#Bat pattern confirmation signals

[signode-blog]

How to Trade the Bat Pattern: A Complete Guide with Strategies & Examples

Harmonic trading is a precise and highly technical form of chart analysis, and one of the most reliable patterns in this realm is the Bat Pattern. Developed by Scott Carney in 2001, the Bat Pattern is known for its high success rate when accurately identified and traded with discipline. In this blog, we’ll explore everything you need to know about how to trade the Bat Pattern, with real-world…

[ramyasrigyb]

Rewriting the Path to Trading Mastery with Apex Trader Funding in the UAE

As global markets continue to evolve, traders are exploring smarter, more accessible ways to grow. Apex Trader Funding, a leading Apex prop firm, is paving the way for that growth, offering one of the most adaptive and trader-focused funding models available today. Ranked among the best prop firms, Apex helps traders leverage top-tier trading platforms and risk-managed capital through funded trading accounts to execute their strategies effectively.

In this revised guide, we’ll dive into the mechanics behind futures strategies, identify powerful chart formations, and explain how Apex turns ambition into structure. It’s designed for aspiring and experienced traders alike whether you're developing your edge or scaling one that’s already proven.

What separates Apex from traditional trading setups is its focus on empowerment. Its structure is intuitive yet disciplined, offering a transparent model for risk, performance, and progression. In regions, where retail and professional trading interest continues to surge, Apex is helping shape a new class of globally competitive traders.

This isn’t just about opening a trading website, it's about joining a platform built to guide, support, and scale your growth. With comprehensive analytics, flexible evaluations, and community support, Apex delivers much more than access. It delivers clarity.

Understanding Market Movements: Patterns that Shape Futures Trading

Reversal Patterns: Double Tops and Double Bottoms

These classic formations help identify potential turning points. A double top can signal a trend reversal to the downside, while a double bottom indicates a possible shift upward. Apex traders use these in combination with volume and support/resistance zones for high-probability setups.

Transition Patterns: Head and Shoulders

The head and shoulders pattern offers insight into trend exhaustion. Whether upright or inverted, it alerts traders to weakening momentum. Apex’s rule-based environment encourages traders to confirm with neckline breaks and volume confirmation.

Advanced Geometry: Harmonic Patterns

Harmonic patterns like the Gartley or Bat use Fibonacci ratios to create structured trade setups. These high-precision patterns work well with Apex’s funding rules because they support tight stop-losses and strong risk-to-reward ratios.

Divergence Signals: Momentum vs. Price

When price and momentum indicators like RSI or MACD diverge, a reversal may be coming. Apex traders are trained to spot these dislocations early and combine them with other patterns for confirmation.

Institutional Behavior: Order Blocks

Order blocks represent areas where major participants accumulate positions. Identifying these gives Apex traders an edge by entering trades alongside the “smart money.”

In futures trading, identifying price behavior through patterns is an essential skill. These visual representations reveal how market participants are reacting to key events, support levels, and emotional thresholds. At Apex Trader Funding, pattern-based strategy isn’t just encouraged, it's built into the funded account structure, helping traders approach each opportunity with clarity and consistency.

For UAE-based traders using Apex’s powerful platforms like Rithmic and Tradovate, recognizing patterns such as triangles, flags, and breakouts becomes even more effective thanks to high-speed execution and real-time data. The ability to analyze these patterns with precision allows for quick reactions in volatile markets, while still respecting the funding model’s rules.

More than that, Apex’s evaluation process helps traders develop a system not just one-off trades. When patterns are supported by data, performance tracking, and trader discipline, they become part of a scalable, repeatable trading plan. In the UAE, where more traders are turning to remote models for flexible income generation, mastering this approach sets a foundation for long-term growth.

Whether you're looking at classic reversals or newer institutional strategies, chart patterns help filter noise and focus on setups that matter. Apex gives traders the tools to spot these moments and the capital to act on them with confidence.

Strengthening the Trader’s Mindset: Psychology and Discipline in Futures Trading

Beyond chart patterns and market entries, the mental aspect of trading often defines long-term success. Apex Trader Funding recognizes that emotional control and self-discipline are just as critical as technical skill. Through structured evaluations and rules-based trading plans, Apex trains traders to manage fear, greed, and hesitation, three of the most common pitfalls in futures trading.

For traders in the UAE, where the market is accessible from multiple time zones and sessions, mental resilience is especially important. Apex’s funded account rules like maximum drawdowns and profit targets serve as guardrails that keep you accountable. Instead of chasing every move, traders learn to trade with intention.

The built-in analytics available through Apex’s trading platforms also contribute to mental clarity. By reviewing metrics like win/loss ratio, average trade duration, and risk-reward ratio, traders can make data-driven decisions rather than reacting emotionally. This is particularly useful in volatile futures trading environments where impulsivity can be costly.

Proprietary trading with Apex becomes a methodical process rather than a gamble. For UAE-based traders building discipline and structure into their daily routines, Apex offers more than capital; it delivers confidence and consistency.

Customizing Your Strategy: Trading Styles Within Apex’s Model

Apex’s support for diverse strategies is especially important in a fast-paced region like the UAE, where some traders operate around the clock while others approach the market with caution and precision. The platform’s flexibility enables anyone from full-time professionals to part-time participants to thrive.

Scalping: Fast Trades, Quick Profits

Scalping involves entering and exiting positions within seconds or minutes. It suits traders who thrive in high-volatility environments. On Apex’s low-latency Rithmic trading platform, scalpers can execute multiple trades per session while remaining within risk guidelines. With no overnight holds, this style also minimizes external news risk.

Intraday Trading: Balance and Consistency

Intraday traders look for opportunities that unfold throughout the day, closing all positions before the session ends. This strategy works well with Apex’s clear structure and rule-based accounts. It’s ideal for traders who prefer detailed analysis and daily profits, without the noise of long-term swings.

Tactical Intraday: Precision Within the Day

This style blends elements of scalping and intraday. Traders enter only a few well-timed trades based on confirmed patterns, often using order blocks or divergence. On Apex’s Tradovate trading platform, tactical traders can combine charting flexibility with clean execution all while sticking to a deliberate plan.

Not all traders operate the same way and Apex Trader Funding understands that. From rapid scalping to deliberate intraday setups, the platform accommodates multiple trading approaches. This flexibility is essential for traders in the UAE, who may balance market participation with other professional or personal commitments.

Apex’s infrastructure supports various styles through clear funding rules and responsive tools. Scalpers benefit from low-latency performance on the Rithmic trading platform, while more methodical traders may prefer the flexibility of the Tradovate trading platform for multi-hour setups. Both styles can thrive under the Apex model, so long as discipline and consistency are upheld.

For traders looking to find their ideal rhythm, Apex allows experimentation during the evaluation phase offering a no-risk environment for testing. Whether your strategy focuses on high momentum or slow reversals, Apex provides the capital and structure to scale it responsibly. This adaptability is a defining characteristic of high-quality proprietary trading models.

In fast-growing markets like the UAE, where traders bring diverse goals and time commitments, Apex’s style-neutral approach is a significant advantage. The result? A flexible platform that helps traders perform at their best regardless of how they trade.

Accessing Capital and Scaling Smart: Apex’s Evaluation Advantage

Success in trading is not just about winning trades, it's about tracking performance, adapting to feedback, and refining systems over time. Apex Trader Funding makes this possible through an advanced analytics dashboard built into its trading platforms, giving traders an objective view of their strategy execution.

With features like trade history, risk-to-reward ratio analysis, and session-by-session breakdowns, traders in the UAE can assess their strengths and weaknesses using real-time data. This reinforces accountability and improves the decision-making process. Instead of relying on instinct alone, traders supported by Apex develop habits grounded in metrics.

The Apex evaluation model adds another layer of structure. Traders aren’t just aiming for profits they’re aiming for consistency, risk management, and emotional control. The model’s trailing drawdowns, daily limits, and consistency checks are designed not as obstacles, but as training tools. By adhering to these requirements, traders naturally cultivate a more professional approach to proprietary trading.

Over time, this feedback loop encourages growth. You know which setups work. You know when you overtrade. You learn how to stick to your plan. That kind of insight is priceless for traders operating in a growing and competitive environment like the UAE. Apex makes progress visible and achievable.

Accessing Capital and Scaling Smart: Apex’s Evaluation Advantage

For many aspiring traders, the biggest hurdle isn’t skill, it's funding. Apex Trader Funding eliminates that barrier through a low-cost evaluation process that’s both performance-based and flexible. Traders in the UAE can start small, prove consistency, and unlock access to real capital all without risking personal savings.

Unlike traditional brokerages that require large deposits, Apex’s model allows traders to showcase their ability in a simulated environment before accessing funded accounts. And with account options ranging from $25K to over $300K, there’s room for everyone from cautious part-timers to full-scale professionals.

What makes this process even more appealing is transparency. Everything from profit targets to trailing drawdowns is clearly defined, creating a level playing field. The result? Traders know exactly what’s expected and what’s possible before committing. This structure supports futures trading with real accountability.

This is also where tools like the Apex Trader Funding coupon code come in handy. New traders can reduce evaluation costs while still getting full access to Apex’s infrastructure. It's an ideal entry point into the world of proprietary trading especially in the UAE, where more individuals are looking for flexible, scalable income opportunities.

With Apex, you're not just chasing trades, you're building a business, one funded step at a time.

The Apex Ecosystem: Support, Tech, and Community

Behind every successful trader is a system that works and Apex delivers just that. Beyond capital access and evaluations, Apex offers a holistic ecosystem designed to help traders grow through support, technology, and ongoing education. From UAE-based traders to global users, the platform’s resources provide practical, scalable advantages.

Apex integrates with the most trusted trading platforms like Rithmic and Tradovate, ensuring execution quality and reliability. These platforms are not just fast; they're tailored for serious futures trading, equipped with indicators, customizable charts, and built-in risk tools. For traders working with large volumes or rapid strategies, this kind of performance is a major edge.

But Apex isn’t only about tech. The platform also promotes community through educational webinars, account-specific support, and access to real-time performance metrics. These features help traders feel less isolated and more empowered, especially important in markets like the UAE, where individual traders are looking for mentorship and connection.

The result is more than a funded account, it's a trading hub that prioritizes your growth. Whether you’re just getting started or refining your proprietary strategy, Apex offers both the infrastructure and encouragement to push your limits with confidence. One example of this innovation is the Apex Wealth Charts trader funding solution, which integrates advanced charting tools with the funding process ideal for traders who value technical analysis as part of their futures strategy.

Evolving Your Strategy: Continuous Improvement for Long-Term Success

Markets change and so should your trading strategy. At Apex Trader Funding, the journey doesn’t stop at getting funded. The platform encourages traders in the UAE and beyond to reflect, review, and adapt regularly. This cycle of improvement is key to maintaining profitability and handling various market conditions.

Apex supports this growth by giving traders access to historical performance data, trade analytics, and flexible account options. With this information, traders can pinpoint what’s working and adjust what’s not whether it’s modifying stop-loss placement, optimizing trade entries, or evaluating which times of day bring the most success.

This emphasis on adaptability transforms futures trading from a guessing game into a process-driven profession. Traders who review their results consistently find ways to sharpen their edge and make smarter, more confident decisions. Whether you're managing a small $25K account or scaling up to $300K, having a self-refining approach keeps you competitive.

With Apex’s emphasis on long-term development, traders don’t just get funded, they get better. That’s how professional habits are built.

Tips for Success in Futures Trading

While tools and capital are important, long-term trading success comes from habits and structure. Apex Trader Funding provides the framework, but consistent execution depends on the trader. Here are a few key principles to apply:

Always Trade with a Plan: Define your entry, exit, and risk per trade before executing.

Stick to Daily Limits: Apex’s risk management rules exist to protect your capital and respect them.

Use Your Tools: The analytics provided on Apex’s dashboard offer valuable feedback. Use them to refine your approach.

Stay Informed: Be aware of major economic releases or global news that may affect volatility.

Commit to Growth: Trading is a skill. Keep learning through webinars, strategy reviews, and community interaction.

These guidelines, when practiced consistently, help build the mindset of a professional trader. In the UAE, where more individuals are embracing digital finance, these habits help create not just profitable traders but resilient ones.

Final Thoughts: Your Trading Journey Starts Here

Becoming a successful trader takes more than understanding charts or executing trades; it requires commitment, self-awareness, and the right support system. Apex Trader Funding delivers that system through a transparent, scalable, and results-focused model. Whether you're exploring futures trading in the UAE or scaling a strategy you've already developed, Apex opens the door to meaningful progress.

What sets Apex apart is its complete ecosystem from capital access and performance analytics to world-class trading platforms and educational tools. This isn't just one of the many stock trading platforms in the UAE, it's a complete solution tailored for modern futures traders. It's a platform designed for long-term trader development.

And now, it’s easier than ever to get started.

Use the code Copy (best trading platform in UAE) to claim your Apex Trader Funding coupon code and begin your evaluation today at apextraderfunding.com

Trade smarter. Grow consistently. Scale confidently with Apex.

[pricesynce]

Expert-Level Insights into Cryptocurrency Chart Patterns: Enhancing Trading Precision and Strategy

Navigating the volatile landscape of cryptocurrency trading demands not only technical skills but also a deep understanding of the patterns that govern market movements. This guide extends beyond basic pattern recognition, offering advanced insights into Crypto trading chart patterns, crypto charts patterns, crypto patterns chart, and cryptocurrency chart patterns to sharpen trading acumen and refine strategy.

The Psychological Foundation of Chart Patterns in Cryptocurrency Trading

Understanding crypto trading patterns is fundamental to interpreting the collective actions and sentiments of market participants. Each pattern tells a story of fear, greed, uncertainty, and collective decision-making that can help predict future market behavior.

Core Crypto Trading Chart Patterns for Strategic Market Entries and Exits

Head and Shoulders and Inverse Head and Shoulders

This crypto patterns chart is a cornerstone of technical analysis, signaling potential reversals. The pattern’s effectiveness lies in its ability to reflect shifts in market momentum and trader sentiment, making it a reliable indicator for strategic entries or exits.

Double Tops and Double Bottoms

These crypto trading patternsare pivotal for identifying price ceilings and floors. They provide clear signals for reversals, crucial for traders to minimize losses or take profits at optimal points.

Triple Tops and Triple Bottoms

These enhancements to the basic double patterns offer stronger confirmation of market reversals and are invaluable for traders demanding higher levels of validation before making significant trade decisions.

Bullish and Bearish Rectangles

Recognized in crypto chart patterns, these indicate a continuation of the current trend post-consolidation, providing traders opportunities to reinforce their positions in alignment with the prevailing trend.

Advanced Patterns for Sophisticated Crypto Trading Strategies

Broadening Formations

These patterns are essential for spotting volatility expansions in crypto charts patterns. They often indicate key reversal points where traditional trends start to break down, offering opportunities for high-reward trades if managed correctly.

Diamond Patterns: Tops and Bottoms

Complex and often challenging to identify, these crypto trading chart patterns offer critical insights at major turning points, indicating substantial reversals or continuations.

Harmonic Patterns: Gartley, Bat, Crab, and Cypher

These cryptocurrency chart patterns leverage Fibonacci numbers to forecast precise reversal zones, offering high precision in predicting future market movements. They require meticulous analysis but reward traders with superior accuracy in entry and exit strategies.

Elliott Wave Theory

This advanced theory provides a structured framework for understanding long-term market trends and cycles, crucial for strategic planning in crypto trading patterns. It helps traders anticipate price movements across different time frames, enhancing long-term trading approaches.

Integrating Chart Patterns with Other Technical Analysis Tools

Successful traders often combine chart patterns with other technical indicators like RSI, MACD, and volume analysis to confirm predictions and refine strategies. For instance, a bullish breakout in a Bullish Rectangle pattern with high trading volume and a rising RSI can confirm the likelihood of a continued uptrend.

Conclusion

Advanced mastery of crypto trading chart patterns and cryptocurrency chart patterns is critical for anyone serious about trading in the cryptocurrency space. This comprehensive understanding not only aids in making more informed decisions but also significantly enhances strategic planning and execution. The integration of psychological insights, combined with technical expertise, positions traders to capitalize on market opportunities and navigate the complexities of crypto trading with confidence.

[djarrex]

Just For Kicks

Kix needs more love tbh so here’s a Kix oneshot ;)

| masterlist |

Pairing: Kix x Fem!Reader 

Rating: Explicit. 18+ 100%

Word Count: about 4.1k (GAH I didn’t mean for it to be this long oops)

Warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption, vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving), piv, cumshot, aftercare, lil but of fluff

Summary: You frequent 79′s, and you usually turn away advances from the clones. Kix tries his luck, and you indulge him. He excuses himself to the ‘fresher, and when he comes back, things take a happy turn. 

***

A night at 79′s was always the same. There were soldiers dancing with twi’leks to the steady thumping of the blaring music; the vibrations of the bass hummed deep in your chest. There were always rounds of Sabacc being played in the corner, and arm wrestling matches to showcase who was stronger (even though they’re all clones of the same man?). You always sat at the bar when you came alone, enjoying shots of your favorite whiskey. You weren't one for those neon fruity drinks that your friends always ordered.

You tilted your head back to down your first shot, then not-so-gently set the glass on the counter. The droid manning the bar swiftly exchanged your empty glass for another full one. You were a regular, and these bar droids might as well have had your usual drink of choice ingrained in their programming. 

“Her next shot is on me.” A familiar voice, one that you’ve heard hundreds of times, came from your right. Downing yet another shot of your favorite golden liquid, you set the empty glass on the counter and signaled the bar droid for another. You’ve deflected advances from the clones quite a few times tonight already, but hey, what was one more? It never really annoyed you - getting hit on by these attractive soldiers - because you were the one who frequented their go-to hangout spot. It was expected, quite honestly. You pretty much ignored them - especially if they started off with a cliché pick-up line.

Realizing he was still in proximity even though you hadn’t looked over at him yet, you sighed, and decided to indulge him a little - you weren't one to turn down a free shot. What you didn't expect to find was him. Sure, his face was literally exactly like the hundred or so others that were crammed in 79′s, but there was something about him that caught you off guard. He had a genuine, sweet smile on his face that went straight to his eyes.  

You let your eyes scan his face. His head was shaved, but into zig zags that went off in different directions, resembling lighting bolts. The neon lights hit the left side of his head just right to where you could make out a phrase tattooed on his temple, extending a little further horizontally into the side of his head.

“A good droid is a dead one, huh? Clever.” He was leaned on the bar on one elbow, his sincere smile grew and his eyebrows raised, almost like your response was one he was not expecting. 

“You like that? Yeah... got it when I was just a shiny. Felt appropriate at the time.” He broke his leaning stance to pull out the barstool and sat down facing you. You downed the shot and let out an amused snort from your nostrils, keeping your eyes on his as you tried to get a reading on him. The soldier lifted his hand up to signal the droid while his eyes remained focused on yours. Out of your peripherals you saw the bar droid set two more shots down on the counter in front of your person. You glanced over and the two glasses of golden liquid, grabbed one, and handed it to him. He hesitated for a moment with a raised brow, but you nodded to him to take it. He obliged, and you grabbed the second shot for yourself. You looked down at the liquid.  

“Y’know, I’ve already turned down a few of your brothers tonight,” you said with a teasing tone, still looking down at the whiskey, swirling the shot around in the glass.

“Oh yeah? What makes me so lucky then?” It had to be the sparkle he had in his eyes. It was unlike any of his twins. You finally looked back up at him, and lifted your glass.

“I’m not sure.” You lied, but you definitely weren’t going to tell him. He copied your movement, raising up his glass. “Cheers.” Your glasses clinked, followed by the simultaneous downing of the warm liquid.

You crinkled your nose as it trickled down your throat. “Thanks for the shot - uh, what’s your name, soldier?” You felt a tad bit guilty - he bought you a drink and you hadn’t even asked for him name before guzzling it down.

“They call me Kix.” Short, simple, and to the point - better than some of these other troopers’ names. One time, you were hit on by a soldier whose name you swore had like five syllables in it. Couldn’t remember it if your life depended on it.

“Just for kicks, huh?” You poked at him. Kix’s hand flew behind his head, a sheepish smile crept on his lips.

“Ha... somethin’ like that.” You grinned, and countered with your own name.

Kix got the attention of the bar droid and ordered a drink you’d never heard of. When it was set down on the counter, you were glad to see it wasn't those neon fruity drinks you despised. You had never heard of that liquor before, but the color of it looked enticing. Kix seemed to have gotten a whiff of your curiosity, and ordered another one for yourself. Before you could tell him not to worry about it, a glass filled to the rim with identical dark liquid was set in front of you. You smiled and thanked him. Bringing the very full glass up to your lips, you took a nervous sip but was presently surprised by the taste. It didn’t burn as much as the whiskey, which could prove to be very dangerous if too much was consumed. 

You both sat in silence for a couple minutes, sipping your identical beverages, enjoying each others company. You eventually let your eyes wander to scan his whole figure; his armor was painted with that shade of blue you’ve seen on other troopers who’ve hit on you in the past - the same ones that sat in a booth behind him in the corner. You noticed a couple times that they were all looking in your direction, so you assumed Kix was with them and they were only checking to see how their brother was doing. You continued to scan his armor, trying not to be too obvious. You weren’t sure how you didn’t notice it before, but he sported a familiar red insignia that was painted on his left pauldron. 

"So you're a medic, huh? Must be a rough job.” He looked up from his drink with a half smile, nodding with confirmation, followed by a sigh.

“Actually, it must not be too rough of a gig if you have time to maintain all that,” you chuckled, your hands waving over your head, gesturing to the patterns shaved on his own. 

“It’s not too much maintenance.” He laughed, “I have my brothers’ help.” You nodded with understanding with the grin still plastered on your face.

“You talkin’ about them over there?” You tilted your head in the direction behind Kix; he turned around and caught the eyes of his brothers in the booth behind him. You jokingly waved at them, one of them with a dark goatee waved right back with a big smile on his face. Before Kix could ask, “I noticed they kept looking over here, and you all have the same shade of blue painted on your armor. Took an educated guess.” 

Kix began to tell you a few short stories of things that happened while in the field. You sat back and listened, the alcohol warming your ears. Some of the events he reminisced on were happy, successful missions - he also told you of a few close calls and how he had to hold his brothers as the light left their eyes, because there was nothing more he could do for them. He eventually apologized for talking only about him, but you waved it off; you were genuinely interested in his war stories. You were too busy shutting down other soldiers’ advances towards you that you never really heard of what they go through. Tomorrow isn’t promised for these soldiers.

He downed the last of his drink, and excused himself to the ‘fresher, promising to be right back. “Don’t go anywhere.” He teased. You watched him walk away; he purposefully took the route that was further away from booth were his lads sat and drank. At this point, you were totally drawn to him - there was definitely no threat of you going anywhere. The way he carried himself, that sparkle in his eyes, his sense of humor, the way he was so much more genuine than any of the other clones that came your way... 

***

You absolutely were not expecting your night at 79′s to go in the direction that it did. 

You invited Kix back to your apartment - you never thought you’d be bringing a clone back to your place, but crazier things have happened. 

At 79′s, while he was in the ‘fresher, you decided what you wanted. When he sat back down, you told him just that. His reaction was sweet, “I’d like that very much.”

So, here you both are, making out by your front door, having just closed it behind you. You acted first, throwing yourself at him as soon as you locked the door. He in no way minded, but he eventually took control and slammed you against the front door and let his hands trail all over you. You wished you could do the same, but he was still covered in all that damn plastoid. 

“Kix? Do you think you can take all this off?” Knocking on his armored chest like it was a door, you broke from his mouth, batting your eyelashes at him, hot breaths mingling with one another. He quickly obliged, and shed the plastoid pieces in no time, tossing them haphazardly to the left. 

Your mouths met again. Kix started licking along your bottom lip, requesting access inside your hot mouth. You gladly let him in, your breaths turned into quiet moans quicker than you could stop them. He tasted like your favorite whiskey; the taste somehow adding to your arousal and made you wetter than you were before. You had first felt the arousal flood to your lower half in the cab ride on the way to your place, when Kix’s gloved hand gently grazed along your thigh. The dress you were wearing had ridden up when you slid into the seat, but you didn’t bother fixing it. He wasn’t even looking at you; he was looking out the cab’s dusty window at all the nightlife Coruscant had to offer as the cab whisked along. His fingers tickled along your exposed skin, dancing over the goosebumps that had formed. Him not looking at you while he teased you sent warmth all throughout your body - a different warmth than what you were already feeling from the whiskey and whatever drink he was drinking.

Eventually you both had moved from leaning against the front door and clumsily meandered over to the sofa. You pushed him down to sit on the sofa and stood over him; noting how dark his eyes had gotten, taking over the sparkle that had drawn you to him in the first place. His dark cheeks were flushed, lips slightly swollen. He was quite the sight. He was so... pretty. 

“What are you lookin’ at?” He raised a quizzical brow and flashed a cheesy grin; you realized you were just standing there staring at him silently. Just as you felt a blush come on your face, his hands shot up to grab at your hips, pulling you down on top of him. You were never really were a graceful person, so you sort of tripped on nothing as he pulled you towards him. That earned a laugh from him, but it was a sincere one - he wasn't making fun of you, that much you knew.

You were straddled on his lap at this point, knees pressed into the sofa on either side of him. The kisses you shared were tender... not at all how your other hookups kissed you. His palms - now bare - rested on your lower back as he applied a small amount of pressure, effectively pushing you closer into him. Your hands rested on his pauldron-less shoulders.

You were comfortable with him, and you had only just met him a couple hours ago. 

And though you were enjoying his tender kisses and warm hands resting still on your back, you were hungry for more. Taking matters in your own hands to speed things up, you broke away from his mouth and lifted off him slightly to slide your dress up and over your head, tossing it off to the side out of sight. You nestled back down on top of him when you finally realized how hard he was underneath his skin-tight under-armor pants. You gave your hips an experimental wiggle across his clothed member, his head tilted back with shut eyes, and the deep moan he conjured up his chest set off fireworks in your gut.

You reached for the hem of his shirt, motioning for him to shed his clothing as well. His undershirt flew off in one swift motion and joined your dress somewhere across your tiny apartment. With a smirk, you leaned back a little to get access to the waistband of his pants. Kix lifted his hips and helped to slide his pants down, underwear coming off with them. His fully-erect cock sprang free, smacking gently against the happy trail below his naval. 

“Fuck, Kix.” You gawked at him. “Are all you clones like this? I can’t believe I spent all that time shooing away your brothers when I could’ve had th-” You yelped as you were cut off when Kix jolted up, taking you with him. Your legs wrapped around his hips tightly, arms snug around his neck in fear of falling. 

