#immediate aftermath and buck can see it on him so he keeps trying to corner him about it but eddie does not want to talk so eventually

[chronicowboy]

okay pitch for season 8. 911 redux of captain bill hader catching jake and amy making out at work and having a heart attack but gerard walks in on buck and eddie's first ever kiss which inevitably turns into more and just drops fucking dead on the spot.

[hellowkatey]

it's late night writing hours my guys. so here's a little bit of what happens before and after Echo gets absolutely wrecked by a cafeteria tray in Aftermath

2.6k words ~ CW: PTSD/panic attacks/medical trauma

For a glorious moment, Omega revels in the chaos she had started. She isn't quite sure what foodstuffs make up the greasy loafs that are served in the trooper's mess hall. Whatever they are, they make a satisfying splat noise when hitting armor, and get quite a bit of air when thrown.

Now, the revolting loafs are sailing through the air from every direction. Omega ducks behind Hunter as he decks one of the clones clear across the table. His other hand reaches back to lightly pat her upper arm, as though to make sure she's still there. Her heart soars at the gesture, and she grins as wide as her face allows while jumping on the table to chuck another handful of food at a trooper winding up to punch Echo. It smacks him in the cheek, distracting him long enough for Echo to land a left hook of his own.

Crosshair is still seated, ducking out of the way of projectiles while continuing to shovel food into his mouth. Omega watches with great amusement as Echo is kicked backwards— straight onto Crosshair's tray. His face begins cycling through the stages of grief, and ends on anger. She can't help but giggle at him slamming his fist on the table and whipping his ruined tray like a frisbee, hitting three separate troopers in the process. Though he seemed hesitant to engage earlier, he lunges at a clone that has Tech in a headlock, sending all three of them in a tangled heap.

Omega's adrenaline is pumping, heartbeat in her ears as she takes a running start and throws herself onto the shoulders of a clone. The room blurs as he whirls her around, hands trying grab her small arms. When he can't seem to whip her off, the clone suddenly bends forward at the hips, bucking Omega down onto the table. He obviously didn't expect her to be so light because she slips from his grasp and slides toward the end of the table, the air getting pushed out of her lungs. She lies still for a few seconds, breathing heavily.

What she's above makes her adrenaline high suddenly vanish. In the window that overlooks the cafeteria, Lama Su glares down at the food fight. Standing next to him is a military officer— high ranking by the looks of him. He sneers at the flying food and the troopers, saying something to Lama Su with his lip curled in disgust. She's seen his expression before on the faces of others that come to tour the facility. People revolted or offended by the very idea of clones. They're the type of people that seem little too interested in the decommissioning process. Omega has not idea who this is, but he looks official and that gives her a bad feeling.

With her breath back in her chest she rolls to her stomach just in time to see Echo sitting on the floor in the midst of the fighting. He also stares up at the officer and Lama Su, disgust across his own pale face. Does he know him? she wonders.

But as he is distracted by their spectators, the clone he knocked to the ground picks up an abandoned tray and raises it above his head.

"Echo, watch out!" Tech yells, reaching out to the cybernetic clone, but getting tackled to the ground before he can do anything. Omega's eyes widen in horror as the trooper puts his entire strength behind the tray as it swings, slamming into the side of Echo's head.

"Echo, no!" Omega screams as he pitches to the side, eyes already closed and mind dead to the world before he even hits the ground. She quickly presses a button on her commlink that alerts medical to her location and jumps off the table to weave through the troopers that have been momentarily distracted by the jarring sound of a metal tray hitting cybernetic implants.

Tech has fought his way to Echo's side, two fingers pressed against his neck as he yells out his name. The rest of the Bad Batch has taken notice of their fallen brother now, and suddenly the entire atmosphere turns serious. Wrecker isn't laughing anymore as he picks up clones and literally throws them out of the way to clear a path. Hunter and Crosshair, who were displaced to the other side of the caf, now run across the top of the tables, landing punches and throwing trays without breaking stride. Tech has hoisted Echo over his shoulder as the rest of their squad form a protective circle facing outward. Omega slips behind Hunter, unable to take her eyes off Echo's unresponsive face.

"We need to get him out of here," Tech says, his eyes flickering to every one of the cafeteria entrances. Probably doing a calculation of some sort for the quickest way to the med wing.

"Medical is on their way, we can meet them in the corridor," Omega offers, but the others don't seem to process that she's even there. She cowers at Wrecker's side, anxiety that they're upset with her eating away at her heart.

"Keep tight, let's move," Hunter says, and they all seem to know exactly what that means. Wrecker, Hunter, and Crosshair flank Tech on both sides and at his back as they run toward the exit.

They nearly pass the medical droid rushing toward the caf with a stretcher.

"Wait!" she yells, louder this time. Even if they're mad at her, at least she can try and make it up to them. This time, they actually listen to her. "This stretcher is for Echo,"

The boys look at one another and then seem to accept this. Tech gently places his unconscious brother on the stretcher as Nala Se comes rushing around the corner. The medical droid wastes no time and performing a quick scan.

"CT-1409 preliminary assessment: head trauma resulting in loss of consciousness. Patient is stable but require further testing."

"Echo isn't going to like that," Wrecker mutters.

Nala Se's blank eyes flicker from the unconscious clone to a food-covered Omega a she comes to a stop at the foot of Echo's stretcher. The medical assistant can already tell she is in for a big lecture after this stunt.

"Take CT-1409 to the medical-wing," the Kaminoan scientist says in her airy voice. "Omega, assist in the transport."

Omega places her hand on the side of the stretcher, avoiding the hard gaze of her mistress. "Yes, Nala Se."

The Kaminoan now looks at each of the others. "All clones involved in the cafeteria incident are required to be assessed for injuries," she says. "You will report to the lower level medical wing immediately."

A weak chorus of "Yes sirs," rings out and the Kaminoan continues down the hall toward the caf.

Omega starts pushing Echo's stretcher toward the medical wing, feeling the heavy footsteps of four shadows trailing behind her. Apparently a direct order wasn't enough for them.

"They won't let you guys in while he's getting tests run." Omega says while staring straight ahead. Looking at them now will fill her with too much shame.

"We're staying with him," Hunter replies as-a-matter-of-factly.

"You'll get in trouble."

"We're already in trouble, what's breaking one more rule?" Wrecker says.

Omega suddenly stops, forcing herself to look at them. They all have varying degrees of worry etched across the faces. She locks eyes with Hunter, hoping she can at least get him on her side. The last thing she wants is to be the reason they get in trouble again. "At least go get your check-up and clean the grease off your armor. If you show up with me, covered in food, then you'll have to change into medical gowns... and I'll get in trouble." Hunter's eyes soften slightly, but she can still see his hesitation. He doesn't want to get her in trouble, but this is also one of his brothers she's telling them to leave. She knows how deep loyalty runs for these men.  "I promise I won't leave his side until you come to see him."

"We'll be back in ten minutes," Hunter says after a heavy sigh. "If he wakes up before then, comm us."

"You got it," Omega nods in understanding. Though the others don't seem too happy about leaving Echo, he gives him a pointed look and their shoulders slouch with compliance. Omega starts pushing the stretcher again and is halfway down the hall when Tech appears at her side.

"Echo does not do very well with medical tests," he explains, staring at Echo's prone figure rather than directly at Omega. "I recommend, from experience, to wait until he is conscious and aware of what is being done to him before performing any procedures outside of contactless scans."

Her eyes wander over the complex configuration of wires and tubes that wrap around Echo's head and body. She looks back to Tech, nodding.

"Thank you for telling me. I will do what I can to make sure he's okay."

Tech gives her a small smile, turning around, but then pausing. "Oh, and when he does wake, he might start swinging. So keep your distance and remove any possible projectiles." With that, he starts jogging after his brothers. She cannot tell if he was joking or not.

Omega lets out a shaky breath, holding back the urge to cry as she pushes Echo into the medical wing. AZ takes over as she ducks into the scrub room to change her soiled clothes.

Somehow trying to stand up for her friends has turned into one of them getting hurt— she didn't want that to happen she just... wanted to show them she was on their side. For a little while she did feel that incredible rush of belonging. But was it worth landing Echo in the medical bay?

Of course not. They'll never let me be one of them now.

It was dumb. Provoking a room full of troopers that already have it out for the Bad Batch was a thoughtless act. Nala Se is no doubt going to remind her of that and use it keep her sequestered from now on.

Omega emerges in fresh clothes as AZ is completing the brain scan. Echo is still unconscious.

"Is he gonna be alright, AZ?"

AZ's bug eyes always make him look like he's pitying whoever he's looking at. "CT-1409's"

"Echo," Omega interrupts him. "You can call him Echo."

The droid pauses, taking a moment to process that request.

"Patient CT-1409, a.k.a. Echo's scans are clear of skull fractures or bone contusions. My preliminary assessment is that he has sustained a mild concussion consistent with blunt force trauma. He will require a brain tissue scan to ensure there is no bleeding or clotting,"

"Good," Omega lets out a sigh of relief. "That's good."

"Your services will not be required further, Omega. You are free to return to your assigned duties."

She glares at the droid, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm staying, AZ. I promised the guys."

"But mistress Nala Se summoned you to the sub-level medical wing. You must go."

"No!" There's no way she's taking orders from a AZ. Even if he is her friend. "I'm staying here until he wakes up."

AZ shakes his head, his unexpressive droid face somehow looking disappointed. He hovers over to Echo to begin performing the tissue scan, and Omega goes to look for a blanket or something to make their patient more comfortable.

The distinct whirring of the scan is interrupted by a sharp gasp. Omega turns as Echo starts to flail.

"No! Get them off," he gasps, his arms swinging but hitting nothing. There's a clouded look in his panicked eyes as they frantically search the room.

"But my tests are not yet complete," the droid tries to explain while continuing to move closer. Omega is already running across the room, shoving AZ to the side.

"Echo, Echo, it's—" his unfocused gaze shifts from the corner filled with bacta tanks to her. "It's okay. It's me, Omega." His chest rises and falls as though he's been running for miles, and she raises her hands so he can clearly see them. "I understand." As his breathing slows, she realizes that AZ must have attached a heart and respiration monitor to Echo while she was changing. She slowly reaches down to pull them off of him. "I don't like being hooked up to their machines either."

A few brief memories float passively through her mind. Wires and needles and tubes coming from various places on her body. The sticky feeling of bacta on her skin and gathering between her fingers and toes. Silent tears streaming down her face every time she saw the instrument cart was full for the day.

Omega releases him from the monitors and looks up at him. Echo is still coming out of his panic, but he seems calmer now. He looks at her as though she has seven eyes and two noses, but at least he finally sees her.

"Hello CT-1409," AZ pipes up.

"His name is Echo," Omega reminds him.

"My name is AZ-34521189..." as he drones on with his serial identifier, Echo and Omega exchange glances. She offers him a comforting smile and though he doesn't really react, he does scoot himself further from AZ and closer to her, which is good enough for now. When AZ finishes, his body spins around on its axis, and Wrecker's voice suddenly rings out through the med wing.

"Ha! Told you he's alive!" The rest of the squad, now clean of grease, stroll in. "You owe me two credits," Wrecker says, jabbing a finger at Crosshair. They seem surprisingly relaxed, most of them nodding or even smiling at Omega as they gather around the foot of Echo's bed. The fact they even acknowledge her is unexpected.

AZ turns to the rest of them to give his assessment. In the mean time, Omega turns her attention back to Echo. His eyes aren't glazed over anymore but he still seems uneasy. Definitely uncomfortable sitting on a medical table. Omega has overheard the rumors of what happened on to him— how Echo was an ARC trooper that got captured and experimented on. It's obvious from his chemically bleached skin and the complex assortment of cybernetics that he's been through a certain kind of hell. But judging from how he reacted to a simple scan and heart monitor, she cannot imagine how bad it must have really been.

She decides to take the risk and lays her hand gently over his. His wide brown eyes look from the rest of his squad to her hand atop his, and then finally to her. Echo gives her an appreciative nod and a slight smile. Warmth fills her body again, stronger than it was when they were joining her in her food fight pursuits.

The young medical assistant looks to the others now, only to find Hunter has been ignoring AZ's grand reveal that they are genetically defective and is instead watching her. The sergeant's lips form a curious half-smile as he watches her pull her hand away from their injured brother. The giddy warmth in her chest builds even more. They aren't mad at her after all. In fact, she gets the feeling that they might even like her. Or, at least, acknowledge her existence-- which is progress from earlier.

Omega realizes that maybe grand gestures shouldn't be her approach in trying to get them to notice her. Maybe just showing them how much she truly cares about them is enough.

Definitely no more food fights... unless one of the others is the one to initiate it, of course. If that's the case, Omega will be the second one to throw the greasy Kamino caf loafs.

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Love Potion Number Nine

Request: Bucky Barnes imagine where on a mission reader is infected with a love serum or something, and falls for the first person she sees? Sadly for her boyfriend bucky it ends up being peter. So they have to wait for tony and bruce to find a cure. And bucky gets annoyed with how much she "loves" Peter?

A/N: I really enjoyed writing this, I had a lot of fun with it. I hope you like it, I hope I've done your request justice anyway. 

Title: The Searchers - Love Potion no. 9

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: unrequited feelings sort of? Bucky has negative feelings about himself 

Word count: 1.7k

The mission was supposed to be simple – an extraction. It came with two warnings from your boyfriend on the other end of your communication piece – do not get caught, and do not get hurt.

It was the mantra before every single mission – do not get caught, do not get hurt. The both of you whispered it to each other before separating to complete different tasks. The latter half of the mantra was broken more often than you liked; Bucky swore that you were turning him prematurely grey every time he found you in the infirmary being patched up for an injury you swore wasn’t your fault.

He would chuckle to mask his worry before pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

This mission, however, went to hell the moment you were injected with something that definitely wasn’t approved by any medical bodies.

It was Peter who found you, and it would be Peter who would suffer the consequences the moment he got you back to Bucky.

For Peter, the flight back to the compound was torture. He could happily admit that you were attractive, but he had no romantic feelings for you – out of simple fear of Bucky Barnes. But the way you were acting on the flight made Peter think you had been injected with an amped up aphrodisiac that made you fall in love with the first person you saw. It was just Peter’s luck that it was him.

He relayed this to Bucky very quickly the moment you had landed at the compound. Bucky whisked you off to the infirmary immediately, and Peter was happy for his role in this drama to be over. But when has he ever gotten what we wanted?

Bucky called for Peter’s assistance in the infirmary. You were kicking up a fuss that you couldn’t see him.

“Babe,” Bucky starts, “Peter doesn’t need to be here.”

“I don’t want him to go.” You stated.

“Why?” Bucky asks

“I love him.” You whimper.

Bucky looks at you, alarmed, “You what?”

“I love him. Look at him! He’s so cute. His hair is so pretty, and so are his eyes! And have you seen him shirtless?” You say all of this with your eyes on Peter, a gaze that Peter could only described as ‘heart eyes’.

Peter stands in the corner of the infirmary room; silently wishing for death or for you to stop talking. Whichever comes first – the way that Bucky looks at him, Peter starts to wish for death.

Bucky sighs before asking Peter what happened on the mission.

“She got injected with something; she was knocked out for a few seconds and when she woke up, this happened. I think it’s like a mutated version of a liquid aphrodisiac.” Peter answers, gesturing to the hearts eyes that you are making over him.

Bucky runs a hand over his face; looking as if he has aged a hundred years in the span of a minute. He taps a message on his phone before turning his attention back to you. He can’t help but feel jealous of Peter; he had admitted to you early in your relationship that he was insecure over the large age difference between the two of you. You had kissed away his worries and he felt better. The scene in front of him only brought these worries back to the surface; he started to think that maybe you would be better suited for someone closer to your age like Peter.

“Tony and Bruce have already looked over her. And once Tony had stopped laughing at me, he said she isn’t in any harm; it just has to work its way out of her system.”

“How long could that take?” Peter asks, unsure of whether he wants to hear the answer.

Bucky shrugs, “They couldn’t give me a certain time frame. Hours or days.”

Peter nods, silently praying for it to be of your system in hours. He doesn’t think he would survive days of this.

“Bucky?” You whisper.

“Yes, doll?”

“Do you think he likes me back?”

“Who? Peter?”

You nod, a bright blush making its way across your cheeks.

“I’m not sure, sweetheart. I think you might have to ask him yourself.”

“I can’t do that!” You gasp, affronted at the mere suggestion.

“And why not?” Bucky challenges.

“Well for starters, he’s standing right there! And look at him! He’s a 10! I’m a 4 at best.”

Peter can’t help but feel smug at that comment. He had never seen himself as a 10, so it was safe to say his ego was definitely boosted.

Well, it was until Bucky turned his attention to him. “I’m blaming this on you, kid.”

Peter’s mouth drops open, “Why? I wasn’t the one to inject her with love serum.”

“Because I can.”

It’s quiet for a few minutes; Bucky continually rubs a hand over his face, trying to work out what he needs to do next, and what the potential aftermath of this could be. Peter remains in the corner, watching the scene, feeling awful for him.

“What’s going to happen to her?” Peter asks, quietly.

Bucky sighs, “I don’t know. We’re just going to have to wait it out.”

Peter nods, watching as Bucky gathers you up into his arms. You had fallen asleep a few minutes ago, the adrenaline of the mission leaving your body in a rush.

Bucky says, “I’m going to take her to her room. Let’s hope there will be some improvement when she wakes.”

Peter wholeheartedly agrees with him.

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

You awake to a dark room; you are disorientated for a few moments before you realise that you are, in fact, in your bedroom back at the compound. You press a hand to your head in the hopes that it will ease the growing headache.

Food is what you need, your stomach growling to you, and you wonder how long it has been since you last ate.

Walking into the kitchen, you spy Bucky sitting at the kitchen counter with his head in hands. Frowning, you forget your mission for food. Instead, you head straight for him.

Placing a hand on his upper arm, you ask, “Bucky, what’s wrong?”

He startles at your touch and your voice. His eyes look up and down, checking for injuries. “(Y/N)? Are you okay? You should be asleep right now.”

You wave away his worry, “I’m fine. What about you though? Are you okay?”

“Do you remember anything from this mission?”

You frown, walking towards the fridge to get a drink. “I don’t remember much – it was going well then I got injected with something. That’s all I remember. Why?”

Bucky watches your every movement, “You were injected with a mutated version of an aphrodisiac. It caused you to lose consciousness and fall in love with the first person you saw when you woke up.”

“That’s a gross weapon. Why would anyone create that?”

Bucky shrugs, too quiet for your liking.

“What happened whilst I was doped up?”

“I wasn’t the first person you saw when you woke up.”

The colour drains from your face, “Oh god, who was?”

Bucky grits his teeth, “Peter was.”

You drop your head into your hands, cursing the day you ever met the young Peter Parker. “How bad was it?”

“For you? Not so bad, you were very loved up. For Peter? I think he was more worried I was going to kill him, which I might still do if I’m being completely honest with you. For me? It was hell on earth.”

“Oh Bucky…”

He shakes his head, “It just brought back all those worries. I am constantly aware of the age difference between the two of us, and I know that you love me, but seeing you in love with another man. A man who is your age – it brought back all those insecurities. I worry that one day you’ll turn around and realise that I’m too old for you and find someone younger and better.”

You’re at his side in an instant, wrapping your arms around him tightly. He wraps his around you, gripping onto you tightly. The last 24 hours had been a living nightmare for him – one he didn’t see a way out of. The logical side of him knew that the serum would work its way out of you eventually, but he couldn’t help but worry about what would happen if it didn’t.

You both stand there, holding each other, breathing the other in. Your face is pressed into Bucky’s chest; his face is hidden in your hair.

You pull away, but not by much, “Let me tell you now, James Buchanan Barnes, there is nothing on this planet that could keep me away from you. I don’t care about the age difference; it has never mattered to me. All that matters to me is that you love me, and you accept me. The same way I love you and accept you. There is no other man for me, only you - always you.”

“Seeing you in love with Peter,” Bucky whispers, “It was awful.”

“Then it’s a good job that I love you, and not Peter.”

Bucky buries his face in your neck, uttering “I love you.”

You run a hand through his hair as he continues to murmur how much he loves you, grounding himself back to reality.

When it’s finally silent between the two of you, you have to ask, “How bad was I?”

“I think Peter’s ego has definitely been inflated.”

You groan, hiding your face in Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky smiles, “Don’t worry. He’ll be knocked down a peg or two soon.”

You shake your head, “Don’t tell me the details of whatever prank you’re planning, I don’t want a part in it.”

Bucky laughs, rubbing a hand up and down your arm.

“Hey Buck? I think you’re forgetting something.”

He hums, “What am I forgetting?”

“You haven’t kissed me yet.”

“I haven’t have I?”

You shake your head, lifting it slightly. Bucky grins before pressing his lips to yours; you sigh happily against his mouth as your arms wrap themselves around his neck, keeping him pressed close to you.

Bucky pulls away first, feeling very happy with himself.

You hum, starting to giggle, “I don’t know, I think Peter could do better.”

Bucky’s eyes widen, “Like hell he could,” he shouts as he throws you over his shoulder, determined to show you how much better than Peter he could be.

