#only ever looked at it to check my serenity gauge. because of how much i relied on my magick for the hex. NO GAIN BTW.

[sgdlr]

this is the worst run that i should not have fucking won. look at my damage output and tell me thats normal. i didnt get an attack boon until the final shop before chronos.

[oogaboogasphincter]

The 50/10 Method (Agent Whiskey x f!reader)

Summary: Jack makes the most of your 10 minute study break. 

Word Count: 2.7k+

Rating: E (explicit) 18+ ONLY! bc this is just cringey smut lmfao

Warnings: smut (oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (obvi use protection irl), very easily and conveniently reached orgasms (this is a fantasy i can do what i want skjfkd), dirty talk, one (1) allusion to thigh riding and one (1) instance of 💙spitting💙, fingering, positions i hope i've given enough detail so y’all can imagine what i was picturing💀), pet names (sweetheart, honey, cowboy *affectionately*, good girl, baby), there’s a sentence about reader having long-ish hair, reader and jack have a dog, swearing, reader is afab and is called things like good girl and the like, just overall trash grammar and structure 😇

Author’s Note: so this is very poorly written and extremely self-indulgent, as i myself use the 50/10 method 🙃. but i had a lot of fun with it, and i think that’s what writing is supposed to be all about! :) also i was heavily inspired to write this after reading “Take a Break” by @mellowswriting​ and “Study Buddy” by @pascalpanic​. please go check those out because they’re absolutely fantastic!!!!! +while you’re at it, i would highly advise you to read anything on their masterlists bc they’re just 💜exquisite💜

gif by @thernandalorian​

The lines of text on your computer screen are starting to blend into each other, creating a single run-on sentence that one of your previous English teachers would ridicule the author for. The sharp curves and angles that distinguish each letter from the next are becoming soft and dull, blurring into each other until your brain can only recognize it as a smeared streak of black on white.

It’s 11:00am on a Saturday, a big exam set for the upcoming Monday’s morning. You don’t feel rushed for time, or overloaded with unknown material, and the early hours of the day have been quite productive. Following a shared breakfast of homemade waffles in bed with Jack, your boyfriend, you didn’t complain when setting up your study station on the living room’s large oak table. If anything, you had been excited to begin studying early in the hopes of finishing your review by the end of the day. That way, tomorrow would be free for you and Jack to do whatever you pleased.

However, as the hours went by, your motivation was slowly but surely diminishing. The serene study atmosphere that you usually thrive in is now driving you mad. You yearn for a noise, any noise; a bird to sing a song in the tree outside your window, the smack of your dog’s loose wrinkles against each other as he attempts to shake the sleep out of him, a pencil unable to stop itself from rolling and dropping onto the floor with a tink.

You’re momentarily gifted with the crisp sound of a page turning. You flit your eyes over to gaze upon the source of your granted wish and your heart flutters in reaction to the sight: Jack’s resting on the couch, cowboy hat balanced on the back of it, deeply absorbed in the next installment of his favorite murder-mystery series. You find it curious that his desire for an adrenaline-filled challenge doesn’t stop when he comes home from mission after mission that nearly cost him his life. You’ll ask him about his insatiability one day, but for now you categorize it as fictional research for his Statesman assignments.

Your short glance quickly turns into an entranced stare. Jack looks... divine. Fetching. Luscious. As he’s lying on his back, neck propped up against the arm of the couch, his book balanced on his chest, relaxation radiates off of him in waves and utterly seduces you. You’re surprised that he hasn’t been a greater distraction to you throughout the morning. How have you managed to ignore the denim-wearin’, plaid-shirted, pornstache-sportin’ cowboy of your dreams that is only a few steps away?

Involuntarily, the thigh muscles of your crossed legs contract in an effort to bring some semblance of friction to your now weeping core. Similar to your imaginings of your dog earlier, you shake your head to force these heavy, unwanted feelings to dissipate and turn back to the work in front of you. Of course, Jack does the opposite of what you’d like him to do and takes an interest in your fidgeting. He peeks over the top of his book, “You cold, sweetheart?” 

His question is reasonable: you’re purposely wearing a skirt that’s so short it rides up quite high when you sit. You don’t dare to meet his eyes and answer while pulling a textbook close and opening it up, “No, I’m okay.”

Fortunately he returns to his reading. Your attention is able to retain itself for about a paragraph, but then your mind takes a sharp detour back to those pesky, steamy desires. You mentally huff at your inability to remain concentrated on your studies and rifle through the options of what you can do to satiate yourself for the time being. 

You could switch texts and force your brain to recognize the change and therefore become distracted. You could pick out some colored writing utensils and bring some fun to active reading. You could say fuck it, go straddle Jack and beg him to use you in whichever way he would like.

Jack interrupts your brainstorming, “Are you sure you don’t need a blanket or sumthin’? I can go get my jacket for ya.” 

The attentiveness of your southern lover melts your heart. You turn to him, “No, really, I’m okay, thanks.”

“I wouldn’t count a bathroom break as taking away from your 50 minutes, honey, if that’s what’s makin’ you twitch.” 

You had been implementing and strictly adhering to the 50/10 method all morning: study for 50 minutes, take a break for ten. Its effectiveness was never doubted, as it has proven to work for you for years. Only ten minutes into this 50 minute period, the devil of restlessness pokes at you and makes you think could time go by any slower? A hand comes up to cover the blush creeping across your cheek as you dismiss Jack’s suggestion, “No, that’s not it.”

Behind your embarrassed hand, Jack cocks an eyebrow at you. Your simple choice of words has given the Agent a hint, that there is something that’s bothering you, he just hasn’t figured it out yet and you don’t want to admit what it is for some reason. He returns to his book, however lost in thought about what your problem could be, while you task every cell in your body to pay attention to your studies. 

35 minutes remain on the clock, and Jack guesses, “Did you have too much coffee?”

You can’t help but grin at his sleuthing, “No, I just had my regular.”

He conjures up another possible solution five minutes later, “Are you itchin’ to get out of the house? We haven’t left in two days.”

He’s getting warmer. Both of you know exactly why you haven’t left the house in two days: you’d been occupied with activities of the sinful variety. You can’t gauge yet whether or not he knows he’s dancing around the answer, “Baby, you’re distracting me. And nope, it’s not that.” 

He smiles apologetically, “Sorry,” and uses his book as a partition, blocking your ability to procrastinate and just visually drool all over him.

Silence fills the next 20 minutes. Even though Jack is out of your sight, details from your observations exaggerate themselves in your mind to the point that they’re all encompassing, intoxicating. The way his jeans wrap around his legs ever so perfectly, the worn denim hugging those muscular thighs that he loves for you to grind yourself against when you’re feeling especially desperate (like now). How his plaid flannel slopes over the swell of his belly, stretching tight against his skin as his diaphragm contracts and deflating when he exhales. Even his large feet, strewn about lazily on the couch, his toes pointing in different directions, amuse you. 

Ten minutes remain in your study session. Feeling guilty about spending the majority of the last hour envisioning the seductive intricacies of your boyfriend, you actually start to study. 

“How many times do you think I can make you cum in ten minutes?”

Your eyes are ripped from your material and land on the menace lazing on the couch. He’s put his book down, one arm behind his head while the other is crooked, allowing himself to palm his cock through his pants. Jack’s wearing a shit-eating grin, bewitching your crossed legs to switch which one is on top; an excuse to apply more pressure to the yearning area between them. You fidget in the chair, shamefully trying to get the seam of your underwear to rub against you in just the right way. You shrug, “I-I’m not sure.”

He gets up and comes over to you, standing behind you and leaning forward to rest his chin on your shoulder. He murmurs in your ear, “I think we should find out during your next break.”

You turn to face him, “I think so too.”

He gives you a quick kiss, “Well, you better be a good girl and study for these last few minutes. Earn that break.” He places his large hands on either side of your head and turns it toward your materials, making you both laugh.

Somehow, you’re able to pay attention. Jack’s impending promise of ravaging you for ten minutes straight quells your jittering nerves and gives you something specific to look forward to. Before you know it, your alarm is beeping, alerting you that your break has commenced. Jack cages you by reaching forward and grabs the clock, programs it to ten minutes and keeps it in his hand. He grips the sides of your swivel chair, pulls it back from the table and spins you around to face him, the speed of the turn making your hair swoosh across your shoulders. Through mutual giggles, Jack lifts you up, winding your legs around his waist, your arms doing the same around his neck. “I want you to count for me how many times you cum.”

Breathlessly, you simply obey, “Okay.”

He practically runs to the bedroom. He sets the clock on the nightstand and turns the face towards the mattress so you don’t lose out on studying time. Tossing you onto the bed, your giggling continues as you bounce from the force. Jack hooks his fingers in your underwear and yanks them down, pulling them out from under your skirt and over your shoes. The way he wastes no time ridding you of any other garment makes blood and heat flood your center and air rush out of your lungs. He pushes your lost air back into your mouth with a kiss and then immediately retreats back to in between your legs.

He flicks the fabric of your skirt up onto your belly, letting himself have complete, unobstructed access to his early lunch. His fingers fondle your folds while his lips place sloppy kisses along the inside of your thighs. After he’s had his fill of that step, he sits back and stares at you: spread out for him, more than willing to take anything he wants to give to you. He blows out a whistle, eyeing your core, and you say, “Hey, you’re on the clock, cowboy. No time for dramatics.”

He nods, a smirk pulling at one side of his mouth, “You’re right, sweetheart.”

He spits onto your cunt, forgoing his usual gentle licks to adequately wet your pussy. A quiet fuck escapes your mouth as he plunges his tongue into you. Your fingers wind themselves in his chocolatey locks and pull, extracting an excited moan from your lover. His fingers knead the soft flesh on the backs of your thighs as he eats and when his mustache starts to tickle your clit, you’re done for. Your grip on his hair becomes vice-like and your whole body seizes up, constricted by enrapturing pleasure. You strangle out, “One.”

Jack unlatches his mouth only once he’s certain your first orgasm is complete. He stands, admires your wrecked expression, takes his cock out, spits into his hand and pumps his dick a few times. Hands slithering around your waist, he flips you onto your stomach and pulls your ass up, positioning you on your hands and knees. You’re a little bit dizzied by his manhandling in combination with his expert tongue, but this type of vertigo is the most enjoyable you’ve ever experienced. 

When he pushes into you, it’s a bit of a stretch because he hadn’t warmed you up with his fingers. He relaxes you by leaning forward, pressing his chest against your back and peppering soft kisses to your shoulder blades. The clink of his belt comically punctuates his thrusts, but your laughs are swallowed by intoxicated groans. You don’t know, and you don’t really care to figure out, how he already has you teetering on the edge of cumming again. Heightened senses tell you that you’re close; the fabric of his shirt feels unearthly soft as it brushes against patches of exposed skin, his fingertips are delightful lead in their clamp on you, his grunts and pants angelically reverberate in your skull. And then, suddenly and all at once, “Two.”

Jack’s pride shows itself in a smirk while he flips you onto your back. He makes a show of hooking your calves over his shoulders, eliciting laughter from the both of you. Resting almost all of his weight on top of you, your knees find your chest and his hands find your hair. The intimacy of it all is almost too much; his thumbs stroke your temples, palms cradle your head, those goddamned puppy-dog eyes bore into you. You turn your head in his grasp to check your timing: five minutes left. 

Jack’s tongue darts out to lick the pads of his fingers before he snakes it down in between the two of you to rub your clit. Your moans come out uncontrollably, your eyelids stutter and he eggs you on, “That’s it, sweetheart. Give me another one.”

Hearty moans are reduced to desperate gasps and you’re unable to verbally acknowledge the third orgasm that rips through you. Nonetheless, Jack can tell from the way your eyes roll into the back of your head and his name tumbles ferociously out of your mouth that you’re cumming. “’Atta girl.”

Jack takes his cock out of you and the whine that escapes your lips embarrasses you. He can’t help but laugh at your whimpering before he scoots down the bed and starts to eat you out again, framing his head with your quaking thighs. You find the strength to check the time, “Jack, there’s only a minute and a half left.”

He moans deeply into you, unaffected by your comment, and eases three fingers into your fluttering center. Like earlier, your hands fly to his hair like a magnet and find purchase so tight it makes your knuckles go pale. In a matter of seconds, circling your clit with his sopping tongue and tapping your g-spot with his deft fingers, Jack has you cumming yet again. This time you yell out the count, “Four!”

The sounds his ministrations make are lewd and exhilarating, pushing himself to his own precipice. You look down your body to find Jack’s other hand jerking his cock and his seed spilling out of him moments later. He groans into your pussy while you pet his hair, praising him for his efforts. 

Simultaneously, you both remember that you’re being timed. Your eyes meet the clock at the same time: 30 seconds. Jack springs from the bed and pulls you up with him, grabbing your discarded panties. He squats and taps your ankles so you lift your legs up, sliding each leg hole over your body and pulling your underwear up underneath your skirt. 

You fumble with his mussed clothes, stuffing his still-hard cock into his boxers, hiking his jeans up over his ass and zip and button them closed. You snake his belt around his waist and let his fingers do the work of buckling it before he picks you up bridal style and ushers you out of the bedroom, grabbing the clock off of the nightstand on your way out. 

Unhinged cackles follow you two down the hallway as you return to the living room. He plops you down in your chair, straightens you out, gives you a kiss on the cheek and then your alarm goes off. You raise your eyebrows at him, “Jeez, you didn’t waste a second.” 

He hums, then mumbles, “You get back to work now, babygirl,” and leaves you with a yearning kiss on the part of your hair.

Both of you return to your respective readings, hopelessly trying to downgrade your panting gasps to normal breaths. The absence of Jack’s warmth is already painful. But you rationalize that the indulgence of the last ten minutes is more than enough to get you through this next hour of studying, if not for longer.

Little do you know that Jack feels the same pain. His ache for your touch, sexual or not, will overtake him later and he’ll be unable to resist the temptation of coming over and distracting you again. Determined to finish your studying, you’ll propose a compromise: you can sit in his lap while he is lulled to sleep by the ambience of the afternoon rain and the enveloping comfort of you. The two of you can try to beat the record of four orgasms next semester. 

💘taglist: @pascalpanic​, @mellowswriting​

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ twenty-three

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, eventual smut ➻ Word Count: 6.2k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒ | masterlist

act three ➻ part five

​​​

Everything feels almost too calm. There is a sense of serenity surrounding the lake tonight, and you can’t place it, but you imagine it must have something to do with the man sitting cross-legged across from you. He bears white garments like you, soaked through on the bottoms, and you keep cracking an eye open to gauge his expression. His eyelids are pressed shut, but there’s no tension in his brow. Peace. He’s at peace. That’s not something you have felt all too often while here, so it’s strange to see Seonghwa that way. The stillness of his face gives you a chance to drag your gaze over his features; the sharp curve of his jaw, gentle slope of his nose and lips, and the long eyelashes that nearly brush against his cheeks.

“Close your eyes.” He catches you off-guard, mostly because his eyes are still shut when he says the words. You press your lips into a small frown, lower lip pouting out, but squeeze your eyes shut anyway. “There’s no reason to make a face.”

You dare to crack an eye open, finding Seonghwa’s gaze on you now.

“I’ve told you to focus four times now. You keep getting distracted. Do I need to wear a mask? Is my face that distracting?” Seonghwa teases. He lifts his chin a little as he blinks at you. His gaze is innocent, but you know he’s well aware of what he’s doing.

“What’s the point of all this again? Isn’t it taking away from our sleep?”

Seonghwa clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and shakes his head ever so slightly.

“It’s the Dreamscape for a reason. Your body is resting even if your mind is awake in here, so technically, you’re still sleeping.”

You really wish there was some way to kick him in the real world. Maybe if you glare at him hard enough it’ll work—just a quick kick.

“Why are you giving me that face?”

“Hm?” You purse your lips and lift your brows, desperately trying to hide your growing smile. Seonghwa just huffs a sigh out in response, followed by another order to focus more.

You’re still smiling when you press your palms against the bed of the shallow lake. The pebbles underneath are smooth against your skin, and you almost lose yourself in the sensation when Seonghwa’s voice cuts through the air again.

“Imagine the water being pushed away from your hands. Don’t think of it as you doing the pushing, let the water do the work.”

Seonghwa makes it sound so easy, but the longer you sit there, the more you realize that absolutely nothing is going to happen. You only try for a couple of minutes before giving up and tugging your hands back out of the water.

“Maybe I’m not a Siren after all.”

Seonghwa releases a loud laugh, head falling back as he snorts towards the sky.

“Nice try. Don’t play coy, and try again. Most Sirens have the ability to do this.”

“Emphasis on most.”

“You seem to be above average. I mean, you’re above average in other… departments, so I’m sure it carries over.”

“Above average? Excuse you, I would like to think that I am far above average in other departments!”

“I was talking about sparring, princess. Where is your mind headed?”

“I hate you.”

“Sure you do. Now, come on. I just want to see how strong you are mentally because that’s what these abilities are based upon. It’s all psychic, not physical.”

“I’ve done it before… used whatever these abilities are. Changing something about my body, I don’t know what, but making bullets pass through me without hitting me? Only when my life is being threatened though.”

Seonghwa squints a bit at you. He is suspiciously quiet, and you’re about to question him when he stands up all of a sudden. He closes the distance between the two of you in an instant, fingers latching onto your throat. You choke at the impact and fall back to the rocks.

“Th-This isn’t as s-sexy as you think it is,” you mutter as you bring a hand up to grip Seonghwa’s wrist. Seonghwa lets another laugh loose, this one much quieter than the last, and his fingers tighten a tad.

“If your life has to be threatened just to see the extent of your powers, then I can do that.”

“G-God, you’re insufferable.” You aren’t sure why he would think that choking you is the best way to get you to focus, because all you can think about is how damn hard it is to breathe instead. Still, you press your palms flat against the rocks once more and desperately try to push the water away. It hits in that moment, a sense of familiarity and deja vu, and your mind slips back into a memory rather than the pull of the water on your fingertips.

The breath leaves your lungs, and you gasp for air, cradling your bleeding nose with careful fingers. Her knees drop onto your abdomen while her hands go for your throat. You try to swat her hands away from you with the bloodied hand, but she seems to have even more strength than before. You stretch a hand out to her sternum, trying to reach for the cloak over her skin. The lack of air is making your head spin though, and you can’t focus enough to use your abilities on her. Your fingers tremble and shake against her clothes.

Fucking… work. Come on. Just fucking phase.

Spots dance on the edge of your vision, and your hand falls to your side limply.

The last time you were in this position, you weren’t able to do anything. You couldn’t defend yourself. Your fingers tighten on the pebbles. Then the pressure of Seonghwa’s grip dissipates, and you jerk upwards, gasping for air.

“Good job!” His tone is bright and cheerful, like he didn’t just try to choke you into unconsciousness. You would laugh if you weren’t still attempting to catch your breath.

“Are you congratulating me on almost dying?”

“Oh hush, you’re fine. I barely choked you. You pushed the water away though. It didn’t last a long time, but that isn’t as important. You still managed to do it, which means you at least have the ability. Now we can move onto tr–”

“Hey! Hello, Y/N, are you there? Did I lose your brain somewhere?”

“Huh?” You speak before your brain catches up, the vivid memory of the previous night dissipating bit by bit until you remember that you are in fact awake and not still in the Dreamscape with Seonghwa. Long fingers snap in front of your face. You jolt a little and turn to the man at your side, his peach hair blending in a bit with the sky around his head.

“You’ve been off in la-la land for a while now,” Yunho chuckles. His smile is soft as he looks down at you, and you can almost sense a cheeky comment coming, so you speak before he has the chance.

“I was lost in thought and thinking of other things, that’s all,” you say through a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“That much is obvious, but there’s no need to be sorry.”

You pull your stare off Yunho and glance around the little marketplace again. San isn’t with the two of you today – something about staying back to help Jongho and Mingi run some maintenance checks on the ship – but you aren’t alone. Wooyoung and Yeosang came along today, and you can only be grateful that Yeosang is too preoccupied with Wooyoung to sling insults your way. The pair keeps a significant distance from you and Yunho; they walk along the row of stalls on the other side of the street, Wooyoung’s arm linked through Yeosang’s. He has something in his hand, though you can’t tell what it is from this distance. All you can see is Wooyoung wrapping said item around Yeosang’s wrist, then a clear and bright laugh falls from his lips, one you can hear from across the road. Yeosang smiles down at the action, teeth flashing, and the action looks so foreign on Yeosang’s features that you glare at the man a little.

“Damn, I’ve never seen someone look so bitter at the sight of happiness,” Yunho snorts, drawing your attention back to him. A scoff slips past your lips.

“It’s not like that. I just don’t understand Yeosang.” Yunho seems to understand what you mean, nodding slightly as he hums in response. His gaze trails over to where Wooyoung and Yeosang stand.

“Yeosang is complicated and hard to understand. You shouldn’t take it personally. He hates everyone at first, then he continues to act like he hates them to save face and seem tough. Plus, he’s bitter that you’re a better shot than he is. His pride is weak in that regard. Besides, no one is as close as Yeosang and Wooyoung are. They’re basically family at this point, had no one but each other for a long time before joining the crew. They bring out the best in each other, so of course, Wooyoung will bring out the softer side of Yeosang.”

You don’t respond, just letting a sigh slip through, and Yunho smiles a bit at your reply or lack thereof. He comes to a sudden halt and releases a noise of surprise. For a moment, you think that something has happened to either Yeosang or Wooyoung, but Yunho is faced in the opposite direction, towards a small stall.

“Y/N, Y/N, come here!” He ushers you closer to the stall, hand around your bicep, and points down at something that looks like a plant. “They have hyacinth root! It’s extremely rare. I’m surprised that they have it. Excuse me – could we have a handful of your hyacinth roots?”

“What’s so important about a root?” You inquire as the person behind the stall begins to pick out a few of the plants.

“You can crush them up with peppermint leaves to create a paste that, when consumed, will slow your heart rate but keep you alive. It makes you seem dead when in actuality, you aren’t. It typically lasts between seven and ten minutes. Good for getaways or dupes.”

“Have you ever used it before?”

“Once, yeah. Hongjoong had a mission somewhere in the Yuki system, but it was so long ago that I can’t really remember where we were. Not too long after I joined the crew actually. Hongjoong came to me with the root and told me to make the concoction. That was the first I’d heard of it. It’s always handy to keep a few around in case of emergencies, especially since they’re hard to come by, but I haven’t been able to find any for quite some time now.” You watch Yunho quietly exchange money with the vendor and take the bag of roots. He pulls away from the stall after a few moments and softly spoken thanks.

The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable in any sense, but your thoughts won’t quiet down enough to let you relax. Every lingering stare from the townspeople makes you second-guess yourself, and they aren’t exactly shy about looking at you or Yunho as they walk past.

“Hey, I have a question,” you say after a few minutes. “I talked with Jongho about it before, but I wanted to ask about Mingi. From your perspective, is it… is it possible to undo the mental conditioning he went through?” Part of you is genuinely curious about Mingi’s condition and what Yunho thinks about it, but you’re also asking for yourself. If it were up to you, you would erase every lingering touch of the military and push it all out of your mind. If Yunho knows of a way to do that, then you want it.

“It’s very possible,” Yunho hums. “Just like undoing what the military did to you.” You open your mouth to protest, but there’s no use because Yunho just shifts and smiles at you. The smile is knowing and understanding, like he’s picked your brain apart in seconds. “Everything is reversible except for death, right? Mingi is just a tough nut to crack. He wants to learn and understand emotions, but he doesn’t want to let go of what tethers him to the part of him that misunderstands and can’t process emotions like you or me. He wants to abandon his title as the Brute of Kebos, but he doesn’t want to completely lose that part of him. It’s a hard dichotomy to dissect. Hating yourself but clinging to what makes you the thing you hate. Not once have I ever heard him call himself the Brute of Kebos. So… I think that the only way to break him loose of those chains is to have something like a rebirth. A rebirth of the Brute of Kebos, a new version, one different than the last.”

“Why isn’t he allowed off the ship? Is it because we’re on Kebos? Is Hongjoong worried that there will be another incident?”

Yunho freezes, head snapping towards you so fast that it looks painful. His lips part, but no sound comes out for several seconds.

“How do you know about that?”

“I-I – uh, Jongho just m-mentioned it. He didn’t tell me anything, only that there was an incident.” Yunho’s hand closes tight around your arm again, this time much more painful than the last. It almost burns, and you had no idea that Yunho was this strong until now.