Kix laughed, walking you over to your bedroom. He sat you down at the foot of your bed. “Lay back.”

Butterflies flew around in your stomach because you could only imagine what was going to happen next. You lay back with your legs hanging off the foot of the bed, waiting anxiously for his next move.

“You know...” he started, his fingertips ghosting around the band of your underwear, “I have quite the extensive knowledge when it comes to the human body - being medically trained, and all.” He took his time sliding your underwear down; you propped yourself up on your elbows to watch his movements. He was crouched down in between your dangling legs with a huge smirk on his face.

The butterflies flew away, and the fireworks returned. Your entire lower half was on fire. 

You watched Kix closely as his lips ghosted along your inner thigh, starting at your knee and slowly making his way up to where you absolutely needed him most. His eyes flickered up to meet your gaze, letting out a quiet chuckle as he nipped the thin skin of your inner thigh. His hands trailed up your thighs and then to your waist, blatantly going around your exposed heat. 

His mouth went to your other thigh, kissing his way up, starting at your knee. “I know all the pressure points in the human body...” *kiss* “I know where all the sensitive spots are on a woman...” *kiss* He was finally getting to where you needed him. It was too much to keep yourself propped on your elbows, so you laid back down as he chuckled against your sensitive and flushed skin. His kisses were slow and agonizing, but he was making progress. He was going up and up, closer and closer -

“I know that I can get you to scream.” That was it. His hot breath was right there. You needed him now. 

“Kix -” He cut you off for the second time tonight with his tongue, slowly licking a long stripe up your glistening lips to your clit. You yelped at the warm and wet muscle making contact at last, earning a low chuckle from the man who’s mouth was buried in your pussy, the vibrations sending shockwaves up your body.

“Holy f- fuck.” Your hand was gripping tightly at the sheets by your side, while you brought your other hand up to your mouth, shoving a knuckle inside in an attempt to muffle your moans. Kix kept up his brutal attack with his tongue, making out with your pussy the same way he made out with you on the couch - slow and passionate. 

You were unable to control the way your back arched up off the sheets. Kix’s hands moved from your thighs to your hips, long and dark fingers splayed over your stomach, pinning you down to keep you flat against the bed. His grip was bruising and you were for sure going to have marks there in the morning - that thought alone created a deep moan in your chest the escaped out your mouth before you could muffle it.

It was coming - you felt it, and you were sure he could sense it, too. You were completely unable to suppress your moans now; both your hands were occupied with clinging to the sheets for dear life. Your entire body was on fire when it hit you like a speeder. Thighs shaking on either side of him, your orgasm hit hard. You clamped your eyes shut and let it come over you, the white light bright behind your eyelids. Kix didn’t stop. He lapped you up through the entire thing, now adding in a single digit as he pumped it in and out of your clenching pussy, his tongue flicking at the sensitive bud.

“Stars,” you managed to breathe out. It was impossible to come off from your high at this point as he added in a second digit, curing them up and hitting that sweet spot inside you. 

“What did I tell you?” He sounded all too cocky, but he was right. This soldier - this medic - knew what the fuck he was doing, and it was wrecking you. 

‘You taste so kriffin’ good and make the prettiest noises when you cum.” His tongue left your sensitive clit; his head left its place buried in your pussy so he could get a better look at your reactions. “I wanna see you...” He pumped his fingers faster, “Give me another.” The way his voice sounded sent you over the edge once again, your second orgasm hitting before you even came down all the way from your first. Your whimpers and groans were echoing in your small apartment, but you didn’t care. 

He removed his fingers and lifted them up to his mouth, sucking your juices off of them. Fuck. You were trembling beneath him, watching him lick his fingers clean - that image alone made you moan. 

He was standing now, his cock in hand, locking eyes with yours. Your body was tired - oversensitive and shaky - but you knew the night wasn’t over, and you did not mind in the slightest. 

You watched him through hooded eyes, biting your lower lip as he stood at the edge of the bed slowly stroking himself. It almost looked like he was pondering what to do next - thinking about what exactly he wanted to do to you.

Seconds later, he grabbed your ankles and brought them back to meet the back on your thighs. You were nearly folded like a lawn chair when he met the edge of the bed as far as his legs could go, and teased your oversensitive cunt with the bulbous head of his cock. You let your head fall back and eyes close, waiting for him to push in, but he pauses. You yank your head back up and see him with his head tilted slightly to the side and a smile on his face.

“What is it?” You breathed out, wiggling your hips a little to the best of your ability, promoting him to proceed.

“Nothing. You’re just beautiful, that’s all.” You blushed and leaned your head back down to the bed. Not even a second later you were filled to the brim with one swift motion. Kix stilled again; this time when you shot your head back to look at him, his own was tilted back with his eyes clamped shut. Your heavy breaths were the only sound in the quiet room for the moment; he was letting you get adjusted to him while he relished in the way you felt around his cock.

Your ankles were still sat against the backs of your thighs; his hands came up to press into your shins as he slowly began to thrust. 

Slow, gentle thrusts quickly turned to hard and deep ones, his grip on your shins  transferred to bruising grips on your hips as he pounded you into the bed. The position he had you in gave his cock the ability to hit further inside you than you ever thought possible. You were a whimpering mess - completely at his mercy. Between grunts coming from Kix you were able to make out words like “tight” and “warm”. You couldn't focus on anything other than how he was pretty much splitting you open. 

You didn’t think you could cum as many times as you already had, but your third orgasm came out of nowhere, white hot and burning in your gut. To add liquid tibanna to the fire, Kix worked your clit with expert fingers as he coaxed you to give him “just one more.” 

Well, one more is what you gave him, because your fourth orgasm hit you just seconds after your third. You didn’t even know that was possible, yet here you were, completely wrecked by this soldier hammering in and out of you while working your oversensitive bundle of nerves with his fingers. 

The squelching sounds coming from his cock moving in and out of your very well-lubricated cunt made your face burn. Kix was close; his thrusts were becoming sloppy and losing their rhythm while his grunts were getting louder as your walls clenched unforgivingly around him.

He quickly pulled out, working himself with a shaky hand as he shot out his release. His sticky cum spurted in warm ropes, splattering on your lower stomach and the apex of your thighs. You couldn't help but smile up at him as his finished - not minding the mess he made all over you - noticing that the signature sparkle in his eyes returned as worked the last of his release from his spent, softening cock. Kix flopped down on the bed next to you; you both panted in unison, trying to catch your breaths. He turned his head to you and you turned your head to him, watching him as his chest movements became slower, returning to the steady rise and fall of normal breathing. He let out a long sigh followed by a smirk, his arms folded above his head.

“Stars. That was... was - ”

“Amazing,” you finished for him. He nodded in agreement, raising his hand to wipe a bead of sweat of your brow. “Some medical training you had there, Kix.”

It felt like an hour went by as you both came down from your highs, laying in silence. You sat up, nearly forgetting you were coated in his sticky release. You looked over your shoulder at him with a sheepish smile. Kix instantly shot up and stepped into the ‘fresher, coming back with a damp towel, “Allow me.” What a gentleman. You blushed at the sweet gesture - which, to be totally honest, seemed silly since he had just spit you open and completely wrecked you. 

After he had cleaned you up, you flopped back down on the bed, not putting the energy in to get dressed. Kix had his bottoms back on when he sat down on the bed next to you, his hand coming up to tuck loose hair behind your ears. You were completely lost in his kind eyes; you felt a ridiculous smile plastered on your face as you started into them.

“I’m a regular at 79′s y’know,” you informed him, your smile turning into a mischievous grin.

His one brow raised, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Looks like I know where to find you, beautiful.”

***

* If you want to be added to the taglist for our clone bois, please let me know in the replies! Thank you kindly <3 *

Tags: @bvcketfvcker​

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Canary, Part 39

First

Previous

tw for mostly nongraphic violence in the italics

She barely suppressed a cringe when someone came crashing into her for a hug, but allowed it, absently bringing a hand up to pat the back of their head – which caused her to actually cringe and gag, pulling away to clench her hands in hopes of getting rid of the weird feeling. Luckily, the kid didn’t seem to mind, even giving an apologetic smile.

Marinette returned it, barely rubbing her hands together. “Hey, Benny. How’s winter homework going?”

Benny rolled his eyes a little. “Fine, mom.”

Emma looked offended. “Hey! I’m not old enough to be a grandma yet!”

“You’re also my mom,” Benny said.

“Oh, does this mean that Mari and Emma are lesbians? Good for them,” Ara said, grinning.

“Hey! I’ll kick you out of my apartment, you little shit,” Emma said. She started to shake her fist at the kid, but then she seemed to realize that this didn’t look better for the whole ‘being old’ thing.

“My apartment,” Marinette grumbled. Emma sent her a cold look and she, wisely, opted to shut up.

The conversation lulled as they went back to preparing the Lounge for their first shift. Their fellow henchmen slowly streamed in, one after the other, hardly casting the newest hires a glance as they started getting to work.

Marinette kept an eye out for the man she had seen the other day, though she wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t end up seeing him ever again. She was pretty sure that he was Signal…

And how, you ask? Well, it’s simple: she’s good at noticing patterns.

It was unfortunate that Signal was the only bat that regularly patrolled during daytime, because that meant Marinette had plenty of time to observe him.

He’d always been the most in denial about his general insane-ness in a way that the rest of the bats were not. Most bats had at least some understanding of the fact that their decision to don furry suits to fight crime instead of going to therapy wasn’t exactly the most normal thing to do. Therefore, the other bats were much better at letting go of their paranoia, because they knew, at least on some level, that they were probably looking too far into things… Signal, with his general lack of self-awareness, didn’t have that kind of thing holding him back, which meant he had a tendency to look into anything and everything that happened to catch his eye.

Which meant that, when Marinette noticed that the events of the Gala had been laid out in excruciating detail by the few reporters that had managed to get in, she had figured that Signal might start watching her, especially when it pertained to Oswald Cobblepot.

And, it seems, she was right. It would take a few more days of working there to confirm it, but…

She smiled a little at her reflection in the counter she had been wiping down, winking at herself for her own amusement as Benny started stuffing the body into a plastic tub so he could transport it without tracking blood on the floors.

She hesitated, considering just lazing around since her job was done, but it took her all of three minutes to become bored. So, she made her way over to help Ara replace all of the wilting flowers. Her head tipped to the side as she spun a flower in her hand. She doubted that it was anything more than a horrible coincidence, the purple matched the rest of the Lounge perfectly, but it still made her stomach turn.

Because the flowers chosen were irises. Which meant that the messenger was ‘sending a message’ to the receiver.

“Now, now. I can’t just ‘let you off’. What kind of message would that send?”

“Please, I’m sorry! I won’t do it aga –!”

The hand holding her arms behind her back pushed up, and she cut herself off with a curse, forcing herself onto her tiptoes to avoid as much pain as possible.

She finally dropped the wadded bills in her hands and couldn’t help but mourn their loss. It was stupid. It wasn’t like she would ever have the chance to use them, anyways.

Cobblepot didn’t look all that affected by the teenager’s pleas. His lips curled in disgust as he looked down at the money that had slipped from her grip. He leaned forward, resting his weight on his cane, until his long nose almost touched hers.

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

She crumpled the dead flower in her hands.

She moved on to helping Emma mop the floor. It was familiar, and yet not at the same time.

Marinette’s eyes traveled away from him. To Emma and Jack, who were standing off to the side. She begged them silently for help. They looked away. She found that she was disappointed. Which didn’t make sense, she hadn’t truly believed they would help her in the first place.

After all, why would she expect them to do something that she wouldn’t even do herself?

The woman’s eyes tightened just slightly. She glanced to the side, as if their fallen friend might materialize if she simply willed it to happen. But he didn’t. Jack was gone, Marinette had made sure of that when she had made him take the fall for her.

Marinette hesitated. “I’m sorry.”

The woman didn’t bother to ask why. “He’s really…?”

“I didn’t know how to fake deaths back then, so…”

Marinette trailed off. Emma didn’t need her to finish to know what she meant.

Marinette felt the ghost of the crowbar in her hands. She rubbed them together furiously in hopes of stifling the cold, wet feeling of the weapon she had beat her friend to death with.

There was a beat before Emma sighed and knocked her shoulder against hers lightly. “I’ve got this. Go help Lorri –...” She cleared her throat with a wince. “Lorenzo and Polly with the champagne glasses before they knock them all over.”

Marinette hesitated just slightly, but nodded. She gave Emma a smile and headed over to the two who were squabbling dangerously close to the pyramid of champagne glasses they had been tasked with stacking. She felt more in her element here, carefully standing between the two opposing groups. It kept her mind spinning, kept her moving. She always loved a good distraction.

“Don’t look away now.”

A gloved hand gripped her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. She barely stopped herself from throwing up. It wouldn’t help her case if she dirtied his shoes, even if that would make the bootlicking she would have to do to even hope to survive all the more helpful.

“Nothing?” Cobblepot said in a mockingly sweet tone. “Not going to defend yourself?”

She grit her teeth. “No, sir. There is no excuse for what I did.”

“At least you are aware of it,” he said.

Oswald Cobblepot's eyes bore holes in the back of her skull. She ignored him. He’d get her back for it later, she was sure. But, for now, she kept on shouldering Polly and Lorenzo apart so they wouldn’t murder each other.

She was silent. There was nothing she could do if he decided to kill her right then and there, and she could tell he was reveling in the fact. Even as she twisted her hands in her fellow henchman’s grip, she knew it was useless. On the off chance she managed to fight her way out, where would she have gone? She was stealing money for a reason, she was a henchman for a reason. She was stuck in Gotham, stuck in this terrible job. And she would be until she died.

Thankfully, it seemed that she was going to be released from her job quite soon.

She swallowed thickly.

He considered her tear-covered face for a painfully long time.

And then he straightened, apparently having made his decision.

“I suppose I should stick with the traditional way of dealing with a thief, don’t you all think?” He asked the room at large. No one dared to so much as breathe in answer, but it didn’t seem like he cared all that much either way.

Marinette barely had enough time to wonder what he meant before a hand fisted itself in her hair and her head was slammed onto a table. She blinked the shining lights from her eyes – were they simply tears or were they the beginning of a concussion? – and looked back when someone released her hands.

She braced them on the table. That couldn’t be it, the person hadn’t let go of her head yet, but she didn’t know what was needed of her. Maybe she just had to take a beating? She had to get up for that.

A gloved hand caught her wrist this time and she watched as Cobblepot spread her fingers out.

It was then that she realized what was going to happen. Her breath stilled.

Marinette felt another set of eyes on her and glanced back, meeting the cook’s gaze with a steely expression that matched the kitchen knives he was sharpening. Marinette detected jealousy in the way he glared at her and she couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

“Hey, I can always cut off your finger if you really want to get out of kitchen duty that badly,” she said, smiling coldly.

He seemed to be considering it. If he knew what it was like, he wouldn’t be.

She could do nothing but watch as Cobblepot pulled a pocket knife from one of his many pockets. He looked perfectly calm. She would have thought that he was merely going to chop some vegetables from the absolute serenity on his face.

“Please,” she tried again. It was useless, but she had to try. She couldn’t just…

Cobblepot laughed at her as he readied his knife.

More tears built in her eyes and she squeezed them shut.

There was the quiet sound of a knife meeting wood.

A scream tore itself from her throat.

When customers started making their way inside only a few moments later, she was all too happy to begin serving them.

Marinette was an exceptional waitress. She had taken up customer service jobs many times undercover, and, even if that hadn’t been the case, her skills as Canary were highly transferable.

(It’s a good thing, too. Restaurants only pay their servers around $4 an hour – excluding tips – even when they’re not run by Rogues. Marinette thought she might just skip her plan entirely and kill her boss right then if she ever earned less than $60 in a night.)

She found herself slipping easily into old habits. Table-hop at the speed of light to get as many satisfied customers as possible. Flirt with him, charm her, lean over just so and let them all stare while she smiled with false innocence and wrote down their orders…

Imagine doing a math worksheet for class and every single question is just 2+2 over and over again but you’re not allowed to stop answering questions until the school day is done. Oh, and the teacher just happens to have chopped off one of your fingers and is looking at you like they would very much like to have a go at the rest of them.

That’s about how it felt for her. It was practically torture. And, considering she had been tortured for information before, this was not an analogy she made carelessly.

But, eventually, halfway through her shift, she was allowed a fifteen-minute break. Technically, it was supposed to be used as a combination bathroom/snack break, but she didn’t care. She stepped outside.

The moment the door thudded shut behind her, tremors started dancing under her skin. She glanced around the blood-and-grime-splattered alley walls for a relatively clean place to lean. Her legs threatened to give out beneath her, but she couldn’t crash quite yet.

The hands that had been holding her down let go and she went crashing to her knees, only barely stopping her head from hitting the table for the second time that night. Her knees ached where she had hit the ground, and she was sure she had scraped them, but this paled in comparison to how it felt to lose a finger. White-hot pain traveled up her arm in waves, as if trying desperately to replace the fluids steadily draining from her the now-missing appendage. Her entire arm felt like it had been used as a pincushion, with her hand at the stinging center.

She rested her head back, squeezing her eyes shut as her breath came in labored gasps. Her hands fumbled to her pockets, pushing aside all of her tips in favor of the box of cigarettes that were waiting for her like an old friend.

Cigarette smoke couldn’t be good for someone that was one step away from hyperventilating, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Marinette slid down the wall slowly, taking long drags from her cigarette. She didn’t know how long she stayed there, struggling to get her breathing under control between puffs of cigarette smoke, but it felt like hours before she brought her nerves down to a manageable level.

Someone joined her, but she didn’t acknowledge their presence.

A cigar was shoved in her face and she stared at it for a moment, uncomprehending, before flicking her lighter open again and lighting it for Cobblepot. The man nodded and leaned against the opposite wall. He was leaning against a stained part, and was sure to get blood on the back of his suit, but it wasn’t like Rogues weren’t accustomed to scrubbing blood out of their clothes.

“Why are you here?”

The lighter cast warm light over her face, and yet her smile had never been so cold. “Getting practice.”

Cobblepot’s eyes narrowed behind his monocle, and he was careful when he prompted her to go on with a wave of his hand.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t realize? You have permanent blackmail on me, I’m not nearly stupid enough to think that you’re just going to pretend all this didn’t happen when the year is up. I’m going to work for you until I drop. Isn’t that right?”

The man didn’t respond verbally, simply took another drag of his cigar as he considered her shrewdly. Marinette figured that that was confirmation in itself.

She flicked her cigarette a few times idly and brought it to her lips again, keeping her gaze on the floor.

She forced her attention somewhere else, anywhere else. And that was when she caught sight of the now missing part of her, still sitting all nice and pretty on the table.

She didn’t realize she had stopped breathing until it all came rushing back to her with a gasp. She fell back, scrambling on the floor to get away from it. From everyone.

“You know,” he started after a while. “I had always wondered why you hated me so vehemently.”

“You took something from me. Isn’t it only fair that I take something from you in return?”

“An eye for an eye and the whole world goes blind.”

She scoffed quietly. She had always hated that old adage. “Am I supposed to leave myself vulnerable to the person who stole my eye in the first place? At least this way we’re on even footing again.”

“Really, you should be grateful,” Cobblepot’s voice managed to carry above the high-pitched whining in her ears. “Traditionally, they used to chop off the whole hand. I only took a finger.”

Marinette sobbed as she hugged her hand to her chest. She balled it in the fabric of her button down, trying to stem the bleeding. She recognized that she would have to buy a new shirt, and that she likely wouldn’t be able to afford it, and that in itself pulled another sob from her.

“Actually… say it. Thank me for my kindness.”

She looked up at him through her tears. She must have been quite the sight, because the borderline maniacal laughter that Cobblepot had been holding back for a while now finally broke through.

The little blood left in her body came rushing towards her cheeks and she shrunk under the many eyes of the people in the Lounge.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice coming out painfully small.

“Sorry? I didn’t hear you?” Cobblepot cooed, leaning closer and cupping his ear.

She grit her teeth.

“Thank you, sir.”

Her watch beeped, signaling that her break was coming to an end.

“You know,” she mused, standing up and brushing off her clothes with the hand that wasn’t holding her cigarette. “I’d reconsider if I were you. Even if I somehow don’t figure out a way to get back at you before the year is over, I have years to figure out how to absolutely ruin you.”

“Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer,” Cobblepot said absently.

“You forget that I fight with knives. The first rule of fighting is: the shorter the weapon, the closer you have to be.”

You’re going to regret letting me live, the Marinettes of the past and present thought. I will chip away at you until you have nothing. Until you are nothing.

“Should you really be saying such things to the man who currently has snipers trained on your parents at all hours?” He said, but she could never miss the slight wrinkling of his forehead and the way his shoulders were slowly inching up towards his ears.

She giggled.

His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Want to know what’s funny, sir? Not once have I ever heard a threat come from the mouth of a man who was confident in their position.”

“You threatened me only moments ago.”

She stomped out her cigarette. “Oh, darling, you misread me. I wasn’t threatening you. I don’t do threats. I do do promises, however. And we all know that Canary never breaks a promise.”

She didn’t even spare the man a glance as she stepped back inside, the door slamming shut behind her, leaving him alone in the alleyway with nothing but a cigar and his thoughts.

~

Marinette rested her head on the back of the couch, watching Jonathan work. The lab coat looked strange on him, too big and bulky for his tiny frame, and the pristine white was a far cry from the bloodstained gear he usually wore as Scarecrow or even the slightly frayed tweed he wore when he wanted to dress more casually.

She turned her attention to the blood-filled test tube in her hand. She ignored the incessant beeping of the machine he was using to analyze Fu’s DNA, spinning the test tube in between gloved fingers for the millionth time that night. Her eyebrows furrowed. Even she, with her lack of experience in biology or knowledge of laboratory equipment, knew something was up. The blood didn’t move quite right, sticking to itself as if desperate to remain in a singular blob.

Jonathan shot up from his hunched over state so suddenly that she dropped it. The glass shattered on the floor and she suppressed a wince.

She’d have to clean that up at some point. But not yet.

Marinette hopped the couch before he could even call her over, eagerly pushing herself close to him so she could look at the results that the weird white box had delivered.

He snickered and she allowed him to ruffle her hair.

“The DNA is weird,” Jonathan started. “It looks like something is threaded through it.”

She hummed thoughtfully as she looked at the computer screen. It looked like he was right, there was some weird string-like substance laced through the double helix. She was pretty sure that it was moving, though it was doing so at a glacial pace.

She brought her gaze back to Jonathan’s face so he could explain it to her, but she was met with an expectant look that reminded her, rather abruptly, that he used to be a professor.

Reluctantly, she cast her mind back to her lychée biology class in hopes of finding an answer.

“... RNA?” was all she could come up with. She was pretty sure she remembered something about RNA something-ase unzipping DNA to make RNA.

“...” Jonathan sighed heavily. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t just hear that.”

Marinette huffed and gently pushed aside the various DNA samples so she could perch herself on the table, crossing her arms over her chest. “Not all of us have a special interest in how people work.”

“Listen here you little shit –,” he started.

She snorted into her hand, effectively cutting him off.

He sighed yet again, somehow even more exhausted than the last time. He absently started smoothing out her hair where he had ruffled it. “Fine. You’re so lucky I’m not Ed. It seems like there’s something special in the DNA that’s trying to reform it into something workable.”

Marinette tipped her head to the side thoughtfully. “That… could make sense, I suppose.” It explained why Master Fu had lived so long, and why her skin didn’t scar nearly as much as it should considering her general inability to take care of herself. It might even explain why he had choked on his own blood as quickly as he had. “But…”

They looked at each other. From the way that Jonathan’s hand had stilled in her hair, she was willing to bet that he had come to the same conclusion:

If he really wanted to test that that was what was going on, he’d need to test a sample of her DNA as well.

There was an awkward silence. Marinette was the first one to look away, stuffing her hands into her hoodie pocket and clutching the handle of the knife she kept hidden there.

His hand left her hair and he nodded slightly. He looked disappointed, but it wasn’t like he would be able to pull the same kinds of tricks that he would pull with his usual lab subjects (or, as the police insisted on calling them, ‘victims’). He wouldn’t be able to muscle his way into getting a sample from her, she would surely find a way to get revenge even if he did manage it, and – perhaps most importantly – he cared about her opinion of him.

If he wrestled her to the ground and broke the already fragile trust she put in him, there was no way she’d ever let him adopt her.

She let go of her knife and gave him a hesitant smile. “I’m sure something will come to us.”

And, well, something did come to them. Literally.

Adrien trudged inside in his all-black gear before he dropped onto the couch with a huff, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.

Jonathan’s goggles moved in a way that suggested he was wrinkling his nose. “Take a shower.”

Marinette froze, eyes locked on her now literal partner in crime, before a wide smile stretched across her face. “Heyyyyyy, Chaton?”

He looked up at her, not even bothering to disguise his wariness when he answered: “M’lady?”

“Give Jon a sample of your hair, please. He wants to study how the – er, let’s call them – advantages we have affect our bodies,” she said, batting her eyelashes at him.

He paused, frowning. “I… thought it would be worse than that.”

Marinette shrugged a little. That was the point. If you make someone think you’re going to ask the world of them, asking them for a city no longer seems like that big of a deal –.

She cringed. Right. Manipulation is bad. Maybe she should write lines to get it through her head properly.

“Sorry, habit. I didn’t mean…” She cleared her throat awkwardly. “Um… he doesn’t know my identity, and I don’t want him to know, so… please?”

Adrien scrutinized her face for a moment before sighing. “Fine.”

Jonathan jumped to his feet with a cheerful clap of his hands. After finding some scissors so he could get a chunk of Adrien’s hair, he ran to the machine and started working. He was bouncing just slightly on the balls of his feet as he waited, watching the screen intently.

The two miraculous holders gave each other slightly amused looks before Adrien headed off to take the shower he so desperately needed. Marinette started cleaning up the mess on the floor.

She swept away the glass with a broom and watched the way the blood smeared. She had never paid too much attention to her blood on the many occasions where she had seen it, she had been pretty focused on stopping it rather than observing it. And, when she had cleaned it, she had been going as fast as possible in order to not get caught. Now… she noticed that Fu’s was even stickier than blood usually was, gripping onto the floor in a way that she knew would be a bitch to clean.

Huh. No wonder she wasn’t dead yet. Dying would be hard when your body is doing its absolute best to hold itself together.

She suddenly found herself grateful that Master Fu’s head had been taken by the League of Assassins. It would be hard for the man to come back to life when a good chunk of him was halfway across the world.

(She also wondered, absently, whether the change was permanent. Fu hadn’t worn the miraculous – or even been alive – for almost two weeks at this point. Were the effects ever going to wear off? Was it proportional to how long they had lived? Were there – oh god Ed and Jon had rubbed off on her.)