[gallavictorious]

Fic: Claim

Mickey wants back into Ian's life. Ian wonders if, and how, to let him. Or, the one where our boys conduct their meaningful conversations not by talking but by having sex. Not nearly as smutty as it sounds, though; it really is all about their emotions.

Basically, this is a 3,341-word exploration of their season 4 reunion and reconciliation. Includes the infamous blowjob scene and its aftermath, so warnings for complicated consent and Ian not being in a great place in general. The angst has a happy ending, however.

Read it below or on AO3.

Claim

Afterwards, you’re almost sure they were really there. You’re almost sure you didn’t just dream them.

Debbie, grown two inches and with a face no longer quite that of a kid. Lip, looking much the same as when you left, but worried in a way he can't quite hide and you don’t think you care for. It's harshing your groove, that pinched look. They're not here to party and their voices – no, I'm good, can we talk, arrest you, stealing government property, let's go outside – cut through your happy buzz, sharp pebbles in your shoe on a sunny day, and maybe that's why you haven't told them you were back, 'cause you'd know it'd be like this. They're family and they're good people, sure you're glad to see them, but Lip's questions just clashes with the beat of the music and this is supposed to be a good time, man, so why they've got to bring up all that stupid, boring shit that doesn't even matter anyway.

You have to go mix another drink, because that's your job right, and when you look up they're gone but there are other drinks to mix, and then it's your turn on the floor and Stephen's here tonight again and has brought his usual treats, you lose him later but there's a couple of other dudes throwing a party at their place and you go and then you go to the gym for good measure – or maybe you didn't, you're not sure, but it was a good, real good, only now that strange dull ache in your head is back and you're almost sure your brother and sister came by to see you last night.

You’re almost sure.

Mrs. Bergdoll calls a greeting as you stumble past her on the way to the bathroom and you reflexibely pull your lips into half a smile, call something back. She's nice; doesn't mind you staying here even after Monica went off with some guy she met when getting thrown out of Rover's.

You shower. The water is cold but at least there's water, fuck knows how it's still running. It clears your head a little, the cold, and you start to feel better again. Sharper. What does it matter what happened – or didn't happen – last night? Today's a brand new day, and you have a feeling it's going to be fantastic.

Work doesn't start for another couple of hours, so you do a bit of writing – gotta keep up with those ideas, these thoughts you keep having; gotta write them down before you forget because what if you lose something important? – and you go for a run and grab some Subway, and then you're on the L headed for the Fairy Tail, music in your ears.

That's when it catches up with you, the thought behind the thought, the one you've been trying to outwrite, outrun, outlisten. You turn the music up up up, loud enough for the lady next to you to glare, but still the thought comes, you can't stop it, your mind keeps drifting back to last night and  –

If Debbie and Lip came to see you yesterday, if they were there, if they know where to find you...

Will they tell him?

And if they do... will he come?

No. No. You don't want to think about that. He made his choice, he put on a goddamn tux and made it loud and clear for all the people to hear, in front of his fucking dad, I do, his hand in that whore's. He loves you – you are sure of it, still – but he did that, so what's love really worth, huh.

It's over, done with. He made his choice; you made yours. Maybe it didn't go exactly as planned with the army, but so what, it's better this way, you're rolling with it. Made lots of new friends, even if they don't know your real name, who cares about names when every night's a fucking party, and you wish you'd known this years ago, that life could be like this, fun, easy, no fucking heartbreak and no fucking hiding, no cares.

It doesn't matter anyway. He won't come.

It doesn't matter.

---

Two nights later you're giving one of your regulars a lapdance when there's a slap to your arm and a curt “time's up, lovebirds” and you look up and there he is.

There he is.

“Get up,” he says and you move without making a conscious decision to.

“It's my turn,” he says and sends George running and you don't know what to do or where to look and you don't even know if you're actually surprised that he's here.

“Curtis?” he says and there's a familiar sneer in his voice and you realize that you don’t want him to see you like this and it pisses you off, because you’ve got nothing to be sorry for, nothing to be ashamed of.

You could just walk away. Could call security and tell them he interrupted a lapdance or whatever, and if that doesn't get him thrown out the bunch of insults he will invariably throw at whoever comes to set him straight certainly will.

“Twenty-five bucks get you a dance,” you tell him instead, because fuck him; because you don't want him thrown out; because that’s all he is to you now, a customer. That’s all he chose to be, when he walked down that aisle.

He spits and he grumbles but he pays. He'd never have let you give him a lapdance when you were together but he pays for it now.

You push him down the black leather couch and straddle him, lean in, how's your day going?

He smells wrong. Something scented, spicy-sweet. You don't like it.

He wants to talk. You're giving him a fucking lapdance but he wants to talk and he's angry and looking at you like you're so annoying, like you're out of your fucking mind. You can still feel his semi pressing against your ass when you switch positions to lean against him, though, and as you turn your face towards his, getting close, you can smell him through whatever perfumed shit he's wearing,

Mickey.

He got married. You can't do this. He's still talking.

“Twenty-five bucks only gets you one dance,” you tell him. You stand up, away from him.

He won't let you go. Hey. You don't wanna hang out, fine. Your dad's dying. Ian. Your family. Liam.

Liam.

Something is about to burst and break open but then Roger is there and you don't know if you're relieved or not but when he asks you if everything's okay here, Curtis, you quickly reassure him, shifting to stand next to Mickey.

As you walk away, you think about how immediately, how reflexively, you moved to shield him.

---

You wake up a the crack of dawn, and maybe you should be surprised to find yourself in the Milkovich house but you're not.

Mickey's asleep in a chair in the corner, still fully dressed.

The bed smells of him, but smells of someone else too. You don't recognize the scent, but you know whose it must be, and fuck no, you're not sleeping in the bed he shares with her.

You should get out of here, maybe; get out and far away before he wakes up, but you're too tired, your legs are too unsteady for that and your thoughts too dull and slippery, so you just grab a pillow that smells like Mickey, and a couple of blankets, and you fall back asleep on the floor.

---

You wake up with a headache and to the sight of Mickey's pregnant wife towering over you. It startles you – where is Mickey – but you try to for cordiality, grasping for a couple of (probably) Russian phrases a guy you met at some party taught you.

Your attempt at charm wins you nothing. You leave.

---

“I forgot to say,” Mrs. Bergdoll tells you when you stop by the old house for a change of clothes, “but there was a couple of kids came looking for your the other day. Said you were their brother. I told them you were at work. They find you?”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

She nods and blinks at you through the cloud of smoke from her hash pipe. You consider asking her for a hit to take the edge off the comedown from last night, but you don't.

They know where you work, and they know where you live.

Nothing for it then. Time to go home.

---

Liam's alive. Frank too, so far, but you don't care so much about that. Fiona looks overjoyed to see you, but looks haggard and worn thin too, and you hate that, but... you can't help but feel the tiniest bit relieved when you realize that everyone will be too busy dealing with the ramifications of her brutal fall from grace to worry very much about yours.

---

He comes for you, and this time you thought he might. He blows you, which you thought he wouldn't.

It feels good, his mouth on you, but feels like something else too, something that for a moment is better than good: vindication.

His arms are heavy on your tighs, his fingers dig into your sides as he holds on to you to keep his balance, and you close your eyes and lean your head back and mingling with the rush of pure carnal pleasure is the rush of knowing that, sure, he married her, but he'll get on his knees for you. He'll come looking for you and find you and bring you home to his – their – bed and once you run off he'll come looking again.

He'll suck your dick, just because you asked him to.

I'll do it.

You hadn't expected that. You'd laugh in surprised glee, but – because you can't quite believe it, because you won't let him off that easy – you push instead. “Do what?”

His lips twist. He glances at you, immediately glances away. “Don't make me say it, asswipe.”

You don't. You could make him; he admits as much. That can be enough, you think.

Still, you're no longer some lovesick puppy who'll come crawling back all grateful with your tail a-wagging the second he realizes what a fucking idiot he's been, you're done chasing him, so you don't bother to hide the smug teasing in your voice as you spell it out for him. You don't tell him it's cool, you don't have to when he moves to crouch between your legs.

The face he makes suggests that you're a fucking nuisance, says yeah okay whatever, but the eager quickness of his hands and the way he looks up at you with pupils blow wide suggests that maybe he, too, has longed for this; dreamed of it, maybe, and ached.

His hand is warm around the base of your dick; his tongue wet with spit as runs it along your length, once, twice, before taking you into his mouth.

You bite back a moan. You're already fully hard. It's hurried and a little sloppy but it's him and he's good at this, though fuck knows how that happened, because you're pretty sure he's only ever done this with you, and not very often at that. He likes this, you know that he does, but know too that it still costs him something; is intricately tied to all the things he's still struggling to admit and express.

You love me and you're gay. Then gentle bob of his head tells you that he won't deny it again.

Fuck, but you've missed him. You have tried not to; have tried not to think of him at all – he made his choice, he married that whore, and you've spent the last few months running from the memory of him, trying to drown the taste of his lips in the taste of strangers, there's a whole world out there, guys, so many of them, they like you, and they're not all afraid to be who are they are and want what they want.

Some of them sucked your dick. It never felt like this.

You come in his mouth. You expect him to pull away when you make a small grunt to let him know you're close, but he doesn't. Stays right on you, around you, through it. Swallows.

He's never done that before.

He wipes at his mouth and looks up at you, eyebrows raised in half a challenge, like are you fucking happy now? but there's something else there too, a hint of vulnerability still, uncertainty lingering: are you happy now?

A curious tug at your heart; a softening, and a brief flash of something that feels real, in a way not a lot of things have lately.

You allow it. You allow your walls to lower, just enough to allow him right back in, into your life and all the way into your stupid heart.

Fuck, but you've missed him.

You scoot forward and reach out to cradle the back of his head, pulling him up for a kiss. Again, you half-expect him to pull away, and again he doesn't. Instead he lifts his chin to meet you, arms wrapping around your back in a loose embrace, and the two of you never kissed much, you didn't have the time needed for it to become a habit before everything went south, but like so much else with him it just works; you just fit.

You can taste yourself on his lips and on his tongue and that's strange but you don't care. You breathe him in, his shampoo, stale tobacco, no fucking perfume that smells like someone else, Mickey,

He straightens, getting to his feet only to push you back onto your back and climb on top to straddle you, and you don't resist and the familiar weight of him pressing down on you is heat is thrilling is comfort. Your hand is in his hair, his hand is around your wrist, but after a moment he shifts to lace your fingers together. He is kissing you like you're the first gasp of air after almost drowning.

You can feel his erection against your stomach, trapped between your bodies, but he doesn't seem bothered. He kisses you, like that's all he's ever wanted to do, like that's all he'll ever want to do.

For a little while you allow it, losing yourself to press of his lips; to his nose brushing and bumping against yours; the feel of his hair in your clenched fist. For a little while you let yourself know nothing but him, and the joy of being claimed. For a little while – but then you shift, twist and push to roll over, so that you're both lying on your sides, face to face. You keep kissing him – but slower now, deliberate – as you reach down to undo his belt buckle and unzip his jeans. You don't immediately push your hand down his boxers, though: you let your fingers brush over his soft skin just above the waistband instead, let them skim just past the straining bulge of his underwear, unhurried.

His breath hitches; he curses against your mouth, but it's a soft thing, half-swallowed. He pushes forward, just slightly, looking for friction, anything, and you promptly pull your hand back, and  your head back too, just far enough to break the kiss.

His eyes snap open, searching yours, and you see his face still, caught, when he finds you already watching him.

There's a question in his eyes; uncertainty; confusion. Annoyance too, in the way his brow furrows. You just raise your eyebrows pointedly and hold his gaze.

He stares at your for a moment. You wait for him to consider telling you to get the fuck on with it, Gallager, nobody likes a fucking tease. You watch him bite his lip and you wait for him to decide against demands. When he stays silent and slumps ever so slightly, relaxing into aquiencense, the thrill coursing through your body are equal parts triumph and excitement.

You take a momen to watch him and he lets you. He doesn't look away or ask what the fuck you're staring at. His face is open, beautiful, his eyes that startling blue. You used to dream about it, a long time ago; about him looking at you like this, soft.

Your eyes never leave his face as you slowly run your hand down his chest and slip it under his t-shirt to rest on his belly, and you smile a little when he lets out a long, unsteady sigh. Leaning in once more, you claim his lips for another kiss, and he responds eagerly, taking whatever you will give.

You can feel the tension in his body as your fingers roam the sharp curve of his hip; as they brush over his pubic hair; as you scratch at his inner thighs, caress and tease. You can feel the gust of air as he hisses into your mouth whenever your wrist brush against his dick.

But he keeps still. Waits.

There's a new sort of pleasure in this – in being allowed this – and for a moment you think that maybe you could keep it up for hours, but in the next you know that you could not, and his quiet moans are growing more frantic and you're starting to grow hard again, so you slide your hand inside his boxers. He whimpers as you wrap your fingers around his cock and it's not much of a handjob, really, it's rushed, too dry, but he doesn't seem to mind and you just want to feel him; want to hear his breathing quicken as his kisses grow sloppier.

He comes quickly, with a long, stuttering gasp, spilling over your hand, over his quarter zip, the sheets.

You don't say anything, just press your forehead against his, dry against damp. You hold him tight, sharing breath, while his hearbeat slows and steadies.

A minute, two. Your dick softens; you don't mind.

Eventually he pulls back a little, opening his eyes. He's flushed, still, but his gaze is sharp and clear.

You wipe your stitcky hand at his quarter-zip just to be a dick and he makes a disgusted face. “What the fuck, man?”

“It was already dirty.”

“Uh-huh. So's the fucking sheets, asshole, use those.”

You can feel your lips curl into a wide smile and see his doing the same, and then you're both laughing, like idiots, like giddy kids. He reaches for you and this kiss is languid, comfortable, and when you break apart you're still grinning.

Rolling over on your back, you reach for a cigarette, taking one drag before handing it to him. He accepts it with a pleased little hum in the back of his throat, a sound you've heard a hundred times after you've fucked him good and hard, and it goes straight to your cock, but goes straight to your heart too, so maybe you really are too fucking soft.

But he's here, isn't he, so maybe you are right to be.

You think you'd be happy to stay like this for a while, on the bed with him, just smoking, talking maybe, but: “Probably should head down and grab some dinner before they come looking for me again.” You glance at him. “Wanna join?”

“Nah, man, I'm good.” Doesn't feel like dealing with your family, most likely, but that's fine. You get it.

“Okay.” You stand, adjusting your pants and making sure there's no telltale stains. He remains on his back, looking dishevelled and loose and content, with his jeans still open and the smoke between his swollen lips.

Fuck, but you've missed him.

“I could bring you up a plate later?” you offer casually. “If you're staying.”

His eyes dart up to you and for a moment there's so much on his face, hope, worry, longing, caution, joy, but all he says is, “Yeah?”

You smile. “Yeah.”

---

A/N:  Yes, Ian is being rather unfair in not considering the fact that Mickey's been through hell, and no, it's not very charming, but he's a teenager dealing with quite a few issues of his own. It is what it is.

I'm operating under the idea that Mickey went by the old house to look for Ian when he learned Svetlana had kicked him out, and found out that Ian had grabbed his things and left, and that this is what he refers to when he says “took all your shit”.

I'm actually very bothered by the fact that they don't use a condom for this, since Ian's been out and about  and Mickey's had unprotected sex with a prositute, but then again, I don't really expect anything else from these stupidly reckless boys. Don't go have unproteccted sex unless you're monogamous though, kids. STD:s are real.

I guess this is kind of like the fic version of this meta I wrote a while back, I highly recommend reading the additions by other people, because they are very interesting and thought-provoking.

[alchemicalterror]

Self-implemented Parole

[ Below is a transcript of an RP between @askanarky​ and ol’ Jonny boy, involving Anarky’s breakout and aftermath. WIth special guest @riddlesandqueries​ and @echoandquery​

Trigger warnings: Adolescent Homelessness, swearing. ]

Fuck. Shit. God dammit. Fuck, Lonnie swears to himself, couldn’t stay hidden for two days, could he?

Here he is, leaning against the wall of the dentist’s-office-turned-failed-comedy-club-turned-pirate-radio-station-slash-hideout he’d been spending the day at. Beside him’s a wooden baseball bat, blood-red paint dripping down the business end, three posters, and an overfilled olive drab backpack absolutely covered in patches and safety pins. In his hands, a box of old clothes and records.

Bitterly, Lonnie wonders how much weight he’d lost. Six and a half months was a lot longer- or maybe shorter?- than he’d fully realized.

God, why’s he even humoring the old man? Ten bucks and he could already be gone. He’d find another shitty landlord to blackmail for an equally shitty studio apartment, and life’d go on like he never left.

...But then again, that wasn’t him. And plus, he owes Jon a lot and did kinda call him ‘dad,' and plus, he couldn’t feasibly cut him out entirely unless he left Gotham for good, and why would he do that, he’s got work to continue-

”Fuck.” Lonnie mutters under his breath, shifting his weight to his other leg.

"Fuck." Jon mutters, pulling his coat in tighter. He doesn't know jack shit about hijacked radio towers, and while his car is an unremarkable, beat-up old junker that he's had for years - it runs fine, there's no noises or weird smells, but the body has seen better days - why run into a headache with traffic, gas mileage, potentially being seen at an intersection with a recently escaped convict...?

'Course, nothing could hide how tall he is. And god damn it, it's April, it's supposed to be warm....

Jonathan mutters against the cold in vague irritation, gravitating towards the next set of charity drop-off boxes in vain hopes of actually tracking down the runt. Jesus, he should've asked for directions. At least he's in good shape.

"Me an' my motherfuckin' ide--" Pause. Squint, at someone who fits the stature in a beat up black hoodie, with a box.

"....Kid?"

The good thing about oversized hoodies is that, if you’re drowning in them enough, it can almost conceal how high you jump when something calls an epithet that can apply to you. Immediately, Lonnie crouches to quickly, but gently place his box down and grab his baseball bat in his place, then raises himself up into half of a batter’s stance at the source of the-

Wait. Tall man, absolutely orange hair, in a thrift-store jacket and blue jeans. Of fucking course.

”Jesus Christ,” he half-mouths. He lets his stance relax and his arms hang limply down in an exaggerated 'I-don’t-wanna-be-here' stance. “‘Ay.” Lonnie’s stage voice is remarkable, if a bit higher than his normal growl.

Jonathan grins, a bit, despite himself. Baseball bat? Good lad.

He lifts a hand in a wave, chuckling. "Nice to see you ain't without means, boy." Jon murmurs, nodding at the weapon. "Half kickin' myself I didn't get directions when abouts I could, I been walking around back alleys all afternoon."

"Legs could use a break, and I saw a beaten-down dive up the block some, folks don't glance at your face even when you're ordering in places like that. You wanna coffee or somethin' before we ship out?"

“....” Lonnie turns away for half a second, letting a puff of air escape his clenched teeth. “Hey, you said you didn’t need them.”

Hypocritical, coming from him. He’s at least trying to be a little friendly, through the obvious voice crack and the constantly-correcting tone. “...Fine, I guess? I mean, I’ve got what...” He backs away and unzips the front pocket of the backpack on the ground. A cheap leather wallet spills out (along with six separate embroidered circle-As in various shades of crimson.) He unfolds it and squints between the pockets, “....twelve...? Dollars on me? That’s enough for, like, a sandwich.”

"Come off it kid, I got paid yesterday, you ain't gotta spend what little you got on a sandwich. Save it, s'good to have bus money." And with that Jon turns, and waves Lonnie follow him. Tall as he is, he's long ago adopted a sort of ambling gait to make it easier for other people to keep up with his long stride.

The diner is, as estimated, utterly apathetic to the arrival of both Jonathan and Lonnie, save for the motions of seating them both. No odd looks are given to Lonnie's box of things, nor -- if he brought it along -- his bat. He was half-heartedly offered the opportunity to drop it in the umbrella rack, if he wanted to.

Jon takes a booth with a high back, and turns his attention toward the menu.

Lonnie, in fact, does put his baseball bat in the umbrella rack (only in Gotham,) and swings himself up onto the booth, squishing himself into the corner and placing his box under the table. His backpack’s placed right beside him.

He’s already small- especially compared to Jonathan- but he seems determined to make himself even smaller. Lonnie hunches over the table and scrutinizes the menu with one exposed eye, rapping his free hand on the table. Jonathan receives the occasional upwards glance from him.

Coffee. And a sandwich. Jon picks both, mentally placing his order, and sets the menu down.

"...After we order, I got some things to ask, arright?" He murmurs, keeping his voice low; the staff might not care, but patrons could. Best keep mumbly.

"Dinner's on me whatever you got to say, upfront. Ain't contingent on you givin' me answers you think I'm gonna wanna hear."

(The waitress does drift by, uninterested and unimpressed, to take their orders.)

Watching the waitress approach means Lonnie didn’t have the space to answer Jon in full; Instead, he flashes a thumbs up his way.

BLT, cherry Coke. Lonnie deserved something sweet, he thought. His menu comes down after Jon’s, and he doesn’t fully turn to place his order. He does, however, have the common sense for manners; “I’d like an egg BLT and a cherry Coke, please.”

"And I'd like a tuna sub and a black coffee, please, miss. Thank you kindly."