“You shouldn’t ask about it,” he hisses out through gritted teeth. You’ve never seen this expression on his face, this gleam in his eyes. He doesn’t seem angry in the slightest, and that’s what sends your thoughts into a scramble. Merely sad. “That’s between you and Hongjoong if you want to talk about it, and it’s on him to tell you about it.”

“O-Okay, yeah, um, I’ll drop it,” you stammer out, averting your eyes, so you don’t have to see Yunho’s pained expression any longer. “We can… we can try to confront a bit of my trauma now like – like you’d wanted to do.” Yunho’s hand falls away from your arm, but the ache continues to reside, and you bring your other hand up to rub at the skin there. Yunho notices your movements, expression falling into guilt. “Yunho?” You press, desperate to just change the damn subject now.

“Y-Yeah, sorry, let’s get started. First, can you tell me some things that comfort you? Things to think about if you’re feeling panicked or anxious? A sight, smell, taste, sound, feel.”

A soft-sided grin, rounded cheeks, and bright eyes. You don’t even ask for the image to come to mind, yet it does as soon as Yunho mentions comfort. You’re frantic as you try to push the thought away and replace it with something else that comforts you, but everything you think of surrounds Jisung.

“Um, the stars on a clear night.”

Jisung.

“The smell of cherry wood and sugar.”

Jisung.

“Sound of fire crackling.”

Jisung.

“The feel of a-a rough hand in – in mine.”

Jisung.

“The taste of honey… and vanilla on soft lips.”

Jisung.

Your voice trails off and dies in a whisper. The heat of Yunho’s stare is on you. Out the corner of your eye, you spot the barest hint of a smile on his lips, but it disappears when he speaks again, tone quieter to match yours.

“Think about the last time you were here. Do you remember it?”

Vague. It’s vague and foggy. A cold night. Stars. Warm fire. Even warmer next to him.

“Y-Yes.” You nod.

“Can you recall it for me? It doesn’t have to be detailed; you can only tell me if you want. Whatever you want to tell me and are comfortable telling me.”

“I last came here with a friend on business. One of my teammates, someone in my unit. Just the two of us.”

“Three constellations. The ones I taught you last time. Come on! If you name them all, I’ll give you something.” Jisung’s laugh is clear as it rings through the air, so loud and bright that it could dispel every cloud in the sky.

“Oh yeah? What are you gonna give me?” You roll your eyes ever so slightly. Only enough for Jisung to see it and scoff at your gesture, and he sits up to hit your arm with the back of his hand. You laugh, hair sprawled out across the ground. Jisung hesitates there. His expression melts, and his gaze is so gentle and full of emotion that you feel a deep pang in your chest. “S-Stop looking at me like that. It’s weird.”

Jisung doesn’t respond right away; instead, he leans down over you and blocks your view of the sky. All you see in that moment is him. You exhale, breath fogging in the air between you, and Jisung dips in to press his lips against yours. Soft lips. The taste of honey and vanilla. Stars hanging high in the sky. Jisung’s calloused hand reaching out and finding yours. Cherry wood and sugar on your nose. A fire crackling behind you.

“I decided to betray the military on that trip. I thought it would protect him. That I was doing it for him. He hated the military more than anything, but it was the only thing he – we had. I thought I could dismantle them on my own. I was so stupid and foolish to think that I could.”

“Has this all been for him then? The papers as well?”

“No. No, the papers were for someone else. The friend I came here with is still alive, at least I think he is. I haven’t – haven’t seen him or heard from him in three years.”

“Who are the papers for then?” Yunho’s tone isn’t pressing; it’s hesitant and cautious, yet it somehow still urges you to answer.

“I lost someone the night I killed the king. That’s who the papers are for.” You dare to glance up at Yunho. Maybe it’s an attempt to see if there’s disgust or hatred on his face, but his brows are furrowed and sloped with concern instead. His lips part to say something in response. A loud shout interrupts him before he gets the chance though. The two of you whip around to find the source of the sound. It’s Wooyoung, hand raised high in the air as he drags Yeosang along with him and approaches you and Yunho.

“Hey! We need to go!” Wooyoung says, tone loud even when he gets close to you. “Lieutenant just called me over the comms. He said we need to get back to the ship as fast as possible.”

“Did something happen?” Yunho asks, but Wooyoung merely shakes his head.

“Don’t know. He didn’t say. He sounded mad though.”

“Shit, let’s go then.” Yunho is quick to spin on his heel and start walking back the way you came. To your surprise, Yeosang pulls away from Wooyoung to fall into step with Yunho instead, and you stay back with Wooyoung.

“He really didn’t explain anything?” You ask, tilting your head to look at the dark-haired man. Wooyoung purses his lips.

“No, he didn’t. But if he’s upset, then that means Captain is going to be a nightmare to deal with.”

“You think?”

“I know it. When Seonghwa is this mad, Hongjoong is always ten times worse.” Wooyoung turns away, bringing a hand up to rub at the skin under his collar, and you watch the movements with nervous eyes.

“H-Has he–”

“No.” Wooyoung doesn’t let you finish the thought, but he seems to know what’s on your mind. He drops his hand to his side again. “He’s never hurt me, and he never will. It just reminds me of my previous own–captains. My previous captains. I don’t do well when any of the crew gets upset or angry because of that.”

“O-Oh,” you exhale. It almost sounds like a noise of relief. Wooyoung doesn’t push the conversation further, and neither do you, so the two of you trail after Yeosang and Yunho in silence until you reach the hangar where the ship resides.

Seonghwa is waiting for you there, just outside the airlock. Wooyoung was correct – he looks upset based upon the way the muscles in his face are tightened and drawn together, but also because of his rigid posture.

“You all need to go to the bridge immediately,” he says, not waiting for you to get close before speaking.

“Can’t I drop this off first?” Yunho asks as he lifts his satchel off his hip.

“It wasn’t a recommendation, Yunho. It was a command. Bridge, now.”

Yunho doesn’t even try to argue. He dips his head and follows Yeosang onto the ship. You and Wooyoung move to do the same, but Seonghwa catches Wooyuong by the arm as he’s climbing the stairs to the airlock.

“Are you alright? Did anyone bother you in the town?” Seonghwa’s tone slips back to its regular warmth and soft concern.

“Yeah, I’m okay. No one bothered me.”

Seonghwa offers a small nod, tongue darting out to moisten his lips before he lets Wooyoung continue onto the ship. The lieutenant falls into step with you as you climb the stairs behind Wooyoung, but he doesn’t speak at all.

“What? You’re not gonna ask me if I’m okay?” You inquire, tone teasing and light. Seonghwa doesn’t respond with his regular mirth or teasing though.

“I know you can handle yourself just fine,” he mutters back.

“What’s going on?”

“Hongjoong is upset.”

“Why?” Wooyoung asks, turning around to face the two of you. Seonghwa clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, shaking his head back and forth a bit.

“Eavesdropping is bad.”

“Have I ever really been good though?” Wooyoung lets out a quiet laugh and rubs the back of his neck. It’s meant to be a lighthearted joke, probably to get Seonghwa to loosen up a little, but Seonghwa doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest.

“The lead died.”

“Did the trail die or the Siren?” Wooyoung asks, hand falling away from his neck as his expression grows more serious. A sigh slips past Seonghwa’s lips.

“The lead who was supposed to be here has been dead for thirty years. It was bad information and a dupe to cover tracks.”

“Oh…” Wooyoung’s mood deflates before your eyes. His shoulders slump forward a little, and he faces forward again. Seonghwa frowns at his back before continuing to speak to you.

“Hongjoong is furious. It would be best if we all just bite our tongues no matter what so he doesn’t lash out.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Wooyoung murmurs. Something about the whole situation doesn’t feel quite right though, nor does it sit well with you. You harden your gaze on Seonghwa.

“Is it really true? About the Siren?”

“Why do you think I would lie to Wooyoung?” Seonghwa barely shifts to look at you, a sharp glare that makes his face almost unrecognizable landing on you. His eyes and tone are colder than they’ve ever been with you, and it’s enough to make you regret even opening your mouth. You near the bridge feeling worse than before, Seonghwa’s angered presence lingering at your side as he continues to walk alongside you.

Actually stepping onto the bridge somehow makes your heart plummet further. The air is tenser than you can imagine, and you’re bringing up the rear with Seonghwa apparently, because everyone else already stands in front of the captain’s chair looking both uncomfortable and nervous. You round the edge of the chair to find Hongjoong sitting there. He seems calm more than anything else, hair a new shade of blue and laying loosely over his forehead. It makes him seem younger and more innocent, but the gleam in his eyes shows how furious he truly is. Seonghwa moves to stand beside him, whereas you hurry to stand alongside Wooyoung.

“During one of our meetings today, a captain of one of our allied crews showed us some obituaries and news reports concerning the Siren we were led to believe was here. That Siren has apparently been dead for nearly thirty years. The lead I was given was a dupe, which means that my information broker is a traitor and working for someone else.” Hongjoong somehow manages to maintain a steady and flat tone. His nostrils flare a bit with each word, so it’s evident that he’s on the brink of letting the anger slip through.

You glance down the line of the crew to find Jongho and Mingi, gauging their reactions to Hongjoong’s spike in anger. Jongho seems to be just fine; his expression is blank, and he looks at Hongjoong like nothing is wrong. Mingi, on the other hand, can’t stop shifting his weight from foot to foot. His brows are so closely knit that you can barely see the skin between them, and he won’t look up from the floor. You aren’t the only one who notices the discomfort Mingi is going through. Seonghwa tilts his head towards Hongjoong, speaking quietly, but thanks to the silence lingering over the rest of the bridge, you all can hear his words loud and clear.

“Calm down.”

It’s the wrong thing to say apparently, because Hongjoong pushes up from his seat and stares Seonghwa down like the man just shot him.

“Why should I calm down when we’re running out of fucking time?” Hongjoong yells, voice booming through the room in a shocking way. “When we’ve been wasting time on a damn false lead because we were betrayed yet again? What part of me should be fucking calm then? How long until someone fucking sells us out?” He expects an answer from Seonghwa, but the man doesn’t provide one. Instead, he huffs air through his teeth and steps closer to Hongjoong. His fingers close around the collar of Hongjoong’s long brown coat, tugging him forward just enough to hiss his next words in the captain’s face.

“You should be calm because Mingi is present.” Seonghwa pushes Hongjoong away from him, and the shorter man falls back to his chair with little to no reaction. He looks down at the floor, avoiding everyone’s wide-eyed stares while Seonghwa turns to address the crew.

“Everyone is dismissed,” he states, tone as flat as he can manage. Yunho is the first to move, then Yeosang, who places a hand on Wooyoung’s hip and guides him off the bridge. Jongho follows without a word, yet Mingi doesn’t move. He hasn’t budged one bit, still in the same position he was in before. “Everyone is dismissed, Mingi. That includes you.”

The sharply spoken command spurs Mingi to move. He nods once, but the movement is stilted and awkward, before following Jongho off the bridge. You find yourself in a similar position to the one Mingi was just in. Your feet don’t want to move, and you can’t get yourself to even turn your head away from Seonghwa and Hongjoong. The lieutenant shifts to look at you. Your heart pounds against the confines of your ribcage. A hand brushes your lower back, and you nearly jump out of your skin because you hadn’t seen anyone come up behind you. San blinks back at you, nudging you forward a little. You take the hint and let him guide you off the bridge.

“You looked scared shitless,” he mutters once you’re out of earshot of Hongjoong and Seonghwa.

“Just a bit surprised,” you whisper back.

“We don’t see Hongjoong like that often. In fact, it’s been well over a year since he seemed that angry.” San doesn’t elaborate past that. You don’t ask him too either, too caught up in the thought of Hongjoong’s unprecedented anger. San’s hand stays on your back throughout the walk back to your rooms, but you don’t speak. It leaves you alone with your thoughts, which are a jumbled mess of confusion at this point between all that’s happened today.

And at the forefront of it all? Jisung.

You just want to pour your heart out to someone and get it all off your chest, everything you remember starting from the minute you joined the military up until the assassination of the king. You want to get it off your chest; you’re sick of bottling it up and not being able to talk about it. You don’t know why you’re thinking that way all of a sudden. You’ve spent so long thinking about yourself and how you can’t be vulnerable or weak in front of anyone. The hand on your back remains. The slightest pressure against your skin, guiding you and pushing you forward. It’s merely driving you down the corridor, yet it feels like more than that. San could’ve moved his hand at any point, but he didn’t, and you only realize why when you reach the door to your room.

He wants to comfort you. To show you that he is here for you even if you fail to realize it.

As his hand slips away from your back, you twist and catch his wrist between your fingers. San blinks at you with wide eyes.

“I t-think – I think I’m ready to tell you about my past in the military,” you spit out in a rush. It’s a miracle you only stuttered a couple of times because your heart is pounding and making your heart rate accelerate.

“You don’t have to,” San whispers, obviously caught off-guard. “I don’t want you to feel like I expect that from you. Because I don’t. I meant what I said yesterday.”

“I know, I know. I just – I want to trust you. I mean, I trust you. I do. I trust you, and I want to trust you with this as well.”

San’s face melts into a soft smile. “Okay. Is it alright if I come in?” He motions towards your door, and you nod quickly, tapping at the keypad to let him in. He waits for you to step through the door first then follows you to the bed. He sits as far away from you as he can without falling off the mattress, hand pressed to the comforter between you. You expected some level of awkwardness or tension to come from this conversation. While you’re panicked and nervous about exposing this part of you, San’s warm and intense gaze does nothing but ease your worries.

“You… you don’t really know much about me aside from the fact that I killed the King of Eros, and that I’m trying to pardon someone.” You bring your hands into your lap, tugging at the skin around your thumbnail to avoid looking at San. “I joined the military at 14.”

“Recruit number seventeen. Name and age?” A cold tone that tears through your skin and confidence with its iciness, and yet you pull your shoulders back and stand up a little straighter.

“L/N Y/N, age 14.”

“I think th-that something happened then because I can’t remember my life before going to the recruitment office. I don’t know if they… if they did something to me or – I just don’t know, but I wasn’t fit to be a recruit. They took me anyway because they needed recruits. I was small and weak. I got injured more often than other people, and no one ever tried to help me because I was a runt. I was thrown into a small unit of only six people. All of us were young and misfits, kids who didn’t fit the military mold, and they never expected much from us.”

“Alright, we’re the mess of recruits, okay? They lumped us together because they think we’ll fail, but we won’t! So we gotta prove them wrong, little lady. Understood?” The boy jabs his thumb at his chest as he says the words, smile falling to emphasize his serious tone. You nod several times in response.

“The only thing I was ever good at was shooting. So… I dedicated everything I had to being the best at shooting. It paid off, of course. They never moved me from my team though, because no other commander wanted me in their unit, but I shot up in ranks and quickly became known for being the best sniper in the division. Somehow that turned into being the best shooter in the military of Eros. I never wanted that title, and I never wanted them to like me. I don’t know why I joined in all honesty. They must’ve taken that away from me when I joined, but eventually it became a desire to protect my team. They became my family. Then I ruined it. I stole some classified documents that could’ve destroyed the military from the inside out, but I got caught. Branded a traitor and stuck in jail for what I did. They weren’t going to kill me then though. One of my friends came to visit me in jail and promised to fix things.”

“Jisung.” You glance at the man, his face slightly shrouded by the steel bars between you. “Jisung, I–”

“I thought we were gonna work through this together, Y/N.” The stinging of his disappointment almost hurts worse than the brand on the inside of your wrist. If you could twist them, you would, but the cuffs around your wrists prevent you from doing so.

“I know…” You can’t finish your train of thought.

“I, uh, I don’t know what I was going to say. I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m sorry, Jisung.”

“Four years. I don’t want it to end like this.” Jisung shakes his head a little bit.

“They aren’t going to kill me. Just – just the brand a-and being kicked out of the military.”

“I’m going to fix this, Y/N. They can’t – this isn’t right. I won’t let them do this.”

“Jisung, you can’t – they – the damage is already done.”

“Then they’ll have to kill me. I won’t let them do this. Not to you, Y/N. You can’t ask me to sit on the sidelines this time.”

“Once I was let out, they expected me to leave and never come back. That’s what I was planning to do, but I found out that one of my teammates told the king that he had organized everything. The theft, the plans to dismantle the military, even claimed that he plotted to kill the king. It wasn’t true at the time, but it didn’t matter. He earned a public execution sentence for it. Because of me. Because I thought I could fix things and make it better for my team. Instead, I got our leader killed. They all blamed me except for one, and that was almost worse. I would’ve rather had them all hate me than have one defend me. They all left Eros as soon as they could. Didn’t even wait for the execution. I stayed and went back to the palace where the execution was being held with the intention of stopping it. I was going to shoot the king before they killed my friend. I thought it was meant to be penance for what I caused. To take away the guilt I was feeling and redeem myself. Then they killed him, and I was too late. I hesitated. He died. So I killed the king and left. I should’ve taken my gun with me, but I left it. I was t-too emotional to remember to grab it. They picked up the traces of my fingerprints and traced it back to me. So yeah… there’s my sob story.”

You exhale shakily. Now that it’s all out there, you feel light and airy. Almost like you’re floating, but not in a good or happy way. Next thing you know, San is pulling you against his chest, and your face collides with his shoulder as he wraps a hand around the back of your head. The action causes a choked sob to slip out. Neither of you were expecting the sound, and you didn’t even feel the tears in your eyes until San pulled you against him. Shaky hands move to grip the back of his shirt.

“I know you still blame yourself,” he murmurs against your hair. “I can tell. At some point, you have to face the truth though, Y/N. And the truth is that you did not make those choices for whoever your friend was. He made those choices, and he alone made them. It sounds like he made them because he cared about you as much as you cared about him. Enough to die for you.”

“B-But I… I didn’t – I didn’t die for him. I should’ve told the truth. I should’ve sacrificed myself. I d-didn’t,” you cry, blinking against San’s shoulder.

“You did sacrifice for him. That’s not something that you should blame yourself for because it’s not your fault. I’ll remind you of that every single day if I have to. Until you believe it.”

“W-Why?”

“Because it’s what you deserve, Y/N. It’s what you deserve.”

✧✧✧ a/n: ahahsdfjkhaskjdfs im late but here oh my god i didn’t expect it to take so long i even cut 1k out of the outline and moved it to shorten yet aslfidjiosdfj here we are welp anyway i hope you guys enjoy and let me know what you think of this one 🤧

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[mimosaeyes]

Runaan babysits Rayla for the first time. Everything goes much better than expected.

A Ruthari getting together fic.

Credit to the Hot Brown Morning Potion Podcast episode 5, for notes on characterisation. Especially this part. Beta-ed by @sequoiawintersnight. Also available on AO3.

“Um,” says Runaan, after the door closes behind Tiadrin and Lain.

He had braced himself for tears, tantrums — any sort of fuss, really, that a toddler can kick up. But Rayla had been serene as she bid her parents farewell for the day, only giggling a little as they ruffled her tufty hair.

Surely that bodes well. Surely.

You are one of the Silvergrove’s finest warriors, Runaan tells himself sternly. You can handle babysitting your best friends’ toddler for one afternoon.

Rayla looks up from her toy. She watches him with huge, expectant eyes.

“Um,” Runaan says again. Sitting across from her, he’s suddenly realising that he has no idea how to talk to children. Sure, he’s interacted with Rayla before. Plenty, in fact. But it was always with someone else around, whose lead he could follow.

Awkwardly, he crosses his arms over his chest, then un-crosses them again.

Rayla cocks her head at him. “Thawi?” she asks. At least, he figures it’s a question, since her voice goes up at the end of it.

It takes him another moment of staring at her blankly before he understands. “You want to know where Ethari is?” Runaan ventures.

By way of answer, she leans forward to deposit, in his hastily cupped hands, her toy — a small wooden dragon that Ethari whittled for her. Runaan smiles as he recalls how painstakingly he’d worked on it in the weeks leading up to Rayla’s birth.

Runaan would be sparring with Lain when he would wave, and Runaan would turn around to see Ethari lounging in the shade of a nearby tree, using a small knife to coax, from a block of wood, the curve of a dragon’s neck or the fine tessellation of its scales. Ethari spent ages childproofing his design — rounding off any bits that jutted out, sanding everything down to perfect, splinter-free smoothness.

That’s Ethari, though: always putting his whole heart into his craft. It’s one of the reasons Runaan, ahem, admires him so much. And shows up at his workshop with some regularity for advice on proper weapons care (as is only prudent). And trips over his own feet sometimes when he notices Ethari watching their practice sessions. Which, okay, is somewhat embarrassing. Especially when Lain elbows him, or exchanges a look with Tiadrin.

Runaan clears his throat and wiggles the toy dragon at Rayla. “Ethari is busy today,” he tells her, “but we’re in his workshop anyway, since your mum says you like it here.”

Rayla perks up at the mention of her mother, and scrambles to her feet. Runaan watches, bemused, as she runs to a low shelf and tiptoes to retrieve something from it. He lets her, because he knows Ethari wouldn’t keep anything dangerous within Rayla’s reach, not when she comes by so often.

Besides, Runaan is pretty much subconsciously attuned to anything even vaguely weapon-like. He could disarm Rayla of a hazardous object in a heartbeat.

It looks like he won’t need to, though. Rayla returns brandishing two twigs, both filed blunt at the ends. More of Ethari’s handiwork, Runaan would wager.

She leaps about in a very, very loose interpretation of the basic drills she must have seen her parents performing countless times. Her face is scrunched up in concentration, and she exclaims, “Yah!” occasionally to punctuate a motion.

At the end of the display, Rayla holds a pose and looks up at him for approval.

Runaan holds her dragon aloft and bows his head. “Well done, young warrior,” he intones gravely. He suspects she might get a kick out of that.

He suspects right. Rayla lights up, grinning at him, and the thought flashes across Runaan’s mind that Well, you’re not Favourite Toy-Making Uncle, but maybe you can be Serious But Nice Uncle.

Even as he contemplates the implications of this stray thought — is he jealous that Rayla probably likes Ethari more? is he already so wrapped around her finger? — Runaan reaches out and ever so slightly adjusts her stance. He smiles at her to take any sting out of the criticism.

Rayla smiles back cheekily, then puts on her serious face again and waves her twigs at him. She doesn’t come close to landing a hit, so when she very deliberately pokes him with one of the sticks, Runaan makes sure to flail dramatically and fall over, crying defeat.

His eyes are closed, but he can hear her chuckling to herself as she clambers over his legs and flops down on the floor next to him. She pulls lightly on his hair, and he cracks open an eye to peer at her suspiciously.

She remains fixated on his hair, though, perhaps because it’s longer than that of her parents. Runaan gives a mental shrug and resigns himself to lying there on Ethari’s workshop floor, letting a tiny child play with his hair. It’s a pleasant enough, albeit surreal, way to spend an afternoon.

Rayla seems to be attempting a braid of some kind, but her fingers are too stubby for her to manage it. After a while, Runaan props himself up on one elbow so he can see what she’s doing and give her the occasional pointer.

Instead of undoing her flubs, Rayla just moves on to another section of hair, leaving little twists and knots and frizzy locks everywhere. Runaan distantly notes that he would not put up with this from anyone else in the world. And then he continues to let it happen.

And that’s when the door to the workshop opens, and Runaan looks up to see Ethari standing in the doorway.

He freezes — which goes against every principle of his training. He’s simply so mortified at how he must look right now, in front of Ethari of all people, that it takes precedence over everything else. Rayla yells, “Thawi!” and runs over to him, and Runaan is still just frozen in place, gawking at Ethari, thoughts stuck on But he was supposed to be busy today and Oh stars, my hair looks like a moonberry bush.

To his credit, Ethari takes it all in stride. He smiles at Runaan, amused but kindly, and then goes, “Oof,” as Rayla bodily slams into his legs.

“Hello, Rayla,” Ethari says. “I see you’ve had a fun morning.”

Runaan picks himself up off the floor as Rayla nods fervently. “With Wunie!” she chirps.

Ethari makes a noncommittal noise and leans over to place his shoulder bag on a nearby stool. “Oh yes. But are you sure he wouldn’t prefer to be called Wunaan?”

Rayla tilts her head back to check with Runaan, who finds himself somewhat helplessly shaking his head.

“Wunie says no,” she reports.

“Alright then,” Ethari says mildly. There is the faintest hint of a smile playing over his lips. Runaan is momentarily entranced by it.