Marinette worked at scrubbing away the blood with a mix of hydrogen peroxide and Good Old Elbow Grease (a Gotham-specific cleaning brand). She could hear Jonathan make a squeaking sound and gave the man a glance over her shoulder. He started pacing, mouth moving silently as he tried to piece together what was going on.

She didn’t know how to feel. On the one hand, Jonathan was happy. She cared about her adoptive father and wanted him to be in high spirits. On the other hand, Jonathan was happy. Him being in high spirits often ended up creating spirits.

Adrien slipped back into the room, toweling his hair. Marinette cringed a little at the way the black dye stained the fabric.

Jonathan, though, smiled wider when he saw that Adrien had entered the fold.

“Human rights, Jon,” Marinette reminded him. “You have to get consent.”

The man sent her a dirty look but sighed and turned to Adrien, who had adopted a mildly concerned expression. For some reason.

“Could you do something for me?” Jonathan said.

“Say no,” Marinette advised.

Jonathan shot her another glare and, this time, she shut up, taking out her phone with a roll of her eyes and absently scrolling through her messages.

Adrien raised his eyebrows.

He clasped his hands together, eyes bright. “I would like to study you.”

~

“Shouldn’t have said yes,” complained Adrien as they clambered up the fire escape to their shared apartment, one after the other.

“Told you so,” she said boredly. “You can hold the fact that your adoption hasn’t gone through yet over his head if you want.”

“Unlike you, I actually want them to adopt me.”

Marinette bit back the retort of ‘unlike you, I have decent parents that are alive and love me’, because that wasn’t really fair of her.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “They really grew on you, huh?”

“Yeah. I’m starting to think I might just have a thing for assholes.”

“Odd way to come out, but I support you.”

He laughed and gave her a light shove. She fell back dramatically into the railing of the fire escape, disturbing the screech owl that had perched itself there. Its head whipped around to look at her and it decided to live up to its name, screaming so loudly she had to fight not to cover hear ears. Instead, she gave it a dead-eyed stare and shooed it away.

She turned back to Adrien, who was examining his reflection in his phone.

“Can you see any of the track marks on my neck?”

“Don’t worry about that,” she waved him off. “They’ll just think you’re on drugs.”

“... christ, this place is horrible.”

~

Marinette groaned when she entered the room where Cobblepot had just finished his last ‘business meeting’. She, Emma, and Aaron (he hadn’t managed to get a non-crime-related job before his money had run out, so he’d joined the ever-growing ranks of Cobblepot’s staff a week after she had) gave each other identical exasperated looks.

The meeting had… not gone well, to say the least.

No wonder Cobblepot had called on the three of them, they had the most experience cleaning up messes.

“I’ll get the blood on the walls if you guys promise not to make any comments about your ribs,” Emma said, rubbing the space between her eyebrows irritably.

Marinette’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “But it’s been so long since we’ve heard Aaron’s story!”

“Yeah! C’mon, Em, don’t be a buzzkill,” he said, grinning widely.

“... fine. You guys have to get the stuff on the walls.”

“Wait –.”

"I literally warned you."

"Em, let's talk about this -."

~

Marinette thumbed through the money she had gotten in tips, mouth pulled into a slight frown. She was down 10% from the day before. She hated bad tippers.

She huffed a little and stuffed the money in her bra.

(Benny quickly looked away, covering his eyes, which was unnecessary considering the fact that she went by stripper rules – “look all you want, but if you try and touch you’ll get thrown out… a third-story window” – but she appreciated the sentiment.)

“Ugh, I’m going to ask the bitch for a raise at this point,” she gritted out.

Lorenzo snickered quietly, then seemed to realize that she was serious. His eyes went wide. “Are you stupid? Even if he wasn’t, y’know, Penguin… he’s pretty much The One motivated by greed. He’s going to kill you.”

“At least wait until tomorrow,” Emma said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “I already cleaned up a body today, I don’t want to have to do another one.”

Marinette knew that Emma was just trying to stall in hopes that she would calm down and give up on the idea.

She smiled a little. “Fine. Tomorrow, then.”

~

Adrien sat on the windowsill, much to Marinette’s chagrin. It was one of the eight or so actual sunny days that Gotham had every year and she had practically become a vampire with how she wilted away from sunlight.

She sat on the fire escape, back to the sun and almost comically large, star-shaped sunglasses perched on her nose (she’d “borrowed” them from Ara).

“You know I’m not a miracle-worker, right?”

“No, you’re a miraculous-worker,” she said, then cursed herself internally for the pun that had slipped out. She cleared her throat awkwardly. “C’mon, Chaton, please? He has a sniper trained on my parents. Don’t you wanna fuck with him, too?”

Adrien squinted at her for a moment before sighing. “Fiiiiiine.”

“It’s like you forget I’m technically your boss,” she mumbled irritably.

He flicked her on the forehead, sticking out his tongue at her, which was a gross display of insubordination but she would let it slide because she was a kind soul. Then, he sighed and rubbed the area on his neck where Jonathan had taken a couple of samples to study. “Speaking of… are you sure about them being Gala attendees…?”

“Still nothing?”

“All I’m finding out is that rich people are even worse than I remember them being,” said Adrien, frowning. “Is every rich person in this city part of The Court?”

“Pretty much.”

“Hm. Think I should join them?”

“I guess it would give us immunity…” She mused, only to cut herself off with a shudder at a horrible realization:  “No, I don’t want to have to deal with Talon all the time.”

“Is it really that bad?” He asked, looking interested.

She shuddered again. “You’ll probably meet him at some point with how often you hang out in the vents of the rich and powerful. You’ll see.”

~

Marinette strode into the room Cobblepot was in confidently, a rather hefty stack of paper held close to her chest.

He looked up from his meal – heh, chicken for a chicken – and instinctively covered it with one hand to make sure she wouldn’t poison him.

She took the seat opposite him and dropped the stack of papers she had been holding onto the desk. When he didn’t take them, she gladly slid them closer to him, her business smile still in place.

His hand moved away from his food and came to rest at his side. She might have thought it casual if she didn’t see his arm move in a way that told her he must have pulled something from his pocket.

Cobblepot gave her a wary look. “What is this?”

“A list of every single business you have personal stock in and a detailed plan on how I would personally bring all of them down,” Marinette said, resting her head on her hand as if this all was boring to her. And, to be fair, it kind of was. Something inside of her itched to tank all of the places he had stock in right then, just to watch the dawning horror on his face as he realized he had lost a good portion of his assets…

But she had a method to her supposed madness when it came to how she wanted to bring him down. And, while she wholeheartedly intended on following through eventually, it would not be for quite some time.

Not that he could know that.

“And if I kill you now?” He asked, flipping through the documents with his free hand. There was a telltale click of a gun.

“Well, you would lose an investment, and we both know that you hate losing investments,” she said, motioning to the papers as if to say ‘case in point’.

He opened his mouth, likely to tell her she was more trouble than she was worth. Which, she supposed, was a fair assessment. He never should have stolen her. But he had a Canary in his pocket, now, and he should have thought better than to leave a sharp beak so close to his most sensitive parts.

“But, obviously, I have backup plans in case. Like the bombs I’ve been setting up all over the Lounge. If it gets out that I died… well, I have a partner –” the old phrase felt weird on her tongue after so long, but she continued on nonetheless “– that is perfectly willing to take this place down.”

His face paled. “I could find the bombs.”

“Do you want to bet on that?”

She had lost her smile, now. A rarity. Her otherwise pleasant face looked odd and eerie, giving off the distinct feeling that something was wrong – or, at least, that something was about to be wrong.

He was silent for a long time.

“What are your demands?” He said, finally.

“Minimum wage for all of the people working here.”

His eyes darkened.

She met his gaze coolly.

They were playing a rather high-stakes game of chicken, which was odd considering their aliases were completely different birds. But, either way, she wouldn’t lose.

She could see the exact moment he relented, his shoulders slumping almost imperceptibly.

“Keep the papers. I have plenty of copies.”

She reached in front of her and slid the plate of food to herself, cutting herself a bite and scrunching her nose. “Boring. Bland,” she commented, tossing the fork back onto the plate with a clatter. She twirled the knife in her fingers idly, as if thinking, and her smile finally returned to her face. “Whatever. I’ll be watching the company memos, mhmm?”

She threw the knife and smiled when it impaled itself in the porcelain plate, cracking it neatly in two.

“See you later, sir,” she chirped.

The people gathered outside stared at her, eyes wide.

“You’re not dead?!” Polly hissed incredulously. Wow. Marinette had never thought she’d see the day where the woman was even less tactless than her friend, but here she was.

“I think he has a thing for degradation,” Marinette lied with a shrug. “I mean, really, have you seen him? All that money and he still hasn’t gotten a plastic surgeon? It’s like he’s trying to get bullied.”

~~~

Batman: okay my fellow gothamites were going to have a purge kind of situation in a couple of days to see if it actually reduces crime throughout the rest of the year feel free to commit crimes none of us bats will arrest you i promise

Batman7: Canary. Please stop. I said I was sorry.

Batman: shut up youre probably balding

Yummmmmm: What did he do

Batman: got me banned so now i have to use this account

Yummmmmm: I’ll unban you

Batman: okay but im not taking back the tweets

~~~~~

Next

@jayjayspixiepop @unoriginalmess @miraculousfanfic127 @probably-a-hologram @iloontjeboontje @mystery-5-5 @flyhighdreamer @starlit-dreaming @aespades @lowhangingtreebranches @twsssmlmaa @queenz-z @patton-ly-absurd

[dearkusuo]

Ch. 2 ☆ Last Christmas

Synopsis: You were intent on avoiding your ex-boyfriend all of winter break, however, your mom and her best friend had other plans lined up for you.

Pairing: Saiki Kusuo x reader

Tags: college au, fluff, angst

Word Count: 1.7k

m.list ▪︎▪︎▪︎ 1 ▪︎▪︎▪︎ 2 ▪︎▪︎▪︎ 3

"Wake up," a hazy voice made its way through your eardrums. Your body refused to respond despite the nagging tone roaring at you to come back from your dreamscape. You croaked out an incoherent mumble, shifting around unconsciously on your bed. A soft click resounded as your bedroom lights were switched on, causing you to grimace uncomfortably at the sudden brightness.

"Don't you think it's time for you to get out of bed?"

It took you a minute to register your mother's words as grogginess slowly faded from your half-woken state.

"Why don't you ever let me sleep in?" you grumbled.

"It's already noon."

"So what?" you yawned, sitting up with your arms stretching out.

“Get up,” your mother sang cheerily. "We're going to decorate Kurumi's house for the party."

Your eyes heavily blinked a few times and your head tilted to one side, hoping that you heard her wrong. The last you checked, your neighbours’ halls were decked and loaded enough to practically be Santa’s workshop.

"I don't think they need any more decorations," you retorted.

"But we don’t think it’s festive enough," your mother explained.

You crossed your arms, eyebrows knitting together. Of course they would find an excuse to make things more over the top. Still, you knew better than to waste your breath in arguing against their logic.

“Don’t you have to go to work?” you remarked sharply.

“I took the rest of the month off so we could plan for the party.”

A frustrated groan hit your throat as your head fell back to face the ceiling.

“Why are you acting so disappointed?” your mother snarked while she forcefully dragged you out of bed, pushing you to get ready and leaving you alone in your room.

“Wear something nice okay? Kusuo is gonna be there,” she commanded sternly, her voice muffled from the other side of the door.

You dug through your closet as your eyes rolled back. Why did it matter what he thought of how you looked? 

"You know we broke up a long time ago right?" you quipped, putting on a random outfit.

"I know," your mother replied.

"So why does it seem like you're forcing us to spend time together?"

You could almost imagine her batting her eyelashes at you, a widely innocent smile adorning her face as she said, “I don't know what you mean." You scoffed at her words as you stared at the mirror, fixing up your appearance.

She grabbed your wrist as soon as you left the room, dragging you along with her. Before you knew it, your mother was ringing the buzzer of your neighbour’s house while you both stood outside the gate. Mrs. Saiki happily welcomed you both into her home, quickly guiding you to the living room.

“You wanted more decorations?” you confirmed, gawking dubiously at the excessive embellishments around you.

Mrs. Saiki shared an obscure look with your mother, an ambiguous conversation passing between them. “Yes, that’s right,” your neighbour replied, “ I need this place to be even more festive for the party.”

You heard the patter of footsteps marching down the stairs. A familiar blond head popped into the room with a cheeky smile spread on his lips.

“Are we having guests right now?”

“Kuusuke, it’s so good to see you again,” your mother called out. The blond man walked up to you, giving you and your mother a quick greeting.

“Where’s Kuu-chan?” Mrs. Saiki inquired.

“I’m sure he’ll be down in a bit,” Kuusuke responded politely.

As if on cue, you picked up on the sound of another person descending from the second floor. Kusuo joined his brother, standing a foot away from him. His face remained blank as he skimmed the room before his eyes fell on your own. You shyly looked at the ground, eyeing the dark patterns of the wooden tiles. Your mother gushed heartily over him just as she did with his older brother.

“Oh, I just realized that I don’t have any more decorations for the party,” Mrs. Saiki gasped. Probably because she already used up all of it.

You turned to your mother, getting ready to call it a day so you could head back to bed, but the hand she placed on your shoulder halted you from making a move. 

“Why don’t you go to the mall and buy some?” she suggested with a suspicious grin she tried so obviously to hide.

You blinked at her, hoping that the subtle glare you gave her made it obvious that you were not in the mood to be granting any favours.

“Your dad took the car to work, so it’ll be more convenient for you since you can drive,” she pointed out.

“Will that be okay?” Mrs. Saiki asked.

You pursed your lips as you looked at her pleading face. She was too sweet that it was basically impossible for you to say no to her.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” you answered after a moment’s hesitation.

“That’s great,” she proclaimed as she smiled at you excitedly. “Kuu-chan, you should tag along,” she advised her youngest son. Kusuo didn’t say anything as he looked at his mom’s overjoyed expression. You hoped that he would have the courage to deny her request, just this one time.

Kusuo nodded once after shifting his gaze on your frame. You bit your lip, breaking eye contact with him again.

“Maybe I should go with them as well,” Kuusuke cut in.

The two women looked at each other, alarm written all over their faces. “You shouldn’t bother yourself with that,” Mrs. Saiki urged.

“No, this is nothing,” Kuusuke assured.

“Don’t you have work to do?” his mother mentioned, looking intently at him.

Kuusuke stared back at her in bewilderment for a quick second before his mouth popped open in realization. “That’s right, I have to do work. While I’m on vacation,” he laughed lightheartedly, “They’ll get the job done without me.”

The two women shared another glance, a wide beam on both their faces.

“Why do you guys keep looking at each other?” you wondered.

“That’s enough talking, both of you need to go,” your mother nervously giggled. She hastily pushed you out of the house with your ex-boyfriend, slamming the door shut behind you. 

Kusuo gazed at you expectantly when you peered at him, a silent pause falling between you two for a few seconds. You hurriedly turned away as you reluctantly led him to your car.

"What the hell is this?" you exclaimed, ogling the Elf on the Shelf figurine displayed on a table inside the store you occupied.

'Do they really want this?' Kusuo’s question rang in your mind as he held it up.

You shrugged lightly. “It’s clearly written in here," you uttered, pointing at the long list of items your mother texted to you. "Anyways, that's everything we need to buy. Let's get out of this place." You put your phone away, shoving your hands in your pockets.

A glimmer of white caught your attention from the corner of your eye as you searched for your wallet. Settled beside the spot where the elf doll used to be was a charming little snow globe. You picked it up, shaking its contents and observing the intricate design of the snowman and the floating snowflakes trapped in the glass.

"Remember that time when Kaidou and Nendou asked us to make a snowman with them?” you murmured.

'Don't remind me.'

“And you actually went with us even though you didn’t want to, because you thought something was gonna happen to them," you continued.

‘Better to be safe than sorry.’

"But they were actually just gonna put on an act," you snickered, "That was the dumbest thing I've ever heard." You smiled tenderly at the treasured memory as you put the globe down. A wave of nostalgia hit you at the thought of your high school days before your relationship went downhill. You looked away from Kusuo as you noticed the corners of his lips lifting the slightest bit.

Distractedly, you headed to the cash register to pay for the final item on your list.

'Oi.'

Kusuo grabbed your shoulder, pulling you to him. You barely had any time to react as a group of kids passed by you, yelling gleefully as they ran into the spot where you would have been had you not been yanked away.

'Watch where you're going,' Kusuo warned.

"Sorry," you mumbled, holding your breath anxiously. All at once, you were painfully aware of the arm that wrapped itself around you.

Kusuo dropped his hand from your shoulder, stepping back from you. A spark of electricity lingered from the loss of his touch.

The two of you stayed silent as you awkwardly turned away from him, paying for the little elf toy and exiting the store. You tried to stop thinking about his chest being pushed against you, mindful of the fact that he can read your mind.

Your mind wandered to anything that could distract you as you made it to the parking lot, unlocking your car with the push of a button. How you hated going Christmas shopping. How you hated that your mother was forcing you to go to her Christmas party. How your neighbours didn't even need more decorations. How Kusuo was so confusing sometimes. You stopped in your tracks.

Kusuo looked up at you curiously, waiting for you to speak your mind as you debated whether or not you should ask him what's been bothering you.

“The other day, what did you mean by, ‘that’s not the case’?” you demanded after a few seconds of deliberation.

He let out a soft snort. An eternity seemed to pass before he gave an answer, ‘You can’t possibly think that I ever stopped caring for you.’  His blank expression disappeared as his eyes burned into yours.

You gave him a disbelieving look as your shoulders tensed up. The words you’ve longed to hear for so long never felt so foreign, so incredulous. He clearly agreed with you when you thought it was best to end your relationship a year ago. So what was he doing sending you mixed signals now?

He let out a sigh. Kusuo left your side, taking his place on the passenger’s seat of your car. It took you a moment to come back to your senses as you robotically got on the driver's side, revving the engine to life.

You turned on the radio, hoping that the intrusion of noise would help to get rid of the tension between you two as a familiar tune by Wham blasted through your speakers. The station was set on playing holiday music, it seemed. The song you used to put on repeat last Christmas drowned out your thoughts.

[fckinsupreme]

imagine face-timing duncan shepherd wearing nothing but soft pink lingerie and then touching yourself for him as he is on his way home from a business trip-

Your phone chimes with an incoming FaceTime call, and you’re delighted to see that it’s your boyfriend, Duncan Shepherd. You fix the top half of your lingerie, fluffing your hair a bit before answering the call. His handsome face is beaming at you, and you mirror his grin as you purr softly. He whistles when he sees you, and you hold the phone out a bit to give him a look at what you chose to wear. It’s a light pink babydoll, mesh and transparent, with a tiny polka-dot pattern. It has a matching thong, which you give him a close-up of, and he groans his appreciation.

“I was expecting you to call,” you tease, giving him a good view of your tits, your nipples visible through the thin, flimsy material. “Doesn’t this make my tits look wonderful, Daddy?”

“It sure fucking does,” he growls, licking his lips as he keeps his gaze on you. “That’s a new one.”

“It is,” you confirm, rolling your hard nipple with a soft mewl. “I just bought it today.”

“Good girl,” he says, biting his lip before smirking. “Shake those pretty tits for me.”

You do as you’re told, giving them a few good shakes as he moans. You chuckle, pulling the straps down a little before pressing your breasts together with your upper arms. Duncan swallows thickly, exhaling in a shaky moan as he observes you. You place the straps back in their original position, eyes trailing to his face on the screen. He seems flustered already, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from commenting on it.

“You look so hot,” he says. “I’m going to rip that thing off of you when I get home, princess.”

You smirk at him, but it turns to a playful pout. “Don’t tear this one! This is my new favorite; maybe you could rip that purple one instead. It’s getting old and worn out, anyway.”

“Fair enough,” he says, smirking as well. “I’ll just fuck you absolutely senseless while you wear the pink one. I think it would be more fun if you kept it on.”

“I think you’re right,” you say, moving your body a little. “It’s really comfortable. I love it.”

“Show me again,” he instructs. “I want to see it on you.”

You show off your body once more, giving him access to every inch of the ensemble, before angling the camera back to your face. “Touch yourself for me, Y/N. I’m bored, and I want a good show.”

“Sure thing, Daddy,” you say, offering him an innocent look. “What should I do first?”

“Play with your nipples,” he instructs. “When you’re done with that, I want you to suck on your fingers.”

You do so, positioning the phone so he can still see, rubbing each nipple between your fingers before giving them a pinch. You run your hands over your tits before moving them up your neck, sucking the fingers of one hand into your mouth. You start off with one finger, then add another, bobbing your head on them as you hollow your cheeks. Duncan growls, telling you to stop before speaking another demand.

“Get the dildo from the nightstand,” he says. “I want to see you deep throat it, princess.”

You grab it, holding it up for him to see. You run your tongue along the veins, sucking on the balls at the base before kissing along the shaft. He watches you with a hungry expression, and you can tell he’s getting impatient. You don’t want to leave him waiting, so you take the cock down your throat, stopping only when you get to the balls. You gag, eyes watering as you take it all. He hums, palming himself for a moment before rutting further into his hand.

“That’s it, baby,” he coos. “Take it all for Daddy.”

You hollow your cheeks, grasping the base and jerking it off into your mouth. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you for a second, watching you suck off the toy for a few minutes before holding a hand up for you to stop. You do so, pulling it from your mouth and holding up the spit-soaked dildo for him to see. You set it aside, awaiting further instruction, not daring to move or do anything you aren’t told.

“Good fucking girl,” Duncan growls, palming his erection with a breathy moan. “Take your thong off now.”

You do so, but slowly. You toss it playfully at the camera, giggling as you spread your legs. You point your phone toward your cunt, giving him a view of how wet you are. You hear him growl again, that animalistic sound that signalled you were going to be in for it later. You chuckle softly, biting your lip as you bring the camera back to your face. He’s flushed, and you can tell he’s trying to hard to hold back at this point.

“Put the phone up so that I can see you,” he says. “I want you to play with yourself for me. Show Daddy how needy you are and how hard you can cum to the thought of me. I want you to start slow, with soft circles around your clit, but not on it directly. I want you to then massage your pretty little lips, rubbing them in circles, pushing your fingers in a little bit, before fucking yourself on your dildo. To do that, I want you to put a pillow beneath you and straddle it with the dildo inside of you, as if you’re riding my cock. Can you do that for me, princess?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you say, grabbing the pillow you use to grind against from under the bed to have at the ready. “I can do it all for you.”

“Then do it,” he says, gesturing with his hands. “Don’t keep Daddy waiting.”

You begin as he asked, starting slowly and rubbing circles on the skin surrounding your clit. You make sure he can see, your legs spread wide for the camera as you toss your head back. Your fingers rub through your folds, swiping through the wetness as you start to finger yourself. Duncan hums, observing you hungrily as you put on your show for him, his body leaning toward his phone.

“You’re such a dirty fucking slut, aren’t you?” Duncan breathes. “Touching yourself like a depraved little whore.”

“Yes,” you whine, keeping the same slow pace with your fingers. “That’s all I am.”

“You’re a good slut, though,” he says. “Listening to what Daddy is telling you and obeying me. I’ll have to reward you when I get home, won’t I?”

“Mmm hmm,” you hum, pulling your fingers out to rub more around your clit. “You’ll have to buy me something pretty.”

“As long as it’s something I can fuck you in, on, or with,” he teases, licking his lips with a shaky moan. He angles his camera to the bulge in his pants, smirking widely as he does so. “Look at that, baby. I’m going to fucking explode over here.”

“Mmm, you should touch yourself with me,” you suggest. “We could do it together.”

Duncan seems to consider it for a moment, then frees his cock from his pants. Fresh arousal drips from your pussy at the sight of it, and you start rubbing your clit a little faster. He begins to pump his big, thick cock, the precum already beaded at the tip slicking his hand & cock as he jerks himself off. You moan as he starts to make soft little noises, his pleasure only adding to your own. You press your fingers hard against your clit, bringing yourself to the brink of orgasm before Duncan tells you to stop.

“It’s time to ride the dildo like I told you, princess,” he breathes. “Get your pillow ready and let Daddy see you fucking yourself on your toy.”

“Want me to keep the lingerie on?” you ask. “Or take it off?”

“Leave it,” he says, eyeing you ravenously as you position the pillow where he can see it. You grab the dildo, holding it up for him as you place it upright at the center of the pillow. “I want to see it on you, princess.”

You position yourself over the toy, looking at the camera as you do so. Making eye contact with Duncan through the phone, you lower yourself onto the cock, groaning hotly as you slowly take every inch you can. You stop when you feel the base of the dildo against your cunt, clenching around it as you circle your hips. Duncan is jerking himself off more rapidly now; you can hear it beneath the pleasurable noises he’s beginning to make. You start to ride the cock, head thrown back as your hands brace on your thighs for a moment. You move one hand between your legs to keep a better hold on the toy, the other climbing up your leg to land on your breast. Duncan moans loudly, and you can tell by that sound alone that he’s getting dangerously close.

“Keep moving just like that, baby,” Duncan breathes. “I want you to tell me what you’re thinking about right now.”

“You already know,” you say cheekily, throwing him a wink.

“I do, but I want to hear it,” Duncan hisses.

“I’m thinking about your cock,” you say, rocking your hips, keeping a steady pace. “I’m wishing this was yours right now instead, because I’ve been craving it so fucking much since you left. I want nothing more than for you to cum inside of me, and then clean up the mess you made after. I wanna taste you & myself on your tongue when you’re finished.”

Duncan shivers, his eyes rolling back as you fuck yourself roughly on the dildo. You lie back on the bed when you grow too tired, positioning your cunt toward the camera so that Duncan has a good view. You moan lewdly, audibly, fucking yourself hard with the toy as the sounds it makes fills the room. You can hear Duncan try to vocalize a warning, but he’s unable to get it out as he cums, thick ropes of seed shooting from his cock. You lick your lips as you watch, stopping your movements as he hits his peak. His face is full of ecstasy as he finishes his orgasm, his icy blue eyes blinking rapidly as they find you.

“Why did you stop?” Duncan asks, grinning at you amusedly. “I don’t remember telling you to.”

“I thought because you came, you were done,” you say, batting your lashes innocently.

“No,” Duncan says sternly. “You are going to keep fucking going until I tell you to stop. Understand?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you breathe, beginning to slowly thrust the dildo once more.

“When I get home, I expect to see you in that outfit,” he says, observing your every move. “I don’t want you in anything else, understand?”

“Yes,” you breathe, continuing to move the dildo in and out. “I understand, Daddy.”

“Good girl,” he praises, continuing to watch the show until it’s evident that you’re close. “Stop, Y/N. Pull it out.”