Their orders are noted down, and she drifts on to her next engagement - and Jon leans on the table, looking Lonnie over. Where to start. "....You got a place to stay?"

“I’ll get one.” Lonnie murmurs, implying that the answer’s actually no. “Old landlord probably won’t let me back in, not like I was actually paying for my old apartment anyway...” He murmurs as he passes the saltshaker between his hands. "...Right." Jonathan says, nodding slowly. "...If you need a place to crash a li'l while while you work him over, y'know - I got a guest room. Ain't got much more than a bed and a couple boxes and a desk, but it's dry an' the door locks." "...And like, if puttin' out on your own for a place don't work, I don't mind if you stay, right?" .... Hm. The saltshaker rests in his left hand.

“...You’re serious? C’mon, your job’s probably already batter-fried as is, if anyone finds out-”

Lonnie doesn’t trail off, per se, more than he just lets his throat close a little. “...Really? You really don’t-“

He’d be an absolute idiot to decline, but there had to be some kind of catch - ? - but Jon’s not that much of a jerkass.... "Kid, much as I'm sure you could find someone whose arm you could twist for a place, it don't sit right with me to just leave you in an alley to do that. I got the room, and - well, Arkham can just deal." Jonathan’s tone is flat.

"What they don't know ain't gonna hurt my career." Lonnie puts a fist to his rapidly-splitting mouth and exhales sharply. “‘Guess that is true,” he answers, then shakes two fingers at Jon. 

“...Shit, thanks, I guess? I didn’t... really expect you to show real concern, holy shit...” "What, you think it was just for appearances?"  Jon chuckles, genial. "Naw, son, I try to actually care 'bout the folks I work with, didn't get into this business on accounta I don't care about people."

"Look, after Dinner I'll help you carry shit, since I left the car at home." “Okay.” Lonnie doesn’t particularly feel like pushing it any more, so he doesn’t. 

“...How’d I not notice this place before?” He asks, mostly to himself. Or maybe he had, and he’d forgotten about it. Was it even worth forgetting?  Ech, everything was so overwhelming. As their food and coffee comes around, Jonathan turns his attention to the rogue chat, securing something, before starting to eat. Tuna melts are truly the mac and cheese of the sandwich world, and hard to get wrong.

[ Dr_J_C ] - Hey, Eddie, you on. [ E?Nygma ] - Yes? [ Dr_J_C ]  - You got a cab company you trust to keep their yaps shut [ E?Nygma ] - My henchwomen. [ Dr_J_C ]  - ...Think they'd be willing to come pick up me and a runaway? Wound up cross town and the kid's got luggage [ E?Nygma ] - Only one way to find out, really.

[ DM: E?Nygma to E&Q: Ladies? ] [ DM  E&Q to E?Nygma: [Q] You need something, Ed? ] [ DM: E?Nygma to E&Q: Yes, if you have the time tonight. Dr Crane is asking me about securing private transit that doesn't talk too much, if you catch my drift. Since you're both the pair I trust most on the matter, I thought I'd ask if you'd be willing to go fetch him and cart him wherever he needs to go. He's not in a stabbing mood, so it shouldn't be risky. ] [ DM  E&Q to E?Nygma: [Q] Not in a stabbing mood? Color me surprised.. but sure thing, Boss! [E] Dr. Crane requires transit? We aren’t busy, so we’ll be glad to pick him up, when needed. Anything that’s said will stay in the car, don’t you worry. ] [ DM: E?Nygma to E&Q: Peachy. Make him buy you dinner, huh? I'll forward the address: you know what to do if he starts giving you trouble, and where to send the bill. Thanks so much. ]

[ E?Nygma ] - Good news, Jonny, they'll do it. Have an address? [ Dr_J_C ]  - Yeah, hangon.... Down town, Eighth and Tuppence. The shitty diner.

[ DM: E?Nygma to E&Q: : Eighth and Tuppence, the "shitty diner", as he put it. ]

[ E?Nygma ] - I told them to make you buy them dinner. 

[ Dr_J_C ]  -  Yeah, sure, doesn't have to be from here. We just got our food, so - give it an hour? [ DM: E?Nygma to E&Q: He's asked for you to come in an hour, so you have time to get ready. ]

[ E?Nygma ] - Done and done, don't leave them waiting.

Before eating, Lonnie removes the top slice of bread from each sandwich half and salts the (perfectly over-medium) egg on top, then slides the salt to the other side of the table. He almost chokes on his first bite. God, he missed real food. "...Arkham food, huh." Jonathan chuckles, humorlessly. "Shit, every time I've gotten outta there, pizza boxes have looked appetizing."

"Eddie's henches are gonna be givin' us a ride. They ain't snitches, and I fancy our chances in one'a their cars than on foot."

“...Tall punk one n’ a short one?” Lonnie clarifies through a mouthful of BLT. Gulp. “Nice.”

“...Spent his ketchup money on Walgreens eyeliner and a burger. Should probably get online and tell ‘im once I get home, huh.” He pauses, putting down his sandwich for a second. “I told you the ketchup thing, right?”

Jonathan grins, lifting his coffee in a weird sort of salute. "Sure did. Bet you made with Eddie, right? Eyeliner and a bite's a good cause, then. He chomps down half his sandwich before turning his attention properly to coffee.

"...Good-ish news, the Asylum is pretty sure I didn't help you break out." "So they prob'ly ain't gonna assume I came got you, neither."

“Thank god,” Lonnie comments. “Like, not just ‘cuz your job’s still safe, that’s great, but god, I didn’t spend three weeks figuring out like, 80 million people’s schedules for a friend in a high place to get the stick, it’s my damn credit.” He pauses for a sip of soda. “...Is that the right metaphor? Doesn’t matter. ‘S.... nice y’aint in that deep shit.”

Another pause. “Jesus Christ, I just said ‘y’ain’t’ in complete earnest, what the fuck are you doing to me?” Lonnie laughs, leaning his head back and pulling down one eyelid. Jonathan barks a cheerful laugh, and even that is ignored by the utter apathy that is a back-street diner in Gotham. He shakes his head until it trickles down to a snicker and, grinning, drains the rest of his coffee before his attention returns to the perfectly adequate tuna melt.

"Naww, they had me doin' damage control, after talkin' to me a bit and nosing some at my notes. Shit, I didn't know a damn thing about your plans, and it showed, son, so oughta be fine."

"New's being shitty about it anyways, though, m'sorry about that." “I~’m aware,” Lonnie chimes rather sardonically, waiting to swallow this time. “Eh, GCN’s a bunch of corporatist bullcrap anyway. They don’t think I’m a real dude, I know they aren’t a real news station, cancels out.” It really doesn’t cancel out, but the shrug indicates either he’s actually fine or he doesn’t particularly want to talk about it.

Jonathan slowly nods, and makes a mental tick to get a tee-shirt made inviting people to physically fight him if they want to call Lonnie a girl. That's a dadly thing to do, right?

"...So,” Jon starts, slowly, “Y'all called me dad."

Groan. “Uh, I’m sorry?” Lonnie shrugs to accompany the nonapology— not like it was worth applogizing for. “Slip of the tongue, like callin’ a teacher ‘mom,’ y’know?”

He sucks the rest of his Coke down and sets the tall plastic glass back on the table. Jon laughs, sitting back himself and uncrossing his arms. "Dunno where all I said I was upset about it, son." His grin is lazy and easy, and he just shrugs.

"Y'all see me as a father figure?" ... Does he? ... “I mean— you’re what, two and a half times my age n I’ve seen more of you  in the, what, three-ish months since you took my case than anyone else, not to mention you’re like...” Lonnie cycles through various expressions as he speaks, apparently directing his explanation at his fingernails. (Note the lack of a solid answer.) 

He doesn’t mention what Jon’s like. Soon, he throws his forehead into one hand, rubbing his temples.

“I mean—- no, but also not no?” "...So, solid maybe." Jon suggests, wiping crumbs off his hands with a chuckle. "Right, well that ain't somethin' you gotta come up with an answer to today, son. Right now, priority's makin' sure you don't get picked up by the cops two days after a breakout."

"And,” he adds, “Not leavin' you to find a half-comfortable Alley to try an' make a sleeping spot from."

“Mmh,” Lonnie affirms through his last bite of BLT (emphasis on the L.) “In my defense, I spent like... the first third’a my sophomore year doin’ that, I’ve got practice.” He jokes, sending finger-guns Jon’s way. “But yeah, let’s leave that for later, ‘kay?”

"Sounds good." Jonathan pulls out his wallet, leafing through it and leaving the bill in cash, with a generous tip. No, the bill hasn't actually arrived yet, but he's pretty good at math. Something about being a Chemist, maybe. 

"Ed's girls oughta be here in a nother couple minutes, so - you wanna hit the washroom or anything 'fore we head outside?"

[thelastranger]

Keeping Up With The O'Carricks

A family reunion au where Caitlyn doesn't die, Halt regularly visits, Ferris is exactly the same, and everyone is horrified at the O'Carrick drama. Sean included. It's a mix of trashy reality shows and the office.

Halt gives Sean a complete tour of the castle. No one has heard Halt speak this much at one time ever. "Here's where Ferris tried to kill me, here's where I beat him up.." It takes a full day to give Sean the complete tour. Ferris tries to shoot an arrow at Halt during the tour from the roof and Halt is more offended at Ferris' bad archery skills than he is at the attack of his person. Halt promptly tracks down Ferris and beats him up. He gets up and dusts off his cloak. "And here's where my brother tried to shot me with an arrow. And here's where I beat him up for the 500th time..." "I know Uncle Halt. I was right there."

Everytime Ferris opens his mouth to speak or says anything, Caitlyn will look into the camera like Jim from the Office.

Everyone loves Caitlyn because she is super chill most of the time and super willing to give away royal secrets but also seems competent. At the same time, Caitlyn will tell people off (and by people she means Ferris) and is frequently found hanging off a castle turret with Halt. This just makes everyone love her even more.

There's a rotation of who gets to choose the dinner courses and Ferris always tries to get the staff to make shrimp just to bug Halt but Caitlyn bribed them with more vacation days

Halt regularly pretends to be Ferris when he's confronting con men, enemies of the state, and stuffy nobles. He drops em into the moat and leaves Ferris to deal with the aftermath.

One time Ferris tried to pretend to be Halt but he fooled nobody. He got bucked off of Abelard immediately.

Will and Horace come along too and pretend to be Halt's sons just so they can keep telling Ferris that he's been demoted down the line for the throne. They like to see which color Ferris' face will turn with rage and annoyance.

Family meals are... interesting. Horace and Sean are next to each other, earnestly talking about life in the castle and making genuine attempts to get to know each other. Caitlyn is telling Will stories about baby Halt and suddenly Caitlyn is Will's favorite person. Halt and Ferris are on opposite ends of the table and tend to glower at each other through meals. One time a spoonful of peas was discreetly thrown at Ferris who assumes that Halt threw it and throws a pie back at him. A food fight erupts. Ferris thinks it was Halt. Halt thinks it was Caitlyn. Caitlyn and Horace think it was Will, Will thinks Horace did it and no one suspects Sean, who actually flung the peas.

The only time they all relatively get along is when Pauline visits. Halt is on his best behavior, Ferris has to act kingly since Pauline is a diplomat of Araluen, the head one in fact, and could easily make life difficult for him. Pauline and Caitlyn get along famously. They get a little tipsy and swap stories about court life, Halt, and literally anything else they can think of.

Ferris, by the river: Oh my gosh, I'm gonna cry! My braided leather crown!

Caitlyn and Halt, in unision: Ferris, there's people that are dying.

Halt: I start laughing at Ferris when he's crying 'cause I just can't help it. He has this ugly crying face that he makes.

[Cuts to Ferris ugly sobbing curled up on the ground]

There's a supercut of Caitlyn's beleaguered and confused husband looking bewildered any time the O'Carrick siblings do anything together.

One episode there's a segment where Ferris has to sneak out of the castle to meet Tennyson to make shady deals. Ferris is trying to be silent but he keeps tripping over his cloak (it's a horrendous shade of bright purple) his feet and literally everything else. When he gets to Tennyson, he sees that Halt and Sean have already snuck out and are pretending to be him.

Halt will do something and then Ferris will roast him, but Ferris will do the same thing one second later and Halt roasts him even harder

Caitlyn is married but no one else ever sees her husband. They'll catch glimpses of him in the corner of their eyes but Ferris has never talked to the man. Halt has made it one of his goals to track down Caitlyn's husband in the castle.

Crowley visits once and Hibernians love him. Crowley also takes a drink every time Ferris does something dumb so Crowley is pretty sloshed pretty much all of his visit. Halt joins in and they start singing drinking songs together. Will plays his mandola.

Will and Horace are officially added to the O'Carrick family tree and they love it. The O'Carrick tree just keeps getting bigger and bigger and Ferris keeps getting more and more dismayed.

Ferris leaks his self care routine and people actually like it? Like, sure this guy is the worst and incompetent, but he's got a great skin care routine and looks (relatively) good for his age. Halt is considered the more attractive twin by the Hibernian public though.

There's a super cut of Caitlyn aggressively mothering Sean before he goes into diplomatic meetings. It's so pure and sweet.

Will and Horace replace Ferris' black hair dye with a blue dye and he has to go around with blue hair for a week. They never let him live it down.

[moorehollandplz]

A15 from smut with Haz please? 🤤

Ok ok ok this is my first solo Harrison fic… I must say this Harrison thirst has me swerving into his lane! Hope you all enjoy this!!’ He just can’t keep his hands off you!! Or can he?

NSFW UNDER THE CUT (which never works… but I try it all the same)

Warnings: Adult themes, smut, A15 mutual masturbation, adult language

[[MORE]]

Harrison’s lips moved across yours effortlessly as his tongue swept into your mouth to mingle with yours. His hands left your body for a moment to rip his shirt over his head, breaking the kiss. He tossed the flimsy material into some corner. His crystalline eyes were bright as he stared at you, and they glittered in what was left of the sunlight that filtered into the room from the setting sun. He smiled down at you, noticing your heavy breathing and trembling knees. “Do you want to keep going, love?” Harrison asked as he reached for the hem of your shirt.

You nodded slowly as your eyes drank in his half naked body. “Yes… please don’t stop.” You begged, without realizing, and a devilish smile spread across his face.

“You got it, pretty girl.” He said as he lifted your shirt off and tossed it to join his in the corner. His hands gripped your hips as you tipped your head back to allow him access to your neck. You let your eyes flutter closed as he peppered soft kisses down your neck to the swell of your breasts, stopping here and there to suck little purple marks into your skin. His hands slipped forward, popping the button on your jeans with ease. Your hands found his, stilling his work on your fly as you took a small step back. Harrison lifted his eyes to yours and you sucked in a breath at the primal look you saw in them.

“Remember the bet you made? About us not being able to last a week without putting our hands down each other pants?” You asked him a small smirk gracing your face as he groaned.

His hands slid back to your hips and he pulled you back to him, resting his forehead against yours. “Come on… no one will know.” He whined as he dipped his head in an attempt to capture your lips again.

“Tom will know!” You almost yelled as you dodged his lips. “He always knows!!!”

Harrison rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Ok… how long has it been since the bet started?”

“Haz… It’s been three hours!” You said as your laughter bubbled out of you.

“Fuuuuck…” Harrison’s grip on your hips tightened as he rolled his hips into yours. “I know I told that div I could easily keep my hands off you… but I’m pretty sure I’m gonna die if I can’t have you right now.”

“Aw… my poor baby.” You said, each word dripping with sarcasm as you pulled his head to your shoulder. “It’s gonna be a long week for me too.” Your tone softened with sincerity as you ran your fingers through his sandy colored waves. He hummed in response as your fingernails lightly grazed his scalp.

Suddenly, Harrison’s head snapped up that same devilish grin taking over his beautiful face. “Wait, we can’t put our hands in ‘each others’ pants…” He said motioning between the two of you with his hand for emphasis. “But, there’s nothing saying we can’t put our hands in ‘our own’ pants.” His smile widened as you cocked a brow at him, intrigued by his suggestion.

“Took you all of ten seconds to find a loophole…” You shook your head at him as he leaned in for a quick kiss. He took a few steps back his hands slowly releasing your hips as his body moved away from yours.

“Go ahead, pretty girl. Finish what I started.” He said, his voice laced with lust. His bright crystal clear eyes darkened, as your hands moved to unzip your jeans. You watched his eyes follow your hands as they pushed your jeans over your hips and down your legs, letting them fall into a pool at your feet. You carefully stepped out of them one foot at a time, kicking them at Harrison, and he laughed as he easily caught them. He dropped them to the floor beside him as his laughter subsided, and his eyes raked over your body, licking his lips at the sight of you.

“Your turn.” You breathed, barely able to speak due to the way he was looking at you. Harrison’s lust filled gaze met yours as his hands started work on his belt. Now it was your turn to watch his every move as his nimble fingers undid the button, and slowly dragged the zipper down.

Damn, you wanted those fingers inside you.

His pants fell to the floor, and your eyes widened at the large bulge in his boxer briefs. “See what you do to me, love?” He asked as he took a small step forward, clearly forgetting for a moment you weren’t supposed to touch each other. “Christ, I want to touch you so bad.” He said as he palmed himself through his underwear, and you bit your lower lip at the sight.

“This is gonna be a long week, Haz.” You said softly as you reached for your bra clasp, undoing it and dropping the lacy material to the floor. Without hesitation you slipped your matching lace undies to down over your hips, and let them hit the floor. You smirked as Harrison’s breath hitched, and his cheeks turned pink as his eyes drifted over your naked body. You had seen each other naked at least a hundred times, and it was nice to know you still had such an effect on him.

“Bloody hell, Y/n.” He muttered, bringing his awe filled eyes back to yours.

You gave him a playful wink as you sat on the bed, scooting up the soft sheets until your back came into contact with the wall. Harrison watched as you placed your hands on your stomach, slowly dragging your fingers up your body, lightly grazing over your nipples, and up to your mouth pushing two fingers passed your parted lips. You sucked on your fingers, running your tongue over them as you kept your eyes on Harrison and his slack jawed face. You removed your fingers from your mouth with a small popping sound and reached out to him curling your fingers beckoning him to you.

“Come on Haz… what are you waiting for?” You asked in a sultry voice, and your smile widened as Harrison gulped.

He immediately rid himself of his underwear. Almost tripping over it as he tried to get to the bed, as quickly as possible. He settled himself in front of you, giving you both a great view of what the other was about to be doing. Harrison slid forward, positioning himself on his knees between your spread legs, and resting his left hand on your knee so there would be at least some contact between the two of you. His right hand wrapped around his large, very hard cock, gripping it gently as he slowly moved his hand up and down.

“Ready, love?” He asked as his eyes flicked to your wet fingers inching down your body.

“Oh, I’m so ready.” You smiled as your fingers finished their journey, reaching between your thighs. You dipped two of your fingers between your folds, softly moaning as the tip of your finger brushed over your sensitive clit. “I’m so fucking wet…” You purred as you continued to swirl your fingers around in your juices. Harrison groaned as he watched you remove your fingers from your dripping pussy, bringing them up to your lips. “Mmmm…” You smiled at him as you licked them clean. “Tastes so good… It’s a shame you can’t have any.”

“Fuck…” Harrison groaned, squeezing his cock a little tighter, and pumping his hand a little faster. “I’m not gonna last long if you keep that up, love.” His voice was husky and laced with lust. His piercing eyes were dark like the sea after a storm as he watched you.

You dropped your hand back to your pussy, your fingers started drawing fast tight circles on your clit, and forcing a moan from your lips. You watched Harrison’s hand sliding up and down his cock as his hips thrust into his grip meeting his rhythm, wishing he was rutting into your pussy instead his hand.

“Oh fuck, Haz…” You panted as you felt a spike to your arousal, climbing ever closer to that sweet climatic edge. You slipped two fingers inside your quivering entrance, your breath hitching in your throat as your walls trembled around them.

“Close?” He grunted as he scooted closer to you, his cock now hovering over your throbbing pussy. You nodded up at him not trusting your voice to work at the moment. You pushed your fingers in and out faster to match Harrison’s rhythm on his cock. “Fuck… me too… together?” He said through gasps of pleasure. He was especially beautiful in these moments as he fell apart. His cheeks pink from arousal and exertion, his lips swollen from kisses, his hair falling onto his forehead, and his dark eyes looking at you with such adoration.

“Oh… fuck…” Your orgasm hit you hard as Harrison grunted, bucking into his hand and releasing ribbons of hot cum onto your stomach. Waves of delicious pleasure shot through you, flooding every single nerve in your body. Your body shook with the force of your euphoria. You felt your walls clenching around your fingers as you worked yourself through your orgasm.

Both of you were left breathless, as you stared at each other in the aftermath of orgasmic bliss. Harrison cracked a lazy smile at you as he leaned down to kiss you. You were pulled from your blissful state when a loud knock sounded at the door followed by Tom’s voice.

“Hey! What are you doing in there? Haz, did you seriously already cave?” You could hear his boyish laughter through the door.

Harrison rolled his eyes, hanging his head in exasperation at the intrusion. “Nah, mate… didn’t cave.” He said brushing his nose against yours.