Ethari retrieves a jar from his bag. “How’s about some of your favourite Moonberry Surprise?”

Rayla’s squeals of joy could probably be heard from the top of the Storm Spire. Ethari sends her off to search a cubbyhole for cups, and sets about unpacking the rest of his things. From the look of it, he’s been around the village, trading for supplies and materials. Just watching his calm, systematic mannerisms sets Runaan at ease.

Which is why he takes a moment to react when Ethari indicates the jar and says conversationally, “Tiadrin sprinted out of the council meeting to give this to me. She was oddly insistent that I leave the rest of my errands be, and go back to my workshop to enjoy it.”

A creeping suspicion sidles into Runaan���s mind.

Ethari continues, nonchalant. “It would’ve been Lain, I think, but I doubt he could’ve kept a straight face.”

Runaan blinks. “What do you mean?” he asks, half-sure he knows the answer but needing to hear it from Ethari. To gauge his reaction, and to be sure this isn’t all wishful thinking on his part.

Ethari bends down to accept two cups from Rayla, who can’t hold a third one at the same time and has to go back for it.

“I mean,” he says after another moment, “that I think we’ve been set up.”

Try as he might, Runaan can’t read much from Ethari’s neutral tone and facial expression. He’s implied that he knows their friends think… well, that there’s something between them. But is it a one-sided something, or is it reciprocated? Runaan still doesn’t know, not for sure.

He formulates — not for the first time — a dozen different ways to ask. He rejects each of them in turn. Also, obviously, not for the first time. The silence stretches on until he’s saved by Rayla returning with the last cup.

Which seems to have been custom-made for her small hands, as he absently notices. Ethari really does spoil her.

He pushes away the accusatory thought: So do you.

“Up?” Rayla asks Ethari hopefully, and he sits down on one of the stools so he can hoist her up onto his lap. For a moment, Runaan doesn’t so much envy his easy way with her, as wish he got to observe it more often.

Among the Silvergrove elves, Runaan has noticed, Ethari’s relative pacifism means he avoids publicly showing this side of himself. This truth about himself, which Runaan sees anyway, in glimpses: empathy and kindness, rather in excess of what Moonshadow society approves of.

All the while he’s thinking this, Ethari is bouncing Rayla up and down between sips of her Moonberry Surprise, making a game out of it. The sight of them playing, and the sound of her laughter, are beyond endearing to Runaan.

Then Rayla notices him watching and holds out her little arms to him. “Up!” she demands.

Runaan spares a moment to reflect that there was definitely a time when he was not a total pushover. Then he stands and lifts the tiny elf girl up onto his shoulders.

Ethari helps settle Rayla securely on her newfound perch. “Hey! When did you get so much taller than me?” he teases her, prompting another brief giggle.

His hand rests on Runaan’s shoulder as he speaks. Probably accidentally. Runaan tries not to think about the warmth of his touch, or wonder whether it lingers a moment longer than it has to.

He holds on to Rayla’s ankle, wary of dropping her. “Don’t squirm,” he warns.

But Rayla is already distracted by everything she can see from so high up. She pays him no heed, listing from side to side as if wanting to touch all the things on Ethari’s workbenches and shelves. When Runaan doesn’t immediately move toward the objects of her curiosity, she makes a pathetic whine in the back of her throat.

“You’re like a Moonstrider pup,” Runaan informs her, even as he obliges and takes a couple of steps forward.

Rayla just burbles and pokes at something shiny sitting on top of a cabinet. When Runaan peers closer, he sees that it’s one of a pair of horn guards — and that there are several more beside it, in various stages of completion. Of course. Although the elves of Silvergrove primarily go to Ethari for weapons (his are the most versatile and perfectly balanced), they also seek his services for engagements and jewellery in general.

Runaan gently nudges aside Rayla’s hand. “Careful,” he admonishes, but without much heat. “These are delicate.”

He glances at Ethari, who shrugs.

“I don’t make anything purely ornamental,” he says, then turns to address Rayla. “Wunie’s right, though; these do mean a lot to people. I have some other things you might like, over here.”

Runaan follows him to the far side of the workshop, where Ethari takes down a plain box and sets it on the table. Still seated on his shoulders, Rayla leans forward in anticipation, inadvertently pushing against Runaan’s head.

He laughs at how eager she is. “Alright, little one,” he says, and carefully sets her down.

They both watch as Ethari snaps open the catch on the box, and lifts the lid.

Inside is a collection of — Runaan doesn’t even have the words. Rationally, he recognises that these are ordinary household items. Small plates, hair clasps, buckles for securing supplies when travelling. They’re functional. But they’re also beautiful: engraved with swirls and curves, never a straight line anywhere. The silvery patterns remind Runaan of the way water moves in a river or brook under moonlight. They look like art, and yet they’re also textures begging to be touched. With careful hands. With reverence, or love.

Sitting cross-legged on the counter, Rayla’s eyes have gone wide.

“I didn’t know you made things like this,” Runaan says in awe. “Out of — what, scrap metal? Left over from your main work?”

Ethari shakes his head. “Not for these. Sometimes... people bring me weapons I can’t fix. Or won’t. Fine blades ruined because they were wielded improperly. Daggers they want to dispose of, that have drawn innocent blood.”

The mood turns sombre between them. Things happen. They both know it.

Ethari continues, “I never destroy them. I melt them down and reshape them.”

Runaan reaches out and runs his fingers over a hair clasp. It moves him, he realises: how much beauty Ethari sees in the world — even in the ugly, discarded parts of it — and brings out through his craft. Which he does, not out of obligation or necessity, but simply for the joy of creating something special out of something unwanted.

He remembers, abruptly, Ethari knocking on his door over a year ago. It was pouring rain and Ethari had been as sodden as the shivering bundle of fur cradled in his arms. The abandoned Shadowpaw pup had grown up hale and hearty under his care, after that first night when Runaan invited him in, offering him hot tea, blankets, a place by the fire. And — surprisingly, in retrospect — no questions as to why he showed up there.

He sees, with sudden clarity, that Ethari has always had a penchant for taking lost and broken things, and making them feel needed and whole.

“They’re amazing,” Runaan tells him, and bites back his next words. You’re amazing.

Instead of responding to the compliment, Ethari clasps his hands together nervously. “I, ah. I made that for you, actually.”

“What?” Runaan does a double take and stares at him. His fingers go still on the hair clasp. His heart thuds in his chest, thunderous.

Ethari quite deliberately unfastens his hands from each other. Pausing only to glance at Runaan, as if asking for permission, he leans forward and tucks a lock of Runaan’s hair behind his ear. The gesture is tender and shockingly familiar, as if he’d done it a hundred times before.

“It’s your heart,” Ethari tells him simply. “That’s what inspired me. You scowl and bluster, and goodness knows, you fight like a raging storm. But you also lay on the floor playing with a child because it makes her happy. You turn down the honour of joining the Dragon Guard with your best friends because you would rather stay and protect your home.”

He touches his shoulder. “Your heart is kind. It deserves something just as beautiful.”

Silent, stunned, Runaan watches him for a moment longer.

Then he surges forward and kisses him.

It’s only the briefest press of lips. He registers closeness, warmth. A huff of air from Ethari; he’s taken him by surprise. The other elf only begins to kiss back when Runaan is already pulling away again.

He gulps, instantly panicky. How many times has he dreamt of doing what he just did? And there he goes, rushing through it and probably ruining everything. He never even explained—

“I was wondering if you’d ever do that,” Ethari breathes.

Runaan blinks. “You knew?!”

Coming from a normally mild-mannered person, the look Ethari gives him then is exceedingly sassy. “Runaan, you come into my workshop with requests three times as often as any other elf. You volunteer to test out my weapon designs so we can talk shop and you can compliment my work, because you can’t figure out how else to express affection.”

He smirks at Runaan, but his voice is indulgent. “I love you, but you can be a real idiot sometimes.”

A beat.

“Oh,” Ethari mutters. “That just slipped out, didn’t it?”

And he rests both hands around Runaan’s neck, and pulls him into another kiss. This one is deeper, longer. Runaan is still stunned, but he quickly relaxes into the embrace. Just for a moment, he lets himself melt.

They only break apart when Rayla makes an indignant noise at no longer being the centre of attention.

She holds up some sort of rectangular, metal item from the box. “Mine?” she asks.

“What is that?” Runaan wonders aloud.

“A harness buckle,” Ethari supplies. He wags a finger at Rayla. “Maybe when you’re old enough to ride.”

Rayla makes a moue.

Runaan sighs as if very put upon by her (in all of two seconds, yes). “I’ll teach you,” he promises.

“Softie,” Ethari teases.

Runaan smiles lopsidedly. “I do my best.”

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur. They find ways to entertain Rayla, or more often, she comes up with them. At one point, having refused for over an hour, Rayla finally dozes off for her nap, curled up among some soft cloths Ethari uses to clean filigree. While she sleeps, Runaan and Ethari tiptoe around, putting things to rights around the workshop. Ethari offers him a comb he finds lying around, and shakes his head fondly when Runaan mouths the words, “I don’t want to hurt her feelings.”

By the time Tiadrin and Lain return from their meeting, Rayla has roused from her nap to sleepily play a little more with her toy dragon. Lain picks her up without any bother from her. Leaning over her father’s shoulder, she waves goodbye to Runaan and Ethari.

Runaan waves back until she looks away to nuzzle her face in the hollow of Lain’s neck. Lain coos softly at her. It still surprises Runaan how differently his jokester friend behaves around his daughter.

He turns his attention to Tiadrin, who is hanging back. There’s a tension around her eyes that wasn’t there this morning. “Everything alright?” he asks, worried.

She hesitates, but nods briskly. “It will be. How was Rayla?”

“A perfect angel,” Runaan starts to say.

At the same time, Ethari nudges him and says, “Utterly spoiled by this one.”

Tiadrin tilts her head at them both, visibly taking in how close together they’ve subconsciously begun to stand. Runaan is struck by how much Rayla is picking up her mannerisms. They have the same intelligence behind their bright eyes as they puzzle him out.

“So,” Tiadrin says slowly, beginning to smile at them.

Runaan narrows his eyes. “So,” he says back at her.

On some level, he does mean for that to serve as confirmation of Tiadrin’s suspicions. Watching the way she glances between him and Ethari, looking genuinely pleased for them, Runaan knows she’s gotten the message.

Tiadrin lowers her voice. “You do realise Lain is going to be unbearable when I tell him that his ridiculous plan actually worked.”

“Was it really orchestrated by you two then?” Ethari asks.

She shrugs. “We just figured if we could find you an excuse to spend an afternoon in close quarters… you might work out the rest. Finally.”

“‘Finally’?” Runaan repeats. Tiadrin raises an eyebrow at him. Ethari holds up his hands in the universal gesture for I’m not getting into this.

Runaan groans. “Was I seriously the last one to know?”

“Seriously.” Tiadrin winks at him; she knows one of his pet peeves is when people answer rhetorical questions.

She moves toward the door. “You’re welcome,” she calls back over her shoulder as she leaves.

And Runaan is left in the same position as a few hours ago, when this whole adventure began. Only this time Ethari is standing right by him, close enough to touch, and he can do that now. He can stop wondering what that would feel like; he knows.

He also knows what it feels like to hear him speak the words I love you.

Runaan just isn’t as emotionally open as he is. He’s not built that way, no matter what Ethari may believe about his heart.

Ethari seems to know, somehow, what kinds of thoughts are running through his head. Quietly, into the hush of a room suddenly bereft of Rayla’s boisterous energy, he says, “You don’t have to say it back.”

Runaan looks at him. He… he wants to. He just doesn’t quite know how.

Biting his lip, he picks up the hair clasp from the table. The one Ethari said he’d made especially for him. Beauty out of broken bits. Something soft out of loss.

Runaan holds it out to Ethari. “Mine?” he says wryly, mimicking Rayla earlier. And all the while thinking, How do I tell you I love you?

Whether or not Ethari understands what he thinks but does not say then, Runaan may never know. But Ethari smiles, takes the clasp from him, and threads it gently through his hair. “Here,” he says. “I’ll teach you.”

[rumncoca]

R & the Family (15)

It wasn’t the last time though. We continued the late night trysts. One time while I was on top of him, he breathlessly gasped that we should do this more often. I heartily agreed with a playful laugh. I was relieved to hear that.  Everything always felt so natural with him. And I wanted this to last as long as it could. I had a feeling in the back of mind we wouldn’t have this opportunity for longer than 3 years, or maybe even ever again and it haunted me. This felt like a way to make up for a looming dark future that we weren’t yet privy to.

Afterwards we delved into our nightly discussions. I admitted to him that when I learned that I would be trapped here indefinitely I sought out heroin again. I told him that it took everything in me not to ask him. He thanked me and agreed that it was for the best because he knew where to get it. I awkwardly chuckled to avoid asking him where exactly that would be.

The next night we went on an adventure to find a fabled witch in the city nearby. In between supernatural jokes we tested the waters and became more open about our longing and measured reservation towards our shared Achilles heel, heroin. We had a clean night that included R screaming at the sight of a racoon and the two of us running through an orchard.

Then next day we pursued a tip about a cemetery that his coworker had given him. It was youthful and silly and we had a blast. It reminded us of a when we had breakfast in a cemetery our graduating year, and how serene and whole everything had felt that morning. I couldn’t believe that he had felt that inner peace too. We went to his mom’s to show her our findings and she humored us. We then left to pursue our investigation further when he turned to me and said that we should hit up one of our old brothers for heroin.

I tried to resist jumping on the idea. I tried to seem hesitant and to mask my emotions to gauge his sureness. After all, I was a hypocrite for telling him not to, and at the same time I had simultaneous devious personal interest. We made the drive to a nearby city, mentally wringing our hands the whole way, with R chiming in periodically to say that it probably wouldn’t happen anyway.

I saw our effeminate, skinny jeans clad, lisped friend of our glory days for the first time since we were 17. He was unrecognizable in his hardened eyes, loose clothing and face tattoos. I guess prison and being an active gang member to that a boy, even our boy. He asked us what we wanted, his eyes darting from recently overdoing the meth use, and R told him we were in search of boi but would take some ice on the side. Our friend disappeared into the night and came back holding. We left in silence that evolved into nervous pressured statements about how we would and wouldn’t use our new stash. R vowed unconvincingly that he probably wouldn’t do anything of the heroin anyway.

And R did resist the heroin. We took some tweak together and had a fun night of exchanging playlists in his garage. I mellowed out a couple levels on H. My head lulled to the side listen to him play guitar and sing. I woke up in the morning after spending the world between sleep and wakefulness living a series of imagined scenarios.

One shook me to the core. I had seen my dead grandmother furiously scowling at me. Her still-living husband was next to her with his hands in the air, frustrated and trying to calm her. My father was next to the river as well, in the most pain that I had ever seen him, crying and looking over to the distant bank. He fell to his knees and I turned to my younger brother who asked if he could get some help for his ever-present anxiety. I handed him the bag of meth and told him not to hit too much. He thanked me and began to walk away when I realized the grave mistake that I had made. I had accidentally handed him the heroin. He collapsed, uttering a couple confused words and I began to scream and sprint begging for help. There was no one around, and I realized that’s why the rest of my family had been hurting so. I woke up sweating with a deep fear that this was some kind of symbol for one of my metaphorical brothers, R. I checked my phone and he had texted me worrying that I had overdosed too. I breathed a heavy sigh of relief and railed some more H before leaving my room to confront the world for the day.

I sat around trying to make plans with a girlfriend in the dusty strips of sunlight pouring in through the window. I tried hard to seem normal. To seem engaged when my father talked to me, and to get up and move every so often so that I didn’t nod out sitting up. My father kept commenting on the television and it pissed me off; couldn’t he see that I was trying to enjoy my high? I remembered a week before when R told me that it wasn’t normal to be mean on heroin, that it was strange that only we did that.

Finally I went to my friend’s. I asked her if she wanted to go up or down and pulled out my holographic Glossier case that contained one small bag and one lighter-sealed cellophane bag. She did some meth and eventually asked if I had what she thought in the cellophane. I admitted my transgression. Nearly 3 years ago, when I was first using, she came over to my house on the 4th of July and I passed out mid-conversation. She was unable to wake me and held a certain disdain for heroin ever since.

Later in the night I asked her again if she wanted to go up or down. She said down. I gave her a very conservative bump of H and knew, past thick layers of drugs, highs, and feelings, that I should or would feel bad about sharing it. We alternated the 2 with her until we were kayaking in the bright new sun, at one point topless. It felt like glory, like perfect unadulterated serenity, especially when fulfilling my lifelong dream of feeling the sunlight on my chest. Going home it took all my power to not fall asleep at the wheel. I stayed awake because no matter my state, the commercial van in front of me was so much worse, repeatedly crossing the double yellow line. At home I collapsed on the couch, a surging tingling heat in every limb. I lived a couple of dream lives and missed a phone call from my work.

The wanted me to come back. Panic set in and I took some fat rails to squelch the icy fear of impending reality. 

[xialing-gf]

for the greater good (theseus x reader): chapter 3

requested by anonymous: could you make an imagine with Theseus Scamander where the reader’s an undercover Auror on Grindelwald’s side and her cover is blown when the Aurors try to arrest Grindelwald?

wc: 2208

 search the tag #samfb for previous chapters!

The following events were experienced through an uncomforting haze as you felt too numb to properly process anything. Voices piled on top of each other like bricks stacking to form a solid wall. Nothing seemed real; the pain in your heart made you wonder how you weren’t bleeding into your hands yet. You had risked everything, even though you had nothing left, for Grindelwald and it was hard to believe he had just thrown you away as if you were a disposable straw.

The haze seemed to drift away once you were thrown into the corner of a cold, grey cell. The cool walls pressed against your skin and reminded you that you were still alive, even if you had seemingly died inside. Memories of your brother and life before his death replayed in your head almost teasingly, as if reminding you that a perfect life had been lived only a couple years ago.

“Hey,” A soft voice floated through the cold air causing you to slowly glance up to meet Newt Scamander’s eyes. You almost chuckled at the irony of the entire situation; you were now in the position Credence had been in and Newt was in yours. “The guards let me in. Told them I was here to check up on you for my brother.”

“Well, there’s no need for you to check up on me. I haven’t tried to escape,” You stood up, almost tripping over your own feet, not used to this level of awareness. Trying to act confident, you stood up straighter, gaining a proper balance on both feet. You tried to look him in the eyes but his eyes reminded you too much of Theseus’.

“You know, you really meant a lot to my brother. I mean, you still do, but you really hurt him,” Newt’s tone had a genuine, caring softness to it that somehow pierced through the tough armor of steel you surrounded yourself with.

“I really do care about him. Initially, he didn’t mean much to me but as I started to get to know him better, I began to care for him. I’m just not used to opening up and feeling raw emotion. The last person I loved…” You trailed off, your brother’s jovial expression appearing in your mind. You weren’t sure if you had been talking loud when you were spilling your past out to Credence but from the look in Newt’s eyes, it seemed like he had heard.

“He blames himself for loving you and it’s tearing him apart on the inside. You have to help him, Y/N. Even I can’t him to talk to me about you, or rather anything. He’s just completely shut everybody out. The only person who can make him open up is you,” Newt hopefully glanced at you, pleading desperation rising in his voice. It seemed like he cared for his brother dearly and wasn’t trying to pull some Ministry tricks on you.

“Alright, I’ll try if I get to talk to him,” You promised, offering the smallest of smiles, causing him to give you a smile signaling his gratefulness towards your willing reply. After Newt left, the cell was empty and cold again, but instead of sulking in the corner, you began pacing around the room, thoughts of Theseus on your mind. You were pulled out of your thoughts abruptly as the door opened and the person you wanted to see entered the room.

“Hello Y/N, my name is Theseus Scamander,” You were stunned at how he treated you like a stranger, but then again, when he entered his posture was rigid, his hand hovering over his pocketed wand. “I’m here to interrogate you. Please refrain from trying to escape. That will only complicate this situation.”

“Did Leta ask you out? I always thought she liked you,” You brought up curtly, causing him to frown slightly at your bluntness. You weren’t jealous, just curious. Okay, maybe you were a little jealous you couldn’t call him yours anymore but you still wanted to find out.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, she did. But I haven’t given her a decisive answer yet,” Theseus stiffly replied, getting ready to start asking questions. Before he could get a word out, you quickly interrupted, “Say yes. It’ll make both you and her happy. You really deserve somebody like her. Somebody who will treat you kindly, care for you, and always be honest. You’ll be happy with her, I’m certain.”

“If you could let me move on to asking questions, that would be absolutely wonderful,” Theseus started, attempting to cover up the crumbling of his rough act, but you cut in again, feeling guilty. You were acting extremely rude but it was the only way you could get him to communicate. “You know, there’s no use for questions. He’s already moving on, changing the location of his meeting place. There is no point in asking me anything; you’re just stalling.”

“You know what? You’re right. I’ve been trying to save you. All the other wizards want you to be executed but I’m trying to convince them not to. I’m trying to keep you alive and it’s all because of what happened between us.”

“I’m sorry for what I did,” You suddenly blurted, feeling an overwhelming need to express your feelings. “I was so scared of love. I hate that all I knew was manipulation. I had shut myself off from the world because of all the hurt and anguish love caused me to feel. But once I met you, I remembered how to feel again. Please don’t blame yourself. Please don’t shut everybody out. It won’t work. I hate to see you feeling this way. I know you have a future and I don’t want you to give up all hope because of what I’ve done to you. I’m so sorry. I will never be able to apologize enough for what I did.”

“It’s hard to forgive you. It hurts. Every night I wonder if you still love me and I can’t stand the pain that I’m feeling,” A teardrop rolled down Theseus’ cheek and you hurried over to his side, enveloping him in a warm hug. You rubbed his back comfortingly as he cried into your shoulder. During all those weeks of dating him, you had never seen him cry. He was always emotionally stable and a thousand knives drove into your heart when you realized what you had done to him caused him to be this way.

As he slowly began to calm down, he sniffled slightly, pulling away as he apologized, “Sorry about this. I really appreciate you being here. It’s so difficult to keep everything to yourself, you know?”

“I know, I know. It’s perfectly normal to feel emotions. I can’t believe I’m the one to say this but pretending to be an emotionless robot is not healthy and does not ever work. People are really judgemental and there’s nothing you can do about it, but talking about emotions to people you trust will keep you going through this hectic world,” You replied soothingly, holding his hand in yours. “You are a wonderful person. Thank you for being here for me. You’ve helped me so it’s about time you had a shoulder to cry on.”

“Thank you. And yeah, the world is quite a mess,” Theseus smiled, causing your heart to jump joyfully, a new sense of hope sparking in your body. You both stared into each other's eyes for a few seconds, blissfully engaged in the peaceful moment.

A shrill alarm slashed through the serene atmosphere, causing Theseus to jerk back out of your grip unexpectedly. He quickly rushed out the door to hear an Auror shout, “There’s an emergency! Something’s loose on the streets!”

“I have to go. I’m sorry,” Theseus hurriedly gave you a quick kiss on the cheek before rushing out of the cell door. You considered calling after him to stay safe but realized other people might hear and report it which could potentially ruin Theseus’ career. Then, you suddenly realized what the Auror had meant by “something’s loose on the streets!”. Credence had let his inner monster out.

Without wasting any time, you carefully snuck out of the opened cell door Theseus forgot to close in his rush and silently crept down the strangely empty halls. Most of the wizards must’ve left to find the Obscurus. Time was against your side so you burst into a random wizard’s office and stole a wand. Sure, it was going to be difficult to use but you didn’t have time to go search for your wand. You ran out of the doors of the Ministry to find the streets crowded with scattered people frantically trying to get away from the distant roaring menace. Pushing past the onslaughts of muggles running for their lives, you hurried down the streets, trying to gauge Credence’s relative location. Once you saw the looming, dark mass howling in agony above a building, you instantly apparated to its location, your mind churning as you tried to come up with a solution to solve the problem.   The Obscurus roared, enraged as it smashed into buildings and swirled around screaming pedestrians. You noted that there were a few wizards, possibly Aurors, in the distance that were observing the chaos, confused about how to calm the situation. Taking a deep breath, you yelled, “Credence!”

The dark mass continued to sway across buildings but it had slowed down, hearing your voice. Quickly, you followed up your shout, “Remember me? I was the person who brought you out of the prison cell from the Ministry. I’m sorry that Grindelwald took you. He can be convincing when he wants to but I know you saw through his act. I’m sorry I brought you into the mouth of the devil.”

