if you had him glued to you and then you had to peel him off you, you looked at him one last time before turning around and walking towards the door, grabbing your bag in the way.

You didn’t even reach the door to the hallway when you exploded; you had to cover your mouth as you turned away from the entrance and propped yourself on the wall.

You felt like your heart might have actually stopped and you could only imagine how Javier felt.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you mumbled out, as if he had been still in front of you, as if he could listen.

You had to force yourself to walk into the open elevator and press the lobby button, because you knew that if you didn’t, you would’ve run back to his office and begged Javier to hold you, beg him to forgive you, even when you knew you didn’t deserve it.

Javier saw you walk out and watched your figure shrink at the office door, he had to close his eyes to stop from seeing the way you broke after everything you had told him. He had to turn around and grip the edge of the desk to physically stop himself from running to you, anchor himself to you and tell you he needed you.

Fuck the hour he had let your body become his comfort.

Once he was sure you weren’t there anymore, he opened his eyes, the files you had handed him were in front of him, one last file left to open.

Reluctantly, he took it and opened it.

“Shit,” he whispered. Feeling his breath hitch and his heart stop beating for half a second.

It was your resignation letter.

Just then, and only then, Javier let himself drown in his pain.

“Shit,” he spat through gritted teeth.

God how he wanted to hate you, he really wanted to hate you. But he couldn’t bring himself to turn all the love he had for you into hate. He couldn’t even when he really wanted to.

The guard at the front door didn’t even glance at you when you walked through the embassy doors, and for that you were grateful. When you realized you had driven with Javier to work, you had to cover your mouth again to muffle another sob.

You weren’t even outside the building yet and you were already missing him like crazy.

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[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Poison: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: ~1.8k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, fluff and angst

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated.

Feedback is gold, and it’s the only currency I take

"What is food to one is to others bitter poison." - Lucretius

Cases involving children are never your strong suit. The last one with Billie Copeland was just so hard, you’re not sure if you can be involved in another one--that is until you learned what this case is really all about. Yes, there is a child involved, but the bigger picture has a much larger scale than children.

You have to remind yourself that you need to focus on the case and not on Spencer. It shouldn’t even be a hard thing to do, but something happened between you two when you took him to the bookstore right next to your apartment. After checking out a couple of books, and after Spencer had read virtually all of them, you decided it was kind of late and that you needed to get home. The store was closing very soon anyway, so Spencer opted to walk you home.

When you got to your door, he decided to give you a kiss on your cheek, but you moved your head at the last minute. He accidentally got the corner of your mouth, and that messed up his whole thing. Based on his reaction to your mouths almost touching, you know he can’t be that interested in you. If he were, then he would have just kissed you right there and then. Instead, he stuttered a goodbye and left.

You haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since. Does he like you? If so, then why won’t he just kiss you? If he doesn’t, then why does he agree to go on these dates with you. Whenever you two go out, you clearly state that this is a date, and he doesn’t say anything that dismisses that idea. Sometimes, you just wish you knew what was going on inside that big brain of his so you can dejumble it and tell him what the fuck is going on. You’d do it now, but you have a case that needs your full attention.

Apparently, a man and his son were driving down the road one night when the father pulled to the side of the road and got out. He walked into the woods, the son followed after him, and the father beat him almost to death. The son is in the hospital undergoing critical care while the father is in the psych ward. You’re not sure how it happened or why, but you know that it did. Hotch and Gideon got hold of the interrogation video sent over by the New Jersey Police Department.

Detective Hanover is the person who is going to be in charge and is also the person who you will be working with the entire time you’re in Jersey.

“State trooper took this before the paramedics showed up,” the detective says and shows Jack Fisher, the father of Eric Fisher, a picture of his unconscious body. “He's unconscious and has four broken bones. He's gonna be in the hospital for a month.”

“I didn't hurt my son,” Jack sighs.

“Do you remember removing the tire iron from the trunk?”

What, he used a tire iron? You gasp softly and put your hand to your mouth as you continue to watch.

“No! No!”

“What's the last thing you remember?”

“I picked Eric up from school on Friday, for the weekend. Who would do this?” he cries softly.

Hotch ends the video there and addresses the entire briefing room.

“This happened two days ago in Beechwood, New Jersey. Mr. Fisher had ingested LSD one afternoon and didn't come down until eighteen hours later.”

“The hospital reported six other patients who ingested LSD in the last twenty-four hours. The hospital called the CDC, then the CDC called us,” JJ finishes.

“So, a bunch of people got spiked. What makes it a BAU case?” Derek wonders.

“They each received ten to twenty times the normal dose.”

“That’s enough to kill a small child,” Spencer informs.

“Or cause a grown man to try and kill him with a tire iron apparently,” you sigh.

“Of the seven victims, there was one death and one coma. This is from the hospital's security footage the same night Fisher lost it,” JJ explains and uses the remote to put a different video on the screen.

It’s of the hospital that is in complete chaos. People are shouting, pushing, yelling, and apparently, having seizures. One man is on a stretcher, and he’s clearly on something. The doctors around him try to push past the madness of people to get him to a room while the nurses have their hands full of scared and angry patients. This wasn’t a spike or an overdose…

“These people didn’t get spiked. They were poisoned,” you reveal.

“Of the seven victims, Gail Norman was the only death. She was seventy-eight. She ran out into the middle of the road, and she was hit by a car. She was DOA,” JJ reveals on the plane ride over to New Jersey.

You’re sitting next to Spencer in one of the seats that are super cramped so that they can fit four of them in on either side of a small table. You’re sitting by the window, so essentially, Spencer is blocking you in. He’s not a big person, but because you have romantic feelings for him, it feels like a fucking trap.

“The other potentially fatal case is nine-year-old Brittany Canon. She fell out of a treehouse and fractured her skull. She's in a coma, but the doctors don't know if she's going to come out of it,” Hotch says.

“How do you wanna handle the press?” Gideon asks the liaison.

“We still don't know how these people even got dosed. I think it would be irresponsible to issue a warning without specifics. It'll just cause panic. I did notify the local PD, though, to be discreet.”

“How is it possible that none of these people knew how they got poisoned?” Derek wonders.

“None of them remembers anything about the day it happened,” you say and gesture, but your hand brushes up against Spencer’s leg.

You blush and mutter an apology, but he doesn’t say anything about it. He looks at you and blushes as well, but he is better at hiding it than you are.

“These people were so messed up; it's made it difficult for local PD to retrace the victim's steps.”

“So, we need to go on precedent. We know there are four types of poisoners who target multiple victims,” Gideon starts.

“There's the true believer--the political terrorist/religious cult. There's the extortionist--the product tamperer that holds the business hostage in exchange for money. The prankster--it’s usually a younger offender who doesn't mean any harm, and it's basically just a big practical joke to them. Then we have the avenger--someone with a personal vendetta who chooses poison as their weapon,” you explain the different types of offenders.

“We need to find out as quickly as possible which type he is. Because with the exception of the prankster, all these types commonly test their poison on a small scale before appearing at a larger attack.”

“Then, let's hope this one was just a prank,” Derek scoffs.

"I suggest we split up the victims and see if there's a pattern to the victimology,” Gideon suggests.

“Most of them are still in the hospital. I'll call local PD to meet us there,” Hotch confirms.

“I'll check the lab reports. Maybe there's a clue to the unsub's motive in the specific nature of the poison he used,” Spencer calls dibs.

“I can't imagine anybody could want this to happen.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll head to the hospital with you. The kid may not be able to tell the doctor anything, but I certainly can. I’ll be able to see what really happened if his mother allows it.”

“Good,” Gideon nods once. “We need all the answers we can get.”

The hospital is buzzing with panic, fear, sadness, and grief. Many people are dying in this hospital, and to someone like you, you’re not sure you can be here for much longer. Hotch, Gideon, and the rest of the team don’t really understand how this all affects you. Normal people like the ones on your team see this hospital for what it is. They see people grieving and people crying, but they allow themselves to be separated from their emotions. They can walk into a loud crowd and tune out all the conversations and emotions without even thinking about it.

Not you. You’re completely different.

You walk into a crowd, and you’re overwhelmed by not only the physical sensation of people all around you, but your mind is also crowded. Your mind goes into overdrive as it inspects each person to make sure they are not a threat. To make sure that they are who they say they are. A normal person can see a kid walking down the street and not know they are kidnapped while you are able to determine that.

You walk into this hospital, and every single emotion of every single nurse, doctor, patient, and family member immediately go to your shoulders. Someone can be dying on the very top floor, and you’d feel how sad their family members are as they watch their beloved ones slip away. There could be someone in the next room receiving bad news, and it’ll be like you’re receiving the same news. It’s not fun living with your abilities, and you’ve caught yourself wishing it would all just end. However, you think about everyone you’ve saved, and it somehow all makes it okay.

“Detective Hanover, Beechwood PD,” the detective that was on the surveillance tape introduces himself to you, Gideon, and Hotch.

“Agent Hotchner, this is Agent Gideon and Agent Y/L/N.”

“Thanks for coming down on such short notice. The doctor said he may have permanent brain damage. I've never seen anything like this,” he sighs and looks at Eric, the little boy who was beaten by his own father.

“Well, let's hope we can help him.”

“Have you had a chance to review the victim's files?”

“We're especially interested in talking to the boy's father,” Gideon says.

“We'd like to get a sense of why he turned violent while the lab analyzes the specific nature of the LSD he was dosed with. we'd like to get our own sense: was it the drug itself or was there something else going on? Hopefully, that can give us a little bit of a window into the motive of the offender,” Hotch explains.

“He's in the psych ward.”

“Well, we'll keep it short,” Gideon replies.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll meet up with you two. I’m going to talk to the mother,” you offer, and Hotch just nods.

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[delimeful]

WIBAR Intermission: New Friends

winner of the first july patreon poll! thanks to @legendsgates for allowing me to sneak in a brief cameo of their alien species, cetarfreka!

previous intermission episode | start of WIBAR

warnings: violence, fear, tension, ptsd episodes, injury mention, being held hostage, misunderstandings, deception

-

It was about halfway through their trading circuit that the vidcomm from the Mindscape popped up.

Remyy perked up instantly, Patton’s distinctive singsong voice clear even from half across the main bay. They dropped to their feet and tucked all their wings tight against them to signal that anyone in the way should swiftly get out of the way. Those in the bay who knew them cast strange glances in their direction as they hop-skittered across the floor.

Remyy couldn’t blame them; this was probably the fastest they’d moved all week. They usually maintained a much more casual demeanor for the sake of their reputation, but in this case...

“Patton! Babes, you’re really okay!”

“Remyy!” The Ampen fluffed up, a pleasant glow filling the room around him, face pinching up happily.

In this case, exceptions would be made.

The Obrxyx currently managing the comms sighed at them, unimpressed. “You have this one, then?”

“Sure do,” Remyy drawled, still leaning between xem and the monitor so that half their face took up the comm screen. “We go way back, I’ll get them docked.”

They waited impatiently for xem to move to a different comm terminal, adjusted the seatpad so they could be seen properly through the comm, and promptly started complaining. “I can’t believe you guys, holing up in that rinky dink ship for so long with only voice calls to tell everyone that you were okay! Where’s the gossip? Why in the universe would you keep it from me?”

Patton’s hands jerked, and the comm screen wobbled, blurring his expression strangely for a moment. Remyy tilted their goggles slightly for a better angle, but by the time the mobile communicator stabilized, any change in demeanor had vanished.

“Be careful, Rem,” Patton said teasingly, “it almost sounds like you care about us or something.”

“Funny,” Remyy replied dryly, “I’ll have you know that I’ve just been missing Logan’s high quality deathbrew, none of that sentimental garbage.”

Patton laughed at them silently with his gaze alone. Innocent, naive Ampen, their ass.

“Are we cleared to dock y-- Is that Remyy?” Another voice from offscreen dropped abruptly into horror, and Remy’s eyes narrowed in gleeful amusement.

“It sure is, gurl,” they called, “and the Remyy in question seems to recall a certain bet that was never paid up on. 30 cenals, cough ‘em up.”

There was a loud groan, and then a thump that shook the comm slightly. Patton spent a moment staring at something with a confused frown, and then seemed to get it, nodding. He turned back to them very seriously.

“Sorry, Roman can’t come to the comm right now,” he informed them. “He, uh, died. Very recently. And tragically."

Belatedly, he put on a sad expression, antennae drooping. Remyy raised their eyebrows, unimpressed.

“Uh huh. Well, I suppose I’ll just have to join in on the funeral rites once I get down to help carry the goods over, huh--?”

“No!” The voices of both his friends overlapped, making the comm audio fuzz harshly for a moment. Remyy’s secondaries flared slightly, taken aback at the vehemence.

“Uh, I mean, we don’t have that much,” Patton hurried to patch up the awkward pause. “How about we meet you in the docking lobby instead? You can get Roman’s credits there.”

“Hey!”

Remyy’s ears angled back with displeased confusion, but they acquiesced anyhow. “Hurry up, then. And make sure Logan brings my brew!”

Whatever it was they were hiding, Remyy was sure they’d be able to weasel it out of them in no time.

---

After grabbing a short meal and a boring haggling session between the Mindscape’s crew and the cargo manager of the Starwinder, Remyy finally got to learn about what had happened to Patton during his disappearance.

It wasn’t pretty.

Their senspatches felt dry at the mere thought of Patton stripped of his coat and forced to starve because of it. It was beyond lucky that the remaining two of the trio managed to find and free the Ampen from the harvesters before it was too late. If anyone could do it, though, they believed this crew could.

Patton had grown quieter and less fluffy throughout the course of the tale, with Roman and Logan taking turns delivering a well-practiced explanation of the events. Seeing as these were extenuating circumstances, Remyy submitted to cuddles just this once, allowing the small alien to bury his face in the folds of their leathery armwings.

They took a moment once the story was over, casually and completely unintentionally folding more of their wing over Patton. “That bites, babes.”  

“Yeah.” The Ampen hummed in response, mouth pinched strangely. “I… I’m really grateful that I got help when I did.”

Logan set a careful hand on Patton’s back, though the motion almost came across as less comforting and more… cautioning? Remyy’s senspatches flared up slightly as they tried to read more into the situation.

Before they could really investigate, though, Roman was leaning forwards and grabbing the edge of their arm to get their attention.

“Remyy. We’ve been having something of an adjustment period. Drop it, please?”

They flickered their ears at him dismissively, but really… looking at the small crew, they could see a sort of wariness reflected in their stiff posture, the way the three of them constantly cast glances back to the dock hall that would lead to their ship. Trying to make sure they had a quick exit. Whatever the details of their experience, it was stressing them out to lay it all out in the open like this. Remyy could understand that.

“Fine, whatever,” they sighed, sipping at the bitter brew Logan had thoughtfully provided. “I suppose I’ll keep my awe-inspiring ability to root out interesting tidbits to myself for now. I can just grill Lo later.”

The three friends slumped in relief, and Remyy turned their face away slightly to allow them some privacy to recover. They probably wouldn’t appreciate it, that was mostly an Elimtran thing, but it was the effort that counted. They cast about for some other topic to distract. What else had they heard about lately… oh!

“Have you all heard the stories about the rogue Human going around lately?”

There was spluttering, and they turned back to see Roman seemed to have inhaled mid-drink, and was now muffling coughs into his shoulder. Patton studiously avoided eye contact as he patted the Cravon sympathetically. Logan shifted one arm out from where they were politely tucked away, looking intensely intrigued. Strange, he wasn’t usually one for gossip.

“We have not,” he stated, hands twitching in preparation for his thought weaving thing. “Would you care to elaborate?”

“Uh, duh,” they replied, trying not to think too much on the rather extreme reaction.  If the crew was really so stressed, it made sense that news of a Human would freak them out. Shit, they sucked at this. Gathering information would make them feel more secure, yeah? “It’s been circulating at some of the more shady ports we’ve been to, rumors that a small-tier smuggling ring recently managed to rise through the ranks just because they got their hands on a Human and knew how to use it to their advantage. That much is like, okay, horrifying to know that there’s still Humans out there in the outer ranges, but whatever, it’s under lock and key.”

Patton clung to their wing tighter. They paused, deliberating on whether or not to continue.

“I assume, going by the fact that you called h-- it a ‘rogue’ Human, that's not the case anymore?” Logan supplied, waving for them to proceed.

“Well, yeah. Apparently, it tore through practically half the group members before escaping, and now people are reporting cases of a bloodthirsty Human all over this quadrant. Not that the calls are accurate. It’s just hearsay,” they made sure to add. “It might just be someone trying to work the local governs into a panic, put pressure on the Council for this or that political maneuver.”

Logan didn’t respond for a concerning amount of time. “Right. Of course, that is plausible. Still, thank you for the information, Remyy. We will… keep it in mind.”

Remyy sunk lower in their seat, regretting bringing the topic up at all. “Mm. You do that, babes. Remember the stats, too. There’s a warrant out. Sooner or later, the Council will probably find whoever’s at the source of the rumors and put them to rights, Human or not.”

“That’s… great,” Roman got to his feet abruptly. “I think maybe we should head out soon. We’ve got that next landing to prep for, after all. Holmao isn’t known for its gentle terrain.”

“What?” Remyy’s secondaries flared slightly as they stood up too, abandoning their drink and dislodging Patton. “You just got here! Aren’t you at least going to catch a night’s rest? No offense to your ship, but the arti-grav ain’t exactly stellar.”

“That’s why we need to do more jobs! Save up for better arti-grav installation, right guys?” Roman’s voice seemed slightly frantic. Remyy suddenly remembered what little history the Cravon had shared with them, and swore mentally. They really, really shouldn’t have brought up the Human.

“Ro, look, I’m so--”

Their voice abruptly cut off as a cool line of metal pressed between their wings, right against their life vein. They saw as Roman’s eyes locked on something behind them, scales rising to a prickling stand quicker than they’d ever witnessed before.

“Nobody move,” a voice behind them called in clear, precise Common. “Or you get to bleed out right after this one.” The flat of the blade pressed harder against their back, and they couldn’t stop their ears from flattening completely in terror.

“Let them go,” Roman demanded, halfway to a snarl. Before he could even take a step, though, more armed strangers were swarming into the lobby, barking orders for the few other people currently in the room to get down. Expression dark, Roman held his arms out in a gesture of compliance, though his scales continued to stick out in a defensive bristle.

Raiders, it had to be. Remyy knew they knew the reptilian symbol that was engraved in each of the strangers black masks, but they couldn’t remember the group’s name for the fear flooding their mind, keeping them frozen in place.

One of them kicked Patton clear away from Remyy’s legs, and the Ampen let out a short shriek of pain before clapping his hands over his mouth. The raider behind Remyy laughed, apparently unconcerned about any alarms being raised, but Remyy was more focused on the way the Mindscape crew exchanged panicked glances, Logan kneeling next to Patton and subtly signing something in Crav’n.

“Now, here’s how this is going to work.” The one behind Remyy gestured with their other hand, which Remyy could now see was holding a paralyzer. Raiders were known for using them to get information, since most aliens could take a few shots from one before succumbing to the pain. “You’re all going to line up against the wall while we search your vessels, and in exchange, nobody has to die, got it?”