You do so reluctantly, whining at the feeling of emptiness that follows. You look at him needfully, and he continues. “I want you to save that for me. I don’t want you to cum at all until I’m home. Understand?”

——————

Baby taglist: @littledemondani @codyfernmorelikedaddyfern @with-dandelions-in-her-hands @wroteclassicaly @leatherduncan @dark-mei-rose @littlegirlsdontplaynice @xavierplympton @xavierplymptons @blakewaterxx @melodylangdon @babyyyodas @whatcodysaid @frenchlangdon

[cvriolanus]

terrible thing | caliban imagine

a/n: hiii !! i’m finally posting part two of ‘pretty thing’, if you haven’t read pretty thing yet, you can find it here—although, they could technically be read separately. thank you all so so much for the support and being so incredibly kind and patient with me. i really wanted to make this as good as possible, and i’m a sucker for details lmao. anyways, i hope you enjoy and happy reading! <3 as always, your feedback is deeply appreciated and motivates me to continue writing.

plot: caliban visits you in your bedroom, promising you a night that you definitely won’t forget.

warnings: based on the song ‘terrible thing’ by AG. smut!!!!! fem!reader, cocky caliban, soft caliban??

˚✧₊♡⁎⁺˳.•

“Are you sure you can’t stay? My aunties won’t mind, they love having you here,” Sabrina commented, walking you to the door. You smiled, shaking your head fondly. “No, I’m sorry... my parents need me home, they want to talk to me about something important,” you lied. “I promise to come over tomorrow after school if you want?”

Sabrina beamed, giving you a hug before opening the door for you, leaning against it. “Sounds great. Just be careful getting home, it is pretty late.” You nodded, promising your best friend that you would be careful, blowing her a kiss as you walked down the steps of her home.

You walked home in silence, the cool evening air nipping at the bare skin on your legs, since the only thing you were wearing was a black skirt with lacy stockings underneath and a cropped, pink sweater. Luckily for you, your house was only ten minutes away from Sabrina’s, making it easy for you to travel.

Once you got to your house, you noticed that the lights were turned off, signaling that your parents were still away on their business trip. It was almost midnight, indicating that you were about to have a special visitor soon. Your body trembled with excitement, just thinking back to earlier in the day, with the Prince of Hell having you pinned against an entire bookshelf, almost completely ravishing you.

You didn’t know how he would show up, you didn’t even know how he knew where you lived. If you were being honest with yourself, no matter how beautiful he was—it was a bit creepy knowing that he knew your address. With a tired sigh, you walked into your house, locking the door behind you before going upstairs to your bedroom.

You let a silent yawn escape you, opening the door to your bedroom, a frown making its way on your face as you noticed your bedside lamp was on. You swiftly shut the door, leaning your back against it, scanning your bedroom carefully. “Hello?” you whispered, feeling your pulse begin to increase.

With a shaky breath, you took a step forward, biting down on your lower lip. “C-Caliban?” you asked, wondering if he was just messing around. You honestly hoped that it was him, you couldn’t imagine what you’d do if it wasn’t. You made a noise of frustration when nobody answered, walking towards your bed and falling down on it dramatically. You looked at the clock, seeing that there was only a minute left before midnight, your mind racing with thoughts about the handsome demonic Prince.

Letting your eyes flutter shut, you laid sprawled out, thinking of Caliban’s lips on your own. Without thinking, you trailed a hand down your chest, going further down until you started playing with the short hem of your shirt. Biting your lip, you cautiously moved your hand underneath your skirt, rubbing along your panties.

You could already feel heat pooling in your belly, the thought of Caliban fresh in your mind and the events that transpired today. No matter how wrong it was—you wanted him. You started rubbing your clit through your panties, pressing harder at times and then going softer, teasing yourself.

“Starting without me?”

You gasped, eyes shooting open and mouth slightly parted in disbelief, sitting up. He actually came. “W-What...?” you asked, feigning innocence. Caliban chuckled, standing at the end of your bed, wearing nothing but a pair of black, loose pants. ”Acting coy, hmm?”

Your cheeks heated up, his eyes watching your face burn in embarrassment. “Don’t stop on my account, darling,” Caliban said, waving a hand at you casually, signaling for you to continue. “Please, continue your little show. I was enjoying it very much.”

Your breathing seemed to stop at his words, your hands beginning to grow clammy. You searched his eyes for confirmation, watching a smirk spread across his perfectly shaped lips. “You’d do anything to please me, wouldn’t you?” he cooed, coming around the bed and sitting down so that you were now breathing the same air. “Go on,” he whispered, one of his hands closest to you curling around your own, before going back underneath your skirt, landing right on your cunt.

Your eyes remained locked with his as you hesitatingly cupped your cunt, swallowing nervously. Caliban continued to watch your face, trailing his hand to the inner of your thigh, tracing random patterns with his fingertips, causing goosebumps to rise across your legs. You started rubbing yourself again, your stomach swarming with butterflies. A tiny moan escaped you once you started circling your clit once more, picking up speed by the second. “Ooh,” you sigh, feeling Caliban’s large hand wrap around your thigh, kneading the flesh.

Your eyes grew heavy, but you didn’t once look away. Caliban’s face remained blank, watching you with eyes full of lust. “K-Kiss me?” you asked, praying that he wouldn’t make fun of you for asking for such a silly request. Without answering, Caliban used his free hand to cup your cheek gently, running his thumb over your jaw while examining you thoughtfully. “Beautiful.”

Caliban leaned down slightly to meet your lips, making your world grow smaller and smaller, the only people now existing were him and you. You kissed him eagerly, your tongue swiping over his bottom lip begging him for something, for anything. Caliban sucked on your tongue, making you whimper against his mouth. Your teeth clashed and your tongues slid against each other sensually and everything was perfect.

“Let me fuck you,” Caliban begged, his voice sounding strained, his hand that was gripping your thigh now batting your hand away, before immediately resuming to touching your heated cunt. Your juices soaked through your panties, the pleasure now suffocating and Caliban had barely even touched you properly.

“Yes,” you cried. “Please, fuck me—Caliban.” Caliban resumed kissing you as if his life depended on it, rubbing your clit through your thin, satin panties. Caliban didn’t hesitate, simply pulling away for a second and moving to remove your cropped sweater, before bending down to press heated kisses along your collarbones, his free hand moving to cup your breast, making you release tiny moans as your head tipped back. Caliban pulled his hand away from your cunt, making you whine at the loss.

Caliban wasn’t finished, he simply removed your bra with deft fingers, before throwing the bra behind him carelessly. Your breathing was picking up, everything happening so fast. Caliban admired your breasts, making you flush. “Lie down.”

You instantly laid back down, looking up at the Prince with big, doe eyes. “You’re beautiful,” you murmured, feeling no shame. The Prince of Hell smiled, showing of his perfectly white teeth. Caliban immediately went to work on unzipping his pants, pushing them down and kicking them off, before standing in front of you, proudly naked. Caliban stroked his half hard cock, his eyes locked with yours, lips slightly parted as he breathed heavily.

“Tell me what you want.”

You stared up at him for a second, biting your lip. “You Caliban—I just want you. Please.”

Caliban’s head tilted to the side, his hair falling so that it was covering half of his face. “Pretty thing, I’ll give you everything you want, you need just ask.” Caliban crawled on the bed, shifting his weight to not crush you, before sitting between your legs. Caliban trailed a hand up your thigh, pushing up your skirt and looking down at your heat, noticing the large patch of arousal soaking your panties.

“Is all this because of me?” Caliban wondered aloud, a small smirk playing at his lips. You whimpered lowly in your throat, spreading your legs wider without knowledge. Caliban made a cooing noise, before reaching down to move aside your panties, pushing two long, slender fingers inside of you without warning, pumping easily from how soaked you were. “Oh!” you gasped. “Please please please,” you babbled, “More.”

Caliban raised a curious eyebrow, “You want more? Are you sure you’re deserving of more? You did intentionally push me away this afternoon,” Caliban scowled you, obviously annoyed at you cockblocking him, your memories playing freshly back to your time together in Hell’s library. Tears prickled your eyes, your hand reaching down to grab ahold of his free hand, the one resting on your thigh. You intertwined your fingers with his, a pout on your raw lips from constantly biting them.

“Please, Caliban—I’ll do anything.”

Caliban paused his movements, his fingers resting inside of you, his face blank. A pause. And then, “Now where have I heard that before...” Caliban drawled, his eyes darkening angrily. Caliban started pumping his two fingers into you again punishingly, a cry escaping your lips. The dark Prince quickly added a third, scissoring your cunt open. “You want my cock? Look at you, you’re practically gushing for me,” he hissed, his thumb moving up to start rubbing your clit. You nodded dumbly, “Yes!”

“Beg for it.”

Caliban’s voice startled you, your mouth gaping. “What?” you asked, clearly confused.

“You heard me, sweetheart. Beg. For. It.”

“Caliban I—I don’t...”

Caliban made a agitated noise low in his throat, before he grabbed you by the hips, spinning you over so that you landed on your hands and knees. You let out a yelp, not expecting the changing of positions, Caliban grabbed the hem of your skirt and panties, yanking them down your thighs, leaving you bare and throbbing for his touch.

“Caliban!” you squealed, rubbing your thighs together as you tried to get more friction. “What do you want?” he asked teasingly, now leaning over so that his chest was pressed against your back. “Tell me,” he whispered in your ear, leaving kisses along the back of your shoulders. “I want... I want you to fuck me—hard.”

Caliban purred lowly in his throat, feeling pleased. “Your wish is my command, sweetheart.” Caliban guided the head of his cock towards your tiny hole, nudging the head inside and just waiting. His ears perked up at the breathy moans escaping you, your head hanging down in defeat, “More.”

Caliban instantly pushed further inside, feeling your velvety walls clench and spasm around his cock, a low groan rumbling deep in his chest. “Feels so good,” he said. You whined, rolling your head to the side, feeling his breath hit your neck as he nuzzled it, trailing his lips over the soft skin underneath your ear.

He pushed the rest of the way until you were fully seated on his aching cock, pausing to let you adjust to his length. You were fairly certain that there was air somewhere in your bedroom, but for some reason, you could barely breathe. Caliban was long and thick, you were surely going to bleed, no doubt.

“Are you alright?” Caliban whispered into your ear, waiting for confirmation from you that he could move. “Yes,” you told him, shyly. “You can move.”

Caliban didn’t waste any time, before retracting his hips until only the head of his cock rested between your folds, then thrusting back inside. You shouted, feeling Caliban’s hands take ahold of your hips, digging his fingers into your sides. “You’re mine,” he hissed, fucking into you urgently. “Say it,” he demanded, impatient.

“I’m yours,” you sobbed, feeling Caliban push your head down to press your face against the bed, letting out muffled moans.

Caliban fucked you at a fast pace, his thighs flexing as he dug his blunt fingernails into your hips, the head of his cock hitting something inside of you that had you seeing stars. “Oh, fuck!” you gasped, your hands curling into your bedsheets, needing to hold on to something for leverage. Caliban continued to fuck you, hitting the spot inside you that caused your body to tremble, making the band in your belly tighten, close to coming.

“Oh, please—make me come,” you begged, tears brimming in your eyes, feeling your insides tear as Caliban fucked you merciless, your knees shaking. You were going to be sore in the morning, that’s for damn sure.

Caliban let out a loud moan suddenly, feeling your walls squeeze his cock, signaling your oncoming orgasm. The demon Prince reached down with one hand, still holding on to your hip to steady himself from pounding your insides, pressing two fingers against your clit, rubbing furiously.

“Oh God,” you cried, feeling your walls tighten around Caliban, causing his nostrils to flare, feeling his own orgasm making its way closer and closer. “Come for me,” Caliban growled, pinching your clit and rolling the tiny bud between his skilled fingers.

Caliban thrusted two more times, before a high pitched scream escaped you, tears falling down your flushed cheeks. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, the band in your belly snapping and pleasurable waves washed over you, hitting all your nerves as you came on Caliban’s cock, milking him. Not a second later, as your body twitched through your orgasm, Caliban came to a stop inside you, his mouth dropping open in a silent moan, coming inside of you in spurts, staining your insides.

Caliban collapsed on top of you, nearly crushing you except he landed on his forearms, laying the side of his face against your damp back, trying to catch his breath. “Marry me,” Caliban asked. In your delusional, fucked-out state, you giggled, replying a soft, “Okay.”

Caliban let out a shaky laugh, “Okay.”

Caliban kissed your back, before rolling over next to you, letting you finally lay down comfortably, curling up into his side. Caliban wrapped a possessive arm around you, pulling you so that you could rest your head on his chest.

“Will you stay?” you asked quietly, the moonlight shining through your white curtains. “Do you want me to?” Caliban asked, rubbing his fingers softly down your arm, tickling you.

You were exhausted, your insides quivering with aftershocks. “Yes,” you spoke, honestly.

Caliban hummed, turning on his side so he could watch your sleepy face, eyes fluttering and trying to stay awake. “Mine,” Caliban whispered into the night, pressing a delicate kiss against your forehead.

You spoke no more.

fin

taglist: @peachesandknifes​ @lillycarlyn​

[tsarisfanfiction]

Long Way From Home: Chapter 5

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Friendship Characters: Scott, Tracy Family

Some of you predicted this was coming... although I hardly tried to hide it.  This is the longest chapter so far because once you get the fish going, he never shuts up.  Most of you know I adore Scott; some of you probably know my favourite brother relationship is Scott&Gordon.  If you didn’t, this fic is probably going to make that very obvious.  I have plans for these two...

Also, trying to sort out TAG’s timeline is a headache and I ended up fudging a lot of it.  Please just roll with it because I spent far too long agonising over this before giving up and throwing this out into the void.  It’s fiction.  It doesn’t have to make sense.

<<<Chapter 4

The problem with plans was their tendency to go wrong. Finding his way back to the infirmary was no challenge – the white building made for a clear target, and the trail was clear enough to Scott’s eye.  Getting back inside was no issue, either.  The window was left ajar, simple enough to silently pull open and slip through.

Finding Other-Gordon perched on one of the chairs, one of Scott’s bracers in his hands, was not part of the plan, and he mentally cursed himself. He’d escaped from the infirmary, so it would be obvious to anyone with a brain cell that he’d return that way, too, especially with his gear there.  Gordon had many brain cells, which he frequently used in unorthodox ways, and Other-John had even warned him that Other-Gordon was crafty.

“Welcome back,” the ginger greeted him calmly.  “The others are on a mission.”  Scott swiped the gear from him, carefully running his hands over the remote control units to make sure they were still intact.  He didn’t know their range, and doubted that even Brains had managed to make something that could get signals through multiple universes – especially as his comm unit failed to do so – but he was still cautious about activating them.  Just in case.

“I saw.”  Technically he’d only seen One’s launch, Two’s runway presumably out of sight from Other-Scott’s hiding place.  “Power plant meltdown.”  Other-Gordon’s gazed briefly flicked to his wrist, where Other-Scott’s watch still sat.

“Has John found your brothers?” he asked, and Scott shook his head.  “Ah well, no news is good news, right?  If John can’t find them, they’re still safe at home.”

Unwilling to engage in further conversation, he scooped up the rest of his uniform, tempted for a moment to put it on for comfort’s sake but discarding the notion, before glancing at the map in the watch face and heading out of the room.

“You’re not going to put that back on, are you?” Other-Gordon asked him, following.  Scott ignored him, following the hallway almost to the kitchen, where Other-Kyrano was doing something with the odd contraption in the middle of the floor, before making the right turn towards the stairs.  “Father’s in the lounge.”  For someone who had been almost silent the entire time up until then, Other-Gordon was suddenly making a lot of noise.

“I’m not going there,” he told him firmly.

“You’re stealing Scott’s clothes.”  Other-Gordon didn’t bat an eyelid.  “I’ll help.”  Scott wished he was surprised, but it was a Gordon thing to do.  “Here, this way.”  Unlike his father, Other-Gordon had a preference for the stairs, which suited Scott just fine.  He had no issues with elevators, but the one at the end of the hallway was another example of the different technology.  Stairs were far more trustworthy.

Last time, Not-Dad had guided him quickly and firmly into the lounge, but Other-Gordon strode ahead after reaching the top of the stairs, away from the door to the lounge, and turned into an extended corridor with six doors all set into the right-hand side.  These, according to the map in his watch, were six equally-sized rooms, all with smaller rooms set into them.  The second one from the far end contained the flashing blue light indicating that it was Other-Scott’s room.  Presumably, that put the rest of them as the other four brothers’ rooms, and probably Not-Dad’s room.

“My room,” Other-Gordon waved vaguely to the door immediately in front of the branch of hallway they’d just left.  “John’s is that one.”  He indicated the door next to his, at the end of the corridor, before continuing to walk.  “Alan’s, Virgil’s, and here we are!  Scott’s.” He pushed open the door with no hesitation and strode inside.  Scott checked the watch face again.  It agreed with Other-Gordon, so he followed.

Even without either guides, he wouldn’t have had any problems identifying the room’s owner.  Images of various, fast, planes decorated the walls – many unrecognisable to him, but unmistakable in their theme regardless.  Blue was the prominent colour, edging its way around the room and various screens and alcoves set into the walls.  The bed linen was also blue.  Towards the far wall, the en suite took out a reasonably small chunk of the room.

Other-Gordon didn’t wait for him to adjust to the reality that yes, this room felt like a room he could see himself having, heading over to a closet door and throwing it open.

“Clothes,” he announced.  Scott was slightly concerned at just how nonchalantly the younger man was rummaging through his older brother’s room, although, he was a Gordon. His Gordon was probably just as likely to do that.  Well, that was one of the hazards of younger brothers, he supposed.  Thoughts like that just made him remember just how far away from his own younger brothers he was, and he stepped forwards to the closet to look at Other-Scott’s wardrobe before he started dwelling over things he currently couldn’t change.

Clearly, his counterpart liked rollnecks and shirts. There was quite a collection of them, ranging from simple mono-coloured designs to rather louder, patterned, offerings. Scott dismissed the rollnecks immediately, hunting through the shirts until he found a mono-coloured one that felt like it might be some sort of cotton, rather than silk.  Silk was for special occasions – business meetings, and formal events he attended only because he had to.  The selected shirt was some sort of yellow-brown colour, not his first choice but apparently the only blue Other-Scott owned was in the forms of rollnecks and cardigans.

Ignoring Other-Gordon’s presence in the room, he shrugged off the by now muddy pyjama top he’d woken in and pulled the shirt on, leaving the top buttons undone and rolling the sleeves up until it mimicked his preferred style at home.  There were no jeans in sight, so with some reluctance he found the least-smart pair of pants, which were at least dark blue, and in concession to company retreated into the en suite long enough to shed the pyjama bottoms and pull them on.

“How long have you been wearing those underpants?” Other-Gordon asked him when he emerged, and Scott rolled his eyes.

“There is a line,” he said firmly.  “Unless there are some new, unworn ones lying around, I’ll stick with what I’m wearing, thanks.  Now, shoes?” Other-Gordon pointed to the next door over, sitting himself down on the bed and letting his feet rest on the headrest. Scott paused, the position familiar.

“Your back bothering you?” he asked.  Amber eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“How do you know about my back?” Other-Gordon asked slowly. Scott yanked open the indicated door and glanced over the various shoes in a growing state of despair.  No sneakers.  How could there be a Scott who didn’t own any sneakers?

“Hydrofoil accident,” he said.  “Four months in hospital.”

Other-Gordon let out a noise that sounded almost like a hiss, which Scott ignored as he poked at the shoes dubiously.  What was with all the smart shoes or sandals?  Did Other-Scott have nothing in between?

“Scott wouldn’t have told you,” Other-Gordon mused out loud. “Nor would John.  You haven’t spoken to anyone else.”  He sighed.  “Your Gordon, too?”

“When he was sixteen,” Scott confirmed.  “Finished his career in W.A.S.P. before it even started. They said he’d never walk again.” Other-Gordon made a noise of agreement.

“They said that about me, too,” he said as Scott finally accepted that a pair of sneakers were not about to materialise and, as with the pants, grabbed the least-smart pair of shoes and a random pair of what felt like cotton socks.  “I guess they were wrong.”

Scott let himself smile.  “Gordon’s got the gold medal to prove it.”  Remembering the accident, and the months of pain after it, hurt. Remembering the moment Gordon stood on the first place podium, gold medal around his neck and American national anthem blaring out all around them barely two years later filled him with pride.

“So do I,” Other-Gordon said, watching him pull on the shoes and tie the laces firmly.  “Father’s going to have a fit if he sees you looking like that, you know.” Scott glanced down at himself, light brown shirt still unbuttoned at the top and sleeves rolled up to three-quarter length, untucked over dark blue slacks and a pair of black shoes.  It was almost just like home.

“I don’t see the problem,” he retorted.  Other-Gordon eyed him dubiously.

“Well, it’s your funeral,” he conceded, stretching out and shifting into a sitting position.  “I’ll show you the guest rooms.”  Scott gathered up his uniform and waited for him to stand, leading the way out of the room and closing the door behind them.  “Dad’s room.”  Other-Gordon gestured to the last door on that stretch of the corridor, and then headed down the hallway opposite, stopping at the first door.  “Kyrano got this room ready for you.”

Right by Not-Dad’s room.  Scott sighed but entered the room.  It was a nice enough room, the same size as Other-Scott’s with a queen-size bed, en suite, and even a veranda he could step out onto.  The view was impressive, with palm trees and craggy rocks co-existing harmoniously, and the shimmering ocean behind.  No view of the pool, he noticed, not quite sure how he felt about that.  Sure, his room at home didn’t directly overlook the pool, but he could at least see if he looked in the right direction.

He located a closet and placed his uniform inside, out of immediate sight of curious individuals.  No doubt Other-Brains would want to examine it in detail at some point, and if Scott wanted the best chance of getting home, he would have to allow that, but that would be happening under his supervision.  Just in case the remote controls were still active.

“Do you want the rest of the house tour now or later?” Other-Gordon asked him.

“Now works for me,” he said, glancing at the watch on his wrist. It still showed the map, a flashing blue light signifying Other-Scott’s room.  How did he turn that off?  It had served its purpose now, and Scott was used to maps being easily dismissed if they didn’t automatically vanish.

“Third dial,” Other-Gordon said, gesturing to the same knob on his own watch.  “That’s basically the ‘stop’ button.”  Scott glanced at him, wondering if he was really that easy to read, before pressing the end transmission button Other-Scott had shown him.  Sure enough, the map vanished and the analogue clock face stared back at him instead.  “Thunderbird Two won’t be far short of the danger zone now, so Dad’ll be busy in the lounge for a while yet.”

That sounded like a perfect time to explore the rest of the house, and the hangars, too, if he could wrangle it.  Thunderbird One had appeared to be reasonably close to his own; he was curious about the other Thunderbirds.

“So what else do you have here?” he asked, heading for the door, and Other-Gordon was quick to catch up.

“Well, you know the bedrooms and the lounge,” he said.  “If we keep going round there’s another guest room next to yours.”  He nodded at another door, set further down the hallway.  “And that is Brains’ main lab opposite.”  That drew Scott’s attention.  Somewhere in there, the scientist was looking for a way to get him home.  If Other-Gordon hadn’t been with him, he wouldn’t have been able to resist entering, Other-John’s caution to not interrupt him discarded.  As it was, he had company and Other-Gordon wasn’t showing any inclination to enter it.  Indeed, he was already carrying on down the hallway, past the other guest room. Scott jogged to keep up.

Another door marked the end of the hallway.  Other-Gordon pushed it open.

“Rather a narrow hallway, this one, but it has a gorgeous view of the ocean,” he said, stepping through and turning a corner to reveal a corridor – narrow, just as Other-Gordon had warned – and lined with windows.  The view was indeed beautiful, but Scott’s attention was caught by the runway protruding from the beach much further below them.  He could just about see the end of what looked like a row of palm trees on either side.

Other-Gordon stepped closer to him, following his line of sight before making a noise of amusement.

“See something familiar?” he asked.  Scott nodded.

“Seems like there’s more similarities than differences between Thunderbirds One and Two so far,” he commented.  It was easy to visualise the trees bowing backwards as a green behemoth travelled between them.

At least, he was assuming Thunderbird Two was green in this universe.  Thunderbird One’s colourings had been identical, anyway.

“It’s not just for Thunderbird Two,” Other-Gordon told him. “The domestic jets use that one, too. It’s where I launch Thunderbird Four if Virgil isn’t giving us a lift, too.”

“Thunderbird Four?” Scott asked.  “You don’t have an underwater tunnel for your island launch?”

Amber eyes flickered with interest.

“Underwater tunnel?” Other-Gordon returned.  “You have an underwater tunnel?  How do you get Four there from the Pod?”

Scott mentally translated pod to module.  Different yet similar terminology was a nuisance, but it was a nuisance he was going to have to get used to if he wanted to get home. He refused to consider the idea that he’d be stuck here forever.

“Magnetic grabs and pulleys,” he said.  It was a rather over-simplification of the complex mechanism Brains had set up in order to get the submarine quickly and efficiently between Module Four and the nicknamed ‘squid tank’ she otherwise settled in by Thunderbird One, but with the difference in technology – and the fact that Scott didn’t fully understand the nuances of that particular A to B journey anyway – he saw no point in explaining further.  After a moment or two of silence, Other-Gordon clearly hoping for a little more detail, the ginger man sighed.

“Well, this is what I think you’re really after,” he said, turning away from the sea and heading further along the corridor.  What he was really after?  Scott followed, intrigued as Other-Gordon rotated a large vase ninety degrees only for a section of wall to slide back.

Okay, so yes, this was what Scott was really after.  Thunderbird One’s hangar looked different without the ‘bird inside, a large square hole where she normally sat.  Trailing off down beneath the walkway they were stood on – the same one as earlier, Scott could see the lamps in the wall further along – was a slope.  Scott assumed that headed in the direction of the pool.

The fact that their Thunderbird One was literally stored in the villa still felt odd to him, especially with no sign of any of her sisters nearby.  Where was Thunderbird Three, towering above them?  The landing pad for the space elevator, sharing One’s gantry?  Thunderbird Four’s little tank, the little yellow sub bobbing happily beside her larger sisters?

It felt wrong, his Thunderbird stored all alone – even if she wasn’t his Thunderbird, strictly speaking.  Other-Gordon fell back, letting him walk over to the lamps.  The route was partially blocked by a large metal tube snaking down and away, and it took some manoeuvring to pass it.  He couldn’t see where it led, but he could probably make an educated guess.

“What about the others?” he asked, and Other-Gordon raised an eyebrow at him.