The Obscurus gradually shrunk in size and drew closer to you cautiously, continuing to howl in anguish at a smaller volume. Your talking seemed to be working but you had to hurry before the Ministry arrived. “Credence, you are not alone. I’m here for you and I will always be here for you.”

As those words were stated, you were dragged into memories of you attempting to calm your brother when he was stuck in that form. Every step you took closer to Credence was a step into your memories. The words continued to tumble through your lips as you looked up to the receding Obscurus, “You have a future ahead of you. Don’t let this define you forever. You can fight it. I believe in you. Please don’t give up because this isn’t the only aspect of you that makes up your personality. You are so much more than what people see. What people see is what makes them want to use you and that is extremely unfair to you. I want to help you and by you, I mean you, Credence, and only you.”

By now, the mass had shrunk smaller and smaller until all that was left was Credence’s fragile form. You approached him calmly, soothingly wrapping your arms around him as he sobbed into your shoulder. Tears fell down your face as you recalled all those times you had held your brother like this. Footsteps were approaching so you carefully turned around while still maintaining a comforting embrace, pointing your wand to the direction of the steps. You sighed in relief when it was only Newt who was walking towards you and Credence.

When he gave you an understanding look, you helped Credence stand up, soothingly reassuring, “Newt’s here for you. He will help you and I promise.”

Newt steadily wrapped an arm around Credence, murmuring comforting words as he guided him away. Credence glanced back at you and you waved, smiling softly as he looked away, reassured by your warm expression. Newt apparated away with Credence, leaving you standing alone among the death and destruction.

“Hands up and wand down,” An Auror commanded as a handful more of them gathered around you in a circle. The tiring sense of deja vu washed over you as you dropped the wand to the ground and held your hands up. You met Theseus’ eyes and he nodded solemnly and knowingly, understanding what you had done.

Of course, the Ministry took you into custody again and luckily for you, Theseus managed to convince them to end your sentence early because after all, you had stopped an Obscurus from further destruction. Before they let you out, they interrogated you to try to find out the whereabouts of Credence and you managed to convince them that a wizard, thankfully not Grindelwald, had apparated and took him away.

Once you were free from the suffocating prison the Ministry stuck you in. As the Aurors became more lenient with their not-so-secretive spying on you, you began talking with Theseus again and he finally forgave you for your mistakes. Soon, you both were inseparable and you picked up a job at a local bookstore. You and Theseus lived the life you always wanted to live and even though you were content with this life you lived, at any moment you might have to give it up again for the greater good.

~

check out the #samfb tag for more fb fics by me!

[iphoenixrising]

Dr!Tim: London Bridge is Falling Down

Anon asked: How would his vigilante boyfriends react were Doctor!Tim to actually get hurt at some point? Be it just by a simple mugger or even accidentally via their own hands? Up for any more of your lovely drabbles?

Second Anon asked: Up for some more Doctor!Tim? Maybe something soft and fluffy this time? If Tim came home from a long, long shift and just crawled over into his boyfriends laps asking for a bath and some warm cuddles? Where could it go..? 

Arkaedia wanted Dr. Tim in the field a bit and totally had the bridge idea, so I’m covering three in one with this little thing. We needed bad ass Tim, some hurt!Tim, and some soft and fluffy. Welp, here’s my attempt and making it all come out in the wash.

(FYI: @satire-please, @poison-basil, and @the-sky-is-a-lie are all my babes to read this when the muse was being mean)

**

Ride-alongs are his and now for something completely different.

It’s a chance to get out of the hospital, to ride with the EMTs, to take a chance looking for bolt holes and hidey places where criminals, victims, and nice vigilantes might, you know, hang out. (And if he totally has those spots mapped from his time running the streets of Gotham, well, then there’s that.) Besides, Kerry and Hailey, his partners for the night (and the same EMTs that kind of knew the night company he kept since that one time with Robin almost dying had him flagging down the ambulance for a bag of O pos), were so on to him about having a boyfriend that he’s having fun making them guess all the deets.

(But, he did tell them it’s “boyfriends” just to hear Kerry’s mad cackle and get a high-five from Hailey.)

There had been a few instances of need, shortness of breath with a little chest pain and numbness on the side down in the Narrows (yeah, he knows meth when he sees the effects, thanks). A kitchen fire in the Upper East Side neighborhood (his parents had lived here once, lived this life) with a bewildered housewife looking ashamed at leaving the oven on while he bandaged her hand and suggested a trip to the ER for just in case. (Of course not, Harold wouldn’t hear of it).

Even cooler, they’d received a call to swing by Arkham Asylum to check up on Nora Fries (even though he’s been one of the doctors permitted inside the Asylum, and one of the fewer that has taken the weak vitals of Mr. Freeze’s wife, it’s still a creepy place to go) when the power grid blipped for a few seconds. Any time the complex machinery keeping Nora alive in suspended animation has any kind of issues, the administration contacted one of four physicians in the Tri-State area Fries will allow anywhere near her.

Luckily, Dr. Drake is already en route.

Kerry is talking over the radio to the on-call guards at Arkham as they’re half-way across Trigate Bridge, and Hailey is detailing her Princess Serenity Cosplay for this year (and yes, she has the wig because some people do it right. He used to LARP when he had time, so they have plenty to bond about)—

When the first explosion rocks the ambulance, Kerry jerks the wheel hard, the instincts bred from running headlong into typical Gotham catastrophes shown when the ambulance balances precariously on two wheels for long, heart-stopping moments before slamming back down on the pavement, bouncing all three of them around.

The consistent traffic around them, however, not so lucky.

“Hold on!” Kerry turns around to the doctor and second EMT, eyes wide and knuckles white on the wheel.

The first car slamming into the side is poor timing, hitting hard enough to throw the ambulance into oncoming traffic in the other lane, supplies flying all over the place. The next hit is enough to break the windshield, which lets in the sound of screaming and shit just breaking on the bridge all around them.

Even after a toss into some very painful metal cabinets with supplies, Tim is just dazed enough to pick out some very, very not good sounds of heavy iron bending. He sucks in a breath because all the evidence is there.

So many people are going to die (and they might be thrown in that mix). The ambulance is five miles out from Gotham and another three from the island housing Arkham with a whole lot of Atlantic right under them. If supports have been blown, then it’s only a matter of time how long the structure would hold.

They had to get people off as fast as possible; they had to assess as many wounded as they could and get off this fucking bridge.

“Everyone all right?! Kerry! Tim!” Hailey shoves the gurney off her legs, swimming up from a pile of gauze pads. Dazed but functional because he’s the only one in the ambulance that’s come to realize oh shit time has kicked in.

(Then again, he is the pet doctor to a horde of terrifying vigilantes. That just gives him an edge in the ‘blow shit up’ department.)

He climbs up and over the front seat, looking at the blood on Kerry’s face from the glass.

“We need to get out there,” the EMT is saying, hands shaky. “Whatever happened, people are going to be hurt—”

“Explosion,” he fills in both EMTs in while flicking a penlight in her eyes, happy for no concussion and, you know, being alive (for now). “Something exploded on or under the bridge. We need to assess who we can, load up, and get the hell off as soon as possible.”

“I’ll phone Dispatch, but I have no idea how the mainland wouldn’t have heard it already,” Kerry shakes herself, finally lets go of the wheel. The soft burr of accent soothes over the resounds crash and sharp, biting sound of twisting metal. He grins a little and quickly puts a few pieces of tape against the cut high on her forehead, glad there was no concussion to worry about. Once they get outside the ambulance doors, though, all bets are off.

“Supplies,” Hailey mutters to herself, snatches up satchels, stuffing them full so each EMT can carry two-at-a-time. As usual, Doc Drake has his own bag around his shoulders, impressively staying with him through that little shift in gravity. “Okay! We get out and start prelims. What’s our radius? I mean, we can’t cover the whole bridge.”

“As far as we can,” he takes his time to scan outside the broken windshield, already reaching for the door, “I’m going to take off, get as far as I can, so don’t wait for me. You two take as many as this rig can hold and get to safety. I’ll hitch a ride with someone before it goes.”

“I don’t like that idea,” Hailey fills in, coming up between the chairs to give her partner a once-over, handing over supplies.

Kerry seconds that sentiment, “there’s no guarantee you’ll get another ride, Tim!”

“Someone needs to get between both points.” And yes, it’s reasonable considering half the bridge if pretty much gone and the other half is full of overturned cars, people panicking, broken concrete, and more chaos than he’s ever seen (and that? Is saying something). “There’s probably another ambulance somewhere further down anyway, so it’s fine. If not, then there’s plenty of functional cars already on the road.” His jaw tight, tingling with get ready, Tim eyes the two EMTs also with game faces on. (Really, all the fuckery that goes on in Gotham bonds people.) “We get out, get who we can, hit up as much trauma care as possible, and get the hell gone. Agreed?”

Hailey grins at him, heads to the back of the rig, readying the gurney to pull out. Kerry just sighs a little and gives him a decidedly arched brow, “sorry, Doc, doesn’t look like you’ll be gettin’ that easy night after all.”

“Believe it or not, I’m okay being busy,” he banters back so they both have a second of normal before the time to rock, and lets her call in to dispatch.

He takes a breath to prepare himself for whatever he’s going to face, and finally rips open the passenger side door as Hailey knuckles-down and shoves the damaged back doors open right with him, throwing themselves into the fray.

As expected, it’s fucking chaos.

The Trigate Bridge is the third longest on the East Coast, spanning from Gotham, breaking off to have a double-lane highway to the smaller island housing Arkham, and continuing on to the mainland near Somerset (thus Trigate, three directions). The explosion(s) were apparently meant to take out key supports and maybe send thousands of people into the water below with a mass of debris and oncoming death. As far as he can see, spans of the bridge on the north side and east have felt the burn. (Two sides the bridge were set with explosive charges…) Literally. Hunks of bridge and probably crucial structure have already been sacrificed to the murky water below, and the loud, creaking groan is only a punctuation on how close the whole thing is from giving way. There’s no way to assess how close they were to impending doom.

However, the next layer of oh shit are the vehicular accidents lining the bridge due of the explosion. On both sides of the ambulance, there’s screaming, burning, crumbling holy fuck going on.

Tim takes in a deep breath, the smoke starting to fill the air, gauging the areas of most need that he can immediately see. The plan starts to form even as he’s tapping the special clip on his name tag.  (The one Dick switched out last week and thought he wouldn’t, you know, notice.)

“Okay, Kerry gets to stay close and prep as much room as we’ve got,” the doctor turns in a circle, trying to place the immediate need during their very critical time window. “Hailey, take north. I’m going down the east side toward Arkham. Try to get anyone that can drive to start heading back to Gotham. Take anyone that needs transport, stabilize as you can.”

The two EMTs are wide-eyed, looking at the aftermath with professional assessment since horror and fear have to be on the backburner. Hailey squeezes his shoulder before she’s off to the blue SUV turned on it’s top and a teenagers trying to get out the window.

“Promise me!” Kerry snatches his arm before he even moves, “get off this bloody thing before it goes!”

“Scouts honor,” his vision narrows down, mind working with all the evidence and perceptions.

“All right! See you on the other side,” and Kerry is off too, slinging the satchel securely over her shoulder and moving, already gloving up, fast and efficient even with the owfuck. She’s checking on the driver of the car that hit the ambulance in the first place, taking his vitals and pulling the crushed door open with strength alone. A grim smirk is the last thing he’s got, and Tim takes off in the opposite direction, running full tilt through the wreckage, climbing over busted concrete and overturned, empty cars, checking them out before he moves on.

With the blood pounding in his ears and screams echoing all around them on the open water, he’s trying to keep an eye on the damaged bridge, check structural failure so he know about how much time he’s got before more important pieces would start breaking off. (Far out he sees the line of white ships that could very well be the Coast Guard on the way because a little bit of help here would be just fucking stellar).  

He’s already gloved up by the time he gets to the car hanging perilously close to the edge of the damaged bridge, the skid marks telling the story on how that happened. A bigger sedan had knocked into the little car, sending it skittering through the protective barriers and almost over. The thing is only precariously out of the water by sheer willpower and the rusty bumper snagged on a broken support line. The driver is terrified, one hand extended over the back where a small, blonde child (like Layla) is clutching a worn-out teddy.

(Cass is on after school babysitting duty. It’s fine, they’re fine. Dick is probably going to be called in to the Police Station once they hear about this. Jay might have woken up with the explosions. Steph is at Mercy and everyone is fine.)

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he talks fast, stepping carefully, already reaching the back door. “I’m right here, and I’m going to get you out. I need you to hurry, okay?”

“Mommy!” The child screams out when the car inches forward, tilting down more to the churning waters below.

“Karmen,” the wide-eyed mother puts on the voice, “take his hand and get out of the car. You need to get out Right. Now.”

The kid is panicking, and he completely understands, but, well, impending doom. The wrong move, the wrong breath, and the thing is going over, taking them and him with it. He moves carefully, gingerly, sweat making its way down his back with how he maps out the right way to keep the thing from going over. “It’s okay, Karmen, right? Hi, my name’s Tim.”

“H-Hi, Doctor Tim,” the child whimpers with tears in her eyes as she’s squishing further back in the leather seat, looking from him to the Atlantic Ocean through the windshield.

“What’s your buddy’s name, Karm?” He gestures to the stuffed animal she’s clutching like a lifeline.

“C-Carl. He’s Carl the Bear.”

“That’s cool. I used to have a Bear I called Robin. Made him a mask and everything.”

She blinks at him and her expressions changes into something like Steph’s right before she calls him the Nerd-Wonder (and yes, he’ll take that title, thank-you very much).

But it’s fine. It’ll be easier to her to jump if she’s laughing at him instead of terrified.

He gingerly pops open both doors on the driver’s side, tries to keep the weight dispersed to the back of the car, “Okay, Karm, time to listen up. I want you, Carl, and your mom to jump out when I give you the signal. I bet you can jump really good, right?”

“Y-Yes. I-I’m a good jumper.”

“Awesome. I need you to jump the very best jump ever, okay? Can you try that for me?”

But her eyes are filling up again, going from her mom to the churning water and back to him. “I-I’m scared, Tim! I’m too scared.”

“I know you are, but it’s okay. As long as you do what I say, you’re going to be fine.” And it’s a crazy balancing act to keep the doors open, try to make sure the weight doesn’t shift enough to send the car plummeting the long and painful way down into the water.

“Please,” the mother gasps out, eyes wet and dazed from fear, “please save my baby girl. Please don’t let her drown.”

“We’re working on saving you both. So when she jumps, so do you. I’m right here, and I’m going to grab you, so just Get. Ready.”

His hands are out, his other eye on the mother’s trembling hands as she gingerly unclicks her seatbelt.

“Mommy,” Karmen whimpers again, a terrified little girl.

“I love you, sweetheart. I love you so much,” and the crack in her voice is enough to make his chest tight, to make sure he’s got them. “Get ready to jump to Tim, okay? Mommy’s so proud of you, my brave girl.”

When those eyes came back to him, wet but resolute, he knew they found the next kick-ass vigilante someday.

“Okay… Jump!”

He snatches with both hands, fast, pulling, throwing the three of them away. Mother and daughter watch as the car goes over, gripping each other tight, and Tim is absurdly glad for quick thinking and shit like gravity.

A rudimentary line of cars is flowing off the bridge at slow speeds, pausing to let others on foot get in. Carrying Karmen and gripping her mother’s arm, Tim flags down a truck with a few people already in the back. He lowers the tailgate and holds his charges up for waiting hands to pull the small family to safety.

“Tim!” Karmen calls as the truck pulls off, the strangers checking over her and her mother for serious injuries, “Tim! Thank-you! Thank-you!”

But her hero disappears into the smoke from the burning bridge, she only catches his back as he runs further into the crisis, one hand thrown up over a shoulder in a bye-bye, before he’s out of sight.

Four people are trying to push back a car pinning a young woman to concrete debris. He’s one of those people, muscles straining with effort. When she’s free, one of them has a working vehicle ready for transport.

(Gotham never ceases to amaze him. In a city usually overrun with every flavor of psychopath, you have to be resilient and adaptable. The people, however, always seem to come together in times of crisis and crazy assholes trying to demolish the city. It’s amazing when things like kicking bad guy ass brings out the best in people.)

Tim does as much trauma care as he realistically can, talking quickly to one of the people riding with her, giving rapid instructions for her to tell responders off the bridge.

The next breath, he’s pulling up metal and concrete, yelling with the effort, forcing his tired muscles to give more when some relatively unharmed civilians attack him with thank God hugs. The little blonde boy looks dazed, blinking with blood in his eyes from a nasty scalp wound, but remembers his name is Leo and he’s ten, Dr. Tim.

It takes a second to lift the kid up and brace the Father with his other arm, the group making a beeline for an empty vehicle that might still have keys in it. (None of them judge him when he cracks into the steering column and hot wires the damn thing. Because, you know, he has other hobbies.)

In no time, he’s using some pieces off a ‘79 Honda Civic to immobilize a broken leg, splints it like a boss.

Charlie is seven and has a better iPhone than he does. The bus full of first graders on their field trip out of Gotham are calm, but the bus is done for. He manages to rope three transports, checking quickly over the class, and helping their shaky teacher get on the flatbed. Charlie give him a low five and they’re gone while he pulls the first aid kit out of the bus for just in case.

Streams of cars are passing him by, some stragglers helping others, and it’s moving fluidly enough that he can guess emergency crews are on the other end, flagging traffic to get the evacuation moving. He’s caught by the arm a few times, but just puts the usual amount of authority to make people thinks he’s in charge of something before he takes off to the next cry for help.

Climbing over a ten car pile-up is a tricky enough business with things pretty much holy unstable, Batman.

He slices his damn hand open on a broken window, loses his grip for a breathless, heart-pounding second. On the way down, he manages to tape gauze over the bleeder and see that his phone—

The screen is cracked to all hell.

Fuck. He can’t even call for a very nice pick-up right about now.

The bridge gives an abrupt groan, a sound reverberating down his spine, making the oh shit feeling swell in his gut, the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, and every instinct in his body screaming to run. He tries to move (but there’s nowhere to go). The hard twang echoes when a few of the supporting cables lining the bridge snap, iron bending dangerously, concrete on either side starting to crumble and break.

He can’t throw himself out of the way fast enough, gets knocked off his feet, slams into crumbling debris while more falls around and on top him. A hard chunk pins him, agonizing, terrifying. His leg is wedged by iron, sharp, biting pain from his calf and the torn, jagged bicep trying to lever enough strength to shift something to free him without bringing more down on him. With other frightened screams and groans of almost giving up happening further down the bridge, he doesn’t have time for a whole lot of this bullshit.

He calculates fast and furious, gauging the stability of the pile he’s under and starts kicking at the concrete with his other foot viciously. Sweat and blood makes his gloves slippery, makes him pant with a strike of panic while he pushes harder against the shit blocking out the light.

Tim has to shake himself, yell at the stupid fucking debris (Damian will never let him live it down if this is how he dies. Seriously). One more hard kick and a piece crumbles enough to get his damn calf through, gives him the leverage to shove the piece at his back away, climb up and out, to cough and gasp in a breath of dirty Gotham air.

There’s a few sparse people still running. One stops long enough to help him out, pulling him quickly with both arms locked around Tim’s upper chest. “It’s going to collapse! You’ve got to get out of here!”

“I have to see if there’s anyone else. Get going!” Tim gives him a shove and takes a long moment to assess. He still has time. Dammit, he still has time. So he takes off again, making his leg work, holding the bag to his side, unconsciously fishing out a new pair of gloves.

He hits the halfway point where the bridge bisects, going toward Arkham or toward Somerset, glad he can’t see anyone in the long, damaged span of twisted, falling iron and crumbling supports.

Still, he’s limping, dropping some random blood spots from his shredded calf while he checks abandoned cars and piles of debris for a last, frantic attempt. Even with the leg as it is, he can start back now and make it in less than fifteen minutes, maybe even get one or two more that might have been missed. He can still try, dammit—

But as luck would have it, his calculations are off, and he runs out of time.

His heart takes an abrupt journey to the back of his throat when the heavy twang from earlier echoes again. Faster, heavier as the support cables give way in rapid succession. The tension finally enough to start the unavoidable collapse. Helpless, he’s alone for a far as he can see, watching the cables snap, each one flipping sharply out of control because of the tension, slamming into remaining cars and breaking up more concrete. The echo makes a roll of dread hit him stomach, the things snapping all the way back to main Gotham and the inevitable destruction ensues as sections of the bridge start to crumble at the lack of support. A large section twenty feet in front of him gives a sick, metallic scream before the whole damn thing drops a foot down, and the loud snap catches cottony as all he can do is watch the section break apart and drop down into the ocean.

Can’t go that way.

Swallowing down his thundering pulse, his hearing goes wonky even before he’s spinning, throwing up his arms when the progression keeps going, snapping cables right past him. He’s not fast enough to dodge a mess of concrete from a flying cable, taking the heavy hits to his back, trying to keep his feet under him.

The horror movie moment when he looks over his shoulder and sees the rest of the bridge for the next mile finally give way, the concrete and supports under the thing cracking, crumbling, falling into the ocean (no way for the Coast Guard to make it anywhere near here), puts enough fear that he can keep his feet under him. The only way to go is toward Arkham (the horrible irony, being safe at the asylum known to house crazies of all flavors), and he makes himself run. He has to try staying ahead of the crumbling concrete quickly gaining on him. And even with the pain in his calf, the agony in his back, the burn in his lungs and thighs, the way his eyes are getting wet, making the way blurry and unfocused, even if it is so pathetically, sadly useless because there’s no way he’s going to outrun this.

He’s going down in the murky Atlantic, buried under cars and shopping bags with milk and eggs, under girders and cables and concrete. He’s going to be down there with anyone else that didn’t make it off, and he couldn’t even say goodbye to Dick or Jay or Steph or Ives because his goddamn phone is busted. He couldn’t say he is so fucking sorry about this. That no matter what, he loves them. They are his family, all he has in the world, and they are the best. And if he could only—

There isn’t time now, and the realization, the fucking agony of it strikes him as the ground under him gives a sick lurch, slamming down abruptly on the weakening lower support beams, giving him some kind of false hope while at the same time, bringing him to his knees.  

He holds his breath, shaking, bent over, eyes wet, and just please, please.

He doesn’t want to leave them.

A drop of blood from his cut cheek hits the pavement and groaning metal tells him it’s so far past too late. Gravity falls out from under him as the supports under this section of the bridge finally give way. The immediate weightlessness makes his stomach lurch sharply and fear strikes in his spine, getting him on his feet for the last-ditch attempt from his brain pan has him leaping up on a bumper, breaking the windshield in his mad dash without enough breath to really make it.

But again, he’s got nowhere left to go when the world falls out from under him, and his heart gives a hard, painful beat.

His brain blanks out when he’s hanging suspended in mid-air for terrifyingly still moments caught in time, and everything is in a crazy kind of slow motion; the sounds of the world around and under him are muted and cottony, only his panting breaths echoing in his ears. The only thing he can see is Dick’s face relaxed in sleep, and Jay’s eyes, so blue, when he’s laughing—

The choking sob makes it up out of his throat, spilling out instead of I love you, I love you and I’m sorry.

Because he is. Fuck, he is.

Somewhere along the way, somewhere between a dying vigilante on his fire escape and now, he’d come to believe in them wholeheartedly. Knew they’d never abandon him, never hurt him, never die on him even if they risked their lives every night. He believed in their strength and their convictions, believed they would fight through Hell itself to make it back to him.

They would never leave him the last one left standing.

(And how fucking ironic is it that he’s the one going to leave them? The Joker would really get a kick out of it.)

His chest aches with the revelation (or the fact he literally can’t get enough air), and God, he only wanted to a few minutes, a few seconds even, just so they would know, so he could just tell them—

(Even though they were both his Robins, he’s in love with Jason and Dick, not Robin, not Red Hood, not Nightwing...and now they’ll never know. It’s too fucking late.)

Everything.

The world comes back abruptly when the weight of his body takes over and he starts to drop, his medical bag caught up at his side.

Already grieving for them, for his only family, Tim closes his eyes while the sounds of cars and debris, of shit breaking and falling, of the fucking world ending in the depths of the ocean, all of it infiltrate, give him a sense of how fast it’s going to be over. There’s always a chance, always a plan, but with his leg torn up, he won’t be able to swim with enough strength to get back to the surface before his air runs out, taking into account he doesn’t get crushed by the pressure and debris already down there—

(But...but at least, his brain does him a solid in the seconds before he’s going to die, just a little reminder that he should be grateful he’s had them, to think about all of them, and all the good times, all the love and laughter, all the things they gave him with hearts open. At least....at least he had that much.)