Remyy could only look straight ahead, so they got a clear view of Patton’s furious glow dimming down to horrified in an instant at the leader’s words. Whatever the three of them were hiding, it was hidden on their ship, and apparently not well enough.

They ran their tongue along their teeth for a moment, debating, and then wiggled their ears slightly, loosening the grip their goggles had until they were slipping down their face slightly. Only their upper eyes were exposed, but with any luck, it would be enough.

It wasn’t long till they managed to make eye contact with a nearby raider; the leader was the one giving orders, after all, and they were being held hostage by said leader, so it made sense that eyes would stray in their direction.

The moment they locked gazes, Remyy flickered their pupils and let their senspatches slowly pulse. The raider took a moment to bob their head in confusion before becoming visibly more relaxed, and Remyy didn’t waste any time. 'Circle around and attack the one holding me.'

The raider swayed slightly for a moment before moving to obey, a side effect of not being exposed to the full hypnotic effect of their eyes, and Remyy had a moment to feel hopeful that maybe they could actually pull this off.

“Grahh’m, what are you-- Oh, you little shit,” the leader spat, moments before a strike to the side of Remyy’s head had them seeing stars. They heard Roman growling furiously, still forced to the ground under threat of gunfire, and hoped that he wouldn’t do anything stupid. He wouldn’t be any use if he was convulsing from pain.  

“I should have known better than to leave an Elimtra awake and armed, hmm?” The leader flipped them to their back, pressing a knee to their chest and crushing their secondaries uncomfortably against the floor. A moment later,  their other hand was shoving their goggles harshly back over their face.

Remyy gagged slightly as all the air was forced from their lungs. “Probably should’ve, ye-- eah,” they replied, struggling to inhale again.

“Funny.” There was a glint of silver uncomfortably close to their eyes. The knife. Remyy regretted the snark. They regretted the snark so much.

The leader paused. “Oren, is it the eyes or the little spots under them that do the hypnotizing, do you recall?”

There was a pause, in which ‘Oren’ seemed to have no answer, and Remyy realized with a chill just what was being threatened. The leader considered them for a moment, and then pulled their dark mask further up to cover more of their face.  

“I suppose I’ll just get rid of both, hmm?” The knife wavered closer.

Across the room, there was a loud crash, and a strangled yell that cut off as quick as it started. Remyy watched as the leader’s head jerked up, and saw the moment that the severe frown on their face abruptly transformed into utter terror. Hurriedly, the raider stood back up, and they were pulled up along, shoved in front of them like a shield.

It didn’t take long to see why. Across the lobby, near the entrance to the dock halls, a tall, slender figure was holding the remains of what must have been a seatpad. The rest of it appeared to be lying crumpled along with the limp raider that had been closest to that entryway.

The whisper spread through the room as quick as any small-town rumor: Human.

The being was scanning the eerily-silent space, and when it reached the spot where the leader stood, accompanied by Remyy and friends, it’s lips curled up into a vicious snarl, teeth on full display. It moved forwards in a way Remyy could only describe as predatory, and the leader went tense behind them. “Stop that thing, now!”

One raider, either damn brave or damn stupid, charged right in, and received the rest of the seatpad to the skull for their efforts. Remy winced at the sound. This seemed to be the signal for the rest of the raiders to converge, and the room descended into pandemonium.

In the thick of it all, the Human-- for what else could it really be?-- continued to advance, unrelenting. It wasn’t as fast as some aliens Remyy had met, but it didn’t need to be. The way that it stalked through the room radiated threat like an oath, and when opponents did dare to stand in it’s way, the blows were vicious and crunching, often leaving splatters of residue on its skin.

Most frightening of all was the way it handled the paralyzers, which should have driven any creature with pain receptors to the floor. Each time a shot landed on the human, it would tear the spiked prongs out with a twitch and a grimace and just keep moving.

By the time the leader realized that a strategic retreat was long overdue, it was already far too close for comfort. Remyy heard a swear behind them, and then they were being shoved, hard.

They caught a glimpse of Roman moving, and then they found themself busy tripping directly into a Human’s warpath. So much for surviving this.

They folded their wingarms over their head in some paltry attempt at defense as they fell. There was a grunt, and then a hot grip on their shoulders, all-too-close to the base of their secondaries and stars above were they going to have their glider wings torn clear off--?

“‘Scuse me,” the Human muttered in Common, and then lifted Remyy clear off the ground, easy-as-you-please, and set them down to the side. It brushed past them, heading straight towards Roman and the others, and Remyy stared after it.

Rather than continue after the leader, who had been thoroughly pinned by Roman and was currently swearing viciously, the Human stopped in front of Logan and Patton and dropped to a crouch. Remyy jerked forward, but neither of their friends seemed keen to jump away or defend themselves. In fact, Patton looked to be carefully headbutting the Human’s chest, and Logan was speaking in low, comforting tones. Even stranger, the Human seemed to be listening.

The circuits connected in their mind, illuminating a truly outlandish conclusion.  

They whistled lowly, drawing all the attention in the room to them. “Listen up, babes. As a subsect representative of the Council, I’m authorized to do my thing here, so I’m gonna need everyone to follow my directions.”

“Remyy, what?” Roman asked, and was thoroughly ignored. A nearby Cetarfris protested from where they were practically pressed halfway up the wall, red eyes wide and patterned tail thrashing in terror.

“Are you genuine? Do you not see the Human right there?”

Remyy clicked their tongue in reproach. “Gurl, do I not have enough eyes for you or somethin’? I will handle the Human. What else is the Council good for?”

“Uh, governing?” someone else muttered. Remyy ignored them, too.

“I need all the raiders that haven’t already jetted in holding cells immediately. I’m sure there’ll be a hefty reward for members of this particular gang, even if they’re small fries, so anyone who pitches in can get some of that bounty. And remember, keep your mouths shut about this unless you want to be up to your orifices in paperwork at best. If you have to gossip, keep names out of it or I'll know who snitched.” Remyy shifted their goggles up on their forehead, turning to the Human and ignoring the thick tension in the room. “I’ll escort the Human to proper captivity. Roman, Logan, Patton, with me.”

As expected, the mere fact that the Mindscape crew were accompanying seemed to put the Human at ease, even if just slightly. Now, came the bit that would make or break the lie. They moved forwards slowly and reached out for the Human’s shoulder, tugging slightly at it as though this wasn't the creature that had just plowed through a band of raiders like they were dust in the wind. “C’mon, babes.”

After a pause, the Human followed. The relief in the room was palpable, and Remyy was no exception. They liked a good bet as much as the next guy, but generally preferred when there weren’t so many lives at stake.

See, the thing about being a species that was somewhat infamous for their hypnotic abilities was that everyone assumed you were using them, even if you weren’t. This tended to lean more in the direction of being a bad thing, but in this case, it helped Remyy tremendously, as nobody cast a second glance at them as they guided the docile Human through the lobby.

That might also have been because nobody wanted to be in the same room as a rogue Human for very long, but such was the way of things. Small details.

Soon enough, they reached the dock halls, and Remyy swiftly led the four of them onboard the Mindscape. They closed and locked the connecting port after them, and resisted the urge to collapse in relief.

Instead, they turned around to assess the rest of this mess.

It was quite a scene, and at first, they seemed too busy amongst themselves to even notice Remyy.

The Human was curled in on themself in one corner, looking pallid and ill, but also coiled so tightly it looked like they were one wrong word from fleeing the quadrant. Positioned firmly in front of them, Roman was audibly rattling from head to tail, moving on automatic as he bodily prevented the other two from approaching. Remyy would have thought the gesture was for the Human’s sake if not for the way Roman angled his own body, like he expected to be attacked from behind at any moment.

“It’s not safe,” he uttered over and over, gaze haunted. “It’s not safe. You have to hide.”

Patton warbled in wordless distress, and Logan gave up on trying to pull Roman away, instead simply holding his ground and speaking to the Cravon, calm and firm.

“This isn’t then, Roman. We’re here, and that is Virgil, and he is not going to hurt us. We’re safe. We are on the Mindscape. We are safe. Observe the space around you. Can you tell me five things you see?”

Remyy waited unobtrusively as the two of them slowly coaxed Roman back into the present, bit by bit. When he hunched over to be closer to his shorter friends, Patton carefully grabbed his hand, rubbing small circles into it in a soothing gesture Remyy wasn’t familiar with. “You with us, Ro?”

Roman signed something with his other hand, too quick for Remyy to grasp, and Patton smiled, a bit sad. “We’re okay, but there’s a little bit of a situation going on with Remyy, remember?”

Roman glanced at them, and then to the Human, who was still vibrating violently. Remyy had thought it was barely restrained anger, at first, but the longer they watched, the more it seemed compulsive, more fearful than furious. It only increased as Roman’s attention fell heavy on him.

“I didn’t mean to,” the Human said, voice as shaky as the rest of him. “I swear, I-- I just heard Patton yell, and they had weapons, like-- I… I didn't want to hurt anyone. I’m sorry that I-- that I did. But you guys were in danger. I couldn’t just... leave you to that.”

He sounded almost resigned, like he was trying to plead his case but had already accepted deep down that it was pointless to fight his sentence. When Roman turned away from him, his thoughts only seemed to be confirmed, and his face dropped another shade as his gaze darted over to Remyy. He seemed apprehensive, not that Remyy could really blame him. Poor guy probably thought he was about to be surrendered to law enforcement.

“Remyy.” Roman’s voice sounded wrung out, and from Patton’s concerned expression, the Cravon probably didn’t normally force himself to speak after episodes like this. “Virgil isn’t-- He’s better here with us. He doesn’t... deserve to be subjected to the Council just because he decided to... to save us.”

The Cravon opened his mouth as though to say more, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he signed something short and planted himself in a sitting position in front and slightly to the side of the Human, even as his scales still shivered. ‘Virgil’ was staring at him like he’d grown a second head.

“Roman’s right!” Patton took the opportunity to jump in front of them like the universe’s smallest, cutest guardian angel, cloak and ruff fluffed up stalwartly. Most effective of all was the Ampen’s ‘I’m-not-mad-I’m-just-disappointed-at-your-life-choices’ look. “Virgil is part of our family, and I’ll fight you about it!”

The Ampen’s tiny glare wasn't nearly as alarming as the assessing look Virgil cast over them, like he thought Remyy was really going to try and fight Patton and was prepared to intervene. They resisted the urge to cast their lower eyes up in exasperation. Who would fight Patton? There was no reward, you’d just end up feeling bad. And also end up getting totally trashed by a Human, apparently.

As always, Logan was the one to get it first. He stepped forwards, extending a hand. “Before you take any legal action against our crew member, I’d like to see your Council identification.”

Remyy’s cheeks bunched up smugly as they stretched their armwings out in front of them casually. “That’s too bad, Brainiac, ‘cause I totally don’t have any.”

There was a brief pause. “What, you guys really thought I was some kind of narc?”

“You lied right to all those people’s faces?” Patton asked, somewhat aghast. Roman shot them a dirty look at the deception, but he also let all the tension leak out of him, so Remyy counted it as a win. Logan simply looked exasperated.

“Not completely. I’ve got connections to get their bounties called in quick, and I ‘handled’ the Human, didn’t I? It’s not my fault if they misinterpreted things.”

“This is all you’re going to do to… ‘handle’ me?” the Human asked, looking uncertain, a little suspicious, and even kind of bewildered. “Just… let me go? What’s the catch?”

They really did roll their eyes up this time. “Babes, I’m covering for you. Seeing as you literally just saved my beautiful face, and these losers vouch for you, I figure you can get some benefit of the doubt. Besides, I’m not done with you all just yet.”

The four of them studied Remyy with varying levels of wariness, and then confusion as the Elimtra strolled past them all to head further into the ship.

“If you think you’re going anywhere before you tell me all about how this whole situation came about, honey, you’ve got a big storm coming.”

[tokoyamisstuff]

Betrothred Ch. 1 - Illumi Zoldyck x Reader

Chapter 1: Bride

Summary: After making your choice, there’s no going back from it.

Warnings: Blood, Murder, Threats, Angst

Words: 2390

Story Masterlist

A/N: This first chapter is kinda angsty but it gets better, I swear!

Today is the day.

Even though only mere hours would separate you from becoming a part of the Zoldyck family, the whole situation still felt very much surreal to you.

To be invited and welcomned on their property was one of the greatest honor of all, but to be considered a fitting consort for their eldest son was just unimaginable.

One of the butlers was harshly braiding your hair, trying to get it in a position you’d usually never wear. Another one would be working on your make-up, something you’d usually find unnecessary considering your profession.

Why would an assassin care for their physical appearance anyway? Well, all of this was probably part of some kind of tradition or ritual.

No matter how roughly they were tearing and tugging on you, trying to modify your body until you wouldn’t even recognize yourself in the mirror, you’d take their invasion of your personal space in a calm demeanour.

Because that’s how you were raised.

Obey, endure and function.

Your bloodline had a long history of both feared and powerful Head Hunters, for decaded being third place of all known assassin families - with the Zoldycks claiming the indisputable top.

Torture, poison and death were your fellow comrades throughout your whole youth, even though there were limits:

Only the most promising children would be chosen to become Head Hunters. The others were free to choose their way as they wished.

Your upbringing was strict, yet loving. And it was forbidden to break your free will. Serving the family should be an honor, not a burden.

Other than the Zoldycks, your family believed that emotions could become the surce of strenght.

There were other moral standarts: Murdering children was off limits, for example.

And your ‘carreer’ was just about to begin when it took this unexcpected turn.

You had met your soon-to-be-husband after finally completing your formal training, now allowed to take on the Hunter Exam.

Already accustomed to the basics of Nen, it was easy for you to see behind the disguise of the man calling himself Gittarackur.

At first being rather passive, even as the two of you completed the Trick Tower together, he soon stated to be impressed by your exceptional strenght and capability.

Truth be spoken, you always thought yourself to be mediocre at best. So that sudden compliment hit you off guard, especially after he casually revealed his true identity and heritage.

Immediately after the exam, you gathered all of your courage and asked Illumi to teach you in the ways of a true assassin - so you could grow and become the next leader of your clan.

And much to your surprise, he instantly accepted, not even wanting anything in return. You were useful to him and his missions, he stated. That would be enough.

After that, it wouldn’t take long until the stoic man announced that you’d make for a formidable spouse, asking your father for your hand in marriage.

Even though you weren’t quite sure if you made the right decision, his proposal alone the greatest honor for your kin and you just couldn’t disappoint them.

Illumi had always been very reserved about anything else than his work, making you doubt he was even capable of feeling anything else than the joy of killing.

Yet he was a reliable ally, both smart and strong - and admittedly very good looking. You were convinced that he wasn’t the monster most people saw in him: He had just been molded to be the perfect assassin.

And because of that, he would make for a good husband as well.

“Well, don’t you look beautiful?” The voice behind your back was Kikyo, dismissing the servants with a single gesture of her hand.

You wanted to stand up and make a curtsy as a sign of respect, yet felt her palms on your shoulder, pressing down so you’d remain in your seat.

Looking in the mirror, you saw your mother in law behind your back, her visor making it hard to read her intentions. Her aura gave it all away, though.

Illumi’s proposal surprised her just as much as yourself, and she obviously wasn’t content with it. You actually doubtet that she’d ever consider someone good enough to marry one of her children, so you didn’t take it personal.

The pressure would only help you grow.

“You’ll become the perfect partner for my son, won’t you?” Her fingernails dug deep into your flesh, but you didn’t even flinch. “Of course, honorable mother.”

“Good.” Apparently your answer didn’t calm her fury, since her fingermails only turned in the wounds they dug into your flesh. She only stopped when she realized that the blood was staining your clothes.

“I don’t expect any less from a lowlife like you are.” Seems like you should stay alerted around her. But that was no surprise, and it didn’t scare you either.

You knew what you were getting yourself into. And it was worth it.

To prove your worth, you’d go even beyond your limits.

“It’s time, Y/N.”

Up until now, you hid your emotions very well - but hearing that familiar, monotonous voice, you couldn’t help but smile.

“Illumi!” Kikyo shreeked out, “You’re not allowed to see Y/N before the ceremony!”

“Unnecessary superstition” he retorted quite unaffected, approaching both of you.

Kikyo stepped back, revealing you fully. He took in your appearance, rather observing than anything else. “Is that your blood?”

“Nothing worth mentioning.”

He grabbed your ankle, forcing you up from his seat to look at him. “How did this happen?”

You didn’t dare answering. It was not your place to drive a wedge between your fianceé and his mother, even though you highly doubtet that he would care at all.

Illumi turned around, his blank stare now directed to his mother, who defendingly put her hands into the air. “I-I was just advising-”

“No need for that” he cut her off. “I can take care of any business concerning my partner myself.”

Now she got all hysterical again, just as you got to know her. “B-but-”

“Never touch them again, or I’ll kill you.”

Kikyo relented, then having a mental breakdown for excactly 5 seconds, screams and cries filling the room.

The air had gotten incredibly thick, the unsettling atmosphere making you wish to just disappear right on spot.

“Oh, Illumi!” she exclaimed, sounding jubilant all of a sudden. “Being so cruel to your own mother...You’ve grown so much!”

What a weird fucking family.

“Show me your arms” Illumi demanded after he told his mother to be left alone, yet you flinched away.

“I apologize for having provoked an argument” you spoke all humble, “My wounds are of no concern. Don’t worry.”

“Starting today, I’m expected to take care of you. So you should obey and let me patch this up.” You sat down with a small sigh, exposing your shoulders and presenting them to him. “It would be a shame if you get scarred by something else than a honorable battle.”

Eventually you found time to appreciate your fianceé’s exterior: Illumi had his hair braided back, wearing a fully black suit with a white shirt and a bow tie.

It was the first time you ever saw him in formal wear, and it actually suited him very well.

“You’re very handsome, Lumi” you absentmindedly blurted out as you watched him bandage the wounds on your shoulder.

And Illumi would acknowledge your looks in his own way. “Your appearance is very adequate for this occasion as well.” That counts as a compliment, right?

“Glad you like it” you smiled, “But sadly the stains won’t get out. And we have no time to clean off the blood.”

Illumi swiftly helped you on your feet once again, vaguely explaining “Don’t worry. It won’t stand out after the ceremony.”

You linked arms with Illumi, who led you to the main room as you still pondered about what exactly he meant with that statement.

The celebration would be a small one, not even your own family being allowed to attend. When you entered the generously decorated hall, there were only Silva, Kikyo, Zeno, Kalluto and Milluki.

“Welcome, Y/N” Silva spoke in a way more welcoming tone than his wife earlier. You bend your head as you stood in front of the table where the family had gathered, greeting them politely before making your way to the altar.

Zeno would be the one to confirm the bond. You were actually glad that it was him, because he had already grown fond of you.

“Are you ready?” the old man wondered, noticing how you were trembling.

“Far away from it” you chuckled without doubt, adding “But I’m prepared to do anything.”