“Bullshit! I could hear you over the telly!” Tom yelled almost victoriously. “You totally lost… couldn’t even last a day.”

“I didn’t lose anything! You only said I couldn’t put my hands in her pants…” He rebutted, putting emphasis on those last two words.

There was silence on the other side of the door as Tom was clearly working that one out. “Wait… I want in on that!! Open the door!” He said knocking frantically. You and Harrison burst out laughing as Tom begged to be allowed to join in.

“You’re a bit late, Tom.” You said through fits of laughter.

Tag List:

@madmadmilk @starksparker @starsholland @gab-spidey @peterparker-imagines @peeterparkr @mrs-hollandstan @dibs-on-holland @star-holland @spiderboytotherescue @cabbagebag @lovestrucktom @magic-marvel @spideykisses @tomhollandasf @hollands-poppet @curlyboyholland @infamous-webhead @hoefortomhoelland @sheismental @falalaholland @thepenisparker @h-osterfield @wazzupmrstark @definitely-not-black-cat @starkravingparker @thedaydreamingwriter @badsext @hotsterfield @hollandroos @curlyhairedparker @peterplanet @parkerpeterholland @parrkerspeters @keepingupwiththeparkers @papayapapya1 @agirlwithpointlessideas @imarypayne @eridanuswave @stuckonspidey @hollandhearts @lousimusician @blissfulparker @dtftomholland @softnessparker @hazmyheart @cookie614 @relise-thefury @i-love-superhero @farfromhaz

[bookdancerfics]

drawing battle lines, a 9-1-1 fic

Summary: It’s not often that a gun is introduced to an ongoing 911 call. It just so happens that Buck is between Athena and the gunman.

Relationships: Evan “Buck” Buckley & Athena Grant

Warnings: aftermath of a car accident, gun violence

also available on ao3 and ff.net

Series: checking vital signs, part one (this fic), part two, part three (yet to be posted) / six parts

Series Summary: 5 times Buck prioritizes his family’s wellbeing over his own, and the 1 time they help him prioritize himself.

The call comes in just as the sun is going down, orange bleeding across the horizon with the half moon already in the sky. It’s not quite dark yet, but it will be soon, and Athena switches her blinker on and makes the turn almost before she even thinks to do so.

It’s not a call she usually responds to. Dispatch reported a four car pile-up, minimal injuries, and the only thing that brings Athena to the site is the knowledge that an accident of that size has the chance of blocking traffic, and she’s just a couple blocks away. With dusk on the rise, someone should make sure that an officer is on site to direct cars and pedestrians, just in case. The siren call of her husband potentially responding to the same call beats in her chest, and Athena lets her mouth twitch into a smile at the thought.

She rounds another corner and the accident comes into view, a sedan and some fancy looking car crushed into the back of a truck that’s T-boning a minivan. All four cars huddle around the corner of an intersection, and it isn’t hard to guess that the truck driver had run into the minivan while making the turn. Two of her officers are already on scene, one waving traffic around the accident while the other talks with a middle-aged white man dressed in what looks like a newly pressed suit. He’s doubtlessly the owner of the fancy car, and Athena can already feel a headache coming on, but she parks her cruiser nonetheless.

“Sergeant,” her officer says as she approaches, the relief obvious in his voice.

“Parkins,” she returns, and eyes Newly Pressed Suit. “Are you having any trouble processing the accident?”

“No, ma’am,” Parkins says, but his eyes flicker to the obvious problem anyway. “I was just discussing with Mr. Taylor here about how he can’t actually press charges since it’s a civil suit and not a criminal one.”

“I see,” Athena says, crossing her arms. She levels a stern look at “Mr. Taylor” and can’t help the rush of satisfaction when his back automatically straightens. “Let me know if you need anything, then.”

She turns at Parkins’s nod just as a firetruck and ambulance pull up to the scene, a large 118 emblazoned on the truck.

Within seconds Hen and Chimney are at the minivan, Eddie the civilian’s truck, and Buck nearing the sedan.

In the end, it comes down to mere happenstance—Mr. Taylor arguing with Parkins at the back of the collision, all the other drivers and passengers still in their vehicles, Buck catching Athena’s attention while he’s at the back of the sedan instead of the front. A hand sticking through the sedan’s taillight.

Athena’s hand goes to her gun on instinct, even as she looks from the taillight to the driver’s side of the sedan. The driver is stepping out, and his voice reaches her ears even though she’s several yards away.

“If there’s no problem, can I go? I’m not worried about insurance or anything, and I’m fine.”

She’s yards away. The fact runs through her mind even as she calculates all of the variables, even as her world narrows to this single corner of the intersection. She’s yards away and somehow she can still pinpoint the moment when they make eye contact, the moment when he realizes she knows.

She’s yards away when he pulls his gun.

“LAPD, put the gun down!” she barks. Her own gun is out in seconds, and she can see Parkins turning in her peripheral vision, hand already flying to his own weapon. Her other officer turns as well, traffic halting around them, and the 118 freeze where they are. Mr. Taylor and the sedan driver are the only ones out of their cars, and Bobby is still at the firetruck, closer to Parkins and Mr. Taylor than to his own team.

The driver points his gun at Athena, then Buck, then Athena again, and finally stops it on Buck.

“Buck,” Athena says, and he slowly turns to look at her, eyes wide. “I need you to step away from the sedan.”

The gun jerks in the driver’s hand. “He can stay where he is.”

“Athena,” Buck says.

“Okay,” she replies, because the driver’s hand and gun are shaking now, and she knows a scared shooter is far more dangerous than a steady one. “It’s fine, Buck. Stay where you are. Sir, what’s your name?”

She directs the question at the driver, her voice raised ever so slightly so she can make sure he hears her.

“Like I would tell you,” he says. “I need you to let me go.”

“Alright,” Athena says, and nods. “We can try to reach an agreement. But first, can you tell me who’s in your trunk? Do they need medical assistance?”

The driver shakes his head, either not paying attention to or completely ignoring her last questions. “You need to let me go.”

“Sir,” Athena tries again. “If you keep threatening Firefighter Buckley, then we will be forced to take action. Do you understand that? We will do our best to reach an agreement with you, but first you need to put the gun down and tell us who’s in your trunk.”

“I understand,” the driver says, nodding slowly, and Athena watches with a mix of trepidation and relief as he lowers the gun. “I understand perfectly.”

In the next moment, Athena only gets a glimpse of the gun coming back up, pointed right at her, before Bobby yells her name and suddenly she’s not staring down the barrel of a gun anymore.

She’s staring at Buck’s back.

“No!” she screams, but the gunshot is already echoing in her ears when Laurey, the officer who’d been directing traffic, shoves the sedan driver to the ground and disarms him in the same motion. Buck lies in a collapsed heap next to them.

“Athena?” Bobby says from behind her, and his hand clenches around her shoulder.

“I’m okay,” she answers, but her gut churns and she has to clear her throat to stop from showing more emotion than she wants to. She’s still on duty. She can cry later.

Bobby nods, but as soon as he gets verbal confirmation from her, his attention switches to the scene by the sedan.

“Hen and Chim, with Buck,” he yells. Just as he’s about to join his team, though, he comes to an abrupt stop and turns back to her. “You said there was someone in the trunk.”

Athena nods.

Bobby nods back, then closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, face pointed to the sky, before he releases it and looks back at Buck. Hen, Chimney, and Eddie are all with him already, Hen and Chimney spouting medical jargon even as they try to stop the bleeding and Eddie smooths Buck’s hair back. There’s a pool of blood growing on the pavement by Buck’s left side despite their best efforts, and Buck has a fistful of Eddie’s pant-leg in one hand and his fingers digging at the pavement with the other. Even from here, as they watch Chimney move Buck’s hand from the pavement to his own shirt, they can tell he’s in pain, but Athena knows her husband. He’s still as focused on his job as she is, despite his no doubt desperate need to be with Buck.

“Okay,” Bobby says, his voice as hard as it is reluctant. “Eddie, get the jaws of life.”

“Cap,” Eddie protests, barely sparing a glance for them before he turns back to Buck.

“Eddie,” Bobby returns. “There’s a civilian in the trunk of the sedan. Let Hen and Chimney do their jobs and get the jaws, I need you with me.”

Athena doesn’t know what Eddie would have done if Buck held on, but even as she watches his fingers loosen and his lips move, likely pushing Eddie to do as Bobby said.

“Okay,” Eddie says, and before Athena can transfer her attention to the potential kidnapping or homicide victim, Laurey moves in front of her with the cuffed driver, the question obvious on his face as he defers to her higher command.

Athena turns to him, trying to focus. “You’ve read him his rights?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” She clears her throat. “Get him in the cruiser. I want him in lock-up ASAP.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Laurey says, and directs the driver away.

Athena looks at them, then at the sedan, and then back at them. “And get me an identity!”

“Yes, ma’am!” Laurey calls back.

Athena finally turns back to the 118, but as much as she aches to be with them, to make sure that Buck will be okay, she’s still a sergeant on duty, and she knows that will always come first.

“Dispatch,” she says, holding her radio. “This is Sergeant Athena Grant with the 118 on the corner of 12th and Carol, requesting immediate assistance. We had shots fired, a firefighter down, the pile-up was never taken care of, and I’m losing my only two officers on the scene—” Even as she says it, she waves Parkins to join his partner; Mr. Taylor had retreated to his fancy car as soon as the situation cleared.

“10-4, Sergeant Grant,” the dispatcher responds. “Is the scene still active?”

“Negative,” Athena says. “But we have a potential kidnapping or homicide victim.”

“10-4, Sergeant Grant, assistance is on its way.”

Athena clicks the radio off and turns back to the 118. Hen and Chimney had gotten Buck onto a backboard at some point, and Buck’s hands white-knuckle the grips on that instead of his teammates’ clothes.

“Cap,” Hen calls, “we’re ready to transfer him to the hospital.”

“Good,” Bobby calls back. “Keep me updated.”

“Will do,” Hen says, and Athena turns back to Bobby and Eddie before she gets distracted.

“How’s it coming?” she asks.

Bobby glances at her. “As fast as we can push it. We got the Rolls-Royce to back up, give us some room, but the whole trunk is crumpled in on itself so we can’t just open it like normal, we have to get in with the jaws of life. And we’re a bit distracted.”

He spares another look to the ambulance, where Chimney is closing the back doors, and Athena squeezes his shoulder.

“He’s in good hands,” she says.

Bobby nods. “I know.”

“Almost there, Cap,” Eddie says then, and that’s when another firetruck, ambulance, and two squad cars pull up.

-

A full two hours pass before Athena can join the 118 at the hospital with Buck. Before that, she oversees the recovery and treatment of the kidnapped victim, as well as the treatment of the car crash victims, and then returns to her precinct to write up the paperwork that came with all that happened. The whole process takes her well into overtime, but she finally steps into the hospital and automatically spots the group of 118 firefighters and paramedics, as well as Maddie, Christopher, and Carla. They’re all grouped in the corner of the waiting room, talking in low voices, sleeping, or flipping aimlessly through the hospital magazines.

“Still no news?” she asks anxiously, easily making the transition from sergeant to friend despite the fact that she hadn’t bothered to stop and change into street clothes.

Bobby takes her hand and guides her into an open seat next to his, then kisses her cheek. “Not yet,” he murmurs, and squeezes her hand. “But sometimes no news is good news, right?”

Athena nods and does her best to breathe. “May and Harry?”

“Michael has them,” Bobby answers. “It’s a school night and he said he didn’t mind the change of schedule.”

Athena nods again, breathes. “Good. I wouldn’t want to worry them unnecessarily.” She turns to face Bobby fully, unable to ignore the churning in her gut that’s started up again. “Do we know if it would be unnecessary yet?”

Bobby shakes his head. “Not yet,” he admits, his voice hoarser than it was before.

“Oh,” Athena says. It feels like there’s a pit in her stomach, and it only worsens as the minutes pass. “Let me just—”

She motions vaguely, not knowing if she really knows what she needs to do, but Bobby nods like he understands, and she supposes he does. He was here a whole hour before her, after all.

Athena stands, rubs her hands on her slacks, and finally sets eyes on Maddie. She’s huddled in against Chimney even with the arms of their chairs in the way, and it doesn’t take a detective to guess that she’s been crying. The other seat next to her is taken, but Athena doesn’t hesitate to kneel in front of her instead and place a hand on her knee.

“Maddie,” she says, and smiles wanly when the eldest Buckley sibling meets her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I should have—”

“No,” Maddie says, and sniffles as she sits up and takes Athena’s hand in hers. “Don’t apologize. Buck made his choice, and as angry as I am at him for being dangerously reckless again, I would never want you to be in his position right now.”

Athena nods for what seems like the thousandth time since the whole mess began, her entire body feeling heavier than normal. She hasn’t relaxed since she spotted the kidnapping victim’s hand.

She squeezes Maddie’s hand, gives her her best smile, and stands. “I’ll be with Bobby, but just let me know if you need anything, okay? You, too, Chimney.”

Maddie squeezes her hand back, a smile tugging at her own lips. “You, too, ‘Thena. And hey—” Maddie grips her hand harder. Smiles some more. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Athena nods and lets out a breath. “Thanks.”

She lets go of Maddie’s hand, walks back to Bobby, and sits in the chair he’d left open for her.

And they wait.

-

It feels almost like forever that they sit in the waiting room, long enough for Athena to pull out her phone, text her kids, text Michael, thank Laurey for letting her know that they’d finally gotten the identity of the driver. She can’t measure time in seconds, minutes, or even hours anymore—at some point it becomes the number of times a doctor comes through the door with news about someone other than Buck, the number of coffee cups slowly collecting on the tables, the number of times she feels like crying and clutches Bobby’s hand instead. The number of times Bobby clutches at hers.

When yet another doctor finally comes through the doors of the waiting room, Athena doesn’t even bother looking up until she hears “family of Evan Buckley?”

She’s standing in the next moment with no recollection of having done so, but she doesn’t bother with the gap in time and instead lets Bobby pull her into the small group of people still left waiting for news. Her, Bobby, Chimney and Maddie, Hen, Carla, Eddie and Christopher. It’s eight people, but compared to the larger number of 118 firefighters and paramedics earlier, their group practically seems tiny.

The doctor eyes them all, obviously skeptical, but finally clears her throat and smiles at them. “He’s going to be fine.”

-

The doctor and nurses are only letting two visitors in at a time, and Athena waits in a hallway chair with her leg bouncing as Maddie and Bobby, then Eddie and Christopher, all go in to see Buck. Maddie comes out with fresh tear tracks on her cheeks, but also a smile, and Bobby returns with the tension gone from his shoulders and a soft grin on his face that Athena doubts he even knows is there. Eddie and Christopher also come out smiling, and Athena goes to wave Hen and Chimney inside only to find them hanging back.

“Go on, ‘Thena,” Hen says.

“Oh, no, I—” Athena protests, but the two just shake their heads.

“We know you want to,” Chimney says, and that’s that.

Athena goes in alone, peaking inside to see Buck laying back with the top half of the bed propped up and at least four different machines surrounding him.

“Hey, Athena,” he says, smiling at her.

“Hey, Buckaroo,” she returns, and closes the door behind her. One of the machines whirs. Another beeps. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

“I’m really sorry,” Buck says suddenly, and Athena finds herself nodding sharply.

“You should be; you scared the crap out of us. Again.”

“Right,” Buck says, “exactly.” He picks at his sheets, his mouth twisting and eyes downcast.

Athena sighs and settles herself on the bed by his hip, careful of his side.

“Buck,” she says, and then waits, but his eyes are still looking everywhere but her. “Look at me.”

He raises his head, eyes searching, until finally his gaze settles on her shoulder and she figures that’ll have to be enough.

She coughs. “Thank you.”

“What?” This time his eyes meet hers, and she makes sure to smile at him.

“Thank you. What you did was brave, and you may have saved my life.” She fixes him with the sternest look she can muster. “Just don’t do anything like that again. Bobby’s supposed to be teaching you how to be brave and smart, not brave and stupid.”

Finally, Buck grins. “Yes, ma’am.”

He throws her a mock salute, and Athena scoffs, but she can’t help but smirk back and draw him in for a hug. When they finally pull away from each other, they both pretend she’s not wiping at her eyes.

[movedvalkyriesryde]

Exhibition of Future Technologies - 3

Pairing: 40s!Bucky Barnes x enhanced!reader

Summary: Bucky meets the girl of his dreams the day before he ships out again and she holds a mystery about her that he can’t resist.

Warnings: violence i guess? like a building explodes so??? but thats it, exhaustion, swearing the usualllll, angst?

Word Count: 3,000ish

A/N: ive decided theres going to be four parts, this was meant to be the last but it took a life of its own as this story seems to be doing a lot but im accepting its fate

A/N 2: special shoutout to @mrwinterr for showing me the possibilities that this story had!!!

Masterlist

Previous - Next

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

It had been a few weeks since everything had come to light for the couple. Everything was still new and had a pink hue to it between them, the subtle looks as they walked past each other, the stolen kisses hidden in the hallway, the late nights and early mornings sneaking home, it helped having teleportation powers with that one. 

The pair had decided that it was best to keep their relationship a secret, it could risk the team finding out about Y/N’s powers if they told and she couldn’t have that, as much as she adored Bucky and was ultimately falling in love with him she couldn’t risk them finding out. She’d lost too many people to others finding out about their powers before.

Bucky understood, sort of. He wanted to scream from the rooftops that he’d found his Doll, he had wanted to run to Steve after their night together and tell him everything. But Bucky understood her fear, he saw how terrified she was when he found out about her powers, he wasn’t going to break her trust any time soon.

So when Steve and Sam questioned him the next morning on their run Bucky put on his best frown and tightened the string of his hoodie, avoiding eye contact.

“It wasn’t her,” he had muttered and sped his pace. His friends looked at each other before following close behind. They stopped at the top of a hill to catch their breath and have some peace and quiet before they headed back, it was what they did most mornings on their run.

“You were so sure it was?” Sam said sitting next to Bucky on the grass. Bucky merely shrugged in response, he didn’t want to say too much in case he let something slip, he also thought his silence would be enough to convince them of his lie. 

“Maybe they’re related? Distantly,” Steve sat on his other side and patted his shoulder with a tight but reassuring smile. 

“Maybe, it’s still not her though,” Bucky tried to think about what he would have actually been like if it wasn’t her. He imagined the gut wrenching hurt he would have felt and tried to channel it in himself now in order to keep the lie alive. 

Steve and Sam didn’t say anything more about the situation, they knew not to push Bucky, he would come to them if he needed to and he would be better in his own time. They let him stalk off into the compound as soon as they got back after mumbling something about skipping training today. They brought him lunch and dinner but never opened the door knowing he treasured his privacy when he got like this.

If they had they would have seen Bucky at his desk combing through his work like it was just another day. Or if Steve had opened the door when he went to check on Bucky on his way to bed instead of just knocking he would have seen Bucky and Y/N on his couch trying to stifle their laughter so no one could hear them. But Steve just asked through the door if Bucky needed anything and when Bucky replied with a muffled ‘’m fine, night Steve’, he walked off to his room worried about his friend.

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

It was rare that the two spent any time together out of the compound, it was much harder for Bucky to sneak in and out than it was for her but sometimes the stars aligned and they found themselves at Y/N’s apartment where they could be as loud and affectionate as possible without the worry of someone walking in on them. 

“Are you sure about this?” Y/N shook her hands to try and loosen herself up as Bucky stood in front of her expectantly, “you don’t have to do this Buck.”

“I want to help okay, and who better to test on than a super soldier,” he gave her that winning smirk that he knew made her putty in his hands and when she smiled back, he knew he had her. 

“Okay, hold my wrists.” 

Bucky did what he was told and grasped her wrists. He watched her take a deep breath before they both closed their eyes then Bucky felt...numb, but also like his skin was on fire? And it only lasted a couple seconds before everything felt normal again and he opened his eyes to see Y/N staring back at him. He looked around and noticed the change in scenery, they had just been in her room and were now standing in the middle of the kitchen, a short test she’d said, small distance to start with. 

“How do you feel?” she asked hesitantly, Bucky was still holding her wrists, his grip had tightened slightly and he quickly let go. 

“I uh, fine,” he beamed at her and wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her into the air. “Doll you did it! I’m absolutely fine!” 

Y/N told him it wasn’t a real experiment unless they wrote everything down so that’s what they did, she made him tell her every single thing he felt both physically and emotionally. 

The next week they tried again, they made it to the roof.  Bucky had made the mistake though of suggesting she at least tell Banner about her powers, Banner could help with her experiments better than he ever could, but Y/N quickly shot him down. She told him that this way she was in control of what was being tested of her and that’s how she wanted it to be kept. He didn’t say anything after that, just nodded like he understood. He did, apart from Wanda he was probably the only other person that could understand how much control over these experiments and her powers meant to her. But there was a lot less safety involved when it was just her and that’s what he didn’t like. 

That was the last experiment they’d done. They’d both been busy with work and the time they did get together was hidden in the corners of the compound where no one would find them. 

Though busy, it didn’t stop his friends from meddling. Once Bucky had come back out of his room and seemed to be back to his normal self, maybe even a little happier than before? Steve and Sam were trying to convince him to ask, and you’ll never believe this, Y/N on a date. 