“You want to see the other hangars?” he asked, in a voice that told Scott that Other-Gordon had no intentions of being his guide there. In fact, with the ginger man between him and the door they’d come through, Scott realised he’d been cornered. Even though he was closer to the other exit, Other-Scott’s own access point, that lead to the lounge and Not-Dad, and a situation he was not interested in facing just yet.  He scowled.

“What do you want from me?”

“Answers,” Other-Gordon said, at least having the grace not to deny the trap now that Scott was aware of it.  He really needed to get his head in the game; he couldn’t afford to be making slip-ups.

“Well I want those, too,” he retorted, crossing his arms and fixing the shorter man with a hard look.  “Particularly about how I’m getting home.”

“John’s given you all the answers we have on that front,” Other-Gordon said calmly.  Scott knew that, but it didn’t do much for the frustration that he was stuck away from his family, with no way of letting them know where he was – or even that he was still alive.  “I want to know about you.”

Scott’s brain screeched to a halt.  Him?  He’d been expecting a grilling on his home, his family, his own International Rescue.  Other-John had already done some probing, and Other-Brains would doubtless be after every scrap of information that could help him solve the puzzle, but information on him?

“Why?” he asked, back-footed, cornered, and hating every moment he wasn’t in control.

“Because I want to know exactly who we’ve got living with us until we can get you home,” Other-Gordon said bluntly.  “You’re like Scott, which was apparently enough to have you two trying to punch each other’s lights out once already, but you’re also not like Scott.”

“That’s not what your John said.”  On the one hand, Scott was glad he wasn’t the only one who thought there were some differences – cowering from his father being the immediate one that sprang to mind, never mind fashion sense, although from Other-Gordon’s attire, it might just be that fashion was different in general – but on the other, he wasn’t sure he wanted to be micro-analysed by a too-sharp ginger.

“I’m not John,” Other-Gordon pointed out.  “I also don’t have the luxury of hiding in space while a stranger with my brother’s face appears and throws my family for a loop.”

“Throws your family-” Scott started, fully prepared to remind him that his family would be out of their minds, but Other-Gordon talked over him as though he wasn’t talking.

“You’ve already punched my brother, broken my Dad’s nose, and then also got into a shouting match with my Dad,” he reminded him.  “I don’t know what your family’s like, but here, Dad’s word is law.  No-one talks back to him like that.  Not us, not Kyrano, not his friends.  So where do you get off disrespecting him in his own home?���

It wasn’t rage Scott saw in amber eyes glaring up at him, not budging an inch despite the height difference putting him at a natural disadvantage.  Not entirely. There was curiosity there, and a healthy dose of suspicion.  Annoyance, and maybe even a hint of compassion, buried right at the back. Scott was reminded of his own outburst, sometime earlier, in that very same hangar, and knew he wasn’t the only one thinking about it.

Other-Gordon didn’t mention it, however, remaining stock still and pinning Scott with the intensity of his gaze.  Behind him was the escape to the lounge, and the very man he was determined to avoid.  Other-Gordon blocked the other way out, and Scott wasn’t naïve enough to think he’d be able to get past him.  Gordon could match him just fine – Other-Gordon looked to be older, a little wiser.  Almost certainly stronger.

Besides, Scott was tired of running away.  In order to get home, he knew he needed to co-operate, and while Not-Dad was high on his list of individuals to avoid as much as possible because Other-Gordon was right, he would keep clashing with the man as long as he tried to act as Scott’s superior, he wasn’t a coward and had no intentions of starting to be one now.

“You heard what I said earlier,” he started.  “My father’s gone.  You’re not an idiot, work it out.  What would you do if yours vanished without a trace?”  He didn’t want to talk about it.  He could barely talk about their Dad and the Zero-X with his own brothers, let alone strangers who knew nothing.  It was easier to fall into the tried and true big brother mode of making them reach the answers by themselves, even if the man standing in front of him wasn’t one of his brothers.

From the sharp look Other-Gordon sent him, he’d seen through the façade.

“Scott would take full command.”  It seemed like he’d be humoured anyway.  “And he’d be terrible at it.”  Wait, what? Scott squinted, trying to work out who the insult was aimed at and why.  “How long ago?”

That was unexpected.

“Why?”

“Because I’ve seen Scott when he’s been left entirely in charge,” Other-Gordon said.  “Dad tore into every decision he made when he got back. Didn’t agree with any of it, even though Scott was trying to follow what he thought Dad would have done.  You aren’t fumbling for approval, but I bet you were to start with.”

What would Dad do? It was an instinctive mantra at this point.  Other-Gordon was wrong; he still wanted Dad’s approval, he wanted to know he was doing things right.  Should he have pulled Alan from school?  Should he have let Alan join the team so young?  Were the changes he’d made in the eight damn years since the Zero-X the best things he could have done?

If Dad came back, would he be proud of him?  Or would he be like Not-Dad, and tear into all his decisions?

It was that line of thought again, and he trampled it down firmly.  He couldn’t think like that.  Not now, not ever.  If he started to doubt, if he started second-guessing himself…  No.  He had to look forwards.  Always look forwards, never back.

Other-Gordon was watching him like a hawk, and Scott wondered how much of what he’d been thinking had been visible on his face.  The ginger didn’t give him any clues, simply standing and waiting for him to talk.

“Too long,” he admitted. “Eight years.”

Other-Gordon’s poker face broke for just a moment, shock flitting across his expression before he slammed the walls back up.

“Geez,” he muttered under his breath, before he frowned.  “Your International Rescue’s been operating for eight years?”

“IR did their first rescue just over eight years ago,” Scott confirmed.  Six months Before, with Dad, Kyrano and Uncle Lee doing the heavy lifting while Scott and then John assisted around college.  Five years out of operation, until they were all old enough – except Alan, who was too young but snuck in anyway.  Three years since they’d taken up the reins again, with him at the helm.

Other-Gordon looked like he had several questions.  Scott didn’t want him asking any of them.

“What about here?” he asked, challenging Other-Gordon to try and turn it back into a one-sided interrogation.

“Three years,” the man admitted, but the calculating look was still in his eyes and Scott wasn’t sure he liked it.  Something along those lines must have shown in his face, because all at once, tension leaked from the other man’s shoulders.  “You do realise we’re on the same side, here?”

“You’re the one that started interrogating me,” Scott snapped back, and Other-Gordon raised his hands in mock-surrender, just like Other-John had done earlier.

“Were you going to tell me anything if I didn’t?” he asked, and Scott had to admit that no, he wouldn’t.  A thought struck him and he glared at the shorter man.

“You’d better not tell anyone.”  The only thing worse than telling them himself would be having them gossiping about him behind his back, putting together bits and pieces with no guarantee of finding the right answers.

“Tell them what?” Other-Gordon challenged.  “That the reason you’re so snappy is because you’ve been single-handedly looking after your family for eight years and being separated from them has you on edge?  Or that Dad’s got you off-kilter because secretly you still want approval from yours but know you can’t get it?”

For the second time that day, Scott’s knuckles found the wall of the hangar, and protested loudly at the treatment.  He’d realised Other-Gordon was getting something more than he’d outright said, but hearing the thoughts he’d been determinedly burying even from himself thrown in his face by a stranger with his brother’s eyes was more than he could take.

“Geez,” Other-Gordon muttered, stepping closer and taking hold of his outstretched fist.  “Are you always this self-destructive?”  Scott tried to pull his hand back, but the other man’s grip was strong.  “You’ve gone and wrecked Tin-Tin’s bandaging; she won’t be happy about that.”  Scott scowled and tugged again; Other-Gordon let him pull free that time.  “Scott.” It was the first time the man had referred to him by name and he met his eyes.  “We’re going to help you.  Remember, we’re International Rescue, too.”

Scott glanced sideways, at the empty hangar that usually housed Thunderbird One – not his Thunderbird One, but Thunderbird One regardless.  Earlier, he’d been too overwhelmed by everything to properly appreciate what that meant.  Two conversations later, it was starting to sink in.

“I guess that’s true,” he admitted.

“You guess?” Other-Gordon demanded, but there was a grin on his face and a sparkle in his eyes that stole Scott’s breath all over again.  He’d known he was this universe’s Gordon, but with the serious face and wrong colour hair, it hadn’t really hit.

With his face lit up like that, he wondered how he could have ever looked at the unknown ginger man sitting between him and Other-Scott in the kitchen what felt like hours earlier and dismissed the niggling familiarity.  This man, ginger hair and older age aside, was definitely Gordon.

“You okay?” Other-Gordon asked, and Scott’s shoulders slumped.

“I miss them,” he admitted.

“Of course you do,” Other-Gordon said, putting a hand on his shoulder.  “If there’s one thing I bet you and my Scott are definitely identical in, it’s being a ridiculous smother hen.”  Despite everything, Scott had to grin ruefully at that.  “Come on, let’s get something done about that hand of yours before Tin-Tin spots it.”

Other-Gordon turned and climbed around the large metal pipe without waiting to see if Scott was following. Scott watched him go, noticing that he was just as nimble as his Gordon, and frowned.  Should he not be letting Gordon go out on missions after all?  Or was Other-Gordon actually perfectly fit for duty, and Not-Dad was grounding him for no good reason?

“If you had the choice,” he started, mouth running ahead of his brain, “would you go on more rescues?”

Other-Gordon stopped and turned to face him again, amber eyes searching.

“Why?” he asked. Scott met his gaze evenly and waited. Other-Gordon grumbled something under his breath about there being two of them now.  “I’d go on all of them, if Dad let me.”  The bitterness that crept in told Scott everything he needed to know.

“No reason,” he shrugged, casting one last look at the empty space where Thunderbird One lived before heading for the door himself.  Other-Gordon made a noise of protest, a little brother’s my big brother is being annoying again noise that made something go tight in his chest, but he didn’t let it show.

“Seriously?” Other-Gordon grumbled a little louder.  “You don’t think I believe that, do you?”  Scott shrugged at him, and amber eyes narrowed.  “Just because you look like my big brother doesn’t mean you get to act like it!”

“I’m acting like me, not him,” Scott informed him airily, falling into the familiarity of brotherly banter, even if this wasn’t his brother.

“Well just because I look like your brother doesn’t mean you get to act like I am,” Other-Gordon continued, not at all deterred.  Just short of the door, Scott stopped suddenly.

“What?”

“You heard me,” Other-Gordon insisted, although there was something ever so slightly different in his voice, a note of uncertainty as though he’d realised he’d said something wrong but wasn’t sure what.  “Just because I look like-”

“You don’t,” Scott cut him off, turning round to face him.  Other-Gordon blinked, mouth half-open a little like a fish before he closed it again.

“I… don’t?” he asked. “But… you and Scott are near enough identical, and you said Dad looked like-”  He cut himself off before he could finish that sentence; Scott was grateful for it.

“You don’t,” he admitted. “I can tell you’re him, but you don’t look like him.”  No, that was a lie.  He had the same high cheekbones, the same angled jaw, the same eyes.  It was just the hair and the fact that there was no question he was a man, not a teenager just crossing into adulthood, that made him look different.

If it was just Other-Gordon, he’d wonder if the man had dyed his hair – Other-Scott was also older than him, although he didn’t want to ponder on what that meant for timeline continuity – but Other-John and Other-Virgil also had the wrong colour hair. Other-Brains, Other-Kyrano and Mrs Tracy also looked notably different, and Tin-Tin was not only visually different but had a different name as well.

“That’s strange,” Other-Gordon mused.  “Is it just me?”  Scott shook his head.

“More like it’s only me and your Scott,” he said.  “And your father.  Everyone else is different.”

“So if someone other than Scott had come in, you might not have attacked them?” Other-Gordon asked, almost dryly.  Scott shrugged.

“Who knows,” he replied, although privately he doubted it.  It didn’t matter what the other party looked like if his brothers were at stake.  Other-Gordon sent him a small grin, before brushing past him and opening the door.

“Still, you’ll have to tell the others that,” he said, strolling back along the narrow corridor. Scott followed, ignoring the pain shooting through his knuckles.  “I know the fellas are keeping an eye out for anyone else that looks like us while they’re off base just in case, but if they don’t know what they’re looking for they might miss something.”

He was right, and Scott nodded.  He hadn’t realised they were all looking, not just Thunderbird Five, but it made sense and there was a rush of gratitude at their efforts.

“Talk to Virg once he’s back,” Other-Gordon continued.  “That’ll be the easiest way to make sure we get it right.”  They skirted the lounge door with Not-Dad’s voice emitting from it, interspersed with Other-Scott’s tinny speaker-voice reports and traipsed down the stairs again – a route that was rapidly becoming familiar as they once again headed for the infirmary.  “But come on, what does your Gordon look like?  He’s gotta be handsome, right?”  There was that grin – that Gordon grin – again, and Scott rolled his eyes.

“I’m the wrong person to ask about that,” he scoffed, watching Other-Gordon pull a disgruntled face, and managing a small grin of his own.  “His hair’s blond, and…” he trailed off, not sure how to put it into words. As far as basic descriptions went, there wasn’t any other big differences, just lots of small things Scott couldn’t even put his finger on exactly.

“And..?” Other-Gordon prompted, although he was tugging at his bangs – falling in front of his forehead, rather than swept back like his Gordon’s – and trying to look at them, no doubt trying to figure out how he’d look blond.  Scott shrugged helplessly.

“I’m a pilot, not a novelist,” he pointed out.  “It’s not the big things, it’s the little ones.”  He frowned.  “How old are you?”

“How old are you?” Other-Gordon shot back, releasing his hair in favour of pushing the infirmary door open and pointing towards a chair.  “I’d say you’re younger than Scott, except he’s not going grey yet.” Scott scowled and resisted the urge to touch his temples, where he knew the accused hairs were most prominent.

“I asked first,” he pointed out, and Other-Gordon rolled his eyes.

“Twenty-three, now sit down or I’ll get Tin-Tin to redress your hand.”  Tin-Tin had seemed like a sweet enough young woman, but if she was being used as a threat – and Scott knew a threat from a sibling when he heard it – then she was no doubt more Kayo-like than first impressions betrayed. Scott sat.  “Why?”

“That would probably explain the rest,” Scott muttered, trying to work out what his Gordon would look like in four years’ time.  The same age as Virgil, which meant Other-Scott, and probably Other-John as well were older than him.  He consoled himself with the fact that with Not-Dad around, they were probably under less stress, hence the lack of greys.  “Gordon – my Gordon – is nineteen.”

“So I look different because I’m older?” Other-Gordon surmised, unwrapping the old bandages and pouring something that stung like disinfectant on his swollen and once again bleeding knuckles.  “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m twenty-seven,” Scott admitted, and Other-Gordon blinked.

“Not twenty-six?”

“Why would I be twenty-six?” Scott asked, taken aback.  Other-Gordon frowned and opened a fresh roll of bandages, carefully but efficiently rewrapping his hand.

“Well if your Gordon is four years younger than me, you should be four years younger than Scott, right? Scott’s thirty.”  It was Scott’s turn to frown.  Clearly there were more differences than just technology, and his gut coiled unpleasantly, not sure it liked the implications.  “What are your other brothers’ ages?”

“What are yours’?” he retorted, and Other-Gordon raised an eyebrow at him as he tied off the bandage.

“I asked first.” Typical younger brother, turning his earlier words against him.

“John’s twenty-five, Virgil’s twenty-three and Alan’s fifteen,” he said.  “Yours?”

“Your Alan’s-”

“Yours?” he repeated firmly, cutting off any comments about his youngest brother and International Rescue.  He knew fifteen was too young; he didn’t need to hear that from an alternate universe’s version of one of his own brothers.  Other-Gordon gave him a look that said the topic was not dropped, but answered anyway.

“John’s twenty-eight, Virg’s twenty-six and Alan’s twenty.  Seems like the difference is me and Alan,” he observed.  Scott didn’t miss the intent in his voice when he said the youngest’s name, but ignored it.

“Seems like it,” he agreed instead, checking over the bandaging despite knowing it was professionally done.  Other-Gordon was sharp, too sharp, and once again their conversation was veering into territory Scott would rather it didn’t.  “That seems like something Brains should know about,” he said, and once again ignored the look the younger man sent him.  Other-Gordon knew exactly what he was doing, and Scott got the uncomfortable feeling he was once again being humoured.

His dislike of being humoured didn’t outweigh his determination not to talk about things like Alan’s young age or Dad’s crash, though, so he suffered through it with a glare.

“We’ll tell Brains when he comes looking for more information,” Other-Gordon said out loud. “Surely your Brains hates being interrupted mid-flow, too?”  He did, but that had never stopped Scott from doing it when it was an emergency, and anything relating to getting him home qualified in his books.

A hand landed on his shoulder, Other-Gordon leaning down slightly to meet his eyes firmly.

“I know you want to get home, but don’t take it out on Brains,” he said, his grip tight. “Brains will find you once he’s finished processing the data he got from your arrival.”  Scott scowled, glancing away, and the other man sighed.  “I can stop asking questions if that helps.”

That would help. He met Other-Gordon’s eyes again and relaxed at the sincerity he saw in them, nodding.  Other-Gordon scrutinised him, although what he was looking for, Scott didn’t know, before letting go and taking a step back.

“Normally I sit in on the mission,” he informed him.  “We can go to the lounge if you want, or there’s the games room if billiards or chess is more your speed right now.”  The offer to continue evading Not-Dad was clear.

“And if I want to be alone?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“If you want to be alone, I’ve shown you your room,” Other-Gordon began.  “But I don’t think you do.”  Didn’t he?  Scott wanted time to let it all sink in, mull over all the information Other-John and Other-Gordon had bombarded him with and figure out what it all meant for him and his chances of getting home.

He caught sight of his useless communicator, still on his wrist, and remembered curling up against a boulder, begging and screaming for it to connect with another universe. Maybe Other-Gordon was right; if he was alone again he’d go back to focusing on what had happened.  Dwelling, his brothers called it immediately before they did something outrageous to get him to stop staring into nothing, brain stuck in a loop of past events.

Looking back, letting himself think about what had happened always threatened to drive him crazy. It had been that way since the Zero-X, and held true even now.  Especially now, when events defied all probabilities.  He sighed.

“It’s been a while since I last played chess,” he said by way of an answer, and Other-Gordon cracked a grin.  Chess would keep his mind focused, especially if Other-Gordon was half as good as Gordon or John; if he was, Scott was in for an inevitable thrashing.

Other-Gordon at least had the grace not to say ‘I told you so’, simply straightening up and offering him a hand, which he accepted, pulling himself to his feet.

“The games room’s this way,” he gestured, leading the way out of the infirmary and then further along the hallway, to a brightly lit room dominated by a billiards table.  Various chairs and small tables dotted one side of the room – spectators for the game, or perfectly positioned for a quiet game of chess in the corner, as Other-Gordon withdrew a chess set and placed it on the table.

“White or black?” he offered as Scott stared at it.  A proper, wooden chessboard with real, hand-carved pieces.  He picked up a white knight and stroked its mane, feeling the indents of the carved hair with the pad of his finger.

“White,” he replied after a moment.  Other-Gordon watched him closely, but as promised didn’t ask.  Scott shrugged, folding himself into the comfortable chair and placing the piece back where it belonged.  “It’s been a long time since I last used a wooden set,” he volunteered.  “Gordon’s the only one that owns one and no-one’s allowed to use it until they beat him.”

“You haven’t?” Other-Gordon asked – despite his promise otherwise, but Scott knew he had opened himself up for that one.  Talking about something as mundane as chess didn’t hurt as much as their previous conversation had.

“Not since he got that board,” he admitted.  “John and-” he caught himself, not wanting to mention EOS and open that can of worms for debate.  “John’s the only one that has; they play whenever he’s down from Five.” Other-Gordon’s eyes flickered in interest, catching the slip, but to his credit he didn’t ask.

“White goes first,” he reminded him needlessly, and Scott picked up the knight again, leaping it over the row of pawns.  Other-Gordon hummed in interest before nudging a pawn forward.  Scott recalled that particular opening as Gordon’s favourite to use, a win in five moves unless their opponent knew the counter. It might have been a while since he’d last had the time to play – and the inclination to probably lose to Gordon – but Scott still remembered the counter, moving his knight into position.

Other-Gordon laughed, seeing his experiment foiled, and switched tactics.  Scott got the feeling he’d just passed some sort of test.

The game went much as he suspected it would – while he wasn’t bad at chess, he was out of practice and Other-Gordon was very, very good.  He held out for a while, half an hour maybe, but eventually the inevitable conclusion of his King toppling occurred and he bit back a laugh, laying down the piece with good grace.

“You’re not too terrible,” Other-Gordon commented, collecting up the mass of white captured pieces and handing them over.  “Some practice and you might even be a challenge.”  He winked, and Scott groaned good-naturedly, trying hard not to think about why he didn’t get much practice before that ruined his mood.  “Again?”  What were his other options?  Billiards, or sitting in on a mission with Not-Dad.  It wasn’t exactly a difficult decision.

In answer, Scott pulled his King upright and set up his forces again.

Chapter 6>>>

[minerva--mcgee]

McGonagall With The Marauders #6

Sequel to McGonagall With The Marauders #4

Minerva waited in her office next to the fireplace. She was growing impatient, shifting her weight back from one foot to the other, eventually pacing the room. It was something of a sight - she was wearing one of her best sets of robes, and she had her hair in a looser bun than usual. She reached over and straightened a photograph on the mantle as the fireplace roared to life with green flames. 

She stepped back to let her husband come through the flames, and he threw his arms around her when he emerged. “Minnie.”

“Phin,” she said, pulling back to plant a kiss on his lips.

It wasn’t often that he could come up to Hogwarts to visit her. He was so busy at the Ministry that he was usually working well into the night, and she had plenty to keep her occupied here at Hogwarts. A few names came immediately to mind. But right now, she could spend a day with him. A beautiful day it was, too - one of the first warm days of spring, the sun was shining, students were roaming the grounds of the castle. 

“It’s great to see you,” she said to him, holding him tight. They sat in this position for a few moments before separating. She lead him to her living room, where they sat close together on the couch and chatted over tea about Phin’s work, when a knock came from the door. Minerva gave him a confused look.

“Are you expecting anyone?” said Phin.

“Just you,” she went over and answered the door, coming face-to-face with a red-headed fourth year.

“Miss Evans,” she said, surprised, “What brings you here on a Saturday? Is everything alright?”

“Oh, yes, Professor, I’m terribly sorry to bother you on a weekend,” Lily was speaking fast, not wanting to use too much of her professor’s time, but taken aback by the looser hair that she was sporting, “I’ve just been thinking about this one question on the Transfiguration homework since you assigned it and I was hoping that you could help me with it - oh, hello!”

Minerva turned around to see her husband had stood up and was now only a few inches behind her, looking down at Lily. “Hello there.”

“Miss Evans, this is my husband, Elphinstone Urquart. Phin, Lily Evans.”

“Oh, yes! Lily Evans!” he exclaimed gleefully, “I’ve heard great things about you!”

“You have?” Lily asked, closing her mouth. She hadn’t realized it had been hanging open. “I didn’t even know you were married, Professor!”

“That seems to be a recurring theme here,” Phin teased. Minerva gave him a smirk and elbowed him in the ribs, to which he feigned pain. 

“Well, I’m sorry to have bothered you, Professor McGonagall, I wouldn’t have if I’d have known you had company. I can come back another time, or we can discuss it in class.”

“Oh, nonsense!” said Phin, stepping aside, “don’t let me get in the way of Minnie’s work. Besides, I know quite a bit about Transfiguration, myself.”

A few minutes later, Lily left her Head of House’s private living quarters with her parchment in her hand and tea in her stomach. She was thoroughly confused at the events that transpired.

She made her way back to her common room, still a little dazed and lost in thought. James and Sirius were arguing about the Quidditch match next week, but James interrupted Sirius when he saw Lily enter. “Are you okay?”

“Did you know McGonagall was married?”

They were surprised. “We knew that ... how did you know that?”

“I - I just had tea with her and her husband. He’s great. She really seemed happy.”

James and Sirius exchanged a look of disbelief, and didn’t speak for a moment. It was Sirius that recovered first. “Phin is here,” he said, trying to confirm that he was hearing everything correctly. 

Lily nodded. The two boys sprung into action at the same time, calling up the stairs for Remus and Peter, and that it was urgent.

The four boys were nudging each other nervously, trying to make one of the others knock on the painting. Eventually, it was decided that Sirius would knock, and he did. He knocked multiple times, and no answer came to the door. They stared up at the painting. 

“She’s not here,” said the painting of a woman eating grapes, looking rather bored. “She left about a half hour ago.”

“Where did she go?” asked Sirius.

The painting simply laughed at them and continued to eat her grapes, before the four boys huffed away. 

“What now?” asked Remus. 

James looked out of the window next to them in the corridor and saw a few figures moving outside on the grounds. He smiled. “Outside!” he proclaimed, running down the hallway as his friends scrambled behind him.

“Min, I know you think the Magpies are going to win the cup, and I’m sorry that I have to be the one to tell you that you’re wrong.”

“Yes, it’s obviously going to the Kestrels this year!” chimed in Poppy Pomfrey, which received laughs from the group.

Minerva and Elphinstone had found their way outside, and were now standing in a circle with Albus Dumbledore and Poppy Pomfrey next to the lake. They were enjoying the nice weather, and the breeze felt good.

“No, no, no,” said Phin in mock anger, “No. I will not accept these subpar Quidditch opinions. The Ballycastle Bats is the only decent answer to this question!”

Albus, with his back to the lake and facing the castle, tilted his head slightly to look past Minerva at a certain set of Gryffindor boys charging toward them. “Oh, this will be fun,” he said with a lightness in his voice. 

Minerva quirked her eyebrows at him, before turning to see what the rest had already noticed. 

“So, we meet again, Elphinstone!” Sirius Black announced loudly, turning heads of the few students within earshot. 

“Oh, sweet Merlin,” Minerva rubbed her temple.

Phin, amused, turned to look at them. “I suppose we do, Sirius Black!” 

Sirius stopped walking for a moment, shocked that he had remembered his name from their previous encounter, but soon began walking again, until he was only a few feet in front of him. The rest caught up, filing into a straight line in front of him.

“They’ve all drawn their wands,” Poppy whispered to Albus behind her hand. They shared a giggle at the scene in front of them. 

“Anyone married to our dear, sweet Minnie must be put to the test!” James shouted, holding his head high and crossing his wand over his chest. 

“You four are so - !” Minerva started, only to be cut off by Phin. 

“No, no, they are absolutely correct, Minnie.” 

That left all of the boys and Minerva shocked. “We are?”

“They are?”

“They are! I mean, I must fight for your honor, my darling!”

“That is exactly right!” said Remus. “We wouldn’t let our favourite professor see just anyone, you know. No offense, Professor Dumbledore.”

Albus raised his hands, gesturing none taken.