“That’s a honest but brave answer, young adult” he paised in an attempt to calm you down, then arranging both you and Illumi to stand facing each other. “And just what you need to become part of this family.”

One sign of Silva and the door swung open, a Bunch of butlers dragging in a terribly inured human.

Much to your shock, the person was not dead - not yet.

“So it begins” Illumi whispered as he saw the man wince in pain, begging for his life, and he almost cracked something like a smile.

“Wha-” Before you could even comprehend what was happening, it hit you like a brick: You were supposed to finish that person off.

That was what Illumi meant. A few blood stains on your wedding dress really were your smallest problem considering what awaited you from this day on.

“That man invaded our property with the intend to kill us” Silva explained to you, his stare bringing across his demands. “You’ll prove your loyality through ending his life.”

At that moment, you knew that you’ll disappoint them - because you were frozen in place.

You had taken and destroyed so many lives, yet always had the full information on them and could decide through your own standarts. But now?

What if it was a lie? You didn’t know that man, why he was here or if he deserved death.

Maybe he had family or came for revenge. Goddamn it, he could even be a reporter who just sneaked in to snatch a photo! Or they had presented you a completely innocent man, seeing if you were the undoubting slave they wanted to have!

Madness runs in this family, apparently.

It was a test. You knew that much. Quite fitting for someone from a family which was only rank three, known for their rather humane way of working.

“No Nen allowed” Kikyo completed the task, “No guns or similar either. You may only use your bare hands or close combat weapons.”

Yes. It was way harder, imprinting your soul to kill that direct way. How you’d deal with the situation was crucial for the outcome of this wedding. 

But were you really ready to throw all of your morality abroad just for your own sake?

“We won’t kill you if you decline the order” Illumi cut off your brooding. Was it out of sympathy? You had no idea. “You’ll be considered unfitting, but you are free to leave and no one will ever bother you again.”

“N-No” you stumbled across your own words, “I’ll do everything for the family.”

“Interesting” Zeno stated. “I never doubtet your spouse, Illumi, but I thought they'd take longer to decide.”

"I think Y/N will make for a great companion.” Silva’s wide grin streched across his face, making his eyes wrinkle a bit. “In both family and business.”

When all was said and done, Illumi grabbed a knive that was placed on the altar. “Let’s do it together, then.”

You almost felt guilty that you became flustered in a moment like this, but couldn’t help it as Illumi genuinely smiled at you, taking your hand as you took firm steps towards the enemy.

“P-Please have mercy!” the man pleaded to no avail, and determination swelled in your chest at that intense moment.

Taking someone’s life together - it would connect two people in a cruel yet beautiful way.

Whatever else could be more fitting for the marriage of two assassins? 

It would be an easy kill. He was unable to flee or fight back. Just a single strike, ending his life quick as act of mercy.

“You should’ve known better than to mess with my new family.”

Both of your hands intertwined, wrapping your fingers around the handle of the knive before thrusting it into the victim’s chest.

And then it dawned to you.

“A needleman?” you sulked, ripping out one of Illumi’s needles out of the stranger’s head, while the others broke out in boisterous laughter.

“Yeah. He was already dead” Illumi shrugged. “I know you don’t like burdening yourself with victims you didn’t choose yourself. But we needed to test you anyway. It’s a tradition.”

Was he actually respecting your boundaries?! What the-

“I like your guts!” Silva attempted to pat your back, but it felt rather like he was going to break your spine. “Sorry for our harsh methods. I know it can be a bit much at the beginning. You’ll get used to obey our rules slowly, don’t push yourself.

Even Kikyo embraced you, now almost convincing motherly. “Reminds me of my first kill for the family!”

It almost felt like those people could actually feel compassion for others. They at least had undoubtingly strong bonds with each other, even if their way of living together was rather unusual.

Stiff movements as always, Illumi placed his hand on your head, almost as if a robot was trying to mimick human interaction. “I’m proud of you. I knew I chose well.”

The rest of the ceremony was just as you expected it: No vows, no rings, no music, no kiss. Just you and Illumi hearing to whatever Zeno had to say about bringing honor and wealth to the family, bearing strong offsprings, and other things that were the exact opposite from romantic.

“Blood for blood” Zeno stated now instead of “You may now kiss”, and every family member repeated it.

You took the knife from the altar once again, cutting your palm until it drew blood without any hesitation. Illumi would now do the same, then reaching out his hand for yours to hold.

As your fluids mixed before dropping to the floor, you unsucessfully searched for any hint of emotional reaction in your husbands expressionless face.

His eyes however would never leave yours, his hand firmly squeezing yours before Zeno announced:

“Your fates are now inextricably connected.”

____

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[elareine]

I know I already gave you one, but I just thought of this now, if you could, or ignore it, either one is fine, can you please write Nurse or Doctor Tim with JayTim or DickTim, or both go crazy with it, if you want. And Tim being so exasperated with them because they keep giving him the lamest excuses for their injuries, because they don't know he knows or they suspect he knows but both sides are trying to see who will mention it first. So its like a big competition of who will break first.

So the competition aspect got lost a bit? I hope you still enjoy it :) 

Warning: Some dark jokes about domestic violence, mostly borne out of my experience when I actually fell down the stairs. Also I blatantly did not care about the actual medical issues in this. 

“You fell down the stairs.” 

Usually, when Tim had to repeat these words to someone, he said them gently: telegraphing his disbelief as well as his willingness to keep up appearances as long as the victim needed to. With kids, he was a bit more direct, though only after separating them from the parent. He never spoke this sarcastically; that would be uncalled for. 

(Also, contrary to popular belief, some people actually did fall down the stairs.) 

Today? Today his words were dripping with sarcasm. 

The man—‘Richard Grayson’ according to his file, ‘Dick’ according to his introduction, ‘Gotham’s most handsome bachelor’ according to the gossip mags—rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I… maybe it was more, like. The roof?” 

“Did the roof use a whip, by any chance?” Tim asked, examining the welts. “What did you do to piss off Catwoman?” 

“Not—Nothing, because I fell down the stairs.” 

“The roof.” 

“The stairs on the roof.” 

Tim sighed. “Alright. We’re gonna need an x-ray because I suspect your muscle has been cut through. Please report to room three, and the nurse will take care of it.” 

“Sure thing, doc!” 

—

When Tim had been inspired by Thomas Wayne to become a doctor, this hadn’t been what he envisioned. 

Cure the sick? Sure. Fix bones and other injuries? As an orthopedic specialist: every day. Look at every injury Dick Grayson acquired during his totally-legal activities? Nope. What the fuck. 

The explanations became increasingly stupider, too, which was hard to believe seeing how they started with a chart-topper like ‘I fell down the stairs/roof and it happened to look like a belt from a whip.’ 

Tim had resolved early on that he wouldn’t ask. His patience for Dick’s weak-ass excuses was close to zero, sure, but it was safer  to keep away. This was a professional medical praxis that cared for everyone, no matter their allegiance. Tim didn’t even know which vigilante was sitting in front of him. 

…oh, who was he kidding. This was Nightwing. None of the other vigilantes in Gotham was that chipper. 

(Also, that ass.) 

Fine. Tim could deal with that. He might’ve even privately fangirled over the fact that he got to patch up Nightwing (the first Robin!) on a regular basis. Also, Dick was ridiculously charming; Tim didn’t mind spending time with him. It was a nice break in the middle of a hectic day. 

Except then Dick started bringing his brother/boyfriend along. 

(Yeah, Tim felt as weird about that ‘/‘ as you do. But they were holding hands, so…) 

He took one look at Jason Todd and asked drily: “So, seen any good zombie movies lately?” 

Dick choked on air. Jason just grinned through the bloody mess he’d made of his mouth and asked: “Do I look that bad?” 

“Worse.” Tim sighed and started examining the mess closer, carefully pressing along the lines of the other man’s jaw. “Let me guess, you’re also into parkour?” 

“Among other things.” 

“Hmm. Yeah, nothing broken, I think, but we’ll double-check. If not, ice, painkillers, and no ‘rooftop parkour’ for a while, alright?” He paused. Honestly, judging by Jason’s stature (too wide for most vigilantes) and age (too young to be Batman)… “I’d tell you to wear a helmet, but apparently, even that’s not helping.”  

Jason turned to Dick, grinning widely. “I can see why you like him.” 

Tim had no idea what to think about that, so he didn’t. 

—

It was supposed to be a quiet afternoon. Every Wednesday, Tim would close his practice at 2 p.m. and spend the rest of the day doing paperwork. A cup of tea and the tv in the background 

Except then the news started, and Tim heard the phrases “Nightwing and Red Hood,” “magician,” and “explosion.” 

Then, the footage—obviously taking from mobile phone recordings—began playing. He watched for three minutes, panic spreading through him. Nightwing limp on the ground. Red Hood, literally thrown through a wall. He knew that these men were terrifyingly well trained, that Red Hood must’ve had some beta modifications at some point in his life with the injuries he took in stride—

But on camera, they weren’t moving. 

According to the timestamp, the footage had been taken thirty minutes ago. 

“Clean-up has begun,” the reporter on the screen said. “There is no sign of the two vigilantes who have defended our community center to the last—“ 

Tim grabbed his things and ran. 

Tam, his assistant, looked up in alarm as he entered the waiting area. “Tim?” 

“I need to go,” Tim told her, not stopping. “It’s an emergency.” 

And because Tam was the best, she simply called after him: “Call me if you need help! I’ll take care of the practice.” 

Tim knew Dick’s home address, had memorized it just in case—just in case. That’s where Tim drove now. If they weren’t there, he would try Wayne Manor next, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. 

But when he pressed the doorbell at the apartment labeled ‘Grayson,’ he was immediately buzzed in. 

Jason was the one who let him in and led him to the living room, where Dick half-sat, half laid on a couch. 

Tim asked: “Okay. What hurts the most?” 

“His head,” Jason replied, and Dick glared: “I’m told you I’m fine, Jay—“ 

Tim walked over. Swelling, definitely, and something about that shoulder… 

“I popped that back in,” Jason explained. “But I think there’s something wrong with his neck.” 

Yeah, there really was. Tim recognized the beginning of some deep bruising—strangulation, his mind supplied, that magician had tried to choke Dick out—and the back of Dick’s head felt tender and hot. 

“I don’t suppose I can interest you in an x-ray?” he asked. 

Disagreement all around. Fine. Tim would write them prescriptions for braces, if they didn’t have them lying around in a corner, anyway. Unless something felt like it was broken or shifted out of place or actually torn. You didn’t mess around with that. 

Jason had sat down next to Dick, and Tim moved on seamlessly to checking him. Jason’s ribs were definitely not okay, but probably hadn’t punctured his lung or anything, or he wouldn’t be sitting here. Apart from that, he was one massive bruise and a fucked-up hit. No running for Red Hood for at least a week. (Six weeks for normal humans. Tim was used to the calculation by now.) Oh, and something had crushed his foot—“the building falling on me,” Jason very helpfully informed him—and they had both suffered fourth- and third-degree burns. 

Tim began dressing the wounds in silence. His hands were shaking. Why were they shaking, dammit. He was a fucking doctor. His hands were the steadiest thing about him. 

It felt like hours passed before he was done. 

“You need to stay awake.” His tone was too sharp; he could do nothing to soften it. “With a blast like that, concussions are a given. Is there anyone we could call to stay up with you?” 

Dick nodded, then winced. Yeah, he should avoid that movement for a while. “Yes, we could—“ 

“No.” Jason shook his head. 

“No?” Dick looked at him. Something must’ve been telegraphed in Jason’s eyes because Dick continued: “Oh, I mean, no. I’m afraid there isn’t.” 

“We’re all alone.” 

“Totally.” 

Tim sighed. “Don’t you have, like, fifteen siblings and a butler? I should just call Wayne Manor; I’m sure that number is on Google or something—“

“Tim,” Dick said very gently. His hand went up to grasp Tim’s. “Stay with us?” 

Tim blinked. “That’s. Really unprofessional.” He didn’t pull his hands away, though. 

“You’re in our living room.” Jason shifted—it looked painful—and continued: “Pretty sure nothing about this is professional, so…” 

“Please?” Dick asked. 

Tim inhaled deeply and shook his head. “You two are so—stupid.” They flinched. “Like, what’re you doing, getting injured like that every week? You’re going to get yourself killed, and then I will have to come up with an explanation and it’s gonna be better than any you ever came up with. You’re gonna be so bad for my blood pressure.” 

Dick looked crestfallen, but Jason was starting to grin: “So, you’re staying, then?” 

“Duh.” 

(I’m taking prompts until the end of the year.) 

[elvendara]

Sugar and Spice Day 3

July 14th

Rock concert (Rockstar/Fan)

“Five minutes till curtains up!” the man ran backstage shouting over the din. Saeran expected a knock on his door shortly and sure enough, it came. Without waiting for an answer, the man opened the door to let him know the time limit. Saeran locked eyes with him through the mirror and nodded.

Once the door was again closed, he stared at himself. He’d long ago bleached his hair white to differentiate himself from his twin. Saeyoung worked in the shadows, it wouldn’t do to have a famous brother who looked exactly like him. He also utilized colored lenses. It served two purposes, he didn’t need to wear glasses, in fact, his fans didn’t even know he needed them, and the mint green was a stark contrast to his regular, amber-colored eyes. The pink tips were a more recent addition, but he liked them.

Black eyeliner was expertly applied, years of practice making it almost effortless. He took a sponge and smudged it, giving himself that perfect edgy look. The earrings were already in, silver crosses dangling on each side of his face. Ironic really, considering he didn’t believe in God. The thick black silver studded collar was snuggly around his neck as was the matching cuff around his right wrist. He stood and grabbed his leather jacket, sliding it on and glancing into the full-length mirror he had been given in his dressing room. He was comfortable in this persona. The music had been a way for him to deal with his life. Writing down his anger, confusion, and loneliness was a way to get it out of him. It became bigger than him pretty quickly and he found that hiding behind rock stardom meant he didn’t have to answer any real questions about his true self. It worked. Except it kept him lonely and alone. He’d come to terms with spending the rest of his life that way. It was easier than imagining being real with someone. Who could ever love the real him anyway?

He smirked at his reflection as he laced up his biker boots. Time to bring the house down!

..

He was soaked in sweat but didn’t feel tired. In fact, he felt invigorated, like every time he finished a concert. Feeding off the audience was one of the biggest perks to his career. Someone handed him a towel and he wiped his face with it.

“Great show Saeran!” one of the concert coordinators told him. She held a tablet to her chest and had a handful of fans behind her. Five doe eyed girls and one shy looking boy. Well, now that he looked closer, he was definitely a man, close to his own age. He looked sheepish being with the teenaged groupies. “These are the VIP’s for tonight’s afterparty. Thought I’d introduce you before you change.”

“Nice! Great to meet you, I’m glad we’ll be hanging out tonight. Hope you have a good time. Congrats on winning the backstage passes.” He regurgitated. There wasn’t always an afterparty but there were some special guests, rich, who had paid for the whole thing, so he’d been pressed to oblige them with an appearance. He hated the politics of being famous, but he did love his fans. It was because of them that he could enjoy what he did. If it was up to him, he’d fill the party with fans and not rich entitled groupies. He knew he would spend the night fending off offers to ‘get to know each other better’ all night.

“Oh my GOD! It’s really you!”

“Wow! You’re so HOT!”

“Ahhh, my friends are never gonna believe this!”

The girls were just cookie cutter versions of every other girl he’d seen. He couldn’t blame them; it’s how they sold his image. The man looked embarrassed; he wouldn’t even look him in the eye. He took the chance to check him out. He appeared to be a tad shorter than himself, with blond hair and pink clips holding back his bangs. He wore one of his concert shirts and tight-fitting skinny jeans. His nails were painted alternating pink and black with the black ones having his band’s logo on it, a mint green eye. So he really was a fan. Cute too.

“Uh, well, like the lady said, I have to go get changed for the party, I’ll see you all there. And be sure to grab your swag bags before you leave, don’t let them rip you off there! There’s a CD with a snippet of some of our new songs.” He winked and walked off. There was a lot of oohing and ahhing as he left.

He took a quick shower and dressed in a ripped black T-shirt, black jeans and his biker boots, putting all his accessories back on and reapplying his eyeliner. Taking a deep breath, he turned and walked out to the convention center next to the arena. Of course he wasn’t alone, he had security that surrounded him and paparazzi snapping pics as he made his way to the party. They screamed questions at him that he didn’t answer, he smirked, the signature look the media had come to know him by. Surrounded by so many yet feeling so alone. Making it next door took longer than it should have because of the circus around him, but make it he did.

Once he was inside he was taken by the arm by the coordinator who had introduced him to the fans, he couldn’t remember her name but she seemed nice enough. At least she didn’t flirt with him like other women did and took her job seriously.

“You’re here, great, first you should go say hi to the Han family, they’re the ones footing the bill for this afterparty, then you can have a few minutes with the fans before talking to some reporters…”

“Whoah.” He stopped in his tracks and could swear she left skid marks with her heels she’d been going so fast. “I want more than just a few minutes with those fans, and who are all these people anyway?” He saw his bandmates and some of the roadies, but everyone else was a stranger.

“Nobody you need to worry about, uh, I’ll see what I can do with the schedule.” She seemed frazzled but clicked away on her tablet while heading off again. He assumed he should follow, so he did.

“Mr. Han, I appreciate you taking the time and effort for this function.” Saeran greeted the elderly man.

“Ah, of course of course, anything for my new bride!” he had his arm around a young woman who was clearly less than half his age. The rumors about C&R’s head were obviously true. Standing on his other side was a tall and elegant man who appeared to wish he was anywhere but here. He’d seen that face plastered on magazines of all sorts. The heir apparent, Director of C&R, Jumin Han. They nodded respectfully at each other, Saeran feeling sorry for the man and having to deal with his father’s escapades, but the old man seemed like a descent sort. After a few minutes of his ‘wife’ fawning all over him, making him feel uncomfortable, the coordinator pulled him away. He was thankful to her for saving him.

She escorted him towards a section in the back, past all the dancing and the loud music, that was closed off. The music was still loud but at least he could hear himself think. In the section the fans sat, eating and drinking snacks on the coffee table. They all stood up and rushed him. Well, the girls did, touching him and giggling. Where were their parents? They didn’t look old enough to be out. They sat him down and pressed against him. The blond man sat to the side in a chair and continued to sip his cola and eat the snacks, sneaking a look now and then. He wished he could just be alone with him and have a conversation. At least he wouldn’t try to crawl on his lap like these girls seemed to want to do. Well, maybe he wouldn’t mind if the blond tried that.

After about 30 minutes, which felt like a lifetime, the coordinator gathered up the girls and took them out. It was past midnight and he guessed he had been right about their age, couldn’t have minors out at all hours of the night. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. It felt like they had leached some of his life force out and he was drained.

“I guess that happens all the time to you huh?”

Saeran sat up abruptly, how could he have forgotten about the blond?

“Sorry, I’ll go if you want to be alone.” He stood and Saeran panicked.