And he’s not sure if his eyes are wet because he’s crying or because of the air, but the pain, the fear, the sensation of falling, it’s Death opening up its’ great maw, ready to chew him up and spit out his slightly damaged soul.

(I love you. I’ve never had anyone to love like this. I’ve never wanted to love like this, but now that I have, you two are all I never knew I needed.)

He hopes they don’t mourn, he hopes they keep moving, he hopes they take care of each other. He hopes they remember him without remorse or regret. He hopes he doesn’t make some imaginary list of things they never finished.

He hopes they know without hearing the words one last time.

(And fuck, now that is him crying, isn’t it?)

The rapid blast, a sonic boom, hits his senses, cutting through the thousand things in his head, even with the air rushing around him dampen everything.

Tim doesn’t open his eyes until the last second (because who really wants his last sight to be of his family), gasping in hard enough to be fucking painful because it’s like he’s a nine-year-old kid again, standing down in alleys or crouched on roof tops clutching his camera. It’s the same awe and amazement because at this very second, he’s watching the Dark Knight in all his fearsome power fly.

The silhouette has dropped out of the dark shadow against the sun, thrown himself out of the plane without a thought, the tracking signal bringing him right here where he feared the young doctor would be in the middle of the mass crisis.  

(He didn’t need Dick’s panicking tone to get his ass in gear because Tim’s signal wasn’t moving off the bridge by the time the first sections broke apart.)

Tim’s lungs scream for air he can’t seem to get, his eyes going wide as the Batman swoops down a flawless arch, arms tight at his sides to be even more aerodynamic and forces the speed of the fall, determined Tim isn’t going to hit the damn water.  (Hold on, Tim. Hold on.)

He’d yell if he could, tell B it’s too close, there’s no way he could pull up in time, to save himself. (Gotham would always need saved, would always need him.) But no words can escape and his eyes are blurry enough that the dark shadow is fuzzy, the whiteouts gone for electric blue eyes. He can’t even gasp as the Batman reaches him mid-death drop, catches him with an arm that has to be made of iron.

The abrupt change in direction almost makes him vomit, only strength of will keeping him from painting the vigilante’s back with stomach juice.

Even though his brain pan is fried, he gets handfuls of leather and Kevlar, fists tight his shaky hands into the cape while he tries to get his air back and hides himself, huddled against all that strength.

He might have been more terrified (since, you know, imminent death) than he let on because he has no clue how they’re just suddenly in a plane, sitting his shaky ass down on one of the seats in the back while B is kneeling down with his leg in both gloved hands. B must have taken his satchel off, laid it down somewhere, and the arm of his scrubs is torn open to the bleeder on his bicep.

His mouth opens, closes wordlessly because he’s trying so hard to say it, “thank-you for coming for me.”

“Calm down,” is a little less the night than in his usual dealings with the Batman, “you’re going into shock.” And B doesn’t wince for the obvious damage done to Tim’s leg, but it’s a close thing. Instead, he is very relieved he’s not going to have to be the one to tell his sons their significant other met his end at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.

The Batman’s (Bruce’s) voice gives him a little bit of air back, just enough to wheeze, “th-thanks...for the save.”

Still, he’s blinking rapidly, shaking too much, hitting the wrong side of adrenaline and fear, wrapping his arms around himself to try and stop it.

“The Coast Guard is already on site, taking care of people. So far, the fatality numbers are incredibly low for an incident of this magnitude. I’m sure you played a hell of a part in that.”

But Tim’s still on the mindblown side of things, woozy and light-headed, still not feeling the real owfuck of the sitch yet to say much. The leg of his scrubs is finally just ripped away so they can both look at the raw hamburger he’d been trying to run with. “Hn. The boys aren’t going to be happy about this, Tim.”

“I…” The boys. Oh God, he’s going to see Dick and Jay and flip the utter fuck out. “I-It’s-it’s okay.”

Inside the cowl, B arches a brow (oddly enough, that’s what Robin might say. Any of them.) “That’s the adrenaline talking. You’ll feel it soon enough.” B turns just slightly, “Bat Computer. Alert Agent A. We need prep for an incoming.”

He gets a little less fuzzy as the whole alive thing sinks in. So, time to make his brain switch gears from perpetual screaming to oh, who’s the bad guy of the week again?

“Anniversary,” he tells the kneeling vigilante, “B, it’s the anniversary.”

The cowl pauses in looking over his injured leg and slowly moves up until those eyes are on him, gears turning.

“Sal Maroni’s trial was ten years ago today.” His voice is hoarse, but dammit, he’s right on this one, leans forward enough to grip the dangerous gauntlets in one shaking hand. “It’s...it’s too good for Harvey Dent to pass up. He had the bridge set with charges, and there’s another one. He’s going to set a second one because that’s how he works with his shitty traps, and you have to find it, B. You have to...”

And it’s a crazy thing, seeing the Batman smile.

“Dick told me you were good,” is a calmer voice, one laced with amusement. “I contacted Gordon hours ago when I suspected Two-Face would have something devastating on the roster for tonight. Police crews have been combing the city and all his old hideouts while I’ve been researching in the Cave. He only sent the clue to GCPD an hour ago, and if Dick hadn’t been on shift, I wouldn’t have gotten it in time to stop the Robinson Bridge from blowing up already.”

Tim blinks, leaning down almost in B’s face, staring into those eyes while his brain catches up.

No other hurt civilians. Damn...the day is starting to look up. Well, you know, World’s Greatest Detective, of course he would have figured it out in time.

“O...Oh.”

B presses his shoulder, casual strength making him sink back into the chair.

“Again, good work, Tim... I’m not going to stop being surprised about your “hobbies,” am I?”

“I’ll try to keep you riveted.” But he’s sinking down with things like blood loss, trauma, and utter fucking relief, tongue getting too thick in his mouth to be especially witty.

“Do that. It’s a nice departure from the normal psychos I deal with. And by the way, don’t move. We’re going to do a full assessment once we land. I’m sure Alfred is already wearing a path in my Cave.”

Tim blinks, tries to nod but the motion is a little jerky and uncoordinated. Conversation apparently over because the Doctor is sinking deeper into shock and has lost enough blood (for a civilian) that the vigilante is concerned, B stands up and fishes a blanket out of a storage compartment, wraps it around Tim’s shaking form.

“Just relax and try to stay awake. We’ll be home soon.” And the cape swishes with a sigh of sound, being easy while the plane rumbles under his ass.

(He probably imagines a gloved hand resting on the top of his head before B strides back to the controls and takes the plane off autopilot. Not that it matters because his brain is pleasantly all about white noise when he starts to crash from the adrenaline overdose.)

And since he’s very, very safe in the plane, by himself while B’s back is turned, he fades in and out, holding the blanket to his chest tightly, his eyes filling up and clearing out at odd intervals. He’s about forty percent with it, drifting in and out with calculations and diagnosis from the bridge skimming over his thoughts, taking completely by surprise when the cockpit is invaded by whirling tornados of concerned boyfriends.

(His heart picks up, and Tim tries to shake off lethargy and strain because they’re both so fucking beautiful right now.)

“Tim! Timmy!!” Dick looks haggard, his eyes astoundingly blue.

Jay is right on his ass, jaw tight with obvious worry, “JesusfuckingChrist, Sugar.”

Dick is still in his uniform, tilting Tim’s face up to look in his dazed eyes with such utter relief he shakes a little with it, those steady hands weak for just a moment in time (I love you. God, I love you). Jay leans in around that hand and presses a fast, hard kiss to the top of his head, and goes for the blanket, knows he’s looking for something. He gets jackpot when the scrubs beneath are blood-stained, torn and dirty, making Jay’s heart beat just a little faster.

“B, what the fuck? Couldn’t cha at least bandage our boy up a lil bit?!” He bites it out sharper than intended, but his boy ain’t looking good, and the last images O managed to get off the bridge cameras as they went down is the mound of debris falling right on top a kid in scrubs. He and Dick had only been reined in by Dami and Alfred with appropriate threats of tying them down should they even try it. (He can take Demon, but Alf? Nope. That’s a fight he’s always gonna lose.)

“We weren’t far.” B defends lightly, pushing his cowl off and kneeling by Tim’s feet again, unabashedly gripping an ankle to stretch the leg out of the blanket so the owfuck can air out. “I also wanted Alfred to look at this before I did anything.”

“Oh my God, that’s a lot of blood.” Dick is now even more concerned, latching on tight and pressing him close.

“Damn right it is.” Jay and B exchange the look.

“It’s okay,” he mumbles against Dick’s hand on his jaw, staring dazedly up, eyes sluggishly sliding to Jay. “I’m okay.” Because, dammit, looking at them, being absurdly fucking grateful for this, for them, everything is really just…

Fine.

“Yeah, Timmy, just fine. Right here with us, ain’t cha?” Jay crouches down, and he’s careful, easy about it when he takes a wrist and gently unwinds the dirty, frayed gauze to the nice slice taken out of his hand.

“Fuck.” Because that ain’t good. Timmy’s a surgeon, lives by his damn hands. “We need ta getcha bandaged up. Let Alf gedda lookit that leg.”  Jay shoos Dick back so he can wind both arms around their civilian sweetie and lift him, blanket and all while B holds the leg up and stable, walking back without a hitch with the doctor between them.

And laying there in Jason’s arms, it gives Tim plenty of time to stare up at his profile, trace the line of jaw and the crooked line of nose with his eyes and be utterly grateful. So, so grateful.

(I’ll never deserve you, but I’ll never stop trying either.)

Alfred and Damian are monitoring the clean-up from the bridge, leaving the live footage as Jay and B ease Tim down to the medical gurney. It’s second nature to press his mouth to the top of the doctor’s head while B just smirks to himself and lets Dick slide around them to be on Tim’s other side.

Jason steps away to scrub and glove fast while Dick stays holding on a little too desperately and Alfred begins preliminaries. Dami does his usual, “tt,” and goes back to monitor the sitch (but the little asshole always looks back when he thinks they don’t know any better.)

Once B is satisfied Timmy is in good hands, he starts up with the search for Harvey himself and tracks the police reports Dick happened to copy while they were hot off the printer.

Jay is absurdly careful, even by Alfred’s standards as he stitches the slice in that precise hand and fervently hopes he’s not doing more damage.

Slightly slurry, tired with strain now that the adrenaline and other stimulants in his system have worn off (chemicals balancing, he thinks slowly, and added opioids because it took a bridge collapsing to admit he was completely in love with these two. Fuck, is he really that dense?), he answers Dick’s careful questions as well as he can, rambles on about the car pile-up, the people he hoped were able to get help, the sound of the cables snapping (that’s a sound he’s never going to forget), the new iPhone he is going to get. To try staying out of the way without going too far, Dick lays his head beside Tim’s on the pillow and listens, squeezes his hand at the hard parts.

He vaguely remembers, “need...need to know if my EMTs...made it.”

“B is looking into it. We’ll have an update soon, okay? Just relax, baby.” It’s something soft and sweet to his muddled brain (Alfred...must have given him something before starting on his leg. It’s a distant, dull thing.)

“I should...I should go to the hospital—”

Jay pauses in finishing up with his bicep, raises a gloved finger to wag close to his face, “don’t cha even try it, pal. Steph already said they got the sitch under control.”

“Nu-uh, Timmy. You can’t even stand right now, so you’re going about as far as the main floor.”

“But…”

There’s no use in trying to argue. He’s one against four (and dammit, five because Damian is standing right by Dick’s hip, arms crossed over his chest and glaring at him for upsetting Grayson. Dammit, Drake, he’s a Robin that needs Peace and Quiet. Shut these fools up and give in.) Still, he says he can walk, really it’s fine, but Dick gives no shits getting to be the Bat carrying him this time, talking low and soothing while taking him upstairs in the Manor and pretty much deposits him in the utterly comfortable sitting room on the First Floor.  

There are blankets and food, intermittent sleep between episodes of some reality show, and one or the other of his significant others close while the sedatives and antibiotics run their course in the first few hours post-injury hours.

Night must be falling because at some point, they’re talking about Two-Face and the second stage of his dastardly plan.

Later, he’ll vaguely remember his leg and other bandages taken off, being held in warm water while the dirt and dried blood is washed off with careful, patient hands (someone is holding his leg out of the bathtub and being so absurdly gentle). Hands in his hair to get the worst out, but the sedatives and painkillers make him useless to do much more than lay there and let it happen.

Time skips and he wakes up in the middle of a massive bed, half-aware enough to know his leg is on fire and just, fuck it all hurts.

There’s cameras apparently everywhere because Alfred and Jason are through the door before he even makes it to the edge of the bed. He gets one vigilante boyfriend crawling in with him to keep him down, pills to swallow and tucked back in (after the butler quickly assesses under the bandages).

Jay talks low and soothing against his temple, while the pain eases and things are just… good. So, so good.

**

A few days later, Tim Drake is laid up on his couch with his healing leg wrapped up and elevated on a few pillows (even though the thing is really much better, Alfred, you don’t have to call for an update every day anymore. It’s...it’s really thoughtful though). Since his significant others have that kind of humor, Scrubs is playing on the television and a scattering of things are literally everywhere. A laptop is open on the floor with half a dissertation on the effects of Joker venom on cellular growth, a copy of Catcher in the Rye is stuffed between the cushions, a knitting project pokes him from a corner in odd moments, a manila file folder with notes from the recent bout of tainted heroin is dangling just oh so enticingly on the stand closest to him (dammit, Dick. Touché).

Tim gives it ten minutes after his significant others leave for patrol (finally) before he looks around his empty living room with narrowed eyes and gingerly pulls his foot down off the cushions and plants it on the floor for literally the first time in a week.

(The first three days of being carried—even by Damian, believe it or not—were actually kind of nice. By day six, however, the novelty had worn very, very thin.)

So he might be grinning a little to himself since he sounded completely sincere when he promised Jay he was not going to get up while they were on patrol, that he had everything he could possibly want right here, and they had to get going because Gotham needed them. He made sure to catch the shadows falling from his fire escape before he even turned in his seat, gave it an extra few minutes for, you know, just in case.

So he’s got a hand on the arm of the couch, ready to shove himself to his feet and just go into his kitchen to make a damn cup of coffee himself thank-you very fucking much, ready to put weight on the injury.

(Really. He should have known better.)

The abrupt, jarring slam followed by the mini-tornado doesn’t even give him a chance.

The move is too fast for him to counter, but he’s just suddenly held high up against a broad chest, staring up in the blue eyes of Superboy, noting the obvious displeasure by his frown and drawn brows.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” is more deadpan than he imagined, which just makes Superboy frown that much harder.

“Yo! Doc Drake!” Kid Flash is right there, holding a hand out for a serious high-five. “Totally nice digs, man. You? Are so obviously in the mode.”

The annoyed noise comes all the way up from his toes because this? This is just not even necessary.

“I can’t believe they’re wasting your time with this,” Tim groans aloud, doing such an epic facepalm the sound echoes. “It was just...a collapsing bridge, okay? I’m really fine.”

But when he looks up, really looks, something is just off because—

Superboy is in jeans and a plaid shirt, sporting a pair of wire-framed glasses. Kid Flash has no mask or body suit, but huge sneaker and—

They’re not in the masks.

He sucks in an abrupt breath and almost chokes.

“Oh yeah,” Superboy looks at KF all nonchalant. Just, you know, NBD man, here’s our secret idents.

“It’s cool.” KF shoos the shock away, “Dick said you were totally on the level, so we’re good showing you the real faces, you dig?”

“I...Are...are you sure you’re okay with this?” He can’t help but ask, looking from one to the other.

The super clone just shifts his weight to hold him up by one arm and stick the other by his chest, “Conner Kent.”

Dumbly, he shakes the hand, staring up at the blue eyes crinkling with mirth.

“Bart Allen. Time traveler extraordinaire.” Bart completely takes the initiative and shakes his hand super-fast.

“Ah, yeah, wow...this is- this is kick ass. Welcome to my humble abode. Make yourselves comfortable.”

Both Titans give him wide grins and Conner turns to gently put him back down on the couch. Bart fluffs the pillows before his legs goes right back where it was before.

“I’m going to make some coffee,” he hedges, “you know, my leg is just stellar, and I should start putting weight on it—”

“Dick and Jason would probably kill us in horrible ways if we let you do that,” Conner shrugs easily, “so it’s okay, I’ll make you some coffee.”

The loud gasp by his television makes both of them crane around to see Bart going through his X-Box One games with huge eyes.

“I want to play this one right now,” the speedster bellows, swinging Arkham Knights around in one hand.

His inner nerd sparked, Tim grins a little viciously, “I already beat it, so all the cheats are unlocked.”

“Holy shit, man! I totally call Batman!”

“I want Harley Quinn,” Conner calls on his way to the kitchen, “if I’m going to watch someone run for an hour, I want it to be someone with a sweet ass.”

“Totally feel that,” Bart nods while he sets up the game. “How about you, Tim?”

“Robin,” he says quietly, “I’m usually Robin.”

He gives them both a hundred vigilante points because neither of them say a word.

[fainthefrog]

Black and Gold - Madohomu Coffee Shop AU

Words:  2298

Also on Ao3

Summary: 

Every day, Homura Akemi comes in, orders the blackest coffee, and does next to nothing but stare at the girl behind the counter. And every day, Madoka Kaname serves her, staring back whenever she gets the chance. Finally, the two work up the courage to finally face one another. But will it be all they dreamed it to be?

If Madoka didn’t know better, she’d say time was repeating itself. Day in and day out, the same thing seemed to happen. That girl would come in, order the blackest coffee possible, then sit in the corner for a few hours, doing nothing in particular. Occasionally Madoka thought she was looking over at her, but every time she tried to check, she was suddenly facing away.

By not it was becoming somewhat of a staple of her day at work. At one o clock, she’d arrive, order coffee as black as obsidian, then sit down in her corner. It had become somewhat of a game for Madoka, to try and spot if she did anything differently. If she maybe brought something with her, added sugar to her coffee, slightly experimented with her order, anything that fell out of her routine. And yet there was nothing, even her outfits were irritatingly similar.

She was getting fed up of it, drastic measures had to be taken. Well, if simply talking to a customer could be seen as drastic measures. Although over the last few days, her attempts had failed spectacularly, she didn’t manage to get a single word out. The girl had an intimidating presence about her. However that was only a small part of the problem for Madoka. The main issue was just how attractive she was. Madoka could hardly look at her without getting blushy and flustered. She was already ogling her from afar, admiring and studying every part of her, trying to figure out just what made her so appealing. So meeting her up close, seeing in terrifying detail the perfectly black hair, with colour that matched an eerily empty night sky, her contradictory purple eyes, somehow conveying both anger and sadness hidden behind a serene calm, simpler things too, like how she carried herself so gracefully, and the simple fact that she was taller than Madoka. Ultimately, she was perfect, everything she could ever want.

Unfortunately, in the face of such perfection, Madoka was useless.

Homura hadn’t slept for the last three days, the only thing keeping her awake was constantly drinking the blackest, most caffeine filled coffee she could find. She was overdue on several pieces of college work, her car needed repairs and she still owed two months of rent. The only thing making it okay was the possibility that eventually, if she could just work up the courage, she could talk to the cute pink haired girl behind the counter. She had made a few attempts over the last few days, but all she ended up saying was her usual order a little too forcefully.

She had first noticed her on campus at college, hanging around Sayaka Miki, a girl she only tolerated because her friend Kyouko was dating her. Despite how easy it could’ve been to just talk to her through their mutual friends, she ended up taking the infinitely more difficult route. Observing from afar and having to talk to her in private, without any social support to speak of.

It certainly wasn’t one of her smartest decisions, but it was one she was going to stick to.

Slowly and gradually, she made her way across the room, she had already ordered her coffee, so she couldn’t chicken out and just ask for a coffee. This time, she would say something, she had to.

“Excuse me-” Homura began.

“H-hello” Madoka said, cutting her off completely.

“N-no, you start.” they said all but simultaneously. Following that, there was utter silence. Awkwardness haunting the air between them. Both of them figured now was a good opportunity to look at the other, to gauge their reaction and figure out who should talk first.

They ended up checking eachother out instead, zoning out and focusing intently on one another, their mutual trance only being broken by an employee accidentally nudging Homura.

“I-I’m Homo-” she cut herself off, her eyes widening and her face reddening. “Oh my god, kill me.” she thought, “Just end me right now”. She took a second to recompose herself, her eyes closed, not wanting to face Madoka’s reaction. Unexpectedly, despite her colossal blunder, Madoka remained the same, hardly reacting to what she had said, just smiling at her, possibly a bit wider than before. “Akemi Homura. I’ve seen you around at college, what’s your name?”

“Madoka!” she said overly enthusiastically. “It’s nice to meet you.” she grinned, contrasting the internal guilt she was feeling. Homura had seen her before, but she had absolutely no idea who she was, aside from the extremely pretty girl who sat in the corner of the cafe and drank ungodly dark coffee.

The corner of her lips curved, it wasn’t a big smile, but it was one. Madoka was shocked she managed to get her to smile already, she figured it would have taken a while. “It’s nice to meet you too, Madoka.” she replied tersely, repeating her name simply because she enjoyed the sound of it.

“So uh, why do you always order that same coffee?” she asked, looking up at Homura curiously. There was a good few inches of difference between them.

Usually Homura wouldn’t open up to a stranger, but the adorable look Madoka was giving her, with wide pinkish eyes and her lips slightly pouted. It was impossible to resist. “To keep me awake.” she said bluntly, before elaborating further. “I’ve been having some trouble sleeping.” she admitted, “So I just don’t bother and stay awake all day.”

Homura fell silent, examining a few spots on the floor before finally adding an awkward laugh and looking back at Madoka.

“Have you ever tried chamomile tea?” she asked politely, her face one of smiling concern. “It’s good for sleep.” “Oh uh, no.” Homura responded, finding herself staring at Madoka once again, she couldn’t pull her gaze away from the pure and caring girl.

“Here, I’ll make you some.” she said, smiling. Quickly checking around for her boss before taking the tea. She took great care in preparing it, measuring out the water, milk, honey, every ingredient she could, precisely. She even counted the minutes under her breath as she let the tea steep. Homura merely sat back, watching and admiring as she worked.

“There!” Madoka announced, unveiling the finished tea. It was a bright, pretty, goldish colour. Bright enough to catch anyone’s eye, but subdued enough to not be garish. It caught the light, seeming to shimmer as it did. “Try it!”

“How much will it cost?” Homura asked, holding the cup up to her mouth. It didn’t smell great, but she would try it, for Madoka’s sake.

“It’s free.” she replied, eagrely eyeing the tea, excited for her reaction to it.

She sipped it, it was sweet and flavourful, a stark contrast to the black coffee she had been drinking, which only tasted of bitterness and suffering. As she pulled the tea away from her mouth and examined it more, she realised how different in appearance it was too. It was so transparent and colourful, unlike the opaque, bleak drink she was accustomed to.

“That’s really good.” she commented. “But I have to ask, just how much honey is in this?” she stirred it slightly, there was no trace of it, but it was clear she had added far more than what was reasonable.

“Not a lot.” she lied, deciding not to acknowledge that she had added far, far too much.

“Hm, interesting.” she noted, sipping the tea more. “Can I have another. Please?” she requested, having already downed the entire cup.

“Oh, sure. Just give me some time.” Madoka said, happily returning to her work.

A devilish plan formed in Homura’s mind, as Madoka was focusing, she walked away, returning to her seat and waiting. If all went according to plan, Madoka would come over, she would convince her to sit down, and from there, they would talk more. What about? She had no idea, she hadn’t planned far enough.

After a minute or two, her plan began falling into place. Madoka emerged from her tea making trance, spotted her back at her seat and walked over. “Care to take a seat, Madoka-San?” she asked, smiling confidently, it almost looked wrong on her, from her earlier awkwardness.

“Yeah, I would.” she returned, sitting across from her and placing the tea in front of her. “Is the tea helping? I know it tasted good, but do you feel any sleepier?”

“Hm, no. Maybe talking to someone could help soothe me to sleep.” she hinted, completely unsubtly. Although she hardly did anything, she still mentally patted herself on the back for flawlessly executing her plan.