“We are prepared to duel you, Sir Urquart!” said Sirius. “Right here, right now.”

Minerva walked over to hide behind Poppy, who would simply move out of the way so that she must be exposed to what was happening. She sighed and buried her face in her hands, wondering how in the world she didn’t expect this to happen. She just wanted one day with her husband on school grounds.

The three staff members watched as Phin took his stance against the four boys, ready to face off. “Uh, Professor Dumbledore, sir? Could you officiate?” said James.

“Absolutely, my boy!” Minerva groaned loudly and tried to face the lake, but Poppy grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her around. 

“Alright, everyone,” he said, looking between the Marauders and Phin, “I want a clean fight. First to disarm their opponent wins. On my mark!”

He backed out of the way, and dropped his hand, signaling the start of the duel.

By now, many students had gathered around to watch the spectacle, and were laughing. The boys were firing hexes at Phin, who was dodging them one after the other. His wife knew that he was just letting them get a couple of spells in before - 

Suddenly, Phin waved his wand in a series of patterns so fast that few could process what was happening before it was done. He was holding four wands and the four boys to match them were laying on the ground in a leg-locker jinx. 

“The winner is - Elphinstone!” 

The crowd of students cheered for him as he ran over to his wife and planted a kiss on her cheeks. She was less than thrilled.

“Oh, come on, darling, now we don’t have to be apart! I’ve won your honor!” 

“You win this time, Urquart!” Sirius sweared from his spot on the lawn, “But you haven’t seen the last of us!” 

Minerva walked over to them and deducted fifteen house points each and announced that they would lay there until either the spell wore off or someone took pity on them to undo it. She marched up to the castle, only a few catching the tint of red that was creeping on her cheeks. Phin followed her in, but stopped next to James. “Well, I think we’ve made her mad. Perhaps it’s for the best that you stay here.”

[wickedgamesoyaoya]

Amnesia - Hearts - Aug 5

Warm rays of sunlight poured through the unmasked glass separating the living room from the balcony. Intuitively, your hand was sent to shield your features, an attempt to preserve your drowsy state. It is said that the first few seconds of each morning are sacred due to fact reality has not registered in the brain. For only a mere three seconds one could experience pure bliss. Three seconds were not even remotely enough to arm you with the courage to begin your day.

Last night, after the shock had warn off, you had spent several hours reading old entries in your diary. The decorated notebook remained open on your stomach, a reminder that unfortunately the information disclosed was not a hallucination nor a dream. The only positive was that you were able to piece together some information about your identity and past. While your memory had deserted you, a good old-fashioned diary had swept in to save the day.

Curling your right hand into a fist, you gently rubbed your index finger against your swollen eyelids. How long had you slept? It certainly did not feel very long. Your y/e/c irises were forced open to scan the glass coffee-table for the one device that could answer your question. It was six, damn am.

It was strange how you had to mimic the texting patterns of your past self – it was as if you had body swapped with a stranger and were now attempting to hide the truth. Technically if the unknown person on your cell was correct you had body swapped with an alternate version of yourself. But you were hoping the whole ordeal was fabricated. That was why you had invited Kuroo over, based on your past exchanges and the fact you were supposedly in love with him, he was perhaps the best person to aid you in determining the truth.

“Here goes nothing.” The declaration parted your bare lips, and signalled the beginning of your first quest.

***

Kuroo arrived thirty minutes later, grocery bags dangling from his wrists as he waited for permission to enter. What was he a damn vampire? Just kidding. At least you hoped. Murderers, alternate universes, would a vampire really be out of the question?

“I’ll make your favourite, sound good?” In a matter of seconds, the black-haired male was behind the kitchen counter, reaching for cooking utensils with ease. It was a clear indication that he had completed a similar task before, and as you suspected – you two were close.

“Okay. Let me know if you need any help.” Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, your gaze was cast aside, as you skimmed through the limited knowledge you had retained last night for some idea of what your favourite food was.

“Go rest, I’ve got this. Or do you not trust Omi’s protégé?” The slightest hint of a smirk had tugged at the ends of his lips, prompting your heart to complete an involuntary skip. Should he really be smiling like that?

Thankfully you knew what he was referencing – Sakusa Kiyoomi, another worker at Jack Rose, a friend most likely. He was the one who caught you when you had ‘fainted’, according to your Twitter-feed. Currently studying culinary arts, Sakusa was the germaphobe version of Chef Ramsay. Was it likely that he was the one hunting you? Most likely no. Although, he would be the most skilled with a knife…

“I trust you. Do you mind if I watch?” The hesitancy laced in your voice had earned you a puzzled glance. Pausing in the middle of slicing the fresh vegetables that decorated the marble counter-top, Kuroo’s golden irises searched yours for something he would not find – recognition.

“Is this about that tweet of yours? What feelings are you hiding?” The questions were tactful, they could also qualify as a trap.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”  A cryptic response to a question with no clear answer – fair play.

“Are you in love with Atsumu?” Kuroo did not bat an eyelid, nor did his voice quiver. It was steady and each syllable had an energy that resembled a physical attack. “Is that why you are acting so weird? Are you afraid of how I’d take it?”

Instantly your fingers were pressing against the bridge of your nose, you had initially thought he found out about your – well your past self’s – feelings. But nope, the boy was seriously on the wrong wavelength.

“Oh god. No. I’m not in love with him.” Groaning, a hand was brought to mask your features. Strange how his presence shifted something within you – the more you were around him, the more you felt like…you. Although this conversation was less than ideal, it was incredibly normal.

Denial of his accusation should have provided him relief, and yet the absence of satisfaction mocked him. Laying the knife onto the counter, he leaned forward, exhaling a breath through his nose.

“So then why do you look at me like I’m a stranger?” Without being an empath, one could easily spot the pain clouding him. He was unfortunately an innocent causality to the game you were forced to participate in. Knowing that the fault was not yours did not ease the guilt consuming you. Could you tell him…? Disobey the warnings that were bestowed upon you?

Before your mind could reach a deliberation, your hand had already fetched the device that could answer the question that remained unanswered. Kuroo’s gaze followed your movements, before exiting the kitchen he ran his hands under a stream of water, then plucked the phone that was held loosely in your grasp.

“Is someone bothering you? I won’t check unless you want me to, but I need to know what’s going on with you.”

You could trust him – at least that was what you chanted inside of your head as a weak nod was provided. Maybe this ‘unknown’ person was a prankster, albeit it still would not explain the loss of memories, but it would be nice to know there wasn’t someone out for your blood.

The manner his eyebrows twitched demonstrated his own distress upon reading the messages. Upon reading the first message the one that disclosed your current mental state, his attention shot up to you, seeking affirmation that his eyes did not deceive him. The silence that awaited him had confirmed his fears. Then came the rage –

“This person messaged you yesterday. Looking at the timestamp it was around the time you woke up…” Wheels were turning in the brilliant mind of his, a solution to the “problem” was brewing. ���Y/n, we need to get you to the hospital. Your memory loss isn’t connected to this… sick joke.”

Each inch of your heart wished you could believe him, but could you really take the chance? Dying was not an option.

“What if you’re wrong?” A sob had formed in the back of your throat, causing the words to become muffled.

“Hey hey. We’ll figure this out,” Soon your cheeks were bathing in the comfort of his palms, a gesture that elevated the slightest bit of tension from your chest. The confidence in his voice was compelling you to place your trust into him. “I have a friend who can trace this person’s IP address, I’m going to send it to him and then Atsumu and I will go check it out. Once we show you that this is just some prick living in his mom’s basement, we go to the hospital. Okay?”

Was there really any other option than to obey?

“Okay.”

As his arms encompassed around your middle, enveloping you into the safety of his embrace, for a single moment, you believed him.

* * * 

Kuroo’s contact had delivered an addressed after sunset. Despite your suggestion to wait until tomorrow, your childhood best friend was adamant on addressing this situation tonight. Atsumu did not help. Upon hearing the contents of the message, the blonde male was in panic mode. The possibility of losing you was far too much to bear. Truthfully, his persistence to go tonight arose from his desire to avoid what really terrified him – your memory loss.

A single kiss was pressed to the crown of your head before the pair had left you in what they considered a ‘safe-zone’. No one would attack you in your own home… Right?

Anxiety surged throughout your bloodstream, prompting your fingers to curl towards your palm. The sound of rhythmic clicking drew your attention to the balcony glass. Pebbles collided with the thin barrier followed by a larger piece, resulting in a thin crack to spread. Scrambling to your feet, adrenaline had triggered your autopilot to take reign. Retreating to the kitchen, you seized the largest knife in your collection then crouched under the counter. The murderer was already outside, leaving now would only expose you further.

As the sound of clicking ceased, your heartrate increased to new levels. How long would it be until the banging would be redirected to the front door?

Seconds. It was seconds.

But the knocking was accompanied by a familiar voice.

“Y/N? Open up!”

“Bro just use your spare key; I know you have one.”

Liquid spilled gracefully down your cheeks as the two figures burst through the front door – you were saved, at least for now. Soon you were no longer on the kitchen floor, and the knife was removed from your grasp. The one carrying you to the couch whispered assurances to sooth you, not that it helped.

It was real. Everything you were told – it was all true.

Amnesia - Hearts ~ Aug 5

Masterlist - Previous -  Next

A/N: I really liked how this turned out. >.< 

Tag-list: @kara-grayson04 @namyari , @cuddlesslut , @iloveanime691 @shakiraisawesome @idiot-juice-enthusiast@fangirling-25-8 @krynnza @yetchann @chxrry-wxne​ @tsukiak4ri​

[cleverbxrd]

... In Love and War

WHO: Tim Drake / @cleverbxrd , Ra’s al Ghul / @thedcmonshead MENTIONED: Steph Brown, Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, The Bat-Family, Jack Drake WORD COUNT: 4,247 LOCATION: Your typical abandoned warehouse in Gotham, used for all kinds of nefarious purposes. THE BASICS: Tim heads to face what he thinks might be his doom after a mysterious new member of the Young Justice messaging chat prompts him to follow. Tim knows exactly who, and what, this is about. Ra’s is there to finally get what he’s wanted for years.  TW: Tim being Tim, Ra’s being Ra’s, If either of those don’t give enough of an “Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here” Vibe: Emotional Turmoil, Emotional Manipulation, Predatory Behavior, Mentions of Physical Violence, Mentions of Past Deaths, Trauma (lots of it)

TIM: Fear. Anger. Hate.

Emotions came from his chest, his guts, burned with a fire he hadn’t felt in what felt like years. So this was what it was like to feel again? To remember the fight still inside, the passion to push himself forward. To love someone he’d known and admired for years. To loathe the face that yet again threatened to take the one thing that made him happy in this god-forsaken world away.

He’d stared at the messages for what felt like hours, icy blue eyes transfixed on the ‘unknown’ entity that had hacked into his private server (no doubt with help, cheater), and threatened just the wrong people.

Tim. Had. Had it. 

The emotions swirled and erupted from his throat in a vicious, feral screech, wanting to do nothing but destroy every inch of the now suddenly cramped but all too empty room he stood in. Tears stung his eyes, squeezed tight against the force of his scream, biting back against the sobs that followed it. He should have known, he should have kept her closer, should have sent her with something to protect herself with. Was it a mistake to open up to her? To feel again? He’d been careless, reckless, failure, IMBECILE, WHY THE FUCK DID YOU LET THIS HAPPEN- 

 Heaving breaths rocked his lungs like he was trying to breathe in a vacuum, clawed fingers gripping dangerously at his hair, feeling like he could scalp himself from the force. Tim felt himself shaking, but worse than before, worse than the other times he’d felt the same paranoia hit him with the force of a freighter train. Steph… Stephanie...

He had time. He could save her.

With no moment to lose, and a solid look of hate plastered onto his brow, the bird swiftly got to work erasing his presence, jamming tracers and blocking signals that could alert anyone with enough smarts to try finding him.

He’d done what he needed to do, preparing for the impossible, no, the inevitable, and with no time at all he was tugging the belts across his chest again, the cape feeling weightless as the cowl fell over his face. Trusted staff at his back, closed and ready for combat activation, Tim made his way to the cave he was sure he wouldn’t see again for a long time. He didn’t even think to take in the surroundings, check security to make sure no one knew where he was going, his eyes were zeroed in on the familiar bike, his bike, no one else got this Redbird. He was a man on a mission, and he wasn’t going to be stopped.

The mission… Swinging one leg over, firing the engine on, he briefly thought of his family, what little there was, his friends. Guilt flicked through his harsh glare, something anyone paying attention to could barely see under the near molded scowl of the mask. Not even a note, nothing of the sort. He should say something, should tell someone what he was really getting himself into…. A remorseful look shot up at the one entrance up to the manor, where he was sure the Butler and the Gremlin were safe, sound, no second thoughts in their head. Lot of good that did. Just pissed him off more. 

No more running. This is the end of the line. It was time to fucking finish this.

What he wouldn’t give to have super-speed, breaking road laws nearly gave the same effect. He tried to concentrate on something other than the white that dared to roll over his eyes; the wind, the engine, the smell of the disgusting city air that would choke anyone who didn’t grow up in it. Something to keep his cool, or as much cool as he could, but it was all futile. Gloved knuckles threatened to rip apart at the very tips, the skin under them turning white under the bruises and scrapes they’ve endured. His hands itched to tear shit apart, they wanted a fight, and he knew exactly who he was targeting first.

If Ra’s was smart (as much as Tim hated to think about it, he really was. That was the scary part.), he’d have guards. At least a couple, just to wear him out, watch like the creepazoid he was, just until he could make that same damn offer again. His loose plan was to never let him get to step three. Take out the mad-man, save the girl, pretend the trauma of the past didn’t prove exactly what you’d told your girlfriend before you got together. Easy as pie.

It was never that easy. Don’t kid yourself, Red.

Skidding to a stop, the bike nearly collided into the side of the building he’d hoped was where the bastard assassin had alluded to. The dark bird stalked the entryway, a twitch in his brows signaling he’d been glaring for too long.

Too damn long, asshole.

One hand slid behind the cape, palming the one friend he’d had forever in combat, the trusted weapon in his crusade against the evils of the world, and he steadied himself, grounded himself with it. If he was going to take him down, he needed to remain balanced, focused, something he thought he could have when he pushed everyone away. Had he done more harm than good?

Never mind checking for locks, the vigilante slammed a hard kick against the door, literally busting his way in as his wrist flicked the staff to full extension, silver shining in the dim city lights behind him, white lenses shining with the harsh hate burning a hole in his stomach.

“Ra’s al fuckin’ Ghoul!” Tim announced, the yell ringing with the echo of his grand entrance. “Let her go. Or I swear I’ll fuckin’ kill you.”

RA'S: Timothy always did have a flare for the dramatic. One of the many reasons, Ra's rather thought, that they had such fun together.

He'd half-expected the boy to come swooping into the warehouse in a rain of glass from above, a la Bruce, but busting in the door had rather a similar effect. And was, in all truth, probably rather more cathartic. The boy clearly needed it, at any rate: the boy's carefully cultivated upper-crust speech patterns were slipping into the improper diction of a real Gotham accent.

Ra's clicked his tongue.

The assassin was seated comfortably in an upholstered chair in the middle of the warehouse, a cup of tea in one hand resting on the arm of the chair. None of his League were immediately visible, though there was no doubt they must be there. It was rare that one of his men wasn't acting as a shadow, at the very least. Presently, there were no less than ten, scattered around in the deep shadows cast by what little light came in through the grimy windows.

"Tt. Detective, that's no way to talk to one's elders. And breaking in a door? All you needed to do was turn the handle--you're a welcomed guest, after all." Ra's sipped his tea, and kept his other hand out of sight. "Come. Have something to drink. I'm sure you could use the tea--you look a bit stressed."

TIM: As soon as the cool air hit his face, he knew things were wrong. He'd miscalculated, but somehow knew he was going to miscalculate. How? No clue, but it was always a surprise with this guy. That's what was really scary; the Unpredictability. Ra's was smart, too smart, smart enough to foil Tim's most complex plans. Half the time, Tim thought he got away with stuff just because it was amusing to the asshole, just letting his birdcage go unlocked to see how wild he could really get. It was only when he had the control he obviously needed, that's when he won. Tim needed the table to turn, and badly.

So what was so wrong with this picture?

He was calm, there was no Steph in sight. Infrared sight in the cowl told him more people were in the building, but none of them matched her form, nothing he could see at least. Bared teeth ground so hard they dared to crack in his jaw, deepening creases on the cowl's beak signifying his emotional turmoil as he stood his ground. He was too damn calm. And all Tim wanted to do was throw a punch.

"You think I give a fuck?!" His voice echoed, but not so much that he didn't confirm the assassin had the help hiding around. Think, if you make one wrong move you'll have to beat back twenty goons instead of the one. If he could only just think through the fire in his core. Pure, unadulterated hate, pushed on by paranoia. Good job taking the time to figure that shit out, Timmy. FUCKING FOCUS.

If he was still wearing the green pants, he might have quipped back something like I was more of a coffee guy anyways and spring into action, with a bright smile and nothing left to really lose. Back when he was younger, innocent, the only hardships he'd faced had been miniscule, moving past his personal tragedies with ease. He was here to make sure that didn't happen again. "I'm not here for sharing pleasantries." The staff whipped around, smacking into both hands. En garde. "Where is she?"

RA'S: Stubborn as ever. And Tim made it so very easy for Ra's to wriggle under his skin. He was ever-responsive to their little games, sharp enough to almost keep up, even throw out a surprise every once in a while.

For all the good it did him.

Ra's chuckled, raising a brow as he watched the boy snap his bo staff into full extension. "I may be wrong," he said slowly, smiling over his cup of tea, "but I believe you're here to do whatever it takes to get your sweetheart home safe." In a millisecond, his voice turned hard. "Put it down and come sit, Detective. You wouldn't deny an old man small pleasures, would you?"

He set the teacup neatly back in its saucer, and folded one leg elegantly over the other, drawing his other hand out of his pocket. A small box--no. A remote. A detonator.

"And do take the mask off, little songbird. It's impolite."

TIM: Shit.

Of course.

Every muscle in his body snapped to attention, an icy cold settling in as he felt his stomach drop to the floor. Something in that motion told him that Steph was still alive, which would make sense. He had little to relax about, but if Ra's was daring to blow something to kingdom come, he could guess that something was her. She was alive, and soon she'd be safe. That's the mission.

Gloved hands trembled, gripping the staff harder while he pondered his options. There really was only one. What did Bruce teach them? What did the absolute lunatic in front of him parrot? Whatever it takes. He probably hadn't met most of his rogues gallery when he came up with that lesson. Tim tried not to focus on the specifics, tried to not get in too deep. At this point, it was all improv, and this was the shit he was the worst at. With one hard exhale through his nose, he signaled his choice: Submission.

Ew. Gross. Bad word.

His stance relaxed, though he stayed as wound as a spring, the staff disappearing back in it's holster and his face finally freed, taking time to make sure he didn't nearly tear the cowl off his head. Messy hair fell out and around his face, no longer as harsh of a snarl but still angered, tense, just barely stained from his earlier tears. It was pathetic, he thought, that anyone could see him like this. That was just the plan, though, wasn't it? This is exactly why he'd taken her, tortured her, made sure he and his friends knew exactly what was going on.

Tim took brave steps forward, his hard, icy glare locked on to his enemy, standing with covered fist clenched to his side. Two outta three commands ain't bad. Who said you can't still rebel when the odds are so stacked against you you might as well fold? "I didn't know you still could feel happiness. Must be rare, not sure I've ever seen you genuinely smile."

RA'S: He could see the gears turning in his little bird's head at the sight of the detonator, the swift reevaluation of data the boy was so very good at. Calculating odds--odds that Stephanie was alive, odds that the detonator had to do with her, odds that Ra's would be willing to kill her if it was.

Odds that surrender would save her life.

As ever, Tim didn't disappoint. The bo staff was returned to its sheath, the mask came off, and the boy stepped over to linger against the side of the chair. Not sitting, simply staring Ra's down as that tongue of his lashed out while his hands could not.

The ancient assassin chuckled indulgently. "Of course I can. Typically you see me fighting, Timothy. You'll have ample opportunity to see me outside that context, now."

Another sip of tea, and he could feel the tension all but rolling off the boy. "I would have thought your father taught you to follow directions better than this. I said drop the staff, not put it back, and I said to sit." The teacup and saucer were shifted to the little table next to him, before Ra's held out an expectant hand. "I'll take the staff. And the mask."

TIM: Tim really hated every word that came out of the other's mouth. Like, Jesus H. Christ, something about the way he spoke made him want to just grumble, snap back even harder than he had. Call it a reflex, call it a learned behavior. He wasn't sure if it was pavlovian, there wasn't much of a reward in the end. Hell, one time he did just that he got kicked out a window and left to free fall. The only satisfaction that came from that was the knowledge that he'd done something to really piss the old man off to try and actually kill him. Fun times.

"My father wasn't the greatest guy." Neither was his dad. Why he stayed at the Manor still, Tim had no idea. It took all of his planning skills just to make sure he ditched the Butler when he went to school, let alone the Bat. "You know, should've known that from my demeanor." Reject, resent, repeat. It was a fun pattern that gave you scraped knees... or broken bones.

If he could tense up any more than he already was, he almost broke in half when Ra's asked for his gear. The few things keeping him from trembling too much, the only constants in this freaky-ass scenario. Whatever it takes.

Fuck... All of this.

"Don't be an idiot, Ra's." Tim growled, though it was quiet enough, his gaze breaking as he pulled the full cape and belt mess from his chest, the whole half of his uniform coming off into his hands in a few swift motions. "It all comes as a package deal. Chew on five pounds of kevlar." It was a last ditch effort, to try and stay calm, keep it quick and quippy. Not helping. The minute he tossed the mass over to Ra's he felt vulnerable. That's what you wanted. Fine. Take it. I can take it. If it's saving her, I can take it. With another rage-heated breath, Tim finally sat, already exhausted from the mental warfare. He never got this exhausted flinging code. Why couldn't he just hack his way out of this?

RA'S: Oh yes, he knew it was a package. It made it all the more gratifying when Tim stripped it off and tossed it in his lap before half-curling up in the chair opposite. Feeling vulnerable, evidently.

Ra's let a smirk tug at the corner of his lips. The boy didn't know the half of it.

Ra's slid free the bo staff before holding the belt out, clearing his throat. One of the assassins skulked out of the shadows to take it, and then disappeared once more.

Ra's tapped the closed staff against his thigh. Once. Twice.  Thrice.

"Mm. No. You didn't want to take the chair when it was offered." He managed to keep a straight face as he nodded towards the ground at his feet. "Here."

Before Tim could open his mouth to respond, Ra's circled his thumb around the button on the remote. "Ah. None of that. I've had quite enough from Ms. Brown, today."

TIM: The Help was here. He was here. He was here. Could this day get any worse?

An ironic twist of fate it would be to ask that out loud.

Though, it gave him a bit of satisfaction to know that Steph had done her verbal damage. What he wouldn't give to know what kind of shit she spat at Ra's. She always was coming up with the good one-liners, he had to practice his in the mirror. Remembering that, remembering her, made his heart feel warm and heavy at the same time, tears starting to shine in his glaring eyes. Teeth clenched, holding back the waterworks for now. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction, not yet. Not until he knew she was safe, and she'd be free.

With reluctance, Tim got up and... Ugh, sat on the floor, at his next appointed target. His head hung low, the clear shame and fear finally slipping into his physical form, the barest shiver taking over his hands. He attempted to stop them, crossing them tight over his chest There was supposed to be a symbol there... oh right and trying to find his breath yet again. A dog, a pet, a bird in a cage. Steph would kill him for this, he was sure of it. Anyone in the family would, and for good reason.

He was right. He was doing the impossible.

RA'S: The boy could be so very well behaved, when properly motivated. Clearly his girlfriend beimg potentially blasted to kingdom come was more than adequate, because the boy hesitated only a moment before pushing himself out of the chair and sitting at his feet instead, head bowed low in shame. Hands shaking with fear, eyes shining with tears.

Ra's left the staff in his lap, reaching out to touch the boy at last, hand brushing at his hair like a dog to be rewarded. "Good." Already baring the back of his neck, like a good little prey animal.

"You know what my price is to let her go, little songbird. Can I assume by your being here that you're willing go pay it?"

TIM: It took all of his energy to not flinch at the fingers in his hair, the pure mess that came from wearing the cowl. This wasn't right, it was just like every other 'surprise' encounter, where he wanted to run in fear but stayed put like an idiot. Only... This wasn't a surprise. This was him, and he was finally giving the old bastard what he wanted. Direct, from the source. Oh god.

"Y-... Yes." Choking out the word felt like swallowing barbed wire, broken sobs that didn't dare escape his lungs frying his vocal chords. This was hard, but not hard enough. He'd made up his mind, she would be free, alive, even if it took his own. "Anything.... As long... As you accept my own terms in return."

Without much warning, his head snapped up again, a surge of fire lighting his eyes in a newfound wave of confidence. "If you're a bargaining man, take them: Steph goes free, you and your League leaves her, my family, and my friends the fuck alone, and I get one last message to send to J- Bruce.... Something to throw him off, no traceable IP, no post-data threads." A shaky breath let his shoulders drop again, eyes closing tight. Whatever. It. Takes. "Then... Then I'm yours." Never in a million years...

RA'S: Anything was such a powerful word, but not as powerful as yours. Ra's let out a pleased hum, considering the boy's requests--because that's what they were, of course. Tim had nothing to bargain with but his own compliance, now, and his current position was plenty enough to indicate how that would turn out.

"The girl will go free, and your family and friends will be left alone so long as you play your part," he agreed after a moment's thought, continuing to card his fingers through the boy's hair. "No message. Surely you don't believe me stupid enough to do that--with your computer skills and your family's knowledge of codes? No, no."

The boy would have to yield to whatever terms he laid out--he didn't have to cede anything at all, aside from Stephanie's survival, but a gesture of good faith couldn't go amiss. "Do we have an understanding?"

TIM: Damnit. Damnit damnit damnit.

He should've known that last request was a stretch. Something told him that if he'd been nicer gross that maybe he'd been more accepting of it. He hated the idea of that, hated everything about this. It was the only thing left he could do, he thought. Anything else would get him and anyone he loved in worse conditions than he'd want to see again. Too many deaths, too much blood. "Dad!!" 

"Fine... Fine fine finefinefinefinefine." Annoyance laced every mumbled word, his previous grimace morphing into something a bit more dead, the only hint that he hadn't already given up being the wrinkles on the bridge of his nose where he scrunched it at the thought that he was quite literally handing himself over. At least it wasn't into the GCPD.... Nope. This was worse. Unfair comparison too.