“NO!” he stood, banging his knee on the coffee table, sending him on his ass back on the sofa. He grabbed at the knee, eyes scrunched, “Ow ow ow…”

“Let me see.” Suddenly there was a presence by him as the blond sat beside him, his fingers touching his knee. Because of the ripped jeans, it was easy to see his skin in that area. “Doesn’t look so bad, at least you didn’t break the skin. You’ll have a hell of a bruise though.” The blond raised his gaze to Saeran and he finally got to see the full view. Wow, those eyes knocked him out, was that color even natural? Maybe he was wearing amethyst-colored lenses like what he himself wore. His face was kind, a soft pink flush growing across his cheeks and bridge of his nose. It was adorable.

“Ah, that was really stupid of me. But…I’m glad you didn’t leave. We didn’t even get a chance to chat.” Saeran tried to regain his coolness but found he couldn’t seem to be bothered to try and act in front of this man. “Uh, what’s your name?”

“Yoosung. Don’t have to ask yours I guess.” He smiled, lighting up the entire room.

“Yoosung…I like it.”

“Thanks. I…uh…like you. I mean…I…your music…I…I…like your music…and…uh…I”

Saeran laughed and waved off Yoosung’s explanation.

“So you’re a fan huh? And what…a doctor?” he asked, placing his foot on the ground gently, still rubbing his knee.

“Not quite. But I am going to medical school. And yes, a BIG fan!” his eyes got large, as did his smile. “Your songs spoke to me when I was at a really low point. I don’t know, it felt like you knew what I was going through and understood my pain.” The smile faltered as his thoughts went back to those days. Saeran reached out and placed his hand on Yoosung’s, yes, he knew what it was like to be in pain, he could see it in his eyes.

Their eyes met, an understanding passing between them.

[bloodfromthethorn]

The past is never dead. It’s not even past

Bozer and Riley knew, logically, that Mac and Jack would share some bad memories. They weren't expecting to stumble across one while they were busy planning some R&R over the Pacific Ocean.

Also on AO3 ->

..

Bozer was still getting used to the idea of going on actual, honest-to-god missions for a US government covert agency, but even he had to admit, this one sounded pretty simple. Mac and Jack apparently had some sort of aversion to the word - the instant Riley had said it earlier, the pair of them had looked a heartbeat away from running for the hills - but all of them had had to agree that being tasked to fly to the other side of the world and sit around surveilling a suspected dead drop was about as plain sailing as it was ever going to get. They didn’t even have to confront anyone who approached said dead drop, just record and report it. 

The result was, unsurprisingly, Riley and Bozer planning what they were going to do with the ample free time they were sure to have. Jack had initially made some attempt at reining them in, reminding them that as easy as it may seem, they were going there to do some actual work, but he’d given up some time ago and now seemed content to listen to them plotting in peace. Amused, Mac had just watched the whole conversation play out without a word. 

It wasn’t until Bozer and Riley had spent a solid ten minutes arguing about the possible pros and cons of a natural mud spa that the blonde figured it was time to intervene. “You two know that at most Matty’s going to give us a few hours of R&R before she calls us home. All of this planning is going to go to waste.”

“If that,” Jack put in with only a touch of sullenness. “Remember that time in Trinidad? We didn’t even get a full ten minutes before we had to be back on the plane.”

Mac wrinkled his nose at the memory. His recollection was foggy given that they had more or less crawled back to the landing strip and then passed out the instant they were off the ground, but then, that was really the point Jack was making. “Right? Just saying you shouldn’t get your hopes too high.”

Bozer scowled at them both. “You two have absolutely no faith. I have no idea why Matty thinks all four of us should be on this mission but I for one fully intend to make the most of it. If you want to sit back and be negative, that’s on you.” He let that indictment hang in the air for a minute, then bumped his shoulder against Mac’s. “'Sides, you’re supposed to be helping! You must know all the best sights, right?”

Unexpectedly, that earned him a confused frown. “Should I? Why? I’ve never even been to Fiji.”

Across from them, sprawled out carelessly against his seat, Jack suddenly went rigid. The change was sharp enough that all three of them picked up on it even though the man hadn’t actually moved, staying exactly where he was like a bug under a microscope. Bozer cast a quick glance at Riley but she looked every bit as lost as he did.

Fortunately, Mac was apparently more clued in. “When was I in Fiji, Jack?” He asked quietly, his voice very gentle. 

For a very long moment there was no response. Bozer considered answering the question - he’d asked Mac about tourist attractions in the first place because he remembered Mac had holidayed in the South Pacific with Nikki three summers ago - but he’d gotten the sense that maybe this wasn’t a conversation he should involve himself with. Jack still hadn’t so much as twitched and he could feel Mac tensing up beside him. 

Eventually, Jack answered with a heavy sigh. “July 2015.”

A short pause. “Ah,” Mac said quietly, his eyes darting to an unremarkable spot on the floor for a second before jumping back to Jack. 

The pair of them fell silent, Jack glaring sharply at the ceiling of the plane cabin while Mac watched him steadily. Evidently something significant had just happened, and Bozer had a sneaking suspicion he was at fault for whatever it was, but he didn’t think he could just leave it there. Apparently, neither could Riley. “What happened in July 2015?”

Predictably there was no response, so Bozer offered her the little that he knew. “Mac went on a ‘work trip’,” he said with quotation marks. “I thought he was in Cleveland. Then just when he was due to come home, Nikki called me. Said they were taking a last minute vacation to Fiji and I shouldn’t expect them back for another two weeks. Ended up being gone most of a month.”

At the time, it hadn’t been that weird. Logically he understood that it might sound strange to most people, but Mac had always been a somewhat inconsistent presence in Bozer’s life, even when they were kids. It was just the way he worked: Mac would go where his brain took him and he wouldn’t stop until he’d achieved whatever it was he was hoping to do. In hindsight, that long standing pattern of behaviour must have been a godsend when Mac had joined DXS and Bozer had become part of his cover.

But that was then. Now, he knew the truth of those strangely frequent, unpredictable work trips - except in all the ways that he didn’t. “I take it you weren’t in Fiji,” he asked slowly. 

Mac didn’t look away from where Jack was still frozen. “No.”

“Where were you?”

He hummed. “Not entirely sure, to be honest. I think I wound up somewhere in the Ural mountains.”

Bozer tried to work out the most delicate way of asking further and found none. The deadened tone of Mac’s voice would have made it very clear it wasn’t a happy memory even if the fact that he apparently hadn’t known where he was hadn’t given it away, and his eyes hadn’t drifted from where Jack was looking more and more strained. 

As Bozer floundered, Riley pressed on. “A mission gone bad?”

“In the worst way,” Mac agreed, then seemed to come awake from some reverie. He blinked, and finally looked away from his partner to take the two of them in. Whatever it was he saw on their faces, he visibly made an effort to make himself smile and relax, shaking off the grim set of his shoulders like an unwanted coat. “We were in Minsk, tasked with surveillance on a human trafficker. Turned out that he was more well-connected than we thought, and some of his friends ended up grabbing me out of our hotel room.” His voice faltered ever so slightly and he bit off whatever he was about to say next. 

Bozer did some quick maths and came up feeling ill. “You were gone for a month.”

“I wasn’t with them the whole time,” Mac hurried to reassure, immediately seeing what Boze was getting at. “Jack caught up with me after about ten days.”

“It was too fucking long,” Jack murmured, the first thing he’d said in over a minute. He still hadn’t moved, but he was wearing one of the darkest expressions Bozer had ever seen on his face. “Should have got there sooner. Should never have let them take you in the first place.”

“It wasn’t your fault Jack,” Mac said with the air of someone who had already said it a thousand times, but was willing to repeat it for as long as necessary. “You were on the other side of the city when they found us. We didn’t even know that they knew we were there.” He glanced back at Bozer to explain, “Someone at the CIA leaked information. The target wasn’t supposed to have any idea there were agents in the city, but somehow his guys knew exactly what hotel room to hit. We didn’t get any warning.”

“I knew something was bogus,” Jack said, more to himself than anything. “I said it felt off, and then I fucked off and left you in that hotel on your own.”

“Instinct isn’t everything. We had no reason to suspect the hotel wasn’t safe.”

Jack shook his head sharply and said nothing more. Mac sighed, but didn’t press. 

Thoroughly thrown for a loop and feeling more than a little bit guilty for inadvertently touching on what was so obviously a sore point, Bozer cast a wild-eyed look at Riley. She looked little better than he felt, pale in the harsh white of the plane’s overhead lighting. They’d both known that, in theory, Mac and Jack both had years of service behind them and that those years were likely to be host to any number of bad memories, but to have the knowledge of that so suddenly and specifically confirmed was a lot to take in.

“If you were- there for ten days,” Boze started slowly, half-knowing the answer and needing to hear it anyway, “Why were you gone for so long?”

Mac glanced back down at the floor, looking distinctly uncomfortable before he settled himself. “I was in medical for a bit. Once I could shake the oxygen mask, I moved into Jack’s apartment for a few weeks. I would have been good to come home but there was- bruising.” He fumbled over the last word, waving a distracted hand at his face as though that explained anything. 

For the first time since they’d broached the topic, Jack moved. He jerked to his feet with a strange lurching step, as though he hadn’t expected to do it himself, then marched towards the back of the plane, shaking his head as he went. Bozer caught the tail end of some dark mutters, but he couldn’t make anything out past the stormcloud of Jack’s expression. Startled, Riley shifted forwards to go after him, but Mac just waved her down, watching Jack’s retreating back with a careful eye before turning back to the two of them. 

“He’s okay,” he said, as though that was in any way believable. “It’s not a great memory, for either of us. Despite what it sounds like, he got the worse end of the deal.”

Riley’s eyebrows rose. “You were in captivity for ten days and he had the hard time?”

“I knew he would come after me. He didn’t know what he would find when he got there,” Mac said with a shrug. He’d said it flippantly, like it was some great truth of the universe that was just the Way Things Were. Maybe to him, it was. “Sure, physically I was a mess, but that stuff heals. If I had the choice again, I wouldn’t have switched places with him for anything.”

Bozer was shaking his head slowly, trying to remember details he had brushed off as unimportant years ago. “I remember you coming home. There were bandages on your arm.” A pause, then, accusingly, “You said you got got by a jellyfish.”

Looking down, Mac tugged self-consciously at the cuff of his rolled-up left sleeve, only managing to draw attention to what he was trying to keep hidden. They were faint - so faint as to be almost invisible against his already pale skin - but for the first time Bozer was able to make out a fine tracery of scars marring the skin of his forearm like a spider’s web, twisting all the way from his wrist to beneath the fabric of his shirt. “Jesus, Mac,” Riley breathed. 

“Electrical burns,” he offered as the explanation they wouldn’t have asked for. Catching their thunderstruck looks, he shifted his expression to what he probably imagined was reassuring. “It looks worse than it was, mostly; being shocked hurts like hell but there’s no real permanent damage to worry about. Honestly, most of it was superficial stuff, scarcely a mark left on me. The only reason I was in medical for as long as I was was because they had to drain my lungs and get me on antibiotics in case of infection. Could have been home within a day otherwise.”

Bozer wasn’t entirely sure what it was about Mac that made him think that explanation would do anything at all to allay their concerns, but he didn’t care for it at all. Worse than any of that though was the dawning realisation in the back of his mind that had been growing steadily ever since Mac mentioned moving into Jack’s place. “Except you couldn’t have come home,” he said quietly, needing to hear it for himself. “Because I was there.”

Mac shuffled in his seat, but held his gaze. “A couple of bruises could probably have been explained away, but I was… kind of a mess. Even if you could have believed I got hit by a car or something, all it would have taken was a few screaming nightmares to give me away. No way it wouldn’t have blown my cover.”

He sounded apologetic even as he said it, bracing himself as though he was expecting Bozer to lash out at him for something that had already been long forgiven. Sure, lying to him for years had been a shitty thing to do, but Boze understood why he had done it now, and he knew that Mac had only ever been trying to keep him safe. It might have been the wrong choice, but it was done for all the right reasons. 

“Mac,” he started, uncertain and wounded and so, so guilty, “Mac, you should have been at home. After whatever it was you went though, you should have been able to recover in your own house.”

Mac blinked at him in clear surprise. Did he really not understand? Boze tried again. “I’m guessing that Jack wasn’t the only one dealing with some shit when you got back to LA and I’m not even going to pretend I can imagine what that was like. You should have been able to come home, come back to the place where you felt safe and cared for and-” He sucked in a hard breath. “And you couldn’t, because of me. I chased you out of your own house when you’d been tortured.”

The blonde was already shaking his head, looking stricken. “That wasn’t on you. Boze, that was never on you.” He finally stopped worrying at his sleeve to grip Bozer’s shoulder, tight and grounding. “I was the one who kept the truth from you. I lied to you, for years, and that’s all on me. I know that if you’d known what had happened you would have been there for me and you only weren’t because I didn’t let you.”

He wasn’t wrong and Bozer knew it, but he wasn’t exactly right either. “I get that. But you do know that you shouldn’t have had to make that choice, right? You should have been able to come home Mac.”

Riley was glancing between the two of them looking utterly lost, and Mac was starting to look not much better, so Boze took a slow breath and tried his best to let it go. He had spent years of his life trying to convince Mac that he should rank his own well-being at least somewhere on his list of priorities, and this was really just another piece of that endless puzzle. There would be time to fight that battle later. “I’m just glad you’re okay man. No lasting damage?”

Thankful for the lifeline being offered, Mac dropped his hand away from Bozer’s shoulder and shrugged lightly. “A few scars, but nothing else. Like I said, I had a surprisingly easy time of it in comparison to Jack.” His eyes darted over to where his partner had hunkered down as far from them as he could get. “And speaking of, give me a minute.”

He was on his feet and gone before either of them could even think about trying to stop him, not that they would have done. Bozer had the sense that this was a conversation they had had before, and he knew that Mac would have it handled. If there was anyone who could convince Jack that he hadn’t somehow apocalyptically failed the man he had dedicated his own life to protecting, it would be the man himself. 

“How many stories do you think they have?” Riley asked quietly, soft enough that the others wouldn’t hear her. “All the years they’ve been doing this… How much is there that we don’t know about?”

Bozer thought about the scars on Mac’s arm that he’d never really seen before, about the number of unannounced work trips he had gone on after he came back from Afghanistan. Thought about the number of times he had heard him moving around the house late at night after a nightmare, or worse, the times he’d woken up crying out in panic. He’d known for years that Jack had a protective streak a mile wide and he’d centered it firmly on Mac; before he’d known about the Phoenix, Bozer had always wondered if the man was going overboard. Now, he knew with certainty that he wasn’t. 

When he met her gaze, there were tears in Riley’s eyes. “Too much.”

[consumeconstantly]

Small Buff Girl Sightings Ch. 1

Summary: The first thought that comes to mind as he looks at the scene in front of him is: wow, she’s cute. The second thought is: holy shit, did she just flip a six foot, two hundred fifty pound man into the ground without blinking an eye? 

Thank goodness there’s time for second… and third.. And fourth impressions? 

Seriously, how many creepy people and criminals does this girl deal with on a daily basis?

1(you are here) | 2 | 3 | ao3

________________________________________________________

Damian Wayne is sure that if his elder siblings were watching him right now, they would be screeching at him to go help the girl. But-- well. His siblings and his father aren’t watching, and he isn’t sure whether or not the girl needs his help. The weirdly hooded man who is rapidly closing in on her might just live in the same direction. Surely, this time, his instincts are wrong. He’s only following them for peace of mind. Nothing is going to happen.

Otherwise known as: Damian isn’t particularly feeling up to saving another girl outside of his Robin costume and then being come on to. Why girls always have to have a Thing for people who saved them, Damian will never understand. He can’t imagine attempting a relationship with somebody who saved him, though admittedly the pool of candidates of people who are superior to him in capability is small, and far too annoying or old for him to ever consider dating them. And even thinking about having a relationship with somebody who couldn’t take care of themselves gives him the chills.

This leads to a very contemplative two minutes of walking the same path that the girl and the hooded person were taking-- he is not following them--until the girl who is being stalked darts into an alleyway. Of course, the hooded person follows her. 

Is she trying to get herself killed? Damian can’t believe the sheer idiocy of the girl. At least the last girl he saved hadn’t done anything as stupid; her attacker cornered her near her home. Gotham girls know better than to duck into random alleyways. There is too much crime in Gotham for anybody with self respect to be so dumb.

With a sigh, and a wish that his brothers and father hadn’t beat a moral conscious into him, he lopes over to the alleyway, expecting to have to break up whatever futile struggle the girl put up with her stalker, or maybe even knock out the guy because by now, she must either be unconscious or on her way to other unpleasant circumstances.

Except.

By the time he gets over to the alleyway, the girl walks out unscathed, phone pressed to her cheek. 

“Yes, you should check 12th arrondissement, two streets down from the Opera Bastille. He’s 6 foot, blonde haired and brown eyed. Wearing a grey hoodie and adidas.” The girl brushes past him, blinked at his appearance, then continued on the phone. “No problem, officer.”

Damian looks into the alleyway and there the man is, head lolled to one side. Unconscious, probably. His hands are tied up with a pink plastic zip tie. He looks out of the alleyway, eyes trailing after the girl who just left. She barely reaches his shoulder. Maybe, Damian thinks drily, Parisian girls are different. 

At least Damian won’t get another adoring fangirl today.

#

Damian is sitting at a coffee shop across from the Louvre. It’s overpriced, and the coffee tastes awful, but it’s still coffee, and he’s tired. He’s here to check out the akuma that the Paris media keep reporting about, even though the Justice league of America shouldn’t have to deal with Europe’s problems, and also largely believed that it was a publicity stunt on Mayor Bourgeois' behalf. 

Now, the Justice League of America isn’t really sure what is happening, but surely it can’t be that bad if the city has no damage, right? 

What a joke. Damian has been here three days (count them-- three) and he is almost sure that he has been transported into some alternate dimension where some little kid’s imagination went wild and plopped the ever loving conundrum of Paris, France into Damian’s hands. 

On the first day he arrived, there was a pigeon akuma-- apparently, one of the more frequent ones that popped up. Ladybug-- one of two consistent Parisian Heroes-- made quick work of him once she arrived on the scene, but it took her a while to arrive. Almost a whole half hour. Which meant that the streets of Paris were filled with bird poop and flooded with more pigeons than Damian knew existed, and he lived in Gotham. The other hero, Chat Noir, arrived after Ladybug, but handled the situation more warily. He later found out that this was due to the superhero being allergic to feathers, as witnessed by a video on this site called the Ladyblog.

Due to some freak magic power called the Miraculous Cure that Ladybug called after her battles, the streets had been blessedly cleaned, and the pigeons flew back to their mostly hidden existence. The world was right, once more. Then, on the second day, he tried and failed to save that weird girl who knocked out a man who had a good hundred pounds on her. He’s not sure that tried and failed is applicable to the situation, as the girl seemed competent enough to take care of an issue like that on her own. 

Today, another akuma appeared. His name is Deliverer, a postman who had one too many customers complain about a package not being delivered in a timely manner.

Damian isn’t really sure how he felt about having people turning into villains over such trivial things. He is also no longer sure whether he is the best choice for this mission. His emotions tend to run hot, and there is the chance that he might become compromised. Because if there are people out there turning into villains over not being able to feed some pigeons, there is no way that Damian’s own annoyance with his family and the random people on the streets won’t be taken advantage of. However, out of his family, it’s not like there’s any better choice. Dick, maybe, but he’s busy with Kor’i and his daughter, and they won’t want to move to France. And he doubts that the superheroes of Paris want a metahuman trying to solve the case in Paris after seeing how much damage a normal citizen can do when akumatized.

It only takes ten minutes for Ladybug and Chat Noir to arrive on the scene this time. Whether it is because it is a new akuma, or whether it is because they were closer to the scene of the crime, Damian can only guess. He thinks it to be a combination of the two; Mr. Pigeon is a very common akuma and the people deal with his issues quite often, thus he is probably lower on the priority list. The heroes have their own lives to deal with, Damian is sure.

In any case, Damian rushes to the akuma when he gets an alert from the Ladyblog and is able to catch the tail end of a battle where Ladybug doesn’t even have to use her Lucky Charm. She just takes the clipboard after some bizarre yoyo moves and snaps the clipboard over her knee. When the butterfly flies out of the clipboard, she purifies it. Easy breezy, and no involvement from Chat Noir, yet again. The cat looks tired and Ladybug says something to him, her posture reminiscent of a mother scolding her child, after which he flees the scene.

Then, Damian gets caught up in a wave of exhaustion. Forgoing sleep for the past two days trying to catch himself up on the situation in Paris before making any major reports back to the league will do that. He needs coffee, badly, which is why he finds himself in this tourist trap coffee shop with some of the worst coffee-- wait. That girl seems familiar.

He spends a few seconds trying to place her. Short, pig-tails, part asian, blue hair and blue eyes. The girl he saw coming out of the alleyway yesterday. Of course. She is on her phone walking slowly and frowning, purse hanging at her side. Damian traces her movements. She is naturally graceful, but closes in on herself. He looks a little closer. Her eyes look red. Perhaps she is dealing with the aftermath of yesterday’s situation.

From the side, a guy darts out at her, reaching for her purse. The girl drops her phone to the floor in shock, clutches her purse, and then side-swipes the guy. A hand to his neck, a foot to his knees, and then her arms pulling his behind his back. She pulls a zip tie from her purse and ties his hands up, then picks up her phone almost exasperatedly and before calling someone. 

Vaguely curious, Damian picks up his coffee and approaches the girl and criminal. Several others have done the same, only to be waved off with a blindingly bright smile and a yes, she’s fine, thank you very much.

“Need help?” More of a courtesy than anything else. 

“No thanks, Monsieur.” The girl looks down at the time on her phone, then scrunches her face up. Freckles dot her pale skin. A text message alert from her phone causes her to scowl, and she looks down at her phone, then back up at Damian. 

“Actually, could you do me a favor? I’ve really got to get back with my class, and I don’t really want to leave this guy in the middle of the street like this. I just called the police, and they should be here any minute. Stay with him?”

It’s not like his research on Ladybug and Chat Noir can’t wait a few minutes. 

“Sure.”

Then, the girl runs off without another glance backwards. True to her word, the police do arrive a few minutes later. 

“Where’s the girl that called?” The policeman asked with a furrowed brow. 

“She had to leave.” Damian eyes the man, who has barely looked at him. The policeman is assessing the scene, taking in the handiwork of the pigtailed girl.

“Half-asian, blue eyes, freckles?” 

“Yes.” 

The policeman handcuffs the criminal. “That poor girl. She always seems to attract these street thugs. It’s really a blessing that she can take care of herself.”

This piques Damian’s interest. “This happens often?”

“She’s almost like an urban legend, at this point. Whenever we find a criminal tied up with a neon pink zip tie, we know it’s her. A real shame, too. She’s such a nice girl.”

He’s not sure if nice was the word to use. She looked slightly stressed and harried. Polite enough, but she certainly has no trouble putting guys twice her size down. 

“Well, thank you for your help.” The policeman tips his cap and makes his way to the patrol car. 

Damian goes back to drinking his coffee and scrolling through the Ladyblog on his phone.

#

“I’ve heard you do this quite often.” Damian appears at the girl’s side like a ghost, but she doesn’t jump. Doesn’t even flinch. Just takes a step back to reposition herself and gives him a side eye. Tactically, a good decision if he is another potential attacker. She created just enough distance that it would make it harder to attack her, but had moved in a smooth fashion that said she wasn’t going to run and was prepared to stand her ground. Her body half faces him, like she is ready to put up her guard at any moment.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” 

Her victim this time is unconscious. Damian isn’t exactly sure what happened, but the quivering girl only a few feet away from them made him think that the girl in front of him has a bit of vigilante in her, because it is clear that this time she hadn’t acted in self defense. 

In an act of goodwill, Damian takes his hands out of his pockets slowly, showing that he doesn’t have anything to hide. In response, the girl-- who Damian mentally decides to call Pigtails, since she’s had the same ridiculously childish hairstyle for their past three encounters-- relaxes, just a little, and turns her attention to the crying girl instead. 

“Do you want me to call the police?” 

Pigtails eyes flicker towards the man on the ground, who is what Damian approximates to be six foot three and two hundred and fifty pounds, and then towards the crying girl looks to be in her mid twenties.

Pigtails hasn’t tied this one up, yet, but she has flipped him onto his stomach. Judging by the lingering look that she gives the man’s unbound hands, and the ziptie that she pulls out of her small purse, she’s ready and willing to tie him up at the slightest movement, or at the other girl’s command. 

“I’m going to tie him up, okay?”

The other girl manages a yes, please. And so, Pigtails brandishes her ziptie, directs Damian to call the police; tell them they’re on Barbes Boulevard.

Damian assesses the situation before the operator comes on. The would-be victim is somewhere around twenty four, is slender and full of what his brother, Dick, would call French girl charm before getting hit by Cass or Barbara. She has brown hair that’s a mess on the left side of her hair, probably from the man grabbing her on that side, and is lightly tanned. There are bruises on her wrist and on her cheek that are quite visible and continuing to darken. 

Now that Pigtails has tied him up, Damian nudges the man’s face with his foot to see what he looks like. Average looking at best, and he reeks of alcohol. Damian crinkles his nose. Midday drinking is not a good look on anyone. His clothes are also cheap. Fast fashion, but bad.

Then, there’s Pigtails herself. Evidently she trusted him enough to look after the brute, because after giving him a once over and nodding, she goes over to the other girl to comfort her. Damian is sure that Pigtails can’t be much older than himself, but he's not sure. She has a sort of timelessness about her, between the lightness in her step and the sharp, intelligent look in her eyes. Her sense of fashion is simple but chic, and whatever she is wearing looks pretty high end. Designer, even. 

After relaying the information that he has gathered to the operator, he is told to please wait there with the victim and the attacker, and if he could have the other party involved stay there as well, that would be fantastic.

Pigtails is surprisingly good at calming people down. The other girl seemed seconds away from a complete breakdown and was rocking back and forth, muttering to herself before Pigtails started talking to her. Already, the other girl’s crying turns to hiccups, and then stops. She is then embraced by Pigtails, circles rubbed soothingly on her back, and a gentle smile that makes Damian purse his lips. He doesn’t see that kind of smile often in Gotham. Everybody is harder there, less willing to help. If they see somebody in danger, most times citizens hurry on their way because they don’t want to get involved. When citizens do get involved, their aftercare is fairly rough, if there is any aftercare at all. Even as a vigilante, Robin didn’t often comfort victims afterwards. He helped them to police stations or the hospital occasionally, but never stopped to talk with them.

By the time the police get there, Pigtails has the girl standing with a watery smile on her face. What a feat. Damian wonders, briefly, if having Pigtails’ social capabilities would help victims back in Gotham. 

“Ah, Marinette,” the police officer smiles warmly. “We meet again.”

“Officer Raincomprix,” Pigtails inclines her head. 

The officer is of stocky build, red headed and green-eyed. He cuffs the man, lugs him to the back seat of his cruiser, locks the door, and then comes back out. “I’d like to take your statements, now.”

Damian learns that the attacker, Fraser Barbot, was in several of Nicolette Deanne’s master classes this year. Both were studying business with an emphasis on fashion, which resulted in a lot of time spent together. Fraser thought that a relationship was the inevitable next step. She refused, because besides their master’s emphasis, they didn’t really have much in common. She also just wasn’t interested in him. He became slightly more hostile to her after her rejection. Then, as the months went by, they started vying for a lot of the same job opportunities. Nicolette had gotten the most prestigious one, and had many other companies attempting to persuade her into joining their business instead. Fraser had gotten very few, and was convinced that Nicolette had stolen those job opportunities away from him, had seduced her potential employers, and asked her why she wouldn’t do him if she was so willing to put out. 

That was when Marinette had come in. She was walking to a fabric store when she heard the commotion and saw Fraser hitting Nicolette. By the time she got over to them, Nicolette had already acquired several bruises on her arms, shoulder, and face. After arriving, she promptly knocked him out. 

By the time the three of them finish their statements, nearly ten minutes have passed, and Officer Raincomprix bids them farewell. 

“If you ever feel like you’re in danger again, Miss Deanne, feel free to call. Since you want to press charges, we’ll be in contact with you soon. Call us if more than three days go by without hearing from us. A taxi has been called for you, so you can get wherever you were going in peace.” 

Officer Raincomprix turns to Marinette and Damian with a slightly sunnier disposition. “And thank you two for helping. Especially you, Miss Dupain-Cheng. If you ever change your mind about wanting to go into law enforcement, just give me a call. I should really have Sabrina do whatever training you’re doing, because it’s clearly effective!”

Marinette laughs. “The bakery is magic. Between lifting bags of flour, running around the city for deliveries, and Maman’s cooking, anybody could do what I do. I’ve heard a lot of good things about the studio down the street from our school, though, so you could have her look into that.”

This, Damian thinks, is such a bald-faced lie he almost chokes on his own spit. There is no sort of magic food that imbues a person with the ability to fight like Pigtails does and lifting flour bags in a bakery doesn’t suddenly allow people to take down people with ease. She has to have had some professional training, though if he is being honest, her movements feel like they have more of an origin in street fighting than they do in any martial arts. 

She’s remarkably good at lying, mixing jokes with statements that had the possibility of truth. Maybe Damian is just being paranoid. Maybe she trained at some studio that she didn’t want to mention and the studio taught amazing self defense. Maybe she is just an excellent study. Somehow, Damian doubts that was the truth of the matter, but there isn’t much of a reason for Damian to spend his precious time determining the reason why this girl lies to policemen. It’s her business. It doesn’t concern him.

Then, Officer Raincomprix heads back to the police cruiser and Nicolette gets into the taxi she ordered for herself, looking worlds better. Marinette turns to him with a smile. The smile is so blindingly bright and pure that he suspects it lets the girl get away with a lot of things. “Thanks for the save. It was a lot easier to calm Nicolette down since you handled the call. I’m Marinette, it’s nice to meet you.”

Damian nods in return to her wave and smile. “No problem. I guess this answers my earlier question. You do get caught up with criminals quite often.”

She flushes, and it makes the freckles on her pale skin show even more. “What do you mean by that?”

“You seemed to be on very good terms with that police officer.”

“Oh, that. He’s a classmate’s dad. I’ve seen him around plenty of times.” She waves him off.

A very good liar, indeed. Pigtails keeps to half truths and vague statements. Damian gets the feeling that she definitely saw him more often in the capacity of a police officer than he did as a friend’s father. Understandable to lie to him, though. He is just a stranger, and he certainly doesn’t go around telling every person on the street his life story. Maybe Pigtails values privacy, just like he does.

The movement of the police cruiser catches his eye. Fraser has woken up, and he is not happy about being handcuffed in a police cruiser; they can hear him screaming at Officer Raincomprix from the street. Marinette’s eyes jump to the cruiser as well, eyes narrowing as she sees a butterfly approach the cruiser.

“Oh, for--” Marinette glances at Damian, at the butterfly, and then at Fraser. She makes a split decision. “Come on, let’s get out of here. This is not going to be pretty.”

“What do you--” Pigtails is pulling his arm with more strength than he thought possible. If this is just her pulling him, it’s no small wonder that she fares so easily against all her opponents. She definitely has strength behind her small frame.

“Fraser is probably going to get akumatized and we have to get you to the nearest shelter. Then, you’re going to wait there until the all-clear alert is given, got it?” She pushes him into a building, says by way of explanation to the bewildered looking employees, “Akuma,” and  then rushes off, saying, “I’m going to go home, because clearly I’m not going to be able to go shopping for fabric today.”

Damian doesn’t stay in the shelter that Pigtails has so kindly guided him to, and there are a few people who look at him in confusion; people should be entering the building if there’s an akuma attack, not leaving. But Damian has a job to do and watching the battles up close is much better than watching the footage on the Ladyblog, which, in recent years, has turned into little more than poor speculations and attempts to stoke relationships between heroes that haven’t been used in years. When he looks at the information the website had up years ago, Damian finds a bunch of interviews that clearly haven’t been fact checked done with a girl named Lila, who is in the class he’s going to be transferring into, and despite the fact that they’ve been taken down since then, he doesn’t trust most of the Ladyblog’s information without video evidence. Not the most reliable news source about akuma, however, most other blogs he found didn’t have any videos taken up close. The older footage of past battles on the Ladyblog were pretty good quality, but they had gotten worse and worse, which meant that Damian and the Justice League didn’t have a clear picture about the heroes’ or villain’s capabilities. 

By the time Damian arrives, back on the scene, Ladybug is already there in her red and black spotted glory. She has pulled Officer Raincomprix to safety.

“I am Shackled! Burdened by unfair double standards that allow incompetent tramps to get jobs before other, clearly more superior candidates do and by the corrupt justice system that wants me to go to jail, I desire what I should have been given to begin with! The affections of ladies clearly below me, and jobs that were made for me.” Convenient. If every villain explains their modus operandi to the heroes, it is probably easier to take them down. “Give me your Miraculous, Ladybug!”

The hero scoffs, avoids the chains that Shackled controls, and crouches atop a car a fairly good distance away. 

Chat Noir lands, quick to make a pun. “If you feel so tied down by society, why don’t you just bug off? No woman wants to deal with somebody who has such a su-paw-riority complex.”

Ladybug rolls her eyes, but allows the pun. “Chat Noir’s right. You need to get taught a lesson on ethics and morality. If a woman got a job and you didn’t, that just means she’s better than you. Your interviewers probably saw that you had an awful attitude and work ethic. Nobody wants such a toxic person in their work environment.”

“Don’t you mean clawful, m’lady?”

“Chat,” Ladybug reprimands. She tosses her yoyo in the air. “Let’s get this over with. Dealing with misogynistic akumas is annoying. Just talking to them uses up all of my common sense.”

She throws her yoyo in the air, and calls, “Lucky Charm!”

A pack of zipties falls from the sky. Ladybug groans. “You have got to be kidding me. Zip ties? Really? You couldn’t have given me anything else? This is going to take forever. Chat, grab some of his chains and zip tie them together.”

“You’ve got to be yanking my chain, m’lady. We can just take him out without using the Lucky Charm.”

“No, the akuma is in the chain that’s between his handcuffs. And we can’t get there unless we immobilize all of these.” She gestures around wildly, then begins the process of grabbing chains and zip tying them together. As she continues to tie more and more together, it begins to get harder and harder for Shackled to move them as he wants, and a butterfly mask flashes over the akuma’s face. 

After almost thirty minutes of tying and avoiding the few free flying chains that there are left, Chat Noir and Ladybug finally get all of the chains in one messy bundle that is too heavy for Shackled to control. At one point in the battle, Ladybug darts towards Chat Noir, a concerned look on her face, but he brushes her off and they continue working. Chat Noir cataclysms the chain between Shackled’s hands, and sure enough, a butterfly flies out. Damian watches as Ladybug shoves the butterfly into her yoyo and feels his eye twitch as the black-purple butterfly comes out white. He hates magic. It makes things so much more complicated than they should be.

“Bien Joue,” the two superheroes say to each other before heading off in opposite directions. 

Damian sticks to his first thought. Whatever is going on in Paris is definitely the equivalent of some kid having a series of very weird dreams.

______________________________________________________________________

All the way up to ch 4 is already posted on ao3! I’ll be posting this fic daily up until i catch up :) also how do you decide where to put the keep reading for all you experienced tumblr users? idk where a good place to break is

Next

[tossawary]

Some random favorite lines (with commentary) of Chapter 23: “Swallowing Your Heart” of “pride is not the word I’m looking for” because I’m doing a re-read. Not a full list or full commentary.

-

Liu Qingge shoves him off his sword.

Plot twist! Betrayal! Shang Qinghua doesn’t have time to get over his shock at such an attack before Liu Qingge has caught the riderless sword in one hand and caught the swordless rider over his shoulder.

The Bai Zhan Peak War God flies on to Qian Cao Peak with his new cargo.

Shang Qinghua slaps the man on the back and wheezes.

“Have you done that move before?!” he demands, because that was so fucking smooth it’s offensive. It really does offend him! He’s super offended right now!

“Mingyan,” Liu Qingge says, like this explains everything. “And Fanli.”

It kind of does explain everything.

- 

AN: That LQG effortlessly manhandled SQH in the same way that he manhandles his sister. This is how LQG shows affection. LMY is not a fan of it either. 

-

“Ming Fan is a good sparring partner,” Binghe says as part of his tirade, like he’s confessing something. “But he needs sooooo many compliments to soothe his pride. ‘Oh, I knocked Shixiong over because he’s such a good teacher! Thank you, Shixiong, for helping me practice this move. Shixiong, I really admire how you don’t let the little things bother you because you’re so confident and skilled.’ I think he’s getting better now, but it’s still tiring sometimes. Uncle, some people really can’t take even a well-meaning criticism without falling apart.”

- 

AN: This conversation was definitely a jab at Shang Qinghua relationship with Mobei-Jun, but it also extends to Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu. 

- 

Binghe says that he also heard some Qiong Ding Peak people are here now, but he doesn’t know what they’re doing. Beyond that, not that much has apparently happened while Shang Qinghua was sleeping the day away! Liu Qingge came by, probably to report to his scheming wife, who was yet again totally and embarrassingly correct about Shang Qinghua’s state of being. Chen Xuan, whom Binghe embarrassingly correctly identified as Disciple Dumpling Thief’s Friend, dropped by, but only to say not to worry about the day-in-day-out of An Ding Peak.

- 

AN: Binghe knows Shang Qinghua’s nicknames for his favorite disciples. 

- 

Binghe curls up with his arms around and his head resting on Shang Qinghua’s stomach, while Shang Qinghua rubs his protagonist son’s back.

- 

AN: Either of these characters getting unconditional platonic affection is SO UNUSUAL that it hurts. People need hugs at all ages! 

- 

The kindest option here might be the demon lord coming back sometime in the next few days and pretending the entire interaction never happened. Shang Qinghua will tell the man that it was a human thing, some kind of nervous fit, and beg forgiveness for his lapse in presentation! Well, he probably should, except… he doesn’t really want to do that. He doesn’t really want to go, “My king, my apologies for the mess! Let me, ah, let me just swallow all of those words I threw out there, just chew them back up, gulp them down into some vital organ to rot there forever, so we can never talk about them ever again.”

Mobei-Jun seems to still be his Mobei-Jun, looking at that confrontation in hindsight, and not… not any other Mobei-Jun. People in general seem to have stayed the same, besides Peerless Cucumber being fitted into the picture as some mysterious intruder. All those years of service and loyalty and companionship Shang Qinghua remembers with Mobei-Jun haven’t vanished on him. “All current achievements have been preserved” and all that!

So, part of him wants to go, “So! Those things I said! What about them, huh? Do you have anything to say to any of that, my king? Anything at all?” 

- 

AN: Shang Qinghua wants to OPEN UP and he can’t make himself take that step when his nephew’s life is on the line. MBJ has not made himself explicitly safe yet. Unspoken understandings can only go so far here. 

- 

“Was it something really bad?” Luo Fanli presses, leaning back along his desk until she’s practically lying down on it.

Not in a sexy pose or anything, just in a put-upon flop, kind of like a tired child finding the oasis of a department store furniture display during a too-long shopping trip or a toddler denied candy pouting on the floor of the grocery store. His little sister-in-law is not greatly concerned with dignity, much to her sister’s dismay and the eternal frustration of Qi Qingqi. She says life is too short for it.

“No one died.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, it means that everyone lived through it,” Shang Qinghua explains.

-

AN: Shang Qinghua’s relationship with Luo Fanli is fun. I’m looking forward to putting Luo Fanli in a room with Shen Yuan. SY needs friends. Luo Fanli @ Shen Yuan: “Idk, he’s a weirdo, but he’s uncle-shaped, right?” 

- 

Except when Shang Qinghua opens the soup container, it’s still completely full. None of his disciples - who are very, very good at acting like they’ve never been fed ever in their life - have helped themselves to even a taste. It’s a big pot! There’s plenty to go around! More than Shang Qinghua could reasonably eat by himself! And yet…

His disciples have been way too nice to him lately. He feels like he should be checking his pockets for whatever they stole from him when he wasn’t looking. Did the System replace his bratty disciples with good alternate universe ones?! He hates it, thanks!

- 

AN: This is SUCH a low standard... and yet...! It’s very funny to me how much his disciples not stealing food from a sick man says here. 

SQH: “Why are all my disciples such sticky-fingered brats?!” 

LJH: “Because you think it’s funny.” 

SQH: “Oh, yeah.” 

- 

Wow, Peerless Cucumber doesn’t seem pleased to see him! Shang Qinghua hasn’t suffered a glare that venomous since… well, Shen Qingqiu, maybe? Okay, so maybe the switch would have worked a little bit! But Shang Qinghua is still glad it didn’t happen, even if the System fucked up the rest of reality (somehow, Shang Qinghua still hasn’t figured out how exactly) out of revenge for its own shitty choices falling through.

“Where have you been?” Peerless Cucumber demands.

“Busy?” Shang Qinghua answers, coming closer but not sitting down. “Look, the System just rewrote bits of reality on me because of your fumbled arrival tipping some invisible scales and it has not been forthcoming about the changes. I had things to check on and things have been a bit political. I sent you a message.”

“That message said a lot of nothing,” Peerless Cucumber says, but with less venom.

“Aha, yeah. Well, I’m here now.”

Peerless Cucumber looks frustrated, but finally scoots over so that Shang Qinghua can sit beside him on the bench. Shang Qinghua gingerly sits, giving the kid space.

Shang Qinghua is being super calm for the other transmigrator right now! He’s very calm here! The calmest!

- 

AN: SY really is a scared kid putting up a front. Which works out, because SQH is a dad here (and thinks SY’s insults are mostly just funny). 

- 

Out of the corner of his eye, Shang Qinghua can see a Qian Cao Peak cultivator standing impatiently by the Qiong Ding Peak guard. And… someone bouncing on their toes in a Qing Jing Peak uniform? Speak of the half-demon future tyrant of this world!

“Looks like we’ll have to continue this later,” Shang Qinghua says.

“My assisted meditation appointment,” Peerless Cucumber confirms glumly, looking as though he’s never experienced inner peace in his life and has no intention of willingly doing so. 

- 

AN: I took SY as genuinely having a knack for cultivating and that’s the interpretation I’m using for this fic, especially since I gave the Original Shen Qingqiu health problems that nearly killed him. In an earlier chapter, Mu Qingfang mentions needing to “replace Shen Qingqiu’s entire cultivation system”, which I planted for Shen Yuan getting a free, extremely stable highly developed cultivation system as part of his transmigration later. 

I mean, Shen Yuan manages to weather Liu Qingge’s qi deviation, a great deal of stress, Without-A-Cure, and etc., and he’s remarkably stable through most of it. So I’m leaning towards “a little bit of System assistance” here. The System was going to replace both Shen Qingqiu and SQQ’s unstable cultivation system out for Shen Yuan and a more stable cultivation system. 

SQQ still has a cultivation system. If he didn’t, it would have been mentioned by now. SQQ is repeatedly stated to be improving well in this chapter. I think Mu Qingfang would have noticed if SQQ didn’t have cultivation anymore. 

- 

“Then wouldn’t you be Luo-Shixiong to me?” Peerless Cucumber suggests wryly to the protagonist, who is both about five years younger than him and still shorter. (Mu Qingfang said that their guest seems to believe that he’s newly twenty. Whether or not the kid is editing his age up or down, Shang Qinghua has decided that he’s just not going to fucking think about this fact.)

“Uh,” Luo Binghe says, looking stunned and then to Shang Qinghua for help. Ha, he’s flustered, which doesn’t happen often. That’s adorable.. “...Maybe?”

Shang Qinghua snorts and remains unhelpful. Ning Yingying is actually about a year younger than Luo Binghe is, Shang Qinghua knows, but she’s been a member of the sect for significantly longer. Binghe might have some shidi and shimei soon with the next entrance test and he’s been very excited about that, but he clearly doesn’t know what to do with a “shidi” closer to his young auntie’s age than his own. Kind of weird seniors and juniors are just part of the sect experience, nephew! Get used to it!

“Thank you, regardless,” Peerless Cucumber says.

“Of course,” Binghe agrees quickly.

- 

AN: SQH is probably going to look back on this moment and go, “Hmm.” 

- 

‘You’re very resourceful,” his sister-in-law says slyly.

“I am very resourceful,” Shang Qinghua allows, and in a fit of affection reaches up to pinch Luo Jiahui’s cheek like she’s Binghe. “And I have the world’s wisest and least bossy sister-in-law, too! How fortunate I am!”

Luo Jiahui slaps his hand away with a giggle, turning slightly pink.

“At least you know it!” she says.

- 

AN: I’ve been wanting to make SQH pinch someone’s cheek for ages now. 

- 

“...You looked very scared that night,” Luo Jiahui says finally. “It might have seemed worse to you than it was. If your demon can’t be understanding of one bad night, then it’s… I don’t know if there’s a way forward with him at all.” She fixes a determined expression and says, “If any offers are retracted then we’ll manage just fine without him. We’ll tell Qingge and he’ll help. And so will Fanli. Our family won’t fall apart so easily. Hua-Ge doesn’t have to take care of everything and be everything at once to everyone.”

- 

AN: LJH channeling some “dump him! dump him! dump him!” energy. 

- 

Shang Qinghua has never been able to picture cutting ties after all this time. What would he even say? “My king, I think our arrangement has come to an end. I promised to serve you for the rest of my life, but that was when I didn’t think my life was worth very much.” He can’t see that going over well! It’s never really been an option, anyway, since Luo Binghe can’t not unlock his demonic powers and go to the Demon Realm. The System won’t have it.

- 

AN: If SQH said that to MBJ, that would be a one-hit KO, probably. 

Break the man’s heart, why don’t you?

[leapyearkisses]

Orbs Are Bad News Part 1/2 - (m/m) Gerrit/Llewellyn

I ran out of Eliseo/Padgett stories, so I’ll post the rest of what I’ve got. Thank you to everyone who has liked, reblogged, and/or left nice comments. This community is truly so kind!

Anyway, I love these characters, so much. :)

MESS, sorta NSFW probably, sneezing on person (who likes it) - Elven sorcerer Llewellyn gets his hands stuck to a magic orb while he has a cold and has to be taken care of by his FWB(?) half-elf fighter Gerrit Truestride who gets off on that sort of thing. 

I fricking forgot Gerrit’s last name. This might be it??

---

"Okay, we don't know what we're dealing with here, so let's be careful." Gerrit pushed open the heavy wooden door and lifted his torch to illuminate the room inside. The firelight played over several tables covered in intriguing objects and glinted teasingly off of more than one hint of gold. Gerrit himself spotted a stolid wooden chest in the corner and his heart rate quickened. "Jackpot," breathed Remembrance, the party's resident ne'er-do-well. She rubbed her hands together, sharp nails clicking. Gerrit was sure she was assigning price tags to the lot of it, except for whatever she hid in her bags for herself, of course. "I know a guy in the capitol who'll pay through the nose for that pervy little statue there." "That is a religious object," chastised Cordes with a haughty tsk. "It's used in rituals of worship for the goddess Fortuna." "Oh, I'm sure he'll be worshipping," cackled Remembrance, and she slipped past Gerrit into the vault. "Few hundred gold and he'll be rubbing out a grand ol' prayer." Her pointed tail waved with greedy delight. "Hey! The proper course of action would be to bring it back to a temple!" Cordes went after her, pushing Gerrit aside. The half-elf grumbled but wasn't surprised. "At least TRY not to touch anything cursed," he called. He'd been the one to organize this little band, but although he was the one who reported to their patron, he had precious little influence over what they did. They were happy to point to him when some upstart had a problem with the party, though. Ingrates. He turned to the last member of the group. "What about you, Llewellyn? I thought I saw some books on the far table."

"Lead the way," replied the sorcerer, and his usually mellifluous voice sounded strained. Purple shadowed the hollows under his faintly luminous silver eyes, and he had his nose tucked into his handkerchief again. Gerrit hadn't spent much time around full elves, but he'd always believed they couldn't get sick, at least not like a human or dwarf. Llewellyn had been dragging since Saints' Day, though, and seemed to have come down with a flu. His skin, where visible under his fitted robes, was wan. "Sure," said Gerrit, and he stepped into the room, holding the door out so that Llewellyn could join him. "You, uh, you don't look like you're feeling any better." "Oh," said the sorcerer, "I'm not. I ran out of tonics." He entered the vault and walked over to one of the tables, investigating a strangely shaped glass bowl. "But as we were already down here, I'm not sure what you want me to say. There's no inn at which I might rest my weary bones."  "Cordes could make you an herbal remedy," Gerrit grumped. He went over to the chest he'd seen earlier and smashed the lock off with the pommel of his dagger. He didn't need any fancy lockpicking tools like Remembrance's. And hitting something felt good when his companions were all intent to be annoying, acerbic, or both. "I suppose," Llewellyn replied, sounding uncertain as his voice wavered. Gerrit tried to ignore the way his ears heated at that. That was the tone that overtook the elf when he was preparing to sneeze. It wasn't any of Gerrit's concern. His occasional roll in the hay (literal and figurative) with Llewellyn did not make it easier or more appropriate to acknowledge his odd attractions, especially since they were currently ransacking a dungeon with a priest and a psychopath. He focused his attention on searching the chest, and he was rewarded with a heavy coin purse, a stack of calfskin-bound journals, and a ruby the size of a robin's egg. He whistled. Llewellyn gasped. "Hah- hahttsch-ow!" "'Ow'?" Cordes appeared from behind a bookshelf, one arm wrapped tightly around a thick rug, the other reaching for his pack of salves. "What is it? Cut? Burn?" When Gerrit looked, their sorcerer was rubbing his nose with his left hand. "Bruise," Llewellyn said. He lifted his right hand, in which he held a blue crystal orb that was knotted inside a thin lattice of gold chain. "I got my hand caught." He'd apparently run the thing into his nose when trying to cover his sneeze. Llewellyn's thin face was already dusted pink from the embarrassment. Gerrit couldn't help but laugh. "Very graceful," he chuckled. "I will thank you for keeping it to yourself," Llewellyn replied, and that was elvish dialect for "fuck you." Gerrit laughed again.  Cordes had leaned over to see the orb better in the firelight. He was the only one among them whose vision was hindered by the dim light. "What kind of artifact is this?" he asked. "It doesn't resemble anything I've studied." "I'm not sure." Llewellyn held it up to the torch. The orb lit up like a lamp, but otherwise nothing happened. "Whatever this chain is, though, it's very prone to tangling." He tried to shake it off his wrist and failed. This was a task for both hands, and he set to freeing himself. And kept trying. And trying. Gerrit frowned. "What are you doing? Cordes, would you get that off of him?" "Sure." The priest reached out to help, but Llewellyn suddenly backed away out of reach. "Uh... I'm not trying to steal it, elf." "Oh, I would let you take it," Llewellyn said, scowling. "But I have a feeling we would be in for some trouble if you touch it now." He held up both hands. His palms were wrapped around the crystal and bound with the ball in that thin gold chain. "I am... I'm stuck."

---

"STUCK," hooted Remembrance again. She was crouched at the entrance to the dungeon - a root-cellar-like set of doors they'd found in a small bandit settlement - and hauling out a heavy pack stuffed with loot. In the daylight, she looked menacing and out of place, her horns, dusky maroon skin tone, and black eyes setting her apart from this land's primarily human residents. "And you even said not to touch any curses!" "I recall you said so as well," said Cordes, who looked exactly like a run-of-the-mill human resident except for the star-like scar on his left temple. He reached down and grabbed Gerrit's hand, steadying the half-elf as he climbed out of the hole. Llewellyn was hanging uncomfortably on Gerrit's back, arms looped around the other man's neck. They'd tried to find a more dignified way to get him out of the dungeon, but he couldn't manage the ladder well enough without the use of his hands. "The artifact didn't react to my detection spell," sniffed Llewellyn disdainfully, and Gerrit was quick to set him down before that sniffing could become another sneeze. He didn't want to blush in front of the others. "There must be someone in Veigh who can help you," Gerrit said. "We'll just swing by on our way to the capitol." The city was three days out of their way, but they couldn't have Llewellyn stuck this way for the two week trip back to their patron. With his hands bound, he couldn't cast any spells that required him to gesture, and that was almost all of them. He'd effectively rendered himself completely useless in combat. Veigh had a chapter of the Mages Guild in residence, though, and if no one there could help, they might at least be able to send Llewellyn on ahead via a transportation spell.  "I will hope there is." Llewellyn looked pale and worn, though his fine features still exuded the otherworldly beauty of the high elves. His hair was a silky black, although mostly covered by his hood, and the contrast made his silver eyes look even more curious. He fumbled for a minute at his waist before scowling heavily. "I can't get into any of my bags, of course..." "What do you need?" asked Gerrit. Remembrance had started off through the trees, humming, her bulging pack swaying with her sinuous movements. Gerrit really didn't want to let her get too far ahead, not least because she was scary good at concealing herself in the foliage and might slip the party completely. However, Cordes was with her, and Llewellyn couldn't exactly fend for himself right now. "My handkerchief..." The elf's voice had gone wavery again, and Gerrit watched as his nostrils flared. Fuck. Gerrit hurriedly patted his pockets until he produced his own handkerchief, or what he bothered with when necessary. It was a large square of flannel, rough around the edges. It wasn't embroidered or monogrammed like Llewellyn's, but he figured by now the flannel was a hell of a lot cleaner, and it was soft for an irritated nose. "Here, take mine." Llewellyn held out his hands plus the orb for it, breath hitching, but no matter how Gerrit tried to drape the cloth, it kept slipping off of the artifact. He supposed he could try to tie it around the- Llewellyn made a desperate sound and tipped his head back, exposing the long line of his throat. His breath was coming in soft pants now. And he was raising the orb reflexively.  Gerrit couldn't let him whack himself in the face again, so he did the only other thing he could think of. With one hand he reached out and took Llewellyn by the shoulder. With the other, he lifted the handkerchief and pressed it over the elf's nose. His fingers settled firmly on either side of Llewellyn's nostrils, and none too soon. After another half-hitch, Llewellyn ducked forward again with a quiet but insistent sneeze. "Happtsch! Gerrit was sure he was beet red. “Bless you,” he mumbled. Through the cloth, Llewelyn’s nose felt hot, and any gentle pressure resulted in a bit of a squish. “Let me just…” "Whh- wait-" Llewellyn leaned into the handkerchief. "I'm nh- I'm not done hhH-" His eyes slipped shut and he gasped again. Gerrit swallowed and tried to ignore the tenting of his breeches. "R-roger that." He could feel Llewellyn's nostrils twitching against his fingers. "Hh...Haah- Hapttschuh! Snrk... Aptschiu!" His body rocked, and he took a half-step forward. Gerrit could hear the thick sound of congestion in the elf's nose as he tried to stave off another sneeze. "Blow your nose," he said. "It will help." Llewellyn hesitated, but in the end, he had to comply. There was nowhere for the mucus to go except out. He started to blow with a gurgle. Gerrit moved the hand from his shoulder to start rubbing Llewellyn's back. The handkerchief and his fingers were rapidly growing damp, but he really didn't mind. "There you go."  He held the handkerchief to Llewellyn's nose until the elf moved back on his own. His nose was red and tender looking, and his cheeks were flushed rosy. He didn't seem to want to meet Gerrit's eyes. Gerrit didn't mention it. He didn't really want to look at Llewellyn either right now. It had been a while since the elf had looked so very fuckable.  He put the handkerchief in an easily-accessible outside pocket of his vest.  "Ready to go?"  Llewellyn coughed lightly. "Yes." "Excellent." Gerrit gestured for Llewellyn to precede him, and the two of them headed out through the trees, following the sounds of Cordes negotiating the underbrush and swearing about it. --- Travel proved easy enough once they made it to the road. They were fortunate not to meet anyone else along the way. The party could handle a group of bandits without their sorcerer, but they had their treasure to worry about, and Remembrance always drew stares, and sometimes aggression, even from normal travelers. Gerrit thought her skills more than made up for the extra negative attention they drew. And anyway, Remembrance was crazy but she wasn't evil. She did better out on the road than in town, but that was probably true of all of them. Llewellyn kept up with her pace, but it was clearly a struggle. He was usually fairly quiet, but he didn't speak at all as they walked, focusing on breathing and not devolving into coughing or more sneezing. There were a few times when Gerrit hastily reached into his pocket, at the ready, but Llewellyn fought back the itch with admirable determination. He kept his nose from running by sniffling heavily, which sounded somewhere between awful and revolting. Cordes commented on it multiple times with disgust, but nothing could be done. Llewellyn held his tongue, and Gerrit was reluctant in this case to offer the handkerchief without being asked. They found a place to camp about half an hour outside the small village of Tewks. Remembrance cleared out some brush to make a flat area for the bedrolls and then promptly decided she'd rather sleep in a tree with everything she owned. She found a good, solid oak a few yards from the camp and ensconced herself in the crux of its branches. She had a good view of the road in either direction and volunteered to take the second watch in the middle of the night, which was her favorite time. Gerrit agreed to take the first watch as Cordes started to set up his tent. The priest refused to sleep on the ground and always took an extra fifteen minutes to erect a curious one-person canvas canopy. It wasn't even large enough to sit up inside, but whatever. The priest never asked anyone else to haul it along, so Gerrit wouldn't complain. These arrangements left him and Llewellyn alone together on one side of the fire, and he supposed that was preferable during the orb situation anyway. Llewellyn couldn't handle his own bedroll, help with the fire, or unpack any of their supplies. Gerrit realized he would probably have to help the elf eat, too. And... Well, when he noticed Llewellyn fidgeting uncomfortably, Gerrit took him out into a thicker copse to see to his other needs. They didn't talk about it... Llewellyn could hardly undo his own buttons, though, and it wasn't the first time Gerrit had taken over. By the time the fire was hot enough to cook over, Llewellyn had tucked himself up to sit on a tree stump, exuding an aura of furious self-reproach. Cordes took some jerky into his tiny tent with him - for some reason. Gerrit made up two bowls of pottage and sat himself on the ground at the roots of the stump. He put one bowl on the ground for himself and then held up the other. "Hungry?" "Not particularly," Llewellyn replied, voice blunted with congestion. He coughed. "But you're going to make me eat something, aren't you." "I'd prefer you do it willingly." Gerrit tapped the spoon on the side of the bowl. "Come on. It's hot. You'll feel better." Llewellyn growled in a manner more suited to orcs than elves. "I feel like an invalid." Gerrit sighed. "Well, if it makes you feel better, we can pretend you lost your arms in an owlbear attack very tragically." He could feel Llewellyn's fiery glare on him and smiled a little. "Look, we've all done stupid things while adventuring. I'm sure you remember when I tripped and knocked myself out on that knight's shield during the tournament." "I remember," replied the elf, begrudgingly. "Besides, you're sick on top of the whole orb thing. Maybe your detection spell wasn't sensitive enough. Maybe the thing's not even cursed! Maybe it's supposed to do this, and we just don't know why." "I have a hard time believing that. What possible purpose could this serve?"  Gerrit shrugged. "Don't ask me. Dad says my mother was a druid, but I haven't got a magical bone in my body." He tilted his head. "We could always try smashing it?" Llewellyn's rejection was forceful. "Do you want to explode?!" Gerrit chuckled. "Not really." Llewellyn sighed. Gerrit held out a spoonful of pottage. Feeding both Llewellyn and himself was a bit difficult, but Gerrit did well enough when he could alternate. It would be better if he could use both hands equally like Cordes, but he couldn't, and so he didn't. He just thought about it wistfully as he worked. Llewellyn ended up eating most of his bowl, then went back to sitting quietly and sniffling. Gerrit finished the rest and put the utensils aside to deal with later. And... Even though Llewellyn hadn't asked, he drew out his handkerchief again. "Hey," he began, trying not to sound awkward. "You wanna blow your nose?" No one else was paying attention and Llewellyn didn't need to inhale any more of that crap. The elf gave him a shitty side-eye. "Come on," said Gerrit. "Don't be like this." He patted the ground in front of him encouragingly as if Llewellyn was a recalcitrant cat. "I'm fine," said Llewellyn, and then betrayed himself with a quick breath. "Hah--" "Come on," Gerrit repeated, "before you make a mess." Llewellyn came down off the stump to sit in front of him, legs tucked underneath, and rested the orb on Gerrit's thigh to balance himself. His eyes were pinched with reluctance, but Gerrit could see that the elf's nostrils were already damp. "Hah- hh- hurry," Llewellyn gasped. Again, Gerrit reached out with the handkerchief, enfolding his companion's nose. He could feel Llewellyn's breath fluttering against his hand through the fabric and hear quite clearly how it kept catching on congestion.  "Hah-hngk- Hahgkttscht!" Llewellyn ducked forward with the force of it and Gerrit steadied him with a hand on his hip. "Ngkttsch! Hnggktxch!!" Gerrit bit his lip sharply to keep from saying anything, but his body was singing with arousal. Llewellyn hiccuped a short gasp and Gerrit pulled the handkerchief away to present a clean corner. The current spot had become soaked and silvery. "Bless," he managed after a moment, and he carefully readjusted the cloth. "Are you going to sneeze again?" Llewellyn nodded, eyes teary with the effort of the first bunch. Gerrit wasn't surprised; the elf had been holding back since they left the dungeon. He couldn't imagine it had been comfortable, but Llewellyn had his pride. He never would let Gerrit give him love bites either. Annnd Gerrit was going to have to stop thinking about that. "Haptsch!" Easier said than done. Really. But Llewellyn's comfort came first. "Hahkptsch!" The sorcerer groaned softly. "Hah- hh- Hgnaptscxhx!"  Gerrit did his best to assist Llewellyn through the fit. He kept the handkerchief secure, moving it when necessary to keep it dry enough. He steadied the elf when the sneezes bent his body or when he felt faint from lack of breath. He even massaged Llewellyn's nose for him when he was trying to blow it and the congestion was stubbornly refusing to move. By the time he felt finished enough to lean back, Llewellyn was flushed and light-headed, swaying where he sat. Gerrit was sweating and needed a towel. "........Thanks," murmured Lleyellyn, eventually. "Yeah," said Gerrit. "Sure." He swallowed. "Let's wash up." He helped Llewellyn to his feet and they went a little way to a creek (generously; it was little more than a ditch through the woods). Gerrit gently washed Llewellyn's face, careful of his tender eyes and nose, and sent him back to camp to lay down for the night. He lingered at the water's edge to wash the handkerchief and, well, to take other matters in hand. Llewellyn was completely out when he returned, and Gerrit was grateful. He smoothed the elf's bangs back and then settled beside the fire to take watch. The woods in the dark were full of the sounds of insects and small animals moving in the undergrowth. And Llewellyn snoring and sniffling in his sleep. Safe sounds. Gerrit rested his chin on his hand and looked toward the road. Damn orb. It was going to be a long way to Veigh.

[angelz-dust]

masters of none - part 2 (jason todd x reader)

summary: thank you all for taking interest in this! i’ve gotten wonderful feedback and helpful criticism that i appreciate so much. i’ve decided to give you guys some more jason since i’m sure you all want to see him lol. i have a plan tho so bear with me. we are currently laying the foundation.

word count: 2.9k

warnings: alcohol. food mention. anxious reader.

part 1 /// part 3

ungodly hour

when you decide you like yourself. when you decide you need someone. when you don't have to think about it.

...

you felt an uncomfortable churning in your stomach as your bare back pressed against the cold leather seats of the limousine. you laced your fingers and rested your hand over your middle, hoping the subtle self soothing would calm your nerves. it wasn't everyday you went to a wayne gala after all. your silence and clear discomfort was enough to stir a reaction from misha, one of your fellow producers and stylist.

"you doing alright over there?" she asked after applying her lipgloss, carefully wiping the corners of her mouth.

"chillin'," you responded with a little shrug.

that was a lie. you felt like you were going to shit and projectile vomit simultaneously. however, it was freezing in the limo so you were definitely chilling in some sense of the word. your navy off the shoulder dress made of tulle embroidered with stars but it wasn't really warm. your shoulders were exposed and so was a good portion of your arms. you didn't know how misha was holding up in her dress. her entire back and arms had to protection from the cold at all.

"you know this isn't a big deal, right?" she reminded you gently. she must have picked up on your discomfort. "we'll go in, i'll network with the old money of gotham, and we'll leave."

"yeah but where does that leave me?" you asked her, shifting in your seat and almost slipping out of it. the tulle didn't provide much traction against the slippery leather. "i'm your plus one, remember? i serve no purpose."

"i thought that was the selling point," she pouted before making an attempt to cheer you up. "you don't serve no purpose. you're there to make me look good. my arm candy."

"i believe people may see it as the other way around," you informed her with a sigh. "but... fine. as long as you don't leave me alone."

"and let somebody snatch up my trophy wife?" misha scoffed, causing you to exhale through your nose with a barely visible smile. "i'm not letting you out of my sight!"

the limousine slowly stopped in front of the venue, your door lined up with the red carpet that had been laid out for the guests. it was time. you glanced around, briefly considering your escape plan just as the driver had opened the door, snuffing our any idiotic thoughts you had about jumping out through the sunroof or shimming out of the opposing window, away from the prying eyes of the paparazzi.

the lights. bright, blinding white lights flashing on and off. if you weren't acutely aware of where you were at the moment, you would've thought some kid had an essay due at midnight with the furious clicking and shuttering that filled your ears. misha was the first to step out, waiting for you to maneuver your way out.

the golden light emanating from the venue, paired with the harsh lights from the press honestly made misha look even more beautiful than normal. here you were, completely out of your element, standing next to a goddess in lilac chiffon. you looked up at her, noticing how the soft edges of her face contrasted with the sharp ones of her collarbone and the plunging v neck only accentuated that. the person you were with wasn't your friend, or your label mate. no, you were with gotham's resident fashionista and trendsetter, misha matsuri. if anyone was the arm candy, it was her.

you were brought out of your trance when she linked arms with you and began leading out down the red carpet. you honestly couldn't make out what the paparazzi were shouting at you both, aside from the occasional scream of your names. normally, you'd be a little more lively but this was a very important and formal event. it wasn't like the times where you went to award shows and you could feed off of the other seven's excited energy. you weren't surrounded by fans or people who were interested in hearing about you. you were here for misha and only her. you liked that aspect of it, but it was still uncharted territory for you.

"misha! can you tell us more about your foundation?" a reporter asked, pushing through the eager paparazzi who wanted to monopolize on their close contact with you both.

"of course," misha smiled, flipping her hair out of her face. "to cut to the chase, m squared is making fashion accessible to everyone. we've have homeless people on the streets who have no access to clothes that are befitting of the harsh weather they endure on a daily basis. we have low income families who can't afford to give their children new clothing for the school year. there are people who can't afford a nice shirt and slacks for their job interviews. our goal is the provide these people with what they need. access to clothing is a necessity, not a luxury."

you listened to misha and felt pride swell up in your chest, replacing the nausea that had plagued you previously. you were quickly reminded of why you came with her in the first place. she was trying to do something wonderful for the community and aid others in doing the same.

misha left it at that, dragging you along once she had said what she wanted. "see? that wasn't so bad."

"we haven't even crossed the threshold, mother teresa," you reminded her, jerking your chin in the direction of the large double doors behind held open for you both. misha flashed her invitation to the bouncer, quickly being let in.

the two of you walked in and you were stunned at the venue. everyone was dressed to the nines. you recognized many politicians, socialites, and some celebrities as you worked your way to the main ballroom. you felt your eyes widened as you saw bruce wayne out socializing with his guests. you had seen him on the news and in magazines but never in person. he was much taller than you expected. and closer in proximity to you. how was that happening?

"miss matsuri, miss l/n," he had greeted you both, almost surprising you. you weren't sure if misha brought you to him or he brought himself to you. maybe they met halfway while you were in shock. either way, he was here now. "it's wonderful to finally meet you both."

both? he knew you? bruce wayne knew you?

"thank you for your invitation, mr. wayne," misha smiled politely as they gently shook hands. he turned to you, offering you the same courtesy. you felt your brain lag out before you snapped out of it, taking his hand with nervous laughter. "it was a pleasant surprise."

"anyone that has the best interest of gotham in mind deserves recognition and support for their efforts. and please, bruce is fine."

you zoned out as bruce gave you the run down on the place. your eyes wandered around, occasionally lining up with a location bruce was telling you about. you were brought out of your boredom when you heard a loud crash off in the distance. you saw a group of four boys all surrounding a broken champagne bottle like it was a crime scene. you saw a twinge of annoyance on bruce's face before he collected himself.

"please excuse me. i need to reprimand my sons," he said apologetically, making his way over to the group who paled at his presence, except for the youngest one.

"father, this was todd's doing," you heard him say with a frown. "he kept antagonizing drake and they knocked over the champagne. grayson and i were merely bystanders."

"you are such a snitch," the apparent perpetrator sneered.

"here, come on," misha laughed, dragging you away from the scene. "i have old men to seduce for their money."

your gaze lingered on the group while you were dragged away. you knew that none of them were related by blood, expect for the little one and bruce, but handsome clearly ran in the wayne family. there must be something in that expensive tap water.

you spent majority of the night helping misha on her quest for benefactors. she wasn't made of money and she had made it clear that she didn't want money coming from the community. she wanted to 'milk the rich bastards of gotham for everything they've got' or something to that effect.

not actively participating in these conversations required you to try and keep yourself occupied. you started counting the chandeliers (there were five), thinking about one of the tracks you were working on (the chorus was lacking something and you didn't know what it was), and at one point you tried listening in on other conversations, hoping to hear about something juicy (you didn't).

how many glasses of champagne have you had now? three? four? you lost count. you realized you should've been counting them instead of the chandeliers. either way, you were definitely starting to feel the effects of that err. or was that the sensation of being watched?

misha had left to use the bathroom, leaving you by the fancy finger foods. as you ate the bacon wrapped enoki mushrooms, you could feel the presence of another person. you swallowed your food with a helpful swig of champagne before turning to the person who had made a claim on one of the strawberries with chocolate drizzle.

you watched as his lips parted, carefully taking a bite of the potentially messy dessert, his gaze directed at you. it was the handsome wayne boy from earlier. the champagne murderer was what you were calling him in your head. he was very tall and much better looking up close. his eyes were very striking, too. from the look in those eyes, you quickly figured out what he was trying to do.

"she's in the bathroom," you informed him, his brow perking silently as he chewed the berry, licking his lips of any lingering juice. he had this look on his face. confusion? but then you saw him fighting back a smile as he looked down at the table before looking over at you again.

"who?" he asked, his tone and look in his eyes awfully playful. you confused his flirty tone for coyness.

"don't play dumb," you laughed. normally, you wouldn't help out guys when it came to getting on misha's good side but you were making an exception for the dangerously handsome champagne murderer. "i can't give you her number. she hates that. but if it's any consolation, you're definitely her type."

"well, what about you?" he asked after taking a short pause to digest your words. "am i your type?"

you scoffed. the gall of this man. 

"am i the backup plan or something?"

"no," he said, his lips pursed slightly as he shook his head. "would you like to be?"

"there's not going to be a plan to back up if you're trying it with me," you told him seriously. what a dick. it was to be expected, though. he was bruce wayne's son after all. of course he was a player.

"i never said i was trying anything. you're the one who keeps assuming things," he reminded you with a little grin. "had it occurred to you that i came over here, simply wanting to indulge myself in these divine strawberries?"

and he did just that, looking you in the eye as he took a slow bite of his new berry, raising a brow as you watched him. "what?"

"are they as divine as you anticipated?" you asked, not being able to resist some teasing.

"absolutely."

there was something about the way he answered you. was he flirting? were you flirting? the champagne was making it hard to read the situation. there was no way someone as gorgeous as him would spare you a glance and even if he did, you didn't have the time or energy for romance.

"alright. i'll be honest. i came over here because, well, i'm a fan," he told you, turning his body to fully face you now.

"oh," you nodded, not sure what to say next. when people led with that, it always felt awkward. were you supposed to say thank you, or was that weird?

"yeah. i've always wanted to meet batman."

you visibly paused, turning to face him as you watched him give you a lopsided grin. you breathed out a laugh, shaking your head. so he was a fan. he was referencing something you tweeted a few days ago. someone had jokingly made a conspiracy thread, claiming at you and the rest of cloud 9 were the vigilantes of gotham. they had theorized that you were orphan, to which you rebuffed, saying that you were clearly batman and they were blind not to see the resemblance.

"shhh, it's a secret," you whispered, putting your index finger to your lips. 

"ohhh. right, right. my mistake," he whispered back with a firm nod. "how do you juggle your two jobs, though? seems difficult."

"well, if you must know, batman is actually a robot that i control from the comfort of my couch. very advanced technology. you wouldn't get it," you joked, making jason laugh out loud. was it really that funny or were you missing something?

"funny," he answered unintentionally. or you thought. could he read minds? "i'm jason."

"jason," you tested out his name on your tongue. jason. you liked it. "wayne?"

"todd," he quickly corrected you, seeming very adamant that you understood that.

"jason todd," you said again, almost addicted to how it sounded coming from your lips. jason. jason todd.

"and you're y/n l/n," he said, almost as if he were telling you, reminding you that was your name. you weren't sure if you liked saying his name or hearing him say yours more. before you could even register what was happening, he took your hand and gave it a soft kiss.

you locked eyes with him as he looked up at you with his lips, soft as silk, pressed against your knuckles. you could see something in them. he looked... unsure. afraid of his actions. you found yourself subconsciously mirroring his expression in an effort to try and identify it.

"it's a pleasure to finally meet you," you said breathlessly, noting how his demeanor changing a little now that the two of you searched each other's souls for a few seconds. he rubbed his thumb over your fingers before letting go.

"pleasure's all mine," he said, his voice softer now. he was the one who broke eye contact, looking around absentmindedly. he grabbed another strawberry, about to eat it when you went to carefully grab it from him. his lips grazed your fingers as he loosened his lazy grip, letting you take it from him.

"you can't hog them all," you informed him, trying it out for yourself. they were divine, just as jason described them to be. you let out a satisfied hum, which seemed to grab his attention.

"things always taste better when they belong to someone else, right?" he teased and you couldn't help but wonder if there was a double meaning to that.

"you don't own the strawberries, jason.”

"no, but i owned the one that's in your mouth, y/n."

you were sure he was saying these things on purpose now. you just smiled, softly sucking the juice off the pads of your fingers. seldom did the opportunity to harmlessly flirt with someone present itself so you wanted to enjoy it while you could. during your back and forth, you could feel yourself holding back, despite this. you felt jason was doing the same. you were both constantly thinking about what you were doing and actively fighting against it but not doing a very good job at it. it was odd, but you felt like you and jason had this unspoken, mutual understanding for what you were doing in that moment.

still, you couldn't let yourself fall into that trap. you knew when this was all over, that was it. nothing would come from it and you were fine with that. besides, he was a fan, right? it wasn’t right to be with a fan. there was a power imbalance there that you weren’t looking to exploit.

"sorry to interrupt, but my wife and i have an early morning tomorrow," you heard misha say from behind you as she wrapped her long, slender arms around you. saved by the bell.

"wife?" he parroted, giving you a curious look.

"yeah, for like, two more hours," you reminded her as you glanced at your watch.

"and you have to respect the sanctity of our fake marriage until then. just like cinderella," misha told you, putting her arm around your shoulder now.

"i don't think that's how the story goes," you laughed, giving jason an apologetic look afterwards. "i should get going."

"i understand. i'd hate to be branded a home wrecker," he joked and misha gave him a look.

"oh, i'm sure you would," she smirked, tugging you along. "goodbye, thief."

"bye jason," you called to him, waving goodbye, receiving a silent wave and smile in return.