Of course Madoka saw right through her, but she didn’t mind. She was just happy she could talk to her. “So, Homura-Chan. You said you go to my college?” she inquired, earning a nod from the black haired girl. “What do you study?”

“History.” she stated, her non talkative nature coming through in her quick, blunt answer.

“Wow, that’s cool!” Madoka’s eyes lit up with curiousity. She wasn’t usually very interested in history, but getting Homura to open up about something she liked intrigued her. “Can you tell me about it?”

“Well, currently we’re learning about the crusades.” she began, her tone picking up slightly, denoting her interest in the topic. “It’s so far in the past, which is what makes it intriguing. Everything was so different.” Madoka beamed, enjoying herself greatly as she listened to Homura speak. “It's kind of weird though, I went to a Christian school when I was younger, so it's really unusual, comparing what I learned back then to the history of the religion.”

In truth, a lot of what she had said went completely over Madoka’s head, she knew next to nothing about the crusades, so she couldn’t contribute to the conversation in any meaningful way. To counteract this, she decided to ask a more general question. “Are you Christian, Homura-Chan?”

She snickered at the thought of it, her Christian upbringing seemed so ridiculous to her now. There was so little connection between her and her past self, they were essentially two different people. “No, definitely not.” she said.

“I see.” Madoka grinned internally, that combined with her earlier blunder gave her hope. Although she didn’t know for certain, there was a possibility that she was gay, and Madoka was going to cling to it as much as possible. “Is college what’s stopping you from sleeping?” the question felt somewhat awkward and out of nowhere, but continuing the history talk would’ve just been one sided. As much as she would enjoy hearing her rant about her interests, her current mission was to get her interested in her.

Unbeknownst to Madoka, Homura was already immensely interested in her. The extra effort was utterly unnecessary. “Partially.” she answered.

“Partially? What else is there?” she tapped the desk lightly, watching Homura’s tea intently, she wondered if it was affecting her yet.

Homura yawned, putting an end to her pondering immediately. “Hm, there’s a lot.” she mused, not caring to elaborate. Frankly she didn’t want to talk about it, she wasn’t one to open up very much, even to a girl as cute as Madoka.

“Oh?” she pressed, curiously. Earning no response from Homura, who simply drank her tea. With a hum, she concluded that that line of questioning was done for. She struggled to think of a new conversation topic, her mouth awkwardly hanging open as she lost herself in thought.

Her thinking was cut short by a sudden reminder that she had a job she was supposed to be doing. Her co-worker calling to her. “Kaname-San, get back here! Your break’s over!”

“Ah!” she gasped, rapidly glancing between her co-worker and Homura. “I’ve gotta go, I’m sorry. I’ll talk to you again!” she waved, giggling to herself as she noticed how Homura’s eyelids began to drift shut. The tea had worked extremely well.

“Y-yeah, see you.” Homura managed, rubbing her eyes and blinking hard in an attempt to stave off sleep a little longer.

She failed miserably. Madoka noticed her head gradually droop, until she finally fell into a deep, deep sleep. With a smile, Madoka returned to her work, only getting distracted by Homura’s sleeping face a few times.

“Hey Homura-Chan, wake up.” Madoka prodded at her gently, bringing her softly and amicably out of her sleep. “The shop’s closing.”

Homura rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, looking her over. Her work clothes were gone, replaced by a grey coat that was a little too big for her, despite the size difference, she pulled it off well, the pink of her hair and the dull colour of her coat combining for a pleasant contrast. “Right.” Homura mumbled, rising to her feet and making her way towards the door.

“Hey, wait! I have something for you!” Madoka cried, expecting the tired girl to leave without a goodbye. “Here!” she placed a thermos in her hands, smiling warmly. “There’s more tea in there, it should help you sleep.”

She stared down at the thermos, a characteristic, small look of happiness forming on her face. “Thank you, Madoka.” she said, looking up at the girl. “Could I walk you home?” she looked at her expectantly, wanting not only to pay her back for her kindness, but also to spend some more time with her.

“I’d like that Homura-Chan.” she smiled, opening the door and holding it open for her. Together, they left the shop, walking away through the evening, the world dimming around them. They remained in utter silence for a short while, processing and appreciating the presence of the other. Just as Homura took a swig of her drink, Madoka piped up. “Hey, uh. Homura-Chan. Are you gay?”

Homura nearly choked on her tea.

[flusteredkeith]

[voltron]: it’s quiet out here

Title: it’s quiet out here

Read it on [AO3] Words: 1678

Summary: In which Allura is pleasantly surprised to see Keith's calmer side.

(A little, short speculative fic about what Keith/Allura might’ve been up to when they were stuck in the pod during The Ark of Taujeer.)

Probably going to make a series out of this called Peas in a Pod :@) stay tuned~

Also: special thanks to my gorgeous friend @quarrely for reading it over :D

Calm. Still. Peaceful.

The serene state of the world outside their pod is the exact opposite of the chaotic panic currently residing inside of her. Allura’s not sure how long they’ve been flying, but now that the adrenaline from their impulsive decision has faded away, peace is about the farthest thing from her mind. What if the team wakes up thinking they deserted them? What if there’s an attack on the castle? Or worse, what if Zarkon finds the castle despite their efforts and they are unable to make it back in time to form Voltron? What if—

She stops herself and takes a deep breath. They’re away from the castle for completely valid reasons, she reminds herself. The rest of the team should be safer without them.

Wondering whether Keith is feeling just as concerned as she is, she glances over at him to try and gauge his emotional state of being—they’re in this together after all. Much to her confusion though, aside from “extremely focused,” she can’t get a closer reading. His face remains stoic and impassive, seemingly unaffected by any bouts of self-doubt or second guesses. It’s really quite impressive.

She wonders how he can stay so quiet this entire time.

“Do you think this is far enough?” Allura asks, starting to feel antsy and uncomfortable with the silence. Straightening up in her seat, she checks the dashboard to see how many doboshes have passed since they left.

Keith shrugs. “I’m just driving.”

“Okay,” she says before falling silent again. Folding her arms, she sits back and allows a few more doboshes to tick by. Debris flies by in the window display before them; her heart feels just as cluttered. Although she knows they’re doing this for the benefit of the team, the inevitable shock and anger when the rest of them wake up still nibbles at the pit of her stomach. Crossing her legs, she leans against the wall and concentrates hard on preventing her fingers from nervously drumming. It’s a terrible habit and she doesn’t want Keith to notice or worry.

“What's wrong?” he asks after one quick side glance at her.

“What do you mean?” she replies a little too quickly. As Keith continues to fly, he spares her one more look before returning his gaze to the road ahead.

“I dunno,” he says. “You seem tense.”

As Allura studies him now with a curious expression, it suddenly dawns on her that she’s never spent more than five minutes alone with Keith before. She knows the boy is smart, of course, but she hadn’t expected him to be quite so observant.

“I’m just… having some doubts,” she finally answers. “I suppose we are doing the right thing, leaving the castle, aren't we?”

“You were all ready to leave when you found me,” he says, keeping his eyes facing forward. “You should’ve stayed if you had doubts.”

“No, you misunderstand me,” she says, shaking her head. “I wanted to leave. I just… my mind tends to second guess itself from time to time, even as I’m in the midst of action. Mostly, I'm just worried what the others might think or feel about it. What if something happens to them?”

“The whole point is to test if Zarkon will find them or us first, isn't it?” Keith reasons. “So it doesn’t matter what they think. If something happens, we’ll figure it out.”

“I suppose,” Allura mutters. “I just hope they won’t be too angry when they find out.”

“It’s gonna be fine,” he assures, casting her a small smile. “They’ll live. Well. Shiro is going to kill us—that is for damn sure.”

Allura snorts. She stops at the sight of Keith’s surprised face and clears her throat. “Sorry. I—I just imagined it. His face, I mean.”

Keith blinks and continues to stare at her before his face cracks into a smirk.

“‘What were you guys thinking?’” he scolds in an accurate imitation of Shiro’s voice. “‘We’re supposed to be a team!’”

“Bless him,” Allura laughs, feeling the tightness in her chest beginning to unravel. She lets out an amused gasp at her next thought: “Oh, and Lance. He’s probably going to be so jealous.”

“Oh man, I hadn't even thought of that,” Keith grins. “He’s going to have a field day.”

“But Hunk will understand,” she says without a doubt. “He’ll know we had to do what we had to do.”

“Pidge will, too,” he says confidently. “She'll explain it to them scientifically. Probably with big words that Lance will be too impatient to decipher.”

“Probably,” she agrees before they break off snickering again. When the laughter dies down, a comfortable silence settles in as she catches her breath. And although Keith’s eyes are back on the glass pane before them, focused and sharp, she notices his smile hasn’t quite left his face. With a deep exhale, her mind drifts over to the last remaining member they haven’t mentioned yet.

“Coran isn't going to be too happy with me though,” Allura sighs.

“Oh, yeah?” Keith says. “Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know,” she says, leaning against the wall again. “Ever since we woke up and discovered we’re the last Alteans left, he’s been more… on edge about the idea of me being in danger. He tries to hide it, but I can tell. You saw how he was after I made so many wormholes in a row.”

“Well, to be fair,” he points out. “You are in danger more often now than ever before. It makes sense. Especially when you add that to the fact that… that you’re the only family you two have left.”

Allura feels the pod begin to slow down and she glances up at Keith. His eyes are still fixed on the path ahead but they seem to have lost their focus somehow. Trying to pick apart what may have caused this, she repeats the last thing he said in her mind. The words “only family,” and “left” echo back in her ears. She knows Keith is an orphan, but she doesn’t know much beyond that. It had been so easy when she approached Pidge to try and coax her into confiding her secrets, but Keith is different. Sensing his tension, she decides it’s not the right time to probe. Instead, she searches for something more comforting to say.

“Well, at least Coran and I aren’t alone anymore. We have you paladins now, too.”

He doesn’t look at her. Her lips tighten—it was worth a try.

Feeling discouraged, she tries to cast about for something different to lighten the mood. Perhaps she ought to ask him when he met Shiro, or to have him tell her a random fun Earth fact she wouldn’t have known otherwise. But right as she’s about to start off with a new topic, Keith opens his mouth and speaks first.

“It’s beautiful out here.”

She follows his gaze and looks upwards at the skies.

No matter how many times she’s seen this wide starry expanse, Allura’s breath still hitches in her throat. Swept away by the demands and concerns of their current struggles, she’s forgotten up until now how untouched and boundless the world really is. As their pod comes to a stop amidst the quiet backdrop of endless black space, she sits back and marvels at its wonder, allowing the stillness to fully consume her.

“It is beautiful,” she breathes. In spite of all the chaos that’s been happening in their lives, she’s reminded that the infinite cosmos has existed for eons. Out here, it feels impossible that there’s a war going on, not when these millions of stars have probably been around longer than Zarkon’s whole empire.

“Back on Earth, I’d always known the universe was much bigger than what we could see with our naked eye,” he says, and Allura can see the multitude of stars reflected in his wide-eyed stare. “But now, especially after what the Olkari have taught us, when I look at how vast the whole galaxy really is and realize there’s still so much I don’t know, still so much I’ve yet to explore… I don’t know. Somehow, I’m even more convinced that we really are all connected.”

Yeah—except for the Galrans, she thinks, but she can’t bring herself to say it now and ruin the mood. Not when Keith’s gazing up at the constellations with the kind of curiosity and reverence found in the face of a young awe-struck child. It’s the first time Keith has ever let down his guard in front of her like this and it feels sacred, something she wants to keep untainted. And when she stares back up at the skies alongside with him, she too feels the same transporting effect, finding herself back in a time when she once looked up at the stars with her father.

She was sitting in his arms in the middle of the juniberry fields as he stroked her hair, telling her stories of legends and great kings of old. We are all connected, he had told her then—though that was before Zarkon betrayed him. She doesn’t know if she can fully believe that anymore. After what the Galra did to their planet, how could they ever find such a harmonious balance in the world again?

But even as the burning rage begins to flare up in her heart, when Allura looks back at Keith out of the corner of her eye, she can’t help but simply let the anger dissolve. Not wanting to destroy the rare bit of serenity they’ve both managed to obtain, she pushes the thought away, for Keith’s sake.

Instead, she lets the memory of her father’s voice calm her mind in the form of a gentle whisper. Because despite the chaos and war that had been dominating their lives, as she sits here with Keith in the cramped space of their pod looking out into the night, Allura is grateful to have a friend to share in this small moment of peace.

[toobusylyintomyself]

Mayhem 03

A/N: Annnnnd we’re back. I’m sorry for how long it’s taken me to get updates out. Thank you to everyone who’s been sticking with me through this. I’m also going to apologize in advance for this chapter being a bit of a mess. I can’t stare at it any longer though, so here it is. 

Genre: Thriller, drama, romance.

Pairing: Reader x Jungkook, Reader x Wonwoo.

Warnings: Murder, mentions of marriage infidelity

Word Count: 

Masterlist

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2

You stood there shocked for a bit. “Mother? What’s wrong with their mother? Where did she get out from?”

Taehyung quickly rushed you into your room, throwing open your closest without giving you any answers. “Questions later, for now, pack a bag. You won’t be able to come back for a while.”

You looked at your friend’s panicked state, noticing the Jimin was also flitting around uncomfortably after receiving the news. You decided you would have to just go with it for now, and get the answers you were looking for later. They weren’t trying to hide from you, they were just scared, you told yourself as you nodded at his request, grabbing a duffle and throwing your essentials inside.

All of you were brought back to your senses when there was a sharp knock on the door, one you immediately tried to answer. Taehyung quickly grabbed you, handing you off to Jimin with a warning to stay in the bedroom as he went to open the door. He made his way out to the main area, checking to see that you were still hidden away in the room before cracking the door open. A sigh of relief passed his lips when he was met with a very serene looking Wonwoo standing at the door. He opened the door wider, letting him inside.

Wonwoo shut the door the second he stepped through, moving around the apartment quickly, looking for anything that could have been a threat to your safety. Once he was satisfied he approached Taehyung. “Is she okay?” He was terse as he spoke, caring not to be fancy with his words when his main concern was you.

Taehyung nodded, pointing in the direction of your bedroom door. “She has a bag packed.” He pulled on Wonwoo’s arm as he started down the hallway. “Keep her safe.”

Wonwoo gave a curt nod, finishing his walk back to your room to find you shaking slightly on you bed, Jimin trying, albeit unsuccessfully, to calm you down. His demeanor softened when he saw how scared you were, quickly moving over to you and wrapping his arms around you tightly. “It’s time to go, Y/N.” He cooed softly, almost immediately feeling your shaking form relax as he held you. He smiled at you, partially for your sake, but also because he was glad he had such a natural calming effect for you. He kept an arm around you as he slung the bag over his shoulder, guiding you from your apartment quickly and down to his car. He nodded to the driver, shuttling you into the backseat as he climbed in next to you, Jimin and Taehyung situated across from you in the black SUV. The car started drving before Wonwoo spoke up again. “I’m sorry you got mixed up in all of this, Y/N. I hope this doesn’t affect you too negatively.”

“Ever the diplomat.” Jimin grumbled quietly, earning a sharp glare from Taehyung.

With Jimin backing off, Taehyung spoke up. “How did she even get out? Wasn’t she in a ridiculously high security facility?”

Wonwoo grimaced beside you, one arm still tucked protectively around your shoulder. “Was, and then she wasn’t. She’s been in a mental facility for about the past year. Naturally, I was against it, but it wasn’t my decision to make. Father thought it would be better to have her getting treatment than locked in some maximum-security cell.” He brought his other hand to his face, rubbing his temples slightly. “And now not only is she out, she apparently stalks every fucking person Jungkook and I meet.” His tone changed when he swore, making him sound much harsher than you’d ever heard. He looked over at you, his expression softening. “I’m sorry for that, I’m a little worked up right now.”

You nodded back at him. “You don’t need to apologize.” You looked down at your hands, folding them over themselves in your lap. “Can you tell me what happened?” You asked timidly, looking up at him with wide eyes.

He tugged you a bit closer to him, catching you off guard as you fell into him, causing him to chuckle lightly. “We’ve got some time before we get where we’re going, are you sure you want to hear it now?” You nodded, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he looked at you fondly. “Have you looked at the news lately?” You nodded again. “So you know about the accident, I’m guessing.” He paused, waiting to see if you had any questions. “As far as most people ever knew, the whole thing was exactly that, an accident. A drunk driver who ran a red light, I shoved Jungkook out of the way and ended up taking the full impact of the car. That’s the story the media put out, but it isn’t entirely true.” He glanced around uncomfortable. “Jungkook and I are half-brothers. We have the same mother, but my dad, owner of the Jeon Corporation and all that, isn’t his biological father. Thankfully, even though he was technically illegitimate, dad never thought any differently of him, as far as he was concerned it was just another son, another figure of the business. Our mother, on the other hand, resented him. To her, he was nothing but a reminder of the affair she had that resulted in his birth. I know dad was considering a divorce, but he couldn’t do much at the time, since he didn’t want people to find out Jungkook isn’t actually his kid.” He gauged your reaction, seeing your worried expression as you watched him. “So, eventually she got it into her head that if she could get rid of Jungkook that dad would love her again.” He breathed out in a long sigh, pulling you a bit tighter. “It wasn’t an accident at all. She hired someone to kill Jungkook. Obviously, that ended up failing on her part. She was arrested and tried privately. Eventually convicted for the attempted murder of one of her sons and the vehicular assault of the other. By the time I was out of the hospital dad had sent Jungkook off to Busan and our mother was locked away.” He grimaced at the thought. “I guess that’s why our relationship seems so tense now.” He paused, not sure what else he could say when he felt your smaller hand on his, rubbing your thumb into the back of his hand softly.

You both stared at each other for some time, unsure of what to say. You spoke up when you felt him relax more. “You’re a good brother, Wonwoo.”

He chuckled softly, turning his head to gaze longingly out of the window. “I could be better.” He looked across the seats, seeing that Jimin had fallen asleep on Taehyung. “It’s still going to be some time before we get there. Do you want to grab food and stretch?” He rubbed your shoulder, trying to ignore the questioning look he was getting from Taehyung.

The other boy spoke up. “Food would probably be a good idea. I was in the middle of making breakfast when everything happened, no one here has eaten yet.” Taehyung glanced over at you. “Are you okay to eat? I know how you can get when you’re nervous.”

Wonwoo looked curiously at you after Taehyung’s comment. You quickly nodded. “I’ll be alright. I’m more confused right now than anything.”

Wonwoo rubbed your arm lightly before pulling open the partition, quietly conversing with his driver to find a place to stop to grab food and let everyone out for a few minutes. He turned back to the rest of you. “We’ll be somewhere in about ten minutes, then probably another four hours by car? It’s hard to say exactly. At least four more hours.” You looked surprised, Taehyung on the other hand seeming unfazed by the announcement. “You can lean on me if you want to sleep, Y/N.” He noticed his phone buzzing in his pocket, adjusting to pull the device out and answer it, noticing that it was Jungkook calling him. He brought it to his ear, flinching slightly at the nearly aggressive tone coming from the speaker. “Jungkook, she’s fine.” You heard the snappy tone dissipate on the other end, Wonwoo holding the phone out and poking a button. “You’re on speaker, Taehyung and Y/N can hear you, Jimin is asleep.”

Immediately, you were the one being addressed, as if he was now ignoring every other presence in the vehicle. “Y/N,” Jungkook’s voice sounded slightly desperate, but overwhelmingly tired. “How are you doing?” Concern laced his voice, despite everything.

You felt yourself smile, noting his caring nature over you. “I’m alright.” You spoke clearly, not wanting him to worry about you.

You heard him breathe out heavily before addressing his brother again. “Wonwoo, it would probably be best to talk about this not on speaker.”

You could see him battling with himself at the comment, knowing part of him wanted to keep you from knowing to try and keep you safer, but then another part of him knew you should be as informed as possible. You could see when he decided, the glint in his eye changing. “I think it’s better if we keep everything out in the open. Everyone here is involved now.”

“Wonwoo – “

“I’m not playing here, Jungkook. Whatever is going on, it’s better if everyone knows.”

You heard him grumble on the other end of the line. “Wonwoo, Yoona is dead.”

You gasped, Wonwoo’s grip around you becoming more protective as you covered your mouth to keep quiet. You recognized the name as the girl who had been working reception, you shook slightly next to him. She had been so kind to you when you were terrified. You felt tear slip down your cheek as you tried to stay quiet, the droplet collecting against your hand. You noticed that Wonwoo’s breathing had changed, clearly affected by the news, even if he wasn’t showing it for your sake. Taehyung looked calm, though you could see the slight shake in his hand as he stroked Jimin’s arm.

Wonwoo collected himself, keeping his voice even. “Is there anything about it we should know?”

No one had been ready for the description that came across the receiver. “She was stabbed in his back 16 times, the word ‘BURN’ in all capitals was carved into her chest. Someone… someone scalped her and lit her hair on fire.” He got choked up trying to finish speaking. “There… are some other things, but I can’t repeat them. I physically can’t, it makes me sick. I’ll email you the full report, but don’t look at the pictures. Trust me, just don’t.”

A small sob fell from your lips, leaning over your own legs while you tried to calm yourself down. Wonwoo was rubbing circles into your back when you felt the car come to a stop, the lack of motion waking Jimin from his slumber as he questioned what had happened while he was out. Taehyung ushered him out of the car, promising to explain everything later. Wonwoo turned to his driver, handing him some cash and asking him to get food for everyone before turning his full attention to you. He undid your seatbelt, pulling you into his lap as his arms closed around you. “I’m sorry, Y/N. You shouldn’t have had to hear that.” You cried into his shoulder, surprised when you felt a tear that didn’t belong to you hit your own shoulder. You hugged him tighter, not sure what else to do in that moment. “I don’t want you to be scared. We’ll keep you safe.” He squeezed you comfortingly.

You pulled yourself back to look at him. “She was really nice…” Your voice trailed off, making him pulling you into him again.

“I forgot you’d met her.” He let out a long sigh. “Yoona was really a wonderful receptionist and person.” He rested his head against yours. “Sometimes bad things happen to good people.”

You shuddered slightly, still sniffling softly. “Can we get out of the car for a bit?”

He nodded, opening the door and helping you off of his lap and onto the ground before following you out. You walked around, the area, feeling him stay directly on your heels as you did. He nudged you in the direction of the roadside diner, which you easily headed toward at his suggestion. When you got inside, you found Taehyung and Jimin sitting in a booth with the driver, talking quietly as Jimin nervously played with one of Taehyung’s hands. You walked over to them, ending up seated between Wonwoo and the driver.

To your surprise, considering how quiet he had been the entire time, the driver spoke up. “I ordered everything to go. I assume you want to get back on the road quickly, sir.” He spoke very professionally, appearing somewhat stiff.

Wonwoo smiled fondly. “Thank you, Mingyu. You don’t have to be so formal with me, though.” He reached across to pat the driver on the shoulder. The driver, apparently named Mingyu, smiled softly, making him appear almost puppy-like. You realized quickly that he must be quite young.

The five of you made small talk, everyone seeming to avoid the topic of what had happened to Yoona as you waited for the food to come out. At some point, your fingers had ended up intertwined with Wonwoo’s, his posture over you was clearly protective. Anytime you’d look at him he’d smile at you kindly, helping calm your nerves. Jimin seemed to be fidgeting almost as much as you, Taehyung trying to keep him calmed down in a similar fashion. Mingyu, as you found out, was extremely chatty, not that any of you minded, in fact it was rather nice since no one seemed to know what to say. His endless talking was a nice change of pace for everyone, helping lift the mood. After a short wait, the food was brought out to you in paper boxes, Wonwoo quickly handing the waitress some cash, telling her to keep the change before the five of you walked out of the diner and back to the car.

You all resituated yourselves, sitting across from your two friends as you sat next to Wonwoo, just as before. You slowly picked at the pancakes you’d been given, taking a few bites before ultimately closing the container to stare out the window, still feeling somewhat sick after the events that transpired earlier. You didn’t notice the pairs of eyes on you until you felt a hand on your leg. You looked to the side to see Wonwoo looking at you, a slight frown on his face. “Hmm?”

“You need to eat something, Y/N…” He pouted, the sight eliciting a giggle from you. It was hard to picture someone like Wonwoo pouting until you witnessed it. He handed your food back to you, opening the container and grabbing the fork out. “If you won’t feed yourself, I’ll feed you.” He smirked at you, holding a bite of food to your lips.