“It may not be the girl from ‘43 but come on Buck! You said it yourself, she looks just like her!” Steve had been pushing for Bucky to find someone who made him happy for a long time and he thought that Y/N was the perfect match, he may have had some hushed talks with Bruce about the matter as well. 

“That’s a bit morbid getting him to date a girl because he went on a date with her grandma back in the day,” Sam scrunched up his face in disgust and Bucky snorted.

“You’re overthinking it Sam! This is fate kicking down the door Buck, you can’t tell me you don’t fancy her even a little. Bruce told me you’ve been visiting the lab more often!” 

Okay so maybe Bucky was beginning to be less subtle about the whole ordeal that was his love life than he should have been. But can you blame him!! She was making modifications to a couple of drones and that shit fascinated Bucky! And also the fact that it gave him an excuse to be close to Y/N and stare at her with googly eyes when Banner wasn’t in the room but THAT’S BESIDE THE POINT.

“She doesn’t fancy me Steve, and I don’t fancy her. Just like learning about her robotics,” Bucky rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. Steve opened his mouth but before he could say anything FRIDAY interrupted him and every thought concerning Bucky’s love life was forgotten by all three men.

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

“You can’t possibly think he’s coming into the lab just because he’s interested in mechanical engineering can you?” Tony stared at Y/N like she’d grown two heads as he spoke. Tony, Y/N and Bruce had been discussing the frequent visitor to the lab over the past couple of weeks and Y/N was finding it more and more difficult to suppress the smug smile she so desperately wanted to give Tony when he talked about how Bucky had to have a crush on her if not be head over heels for her at this point. 

The three were out to lunch in the middle of the city, as they often were on a Thursday, and were making their way back to the car when everything happened. 

They heard it first, a loud boom seemed to come from all around them. Then they felt it, the ground beneath them shook slightly, Y/N felt the vibration through her body rising from her feet to her lungs and causing her stomach to drop. Then they looked up and they saw it. Tiny bits of glass started falling towards them, people were screaming and running in the opposite direction of the building in front of them. 

Twenty stories up there had been an explosion that had blown out the entire side of that floor. They could see the smoke coming out of the now open building, they could see it swaying slightly from the aftermath. 

Tony was the first to jump into action, he immediately activated his Iron Man suit and sent word to the compound for back up, giving orders to Bruce and Y/N to start getting people as far away from here as possible as he caught a long metal rod that was plummeting to the ground. 

The pair jumped into action, Bruce started running in and out of surrounding buildings trying to clear them as Y/N helped those nearest to the accident get to safety. 

There was another explosion, this time on the other side of the building. Y/N ran towards the entrance, she looked left and right looking for those injured that needed to be moved away immediately when she saw a group of elementary kids hiding behind a fountain. 

“Are any of you hurt?” She ducked down in front of them, all of their eyes were wide and frightened as they shook their heads. “Good, grab me guys, come on I’m going to get you out of here.”

The group of kids all grab onto each other and her and she didn’t even think before she squeezed her eyes shut, opening them to see the children all looking amazed but still frightened as they realised they were no longer in the middle of the chaos and instead the middle of Central Park. 

“Everyone okay?” Y/N asked and after getting a series of yes’s and thank you’s she was gone again, back to the chaos, not before telling them to contact their parents if they could and that she would be back. 

It clicked then in Y/N’s brain that this was the best way to get people from the burning building out and to safety and so she kept going. She got the rest of the children first, they were all in uniform, they must have been on a field trip. She took them to the same location where the other children still were. Three trips and she noticed parents starting to turn up thankfully. 

When Steve, Sam, Bucky, Natasha and Wanda turned up to the scene, Tony was already in the sky and had given them a quick briefing upon their arrival of what the situation was. 

Ten men, all in black combat uniform and more explosions than Tony could count strapped to their bodies and being placed throughout the building. Sam was immediately in the sky. Natasha went to help Bruce clear the citizens and Steve and Bucky started running towards the entrance of the building. That’s when Bucky saw the familiar flash of light. The flash of white light that he saw most mornings when Y/N left and his brain went into panic mode. 

“Buck come one!” Steve yelled out from the door, shield on his back as people ran past him. 

Bucky caught Y/N’s eye as she came back into view, they both paused their movement before she gave him a small smile and a nod and then ran off towards an injured woman. 

“Fuck my life,” he mumbled before running in after Steve. 

It was getting harder the more trips she took. Y/N had never teleported with more than one other person before. This was a true test of her limits and she could feel her body losing the fight. 

Most of the immediate area was clear now, all that was left were those that had initially refused to leave their homes or workplaces during the first explosion. 

When Y/N arrived back to the front of the building she could no longer hold herself up with ease. Bucky had his eye out for her as soon as he was back in the lobby and running towards the entry/exit. He saw her go again with a man and women then come back and drop to her knees.

“Y//N!!” He yelled sprinting towards her. There was another boom that halted his movement by the fountain. Y/N stood up and watched Bucky run towards her, she started to move to meet him in the middle when she heard the boom and looked up at the building to see something large falling towards the ground, towards Bucky. 

“BUCKY!” She called out to him, a wave of adrenaline rushing through her as she threw her arms around his neck and he held her waist. She squeezed her eyes shut and they disappeared just in time as the piece of building crashing into the ground where they had stood. 

Steve saw Bucky and Y/N embrace in the middle of the courtyard. Then he saw a block of concrete fall right where they were after a flash of light. Steve screamed as he ran towards the rubble and threw whatever he could grab behind him in order to get to his friend. This was not how he would be losing his friend, he would not be losing his best friend again!

“I’m okay, Steve, I’m okay,” the rushed force came through the comms device in Steve’s ear and he swore he was hearing things until Sam responded.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT BUCKY?!?!?” 

“Central Park, we’re at the Great Lawn with - holy shit - a lot of people that were in the middle of it all,” Bucky tried to catch his breath, he looked around at the massive group of people that were helping and comforting each other then at Y/N who was leaning all of her weight against him. “Doll I got you, fuck, stay with me okay. Steve, Sam, someone we medical service!”

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

Previous - Next

Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think and requests are open!

EoFT Taglist, or literally everyone that commented on it because I love all of you (and i copied this from part 2): @occasionalwritingsofmia @toasty-fish @chloesxworld @thiccstuxky @mrwinterr @jshtmblr

Permanent Taglist (OPEN): @starvinggaywriter @witch-of-letters @turquoisekokiri

Bucky Taglist (OPEN): @bxrnsfeyson

[zuluoscarecho]

It’s A Party - Ch 4

Part 4/5. Below the cut ‘cause…you know (Part 1 here) (Part 2 here) (Part 3 here) Read on AO3

Liz’s birthday is in October so it’s still not so cold that they can’t sit outside at Max’s around the fire and celebrate even though they were bundled up under jackets and blankets and beanies.

Max had mother-henned around, handing out blankets to everyone before ducking under one to share with Liz, letting her leech off his heightened body temperature.

Isobel was tucked under a blanket she was sharing with Rosa, Rosa declaring that seeing as it was Isobel’s body that had killed her, the least the blonde could do was save her from dying of hypothermia this time around.

Michael caught Alex’s eye and tilted his head in the direction of the house before ducking out of his conversation with Rosa and Isobel and disappearing.

Alex hesitated for less than a second before he excused himself too and followed after Michael. He felt his heart rate quicken at the knowledge of what was to come, this wasn’t the first time they’d snuck off at a party and it probably wouldn’t be the last but he hoped they never lost the thrill of it, of being with each other.

Michael was waiting, leant up against the door to the bathroom, hips pressed forward invitingly. He slid one hand down over his pretentious belt buckle to cup himself through his jeans.

“God Alex, I want you.” He let his eyes drop closed and his mouth fell open on the beginnings of a moan.

Not a second later, Alex crashed into him, fumbling for the doorknob with one hand while the other sunk into Michael’s curls and held his mouth to Alex’s.

Once they were inside and the door closed behind them he immediately pressed Michael back against it. Alex licked into his mouth, chasing the taste of beer and Michael. Michael pressed back against him, pulling Alex in with a hand on the back of his neck and one cupping his jaw before he pulled away panting so they could breathe.

“God, Alex, your mouth, you do obscene things to a bottle of beer, you know that?” Michael babbled ceaselessly as Alex ground their hips together. “I don’t even think you know you’re doing it, I don’t know if it makes it worse if you do.”

“Like you can talk,” Alex replied breathlessly between kisses. “Your mouth was made to suck cock.”

Michael chuckled filthily and Alex felt it ring through him delightfully and his hips bucked forward. He could feel Michael hard and wanting through his jeans. Alex slipped his hands under Michael’s shirt and teased along the waistband of his jeans, letting his fingers dip down as far as they could go.

Michael groaned trying to squirm into the touch but Alex had him pinned with his hips. “Alex, please, come on, I’ve been half-hard for hours, don’t make me wait more.”

Alex looked at him as he dipped his fingers lower, but there wasn’t enough space for him to get his hand down to grasp Michael’s cock.

Instead he gripped Michael’s arms and slowly got down on his knees in a position that was still comfortable with his prosthetic.

“Alex…”

Alex was always amazed how Michael made even just his name sound like a prayer, like a swear word and like pure filth all in one. He looked up and was startled by the look on Michael’s face. He was staring down at him in wonder, like Alex was the greatest thing in the world, the sun, the moon and the stars. Alex had to force himself to look away, back to the task at hand.

He teased his fingers over Michael’s cock through the denim and Michael whined pressing his hips forward into Alex’s hand.

“Alex.” Michael’s voice was getting to that growly point that meant he was pushing the edges of his patience. After this point was usually when Michael moved him exactly where he wanted and fucked him hard. Which usually was perfectly fine with Alex, but not what he’d had planned for today.

“Okay, okay,” Alex acquiesced, fingers undoing the belt, button and fly of Michael’s jeans with practiced ease.

Michael groaned as Alex wasted no time in taking his cock into his mouth before pulling back to tease at the head.

Alex looked up to see Michael, eyes closed, head thrown back against the door and mouth open. He was so beautiful like this, a litany of moans and grunts, Alex’s name all escaping him with barely a panted breath in between.

Michael’s hand curled around the back of Alex’s head and Alex pressed forward, taking him deeper. Michael muffled a cry into his fist as Alex slowly slid Michael’s cock out of his mouth before ducking back down again.

“Alex, Alex, I’m gonna-“ Michael’s voice was frantic, his hand scrambling at Alex’s shoulder to push him off. Alex gently took the hand at his shoulder and laced their fingers together, pressing their hands against the door by Michael’s hip and Michael whimpered.

He glanced up through his lashes into Michael’s eyes, focused as best they could on Alex and where his mouth was stretched around Michael’s cock. Alex teased his tongue underneath the head and felt Michael’s hips stutter against him. He cried out as he came and Alex swallowed it down.

Alex pulled off slowly savouring the trembles that ran through Michael’s body in the aftermath. He pressed his forehead against Michael’s hip to catch his breath for a minute and felt Michael’s hands slide through his hair and cradle the back of his head.

God, he wanted to spend the rest of his life doing this with Michael, bringing him pleasure and making him feel loved.

“Come on, help me up,” Alex said, reaching for Michael’s arms.

Michael blinked hazily, eyes struggling to focus as he let his head loll against the door. “Sweetheart, my knees are barely holding me up at the moment.”

A second later though Michael reached down to haul Alex up against him, leaning heavily against the door with Alex against his chest. He ran his hands from Alex’s wrists and elbows, up his shoulders and down his back to slip his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and tug him closer, groaning at the rough brush of Alex’s jeans against his sensitive cock.

He pressed a kiss to Alex’s lips, tongue seeking and hot, searching out the taste of himself in Alex’s mouth.

“Is it my turn now?” Michael whispered hot and low between them.

“Michael, you just had your turn.”

“No I mean, my turn to put my mouth to work.”

Alex blushed hard and ducked his head into Michael’s shoulder. Michael was always so blatant and open and while Alex wasn’t afraid anymore he still wasn’t quite on Michael’s level. “Isn’t that what you did already this afternoon?”

“Well, yeah, but I can do it again. I’ll never get tired of making you come, Alex.”

Alex would never get over Michael’s openness and sincerity or how much he loved him. Alex leant forward to kiss him softly, letting himself linger just because he could. He pressed his tongue in slowly, savouring the moment of just being with Michael and getting to touch and kiss him.

“While I appreciate the sentiment, we shouldn’t be gone from the party for too long. People are already starting to get suspicious when we disappear.”

Michael pressed a long kiss to Alex’s lips before pulling his arms back from around him. “Later then.”

They separated to put their clothes back to rights and Alex glanced at his reflection in the mirror above the sink.

“Well, I think my hair is a lost cause,” he mused, trying to pat it back down into place. “You’d think Max would have some hair product or something. We wouldn’t have this problem at Kyle’s.”

Michael just smirked lazily, his curls looking just as sex-fucked as they had when they’d arrived. Probably from the aforementioned blowjob Michael had given him against the front door just before they’d left (so it had only been fair Alex return the favour).

Alex sighed, giving up on taming his hair. Michael pulled himself off the door and opened it for them, letting Alex proceed him only so he could press up against his back on the way out.

Max came around the corner to see Michael and Alex tripping over each other out of the bathroom, Michael still trying to press as close to Alex as humanly, or alienly, possible.

“Goddamnit Michael! Can you not keep it in your pants for a couple of hours?”

Michael did a full body eye roll to look at Max. “C’mon Max, we’ve got 11 years to make up for, that’s a lot of sex to catch up on,” he reasoned.

“Don’t act like you were celibate the past decade Guerin,” Alex scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “No one’s buying that.”

“It’s never as good when it’s not with you, sweetheart.” Michael batted his eyelashes at him innocently and Alex pushed him away from where he’d still been plastered against Alex’s side, despite Max’s presence.

“Liz was gone for 10 years too, you don’t see me dragging her off every time we’re in the same room,” Max said with a grumble.

“Well, I mean,” Michael shrugged and gestured to Alex as if to say ‘have you seen him?’

Max rolled his eyes again and ushered them back down the hallway to join the rest of the party. “Whatever, we’re cutting the cake now.”

[juju-on-that-yeet]

Crescendo

Prompt: Whumptober Day 13, Adrenaline

Summary: MarkBop stumbles upon a fight between Bing and Google, and intervenes in a way he didn't know he was capable of (and wishes he wasn't).

Warnings: Blood, violence, mild body horror

Tagging: @peribloke (ask to be tagged!)

Read on AO3 (Full Whumptober Series)

Enjoy!

~

MarkBop doesn’t realize what he’s walking into until he’s already there.

Bing and Google fight all the time. Bop knows this, objectively. He knows their arguments escalate to physical altercations fairly regularly, too. He’s seen Bing after those fights, seen his black eyes and bruised skin, sometimes even seen his arm hanging loose from its socket or his fingers broken backwards. Google fights dirty, and even if he didn’t, he’s much stronger than Bing and made to be an efficient killer. Bop can’t stand to see the aftermath of Bing and Google’s fights, but he’s never seen one in progress.

Until now.

Bop turns the corner to get to Bing’s room and sees Google straddling Bing, hands on his neck. Bing kicks wildly beneath him, tries to buck him off, digs his nails into Google’s wrists, but Google stays firm. Bing’s glasses are on the floor beside him, cracked and snapped in two places. Bing’s left eye is swollen and ringed with a black bruise, and his right is narrowed in a hateful glare directed at Google. Bop can’t see Google’s expression; his back is to him, and so far, Bing hasn’t noticed him either. But then Google lifts Bing’s neck to slam his head harder into the floor, and Bop is jolted into acting.

“Stop!” he cries, loud in the near-silence of Bing and Google’s fight.

Both pause. Bing cranes his head up to look at Bop, and the anger melts out of his expression. Google, meanwhile, glances over his shoulder, unmoved.

“Stay out of this,” he growls.

“Babe–” Bing starts, but he’s cut off as Google turns away from Bop and tightens his hands around Bing’s neck.

“Shut up,” Google mutters, “Just shut up already.”

“Fuck you,” Bing gasps.

“Google, stop, please,” Bop begs, voice wavering with fear, but Google ignores him.

Bop can hear his heart beating in his ears as he watches Bing struggle. He starts to tremble as adrenaline courses through him. He hears Bing’s side vents start to open up, then catch. Bing’s eyes widen as he feels it. His side vents don’t open smoothly like the Googles’ do; they’re clunky and often stick, only opening halfway. Bing doesn’t need air to breathe, but he needs it for cooling, and he’s much more prone to overheating than the Googles. And much like suffocating for a human, overheating is disastrous for an android.

Google gets up, keeping his hands around Bing’s throat, lifting him up only to slam him against the wall. It knocks the wind out of him, yet his kicking gets wilder as his body fails to replace the lost air. Bing manages to land a few kicks on Google, but Google barely reacts to the blows.

Bop’s vision starts to tunnel as panic grips his heart. He can’t think about anything other than how afraid he is for Bing. Does this happen every time they fight? When’s Google going to let him go? For god’s sake, hasn’t he already won?? Bop’s heart thumps like it’s trying to escape his chest, and he wonders if the others can hear it.

Only a few moments pass, but it feels like forever until the adrenaline crystallizes something in Bop, until it reinforces his blood instead of just pushing it through his veins hotter and faster. His field of vision widens again, and sharpens, zeroing in on the fight in front of him. He stands straighter, stops trembling. He still doesn’t think, he only acts. He looks at Bing, and the adrenaline must be in his eyes, too, sending a message, because Bing listens. He stops struggling. Google pauses, confused.

The “click” of Bing turning off his auditory sensors hangs in the air.

Before Google can react, Bop opens his mouth and screams.

The effect is immediate. Google’s eyes widen and his body jolts backwards, twitching. He releases Bing, who falls coughing and sucking in air. Bop only knows this by sight; his own voice drowns out all other sound. His scream should hurt his own ears, but the tunneling he had in his vision is in his ears now, filtering out sound. His voice becomes an extension of himself, an arm or a leg, something he can control on instinct.

Google is still standing, locked but twitching. Bop changes his voice, pitches away from an uncontrolled scream to a smoother held note, watching how it makes Google’s body react. His arms curl around wrong, his fingers bend back, the color in his eyes flickers out to gray. His jaw drops open, then clacks back together with so much force that Bop sees cracks form in his teeth. Oil leaks out of his nose, his ears. Bing is watching, awestruck, morbidly fascinated. Despite not hearing the sound, it still vibrates his body, making him tremble. Meanwhile, the only voluntary movement Google seems capable of is the violent bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he tries to breathe through the pain – that is, until a well-timed vibrato in Bop’s voice stills it. He dips into a low note to shut Google’s side vents and keep them closed. Google no longer seems capable of fear, body and mind too absorbed in agony, futilely bracing against the waves of Bop’s voice. Finally, Bop twists the note back into the raw scream he started with before ending abruptly, and Google’s shoulder pops as he collapses.

The first thing Bop does is suck in a huge breath, gasping for air the way Bing did earlier, having used nearly too much air on that long note. His mind rushes to catch up with what happened, with what he did. Google is motionless. Bing has gotten up from the floor and clicked his auditory sensors back on, and he runs to Bop to hug him.

“Babe, that was insane,” Bing gasps, “That was incredible, you totally saved my ass, I didn’t know you could do that–”

“I don’t know what came over me,” Bop coughs, voice now raw and raspy, “Bing, what did I do!? What did I do, what did I do…!”

“Bop – woah, hey!” Bing exclaims as Bop slides to the floor, beginning to hyperventilate. He grabs Bop’s shoulders and manages to keep him from a hard landing. “Bop, look at me, babycakes.”

But Bop doesn’t take his eyes off Google, who continues to lay inert, still bleeding oil. Bop’s head is swimming. His throat is burning. His heart is pounding away again, hammering at his chest wall, rattling his ribcage. His vision tunnels again, like his hearing did, like his voice did – what on earth did his voice do?? He’s known for a long time that there’s power in his voice but nothing he’s ever been able to control, nothing like this. He starts trembling. He feels sick. He remembers using more control over his voice than he’s ever had before, he remembers pulling and pushing it like a weapon, he remembers the feeling of pure power spilling out of throat, the way it tuned to Google’s circuitry, to his mechanical muscles, to contract them and rip at them as he desired. And he had desired. There was no thought, no conscious decision or effort, only an instinct to harm. Is this how the powerful egos feel? Is this how Dark feels when he maims and manipulates with his aura? Is this how Wilford feels when he bends reality around him? If it is, Bop doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want this power. He doesn’t want to be dangerous. He doesn’t want to hurt people. He starts crying.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” Bop sobs, “I just wanted him to stop. I didn’t want to hurt him.”

“Shh, Boppy,” Bing murmurs, hugging Bop tight and stroking his hair. “I’m sending a ping to Ollie so he can come help Google, and I’ll tell him to bring Doc for you, too.” He kisses the side of Bop’s head. “You’re okay, everything’s gonna be okay.”

Bop can’t help but feel that everything is different now. The adrenaline, shooting through his beleaguered heart for the second time today, seems to whisper that to him, reminding him of his own unwanted power.

[def-initely-soul]

Halloween Drabble

ANONYMOUS: Yugyeom smut where there is black out in the city and they were about to go to Halloween party but don't want to waste the costume if you catch my drift

Original Update:  October 31, 2017

Coming right up ^_^

Bias: Yugyeom from GOT7

Genre: Smut

Words: 898

“Okay, the whole city has a blackout, it’s not just us,” you observe in shock, looking through your window. It’s Halloween night and you’re supposed to go to a costume party with your boyfriend Yugyeom. Him dressed as a pirate and you dressed as his captain.

But that seems impossible now that there’s not a single light in the expanse of the city.

You cross your hands over your chest, your bottom lip slightly protruding in a pout. “We got all dressed up for nothing…” you whine, as you feel a pair of hands sliding around your waist. Yugyeom rests his chin on your shoulder and he presses a soft kiss to the column of your neck to soothe you.

“What are we gonna do now?” you ask, disappointed that your plans for the evening got canceled.

But then you feel Yugyeom smirking against your skin and his hands tighten around your waist. “I have an idea…” he whispers softly, lips grazing your ear.

You smile, already knowing the implication and you turn around in his embrace, arms wrapping around his neck.

“Oh really? Like what…?” you whisper against his skin, and immediately leaving soft bites on his skin.

Yugyeom shivers lightly. Then, without any warning, his hands grip your hips and he lifts you up against him, your legs wrapping around his waist.

“You’re about to find out babe…” he says seductively and he’s quick to press you against the couch. His lips connect with yours immediately and you moan when you feel his hardness pressing against you.

His lips are hungry to devour yours as you move to get rid of his black vest and shirt. You grind your hips against him and he groans from the friction.

“Shit, baby, keep doing that…” he moves against you as well, trying to feel more. But you smirk mischievously as you shove him on the couch to sit on his lap.

And then you move your hips again.

Yugyeom’s head falls back on the couch, a lengthy moan tumbling from his lips as his nails dig into the skin of your thighs, just below your skirt.

“Now, is that a way to talk to your Captain, sailor?” you breathe next to his ear and another shiver takes over him.

“Oh my god, yES- I mean no, my Captain,” he breathes heavily, eyes dark with lust as he keeps his hands stuck on your thighs.

You smile and then you take his bottom lip between your teeth to suck softly.

“I was gonna punish you, but I changed my mind…” you mutter as you begin unbuttoning your shirt and move to take it off but Yugyeom stops you.

“Please, don’t take it off…” he begs and you smirk. Then you lean forward to leave bites at the skin of his neck and his hands move further below your skirt.

He pushes aside the fabric of your panties and his fingers move against your folds, teasing your slit. A helpless moan leaves your lips, reverberating against his neck and you buck your hips against his hand.

“Fuck, Yugyeom I need more..” you whine, and then you feel his fingers finally entering you, stretching your walls perfectly.

Your hands fly to grip on his shoulders and a gasp escapes you as you keep on moving against his hand. You let your hand travel on Yugyeom’s chest and when you press it against his length, he hisses.

“Please, can I be inside you now? I need you so much,” he pleads, eyes closed and head falling back, revealing the expanse of his neck.

You unbuckle his belt at once, hands pulling down the zipper and then his underwear, and his cocks springs out, resting against his stomach. You raise your hips, right above his tip and then you begin sinking slowly on him.

Yugyeom groans loudly, his hands squeezing the flesh of your ass. “Fuck, yes babe, you feel so tight!”

And then you begin moving. His length disappears in you and you moan at the sight, walls clenching more and more around him. His hands on you are harsh and unmerciful as he begins moving his hips in time with yours.

Yugyeom leans forwards to suck on your nipples, tongue rolling around the buds to tease. Your head falls back to the added stimulation and you weave your fingers through his hair to press him against your chest.

With every thrust, you feel the coil tighten in your belly and your moans grow in volume. Your hips falling harder on him, the sounds of skin slapping skin joining the sounds coming from your lips. Yugyeom breaths harder against your ski and you can tell he’s getting closer too.

And with one final thrust, the coil snaps, a bright light blinding your eyes as your high hits you violently. Yugyeom joins you shortly after, both shaking in the aftermaths of your orgasm.

You stay like this for a bit, his face hiding in your neck as both of you breath heavily to calm down. And from the corner of your eye, you see something out of the window that makes you chuckle.

Yugyeom looks up at you. “What is it?”

You stifle a giggle before answering. “The power is back on.”

[spookyjuicefiction]

The Black Diamond - Chapter 2

MASTERLIST

A/N: This one has Smut Lite™ (aka Bucky solo in the shower... you’re welcome) so please proceed with caution! Also a kind of very serious life/death situation convo about teenagers at the end that could be distressing. And swearing. And it’s kind of long. 

BUCKY BARNES X READER

Her eyes flickered from Steve to Sam to Bucky for a few seconds before turning her attention back to the makeup and the martini.

“I never expected someone as famous as the Avengers would come by to catch my little act,” she said coyly to her own reflection.

“Well, it was worth the trip. And it was quite a long trip,” Bucky blurted out before Steve could open his mouth. He felt his friends’ eyes on him as he continued, unable to hold it in and taking a step towards her. She was magnetic, drawing him to her, and he was powerless to resist. “What’s a... talented girl like you doing all the way out in the middle of nowhere?”

“Ah, well,” she was grinning now, swirling the martini with one hand and dusting eye shadow off a brush with the other, “the gigs in New York and Chicago aren’t so good anymore. No room for little old me. And hey, the crime-fighting business must be going under, too. A bird told me Natasha Romanoff is washing dishes in my kitchen. I didn’t realize you all were out of a job?” She looked up at them again, smiling sweetly and blinking exaggeratedly with gigantic false eyelashes.

“Try again, doll,” Bucky replied smoothly, although his heart was hammering. He crossed his arms so that no one could see his hands shaking. “A little bird told us there was a dynamite act we couldn’t miss at The Black Diamond, so here we are. Sorry, your roses dried up in the hundred-degree heat.” He returned her coy smile.

Finally, she turned on her stool and stood up to her full height. She was a Grecian statue, draped in a silken robe with ringlet curls brushing her cheeks in the soft, yellow light. She looked feminine and sweet as cherry pie, yet strong, like the marble she was made of. She looked him up and down for a moment, grinning wickedly, like a cat playing with her mouse before she bit its head off. He would have died willingly. Then she strode over to one of several clothing racks lining the room and began rifling through them.

“Very charming, Sergeant Barnes,” she cooed in a voice like taffy, plucking a lacy set of red lingerie from the rack. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. However,” she tossed him a look over her shoulder, “I must ask you to leave this town immediately.”

Bucky, Steve, and Sam all raised their eyebrows in surprise. Bombalurina fixed them each with an intense stare in turn.

“I know why you’re here, and I know what you’re looking for. You’re not going to get it. So I think it’s best you leave before things… escalate. Since you’re all such big fans, I hope that you won’t disappoint me.” She strode back over to the vanity and downed the remainder of the martini before turning back to them, her coy smile again fixed firmly in place. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to prepare for the... after-hours.” With that, she turned on her heel and disappeared behind a partition in the corner of the room, lingerie in hand.

The Avengers exchanged looks and, shrugging, Sam and Steve started towards the door. Bucky knew he should follow, but he found it impossible to leave the radiant glow of her presence. He watched the silk robe fling over the top of the partition and his mouth went dry with the knowledge that she was naked behind it. He should leave, needed to leave, and yet his feet would not move.

“What if I wanted to stay for the after-hours?” he blurted, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. Since when did he speak--at all--much less to women? A melodious chuckle rang out from behind the screen that made him want to join the circus if it would make her do it again.

“Well, Sergeant, you’d have to pay quite the pretty penny.” Bombalurina stepped out from behind the partition in the red lingerie, fixing him with the wicked cat grin again. He couldn’t keep his eyes from roving over the curves of her figure and the way the scalloped lace shaped her like a pornographic picture frame from heaven above. She bent down to hook the garter to her thigh-high stockings, looking up at him through her lashes. “Although, for the look on your face alone, I might just give you a discount.”

“Buck,” Steve’s voice cut through the room, making Bucky conscious of the tightness of his pants, and he looked away from her, from the sun, and blinked the vision away. He had been right. It did hurt. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Nodding, Bucky walked towards the door, forcing himself not to look back at her again.

“Au revoir, soldier,” came the musical coo over his shoulder, and he shoved his way into the hall.

The guy behind the desk at the motel seemed annoyed to give them each a separate room, but he brightened up at the hundred-dollar bill Steve produced from his wallet “for his trouble”. Inside the dingy room, Bucky dropped his bag on one bed and headed straight for the bathroom, turning on the shower. He needed to clear his head.

Steve had been tactful on the ride to the motel, not saying a word, but Bucky could tell Sam was straining not to crack jokes at his expense. Just as Sam opened his mouth, Steve had cut in.

“It’s been a long day, let’s just get some rest. We can rendezvous with Nat in the morning and figure out the next move. I’m sure she will be… fired, after tonight.”

Now, Bucky stood in the hot water with his eyes closed for a few minutes, allowing it to soak his shoulder length hair and run down his metal arm. What the hell had gotten into him? What was it about Bombalurina that turned him downright insane? Sure, she was beautiful, but it felt like more than that. He had met plenty of beautiful women. What was different about her?

Behind his eyelids, he could see her perfectly, as if the image was burned there. Her pulling up the stockings in the lingerie, her taking off the sequined dress on the spotlight stage. Her eyes as they locked on his on her final, alluring pose. The shapes her lips made as they said “Sergeant Barnes.”

When he opened his eyes, he found that he was rock hard. To anyone else, this might not be a surprise after fantasizing as he just had, but he had scarcely felt sexual in decades. Bombalurina had awoken something within him that had been long dormant in the aftermath of his days as the Winter Soldier. Cautiously, he took hold of himself, letting out a low groan and closing his eyes to picture her again. It didn’t take long. A few more mental reverberations of “very charming, Sergeant Barnes” and “au revoir, soldier” had him coming, hard, over the shower drain at his feet.

Twenty minutes later, he lay face up on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He hardly slept anyway, what with the nightmares, but this was a whole new level of insomnia. He felt a little guilty that he had thought about her as he jerked himself off, but he got the feeling that if she knew, she might like it. The thought made his pants twitch again and he threw his arms over his face with a frustrated groan. What the fuck is happening to me?

He tossed restlessly for a few hours, losing consciousness once or twice and sighing irritably twice or twenty times. At length, he looked over to digital clock on the nightstand. 5:08 AM. With another irritable sigh, he dragged himself out of bed and put on the first clothes he found in his bag: jeans and a black t-shirt. Shoving on his boots and grabbing the room key, he stumbled out into the brown desert on foot.

After some time walking, he was drawing near to The Black Diamond. It looked eerie and abandoned in the gray light of the creeping sun. Bucky noted there were still several cars in the parking lot, and he shuddered at the thought of what these patrons might still be doing at this hour.

The walk had allowed his mind to clear a little, and as he made his way around the building, inspecting it, he tried to bring the facts they had discovered last night into focus. The Black Diamond was so exclusive that members of the CIA and the government came to see Bombalurina, some with and some without their wives. There was something fishy going on, and Bombalurina knew all about it. Bombalurina wears lingerie to the “after-hours” where people have to pay a pretty penny. Bucky frowned at the implications of that information.

He picked his way to the back of the building, where a line of cars were parked in a neat row: presumably, the employees’. Right in the middle of the line, backed into a spot, was a cherry-red Cadillac convertible that must have been from the 1950’s but was in mint condition. Smiling slightly, Bucky had a sneaking suspicion who this car belonged to. A pair of black fuzzy dice hung from the rear-view mirror, and a huge, fur coat was tossed haphazardly across the back seat. Rounding the car, Bucky chuckled when the license plate confirmed his suspicions. “BMBLRNA”.

Just then, the back door of the building flew open, revealing a young woman gesturing him urgently to come. Here goes nothin’, he thought, and approached the door.

Following the girl, Bucky tried to get his bearings as to where they were inside The Black Diamond. He pictured the layout in his head as they climbed a set of narrow stairs in a back hallway, and realized that they must be over Bombalurina’s dressing room. There was another red door, this one with a peep hole instead of a star, and the girl unlocked it and gestured him inside.

“She’s on the patio,” the girl all but whispered before hurrying back down the hall.

Bucky spun around and took in the apartment. It was large and open, with the kitchen, dining, and living spaces all in one area. There was a door to the side that he imagined must be the bedroom. The style and decor was not unlike the rest of the club, although brighter thanks to the warehouse windows lining one side of the room. He located the patio door and opened it, stepping out into a courtyard enclosed by walls, but sunny and bright nonetheless. Ahead there was a lush, green garden of planters and pots growing flowers, fruits, and vegetables.

“What do you think of my car?” The voice came from the right and he turned toward it hungrily, nearly staggering at the sight of her. She was draped across a chez lounge in a white, gauzy robe that barely skimmed her thighs. Beneath it he could see only a sheer nightgown and he swallowed thickly, dragging his eyes to her face. But that was worse. She wore no makeup, only the light of the morning sun which had risen in earnest now. She held a teacup and saucer up to her lips and made a show of taking a delicate sip.

“Do you always leave your mink out for anyone to find?” Bucky asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets and stepping towards her. He wondered how he looked to her. Did she find him… attractive? The thought made him suddenly very self-conscious of his metal arm.

But she was giggling, motioning for him to sit down and leaning forward to pour another cup from the pot on the table. “Occasionally. But that’s why I have cameras out back. I’d have to kill anyone who touches my car.” She liked it when he played with her, he thought as she gave him the coy smile again. He took the cup politely from her when she offered it and was pleased when the aroma of coffee, not tea, hit his nostrils. He nearly downed it in one sip.

“I thought you were leaving,” she said, cocking her head slightly, the teacup hovering over the saucer.

“I’m… finding it hard to stay away,” he admitted, unable to meet her eye. After a moment, he shrugged and gestured at the tall walls around him. “Perhaps it’s the beautiful scenery.”

Her laughter was music. She looked at him for a long moment before saying, “James, I can’t help you. Whatever you think you’re here to find, it’s not going to happen.”

The use of his Christian name shook Bucky to his core, paired with her words that seemed to him like a double entendre. He clinked the teacup down a little too hard on the table.

“So you like the view here that much, huh?” She raised her eyebrows, surprised at his sudden tone. He continued, unable to stop himself. The pent-up sexual frustration and the sleepless night had caught up to him along with the jolt of caffeine. “You waited your whole life to be the biggest star in the middle of the desert, did you? I’m not buying it, doll. Nobody loves a guy that much. How much does he pay you to keep his secrets?”

Bombalurina pursed her lips, but if she was annoyed she hid it well. She sipped her coffee and remained silent. Bucky stood up and walked over to the garden, pacing as he pressed on.

“So who is he? Your pimp? He buy you that pretty car so you’ll get information from the horny CIA agents that come in here looking for an escape from reality?”

He turned back. She sat, stonefaced.

“That’s it, huh,” he murmured. “The most beautiful girl in the world, in the middle of nowhere. One night for them at The Black Diamond and you and your pimp have the nuclear codes by breakfast.” He could see her pressing her lips together harder, and he knew he was right. “And when he comes back he brings you a new fur coat and kisses you on the forehead and brings you 10 more underage girls to put in your show.”

At that, her beautiful face turned harrowing, an angry harpy mother ready to kill for her children. And suddenly, with her next words, he realized he had it all wrong.

“Why do you think I’m still here? Why do you think I do it? Do you think he hasn’t hurt me so many times now that I’m immune to it? I do it because he turns on them!” She meant the girls. The young girls. Bucky felt his stomach drop like a stone, horror dawning on him as he remembered the girl who had brought him up the stairs, the one behind the desk, the ones carrying drink trays. He remembered what Steve said about them having hard lives. Bombalurina pressed on. “If I don’t get the information he wants, he hurts them. Those girls...” she choked down a small sob, “I’m all they have. Do you understand? I have to run the club, make the money, fuck the old men, and do my job. Or they die.”

Bucky fell to his knees in front of her, taking her hand in his flesh one and squeezing it gently. She was crying a little, but it was somehow dignified and graceful. 

“I’m going to save you. And the girls.” He squeezed her hand, and he felt her squeeze back a little bit. “But you need to tell me everything. You need to tell me who he is. And then we’re going to kill him.”

[thedistantstorm]

Lightweight (part 1 of  2)

Zavala x Hawthorne (Steelponcho)

Here have some Drunkvala (it is the weekend, after all).

Mildly nsfw, nothing actually graphic, but there’s a couple f-bombs and some handsy Zavala.

As with all drunken escapades, there will be an aftermath part in a few days. Because why not.

“I’m taking you home, Commander Drunkypants.”

“Wait. He’s drunk. Why is he drunk?”

The bar was rowdy and smelled of cheap beer and sweat. Suraya was really looking forward to going home to her little flat and getting a decent night of sleep, not answering seventy messages (collectively) from Cayde and Shaxx with an in-person visit.

“This moron started recalling the good ol’ days,” Shaxx motioned to Cayde who had the wherewithal to look scandalized as he sipped at his drink. “The next thing I know, Zavala’s putting away pints like he’s a different man and chatting up the Kinderguardians. He knows he doesn’t handle his alcohol well. I don’t pretend to understand why he did this.”

“Yeah,” Cayde said with a shrug. “And I didn’t even say anything bad. I jus’ heckled him for being old. I always do that, and I’m probably older than he is.” He held his hands out in a ‘plausible deniability’ stance.

The civilian huntress allowed her eyes to roll. “Okay. So why am I the one collecting him? You two seem to have a handle on the situation.”

“We are not babysitters, dear Suraya,” Shaxx bellows.

Her nostrils flare, and Cayde moves away instinctively. “Do I look like a babysitter? I’ve been running strikes since before dawn. The only thing I look like right now is tired.”

Both men shake their heads, clearly valuing their lives - even though they’re kind of expendable. “It-it’s not that you look like a babysitter,” Cayde says. “But you’re kind of our best chance to get him out of here before he gets too annihilated.”

“Oh?”

“There are several stages to the Zavala drunkenness spectrum,” Shaxx imparts to her, lowering his volume to the average human’s yell (it’s quiet for him). “First, he complains about drinking. Second, he drinks quickly and says he doesn’t actually hate drinking. Third, he becomes talkative. Fourth, handsy. Fifth, ho-”

“Okay, okay. Let’s pretend I buy this. What stage are we on?”

“We’re moving into handsy. He’s clapped at least seven new Titans on the back in the last twenty minutes,” Cayde supplies cheerfully. “We need him out of here before he becomes a puddle of needy goo, because stage six is the clingy-slash-depressed stage, and it only gets worse from there.”

“So dump it on Hawthorne, eh?”

“In the talkative phase,” Cayde says, grin on his face, “He might have mentioned how he really enjoyed working with you. A lot. And on repeat.”

“So?”

Shaxx wraps an arm around her. He smells like ale. “So, that means either he’s fucking you, or he would very much like to.”

“How much have you two been drinking?” She wears her defensiveness like armor and it shows.

“Not enough to miss that blush,” Cayde snaps back with a smirk. He pushes her away from them and in the direction of the Titan on the other side of the bar chatting with his subordinates. “Go get the good Commander, and take him home. Pretty sure he’ll let you have your way with him.”

She shakes her head. “When he’s sober, I’m going to tell him you suggested I take advantage of him.”

“Like that'll surprise him. Just get him out of here before we’re stuck listening to him mope. It’s literally always about work and we’re here to get shitfaced.”

“You two owe me,” She says as Shaxx bellows something in the affirmative to Cayde’s shitfaced comment. The two clink glasses and chug. The bartender shakes his head and mutters something about how it ‘always starts like this and the next thing you know there’s Golden Guns and Fists of Havoc everywhere.’

Hawthorne crosses the bar easily, it’s busy but not quite standing room only. The majority of the Titans are packed into one corner, all of them still in armor - of course - and she easily spots his sparking white, red, and silver, gear even in the dim light.

“Evening, Guardians,” She calls cheerfully, leaning between Zavala and the female Titan beside him to take the half-empty mug from in front of him. “Having fun?” He looks up at her, and she can see the how small his pupils are. He smells like booze as well, but it’s not nearly as overwhelming as it is on Shaxx. She knows Zavala’s a lightweight; he’s told her himself.

The table roars mightily as she manages to drink down the remainder of his drink in one go. Half of them are playing cards, the other half are engaging the Commander in riveting tales of Titan prowess. He seems to be enjoying himself.

“I need to borrow you for a minute,” She says to him, when the group is laughing at a new Guardian’s clumsiness. He places a hand on her shoulder and squeezes.

“We’re in the middle of something,” He says, and it’s supposed to be a whisper but it comes out loudly. “This is a good story.”

She sighs. Waits a few more minutes, tries again. Similar result. Now he’s yelling amidst the stories about how in his hayday, he’d done things four times as impressive. It was becoming the standard Titan pissing contest. Enough was enough.

Finally, she sighs, and leans down to whisper in his ear. “Commander, you are going to get up and leave with me now. That’s an order.” She makes sure she speaks quietly enough for only him to hear. The result is that her lips and teeth are ghosting over the shell of his ear. She is absolutely not trying to rile him up, but the effect is immediate. He immediately excuses himself, standing quickly and with the slightest of staggers. It takes him a second to make his goodbyes.