"what was that about?" misha nudged you playfully, giving you a suggestive look as she led you through the maze of bodies blocking your escape route.

"i'll tell you on the way home."

you exited the venue from the back, where your limo was waiting for you. what started out as a scary social event ended up being surprisingly fun. you learned a thing or two from watching misha network and that conversation with jason was entertaining, to say the least. you wondered if you’d ever run into him again.

probably not.

[mcfiddlestan]

I’m relatively new to marvel and I was wondering why you don’t like Hemsworth? I absolutely understand and agree with not liking Waititi (in terms of how he progressed the plot in Ragnarok and how he treated Loki and other characters)... but if there’s something either or both Hemsworth or Waititi did that made you/the fandom not like them, what is it?

Hi, Nonnie.

Ok, so strap in. Cuz this will probably get long.

First off, it’s not so much that I don’t like Hemsworth. It’s more I’m disappointed in his progression as an actor and celebrity in Hollywood. Frankly, when I first saw Thor no one in the cast really stuck with me except Kat Dennings bc I knew her already and loved her work. (Yeah I knew who Natalie Portman was but I’ve had issues with her since Star Wars — long story). It wasn’t until Avengers that I really caught on to the Hiddlesmania. In those days, 2012 and up through The Dark World, there was a very sweet, very genuine bromance going on between Hemzy and Hiddles. They really were “brothers from another mother.” They were adorable together. I remember in one press event with the entire cast Hemzy and Hiddles were making faces at each other across the table and when a reporter asked Hiddles who his fave Avenger was, before he could answer, Hemzy shouted, “Your brother!” There was a very beautiful connection between them. What happened to that? It’s anyone’s guess, but here’s what happened for me.

Leading up to the release of TDW, I might have found it weird that the, like, fourth-billed actor, and the previous film’s “villain,” was chosen to basically lead the global promotion. It was Hiddles, by his lonesome, in Mexico, Australia, China, etc. And he killed it. And it started pretty much with his appearance at Comic-Con that July. We ALL remember that. Why wasn’t Hemzy participating in any of this promo? Idk. I’m pretty sure he was filming Snow White & the Huntsman, or something. Still, it was interesting and telling that Marvel chose to utilize Hiddles’ very apparent popularity. Hell, they chose not to kill Loki because of his popularity.

So it would be about three years before Hemzy and Hiddles came back together again to film Ragnarok. And between that time, Hemzy filmed six movies and Hiddles filmed eight. During that time, also, Hiddles pulled a 180° on everybody and participated in what was the most ridiculous, career-destroying antic he could ever participate in. If you don’t know what I mean, just Google Tom and the Summer of 2016. It’s my opinion that that whole event had a damaging affect on not only Tom’s image in the industry, but I think it made his colleagues and friends question how well they really knew him. And I think it hindered his bankability for filmmakers. Basically it wasn’t a good move for him. The moment I first noticed a change in Hemzy’s behavior with Hiddles was at a Wizard World convention in the middle of the PR nightmare and the beginning of filming Ragnarok in 2016.

During their panel onstage, Hemzy seemed oddly quiet and tense even. He didn’t seem all that interested in being there or answering questions. And Hiddles was like an anxious puppy, overcompensating for Hemzy’s lackluster demeanor. I’m not the only one who’s noticed it, but no one can really pinpoint why. Was Hemzy upset that Tom was “dating” that chick? Was he upset at how obviously out of character it was? I’m guessing there was more to it because the filming of Ragnarok, and it’s result, speak volumes about what Hemzy was apparently feeling.

There are clips and interviews from the set of Raganarok and during promo with Waitidiot and Hemzy where they are very vocal about making sure Hemzy was the star of the movie “because it’s called Thor.” Waitidiot even referred to Loki as a goth orphan or something. Overall they were very critical of and condescending toward Tom and Loki. In the few interviews Hemzy and Hiddles did together, that old spark between them wasn’t there. There’s a lot about Ragnarok I don’t like. Hela was underused, Valkyrie was underused, Skurge deserved better. But, of course, what I hate most about it is the awful way they treat Loki through the whole thing. The way Thor became a bigger bully than he already was. The way he just wanted to wash his hands of Loki — which continued with the fucking Russo brothers who couldn’t put their stupid heads together long enough to realize Loki deserved to have his revenge on Thanos just like Nebula and even Wanda did. Loki deserved to be on that field fighting next to his brother, dammit.

Anyway….since Ragnarok promo i was kind of side-eyeing Hemzy. He literally behaved like a spoiled brat who found a friend who believed his bullshit (feeling overshadowed by Loki; which I think extended to feeling inferior in some way to Tom, a very gifted, educated actor compared to Hemzy who kind of fell into acting. There’s nothing wrong with where Hemzy started; but his choices in the last few years speak for themselves. 🤷🏽‍♀️) and they teamed up to bully the brainy guy. So then Infinity War promo came around and Hiddles was paired with Sebastian Stan and Letitia Wright and Paul Bettany, I think. I loved him with Sebastian (I ship WinterFrost), but it was weird that he wouldn’t be paired up at some point with Hemzy. But then Hemzy wasn’t doing any promo — wait what?? Yeah. Hemzy skipped out on Shanghai I believe. Then he said he couldn’t be at another place bc he got in an accident and injured his elbow ??? Then the next day he posted an IG live where he’s driving?? And his elbow is loosely wrapped in an ACE bandage??? That actually falls off during the video?? And then he was supposed to be somewhere for another promo, said he couldn’t make it, and was spotted camping off the coast of Australia with Matt Damon’s family??? It was all very suspish.

Speaking of Damon, don’t get me started on the bullshit scene in the last Jay & Silent Bob movie where he literally trashed Tom and his portrayal of Loki. Fuck off, Damon. Go suck Ben Affleck’s dick already.

Anyway. All the Ragnarok stuff and his behavior during IW promo and his seeming dismissal of Hiddles completely has just rubbed me the wrong way. Added to that, it just feels like Hemzy isn’t really in the business to hone his craft. It feels like he’s in it for the money. And yeah that’s a great benefit of acting in Hollywood. But he doesn’t seem to choose quality roles anymore. I liked him in Blackhat. I liked Rush. He was really good in Bad Times at the Royale, but it feels like all he wants to do now are formula action movies with no depth, no growth, where he just has to flex his muscles and give a charming smile. Which is fine but that gets tired after awhile (just ask Dolph Lundgren and Jean-Claude VanDamme). So right now, I want nothing to do with Love and Thunder — which is one of the stupidest movie names I’ve heard in awhile. And frankly I just don’t want to watch Hemzy not try to be his best. If I want mindless action with no real plot, I’ve got the Fast and Furious franchise. 🤷🏽‍♀️

Hope this answers your question, Nonnie. Thanks for asking. Let me know, if I can clarify anything for you.

xoxo, La

[magioftheseas]

Mending Cotton Thread

Summary: the ultra despair girls meet with an ex-servant once more.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Language courtesy of Touko

Notes: This is late for Touko’s birthday and wasn’t even written for her birthday but please accept it anyway. Writing Touko is hard. I tried. Weirdly I haven’t written a lot of Toukomaru, presumably because I suck or something. And Komaeda is here, too. I do write a lot of him.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

Of all the people to see again, she wasn’t expecting it to be Servant-san. It had to be at the weirdest, most unexpected moment.

Except not really. All she was doing was visiting the Future Foundation building to leave a report and namely, to talk to Makoto for a bit. Riots broke out in Towa City again, and he had been so worried about her but she took care of it, her and Touko, it was fine, everything was fine, but she did still want to talk to Makoto and—

“Oof!”

“Ah!”

She hadn’t been paying much attention. She ran into someone, near barreled into them, actually, and that person had been kind enough to steady her in return. They had a cold but secure grip. Not clammy like Touko but much more perfunctory. There was a mechanical whirl by her ear, and a soft exhale.

“Are you...alright?” A hesitant question. One that Komaru immediately needed to respond to.

“Yes, I’m fi—!”

When she turned to face that person, she stopped. In fact, everything stopped.

When she was face to face with Servant-san again, it wasn’t fine. It wasn’t fine at all. She froze up and reached for her gun instinctively, only pausing when he backed off and held up his hands.

“Sorry,” he says with a pitiful smile. “I’ll be out of the building soon. Please don’t mind me, Komaru-san.”

Komaru blinked at him. It was Servant-san’s face, but Servant-san never looked at her like that.

Her thoughts start racing in spite of his apparent efforts.

What—should I do? Should I accost him? Stop him? Interrogate him? Demand something like, “what are you doing here?! What are you planning?!”

But he doesn’t look like he’s planning anything bad...

If she were Makoto, she’d stand her ground but smile in return. Would simply ask questions. Would defuse the situation. Act sweet. Act gentle. Makoto was a bit hapless at times, but he always dealt well with people.

If she were Touko, she’d stand her ground and strike first. Throw Servant into the wall. Incapacitate him. Show that she was in charge. That she was in control. Even though Touko had a unique way with words, she knew how to back herself up with actions.

She’s not either of them. Komaru is just—herself.

“Servant-san...?” she questions it because even now, Komaru is not the surest of herself.

“Oh. I never...” Servant laughs, wheezes. It’s such a scratchy ugly sound that Komaru nearly seizes up, but Servant is quick to wave his hands and shake his head frantically. “No, no, I wasn’t laughing at you, Komaru-san! It’s more that I...um. I never introduced myself properly to you, did I?”

“You said not to mind you,” she pointed out, lips pointed into a frown. “You said that back then—and just now. So, have you really changed?”

“Mm, no comment.” He doesn’t look at her but he seemed embarrassed. Human, whereas Servant-san had always come across as alien and incomprehensible. So he had changed in some ways.

If he was at the Future Foundation and not in chains, maybe he was dubbed safe to be around?

Unless—?!

No, no, she told herself once she got a closer look at Servant. Servant, who shuffled back uncomfortably but didn’t try to run. Servant, who was wearing a finely pressed suit with gloved hands. Hair tied back neatly to boot. One could be mistaken and almost think this person handsome in a soft, mushy kind of way. Either way, with a look like this... I don’t think Servant-san has recently broken out of any prisons.

“Servant-san,” she said, and he perked up.

“It’s Komaeda.” He gives a smile. “Komaeda Nagito. Nice to see you again, Komaru-san. I’m terribly sorry for causing such a scare.” Ducking his head, he side-steps as if just being in her path had been a horrible offense on his part. Touko would agree with that assessment, so Komaru is quiet as Ser—as Komaeda Nagito flees.

She never got any actual answers. Just a name.

Servant-san is still a strange person, she decided. At least—he’s more like a person than before.

--

“Um... K-Komaru...?”

She’s so busy daydreaming that she’s not paying much attention to her surroundings.

“Komaru...”

She’s caught up in thoughts of that strange encounter. Wondering if maybe it had been too lukewarm, too inconsequential all things considered. Too—normal. Which Servant-san of the past would’ve gotten annoyed about. Komaeda Nagito hadn’t been bothered at all.

“Komaru!”

Komaru gasped mid-sigh which caused a near hiccup. She also jumped to attention, much to her girlfriend’s annoyance.

“The hell is with you,” Touko was griping. “Did something happen?”

Straight to the point. A hand on her shoulder. A stern grip.

That was Touko. Her partner and pillar.

“You kept making that annoyingly constipated look you get when you’re deep in thought,” Touko elaborated. In a very ‘that was Touko’ sort of way. “Spill the shit, Komaru.”

Touko was very reassuring.

(Komaru means this sincerely.)

“There was someone I met...”

--

Touko ended up so shocked by this apparent encounter that she started foaming at the mouth.

“But, uh, he didn’t seem like a bad person?” Komaru offered pitifully. “Ser—um. Komaeda-san had a completely different feel! Actually...”

The more I thought about it, he had reminded me somewhat of Makoto.

“W-We absolutely can’t trust your judgment!” Touko hissed, still so rattled and anxious. “You’re way too naïve and flippant about this—that fucking shit-spewing toilet tried to get her to kill you, you know!”

“I know, but...” I believed in you, so it was fine. “I did ask Makoto about him. Makoto said that... Komaeda-san was working with the Future Foundation, and that Komaeda-san wasn’t a bad person.”

Touko’s lips pulled into a thin line.

“You didn’t tell him, did you? That you already met that fucker.”

Unsurprisingly, Touko had seen right through her. Despite everything, she couldn’t help but smile at that, even when Touko’s response was a long-suffering groan.

“Komaru, what the shit. That’s absolutely the kind of thing you should run by your damn brother. By the way, that scummy guy?! He tried to have me offed by a serial killer! So maybe—I don’t know! Be fucking careful, you dullard?! Something like that!” Touko flailed, but when she steadied herself, she took Komaru by the shoulders. “Are you seriously the kind of fucking doormat that keeps quiet when troubled?! Are you kidding me?!”

“It’s not that,” Komaru denied. “It’s more that—I trust Makoto? Just like I trusted you...”

“You shouldn’t! He’s an idealistic moron and I’m—argh!” Touko pinched her nose. “Forget this. Let me settle things.”

I trust Touko-chan, so...!

“Touko-chan!” She seized her precious partner’s hands, squeezing with all she had. “Let’s settle them together!”

“U-Ugh...” Touko does flinch with a face such a heated red that it caused her glasses to fog up and steam to come pouring out the ears. “T-T...T-T-T-To...gether...”

Komaru can’t help but smile brightly.

It’s cliché to think, but we absolutely won’t falter if we’re together!

--

Touko had made demands to Makoto on the first given opportunity, leaving no room for argument.

“Do you think that we don’t fucking know who that guy used to be?! Before you parade him around so s-shamelessly you have to run shit by us! I’ll be the judge if he’s actually good enough to be out in the open or not...!”

“You want to meet with Komaeda-san?” He does glance at Komaru. Swallowing, she nods and stares back. Her brother understands. “Alright. I’ll set up a meeting, then. Did something...?”

“Happen? Between us? What the hell gave you that idea,” Touko scoffed before getting all flustered. “O-Obviously! We met him in Towa! He really caused us a shitload of problems! Did Byakuya-sama not tell you?!”

“Ah, he might’ve mentioned something like that...” Makoto’s smile is apologetic. “I’m sorry, Komaru.”

Komaru waved her hands.

“It’s not that I want S—Komaeda-san to be behind bars or anything. If you say he’s atoning, I believe you, Makoto... But... I do want to see it for myself.”

For a moment, she does think of those other kids. Shingetsu in particular who had been earnest in his desires to help other kids. While she never could get a read on Servant either, she did wonder if he had been the same before he got warped.

If Makoto believes in him, she’ll believe, too. Touko is stiff around the face and shoulders, but she’s no less reassuring when Komaru squeezes her hand.

It’ll be fine, she thinks. She’s sure of it.

Makoto’s smile brightens, and Komaru can’t help but feel hopeful.

--

...that doesn’t mean she expects things to be simple.

She’s not that stupid.

“Ser—Komaeda-san,” she greets. The two of them are sitting across from each other now.

“Shit-spewer,” Touko scowls, crossing her arms and glaring. “You’re looking ruddier than last time we met. Disgusting.”

Komaeda’s cheeks darkened. He looked sheepish. To think someone like this had caused so much trouble—that was an understatement. This guy used to be major bad news.

“It’s nice to see you two doing well,” he states meekly, ducking his head. His shoulders hunch in a bit as if Komaeda wants nothing more than to curl up into a ball and disappear.

“It’s not nice!” Touko squawked. “It’s way fucking unpleasant to see your gross face out and about! And how dare you smell so clean! A-Are you mocking us?!”

“Not my intention, I swear,” he murmurs. “Is it...alright if I...?”

“We’re asking the questions!” Touko snapped and obediently, Komaeda’s mouth snapped shut.

There’s not even a whiff of defiance, and Komaru finds that she’s already relaxed.

Even if he acted up, we could easily take him.

Still, she’d rather not fight so she smiles instead.

“How are you, Komaeda-san?”

“I’m...fine.” Komaeda’s not looking at her. He seems so anxious. It’s starting to feel really weird.

“Why are you so nervous?” Touko asks outright. “W-With the shit you pulled, w...we should be the nervous ones...!”

Komaeda’s head bows. He apologizes. Komaru frowns.

Like this, he’s...so pitiful.

“Straighten up!” Touko exclaimed. “If you keep fucking bowing like that, we’re gonna start to look like bullies!”

Komaeda apologizes. He does straighten. And—

I don’t...think he’s a bad person.

“Let’s start over,” Komaru hears herself suggest. She sticks out her hand. “I’m Naegi Komaru. This is my girlfriend, Touko.”

“Fukawa,” Touko spits out with a sneer, trembling but still following her lead.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Komaru finishes sunnily. “Komaeda-san!”

Slowly, tentatively, Komaeda grips her hand with the flesh one. Even through the gloves, she can tell that it’s a little clammy and quite uncertain. But all the same, the two shake on it, and Komaeda is smiling in a way that’s not just calming, but reassuring.

“Komaru-san,” Komaeda says as he pulls back. “Fukawa-san. It’s nice to meet both of you.”

Touko groaned, rolling her eyes.

“You’re just saying that... This situation isn’t nice at all...”

“I think it’s nice!” Komaru exclaims, clapping. “Now that we’re all acquainted, let’s talk about stuff! Komaeda-san, what kind of manga do you like?”

“Ah.” Komaeda swallowed. “I prefer...novels.”

Touko snorted. “Murakami, I presume?”

“No, no.” Komaeda shook his head. “Yoshimoto-san is more to my tastes. Her works are more...welcoming, aha.”

“They also have a lot of death in them,” Touko remarked, frowning. “I see...so that’s the kind of person you like...”

“Then, you must read Touko-chan’s novels!” Komaru shouted with such force that Komaeda flinched back.

“I-I don’t want to be liked by someone like you!” Touko hissed.

“I do love your novels as well, Fukawa-san,” Komaeda said, much to her horror.

“No! I don’t w-want someone like you to like me!”

“Touko-chan’s working on a novel right now!” Komaru said, getting more excited. “It’s the best one yet! It’s about—!”

Touko screamed, tackling Komaru to the ground to cover her mouth furiously. Screeching unintelligible garble all the while. Komaru flailed and struggled, and then—a bright burst of laughter.

“N-No, no, sorry, sorry,” Komaeda wheezed, covering his own mouth and shaking. With a flushed face and sparkling eyes, such a look of joy was enough to get the girls separating and flustered.

“...there is an I-novel I finished a couple of years back,” Touko found herself grumbling. “Naegi liked it...so you’ll probably like it, too.”

“You really think so?” Komaeda asked, squeaked, almost, and his blush darkened. “I-I mean...”

“You’ll like it so much it’ll make you want to puke,” Touko was seething, now. “So—I expect you to read the whole thing! Beginning to end! Twice, even!”

“A-Ah...”

“A-And tell me your thoughts!” she demanded. “Every single one! No matter how shitty or scummy! Do it!”

“O-Okay, Fukawa-san...!”

Watching them, Komaru’s grin was wide enough to split her face.

It’ll be fine, she thinks as the two banter and bicker. I’m sure of it.