“Wonwoo, wha-“ He cut you off slipping the food into your mouth, Taehyung and Jimin in a fit of giggles in the background.

The smirk on his face never left, even when he spoke to you again. “I’m a businessman, Y/N. I’m not fond of people not doing what I say.” It took every fiber in you not to choke, having never seen this more playful side of Wonwoo before. Once you swallowed he held another bite of food to your lips, which you took without him forcing it into your mouth again. He raised an eyebrow at your sudden submission. “Are you going to feed yourself now, or are we going to keep this up?”

You contemplated his question for a minute, partly feeling embarrassed, but partially enjoying the more playful side of the usually passive businessman. You decided to be slightly petulant, not answering him right away. “What would you rather do?” You laughed playfully, watching him raise an eyebrow in your direction.

“Are you getting smart with me?” He asked teasingly, holding another bite of food to your lips. “Now I’m just going to feed you until you finish this.” He waited for you to take it on your own, smirk growing when you did.

You chewed slowly, making eye contact with him as you swallowed. “Yes, sir.” You chirped out innocently, making your voice a bit higher than usual.

All the boys choked on air, unable to properly handle your sudden innocent tone. You heard Mingyu laugh from the front seat, Taehyung and Jimin both looking at you like you’d just completely stripped in front of them, meanwhile Wonwoo was still trying to recover, finally groaning as he gave up on pretending that hadn’t affected him. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“You’re gonna be the death of everyone here, little bunny.” Taehyung chuckled under his breath, readjusting in his seat.

You giggled at their reactions. “Sorry.” You weren’t sincere, still making your voice have the same tone as before.

Wonwoo smirked at you, regaining his composure. “You know, things like that are only gonna work on me once.” He held the food up to your lips again, waiting for you to take it before he spoke again. “So, little bunny, huh? I like it.” He had a glint in his eye that startled you when you met his gaze. “I might have to start calling you that. Is that okay, little bunny?”

Something about his deep voice as he called you that made you feel small in the best way possible. He seemed to pick up on that, given his smirk and the playful gleam in his eyes as you nodded sheepishly. He brought food to your lips again, seeing that no longer hesitated at the idea of him feeding you. It made his smile soften, he liked this more submissive side of you as much as he liked your strong headed side. You blushed under his gaze, shying away from him. He laughed at your sudden shyness, Taehyung and Jimin both giggling as well. “It’s weird hearing you call me that… you’re supposed to be my boss.”

Wonwoo broke into a smile. “Does that mean you’re taking the position?” He sounded giddy, which made you smile back at him. “This didn’t make you want to run in the other direction, flee the country, pretend you never met my family?” He teased, but you could hear the serious undertones in his voice.

You shook your head. “I don’t think it would so me much good to run off now. I feel… at ease around you.” You spoke quietly, but you could tell he heard you from the grin on his face.

Wonwoo set the food aside, pulling you into a hug. “I’m glad.” He looked into your eyes, his crinkling from his smile. You didn’t question whether or not he meant it. It was obvious he did from his voice. You’d come to realize he was a sensitive person even though he often had a very passive expression. He rubbed your arm softly. “It’ll still be some time before we get there. If you’re feeling tired you should rest.” He murmured softly, moving away slightly.

You shook your head. “I’m not tired, too worked up right now to be tired.” You chuckled a bit nervously.

Wonwoo’s expression softened as he looked at you. “Y/N…” He pulled you against his side, so that you were leaning against him. “I’m sorry that you’re stuck in the middle of this.”

You let your head rest on his shoulder, sighing. “It isn’t your fault, you don’t need to apologize. I think I could handle this better if it weren’t for the fact…” You’re voice trailed off, unable to talk about the receptionist you learned was killed previously.

Wonwoo stiffened, not surprised by your unfinished sentence. He rubbed small circles into your arm with his thumb. “I know… It’s hard. You don’t need to push yourself to talk about that.” He frowned as he felt your form shaking under his arm. He held you a bit tighter when he realized you’d started crying again. He kept rubbing your arm until he could feel you relax next to him. When he looked over, he saw the slow rise and fall of your chest, letting him know you had fallen asleep. He smiled at your sleeping figure before looking at his phone to check his email. Jungkook had told him the full report of Yoona’s death would be sent to him. He clicked into the app, tapping on the email from his brother and downloaded the attachment. As much as he didn’t want to think about this anymore, he knew he had to check this out for your sake. Someone had already lost their life because of this, he wouldn’t let you or anyone else become a victim of his psychotic mother, not if he could help it. He braced himself as he opened the file, skimming the first few lines about her personal information. As he got down into the description he felt his breath catch his throat, nearly shuddering as he read the more in depth details of what had happened. Unable to continue reading, he closed the email, setting his phone aside and trying to relax back into the seat. He knew better than to dwell on this, it already happened, and right now, he needed to focus on what he could control, which meant keeping everyone here safe. He held you tighter after that, letting his head rest against the window as he closed his eyes. He would deal with this when he got to the manor.

The next time you woke up was due to the car stopping, the lack of motion drawing you from your slumber. You were wound tightly in Wonwoo’s arms, making you flush at the idea of being so close to him. You looked up, noticing he had fallen asleep as well, a quick glance around the car confirmed that everyone else had dosed off as well.

Wonwoo jolted awake at the sound of a door closing, his grip on you becoming more protective until he relaxed, realizing they had reached their destination. He looked down at you, a soft smile on his face. “How are you feeling?” He unwound his arms around you while opening the car door. He looked over as he saw Jimin stirring from his position against Taehyung.

You stretched your back out as you sat up straight, yawning softly. “I’m feeling a little better now that I slept, but also worse - If that makes sense.” You shook your head a couple times, trying to rid yourself of the fuzzy feeling clouding your head.

Wonwoo frowned, though he didn’t respond to your statement. He looked over to Jimin, who had now sat up. “You should get him up and head inside.” He quickly slipped out of the car after receiving a nod from Jimin, making his way around the car to open to your door. He offered his arm, which you took, guiding you up to the door of the large manor house.

You looked back, seeing that Mingyu had grabbed the bags in the car and was now ushered Jimin and Taehyung toward the door as he followed behind. Turning back to Wonwoo, you noticed he was fiddling with a set of keys, stalling while he waited for the others to catch up. Once he felt they were close enough he slid one of the keys into the lock on the door, twisting it before opening the door with ease. He nudged you through the doorway, not waiting for you to move on your own. Once you were safely inside, he seemed to relax more, letting you wander around the entry way on your own.

Mingyu carried your bag off when he got inside, Taehyung and Jimin stopping near Wonwoo in the entry way as you continued exploring the room. You heard footsteps rushing through the house, not having time to process the situation before being enveloped in a pair of muscular arms.

The tall figure encasing you buried his face into your hair, inhaling your scent. “Thank god you’re okay.” The man choked out, voice cracking as it spoke.

You recognized the broken voice as Jungkook. You tried to help calm him down by wrapping your arms around his waist. He held you to him for a bit, only pulling back after Wonwoo tapped on his shoulder, reminding him that others were still in their presence. He cleared his throat, and you noticed his eyes looked red and puffy. “Let me show you to your rooms.” His voice sounded a bit firmer now as he addressed the entire group.

You nodded, Jimin and Taehyung following suite. Jungkook rested his hand on the small of your back, guiding you through the large home until you reached a long hallway with 9 doors spanning down it. You saw Mingyu walk out of the one right before the end, offering you a smile and a wave before heading into a different room. He lead you all down the hallway, opening the room Mingyu had just come out of and guiding you inside. You found your bag sitting on the foot of the bed.

“This will be your room for now.” Jungkook’s voice had softened and he looked calmer than he had before, pulling your attention to him. “My room is to the left, Wonwoo’s is across the hall. Taehyung and Jimin will be to the right.” He put his hands on your shoulders, rubbing them lightly. “You’re probably tired, you can rest now if you’d like.”

You immediately shook your head, having just slept in the car. “I want to know what’s going on.” You felt him stiffen at your words. Instinctively, you turned around to face him, hoping that he would understand why you didn’t want to, and frankly couldn’t, sleep with everything going on. You were promised answers when you got here, and you wanted them. “Jungkook, keeping me in the dark right now isn’t going to help anything.” You sounded slightly exasperated, but you couldn’t help it. One date and one interview and suddenly you’re in the middle of the biggest mess you’ve even heard of.

Wonwoo walked up beside his brother, putting a hand on his shoulder and pulling lightly. “Go show Jimin and Taehyung their room, make sure they get settled in.”

“Wonwoo, I – “ Jungkook started, quickly cut off by the cold look in his older brother’s eyes. He looked down sheepishly, still feeling uneasy despite you being here with him. He leaned in to whisper in Wonwoo’s ear, making their conversation private from you. Whatever he said, Wonwoo nodded in response, Jungkook motioning for the others to follow him as he walked out of the room.

You stood across from the raven-haired man, a confused expression gracing your features. He wore a sad smile, unsure of how to approach you. “Y/N, I get why you want answers right now, but Jungkook is worried about you.” He ran his fingers through his hair, wanting you to understand, but not wanting to overstep any boundaries. “I’m not asking you to pretend like this doesn’t bother you, or to not ask questions. You have every right to know.” He stepped toward you, gauging your reaction before moving any further. When you made no motion to get away from him, he closed the distance, pulling you into a hug. “It isn’t going to make a difference if you get those answers in ten minutes or ten hours. He needs to know you’re okay before he can talk about any of this, which means you need to rest. Here, where he knows you’re alright.”

You huffed, part of you knowing he was right. “Wonwoo, I can’t rest right now. It was one thing in the car, but this-“ you motioned around you with your hands. “This is all insane.” You let your hands fall to your side in defeat, not knowing how to handle the situation you were currently stuck in.

Wonwoo let go of you, taking a step back so that he could meet your eyes. “Y/N… Trust me when I say that I understand how stressful this situation is. I want to answer your questions, I want to help you make sense of all this, but I’m trying to do that for myself too.” He brushed your hair to the side, coaxing you to look up at him. “The best thing you could to right now is try to relax.”

His deep voice helped you to calm down, your demeanor softening. You couldn’t fight him on this, it wouldn’t be productive for anyone. You could rationalize that you were mostly acting out of fear at this point. He was clearly right, but you couldn’t help the fact you were genuinely terrified by the situation. “I’ll try.” You managed to murmur softly, your voice shaking slightly as your emotions caught up to you again.

He smiled at you, trying his best to keep you from getting to upset. “I’ll be just across the hall in you need anything. The door is unlocked so just come in if you need anything.” He hugged you tightly before making his way out of the room, shutting the door and leaving you to your own devices.

You laid on the bed, trying your hardest to block out the thoughts of everything that had happened today. You’d have to face it eventually, but you weren’t ready to do that just yet. You shut your eyes, reminding yourself that you had friends here, that the people here wouldn’t hurt you. Eventually you managed to drift off to sleep, resolving to face things in the morning.

[deathtouch]

⋆ femfeb day 7 // my femfeb masterpost ⋆ xposted to ao3 ⋆ mei/pharah // 4k // teen+ ⋆ 5+1, cute, romance, kissing, holding hands, mild violence,  ⋆ the five times mei was cold and the one time she wasn't

Cold Hands, Warm Hearts

ONE

Fareeha wasn’t sure what to think of Mei-Ling Zhou when they first met. She didn't know what she imagined climatologists looked like and yet Mei somehow fit the exact image in her mind. Short, easygoing, glasses and an unkempt bun. She would probably be right at home behind a desk, leaning over some type of radar tech, reading a seismology print out or something. Anywhere but a practice range.

Ever since the recall had happened, Fareeha had made it her mission to learn the skills and assets of her teammates. Under Winston’s instruction, she would run them through the practice range and assess their abilities. This proved especially interesting for some recruits, such as the rogue Vishkar agent who could conjure objects from thin air with a wave of her hand. Other recruits, such as the rag tag team of Junkers "Junkrat" and "Roadhog", were a lot less interesting. She wasn’t even they had aimed for the bots or if they were just going for an explosive firework display. She’d taken Winston aside to ask if he seriously meant to bring these guys into the fold and, unfortunately, he did…

Now it was Mei’s turn. Fareeha had read through the outdated file they had on her. She tried not to let Mei’s tragic back story color her impression of the woman now. They had a lot of uses for a good scientist. If Mei couldn’t handle the practice range than she wouldn’t be approved to come on missions, but they would still find a place for her in the new Overwatch.

“What weapon will you be using?” Fareeha asked. She normally wore her combat suit for these practice range tests. If not to keep safe out on the range, than to get an aerial view of any important action. Today she had opted for Crye pants and underarmor.

“Well, it’s not a weapon.” Mei said happily. “It’s climate manipulation technology. Winston said I could use it?”

“Ah…” Fareeha noticed the shiny blue blaster in Mei’s gloved hands. She was wearing a puffy nylon and leather glove that made her fingers look comically large. Fareeha had plenty of practice keeping herself in check or she might have laughed out loud. “Well, alright then. Go ahead and clear all the targets. I’ll keep time but don’t worry about speed.”

She was collecting notes and other information on a white tablet in her hands. She tapped open the timer app and started the clock, nodding for Mei to begin.

“Oh, already?” Mei blinked.

In the next second three of the nearest target bots were down. Fareeha heard the noise, thunk, thunk, thunk, as each of them were hit. The bots short circuited one after the other before eventually clattering to nuts and bolts on the ground. Craggy icicles were sticking out of each of their heads in what would be right between their eyes had they any.

Fareeha’s jaw fell slack and when she looked back to Mei she realized she was ten steps behind. The scientist was half way across the practice range, bounding happily towards a group of moving targets. Fareeha jogged after her to keep up, watching in awe as the gun in Mei’s hands blasted out frothy white air. The ground froze over where they spray of white touched, and the bots were reduced to giant robot popsicles. The ones that didn’t clatter to pieces upon being frozen need only a quick cap in the head.

“Is that it?” Mei asked, turning to her.

“Uh…” Fareeha looked around to see all the moving targets on the ground floor were taken out. “There’s… two more on the second floor.” She pointed up.

“Oh.” Mei looked up at the balcony for a moment as if gauging the distance. In an incredibly curious gesture she pointed her blaster down at the ground. In an instant she built a wall of ice a story high. It rose under her feet, thrusting her up towards the sky. She nearly stumbled before reaching out to take careful hold of the balcony. What slowed her down was actually climbing over the railing. She was a little too short to get her leg over the top rung. Eventually she managed, and just in time too because the ice wall crumbled into slush a second after she found her footing.

Fareeha stepped back to try and see but lost sight of Mei. She heard the definite thunk, thunk of icicles hitting their marks. A beat of silence fell before Mei leaned over the railing and smiled. “Okay! I’ve done it!”

Fareeha stopped the clock on her tablet. It was one of the fastest times yet. Tracer and Lucio had beat her out by obvious margins but no one else had managed to scale the set of stairs to the second story so quickly. Mei actually came in close behind Fareeha’s own time which was slightly vexing. She tried to make notes about the weapon, er – not a weapon – Mei was using. She tapped out nonsensical details into the tablet like ‘Ice’ and ‘Icicle projectile’ and ‘Ice wall’ trying to get it all down.

Mei came trotting happily down the stairs. She moved to stand with Fareeha, smiling sweetly all the while. “How’d I do?” She asked.

"Remarkably," Fareeha told her. She glanced over at Mei and really looked at her this time, reevaluating all her pre-conceived notions. It actually felt quite nice to be proven wrong. Fareeha definitely wouldn't be under estimating her again. "You'll be an asset to the strike team, that's for sure."

"I made the cut?" Mei lit up a little. She holstered her blaster and offered her puffy gloved hand to shake. "Wow, thank you so much! I'm honored."

Fareeha took Mei's hand in her own ready to shake it but immediately yanked back instead. She nearly yelped in surprise. The nylon and leather fabric of Mei's glove was crisp and frozen, ice cold to the touch.

"Oh, sorry! Sorry, sorry. Sorry." Mei quickly bit the tip of her finger and pulled the glove off with her teeth. "The climate manipulator ices over when its running. I always forget how cold it can be. Sorry." Sheepishly, she offered her bare hand instead.

Their second handshake was much more successful. ---

TWO

"I underestimated you." Fareeha admitted, fists shoved deep into the pockets of her brown leather bomber jacket.

The frigid chill of the night air was creeping down the back of her neck. Their busted down excuse for a base out here in Siberia barely had lights or running water much less heat. Still, she would need to head in soon. It wasn't much warmer inside but the walls provided shelter from from the wind and the roof kept the snowfall from wetting their clothes.

Mei was dressed perfectly for the weather, puffy parka zipped up and belted around her body. She was watching the snow come down, head tipped up towards the night sky. "Huh?" She looked at Fareeha over her shoulder. "Me? When?"

"When you first showed up after the recall." Fareeha told her. "Then you proved me wrong in the practice range, and today you saved my ass out there."

Although CEO Volskaya insisted her company's factories were well protected, she would have been shit out of luck today if Overwatch hadn't been there. It wasn't clear yet whether it was Talon, Los Muertos, or some other faction that had tried to make a move on the latest Russian defense mechs but someone had. Someone with multiple operatives and impressive training.

They had come pouring in during the early evening, armed soldiers hell bent on breaking into the factory. Overwatch had joined the Russian military in their defensive efforts. During the skirmish Fareeha had been clipped by a projectile and knocked from the sky. That wasn't so unusual for her, but she had landed much farther away from any friendlies than she would have liked. Combatants had come rushing towards her and her jump jet wasn't ready for a boost yet. Were it not for Mei quickly walling off the six men racing towards Fareeha something nasty could have happened.

"You've done the same for me." Mei pointed out thoughtfully.

They all watched each others' backs in battle was the sentiment, and that was true. Still, Fareeha didn't feel like Mei got enough credit where credit was due.

Fareeha had come out from the shelter of the base to see the snow. A white blanket a foot high already covered the ground but it was all iced over and hard. Soft, fluffy powder came falling down from the sky now. Fareeha had never seen it snow before. It was pretty. Like rain, but quieter and calmer and colder.

Somehow she found it hard to watch the sky with Mei standing next to her though. She was easily distracted by her cute face and the happy expression on it. She watched the snowflakes melt in Mei's hair and bead wet on her glasses. Fareeha was struck with the thought that there was no one in the world like this woman by her side.

Mei noticed Fareeha looking at her. "What? Something in my hair?" She asked, clamping her mittened hands over the top of her head in an effort to hide whatever it might be.

She was so cute it hurt.

"No, you just look really serene and ...beautiful." Fareeha realized this as she was saying it. Then, together, they both realized that Fareeha had just called Mei beautiful. Blushes graced both of their faces.

Mei dropped her hands, twisting them together in front of herself in a charming nervous gesture. "Oh, that's so romantic. I'm not sure how to reply."

Fareeha quirked her head. She hadn't quite expected that response. Mei was always surprising her in one way or another.

"We don't have to say anything." She suggested. "We could just kiss instead."

Mei looked up at her over the rim of her glasses as if to check and see if Fareeha was teasing her. When she realized it wasn't a joke at all she lit up and nodded eagerly. She held still as Fareeha closed the distance between them. Angling her soft face upward she left herself open for a kiss. It was so cold outside that her lips were cool to the touch. Fareeha didn't mind. ---

THREE

"I'm freezing!"

Fareeha looked up from her tablet. Now that Hana Song was part of the team they had a full and complete recordings of their last few engagements. What was a fun video stream for the Korean gamer's viewers proved to be valuable information to Fareeha. She was learning a lot about Overwatch and how they fought during battle just from reviewing these logged streams.

"I'm freezing, I'm freezing, I'm freezing!"

The door to her room had been wrenched open. Mei had come running in, bare feet thudding on the floor. She was dripping wet, hair plastered to the sides of her face. Her big belly was bulging over her blue swimsuit bottoms, breasts bouncing in her bikini top. Fareeha felt a sudden rush of blood go straight between her legs, a pulse of pleasure from seeing her girlfriend half naked like this.

Half of Overwatch were in Ilios for the next week. A recently unearthed archeology sight was making waves. Researchers from all over were flocking to the city. What started as an expedition of one or two people to check out the ruins turned into half of Overwatch volunteering to go along. That probably had nothing to do with Ilios being a picturesque vacation spot.

Lena had decided almost immediately on arriving that a trip to the beach was in order and everyone had gone along with her. Well, Fareeha had stayed back to focus on getting some work done, but everyone else. Apparently the beach trip was over and the team had returned.

Dripping wet, Mei scrambled onto the bed. She burrowed in Fareeha's side getting water all over her. "I'm freezing, Fareeha!"

"Ah!" She was plenty cold, that was for sure. She was also making a mess of the bed. "Are you mad? Go get a towel!"

"Oh, but you're much warmer." Mei giggled, trying to duck her head under Fareeha's muscular arm. ---

FOUR

Fareeha touched down on the ground, thrusters quieting as she found her footing. She did a headcount of the team, trying to locate them all. The massive mountain that was Reinhardt stood out in the middle distance between the towering buildings of King's Row. He was making his way over. Junkrat and Roadhog were already together, though it was hard to separate those two. Junkrat's giggling laughter echoed through the quiet alleyways. Mercy and Mei were still unaccounted for.

"Have you seen Mei?" Fareeha asked. She wanted to get a location on Mercy too but it was no coincidence that she thought of her girlfriend first.

Roadhog only offered a shrug of his massive shoulders. Junkrat jerked his thumb backwards. "I seen her in the street a few minutes ago."

"Get to work trying to disassemble the EMP." Fareeha ordered, nodding towards the massive rolling payload behind them. "Or escort it back to a safe zone. The fight might not be over yet, reinforcements could be coming."

"If reinforcement arrive I'll blow them up too." Junkrat announced with manic happiness. He had a detonator in one hand but Fareeha didn't see any explosive devices near by. Her stomach twisted uneasily seeing him playfully click the safety on and off the trigger.

"Just don't blow anything up in the mean time." She cautioned. "I'll find Mei and then we all need to group up."

"A fine plan." Reinhardt called from halfway down the street. His armor clanged heavily as he strode over the cobblestones to join them.

"Do you have a location in Mei?" Fareeha asked hopefully.

Reinhardt shook his big head, helm turning from left to right. "I haven't seen her since the fighting started."

Fareeha tried not to worry. Mei could hold her own. Her visor locked into place and she launched herself upwards, rocketing into the sky. She could see for miles but she focused on the nearby streets and allies of King's Row. She would trace her path all the way back towards the statue of Mondatta in the city square if she had to.

As it happened she didn't have to search very hard after all. She spotted a dark patch of red blood half a block back on the ground. Fareeha's heart bottomed out in her chest. She flew over at once, hitting the ground hard. Smears in the blood lead her around the corner to an ally hidden in shadow.

It was almost an afterthought that she registered the sound of a sniper rifle. If she had been standing still she might have gotten clipped. Instead she was rushing to Mei's side, unknowingly ducking into cover at the same time. Blood so dark it was black stained Mei's coat. Fareeha had plenty of practice keeping herself together in emergency situations or she might have panicked.

"We need a healing." She broadcast into the comms, immediately kneeling down at Mei's side. "Mei, can you hear me?" She found the wound in Mei's shoulder and put pressure on it at once. As horrifying as it was to find her significant other shot and bleeding out Fareeha was a soldier. She knew what to do. She would get Mei through this. She had to.

"Sniper," Mei whispered.

Her lips were pale, and her skin was clammy and cold. Fareeha felt her heart jump in her throat but she didn't panic. She couldn't.

"We require a healer!" She said into the comms, trying not to sound too flustered or angry

"I'm here!" Mercy called out.

Their medic came running down the street towards them. Bullets pocked the ground just behind her heels at every step. Her Valkyrie armor lit up the darkness and she flew the last few feet to them, instantly training the healing beam of her Caduceus staff on Mei.

Fareeha gripped Mei's hand and held it tight, watching with concern and then relief as some of the warmth and color returned to her.   ---

FIVE

Fareeha put the truck into park out front of the gas station convenience store. The driver's side window was rolled down. The hot air of the American desert was baking the brown landscape all around her. Occasionally a nice breeze would roll in and cool the sweat on the back of her neck. Not very often though.

She lifted her aviators up to read the map on her phone. So far as she could tell all she had to do was follow Route 66 right along to Deadlock Gorge. It was a bit of an inconvenience to travel by vehicle. They had flown in from Gibraltar last night but there weren't any airports or landing strips anywhere near their destination.