Time for the magic words, building up as much composure as he could. His back went stiff, straight and stoic, sitting up as best as he could to try and endure the self-torture he was dealing out.

"I accept."

RA'S: There was no need to hide the smirk that rose this time, with the boy's reluctant assent, even though he straightened his back and tried to take it like a soldier.  As if Bruce was watching, as if Bruce would care how the boy handed himself over when he was handing himself over.  "Very good, Timothy."

He let Tim rest there at his feet for a moment before uncrossing his legs and nudging the boy up to his feet, following suit a moment later.  His assassins appeared from their hiding places, and Ra's instructed a handful of them to go ensure that Stephanie was dropped off outside the gate to Wayne Manor.  "As for you, Timothy, I have a car waiting to take us to the airstrip.  You could use a vacation from the city, I'm sure."  Vacation was hardly the right word, but the boy would catch his drift, regardless.

TIM: Don't treat me like a fuckin' dog. The words dared to escape, make themselves known, but he had to settle for speaking through his eyes. His jaw was clenched too tight to try forming words anyways, though through all the effort a single tear slipped past his iron-clad defenses, falling perpendicular to the deep line that framed the side of his face. Too many scars to try counting, and yet that one still burned, still reminded him of the shards of glass scoring his skin, a fight he'd thought he'd earned, a death he was too ready to accept. He'd saved Bruce's legacy. If only Dick hadn't been there to catch him, maybe this wouldn't have happened, maybe people would be safe from the curse of tragedy that followed him.

All Tim could do was follow his new orders in silence, standing with his eyes locked to the ground. At least he'd done what he needed to do. The Mission was complete, as far as he knew, with a few extra perks to boot. His Team was safe. His family wouldn't be bothered. Steph was alive. It's all he could ask for, anything after this didn't matter, clearly. This was his last Mission, his last stand as Red Robin...

Fuck that.

"I don't take vacations." The cold words finally came through, cracked and broken, his new-found emotions finally getting to him.  Tim finally brought a covered palm up to swipe at the water stain on his skin, and got a terrible idea.

Being sneaky was always his favorite part of the job. Let's see if he could still even pull it off.

"Whatever..." Hands clenched behind his back, fingers made quick work of finding the one solid compartment that housed his gauntlet's computing processor. It took no time at all to find the microcontroller and crush the chip in his hand, the debris falling to the ground as soon as he opened his palm. It wasn't much, but it was something. If anything, it would hopefully look like a show of his new 'loyalty'. If anyone could find the near microscopic remains of Wayne-Tech chip work, it was his family. Maybe then they'd know how dangerous this situation was, if the fact that he didn't leave anything for them to track was any sort of hint. With his last little act of rebellion, he raised both hands, a light form of surrender.

"Let's just get this over with."

[artificialqueens]

Baby, You Can Drive My Car (Branjie) - Joley

ao3 link

Brooke Lynn pushed the hood of the car down and exhaled deeply. One hand steadied herself by pressing against the cool metal while the other wiped her brow, streaking her forehead with grease. There was a rag right beside her, but it’d been dirtied after a long day’s work - just like the rest of her torso, the sacrifice she made when she pushed her coveralls down and tied them around her waist.

“Ay, BL, hit the showers!” A coverall-clad man tossed a towel at her. “We’re going out to eat, it’s Theo’s turn to pick, so you know what that means.”

Of course she did, and with a roll of her eyes and a dry laugh, she replied “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” before heading into the locker room to shower up.

Well, ‘locker room’ was perhaps a bit generous. It was more like a prison bathroom with open, communal showers - save for one that had a makeshift curtain built around it - that was Brooke’s shower. She had to admit, there was an actual effort made, and she appreciated having some semblance of privacy and not having to drive home with a full layer of grime.

Beyond that, Brooke never felt too singled out at work, even though she was never unaware that she was the only female mechanic in the auto shop. The guys made a point of including her, and part of that was including her in their weekly dinners out. When it was her turn, she would try to expand her coworkers’ palettes - something they were surprisingly receptive towards.

On the other hand, their restaurant choices often fell into a repetitive pattern. Such is the case with Theo, who would only ever pick Hooters for their meal. When asked if he may want to reconsider with a mixed company, he shrugged it off with “She likes chicks too, it’s fine!”

And Brooke, in turn, never voiced any complaints. The food was subpar, but sometimes she liked to indulge in that sort of greasy, fried food. As far as the waitstaff? Well, she was conflicted. As an empathetic feminist, she would find herself concerned - were the girls being treated well? Was there proper recourse when reporting harassment? As a lesbian, however… She understood the appeal.

She was the last one out of the showers because even with the curtain, she still preferred to shower alone. All of the good intentions in the world couldn’t change the fact that being naked around men made her skin crawl. No one ever seemed to question her on this either, though she was occasionally subjected to playful jabs about keeping the guys waiting.

Once they arrived at the restaurant, the group of six was seated promptly, and everything seemed to be business as usual.

Then their waitress came over.

She was shorter than the average waitress, but the energy that radiated from her made up for it. Her warm, brown eyes and dimpled smile could easily captivate anyone, but while Brooke Lynn’s colleagues were pleasantly content, she felt the air leave her lungs and the heat rise to her cheeks.

“You gonna tell me what you wanna drink, sweetie?”

Oh, shit, had she been staring that long? She sat upright and cleared her throat. “Right, sorry. I’ll have an iced tea. Thank you…” she leaned forward to look at the nametag - and just the nametag, of course. “Vanessa.”

Vanessa smirked, pressing her lips together as she tilted her head to toss her thick, dark waves of hair off her shoulder. “Coming right up,” she hummed, then turned on her heel to retreat to the kitchen.

The men at the table turned their attention to Brooke as soon as Vanessa had left, some confused, others amused. “Who are you and what the fuck did you do with Brooke?” One of them asked.

Brooke’s eyes did not leave the menu, pointedly so. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I always wondered what your type was,” Kevin remarked. “It makes sense, you got taste. Though I doubt a lesbian could stomach working here.”

“You don’t know that,” she scoffed. “Lesbians are stronger than you give us credit for, not just in the literal sense.”

Ryan quirked his brow. “What, so you can tell she likes chicks? Or is it wishful thinking?”

Brooke blushed and looked down. Maybe it was wishful thinking. What were the odds that the most beautiful girl she had ever seen would not only be her waitress, but a fellow queer lady as well? She knew better than to get her hopes up, logically, but when that waitress returned with the drinks, logic was just out of the question.

“Y’all decided on what you’re getting?”

And like before, the guys placed their orders with no issue. But once again, Brooke was flustered and tongue tied, scrambling to find something appetizing to throw out there. “I um…I’ll have the shrimp and spinach salad.”

Vanessa nodded, reading the orders back to the group to make sure everything was correct. “I’ll get this right in,” she hummed, giving Brooke’s shoulder a light squeeze.

Another waitress stopped Vanessa on her way back from dropping the order off. “You know you’re supposed to do that innocent touchy shit with the guys, right?”

“You gotta chill and let me enjoy one damn six-top,” she huffed and rolled her eyes. “‘Sides, my dyke senses were tingling, so it still counts.”

“Dyke senses?”

“Only straight people say ‘gaydar’, and they don’t even have it.”

Her coworker just rolled her eyes. “Long as they tip the same,” she retorted before leaving with a tray of plates.

Vanessa scoffed. “Straight girls don’t know shit,” she muttered to herself. If there was one thing she knew, it was when someone was fawning over her. It wasn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence in her line of work, after all. And sure, straight men and not-straight women express it differently, but as she would explain it - the vibe was all the same.

The train of thought she was on came to a halt by the sound of a bell dinging behind her. “Vanjie! Got the order for table eighteen,” one of the line cooks called out.

“Got it!” She confirmed, loading up the serving tray and taking the meticulously balanced walk across the restaurant to serve the customers. “Enjoy,” she chirped pleasantly, but threw a subtle wink in Brooke Lynn’s direction.

“You guys saw that, right?” Brooke asked once they were alone.

“Saw what?”

“She winked at me. Told you I was onto something.”

“No you didn’t.”

She huffed. Those guys wouldn’t pay attention to anything unless it was in a car or a bikini. Whatever, she knew what she saw and went on to eat her food while trying to think about what her next move should be.

But as if he could read her thoughts, Theo piped up with “So, what’re you gonna do about it? You know, if you’re so convinced she’s into you or whatever.”

Brooke shrugged, poking around at her food. The shrimp was overcooked and the spinach was sad and wilted from being egregiously overdressed with a too-bitter balsamic. “You know how wildly inappropriate it is to hit on someone while they’re at work, right?” There was a deafening silence from the rest of the table. “Right?”

“Cassie and I met at her job,” Ryan defended quietly.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Regardless, I’m not going to put her on the spot like that. If anything is meant to happen, it’ll happen when it’s supposed to.”

“Right, say hi to your cats for me.”

Before Brooke could offer a comeback, Vanessa had returned to check in. “You have cats?” She asked brightly. “I just adopted a kitty. Always thought I was a dog person, but that lil thing just sucked me in like,” she made a ‘suction’ noise, making the blonde giggle.

“Cute things do have that effect,” she replied, smiling up at her and batting her lashes.

Vanessa bit back a grin. “You right on that. Everything else good here?” With a positive confirmation, she turned back on her heel and left.

The guys exchanged glances, murmuring amongst themselves. “Okay, maybe you aren’t completely delusional,” Kevin teasingly conceded. “You should definitely say something, though.”

“Not happening.”

“Why? You both seem to like… cats,” he waggled his eyebrows suggestively, making the other men laugh.

Brooke set her napkin on top of her barely-touched meal and finished off her drink. “Just drop it, okay? On the off chance I am misreading the signals, I don’t want to weird her out.”

There was a silently collective decision to drop the subject and pay their separated bills. Some of them took to-go boxes while others, such as Brooke, decided to just leave it.

“Was everything alright? Looks like you ain’t even touch it,” Vanessa observed.

“Oh,” she looked down and cleared her throat, “I just wasn’t very hungry,” she assured kindly. The last thing she wanted after all this was to get the waitress in any sort of trouble. In fact, she made sure that every member of the group tipped their fair share.

“That’s everything then,” Vanessa chirped when she handed out the to-go boxes. “Y’all have a good night,” she said to a polite chorus of ‘you too’.

——

“Yo, B, you got a visitor!” Theo called from the front of the shop. It wasn’t more than twenty minutes before closing, leaving just the two coworkers and their guest.

Brooke pulled herself up from under the car she had been working on. It was an old corvette from the sixties that she was fixing up for a nice elderly man. “Coming!” She called back, admittedly confused. Customers rarely asked for her specifically (and it wasn’t hard to figure out why), but when she did see who it was, she was even more surprised.

“You’re Brooke Lynn, I take it?” Vanessa asked as Theo made a sudden beeline out of the room.

She blinked, nodding. “You wear your uniform in case I forgot who you are?” She laughed, then furrowed her brows. “How’d you find me anyway?”

“Nah, just got off my shift, and I got it from this,” she handed her one of the shop’s business cards that had ‘ask for brooke lynn’ scrawled on the back.

Brooke took the card and looked over her shoulder. “Those little shits,” she chuckled and shook her head before facing the shorter girl again. “I’m sorry, they mean well, but–”

Vanessa waved her hands to draw her attention (and to get her to stop talking). “I wouldn’t have come round if I didn’t wanna see you,” she pointed out. “Y’know, your uniform is pretty sexy too.”

She looked down at her clothes with furrowed brows. Her coveralls were unzipped to her waist and tied around it and she had a white, ribbed tank top that was covered in grease and dirt stains, as was the rest of her exposed skin. Her hair was tied into a high ponytail with a red bandanna covering most of the top of her head. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“Nah I’m bein’ for real, that grease monkey shit is hot.”

Brooke tilted her head, a small smirk playing on her lips. Now, she was in her element. This was her domain. She sauntered past her and grabbed the latch of the garage door, pulling it shut. They could close a few minutes early, she had more important things to attend to. “Then maybe I could take a look under your hood.”

Vanessa snorted. “You lucky you cute with that corny shit,” she leaned against the hood of the frontmost car and beckoned her over with a curled finger.

First, Brooke untied the coveralls around her waist, wiggling out of them and kicking them off. The shorts she had on underneath were probably as short as Vanessas, showing off her long, toned legs as she made her way over. She placed her hands down on either side of the brunette, lowering herself to eye level before leaning in and kissing her deeply, one hand moving to snake around her waist.

It was easy for Vanessa to melt into the kiss. She moved her arms up to drape around her neck, only to be caught off guard when her wrists were grabbed and arms were pinned above her head.

Brooke smirked down at her, keeping her arms pinned with one hand as she kissed down her jaw and neck, littering the expanse of bronze skin with dark purple hickies. She let go of her wrists, using both hands to pull off her shirt before trailing her lips down to her chest, unhooking her bra just as her lips reached one of her nipples.

This wasn’t exactly how Vanessa envisioned this encounter going. Based on how awkward and giggly the other girl had been during their first meeting, she thought for sure she would be walking up on a cute, submissive thing. But she was putty in Brooke’s hands and, to her further surprise, she absolutely loved it. It sent her heart into overdrive and spread goosebumps across her skin.

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” she murmured as she alternated between teasing one nipple with her tongue and the other with her fingers. Her free hand hooked into the elastic of her orange shorts and tugged them down as much as she could until she had to use her other hand as well to get the job done.

“Mm, you are too,” Vanessa knocked the bandanna off of her head in the process of taking her hairband out, running her fingers through the mess of blonde hair. Normally she would be deep into dirty talking by now, but something about this girl left her damn near speechless - and that, no pun intended, was saying something.

Brooke shifted, now on her knees in front of her. She swatted Vanessa’s legs apart before kissing up her inner thighs, lips teasingly ghosting over the damp patch on her panties. She smirked when she felt the shudder that ran through her body and looked up, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she slowly pulled down her panties with her teeth.

Vanessa’s entire body felt like it was on fire, her forehead was covered with a thin layer of sweat and both her face and chest were flushed red. It was never this easy to get her so worked up, and in the back of her mind, she had to wonder what the hell it was about her that got under her skin like this.

It didn’t help that Brooke was savoring every whimper and moan she elicited and drew every movement out longer. It felt like ages before her tongue was circling Vanessa’s clit and her finger was easing inside of her, but taking her sweet time to build up a satisfying pace.

Much unlike her usual demeanor, Vanessa was whimpering and whining, her hips pushing her lower body off the car hood and towards her, only to have a calloused hand push down on her hip in a silent command to stay put. And unlike her still, she obeyed.

Brooke finally decided to give her a bit of relief, fucking her with two fingers while fervently licking and sucking on her clit. The more Vanessa trembled and moaned, the more eager she was to please, unable to hide her overwhelming desire to make this pretty girl come.

And boy was that rapidly approaching. Vanessa was finding it harder and harder to keep her hips still, panting and biting down on her knuckles as her body twitched and spasmed, then bucked up sharply when her orgasm finally hit.

But even then, Brooke kept her fingers and tongue working fast and passionately until she was absolutely certain that Vanessa was spent (and maybe a little bit more after that for good measure). She moved her head up from between her thighs and placed a light kiss to her lips, though she lingered a bit before pulling back. “You wanna hit the showers? I got my own personal stall, kind of.”

Vanessa laughed breathlessly. “We both smellin’ rank as hell, huh?” She threw her top and shorts on, just on the off chance that someone popped up between the front of the shop and the showers.

As the two of them cleaned up, Brooke acknowledged that she was in a bit of disbelief. She would have never anticipated getting this out of a trip to Hooters. It made up for the inedible meal and then some.

And she supposed that was why no one was surprised when that was her pick on her turn for the crew’s dinner outing.

[bowditch]

day six: dragged away dick grayson & bruce wayne general canon, Pre-N52 tw: drugging, blood, vomit

***

The moon cast pale gray light on the building spires and then the city was plunged into darkness by swiftly moving cloud cover. Nightwing glanced up, looking for a break in the inky sky, and saw miles of storm system spread out over the bay and moving in. 

He’d been hoping the forecast would be off by a few hours, at least. No such luck.

At least Robin wasn’t out with him tonight. Damian still had a penchant for leaning into things that made him uncomfortable— habit or defense mechanism or both. If he was freezing in the rain, he’d insist on stay out longer than a normal patrol, just to prove that he could. Dick had spent more than one night as Batman surreptitiously finding ways to warm Damian up after a cold night, while the kid pretended he wasn’t visibly shivering. 

Nightwing had been watching Gotham for five days now, and Damian had been out for three of those. Tonight, he’d insisted Damian stay in, and had left the cave to angry stomping going up the stairs into the house. He’d cool down, Dick knew, and probably crash and sleep within thirty minutes of furiously flinging himself into bed to sulk.

Five days of Bruce being undercover with hardly a word, and Damian was wired, on edge, and exhausted. Nightwing had that deep current of worry he always did when Bruce was out of contact, but that was undercover work, and he was used to it. 

Overhead, the sky rumbled ominously. Nightwing leapt from the edge of the First National building and let the free fall carry him down ten stories before throwing a grapple line and curving into the arc of its catch. He landed in a roll and the second he was back on his feet, his comm beeped. He froze. That pattern, that tone— that was the emergency beacon signal. 

“O,” he said, into the comm. 

“Osborne and St. Mark,” she said, immediately. “It’s not Robin. A’s confirming now that he’s at home. It’s a warehouse, one of Roman Sionis’ frozen assets in federal holding. Should be empty.”

“I’ll be there in seven,” he said. “Cycle’s two blocks from me. Any visual?” 

“I’ve got a camera a block down St. Mark’s that shows an empty lot. No in-building security online to use. Deploying a recon drone.” Oracle sounded purely businesslike, not a hint of stress present in her voice. Nightwing knew that meant she was masking, work-focused, and frustrated without enough information.

Nightwing made it to his parked and cloaked cycle in record time and ate up asphalt speeding through the streets as it started to rain. 

“Heat scan shows three bodies inside,” Oracle said when he was close. “Hand to hand, one against two. One of the two down.”

Nightwing gunned the engine. He could see the warehouse now. 

“Second is down,” Oracle said. “One man standing. Bottom floor.”

“I’m here,” Nightwing said.

The cycle skidded and squealed to a stop and Nightwing leapt from it and took the first double doors with a kick. He had a suspicion— a hope— who the one man left on his feet was, and there wasn’t much reach to proceed with caution or strategy at that point. 

“You’ve got a car enroute,” Oracle said. “I’ve got A on standby for emergency response prep orders.”

The emergency beacon probably meant blood, and lots of it.

Nightwing went through the dark building at a dead sprint, frantically scanning for any sign of Bruce. The interior was lit with warming fluorescent lights, the faint hum above head a clue that they’d been turned on very recently. He rounded the abandoned machinery just in time to see a hunched figure stumble backward and fall.

“B!” Nightwing flew across the room on a burst of extra speed and slid to a stop on his knees in front of the sitting figure. 

The ragged coat, the moth-eaten wool hat, the graying new beard, the colored contacts— all would have been remarkably effective disguises if he hadn’t already known who he was going to find. Bruce swayed, even sitting. There was blood trickling from his lip, and his pupils were blown.

Nightwing glanced up and down, hunting for seeping bloodstains. “B. What happened?”

“Drug,” Bruce slurred. “Organ...chop shop.”

The two men on the floor didn’t stir and Nightwing wished they would so he could kick them both in the teeth, and watch their faces while he did it. He put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder to steady him.

“Can you stand? O’s sending a car. We gotta get you back to the Manor.” 

“No,” Bruce said, trying to shake his hand off. “No, not...Robin…” 

“Robin’s fine, B,” Nightwing said, frowning. 

Bruce twisted clumsily and vomited on the floor. It splattered one of the unconscious men. “No,” he said again, staring at the mess.

“He probably deserved that,” Nightwing said. 

“DN...din...A,” Bruce mumbled, tugging uselessly at the man’s zippered jacket. His fingers struggled to grasp the zipper pull while he leaned and Nightwing braced him and sat him back upright, tugging him a foot across the floor.

“Oof. You’re as heavy as a freighter, B. Nobody’s gonna run DNA here. Don’t move.” Nightwing patted the unconscious man’s face to check for response and whistled when there wasn’t even a groan. “Holy right hook, Batman. You knocked him out colder than Mr. Freeze. Listen, A’s going to be ready for us. Robin will be fine.”

“Drugs,” Bruce protested, sounding far more upset than he should have been. He didn’t usually let much seep into his tone, ever, so this was downright unsettling. “He’s...will...drugs scare ‘im.”

Nightwing went as still as a startled animal, and then slowly, he turned back to Bruce and crouched in front of him.

“B,” he said, softly. “Just what’d they give you, anyway? This Robin isn’t going to be upset like that.” 

“No,” Bruce insisted, his head bobbing forward like he was having trouble controlling it. “No. Jay can’t...he’s...he’ll see...”

The comm beeped softly in his ear when he activated an open channel. “O, is the penthouse clear tonight? The big guy’s gonna need to sleep something off.” 

“No janitorial scheduled. Back elevator’s still programmed with your access code.” There was a significant, but brief, pause. “He’s okay? A’s waiting.”

“The only blood out here isn’t his. He was drugged but he’s conscious. I will take that car, though. I don’t think he could stay on a cycle right now. Tell A I’ve got him and to keep Robin at home.”

“I’ll send Black Bat,” Oracle said. “Keep me updated.”

Nightwing glanced at the men and sighed. “Hold on, B.” He pulled ties out of his cuff pockets and rolled them both, tying their hands behind them. He’d call it in, or have Oracle do it, when they were far enough away, but at least they wouldn’t get too far or choke on their own puke if the police were slow.

“Is not...” Bruce said, his brow knitted in confusion. He blinked slowly and tried to focus on Nightwing. “Is not Jay anymore.” 

“No, B,” Nightwing said quietly. “It’s not. Do you know what they gave you?”

“Somethin’...fuckin’..._strong_,” Bruce spat out, sounding profoundly annoyed. Nightwing  grabbed his arm and counterpressured with the heels of his boots when he stood, and fortunately, Bruce cooperated. He leaned heavily on Nightwing as they walked, but he was managing his own feet well enough. 

“Organ chop shop, huh,” Nightwing commented. “How long have you known? I’m guessing it wasn’t long before they drugged you, or they never would have gotten that close.” 

“Drug me,” Bruce repeated, and his arm slung around Nightwing’s shoulders tightened.

“So you said,” Nightwing answered. “Here’s the car. Come on, in you go, and if you try to take the wheel from me or open the door while we’re driving, I’m going to knock you out for your own good.”

“Brat,” Bruce said. As soon as Nightwing closed the car door, he was tearing out the colored contacts and dropping them on the floor. 

The ride to the penthouse was mostly silence that Nightwing filled with chatter. Bruce didn’t normally contribute much in the way of actual words, but the drugs disrupted his ability to grunt or move at the right times, so Nightwing felt a bit like he was talking to an actual brick wall.  It made Dick uneasy, even knowing it was drugs, to feel like Bruce was beside him and very, very far away.

It took some maneuvering to get Bruce onto the elevator but they made it into the penthouse without incident. As soon as they were there, inside, with the door locked, Nightwing peeled off his mask and Bruce shrugged awkwardly out of the beaten coat and hat. He dropped them on the floor and stumbled into the living room, and past the couch.

“Wait, wait up,” Dick called, hopping on one foot and then the other as he tugged off the suit boots. He left them on the floor and followed Bruce as he bumped into one item after another like some sort of human pinball, until he swerved hard left and into the bathroom. 

Bruce hugged the toilet and puked more, while Nightwing stood beside him, feeling helpless, while wrestling the suit off of himself. He waited, hovering nearby, trying to decide what to do. Bruce’s shoulders stopped heaving and he leaned there, forehead on forearm, trembling faintly.

“Uh, I’m gonna, I’m gonna grab some water and some clothes for both of us,” Dick said. “I’ll be right back.” 

It only took him under a minute but he still expected to see Bruce on the couch or climbing into a bed after. It was a surprise to find him still in the bathroom, shaking. Dick crouched down beside him, a worn t-shirt on, and offered the glass of water.

“Shit,” Bruce said, a word that was more low groan than speech. 

“You were not kidding when you said they gave you something strong,” Dick said, putting a hand on Bruce’s shoulder after the glass was transferred. 

Bruce gulped half of the water, set the glass down, and exhaled roughly. He staggered to his feet again. He braced himself on the wall and a desperate little gasp escaped him.

“B,” Dick said, unable to keep the alarm out of his voice. “Are you crying? Bruce. What did they do, exactly?”

“No,” Bruce said, stumbling past him. He went for the nearest bedroom and all but collapsed face down on the bed, turning his head just enough to get the pillow off his mouth and nose. There were tear streaks on his face and Dick climbed onto the bed next to him, his face pinched in worry.

“B. It’s me. You gotta tell me what’s going on. Is this just the drugs?” 

“No,” Bruce said again, and a sob tore from his chest. It was the only one— he sucked in a lungful of air and sniffled, and rubbed at his eyes with the tips of his fingers. “S’not...something else.” 

Dick elbowed him in the side, gently, and scooted closer. “Yeah? It is something else or it’s not?” 

“Tired,” Bruce said, closing his eyes. He threw an arm around Dick and dragged him that much closer, trapping Dick in a warm cuddle. He buried his face in Dick’s hair and Dick relaxed incrementally, as the arm around him did. 

“You big oaf,” Dick muttered fondly. “You could have just called and said you wanted to see me. You didn’t have to go get yourself kidnapped for your kidneys.”

Bruce snorted a laugh that ghosted across Dick’s scalp. 

“Feeling more you yet? I should get you some more water,” Dick said, without struggling to get away. Bruce didn’t let him go.

“After sleep,” Bruce said, firmly. “Wanna. Sleep. S’been cold.”

“I bet you just loved that,” Dick said. “Undercover means no blankets and fancy mattress. Why don’t you ever do white collar stuff? Seems like that’d be a more comfy gig.”

“Batman...doesn’t…he doesn’t...I don’t..._need_ comfy,” Bruce managed, with several stops and starts. “M’fine.”

More of the tension slipped out of Dick’s muscles and he laughed, and laughed, until his eyes filled with tears. He pressed his face into Bruce’s shoulder and laughed harder at the grumpy little snort of indignation.

“Chum,” Bruce said, and that was enough for Dick to know. He started telling him about a case he’d worked the week before, involving smuggling swans, and one of them attacking him in the suit. 

The non-verbal or quiet responses grew more Bruce-like and less slurred as Dick talked, until they were mostly normal. Dick felt the yawn Bruce tried to stifle and then the tell-tale deep breathing of Bruce truly out, the way he slept if he had been sedated. 

Dick wriggled enough to fish the comm out of his pocket, where he’d left it.

“O,” he said. “He’s fine.” 

“You done for the night?” Oracle asked. 

Dick scrunched closer into Bruce’s furnace-like warmth and smiled at the pleased hum.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m staying in.”

[lacklusterswirl]

Montagne’s Protection

Montagne woke up in a cell with his hands and feet bound. Just when he thought things couldn’t get worse... well, they do.

aka Angst for a friend on their request :) (~2.9k words)

Warnings: Hostage, child injuries, injuries, death, waterboarding, gun fights/gun violence, mission gone wrong.

“Montagne!” Twitch’s scream echoed across an empty field all the way to Glaz’s ear.

Through his scope, he watched in horror as they dragged the unconscious man to a truck. He shot at a few of the men, killing them instantly, but he couldn’t keep up with the sheer number of them.

“Glaz! Track the truck!” Thatcher’s orders came through and Glaz quickly locked in the bullet, aiming for his own teammate.

Breathe in. Hold fire. Breathe out. Between heartbeats just like he practiced.

A heavy voice came through, “I have a signal.” He has never felt so pleased to hear Thermite’s voice as he was in that moment.      

.

His eyes opened without him knowing. It was hard to tell when he was awake or asleep when everything was dark. Slowly, his eyes got used to the darkness, and he could make out bars in front of him. With a grunt, he got himself up onto his elbows. He couldn’t help but groan at the pain in his chest as he turned to the side. He didn’t remember much, other than the pain of the impact from getting thrown to the side after a C4 was tossed at them. His shield… Le Roc was missing. He flexed his hands and relaxed a little at the feeling of armoured pads on himself.

“Merde.”

But then he saw his helmet tossed on the ground with his balaclava beside it… so they knew his face. This would prove problematic then. There were two parts to secrecy for him, one, his face, the other, his name. And his dog tags were gone too.

He stayed lying on that cold, concrete floor in that half-awake state, wondering if he could even move properly. All around him, and even in his own mind, he could see darkness, and the tendrils reaching out and grasping onto his arms. Perhaps if he stayed even more still, they would pass him, and he would wake up to his friends smiling down at him.

That’s not what happened.

Instead, he woke up next with chains around his arms and feet, and realized that he was no longer on the floor. He laid there, spread out, and defenseless against those white masks and their cruel eyes.

“Giles “Montagne” Touré. I see why they call you mountain now.”

The man who was speaking was wearing a mask with the word ‘muse’ painted on it in red, dripping down the mask like blood. God he just hoped it wasn’t his blood. Muse nodded his head, and a table of tools was brought out for him to look at. There were whips, car batteries, and an array of differently-sized knives – each with their own purpose he’s sure.

“Putain,” he growled, tugging on his chains. Nothing moved, as he should’ve seen coming.

Muse stalked his way from where Montagne’s feet were, all the way so he was right above his head. “You special force guys are all the same. You glare until you close your eyes, and then you all die without saying anything. Boring. But what is fun, is seeing what exactly you’re scared of.”

There was a hissing noise, and the white masks all leave. A light, sweet scent came in and soon, all Montagne could see were the flowery fields he played soccer on as a young boy. He can feel the petals on his fingertips as he bent down to pick one for his mother.

Maman… pour toi…

A cold splash on his face, and he wakes up and realizes that he’s being held at an angle. And he knows what coming next.

“How did you find us? Who did Rainbow have on the inside?”

Montagne held his tongue and breathed. The water that came over his face felt like it was going to fill him up completely, going in through his nose so he coughs, but then get more water through his mouth as he does so.

And it’s a pattern. Right as he’s about to pass out, it stops. A question gets asked again, and he gives that same glare. Then the water starts again. He didn’t know how long it had been, but when it finally stopped, he was left passed out on the floor, in a puddle of the water that remained.

If only he were laying face down.

The next thing he hears is the crying voice of a young girl. When… wh—it dawned on him. This wasn’t a dream. He woke up to see the silhouette of a young girl sitting in the opposite corner of him. When he stirred, she screamed, causing the thundering of feet to come down the stairs.

It wasn’t Muse this time. It was his little henchmen who were too afraid to approach Montagne when he was awake, and had apparently went on their own little trip just now.

“I told you we should’ve taken the boy. He was much older. He wouldn’t be causing such a shit storm at night. We’ll be found out if this keeps happening.”

“Shut up, you know that girls sell for more. We need the money.”

“Fuck man, not worth if we… HEY!”

Montagne had half crawled, and half stumbled his way over to where the girl was cowering from him.

“Shhhh, mon chérie… restes ici. Tu peux dormis maintenant. Je te protège.” And she calmed down to a sniffle when she realized that this giant man wasn’t here to hurt her. He pet her hair and whispered as he saw out of the corner of his eye, what the terrorists were grabbing. He barely had time to mentally prepare himself for—

THONK

—that. It didn’t hurt that much through all the armour he wore, but it still made him collapse back on to the ground. The metal bat clattered to the ground and the other terrorist started scolding the first for causing the girl to cry again.

“As long as he’s not causing us trouble. Two birds, one stone.”

“Alright,” a little wad of spit landed next to Montagne, “just know that if you do anything wrong… well, the people who buy from us don’t mind a few… beauty marks’”

Montagne gritted his teeth, but stayed still. Once the footsteps faded again, he pulled away and started treating her for injuries. They were mainly a few scratches here and there, but otherwise, she was alright. She spoke neither English nor French so he just hummed when he wanted her to sleep.

Perhaps getting to know the girl was the wrong choice. Well, not perhaps. It seems to be that it WAS the wrong choice. Every time he fought back, nearly escaped, or broke free, she would be held at gun or knife point, and he had to give up his fight for her. He took punches, shielded her with his own body when they threw things at her, and just kept up the hope that his team would come back for him.

.

“Location confirmed.” Twitch was typing on a laptop as they were on their way to the location where they had finally located them. The pings from the tracker led them all over the world until they realized that Montagne didn’t have his shield anymore. From the cell the got the information from they formed a mixed-team op, with support from JTF 2 since the actual location was near an abandoned cottage near Lake Simcoe. Twitch just got confirmation from local law enforcement, and here they were.

Ciel was frowning while re-reading mission details with a cold intensity in his eyes that was so off putting, that it made Twitch keep quiet again. Tap tap… tap tap… The tap tap that was staring again was from Rook this time as he kept looking between Lion and Doc. Even Pulse was looking down at his feet instead of making jokes like normal. The sixth Rainbow op sat with his sniper ready, and a wave of guilt coming off of him that was so strong that he couldn’t look anyone in the eye.

Even if he wasn’t Rainbow, Ciel was team leader of this group. And it was time for him to say something.

“Tell me about this man. Why does he mean so much to you all?”

.

“You let her go, putain, and I will consider putting a bullet only in your head when I get free.”

The girl’s right arm was trapped in a grip so tight, that Montagne could see purple edges starting to form. She was fighting against it, but it was no use.

“Our first client has asked about her,” came the snide reply.

Then, they turned back and walked upstairs, ignoring the rattling sound as it felt like Montagne was shaking the very prison itself.

“Merde,” he muttered, but now was not the time. A glint caught his eye in the dim room. The keys were on a table instead of on the wall like normal. They were out of arms reach when he stretched it out though. What to do, what to do… He still had his armour plates. He fashioned a rope-like object that he then managed to slide the entire table over to him, weakened muscles straining the entire time.

With a hope in his heart he hasn’t felt in what must’ve been days, he unlocked his door and slowly crept out. There were no weapons on the table, but no matter. He made his way up the stairs and heard footsteps immediately to his right. He plastered himself up against the wall and watched as the shadow crept up, more and more. Only one… perfect.

He wrapped his arms around the man’s neck and snapped it, quickly moving the body into the bushes. The bastard only had a knife and pistol on him though. No matter, he heard cries coming from the little girl upstairs, and he followed them through the hallways until he ended up beside the room. With his ear to the wall, he started listening in on their conversation.

“They did what?!” An unknown voice boomed loud enough that Montagne didn’t actually need to be near the wall to hear their conversation.

“We’ve started a self-destruct code because this facility has been found by JTF 2—”

“How?”

“Sir, we need to you follow us. We can guarantee your safety and anonymity, but we need to leave before the building collapses.”

“And her?”

“We’ll take her too. You’ll get your money’s worth.”

The building rumbled, and the footsteps inside quickened their pace, matching his heartbeat as he stood by the door, knife in one hand, and a pistol in the other. The first man rushed out, and received a knife to the chest. He was dead before Montagne even revealed himself. He reached out for the dead man’s chest and used him as a shield while he pushed forward and shot the last two men down. The girl was back near the door, trembling, but alive. She looked Montagne in the eye, and even though he was covered in hot blood that was quickly cooling down and creating a sticky coat over his body, she hugged him.

“Come here.”

“我们去哪里啊?” Oh, how he wished he could learn another language…

“Je comprend pas…” he carefully carried her, making sure not to squeeze the bruises on her skin.

The shaking got stronger to the point where Montagne couldn’t walk properly.

Then, the ceiling fell.

Montagne curled his body around hers and knelt right there.

.

“What do you mean it collapsed?”

Their vehicles were moving still, despite needing to travel over the heavy layers of snow. Of all the times Glaz has met the Canadian Special Forces officer, this is the angriest he’s seen him.

“Get me a new line, and more back up, we’re taking the jets when we get to Checkpoint B.”

At the mention of jets, all JTF 2 ops stood up and gathered their equipment. Ciel turned and nodded at Doc.

“You’re with me, doctor. Rest of you, pair up and follow my guys. The situation’s… bad. The building has collapsed, and we can’t find your friend. Cham, take Pulse with you, Draco, take the sniper. We’re in the lead. Rest of you follow when you can.”

The JTF 2 ops got out of the stopped truck, which was slowing down more and more due to the prolonged snowfall, and ran over to snowmobiles. Ciel, with Doc holding onto him, raced off, far outpacing the rest of the ops. If the situation was less tense, he’s sure Doc would be terrified, but as they whizzed past all the others, Glaze could only see a glare on the doctor’s face.

He was third out of Rainbow to arrive on scene. Doc and Pulse were already scanning the area while the JTF 2 ops could be heard in the background, firing at remaining terrorist forces.

“Sniper, find a position. Help your friends,” his JTF 2 partner said before making the call to join up with Ciel and the other man. Glaz did so and moved to higher ground so he could use his scope to help him find his teammate.

Breathe in. Hold fire. Breathe out. Keep looking just like he was told to do.

Just as he saw the bright yellow outline, Pulse shouted, “DOC!” The rest of Rainbow, including the machinery and JTF 2 ops returned arrived on scene, and everyone reconvened where the Canadians were performing an extraction, with a worried Rook part of the team, giving advice where he could.

“Ciel…” Glaz murmured… The last time he felt so… so much… it was that cold gaze that was there to help him. This time was no different. He felt a warm hand on his shoulder, and a presence that has always said more than his words.

“I heard about what happened the night of. You did your best, but those forces were too much. Good job getting a tracker on at all actually.” It wasn’t helping. “Keep watch if needed.” If you don’t want to see for yourself. That’s what he really meant. And Glaz was tempted to take the offer.

With one last heave, the extraction team managed to get a large enough hole to shine a light down. Immediately, a small whimper came out, and a word that tugged on the edges of Glaz’s memory.

“救命啊!”

Ciel was first to launch into action, and despite Glaz’s guilt over what was happening, he understood the voice. The two of them watched as Doc reached his arms down the hole and came back up with a young girl. She was bloodied, eye-half lidded, and an arm and a leg were sticking up at angles that shouldn’t have been possible. The tears on her cheeks were caught in the light of their flashlights, and she strained away from everyone, including Doc, who was doing his best to carry her away.

“你没事吧？?” the Rainbow ops all looked over at Ciel who now had the girl’s full attention.

“叔叔还在下门.”

“Ciel?” Doc was waiting on a response.

“Uncle’s still down there,” he murmured, helping Doc place her onto a stretcher. To the girl, he whispered something, and gave Glaz a look.

“你好,” Glaz said, speaking a language he remembers learning a few years ago.

Ciel gave him a nod and Glaz followed as the girl was led off.

Doc, Pulse, and a few more JTF 2 ops were still trying to look into the hole. Glaz and the girl watched from the back near the jets until Doc broke down. He was on his knees and frozen still.

“Get her away, Glaz” Rook had taken a step back, and gave the duo a look, and Glaz just knew who this ‘uncle’ was.

But it was Twitch who gave it away, who was now sobbing into the arms of Lion. Even the arrogant, haughty Lion looked shaken by the view.

Glaz didn’t see anymore that night, but when they debriefed the next day with JTF 2, he saw it all. Rock smashed into the skull, bits of brain mixed in with the helmet on the floor, metal pipes speared through the body, even with the armour, and a shape any of them could easily recognize. A fetal position with his arms wrapped around something… or someone. The gun and knife found on him didn’t belong to him, but the marks on his wrists showed that he was indeed a prisoner. So, they pieced together the story from the pictures and the testimony of the little girl.

Montagne was already in a cell when the girl got there. He protected her, and helped her. When the ‘bad men’ took her away to another man, he came up and killed them all. Then, on their way to the door, the building collapsed. That was all the girl managed to get out before shock took over adrenaline, and she entered a surgical room, never to be seen by Glaz again.

It was the long way of saying that Montagne was dead. And no one could help him in his final hours.

.

Montagne felt the first pieces of rubble hit him, and then an immediate pain in his right shoulder. He curled tighter around the girl and looked up just in time to see a slab of the ceiling fall down on them.

I hope I did enough.

[missjanjie]

Branjie Fic | Baby, You Can Drive My Car

Title: Baby, You Can Drive My Car Summary: Brooke Lynn is a mechanic that has never been thrilled when her coworker picks Hooters as the spot for their weekly dinner. That is, until, she meets a waitress that brings out a whole other side of her. And maybe that waitress finds out something about herself as well. Word Count: ~2.8k Relationship: Branjie (Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo) Rating: E

Read on AO3

Brooke Lynn pushed the hood of the car down and exhaled deeply. One hand steadied herself by pressing against the cool metal while the other wiped her brow, streaking her forehead with grease. There was a rag right beside her, but it’d been dirtied after a long day’s work - just like the rest of her torso, the sacrifice she made when she pushed her coveralls down and tied them around her waist.

“Ay, BL, hit the showers!” A coverall-clad man tossed a towel at her. “We’re going out to eat, it’s Theo’s turn to pick, so you know what that means.”

Of course she did, and with a roll of her eyes and a dry laugh, she replied “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” before heading into the locker room to shower up.

Well, ‘locker room’ was perhaps a bit generous. It was more like a prison bathroom with open, communal showers - save for one that had a makeshift curtain built around it - that was Brooke’s shower. She had to admit, there was an actual effort made, and she appreciated having some semblance of privacy and not having to drive home with a full layer of grime.

Beyond that, Brooke never felt too singled out at work, even though she was never unaware that she was the only female mechanic in the auto shop. The guys made a point of including her, and part of that was including her in their weekly dinners out. When it was her turn, she would try to expand her coworkers’ palettes - something they were surprisingly receptive towards.

On the other hand, their restaurant choices often fell into a repetitive pattern. Such is the case with Theo, who would only ever pick Hooters for their meal. When asked if he may want to reconsider with a mixed company, he shrugged it off with “She likes chicks too, it’s fine!”

And Brooke, in turn, never voiced any complaints. The food was subpar, but sometimes she liked to indulge in that sort of greasy, fried food. As far as the waitstaff? Well, she was conflicted. As an empathetic feminist, she would find herself concerned - were the girls being treated well? Was there proper recourse when reporting harassment? As a lesbian, however… She understood the appeal.

She was the last one out of the showers because even with the curtain, she still preferred to shower alone. All of the good intentions in the world couldn’t change the fact that being naked around men made her skin crawl. No one ever seemed to question her on this either, though she was occasionally subjected to playful jabs about keeping the guys waiting.

Once they arrived at the restaurant, the group of six was seated promptly, and everything seemed to be business as usual.

Then their waitress came over.

She was shorter than the average waitress, but the energy that radiated from her made up for it. Her warm, brown eyes and dimpled smile could easily captivate anyone, but while Brooke Lynn’s colleagues were pleasantly content, she felt the air leave her lungs and the heat rise to her cheeks.

“You gonna tell me what you wanna drink, sweetie?”

Oh, shit, had she been staring that long? She sat upright and cleared her throat. “Right, sorry. I’ll have an iced tea. Thank you…” she leaned forward to look at the nametag - and just the nametag, of course. “Vanessa.”

Vanessa smirked, pressing her lips together as she tilted her head to toss her thick, dark waves of hair off her shoulder. “Coming right up,” she hummed, then turned on her heel to retreat to the kitchen.

The men at the table turned their attention to Brooke as soon as Vanessa had left, some confused, others amused. “Who are you and what the fuck did you do with Brooke?” One of them asked.

Brooke’s eyes did not leave the menu, pointedly so. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I always wondered what your type was,” Kevin remarked. “It makes sense, you got taste. Though I doubt a lesbian could stomach working here.”

“You don’t know that,” she scoffed. “Lesbians are stronger than you give us credit for, not just in the literal sense.”

Ryan quirked his brow. “What, so you can tell she likes chicks? Or is it wishful thinking?”

Brooke blushed and looked down. Maybe it was wishful thinking. What were the odds that the most beautiful girl she had ever seen would not only be her waitress, but a fellow queer lady as well? She knew better than to get her hopes up, logically, but when that waitress returned with the drinks, logic was just out of the question.

“Y’all decided on what you’re getting?”

And like before, the guys placed their orders with no issue. But once again, Brooke was flustered and tongue tied, scrambling to find something appetizing to throw out there. “I um...I’ll have the shrimp and spinach salad.”

Vanessa nodded, reading the orders back to the group to make sure everything was correct. “I’ll get this right in,” she hummed, giving Brooke’s shoulder a light squeeze.

Another waitress stopped Vanessa on her way back from dropping the order off. “You know you’re supposed to do that innocent touchy shit with the guys, right?”

“You gotta chill and let me enjoy one damn six-top,” she huffed and rolled her eyes. “‘Sides, my dyke senses were tingling, so it still counts.”

“Dyke senses?”

“Only straight people say ‘gaydar’, and they don’t even have it.”

Her coworker just rolled her eyes. “Long as they tip the same,” she retorted before leaving with a tray of plates.

Vanessa scoffed. “Straight girls don’t know shit,” she muttered to herself. If there was one thing she knew, it was when someone was fawning over her. It wasn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence in her line of work, after all. And sure, straight men and not-straight women express it differently, but as she would explain it - the vibe was all the same.

The train of thought she was on came to a halt by the sound of a bell dinging behind her. “Vanjie! Got the order for table eighteen,” one of the line cooks called out.

“Got it!” She confirmed, loading up the serving tray and taking the meticulously balanced walk across the restaurant to serve the customers. “Enjoy,” she chirped pleasantly, but threw a subtle wink in Brooke Lynn’s direction.

“You guys saw that, right?” Brooke asked once they were alone.

“Saw what?”

“She winked at me. Told you I was onto something.”

“No you didn’t.”

She huffed. Those guys wouldn’t pay attention to anything unless it was in a car or a bikini. Whatever, she knew what she saw and went on to eat her food while trying to think about what her next move should be.

But as if he could read her thoughts, Theo piped up with “So, what’re you gonna do about it? You know, if you’re so convinced she’s into you or whatever.”

Brooke shrugged, poking around at her food. The shrimp was overcooked and the spinach was sad and wilted from being egregiously overdressed with a too-bitter balsamic. “You know how wildly inappropriate it is to hit on someone while they’re at work, right?” There was a deafening silence from the rest of the table. “Right?”

“Cassie and I met at her job,” Ryan defended quietly.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Regardless, I’m not going to put her on the spot like that. If anything is meant to happen, it’ll happen when it’s supposed to.”

“Right, say hi to your cats for me.”

Before Brooke could offer a comeback, Vanessa had returned to check in. “You have cats?” She asked brightly. “I just adopted a kitty. Always thought I was a dog person, but that lil thing just sucked me in like,” she made a ‘suction’ noise, making the blonde giggle.

“Cute things do have that effect,” she replied, smiling up at her and batting her lashes.

Vanessa bit back a grin. “You right on that. Everything else good here?” With a positive confirmation, she turned back on her heel and left.

The guys exchanged glances, murmuring amongst themselves. “Okay, maybe you aren’t completely delusional,” Kevin teasingly conceded. “You should definitely say something, though.”

“Not happening.”

“Why? You both seem to like… cats,” he waggled his eyebrows suggestively, making the other men laugh.

Brooke set her napkin on top of her barely-touched meal and finished off her drink. “Just drop it, okay? On the off chance I am misreading the signals, I don’t want to weird her out.”

There was a silently collective decision to drop the subject and pay their separated bills. Some of them took to-go boxes while others, such as Brooke, decided to just leave it.

“Was everything alright? Looks like you ain’t even touch it,” Vanessa observed.

“Oh,” she looked down and cleared her throat, “I just wasn’t very hungry,” she assured kindly. The last thing she wanted after all this was to get the waitress in any sort of trouble. In fact, she made sure that every member of the group tipped their fair share.

“That’s everything then,” Vanessa chirped when she handed out the to-go boxes. “Y’all have a good night,” she said to a polite chorus of ‘you too’.

------

“Yo, B, you got a visitor!” Theo called from the front of the shop. It wasn’t more than twenty minutes before closing, leaving just the two coworkers and their guest.

Brooke pulled herself up from under the car she had been working on. It was an old corvette from the sixties that she was fixing up for a nice elderly man. “Coming!” She called back, admittedly confused. Customers rarely asked for her specifically (and it wasn’t hard to figure out why), but when she did see who it was, she was even more surprised.

“You’re Brooke Lynn, I take it?” Vanessa asked as Theo made a sudden beeline out of the room.

She blinked, nodding. “You wear your uniform in case I forgot who you are?” She laughed, then furrowed her brows. “How’d you find me anyway?”

“Nah, just got off my shift, and I got it from this,” she handed her one of the shop’s business cards that had ‘ask for brooke lynn’ scrawled on the back.

Brooke took the card and looked over her shoulder. “Those little shits,” she chuckled and shook her head before facing the shorter girl again. “I’m sorry, they mean well, but--”

Vanessa waved her hands to draw her attention (and to get her to stop talking). “I wouldn’t have come round if I didn’t wanna see you,” she pointed out. “Y’know, your uniform is pretty sexy too.”

She looked down at her clothes with furrowed brows. Her coveralls were unzipped to her waist and tied around it and she had a white, ribbed tank top that was covered in grease and dirt stains, as was the rest of her exposed skin. Her hair was tied into a high ponytail with a red bandanna covering most of the top of her head. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“Nah I’m bein’ for real, that grease monkey shit is hot.”

Brooke tilted her head, a small smirk playing on her lips. Now, she was in her element. This was her domain. She sauntered past her and grabbed the latch of the garage door, pulling it shut. They could close a few minutes early, she had more important things to attend to. “Then maybe I could take a look under your hood.”

Vanessa snorted. “You lucky you cute with that corny shit,” she leaned against the hood of the frontmost car and beckoned her over with a curled finger.

First, Brooke untied the coveralls around her waist, wiggling out of them and kicking them off. The shorts she had on underneath were probably as short as Vanessas, showing off her long, toned legs as she made her way over. She placed her hands down on either side of the brunette, lowering herself to eye level before leaning in and kissing her deeply, one hand moving to snake around her waist.

It was easy for Vanessa to melt into the kiss. She moved her arms up to drape around her neck, only to be caught off guard when her wrists were grabbed and arms were pinned above her head.

Brooke smirked down at her, keeping her arms pinned with one hand as she kissed down her jaw and neck, littering the expanse of bronze skin with dark purple hickies. She let go of her wrists, using both hands to pull off her shirt before trailing her lips down to her chest, unhooking her bra just as her lips reached one of her nipples.

This wasn’t exactly how Vanessa envisioned this encounter going. Based on how awkward and giggly the other girl had been during their first meeting, she thought for sure she would be walking up on a cute, submissive thing. But she was putty in Brooke’s hands and, to her further surprise, she absolutely loved it. It sent her heart into overdrive and spread goosebumps across her skin.

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” she murmured as she alternated between teasing one nipple with her tongue and the other with her fingers. Her free hand hooked into the elastic of her orange shorts and tugged them down as much as she could until she had to use her other hand as well to get the job done.

“Mm, you are too,” Vanessa knocked the bandanna off of her head in the process of taking her hairband out, running her fingers through the mess of blonde hair. Normally she would be deep into dirty talking by now, but something about this girl left her damn near speechless - and that, no pun intended, was saying something.

Brooke shifted, now on her knees in front of her. She swatted Vanessa’s legs apart before kissing up her inner thighs, lips teasingly ghosting over the damp patch on her panties. She smirked when she felt the shudder that ran through her body and looked up, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she slowly pulled down her panties with her teeth.

Vanessa’s entire body felt like it was on fire, her forehead was covered with a thin layer of sweat and both her face and chest were flushed red. It was never this easy to get her so worked up, and in the back of her mind, she had to wonder what the hell it was about her that got under her skin like this.

It didn’t help that Brooke was savoring every whimper and moan she elicited and drew every movement out longer. It felt like ages before her tongue was circling Vanessa’s clit and her finger was easing inside of her, but taking her sweet time to build up a satisfying pace.

Much unlike her usual demeanor, Vanessa was whimpering and whining, her hips pushing her lower body off the car hood and towards her, only to have a calloused hand push down on her hip in a silent command to stay put. And unlike her still, she obeyed.

Brooke finally decided to give her a bit of relief, fucking her with two fingers while fervently licking and sucking on her clit. The more Vanessa trembled and moaned, the more eager she was to please, unable to hide her overwhelming desire to make this pretty girl come.

And boy was that rapidly approaching. Vanessa was finding it harder and harder to keep her hips still, panting and biting down on her knuckles as her body twitched and spasmed, then bucked up sharply when her orgasm finally hit.

But even then, Brooke kept her fingers and tongue working fast and passionately until she was absolutely certain that Vanessa was spent (and maybe a little bit more after that for good measure). She moved her head up from between her thighs and placed a light kiss to her lips, though she lingered a bit before pulling back. “You wanna hit the showers? I got my own personal stall, kind of.”

Vanessa laughed breathlessly. “We both smellin’ rank as hell, huh?” She threw her top and shorts on, just on the off chance that someone popped up between the front of the shop and the showers.

As the two of them cleaned up, Brooke acknowledged that she was in a bit of disbelief. She would have never anticipated getting this out of a trip to Hooters. It made up for the inedible meal and then some.

And she supposed that was why no one was surprised when that was her pick on her turn for the crew’s dinner outing.