She realizes, with only mild irritation that she's going to have to lead him on if she's going to get him out of here - and more importantly make it to bed - sometime tonight. She’s halfway across the bar, and when she turns to make sure he’s following, she gives him the come hither motion to make him pick up the pace.

The peanut gallery immediately starts catcalling, and Suraya flips both of them the the middle finger when Shaxx yells, “YESSSS, Guardian. Get it!” The call even comes with a fistpump.

She literally cannot go out to bars in this city because she'd get arrested for murder. But really, they’re so lucky he’s drunk, because she's pretty sure sober-Zavala would literally rip Shaxx’s entrails out through his nostrils if the Crucible handler said this to sober-him in public. Drunk-Zavala has tunnel vision though, so they're safe. For now.

She is going to be so loud tomorrow morning. Those two deserve to suffer.

They’re barely out into the street and he’s nudging her into an alley, pressing himself against her with no self control. “Okay, okay, I got it. You’re into me,” She says, when he’s kneading her ass with his palms, and mouthing at her chest through her shirt. She won’t deny that it’s attractive (like, really, really fucking hot, her brain corrects), but he’s so bombed. She’s got to get him back home pronto. She has not been drinking - that half pint was for show and she's not a lightweight unlike some Titan she knows - so sex in an alley isn't really on her to do list tonight.

“My place is closer,” She offers, not that he’s ever spent the night there before. The only nights they've spent together have been on work projects. No sleeping or cuddling. Hell, she's kissed him like three times? She hopes it’s as clean as she remembers. Actually, she doesn't care. This is all ridiculously inconvenient. He'll have to make due.

He's all but bucking against her, and she can admit that it makes her feel so powerful and desired that her exhausted post-work look can make him come undone. But really, the voice of reason says, she'd prefer this sober. She's also relatively certain that if any part of his brain chooses to recall this, he's going to be mortified.

“Zavala.”

He draws back at once, in a brief moment of clarity. She smiles crookedly up at him, slipping out from where she's been pinned to the wall. “C'mon, let's get out of here.” Her fingers curl around his wrist and she pulls him back into the road.

“Suraya-” It’s practically a whine. Traveler help her, maybe she could have sex in this alley. No. Stay on track, Suraya, she coaches herself. No sex in the alley. No sex at all, no matter how much either of them want it. He’s DRUNK. Not tipsy. Plastered. Shitfaced. Annihilated. She has to turn away from him to compose herself. She cannot even.

“I'm taking you home, Commander Drunkypants.”

He scoffs. “Drunkypants?” His eyes narrow, and she has to hold back her laugh or he’ll likely become belligerent. “I’m insulted.”

“No, you’re drunk.” She continues pulling him along. He’s protesting and she’s absolutely not strong enough to pull his dead weight across the city, especially with full armor on. “Can we please keep moving? I’ll promise not to call you drunkypants if you keep moving.”

“You c’n do better than that,” He says, just the slightest of slurs in his voice. She curses under her breath. Her flat isn’t far, maybe another fifteen minutes away. She’s got to get him there before he completely falls apart. Getting him to his own apartment would be career suicide for them both.

“I can, but you’re not giving me much to work with,” She taunts, even though he has absolutely tipped his entire hand. She’s got to motivate this man to get a move on and pronto. She puts her hands on her hips and juts them to the right. His eyes immediately follow. That horny bastard, she thinks. Maybe she can use this to her advantage. “Will a kiss motivate you, Guardian?” She does her best to purr it all sultry-like, but she’s not claiming to be a siren.

Not that it matters, because he’s practically keening and she’s pretty sure there’s no blood left in that bald head of his because it’s all run south. Traveler, is he easy. Alright, she tells herself, you’re doing great. Just kiss him and keep promising him more and hope he doesn’t puke on you when this all catches up with him.

Because it’s going to catch up with him. He’s stumbling, even with her grip on his wrist.

She crosses the distance between them and gives him a very riveting display of affection. Tongue, teeth, the whole shebang. He moans appreciatively and tries to circle his arms around her, but she grabs his other wrist and manages to hold him off. She pulls away from him and smirks.

“If you want more from where that came from, you’ll probably want to get me home.” She mentally crosses her fingers, since hers are preventing him from hauling her over his shoulder and giving in to both of their desire.

Seeing a man intoxicated should not make her feel so horny, but she really doesn’t have it in her to feel ashamed. She is going out of her way for him right now, she’s tired, and she’s really wanted him for months now. And it isn’t like she’s going to act on it - not now - but she absolutely plans to the second they’re both alone and sober. If this isn’t confirmation, nothing will be.

He takes the bait, almost dragging her forward. One track minded, she thinks, those Titan flaws are a doozy. “You might want to slow down,” She says softly, when he keeps marching towards the Tower. “There’s a quicker way to my flat if we go left here.”

She sees the change when he quickly redirects himself. She thinks for a second that he’s going down, but he corrects at the last second, instinct kicking in. Thank the Traveler. No more hand-holdy crap. She slows, ducking under his right arm, so that she can keep him walking straight and upright. He leans against her, hard.

“You’re heavy,” She says, looking over at him. “If you stop moving I’m gonna leave you in the street.”

“You wouldn’t.” His blue eyes are wide, and for someone so much older than her, he looks so devastatingly young in this moment.

“Try me.”

“I’m moving,” He says, though it’s a bit garbled. “H’w much long’r til your home?”

“Soon,” She says, and leads them to a staircase with beautiful Morrocan scrolling going up and around the archway, her arm slung tightly across his waist, slipping between plates of armor. “We’re almost there.”

It’s not the stairs that do him in, it’s the elevator that does. She’s important, and this particular building is built into the side of the Tower’s Bazaar, so naturally she’s closer to the top. The two minute ride forces him to stay still, and she can see him swaying. His eyes are closed.

She feels simultaneously like he deserves this and also like he’s precious and innocent and needs to be sheltered from the world. She hates that she’s so soft sometimes.The elevator dings and he doesn’t move. She stands blocking the door so that it doesn’t trap him in there. “You with me, soldier?”

He blinks open an eye and stumbles forward. She manages to catch him well enough, but he groans and mumbles something she can’t understand and she knows it’s all over. “Just a little further, okay?” She coaches him quietly, running a hand over his scalp. “You’re doing great.”

He leans into the touch, and she manages to haul him from the lift before it makes offensive noises because they’ve taken too long to get out. They’ve just got to make it to her door and it will all be-

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

Fuck.

By some great miracle, she manages to get him both insider her flat and it’s bathroom before he starts revisiting the amount of ale he’s consumed this evening. She leaves him to it and returns to her front door - she’d left it open in her haste to get him into the apartment before the neighbers are exposed to the the solar system’s biggest lightweight.

She winces when he hiccups and heaves again, after several moments of shallow, heavy breathing. She gets him a glass of water and definitely some painkillers - she’s guessing here, but there’s definitely no chance his ghost is going to heal him for being a drunken idiot. She’s only met her a handful of times, but she is a serious, motherly partner who definitely takes no pity on fools.

Suraya goes into a closet and pulls out the softest flannel she can find, wetting it with lukewarm water in her kitchen before braving the trip to her bathroom. He’s braced over the toilet and it’s a tight fit, considering he never made it out of his armor,  but he’s making due. She puts a hand on his back, pushing hard enough that he can feel it through the metal plating.

“How ya holding up?”

He groans.

She knees beside him and presses the cool, damp cloth against his forehead. “This was definitely not one of your smarter ideas.” He leans into her, and she braces herself to accept the whole of his weight because it comes. There’s no sound but harsh breathing for a few moments, before he begins to vomit again, and she stays put, rubbing his back as he dregs up what’s left. By the time he’s finished, he’s dry heaving, and she’s pretty certain there’s nothing left to throw up. He’s mumbling as he does, and she has to tip her ear closer to him to hear the litany of apologies to her and self-deprecating comments.

“I’m sorry,” He manages to say, a bit more coherently, but she shushes him with gentle fingers trailing down his temple.

“Think you got it all out of your system?”

He nods, barely.

“Okay. Lean on me. If you didn’t have the spins before, you definitely have them now.” It’s true, he does. There’s a split second in which she thinks they’re going to crack their heads against the wall of the shower stall, but they make it out and into her bedroom with only moderate difficulty.

He’s too far gone to look around at the minimalist offerings of the woman’s private rooms, the desk covered with maps in the corner, the white-wood dressers and pale blue and gray walls, or the perch with a sleeping falcon atop it beside the open window. She manages to get him into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, feeding him two tablets and addressing him as a child when she tells him to only sip the water. He slurs something about knowing how to do this, but she ignores him, in lieu of sliding her fingers under the clasps of his armor.

“Suraya?” He whispers, as she manages to undo the clasps on both sides of his rib cage.

She kneels down in front of him, regarding him with amber eyes.

He reaches for her face and it’s a sad effort since his eyes are closed. He gets there eventually. “Thank you f’r taking care of me.”

She laughs, but it’s affectionate. “Of course, you big lug. I’ve got your back.” She tips his head to rest against her stomach as she stands, intent on removing his armor so he can rest easy. “Always.”

-/

When he wakes, it’s to a room that’s bright and unfamiliar. He scrubs a hand over his face and bites back a curse at the hollow pounding in his head. What in the Traveler’s name had he been thinking?

The telltale echo of his ghost his head is something like “you weren’t, that’s what,” and she did it purposely, because it always made his headache worse when he was hungover.

He looks over through squinted eyes to see armor stacked neatly on the floor. It isn’t stacked how he would have done it, so someone else did it. But the last thing he remembers, he was drinking with the new recruits and…

There’s a quiet, shrill call from across the room, complete with the slightest beating of wings. “Louis?”

Well, hell. He stares down at himself. He’s clearly in undergarments, and if that’s Louis - how many other falcons does he know - then he’s spent the night with Suraya Hawthorne, and he doesn’t remember any of it. Headache forgotten in his absolute panic - sleeping with coworkers, specifically coworkers for which he has feelings that are deeper than lust’s casual trysts - he looks over to find the other half of the bed empty.

But it looks slept in.

This is a nightmare.

His Ghost blinks into view with a flurry of apathetic light and volume. “As it would seem, you’re late for your second task of the day. The first, you’ve missed in its entirety.” She moves closer to him with a whirl and twitch of her shell and her voice is cheerfully booming. He feels like he’s talking to a female version of Shaxx right now. “I suggested that Suraya leave you to the wolves, as you did absolutely wreck her bathroom with your inability to vomit into her toilet. She, however, took your meeting with Dead Orbit and is on her way to meet Cayde for strike duty now. I presume that’s because she would like to murder Cayde for dragging her out to pick you up last night, and heckling you both when you left together. We should really go watch. Sundance already informed me that he’s worse off than you right now, I asked her to record it for personal reasons.”

“Did you always talk this much?” He asks his partner with a tired grumble while he tries to figure out if he’s actually slept with her or not. He was pretty drunk, so hopefully not. It would only complicate things that are… already complicated.

She laughs. “Ha, ha. Someone has to remind you that what you did is stupid. Hawthorne is spoiling you. You fell asleep before she could even remove your codpiece, not that she’ll ever tell you the details. I took pity on her and transmatted it for you. You owe me.”

He blushes, harder than he can recall. Ever. Traveler take him.

“You enjoy this,” He growls at her and she laughs until he swipes at her, at which point she dissolves into motes of light. Louis trills a low, understanding cry, and Zavala looks at him. “Tell me about it. I’m never drinking again.”

[stratus-skye07]

Sense Of Love [One] | Minho

Blinded By Fame

[Masterlist]

MINHO

Reaching a certain point in your career you start to think about how you got to this point. Sitting and thinking about the aftermath of winning my fight which will lead me to the championship. A place I’ve been to once before, only this time I’ll win.

Before leaving the building, I have to do my post match interview. It’s not my favorite part of the job but attention is on me and I have to make myself look even better than I already do. I put on my five hundred dollar sunglasses as I approach the podium with multiple microphones aiming at me when all the cameras begin to flash like crazy. Multiple hands go up as the question begin.

“Mr. Choi, how do you feel about the outcome of your fight?”

I shrug my shoulders at such a unoriginal question, “Sore but it came out as expected.”

“You’re going into the finals against Lee Chin-Hwa, are you going to be training even harder for your fight against him?”

“No, if it’s not broken then don’t fix it. I’ve been zooming through the tournament with no problem and I’ll win the same way.”

“You made it this far last year but you ended up losing the finals, aren’t you worried about coming out with the same outcome?”

I’ve tried very hard to forget last years finals but being reminded of it has given me a bitter taste of it. “I have all the confidence that won’t happen this year. I’m done answering question.”

Leaving the building gave me a sense of relaxation with the match being set and done. I worked my ass off just to get back to this point once again. I rose to the top last year but along with bad decisions I ended up losing in the finals. I’ve chosen to not take that path again this time which means nothing will hold me back from winning this year.

Onew, my manager, is driving me home while I take in the ease from be able to finally go home. I browse through the news outlets about tonight’s match and everything good has been said about my win. The only thing that articles tend to focus on is my attitude outside of fighting. Like being a professional fighter means I have to be nice.

Scrolling through more things I notice an article about me and the currently famous model, Jung Bohee. Which reminds me.

“Onew, can you contact Bohee and ask how her schedule is looking. If she’s not too busy let her know that I need to have another meeting with her.”

He nods, “Sure, but how many more meetings are you planning on having until you seal the deal with her?”

“Don’t start that again. You know I don’t have time for that. Meetings with her is as close as I will get to anything you’d want from me.”

“I’m only suggesting.”

“Well don’t, that’s not what I pay you for.”

“Yaah punk, I’m older than you. Just because I’m your manager doesn’t mean you can drop the honorifics and be an asshole to me!”

I plug my headphone into my phone and drown out his annoying rants about being my hyung. We may have grown up together but he’s still under my payroll. I can’t deny his loyalty though. No matter how much of an ass I am to him he still sticks around to put me in line.

My music gets interrupted by a phone call. The name on the screen reads Don’t Answer. I slide the red icon over letting my music come back on. That’s the twelfth time this week they’ve called. They can keep calling but my answer will still be no.

Once I get dropped off at my home, I immediately go to the bathtub to soak my body in before going to bed. It helps ease all the tensed muscles I used for tonight. Wrapping the towel around my waist, I reach the counter and look at myself in the mirror.

I touch the bruises on my face and sigh, “If I was meant to be a fighter why was I born with such a handsome face that gets hit sometimes? What a shame. Well at least I don’t have cauliflower ears.”

Noticing my phone light up I see the familiar number that I wasn’t expecting to see so soon. Duty calls though.

I guess that meeting is happening sooner than I thought.

Y/N

Closing time at last. The last customers heads out of the shop. I lock up the door and turn the sign to say closed. There’s still cleaning that needs to be done which comes down to my loyal employees. The same employees that are huddled over watching the T.V. that hangs in the corner of the wall.

“Can’t believe I lost a hundred bucks on this fight. I was so sure Minho was gonna lose.” Key groans in disappointment.

Taemin pats Key on the back, “Hyung, maybe you should retire in the life of gambling. You’re sense for betting is getting worse.”

“No, if it’s not broken then don’t fix it. I’ve been zooming through the tournament with no problem and I’ll win the same way.”

Key scoffs, “I really wish someone would knock him out.”

I grab the remote from the counter and shut the T.V. off, “If you two are done freeloading off our pay-per-view,” I hand a rag to Key, “The windows need cleaning,” I hand rubber gloves to Taemin, “and the dishes need washing.”

“Yes, ma’am.” They both say in unison. Key and Taemin have been working at my cafe, Hope Cafe, for as long as I’ve owned it.

Key and I went to school together growing up.  When I first took over the cafe when my parents passed away he offered to work part-time for a little while but that ended up turning into years. His real name is Kibum but I call him Key for short. Whenever I’m not around he takes care of the cafe for me.

Taemin, our youngest, came to work when in his final year in highschool. Currently, he’s majoring in music and film at the university. I’ve advised him that it would be fine if he chose to quit to focus more on school but he continues to brush off my attempts and work.

I finish wiping down the tables and placing the chairs on top of the them to mop the floor. Before I start mopping, I begin carrying out the large trash bags from today. As I’m about to pick them up, Taemin comes to lift them with ease towards the dumpster in the back of the cafe.

“Weren’t you doing the dishes?” I ask.

He smirks, “I finished besides you’re too small to be lifting these and you shouldn’t over work yourself.”

“I can handle it, Taemin.”

After tossing the bag into the dumpster, Taemin stares at me for a few minutes, “How are your eyes?”

I scoff, “Not this again, Taemin. You know that I haven’t had an attack for almost a year now. I told you I’m fine. Is that the reason you don’t quit this place and focus on school?”

“You’re the reason I managed to get into that school, noona. I can’t leave you behind to work twice as hard and put your health at risk.”

“I don’t want you to use me as an excuse to slack off at school. Would it put you at ease if I went to the doctor?”

He slightly pouts, “Maybe.”

I pat him on the back, “Okay, eomma. I’ll go see the doctor if that makes you feel at ease.”

MINHO

The sun blinds me for a split second as I wake to find that it’s morning. Hearing movement in the bathroom, I quickly realize that it’s time to get up. I get out of bed to put on sweatpants as the familiar slender figure appears.

“Leaving so soon?” I ask her.

Bohee smirk as she sits on the edge of the bed to put her heels on, “I have a shoot in two hours or else I’d stay longer.”

The articles about us are wrong. We’re not a couple, we’re just each other’s stress relievers. I met Bohee at a charity event and we hit it off, physically anyway.

“Have you seen the latest news about us?”

She nods, “It’s not a bad idea, don’t you think?”

“I told you from the start this would never become anything more. Why? Are you starting to get feelings for me?”

“No, but you can’t deny that our popularity certainly rose from all the speculations. Wouldn’t you want to try?”

I sigh, “I have other things in mind to get people talking about me.”

She comes up behind me to wrap her arms around my torso, “You’re no fun. Then how about doing a photoshoot with me?”

“I’ll think about it.” I break out of her embrace, “You’re gonna be late.”

After my interesting morning and long day of lounging around watching fight highlights, I meet up with Jonghyun for some late night training before calling it a night. Jonghyun has been my trainer since I started fighting. Him and Onew are the only team I need to compete.

We go through numerous workout routines along with practicing my strikes and kicks before finally taking a break.

“Are you sure you’re ready for the finals?” He asks.

“What are you doubting me already?”

Jonghyun shakes his head, “It’s not that, but after what happened last year I just wanna be sure nothing like that happens this year.”

“It won’t. You can count on it. I have no intention of leaving that venue without the championship.” Both Onew and Jonghyun know the truth behind my loss at the finals last year but neither of them ever talk about it with me directly.

“It’s not like it’s for my sake. I just don’t want you to get hurt in anyway shape or form. You’ve worked extremely hard just to get back to where you are now.”

I scoff and rise to my feet, “You think I don’t know that!? I’ve been the one to push myself after hours.” Not wanting to get into an argument I head towards the treadmill, “You can go if you want. I’m gonna run for awhile.”

“Alright,” Jonghyun walks towards the exit, “don’t stay so late.”

I continue to work out for a few more hours before the tiredness began to set it. It was already getting late so I lock up the gym and head for my car. Reaching my car, my phone begins to ring. I read the number and immediately press the red icon to decline the call before putting it back in my pocket.

“So you have been ignoring my calls.” I roll my eyes at the annoying voice I’ve been avoiding to hear. I turn towards the ringleader being followed by his two stooged bodyguards that I never bothered learning their names, “To be honest Minho, I’m a little hurt. I thought we were friends.”

“I’m sorry you’re bad at taking hints, Hyun-Ki.”

He fake laughs, “How do you deny offers before even hearing the pitch first? Now that’s bad deal making.”

I shrug my shoulders, “Something tells me that I’ve already heard this idea before and let me tell you right now that I’m not doing it. So you can stop calling me and find some other poor rookie to sell that idea to again.”

“Minho, listen to reason.” He point to his group, “There are three of us and one of you. We’ll manage to convince you one way or another.”

I drop my gym bag in preparation of what’s going to have to happen next. I’ve never backed down from a fight and that’s not going to change just because of the odds. Things with this group will end dramatically if it has to.

“The answer is still no.”

As soon as I finish my sentence, Hyun-Ki’s fist connects with my jaw. It throws me off balance but it wasn’t enough to do a whole lot of damage.

“Why do you insist on doing things the hard way.”

I return the hit with a punch of my own which knocks him down. “It makes things more interesting.”

Everything goes crazy once Hyun-Ki’s little helpers get involved. One of them goes for my mid-section to tackle me down but I manage to keep my stance. The other comes at me, charging for my upper body but I punch him to give me a split second to handle the first stooge. I ram my elbow into his back then a knee to his face to get him to let go of my waist. I swipe under the second guy’s feet to take him down.

Everything takes a turn for the worst when the last thing I see is Hyun-Ki tackling into me like a football player. My vision blurs once the back of my head makes contact with the windshield of my car.

I try to shake off the hit but I get way too disoriented and my vision starts to fade in and out. Looking up I barely see the three figures standing over me.

“It didn’t have to go down like this, Minho. If only you did one simple thing like you did once before, we wouldn’t have had to ruin a perfectly good window.”

“What do we do with him?”

“Eh, leave him. If he lives or dies, it doesn’t matter to me. He’s learned a lesson either way.”

It got quiet all of a sudden. Everything looked foggy and unrecognizable. I feel so numb to the point where I can’t move a finger to pull myself up. This was really it. This is how my short pathetic life ends. All I can say is I wish I lived it better. The night gets darker and colder with no hope of surviving through it.

Suddenly, I begin to see movement through my foggy vision. A silhouette of a woman. She’s talking to me but I can’t hear anything. The muffled noises grow faint as my eyes grow heavy and then I  see nothing at all.

Y/N

Over the years I’ve grown used to going to Dr. Park that it’s almost like going to the dentist for check ups. I truly believe that I’m healthy but those around me that know my past constantly tell me to see the doctor for review of my eyes. Just for their comfort I do so.

Dr. Park does his routine check of shining a light in my eyes and using a microscope to zoom into my corneas.

“So what is the diagnostic?”

He smiles, “Your eyes are in healthy condition. You’re vision is still in good shape. Have you been having any issues?”

“No, I haven’t. I’ve been doing well in reading things from a distance and close up.”

“You’re still wear your glasses though?”

“Yes, I sometimes get paranoid that I’ll strain my eyes so I still wear them at times.”

He nods as he looks through his notes, “Tell me Y/N, when was the last attack you had?”

“Almost a year ago. I haven’t had one since.”

“That’s good to hear. As long as you continue to live a peaceful life like you are now then there should be no change in your vision to worry about.”

“Can you write that down? My employees seem to think differently of me working and volunteering.”

He chuckles, “At least they care enough to do their work for you. You shouldn’t be complaining with employees like that.”

“I don’t complain but I’d rather not be dealt with like a fragile child. I wanted this operation so I wouldn’t be treated any differently.”

“Of course, I can’t really say anything since I began treating you when you were a child so in my eyes I still see you as that little girl that came to me all those years ago.”

I nod, “I’ve grown a lot since then, haven’t I?”

“You’re young, you still have more years to grow. Just continue the way you’ve been living and do your best to not overstress yourself. You have friends that care so don’t be afraid to lean on them for help when you need it.”

“Thank you again, Dr. Park.”

After the numerous check ups I’ve been having, each one has come out the same positive outcome. I begin to think that it’s safe, my health is set in stone and I can live without worry about what might happen within the next year. Yet, I hate to have that little piece of doubt that still lingers in the back of my head. I hope to one day not worry so much.

The sun has finally set as I walk back home. There was construction going on at my usual route so I decide to take the long way past one of the local gyms. I don’t really like to walk past there since a lot of the guys that workout there try to hit on me but it’s night time and the place closes. It still makes the places more creepy just walking through in the dark.

I shake off the creepy thoughts that make me feel uneasy as I nearly reach the end of the building where the crosswalk is. Suddenly, I hear a loud crash that scares me to a stop. I look at my surroundings in hopes that there isn’t some sort of driveby happening around the corner. I peek my head around the building. No one was there but one single car in the parking lot.

I continued to walk as if nothing was wrong. It’s not until I walk past the parking lot when I see legs sticking out from the side of the car. The window is completely smashed with the glass shining on the black pavement. Getting a little closer, I see a man lying there not moving.

I run over to him, “Sir, can you hear me?” His eyes flutter and his hand reaches out for me to take his. I notice blood pooling around his head when I begin to panic even more. “Hang on,” I take my phone out of my pocket to call for help, “I need an ambulance.” I give the operator my location and turn back to the man.

I lean back to look around for anyone near but the man pulls on my hand to keep me close. I squeeze his hand for reassurance, “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

MINHO

I could barely stay awake long enough to focus on where I was. I remember being in a car then the ceiling was moving but I couldn’t see where I was going. I kept trying to look for that silhouette that first came to me before I completely lost consciousness.

I begin to reach for that familiar hand again in hope to not be left alone but I feel nothing gripping my hand.

“Minho?”

I immediately recognize the voice, “Onew, where am I?”

“You’re at the hospital. What happened?”

“I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone at the gym like that.” Jonghyun’s voice comes from the other side of me.

I struggle to open my eyes from the brightness of the room, when I do nothing is clear. I give it a moment for my eyes to adjust but no matter how many times I blink they remain foggy.

“Onew...Jonghyun…where are you?”

“We’re right in front of you. Jonghyun is on the other side of you.”

I look around to see nothing but the lights and shapes of whatever is in the room but everything is unclear. “Why can’t I see you guys?”

“What do you mean you can’t see us?” Jonghyun worried voice asks.

“I mean I can’t see anything.”

The panic starts to set in once my vision never changes. It looks as if my eyes were being covered by multiple layers of saran wrap. The shock was almost enough to distract me from the hellish headache I have.

Onew called the doctor in to report the fact that I had no vision. My heart was racing the entire time I was waiting for him to bring the doctor in. Not being able to see who was coming and going made the wait even worse.

I hear multiple footsteps coming in, “Mr. Choi, I’m Dr. Chung. How are you feeling?”

“Besides the massive headache and the fact that I can’t see anything I’m just relaxing and having a grand time. Thanks for asking.”

I feel a nudge on my arm that must’ve been from Jonghyun since he has been standing on my right side this entire time, “Seriously, Minho.”

I wave him off as Onew starts to speak to the doctor, “Dr. Chung, can you please explain what’s going on with Minho?”

“Of course, it seems that the impact of the blow that Mr. Choi experienced to his head caused his brain to bounce off the front and back of his skull. We took CAT scans which shows contusions to the occipital lobe.”

I scoff, “Can you explain that in simpler terms?”

“The occipital lobe controls vision so it’s not unusual for it to cause temporary blindness. In your terms, your brain is bleeding but it’s not life threatening. They’re like bruises.”

“How long is temporary?” Onew asks.

“It’s hard to say. His brain should heal in a couple days, the maximum would be a few weeks but nothing past a month.”

I start chuckling at the sudden twist of fate that life has given me, “What am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

“I recommend that you see a counselor until your vision comes back. There’s a place we suggest to our patience. I can have the nurse give you the information.”

I shake my head, “A counselor? No thanks, I’m not that bummed about it.”

Dr. Chung clears his throat, I can imagine him losing his patience with me but I don’t care since I was screwed anyways. “Not for your emotional state. I mean a counselor to help you manage and get through your daily activities like normal until your brain heals fully.”

“That would be a great help for Minho since he lives alone and likes to live independently.” Jonghyun adds a lot of emphasis in the fact like it would actually help.

“I have another question.”

Dr. Chung hums in response, “Go ahead.”

“The person who found me. Are they still here?”

There’s a silence until the doctor awes, “The young lady that accompanied you here? She stayed for a short time but once she discovered that you were okay she left. She looked very pale so it was probably best for her to leave.”

“Did you by any chance get her name?”

He hums, “No, I’m sorry. She did seem very worried about you though. When you came in, she refused to let go of your hand. Perhaps she was your guardian angel.”

[Two]

[thephantomprojectionist]

Reviewnalysis: Tiger Claws (1991)

SPOILERS AHEAD

At the end of the 80s, a Lebanese-Canadian martial arts competitor sold his jewelry business and entered the world of karate flicks. His name is Jalal Merhi, and through money and persistence, he became a staple name of the U.S. video scene. Nicknamed “Beirut’s Steven Seagal” (despite his accent making him comparable to Jean-Claude Van Damme), what set him apart from virtually everyone else on the U.S. martial arts scene was his desire to showcase Chinese martial arts over their more common Japanese and Korean counterparts. He tried this first with Fearless Tiger (1991), a tournament flick that didn’t see an American release until three years after completion, but had greater luck with the more unique Tiger Claws. Merhi’s recipe for this endeavor? - lots of kung fu, established stars, and a capable director. The result is a thoroughly watchable adventure that grew on me over time. It’s an examination of fanaticism in martial arts, and arguably the best film Merhi would ever star in.

Photo source

The movie opens in New York City with a woman (Cynthia Rothrock) hounded on the street by a suspicious man (Nick Dibley). He corners her with evil intent, but she fights back and utterly decimates him in a brawl, knocking him out before he’s arrested. It turns out she’s Detective Linda Masterson, supercop, and the guy who attacked her was a suspect in a crime spree. She’s disgusted that her wolf-whistling partner (Fern Figueiredo) wasn’t anywhere to be found when the fight happened, but more so that she’s wasting her time “dressing up like a whore and working on these two-bit cases.” Shortly thereafter, we meet our other hero: Det. Tarek Richard (Jalal Merhi), who’s carrying out an undercover drug deal that, somehow, is also the purview of rival detectives Roberts (Robert Nolan) and Vince (Kedar Brown). It’s unclear who’s actually out of line, but Tarek’s suspended when his counterparts initiate a fight/shootout and the dealer is blown up in his car.

The case they’re both headed for – Linda by intent and Tarek by accident – is that of the Death Dealer, a serial killer targeting martial artists. The victims’ claw-like head wounds lead Linda to believe that the killer’s also a martial artist and that he can be unconvered by identifying his fighting style. This impresses her superior, Sergeant Reeves (John Webster), who assigns her to the case over a sexist cohort but also demands she work with the still-suspended Tarek. Linda’s not pleased but has no choice, especially when Tarek promptly identifies the style as “fu jow . . . some people call it tiger claw.”

Let’s pause to examine the story’s unusual take on martial arts awareness. Usually in these features, a martial artist is teamed up with someone who has no such experience and thinks “chop socky” is nonsense. That approach is subverted, here: Linda’s already a master martial artist but still needs the insight of a “specialist” like Tarek when it comes to exotic styles. Again, this is part of Jalal Merhi’s unique formula: not only was he featuring kung fu in his movies when few others were, but doing so at a time when these styles weren’t even widely practiced outside of films. It’s less of a deal now that Hong Kong flicks are widely distributed and it’s easy to find modern kung fu fight scenes, but at the time, Merhi capitalized on a market opening and used the opportunity to build up the Chinese arts grandly. The movie’s stance is that, while you can be a well-studied martial artist, there’s always more to learn by looking to the past. If you don’t, you’ll be at a disadvantage. This sentiment isn’t explored and thus feels a little like martial arts propaganda (“Your kung fu is strong, but mine is better!”), but I think Merhi was merely trying to set a precedent at this point.

Photo source | Jalal Merhi, Kedar Brown, Robert Nolan

Tarek and Linda search Chinatown for the school where the killer trains. Specifically, they’re searching for a secret studio that only trains serious fighters – like Tarek says, “This is not a sport for any bozo with 50 bucks.” They eventually receive a tip from a drunken boxing student (Rick Sue) who they rescue from a gang beating. It’s a cool fight, but doesn’t go very far in distinguishing our heroes’ differing approaches to martial arts: Tarek has some flowing movements, but he’s still as hard-edged as his partner. Ironically, it’s Linda who wields a Chinese rope dart. Anyway, they’re directed to a local tournament to find Sifu Chow (Mo Chow) – the only fu jow teacher in the area. Tarek not only finds him, but also an old friend and tournament competitor, John Atkinson (playing himself). A huge and mysterious man in the crowd (Bolo Yeung) looks on ominously as John wins the championship. Shortly thereafter, he shows up in John’s home and attacks him – killing him with a tiger strike to the face. Afterwards, we see the guy before a tiger-themed altar decorated with trophies from the other beaten martial artists. This is our killer.

Tarek and Linda follow Chow to an abandoned movie theater which Tarek immediately identifies as his school. He wants to go in right away, but Linda demands he stay. When a night of waiting results in nothing but the aforementioned death of his friend, Tarek impatiently sneaks into the studio on his own. He’s promptly discovered, but – immediately crafting his cover – earns a chance at tutelage by revealing that Chow and he studied under the same master. (Stroke of luck, huh?) Before leaving, Tarek notices his friend’s killer painting a mural on the wall, but of course doesn’t know who Chong is.

Photo source | Cynthia Rothrock, John Webster

TRIVIA: A subsequent scene features Tarek and Linda arguing whether to go to an Italian or Chinese restaurant to eat. This mirrors a real-life event wherein Merhi, Rothrock, Yeung, and some production members were deciding where to eat after a day of filming. Everyone voted for Italian, with the exception of Yeung. Merhi, who idolized Yeung, immediately changed his vote and attempted to sway the group in favor of Bolo’s choice. He was overruled and the group went to the Italian locale, where Yeung refused to order anything.

Tarek returns to the secret studio and earns his spot by holding his own in against the other students. This is the first fully-fledged kung fu fight scene, and the difference to previous brawls is noticeable. The pacing is more restrained and the tiger claw choreography reminds me of classic Hong Kong fights. You get the impression that the filmmakers are genuinely trying to make the fu jow aspects stand out, and this continues as Tarek engages in a necessity for any good kung fu flick – a training scene. He twirls weapons, strikes form, and toughens his hands by submerging them in a wok of boiling water filled with chains. Sifu Chow doesn’t do much on-the-ground teaching, preferring to beat a drum while his students go at it, but he does step in as a rivalry between Tarek and fellow student James (Ho Chow) threatens to get out of hand.

In an unexpected turn, another student (Gary Wong) invites Tarek to a go-go club, and they take Chong with them. The movie twists expectations by showing Chong as a normal guy who drinks and laughs with his comrades, but eventually, the scene’s mainly there so Tarek can find out how good of a fighter the muralist is when they have to thwart a mafia attack on the joint. Additionally, Chong keeps Tarek from killing one of the guys – highlighting the theme of martial excess that I’ll get into later. In the aftermath, Tarek still isn’t certain which of the practitioners is the killer, but Linda thinks it’s the hotheaded James. She confronts him at a billiard bar, and despite beating up him and half the establishment in the process, it turns out that he has an alibi. This faux pas results in Linda and Tarek being removed from the case and being replaced by the insufferable Roberts and Vince. In the meantime, Chong kills Sifu Chow and some of the students.

Photo source | Bolo Yeung

This scene is an enigmatic as it is essential. The final exchange between Chong and Chow features Chinese dialogue with no subtitles, so while their exchange may offers clues to Chong’s motives, I can’t be certain. We don’t find out otherwise why Chong is a serial killer. The head-spinning sequel throws a ton of new, outrageous information into the continuity, but where only this movie is concerned, it’s ambiguous. The only theory that’d tie into an existing theme is that Chong, having taken his training to the extreme, has literally been driven crazy by kung fu. Tarek’s spent the picture making sure we know how demanding and encompassing fu jow is, having mentioned that his wife left him when last he trained – implying that he, like Chong, has the potential to become a menace if not kept in check. Tarek’s also the only character to voice a theory on Chong’s motives, saying that perhaps he’s trying to “drum up lost respect for his style.” This may in fact be a part of the reason, given how the movie venerates kung fu. Chong may see his victims and their martial arts as temporary and weak and is thus trying to exemplify the “true” martial art. This isn’t entirely without real-world parallel: fierce inter-style competition goes back centuries, and Chinese styles have often been ridiculed in modern times by “hard style” practitioners for being impractical and fancy. Altogether, this information comprises pieces to Chong’s puzzle, but the picture still isn’t clear. Perhaps that’s why the movie reveals the killer relatively early: it’s not bad writing, but an intended opportunity for viewers to ponder Chong’s motives.

Tarek and Linda refuse to drop the case, and they somehow determine that Chong is their prime suspect. Their suspicions are confirmed when they enter the studio, finding the others dead and Chong in attack mode. He flees after a quick duel with Linda, who spends the rest of the night searching for him with Tarek. They find him at the pier, but not before the bumbling Roberts and Vince arrive and handcuff Tarek, suspecting him of the murders. Linda and Chong fight again – possibly the best one-on-one match of the film – but the finale pits the still-handcuffed Tarek against Chong in a warehouse. In a bit of egoism, Jalal Merhi’s character is able to best Chong while spending the majority of the fight with his hands bound. The film ends with with Chong apprehended, Tarek and Linda commended, and the former reinstated while the two share an awkwardly-earned kiss on Tarek’s boat.

Photo source | David Stevenson

TRIVIA: The movie draws on real-life characteristics for many of its characters. For example… Linda is from Scranton, PA and Chong is from Canton, China – just like their actors. Jalal Merhi wasn’t divorced, but like Tarek, he was single at the time of production. John Atkinson was indeed a successful karate fighter and multi-time grand champion. Mo Chow is a martial arts instructor who operates his own studio. Bill Pickels – Chong’s first victim – is a former cable TV personality in Canada. Three actors share similar or identical names with their characters: Mo Chow, John Atkinson, and Bill Pickels.

I wasn’t a Jalal Merhi fan when I first saw this, and only held onto the tape for Cynthia Rothrock. I can still see why the guy didn’t click with me right away. Merhi lacks the charisma that makes even a questionable actor like Rothrock fun to watch, and despite his emphasis on kung fu being genuinely unique at the time, it doesn’t make him stand out to the average viewer. Despite his efforts, Merhi isn’t comparable to Steven Seagal introducing aikido in the late 80s or Tony Jaa rewriting action choreography with muay thai in the 2000s. Nevertheless, the more of this subgenre you consume, the more Jalal’s effort does in fact stand out. The Chinese martial arts help give this movie a unique flavor that you won’t find in other kick flicks of the same budget. The crisp forms, traditional uniforms and decent training montages eventually give the movie an air of importance that I kind of miss in other features. This approach won’t click with viewers who’d rather limit martial arts exclusively to fight scenes, but it might be unique enough for those who’ve grown tired of repetitious kickboxing.

Merhi’s use of eye-catching names to star alongside him is a sound decision, but again, you can’t help but chuckle at the scene that features him defeating Bolo Yeung as Cynthia Rothrock fishes a buffoonish detective out of the bay. Nevertheless, treating his own character as exemplary doesn’t mean the others are treated as jokes. This is one of Yeung’s most interesting non-Hong Kong roles, and even though Rothrock hangs back many times, both she and Bolo are given ample opportunity to steal the show in fight scenes. To tell the truth, Merhi is elevated by their presence because they bring out a lot in him. I’ve seen the guy do flashier moves, but he’s never looked as tight and collected as he does here. To date, Merhi is the only Arab martial arts star who’s had a solo career in North America, and he really puts his best foot forward in making a first impression here.

Exploring the martial arts theme yields contradictory results. We’re to presume that fu jow – and “old” martial arts in general – are superior to modern forms, because when they come into contact, the former tends to triumph. Nevertheless, Linda seems to be the exception: she isn’t versed in fu jow but still defeats a hardcore practitioner in direct combat. We’re also led to believe that respect and mastery of the martial arts is limited to the experience of immigrants and minority characters, but the majority of Chong’s victims fall under the same labels. There’s also a theme of martial arts bringing people together – i.e. Linda and Tarek bonding over their practice of the fighting arts – but this ignores that Tarek’s wife left him because of his training and that Chong’s obsession with the martial arts may be the cause of his murderous behavior. I wish the film were more consistent in what it’s saying.

Nevertheless, it’s still enjoyable and that’s got much to do with director Kelly Makin. Merhi had a knack for selecting inexperienced directors who’d later go on to critical acclaim, and Makin displays his talent via style in what would otherwise have been a humdrum-looking picture. Though I’m not sure whether anyone would think this is an A-grade production, Makin delivers a consistently clean look and takes time to highlight the soundtrack, indulge in interesting camera angles, and even film an occasional arty establishing shot. Though not the best in this regard, he can shoot a fight scene surprisingly well.

Tiger Claws is a fun watch for genre fans and definitely worth hooking up the old VCR for. The cast is a supergroup of genuine martial talent and the filmmakers know how to make them shine. There are plenty of things I’d change, but overall, this is one experiment that pays off. People interested in coming into these types of movies should definitely consider it, and established viewers who’ve yet to see this particular one shouldn’t hesitate much longer. Check it out!

Photo source

Tiger Claws (1991)

Directed by Kelly Makin (Mickey Blue Eyes)

Written by J. Stephen Maunder (writer for almost all of Jalal Merhi’s movies)

Starring Jalal Merhi, Cynthia Rothrock (China O’Brien), Bolo Yeung (Bloodsport), John Webster

Cool costars: Gary Wong, Michael Bernardo (WMAC Masters), Rick Sue (Expect No Mercy), David Stevenson (Death House), Bill Pickels (Sworn to Justice), Mo Chow (Talons of the Eagle) and Ho Chow (Kung Fu: The Legend Continues) are all legitimate martial artists playing the part. Wing chun legend Dunn Wah (AKA Sunny Tang) plays a master but doesn’t have any fight scenes. IMDb credits gang member William Cheung as the William Cheung – kung fu master and contemporary of Bruce Lee – but I don’t think they’re the same person. Similarly, John Atkinson is identified as an English TV actor who died in ‘07, whereas the real performer currently operates a martial arts studio in Arizona. Robert Nolan (Sixty Minutes to Midnight) is a fairly acclaimed dramatic actor while his onscreen partner Kedar Brown has been building a career in voice acting.

Content warning: Sexist dialogue, attempted sexual assault, group violence, WTC imagery

Copyright Tiger Claws Productions, Ltd. / MCA Universal Home Video (now Universal Pictures Home Entertainment)