Fareeha wasn't sure why they couldn't park a small passenger plane out on the empty desert landscape but apparently that was pretty illegal. They were trying to keep a low profile too. Instead the team had flown into a private hangar three hours away from Deadlock Gorge and resolved to travel out by car.

She didn't think much of the dusty pick-up truck she was driving. They had equipment packed in the flat bed that needed to be transported or she would have just joined Hana and Lucio in their car. It was kind of nice to get some alone time with Mei. She just wished she didn't have to trade three hours of her life driving passed flat dusty nothing to be with her girlfriend.

The bell on the convenience store door jangled. Fareeha looked up to see Mei walking out with her arms full. She had sodas and snacks and a cup of something in her hand. She was wearing tight clothes that hugged the curves of her body. Fareeha watched the way Mei's thighs rubbed together and thought about how much she would have liked to be between them in that moment.

Mei's eyes caught Fareeha's and she lit up like they were seeing each other for the very first time that day. She was only ten feet away but she smiled and waved as she made her way over to the passenger side of the truck.

Fareeha smiled to herself. She turned the key in the ignition and let the engine come to life. At once air conditioning began to force out the stifling heat of the cab. She unlocked the doors before rolling up her window. Mei climbed in beside her, happily clicking her seatbelt on before digging into the cup in her hand with a plastic spoon.

"What is that?" Fareeha asked cautiously, staring through the gold tinted lenses of her sunglasses. There were little balls in there, hundreds of them; pale yellow, pastel pink, white and a subtle brown.

"It's the ice cream of the future!" Mei told her excitedly.

She scooped up a spoonful and offered it to Fareeha who tentatively took the bite. It was blessedly cold, with a curious sweet taste like bananas and strawberries. It was good.

"Huh," She said thoughtfully, pulling out of the gas station parking space and onto the road.

When Mei was finished with her future ice cream she discarded the plastic cup into one of the convenience store bags. She relaxed back, leaning into the cool blast of the air vent nearest her. She reached across the center console to tangle her fingers with Fareeha's, loosely holding hands. Her touch was cold from holding the ice cream container.

Fareeha thought of the first time she had taken Mei's hand in her own and found it shockingly cold. That day on the practice range. She had no idea what to think of this tiny bundle of climate knowledge with glasses and a messy bun. If she had known then how hard she would fall for this girl...

"Don't worry about me." Mei said softly.

Fareeha was pulled from her thoughts. "Hm?"

"On this mission." Mei explained. "I know you worry about snipers. I'll be careful, and Lucio will be there."

Fareeha squeezed Mei's cool fingers and smiled. "I wasn't worried." She had long since learned her lesson about underestimating Mei. ---

PLUS ONE

“There’s a tub.” Mei said, voice coming from the open doorway that lead into the bathroom.

Fareeha was unpacking her bag, pulling out her clothes for the next few days. Her folded shirts were sitting on the bed but she wanted to hang them up before they got too wrinkled. She already felt out of place in this city, a soldier and not a scientist, the last thing she wanted to do was look messy or unkempt.

Due to her expertise in climatology Mei had recently been called to Oasis where a group of colleagues were studying the data that she had collected during her stint at Ecopoint: Antarctica. She likely could have gone alone to meet with these people, but talking about her time on the Ecopoint was still hard for her. Fareeha had come along for emotional support. Oasis being the most beautiful, most educated, and most technologically advanced city in the world did have its appeal though. While Mei was off working Fareeha planned to explore the city and the extensive libraries nearby.

The best part of all was that the Ministry of Geology was footing the bill for the incredible hotel Fareeha and Mei were staying in. It was gilded and glistening from top to bottom, sleek of design and architecture, and furnished with beautiful tables and chairs. They had a full bedroom, a dining room, a kitchenette, a living room, and a giant master bathroom. Also, apparently, a tub…

Fareeha noticed Mei beside her and then felt a hand on her own, clasping it. “There’s a tub.” Mei said again. She pulled Fareeha away from the large queen bed and it’s many pillows.

“I’m putting my clothes away.” Fareeha barely protested, allowing herself to be pulled along.

To be very fair, when she finally saw it she could also conclude that it was indeed an impressive tub. It was one of those massive Jacuzzi types that could fit two people at the same time. There even appeared to be massaging jets and everything. “Yes, it’s very nice.” She agreed. Fareeha had plenty of practice keeping herself together so it was easy to hide the amusement in her tone.

“We have to get in!” Mei insisted. She leaned over the tub and picked up one of the complimentary toiletries, a little bottle. “Oh, there’s bath soap too we can make bubbles.”

Fareeha considered. They had never taken a bath together before. For a while on Watchpoint: Gibraltar the only bathroom with running water was a communal one, so technically they had showered together a few times. Fareeha had knelt down and thanked Allah the day they got the rest of the base up and running. No more washing up with the Junkers over her shoulder whipping towels at each other and cackling with laughter.

Bathing sort of was a cute thing for couples to do, she supposed. They had never bathed together before, so the suggestion seemed a little out of left field. Mei was already plugging up the drain and turning on the faucet. She squealed with delight as crystal clear water began flowing into the tub. Then it occurred to Fareeha that they had never stayed anywhere that even had a bath before. Suddenly she realized why Mei was so excited.

Fareeha was absolutely willing to take a bath together but there was more to it than that. This weekend was all about making Mei feel happy and safe. She stepped forward, coming up on Mei from behind. She wrapped her arms around her girlfriend and stooped low to kiss her shoulder. “Alright,” She allowed. “We’ll need lots of bubbles, of course. We should set out fluffy towels for afterwards as well.”

Mei giggled. “Good thinking.”

They divvied up the work, Mei in charge of bubble duty and Fareeha in charge of towels. She found them in a linen closet nearby, thick and pure white and perfectly fluffy. As the bath slowly filled with water they took to undressing. Fareeha helped Mei pull her shirt up over her head and unhooked the clasp of her bra for her. They left their clothes strewn on the floor. When they were both naked they stood waiting for the bath to finish filling. Fareeha pulled Mei in for a sweet kiss, touching their foreheads together after.

“I love you.” She said softly. It wasn’t the first time she had said it, but it was still a new thing for them. New enough that Mei softened, melting with happiness every time she heard it.

“I love you too.” Mei told her.

They kissed again before breaking apart, deciding the tub was full enough. Fareeha climbed in first. She held out her hand, helping Mei into the tub. They laid on top of one another, Mei resting her back against Fareeha’s chest. The water rose up to their shoulders. The solid inch of bubbles covering the surface clung to their skin and caught in their hair. The hot water was an all-encompassing warmth that surrounded them.

Fareeha found Mei’s hand under the water and twined their fingers together.

[supernatural-imagine-oneshot]

Legacy Part Fifty Three

Summary: You go back to the damned bunker with Richard Mays and Larry.

Legacy Masterlist

You drove to the old warehouse, the sixteen hour drive definitely not long enough; anything to prolong the inevitable would have been appreciated. You parked outside the building, a twisted feeling settling in your gut.

You’d never gotten a clear look of the bunker. Outside, it didn’t look like much, a plain cement building with no windows and a single door. The sky was a perfect blue, not a cloud in the sky. You could just make out the Delaware River behind the bunker, giving the entire area a serene, peaceful feel to it.

But you knew the truth of that building.

You knew that inside that bunker, there was a metal door. That metal door led to a poorly lit room, where scorch marks and water stains littered almost every inch. There would still be a hole in the floor, leading down a few yards, connected to another hole on the outside- you’d been responsible for that one. 

“Can we go?” Richard Mays asked, urgency in his voice.

You just nodded, not trusting your voice yet; you didn’t want to sound uncertain or scared, which was exactly how you felt.

You followed Mays into the bunker, keeping Larry at your side.

The inside was like the outside, bland and unassuming. You’d never gotten a good look at this room either, and you let your eyes wander around. A cement floor met cement walls. A few tables were scattered around the floor, papers and boxes sitting atop them.

You stayed back as Richard started inspecting the tables. He would grab documents, his eyes zooming over the words, his mouth moving as he silently read whatever was on them.

“These are nothing,” Mays finally announced, dropping several sheets of paper. “Just permits from the previous owners of the warehouse.”

“Great,” you mumbled. “Was that all you needed? We can go-”

“There are more rooms,” Richard cut you off. “I believe you’re familiar with that one?” He nodded to a large metal door, and you felt your blood run cold.

“Richard,” Larry said in a warning tone.

“Fine,” Mays said, rolling his eyes. “We need to inspect the room anyway. So go.”

“You go first,” you ordered. You hoped you seemed annoyed and stubborn, like you just wanted to make this whole endeavor harder for Richard. In reality you were scared. You were horrified. What if you opened that door and Astorath and Richard’s bodies were still there? What if there was nothing and it was like you’d never been tortured there? 

Mays didn’t say anything as he walked to the door and pushed it open.

You were standing behind him, at an angle so you couldn’t see into the room just yet.

“Perhaps the girl shouldn’t come in,” Mays said.

“What? Why?” You demanded.

“I was being insensitive before,” he quickly told you. “I wouldn’t want to bring about a panic attack. That would only delay my investigation.”

You glanced at Larry, who shrugged and took a step forward, peeking into the room. You saw the muscles in his back and shoulders tense, and heard him suck in a horrified breath. 

“Richard’s right,” Larry said.

Now you knew something awful was in there. Whatever it was, it’d probably scar you, probably make you cry and throw up and scream. So you had no idea why you took a step forward, allowing yourself to peek into the room.

At first, you saw nothing to cause a panic; as you’d expected, scorch marks and water stains were scattered around the area, staining the walls and floor, but that was it.

Until you saw the bodies.

Nobody had ever come for Richard or Astorath. They were exactly where you’d left them.

A squeak escaped your throat. At once, Mays and Larry turned around, trying to push you from the room.

You fought them off and stumbled into the room.

Your breathing was coming in fast bursts, your chest heaving. You kept looking between Richard and Astorath, unsure of which sight was worse. Half of Richard’s face was missing from when Sam had shot him. Bits of skull and brain were around him, more of the mess reaching feet away from his body. He laid in a puddle of red water, water he’d been using to attack you and Dean.

Astorath didn’t look like a person. What parts of here were still in tact were red and blistered from when you’d burned her. Her entire chest seemed to have been torn and shredded by a wild beast- Dean’s work. The worst part was her face; the only part of her that looked human. Her eyes were wide and open, her jaw hanging loose. 

“Y/N, come on,” Larry said gently, placing an arm on your elbow and trying to lead you away.

As Larry was forcing your body around, there was a loud popping sound from the middle of the room, and sparks suddenly ignited, lighting up the whole area. There was an intense burning feeling, and the light became so bright you had to look away.

Finally, when the room dimmed and the sparks were gone, you could look back to the middle of the room. The bodies had disappeared, nothing but ash left in their wake.

You crumbled to your knees, an exhaustion like you’d felt when Sam and Dean first rescued you from the warehouse falling upon you. Larry knelt beside you, holding you up. 

“Did you do that?” Larry asked, eyes wide with disbelief and panic.

“Of course she did,” Mays scoffed. “Who else do we know has the ability to start fires?”

“I-I didn’t mean to,” you said, sucking in breath.

“Emotional reaction,” Mays explained. “Time to check the rest of this building,” Mays said. He gave you a single nod before walking out of the room.

Larry looked you over warily, gauging your reaction. “How are you?”

“Fine.” You were staring at the pile of ashes that had once been your torturers, unable to look away.

“How are you really?”

You shook your head, tears building in your eyes. “I didn’t mean to burn them,” you repeated. “But I think it made me feel better,” you confessed. “Like there’s closure.” You didn’t add that you felt guilty, that you felt like you were in pain because the last family member you had turned on you, didn’t love you.

“That won’t go away,” Larry said, like he was reading your mind. In a way, you supposed he was, the pain you felt was tied to that love you’d once had for Richard Dory. “It is a sad truth you will have to live with that pain you’re feeling for the rest of your life. Nothing will make what happened in this room okay.”

“Thanks,” you scoffed, voice cracking. “That’s great.”

Larry sighed, and stood before you. He pulled you into a hug. You felt your body sagging in his arms. You were filled with so many emotions, like everything you’d been suppressing was coming to light. Your body shook with tears and rage and injustice. 

“Why me?” You cried, keeping your face pressed against Larry’s chest. “Why did I have to be related to him? Why did I have to get these stupid fire powers? Why couldn’t I just be normal?”

“Would you trade your life?” Larry asked. His voice was calming, like a cool breeze on a hot day, and helped bring you back to reality.

“N-not all of it,” you said. “Just... Just the parts where I get hurt.”

“You can’t go through life without pain,” Larry said. 

“That’s bullshit.”

Larry laughed, his chest rumbling against you. “I agree. Maybe you should call Sam or Dean.”

You nodded, and took a step away from the man. Without his arms around you, all those emotions that had just surfaced seemed to fade away, leaving you tired. 

You followed Larry out of the room, pulling your phone from your pocket. You called Sam, since you weren’t sure if Dean knew where you were just yet.

The call went to voicemail, and your shoulders slumped in disappointment; you could have used someone to talk to you. “Hey, Sam,” you said after the beep. “I, uh, I’m with Richard and Larry, and everything’s fine so far. Well, fine as they can be. I-I just wanted to talk to you. I know you’re on a hunt, though. Don’t call me back unless you have the time, I don’t have anything too important to say. Hopefully I’ll be home soon. Stay safe.” You hung up and slid the phone into your pocket.

You didn’t have it in you to investigate the rest of the bunker. You didn’t want to see what the other rooms held, didn’t want to know where Richard and Astorath hung out when they weren’t torturing you. So you left the warehouse and sat on the green grass, letting your back lean against the gray concrete of the horrible building.

Hours seemed to pass and your eyes began to droop shut. The sky had turned from a bright blue to a mishmash of yellows, oranges, and reds as the sun set.

“I got it!” Richard Mays voice boomed. You jumped to your feet at that, any exhaustion leaving you. “A clue! I found a clue! Oh, this is wonderful.”

“What is it?” You asked, watching as Mays ran outside, Larry following close behind.

“An address.” Mays’ voice was giddy with excitement and he was shaking a piece of paper back and forth.

“Whose address?” Larry said.

“I don’t know!”

Suddenly this wasn’t so exciting. “Then how do you know it connects to the demons?” It was probably just some forwarding address. Or the home of an average Joe.

“Because this address matches none that I’ve found so far in this building. Add to that the fact that I found a sticky note with Dory’s handwriting on it on top of this paper, and we’ve go ourselves a suspect!”

“What’d the sticky note say?” You prompted.

“New HQ.” Richard’s eyes were alight as he noticed the hope building in your eyes.

“So this is probably where the demons that are after us are. Hell, the leader might be there!” You were becoming louder as your excitement grew.

“We should go there right away!” Mays stated, already rushing to the car.

“Yes!” You agreed. “Wait, no,” you said immediately after. Mays stopped right away, turning to look at you with disagreement written all over his features. “We’ll need Sam and Dean.”

“What could they possibly do?” Mays was impatient, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he quickly became annoyed with you.

“Act as backup, provide helpful ideas with planning, kill more demons than you certainly could,” you started raising finger with each point you made. 

“Okay, fine!” Mays snapped, interrupting you. “Let’s go back to the bunker. Now.”

You spared Larry a single glance, one which he answered with a hopeful nod, and then followed Mays to the car. 

Hopefully you could tell the boys about what you’d found before Dean killed you for leaving the bunker without telling him.

[monokuroo]

Title: 猛獣使いと王子様 Company: Otomate Release Date: June 30, 2011 Platform: PSP Official Site: http://www.otomate.jp/beast_psp/ Walkthrough: http://momokan.chu.jp/momokan/beastprince-g1.html Synopsis:

One day, Tiana happens to be in the marketplace to buy ingredients for dinner. A vendor offers her four animals: a lion, wolf, rabbit, and duck. She thinks it might be good to practice her beastmaster skills with them! Turns out that not only they can talk, they are also the princes of the Kingdom.

Heya! It’s been a while. Life has been very demanding and Harry Potter is very interesting that I couldn’t put it down hence my absence. But yay! I’ve finished Mojuutsukai to Oujisama! o/ I’ve been meaning to play this ever since I’ve started in the otoge fandom. But of course, a new game comes out and the backlog has suddenly flown out of the window. ヽ(´▽`)/

This game is just lovely with its nice combination of plot, characterization, art, and music. The story is divided into 8 chapters for the princes and 7 chapters for Klaus and Silvio. The first part is like getting to know each other where Tiana and her guy try to unravel the mystery behind the curse. The latter part is mostly solving the problem at the same time going through the guys’ route.

I liked the fact that you get to see the story in every angle. While the main points almost remain the same, there will always be something different that connects it to the backstory of your chosen guy. There is a part where they have to split up so Mattheus and Alfred remained at Cattleya while Lucia and Erik go to Renard. I had so-this-happened-when-this-scene-happened-in-this-route moments which makes it more interesting. Another plus point is that even if Klaus and Silvio’s routes are one chapter short than the rest, they don’t particularly cut the scenes… well they do, at some minor parts which by this time you already have an idea of what really happened. I am worried that they might give rushed endings. To my luck, they don’t. But those routes are still short, not to much time to be lovey-dovey. Not even a kiss CG! It’s like they got close, realized they like each other, finished off the bad guys, they stayed with each other…and the end? Noooooo. (≧ロ≦)

MtO has a wonderful set of characters that will immediately draw you more into the story. Starting off with our heroine.

Tiana

A young lady who dreams to be a beastmaster.

What makes her stood out among the pool of heroines is that she is not clumsy, not flat-chested, not a bad cook, and certainly not a damsel-in-distress. She is good at taking care of other people as she is the one who looks after the princes. With her beastmaster skills, she can fight the bad guys too! It surprised me at first when she’d rather join the guys in their fight than sit still. She is nationalistic that even if she is in danger, she’ll join the battle to protect her beloved kingdom.

She works hard and is determined to become a beastmaster. This must be the source of her animal fetish （´∀｀）. She can’t help but pat and play with the animals.

Mattheus

I-I’ll try not to be biased in this route. (ღˇ◡ˇ)~♥

Prince? Check! Blonde hair? Check! Lady-killer? Check! Woohoo! /o/

Mattheus is the eldest among the princes and has the lion form as an animal. Initially, he strikes me as a moody, dominating lion but due to his upbringing, being the next king and all, he is used to be the one giving the commands.

People usually think that he is like his father, ruthless and all, because of their physical resemblance. Of course, Mattheus bby isn’t like that. But his allergy to guys causes more misunderstanding since other guys think he is just being a snob. Poor guy. (⌣_⌣)

With his good looks, he has tons of fangirls oggling (including me /shot) him and even goes to Tiana’s house to see him. He flirts with Tiana a lot…and she resists him. HOW COULD SHE DO THAT?! Because I can’t. It’s already hard to keep my eyes off him whenever he appears what more when he starts pulling the moves.

Alfred

He is the second Prince and takes the form of a wolf.

Doing this after Mattheus is like testing my resistance. While I keep on stealing glances to his older brother, I find Alfred adorable in his own way. He is unexpectedly cuter when he smiles. So boyish~.

Alfred is well-liked by the soldiers probably because he is that manly www. Once during the festival, he wins in a contest of physical strength. After that, he and Tiana are chased by the brawny men from the tournament… because they’ve become Alfreds fans after seeing his strength pffft. Great. So while Mattheus has a bunch of fangirls, his younger brother has muscular fanboys. XDD

Because of his serious nature, I thought I wouldn’t enjoy his route. But Alfred has an unexpectedly funny side.

He is so serious about working out that not even his animal form can prevent him from working out. Yup, think of a wolf doing curl-ups (or is it push up?) (´∀｀)

Apparently, he is not so much into girls as Mattheus. This makes his brothers tease him when he is doing the moves with Tiana. His sweetness and innocence is endearing that it is impossible not to like him after playing his route.

Lucia

The mean-mouthed duck.

Hmm Lucia… I don’t exactly know what to feel in his route. Maybe because Syo keeps on popping in my head whenever I hear his voice

Lucia almost always says mean things. But the guy has good observation skills as seen in how they made money for the powder. He is a dependable guy with his quick thinking ability which saved them most of the time.

Perhaps he is the only one whose backstory doesn’t involve any royal family drama. However, he has a promise in which he wants to fulfill no matter what. Fun fact: he used to be a chubby kid and he diets because of it. wwww. A guy who refuses to eat sweets only because it will make him fat xDD

Erik

Bunneh…

Erik is the youngest among the princes. He takes the form of a cute rabbit who has a frog stuffed toy called Caspar. He looks frail yet cheerful and helps Tiana with the household chores.

I think the biggest revelation in the game is his backstory. I’ve been spoiled about it years ago but it still surprised me. After the big change, I started feeling scared to Erik. At the same time, I also feel sad when he let go of the past. So you see, this left me with conflicting feelings lol.

All I can say is I need the continuation of that ending GAHHHH. There is not enough romance to fully like him. I feel like his route have only scraped the surface of the real Erik and I want to know more about him (I sound like Tiana lol).

Klaus

Hmm. Like Lucia, I don’t know how to feel about Klaus.

Klaus’s route will open after you’ve finished playing Mattheus end. He is Tiana’s childhood friend and works as an assistant librarian.

As I’ve mentioned above, his story is one chapter short from the other routes. They have compressed the main points of the plot so nothing really happened other than the two of them realizing they love each other. There isn’t much romance. Heck, don’t even expect a kiss CG.

I’m not really into charas like Klaus especially during times when he nags Tiana. Who is he, her mom?

The problem with his route is that it is being overshadowed by Lucia’s promise. While they are almost the same, the promise makes Lucia’s case a lot sweeter than him.

Silvio

Fluffy cat~~

Doesn’t he look cool? *U*

Silvioooo. I’ve been looking forward to his route the moment he first appeared. He immediately flirts with Tiana the moment she steps inside the store.

Another thing that excites me to play his route is that I’m wondering how the story will turn out since Silvio is supposedly one of the bad guys. And just like Klaus, his route started earlier and one chapter short.

I love how honest Silvio is. He expresses his love bluntly and would do anything for Tiana. Sweet~. But then again, no kiss CG. WTH. Snow Bride you better make up for it. xD

My favorite character goes like this: Mattheus (bet you don’t expect that |D) > Silvio = Erik = Alfred > Lucia > Klaus.

There is a side-story where Tiana is sick and Gerda gives her medicine but instead of making her better, she turned into a cat instead lololol. My favorite part is when the guys are arguing which of their animal counterpart will get along well with cat!Tiana www. The side-story is best played after playing all the routes because there are some spoilers about the characters everywhere. Though I played this right after I finished Mattheus XDD. So it is like play the main route and then the ex-side story of the guy. Likewise, you will get an extra CG (the last CG in the gallery) after you finished playing each route.

There is a gauge on your friendly level with the guys. Of course, a full bar means you are on romantic terms with said guy. You fill it up by mofumofu and by choosing the correct answer.

Unlike most games, nobody ever calls Tiana by her name even if you leave it at default (I never change names because of my laziness xP). The reason perhaps is due to being a port of a previously released game.

What I find a nifty feature of the game is that whenever I start, there is an option wherein if you don’t click to anything else it will automatically direct you to your most recent saved data. It saves me the pain with all the clicking and such.

A unique feature of the game is the mofumofu system wherein you sort of touch the guys in their animal form.

The easiest for me is Silvio and Lucia. Meanwhile, the toughest is Erik; I couldn’t get the patting right! Once you’ve accumulated enough mofumofu points (that’s how I like to call them lol), the Extras will be available. Each guy has sort of hidden story that will only open if you have enough points. I’m not sure if the mofumofu side game outside the main plot is included.

From one of the extras~

If you can’t get enough of the mofumofu, you can also play it as a mini game. The option can be found in the title page.

The sprites are pretty and so as the eye-catching CGs. It gives off a royal and serene feeling. Even the backgrounds have vibrant colors which is very pleasing to the eye.

As for the music, I love the opening and ending theme. Both are lovely! The other bgms have a fairytale-like sound in them.

Wrapping Up!

MtO is a wonderful game with a beautiful balance between the plot and its appealing characters. Added to this mix are the attracting art and soothing music. Definitely, one of the must play games!

Moujuutsukai to Oujisama (猛獣使いと王子様) Title: 猛獣使いと王子様 Company: Otomate Release Date: June 30, 2011 Platform: PSP Official Site: Walkthrough: