#ain’t the first time i have to take a breather when the second hand embarrassement gets too much

[natsukazesan]

I’m finally trying to catch up with miraculous and the next episode i need to watch is psychomedian but i just-

[bubblyani]

Bail Out : 02

(Bruce Wayne x Reader)

A Bruce Wayne Multi Chapter Series

Chapter 02: Unrequited

Summary: One fateful, drunken night gets you arrested for assault. However, once you get bailed out by Billionaire Socialite Bruce Wayne, surprising obstacles get in the way, forcing you to question all your choices in life, career, and in love.

Word Count: 7213

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Warnings: Swearing, Hints of Mugging and Violence

Author’s Note: Very happy to see the response I received so far. Hope you will enjoy the progression of this story. Enjoy!

Songs Mentioned:

Ain’t no Stopping us Now- McFadden & Whitehead

Eyes off You- M-22, Arlissa and Kiana Ledé

Chapter 1 HERE

(Saturday 3 am)

Rubbing sleep out of his eyes, Alfred Pennyworth rose up from his chair upon seeing Bruce Wayne enter the Penthouse with haste. The sudden need to spend one’s late hours on a riveting novel was certainly coincidental, for tonight the Butler had been awake for two valid reasons, as it seemed.

“I’m a little relieved you didn’t come back home with Ms.Natasha…” Alfred said hoarsely. Loosening his tie, Bruce flashed a soft smile in his direction.

“I take it that you don’t like her, Alfred?”

“Oh! Her talent is admirable” the elderly man replied, watching the younger man rush over to his bedroom, “But her arrogance is simply unforgivable” he continued, increasing the volume of his voice so that his master could still hear. Alfred’s eyes subtly squinted with curiosity when Bruce returned with his laptop.

Sitting on one of the dinning chairs, Wayne made himself comfortable ,before typing up some words in it. “Trouble, Master Wayne?” Alfred inquired. “I need to look up someone…” Bruce answered, whilst accessing the Wayne Enterprises Internal Server. “And who may that be exactly, Sir?” “My knight …” Bruce began, his index finger grazing over ENTER button,“….in shining armor…” Finally pressing it, he managed to open the Personnel File required, “…apparently” Both men spent the next few minutes, studying the profile in complete silence and fascination. The owner of the profile was female, appearing to an employee of Wayne Enterprises. Swiping through every page, Bruce made sure to pay close attention to every little detail. Until finally, he spoke up. “Alfred…” Bruce said, looking over to him, “We’re gonna need some bail money…” Mr.Pennyworth flashed him a small smile in turn. “Of course you do, Sir…” He replied, although there was indeed a hint of sarcasm.

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(Monday)

The rhythmic clicks of your stilettos were interrupted by the ring of your cell phone. Monday morning, the beginning of a new week. Thus, more work awaited you, similar to everyone else in the world. Digging inside your oversized handbag, you rummaged through, forcing you to stop in your tracks on the pavement, only a few feet away from Wayne Tower.

Few seconds passed by, yet you still could not find your phone. Although those few seconds seemed adequate, for the chilly morning breeze to caress the back of your neck, and for the cup of mocha to keep your hand warm like an invisible glove, or even for the delicious sandwich inside your bag to tease your nostrils with it’s aroma. Bless the caller’s patience, you thought. When you finally grabbed it from the bottom of the handbag, you smiled, upon seeing the name that appeared on screen. “ ’Morning Ali! What’s up?” You answered, in a cheery tone. With your working schedules being different, Allison would relish the opportunity of sleeping in. Unlike you. “Hey Sweetie…” Allison spoke, her deep voice sounding even deeper in the morning, “Just FYI, they’re sending someone to fix the Wi-fi today…” “Oh Thank God!…” you exclaimed, “Finally I can do some catching up…” you said, backing unto the wall to allow the passerby’s to walk past. To both of your dismay, the Wi-fi connection seemed to have a breakdown during the weekend, causing what could be called as an ‘unexpected detox’ from all forms of social media and internet access. But now, relieved about the good news, you began to walk once again, your rhythmic clicks getting their groove back. “Um…Sweetie?” 


“Yeah, what’s up?” You asked. Allison grew quiet for a few seconds, which confused you. “You might wanna…” she paused, “…keep off the web today…” she added hesitantly, “Or… even for a few days…” You raised your eyebrows, as you approached the entrance of  Wayne Tower. 
“Why?” You asked, “What do you mean?-Hey Bill !”

Amidst your cheerful greeting, Bill the Doorman grew nothing but speechless as you passed him by. And it surprised you. ‘Babbling Bill’ was what you would tease him with, yet there he was, quiet as a mouse. And he was not the only one. “Hey! You there?” Allison asked, seemingly concerned by your own silence. Gripping on to your phone tightly, you felt discomfort. “Ali, I gotta go…” You said, hanging up whilst you walked through the lobby. A walk through the lobby of Wayne Tower was usually a busy walk. Your voice would get the warm up it needed with many a greetings, when at the same time, your upper limbs would get the stretching required from all the waving. Yet today, this morning, it was all too different.

All those who passed you smiled, yet no words were exchanged. Speechless would be most common word to describe it. The moment you would pass anyone by, it was quite noticeable how some quickly gathered into groups of two or three’s, followed up with hushed whispers. Uncomfortable was clearly the word you would use to describe your situation, thus you looked straight ahead and walked towards the elevator hall. The more eyes washed over you, the stronger you wished for the elevators to be closer in distance. You did not want to walk anymore. Oh how wonderful would have been to float anywhere in flash! What could possibly have happened for all to look at you this way? Your eyes widened. Could it be? The Friday night incident? Allison’s advice, could that be in relation to this, by any chance?

You finally caught the elevator, being the last one to get in. With a packed and quiet crowd standing behind, the doors closed and you watched the floor numbers of the panel, change with every second. But then, whispers began: “Is she the one who-”

“Yep…”

“Oh! Wow…”

It seemed that whispers were what you could not escape from. If it was another day, you would have gladly turned back to spot the culprit. But today was not your day.

So, there. Everyone knew. But what exactly?

8th Floor, HR Department of Wayne Enterprises. Stepping out of the elevator, you grew nervous. Being the Department that dared not attract attention of this sort, what could possibly be the reaction of your peers and colleagues? Taking a deep breath, you entered the office space, ready to face the music.

Except, you were greeted with actual music.

And the loudest of cheers.

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Never have you been this confused. And never had you seen your Staff in HR worked so collectively in any activity other than this. All 20+ of your junior staff, up from their chairs, visible from their booths. Never have they clapped so zealously before. “Ain’t no Stopping us Now” by McFadden & Whitehead played in the background the moment you entered the large room. “Ain't No Stoppin Us Now! We're on the move!…..”

Instead of feeling relieved or euphoric, embarrassment washed over you.

“…Ain’t No Stoppin Us Now! We've got the groove!”

The disco chorus would normally tempt you to break into dance, but all you could do was to cover your face, to hide the redness that deemed visible. What could have possibly been showed to these innocent people for them to act this way around you? And most importantly, you did not know if these cheers were of genuine support, or sheer mockery.

“HR is cool again! Whoo!”
“Literal chills, Boss!…” “You…are…amazing!” “You showed them! Fight the power!”

Nodding with a shy smile, you acknowledged everyone’s comments as you walked towards the direction of your office, uncomfortable by cheers for the first time in all your years of existence.

“Well done, boss…Well done!” Greg Cohen, Assistant Manager cried out as he joined you. Given his track record, you were convinced this was all a prank. “Alright alright…” you muttered with a smirk, “…message received” yet prepared for an unexpected surprise in the end. Except Greg never looked this happy. “Are you kidding?” He said, “The way you stood up to that jerk? Pure bad-assery, Boss!” “Is your hand okay?” Paula Yang, one of the Senior Executives jumped in with concern, following you over to the office with Greg. “Yes, Paula.” You answered kindly, showing your hand, “And I was only ‘badass’ cause I was highly intoxicated, Greg!” You pointed out to him with exaggeration. To which he laughed. “Yeah! We can’t forget how crazy you get when you’re wasted…” he said with a wink, watching you finally sit down,“Oh! Remember that one time you willingly joined the junior staff to do a Taylor Swift Karaoke-off?” Eyes widened, that embarrassing memory played in your mind like a fast forward clip. “Oh my god-don’t!” You cried out with frustration, covering your face. All in the midst of Greg’s laughter. “I remember you sang 22 with such gusto, it was classic!” “Do you think HR is gonna be in trouble for this though?” Paula asked. You were struggling with an answer: “I-” “Nah!” Greg waved his hand frantically, “There worse things going on in Gotham right now” “That’s not the point-” you interjected, or tried to. “So many worse things-” “GUYS!…” Your interjection finally silenced the both of them, although the music was live and kicking outside. Taking a deep breath, you began: “As much as I appreciate all this…would you mind giving me some space for a little breather? I mean…” you paused, showing your coffee, “ I just got to office so…” you said, hinting their exit, “...Thank You” you added as they nodded frantically. “Sure! of course…” Greg said, “You’re the best, Boss!” Giving a thumbs up, he disappeared. “Yeah! Yeah!…” You said with raised eyebrows, “Paula…the door, please!” You added courtesy as you looked at her. The young executive obediently closed the door behind, leaving you alone at last. Never did you expect this. Especially when the title of Senior Manager was crowned over your head.

Pressing the space button of your computer, you watched the screen come alive, welcoming you with Google Search on your Browser Window. Staring at blinking cursor, you were tempted. Highly tempted to do the unthinkable. Should you act on it? Or would it crash and burn your day altogether? Yet, how unfair was it that everyone else knew but you.

Exhaling deeply, the last thread of patience left you. No more. Taking a deep breath, you proceeded to let your fingers press the keys.

Brring!

The ring of your office phone made you flinch in a flash. Holding your chest with shock, you looked over to the phone screen, forcing you to hold yourself tighter.

878. Boss!

You gulped with fear, fingers almost shaking as you answered the phone: “Y-yes?” Your stutter was called for. “My office…now!” A voice spoke from the other side. It was stern, it was expected. Sighing with silence, you nodded whilst replying low and with obedience : “Yes…”

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Sitting with your hands over your mouth, you watched it all. You watched the entire Friday night incident caught on video.And it was more vivid than you could remember.

“Don’t you DARE say things like that!”

“Why? What are you gonna do? Threaten m-OW!”

“You take that back! I mean it”

“Wha-? OWW!! ARGH! MY NOSE!”

“SECURITY!” 


Your eyes squinted with discomfort. The manner in which you spewed your words in rage, and surprise him with your amateur yet deadly punches; this was a side of yourself you had never glanced upon before. As the video stopped playing in the laptop, you looked back at the title above it:

“Sucker Punch! : Woman engages in assault at Famous Hotel”

With your eyes glued to the title, you let it sink in to your system. No wonder everyone downstairs appeared speechless. You dreaded to look away from the screen at the two people watching you from the other side of the table. And you chose not to. “So…” You attempted a casual tone, “…has this…gone viral?” Ted Hawthorne, one of the Legal representatives of Wayne Enterprises, cleared his throat: “Truthfully, I’m inclined to give a sarcastic remark right now” he said, in his bass tone. “Please…” you sighed, “…by all means” you said, eyes still on the screen. Taking a deep breath, Ted began: “If only this was viral, kid” he said, proceeding to point at the screen, “This…is mega viral. Spreading faster than wild fire” he continued, “Media is already calling you ‘The Bruiser’” Your boss however, still kept silent. Sighing even heavily, you looked at Ted. “Okay, be straight with me” you said, “What am I in for? How much did I anger this Henderson guy?” Ted scoffed, “You seriously don’t know who you’re up against? Erik Henderson of Henderson Incorporated?” Your jaw dropped as low as it could. Henderson Incorporated had always been one of the Rival Companies of Wayne Enterprises. How could you not possibly put those two together? “Wait! No…” you exclaimed, “But what about Magnus Henderson?” “That’s his father.” Ted said, taking the laptop, “He retired….” He added whilst typing, “ …and passed the company over to Erik.” Flipping the laptop back to you. It now showed an article, “It all happened so fast last week. So I guess I don’t blame you for not knowing” he said, sitting on the chair right next to you. Your Head remained silent, still. “Anyways, back to the point…” Ted said, as you scrolled through the article,  “The usual legal practice from his side, would be pressing charges for assault…” A certain someone warned you about this a few days before. Someone who unknowingly caused warmth in your poor heart. As you looked down at your right hand, at the tightly wrapped bandage, that warmth seemed more evident to you. Ignoring that, you grew worried. “Yeah but…” you began,  “What if something like this happened between two drunk friends at a bar or something? Does that mean someone will be pressed charges?” “Well, are you two…friends?” Ted questioned with a raised eyebrow. Silence came over you, along with a heap of embarrassment. “….no…” you muttered low. Closing your eyes, you sighed. Your disgraceful behavior had caused shame, it was obvious. Shaking his head, Ted crossed his legs, his deep, brown skin shining from the fluorescent light as he ran his hand over his bald head. “…as I was saying, before getting interrupted…” he looked at you sternly, to which you mouthed an apology, “… pressing charges would be the usual practice, but it seems that Mr. Henderson was more than generous and decided to not do either of that…” your eyes widened instantly by his words, “…except he demands some things in return…” “Which are?…” “A public statement of apology” “Oh…” “And immediate termination of your job at Wayne Enterprises…” “WHAT????” You yelled. Gripping on to both arms of the chair, you involuntarily looked at both Ted and your Boss. Could this really be your worse nightmare come to life? Did you really punch yourself into your own undoing? “Calm down, kid!” Ted raised both his hands, “Damn! let me finish…” he muttered under his breath worriedly, to which you nodded. Whilst taking deep breaths, you watched him continue: “Yes, his latter request seems a bit exaggerated, the Board completely agreed on that. However, your performance will be considered for a special evaluation during the upcoming few months. And then the board will come to confirmation whether to keep you in the company or not. It’s just a special precaution. I’m sure it’s not a big deal” There really was no apt response for any of this. All you could do was to let the silence take over. All the sudden, you felt nothing but emotionally exhausted. Sensing this, Ted offered a sympathetic glance. “Just keep your head down and read the statement, kid” he said, getting up “The press will be arriving at around 11:30…Good Luck!” Giving a nod to your boss, Ted headed out, leaving the two of you alone. At last. Lillian Foster, Head of the HR Department at Wayne Enterprises, was no doubt, an exceptionally brilliant woman. Rising through the ranks in the department with ease, she holds the position of Head at the age of 40, and possibly one of the youngest black women of power in this company. And this was possibly the longest period she had ever been silent with you.

And it frightened you.

With the density of silence increasing in the atmosphere, you kept looking down. You simply did not have the heart to look back at her. Along with the silence, the tension was equally thick, enough to be sliced into several stacks. Which begged the question: who will speak up first? Being the perpetrator, it seemed only fair you speak up. Except, she finally did before you could. “I had to watch this…” She began calmly, “…for more than ten times…just to even understand and accept that it was you doing it”. Though she was calm, the disappointment in her was evident, “How did you think I feel?” Your heart grew heavy. Nothing felt worse than disappointing Lillian. Not only was she your boss, she was also your mentor. She was the woman who took you in like family from your very first day in the company. In the company with a majority of men, she was a maternal figure, a sibling and teacher. You owed her to the stars. Clearly her question was a rhetorical one, for she continued: “You should be really grateful that Mr. Wayne was kind enough to bail you out himself. That’s as kind as you can get” she said, getting up from her chair to walk over to you, “The man must have woken up from the right side of his bed that morning…praise that man!” The shape of her heavily pregnant belly was quite visible in her navy blue dress. Yet she managed to handle everything with the boss persona that she owned so well. Taking the seat next to you, it was only fair to match her eye-line with yours. “Last week, I was so sure and ready to leave the responsibilities to you, and take my maternity leave with liberty…”she continued with a sigh,“But now…I’m beginning to get worried…” “Don’t say things like that, Lillian…” You shook your head frantically, “Just think of the baby…” you said, pointing at her belly. You still remember the number of times you spoke to that belly with adoration, hoping the little one inside would hear you. “I don’t understand…” Lillian said with frustration, “I’ve never seen you like this…”she said with concern, “Sure, you had a hard time with your temper with some people on the first few years here..” “Cause the people were jerks-” You added through gritted teeth, instantly recalling the horrible staff mistreating you back then. “Yes they were…” She nodded, “But then you realized, being in HR means we have to put up with all that, but still be the ones people turn to…” she spoke with such eloquence, “…handle everything with a smile and composure…” she added, making you nod, “And I’ve seen you grow… and do many great things…”, you smiled upon hearing that. “But punching someone?”Her informal tone just broke free, “What the hell?” “I really don’t know why, Lillian…” You replied with honesty and equal frustration, “I wish you were there…you didn’t hear the things that man said about Mr.Wayne…about the company” your jaw tightened, “…that man maybe the new CEO of Henderson Incorporated, but he had no class!” “But still-” “-violence is never the answer…I know” With a sigh, You finished her sentence. Silence followed suit for a few seconds. Until Lillian’s lips finally curved upright. “I kept hearing the others say how badass you were…” she said, with a chuckle. You turned to her, suppressing a smile, “A part of me wants to agree…but… how can I?” She said, tilting her head. Chuckling back, you shook your head once again. “And I don’t want you to either…” you replied, “It was just a massive screw up…” Taking a deep breath, you groaned as you covered your face: “And now…I have to fix it” you said, looking up. “Do you have those pearl earrings with you?” Lillian asked. You nodded: “It’s in my bag, always…” “Good…” She said, getting up, “You’re gonna need them! ”

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(Evening)

The Mikimoto pearl earrings, possibly were the most expensive, most precious pieces of jewelry you ever possessed. The mere glance of it always reminded you of the hard work and effort put into saving enough money to purchase a worthy pair of the famous brand of pearl earrings, for pearls were your favorite. And you were glad of your purchase, for it always brought class to any occasion.

Including making a public apology before the entire press of Gotham City.

Leaning forward against the back of the couch, you folded your arms, watching your own zoomed image on the television screen. It was the Late Night News, and the Apology was broadcasted once again on the News Rerun. Allison did not miss this. Sitting on the couch, her eyes were glued to the screen with concern. You both watched. The flashing lights of the cameras attacking you selfishly, symbol of greedy journalists on the mission to get the perfect shot of your remorse. In your formal office attire of skirt and jacket, the earrings highlighted your face, as you stood behind the podium alongside many representatives of Wayne Enterprises, including Ted Hawthorne. When you watched yourself read the speech, you remembered the words echoing in your head:

“….I would like to extend my sincerest apologies to Mr. Erik Henderson. It was not…” you watched yourself pause,

“…my intention to cause him such harm and pain. I am aware that my actions were tainted with irresponsibility and unprofessional-ism. I would also like to apologize to all staff in the hotel, and to all the other customers present that evening. My actions, as I mentioned earlier, were simply irresponsible and certainly not to be ignored so easily. I will make sure to adhere to the necessary measures that will be taken by Wayne Enterprises to compensate the loss and shame I have brought upon them. Thank you! That’ll be all”

“You did good, Sweetie…” Allison murmured gently, as the both of you watched the version of you on the screen slowly exit the podium. The screen transitioned over to the News Anchor in the studio:

“…However, several eyewitnesses have anonymously claimed the attack could indeed be provoked by Henderson himself, by making comments of defamation against billionaire socialite Bruce Wayne, of Wayne Enterprises…”

Your stomach formed a knot the second a video of Bruce Wayne was played. Possibly from that night. But the knot tightened with pain as you saw the woman who stood next to him. “Quick question…” Allison asked, pointing at the screen, “Was that Natasha person really pretty as she looks on camera?” “Nah…not really…” You flatly replied, folding your arms. Except a few seconds later, you realized you merely said that out of spite. Because you felt sour. And it was not true, “What am I saying? Of course she was pretty …” you chuckled, “She is pretty, just like you”. Shifting towards your direction, Allison sensed your emotion. After all, she was a woman too. With her blonde tresses illuminated by the lights of the television in the midst of the dark room, Allison’s expression changed. It was difficult to decipher, but it changed. “Sweetie…” She uttered with sympathy. A vacuum began to form within you, and you found it hard to breathe. Unable to take that in, you merely shrugged your shoulders. “Well that’s it…you saw the speech…” you said, pointing at the screen nonchalantly, “Goodnight, Ali…” your greeting was short, walking away before she could even respond. The door closed quietly behind you. Staring at the comfortable bed, all you longed was to get in it. Feeling the bouncy mattress brushing against your knees, you slowly crawled across the bed until you reached the window in the corner. The pavement was clearly visible as you opened it. Observing the hubbub outside, your mind began to wonder, it began to ponder. You did it. You gave the speech. And being in your good behavior was never going to be an issue, since you were never a troublemaker.

Therefore, why must you be filled with such emptiness?

“Never underestimate the power of probability…”

“You’ll have to be more specific”

“We will see each other again…”

“I think…I like Bruce Wayne...”

Looking at your bandaged right hand, you sighed heavily. Of course, you knew why.

Ever since that fateful day, ever since you were brave enough to admit to yourself how you had accidentally fallen for Bruce Wayne, he was all you could think of. Every waking moment, every thought flavored with leisure, it seemed as if he had secretly kept you company in your heart. You kept recalling that conversation in his Lamborghini, which seemed far from superficial. The manner in which he treated your wounds and healed you, the manner in which he bailed you out of jail himself, they were certainly many a kind and intimate acts rolled up into a singular moment. No wonder you were blissful in the corners of your imagination during the Wi-fi breakdown that weekend. Like a woman glancing upon her hand with a new engagement ring, you took the pleasure of glancing at your right hand every single time with a smile and giggles that soon followed. After ages, you were stirred by someone. He excited you, he made you look forward to the days ahead. For it would open the door to so many possibilities. One being the possibility of bumping into him again. You had fallen for him so hard and so fast, you chose to still keep the thin bandages on, even it was no longer necessary.

For the bandage was merely the physical remnant of his concern, his kindness to you.

But, when the sun rose on Monday, and the cold, hard reality hit you in the face in so many forms, you were forced to face the bitterness as well. Bruce Wayne was wrong. You could estimate the power of probability, for the probability of meeting someone like him again was certainly low. With you being a mere Senior Manager in his company, and him the sole owner of his family inherited business, it seemed literally impossible to win his heart. Always photographed and seen with women of beauty, power, class and high society, he was indeed a man of regality. Meanwhile, you were just a middle-class Gotham native, currently sharing an average apartment with her friend, hoping for an upgrade in life. You closed the window, yet permitting the city lights to rest on your bed as you crawled under the sheets. You chuckled to yourself. Funny how you desired for someone of the least attainability, yet searching for a thread of hope. His kindness that day was certainly a product of sheer pity. In truth, it could be a possibility that you were merely fooling yourself. Besides, in technicality, he was indirectly your boss, your employer. Thus, causing these feelings to be unprofessional to the fullest, something you never stood up for.

Silly crush, it was just a silly crush. Just a silly crush, you thought to yourself. Why must you fall for people this fast? A trait that you clearly despised. A weakness indeed. Running your fingers through your hair, you held out your right hand in front of you. The tightly wrapped bandage stared at you with innocence. That symbol. It was his reminder. But also the reminder of your foolishness, and the reminder of your pain. It had to go. That was the only way. Through gritted teeth, you slowly peeled it off from your skin. Sincerely hoping your feelings would be peeled off from your poor heart as well. For they were an inconvenience.

Especially when they seemed so hopeless.

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(One Week Later)

The Annual Charity Dinner of the Wayne Foundation, had always targeted to raise massive funds for the most essential of charities that needed financial assistant. It was also an event that never failed to cause stress on you. Whether it was the overseeing, planning, and of course, tending to the guests.

But this year, it was the polar opposite for you.

“I’ll gladly be checking everything on the night…” you assured to Lillian few days before, “But I am not attending the dinner…” you insisted with much exaggeration. Truthfully, you pleaded, “It’s bad enough I caused enough embarrassment already…” you added, rubbing your temples with frustration.

And with very little chance of Bruce Wayne attending, there was no reason to attend at all. Wait! your brows furrowed at that thought. Why would that even matter?

Two hours before commencement, the HR organizing staff  had gathered in the Hotel Banquet Hall. Whilst the waiters continued to set up the tables and decorations, you held responsibility in briefing the group. With your juniors and colleagues all dressed to the formal nine’s, you chose to punish yourself with all black semi-formal attire instead, in the form of black pants and a sequin embellished top with spaghetti straps. Regardless, you managed to fit in with the help of your rouge lipstick, which made an astounding difference.

“I believe all you are familiar with the schedule already…” your voice was rife with clarity, “….so to sum it all up: Make sure the guests arrive after proper check up…” you continued, as the others took notes nodding, “….make sure the drinks are served on time, make sure the entertainment will be ready when the starters are being served, and make sure-”

“-not to punch anyone?”

The sudden inquiry from Greg, caused unintentional laughter amongst the whole group. Nodding along to the silliness that was yet to be forgotten, you smiled tightly.

“Yes! Exactly, Greg!” You said, looking at everyone, “Don’t get too drunk and punch anyone like I did…” inciting more laughter, “Okay? Well...Good Luck! And Enjoy!”

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An hour had passed. You listened to the speeches and the formalities made. You coordinated the needful with the convenience of a walkie talkie. You ticked away every task on your notepad. All the while you were willingly caged in the VIP sitting room right next to the Hall. Finally, with the toasts were in completion, Dinner was served, Live entertainment was ready, the real fun had begun. And you were finally free. Yet, with you choosing to remain in the room, you figured you deserved all the similar luxuries at your own privacy.

Which also included alcohol.

A young waiter entered the room with a bubbly persona. "Good Evening, Ma'am. You ordered Whiskeys for two, am I correct?" he inquired, subtly looking around as you approached him. “You certainly are…" you replied with an equal bubbly tone, "You see…One for this guy…" you said, as you left hand picked up one glass, "...and One for this bad boy right here” you added when your right hand took the other. "Cheers!" you sniggered, watching the unimpressed waiter walk away shaking his head. You did not blame him. Your jokes were only so-so.

This unexpected pressure to be on your best behavior certainly did not help you with your patience, forcing you to drink even without a scrap on food in your stomach. A sense of freedom was always offered to you the moment the whiskey touched your lips. Suddenly all the stress that littered in your brain were gone, and it felt nothing but sparkly fresh. The moment the alcohol began to wind your body up like a toy, you knew music was the one missing element.

A cool spray of dance synth reached your ears in a progressive manner. Hearing the first few seconds of the song, you were intoxicatingly elated to find out what the song was. Freeing your tresses from the constraints of the half ponytail, you stood up from your armchair, swaying to the introductory verse of “Eyes on You” by M-22, Arlissa and Kiana Ledé :

“When I feel your tempo and I hear you echo Don't let go, don't let go You set the rhythm, I take my position Position, position...”

Your chest began to pop in double time as the song progressed to a faster pace. Infused with the side swaying, your drink however remained intact. Taking another sip whilst you danced, your right hand forced you to glance at it. There may have not been a bandage anymore, but the thin healing scars were visible enough to bring the reminder: Bruce Wayne.

“Can't take my eyes off you, my eyes off you No matter what you do, no, no way...”

Throwing your head back, the body slowly rolled in rhythm. During which that mind of yours, truly began to wonder about the craziest things. Would he, the great Bruce Wayne, enjoy this? Would you be better at this than the other girls he had been with combined? With eyes closed, the confidence in your dancing swelled. He was indeed quite desirable, that Bruce Wayne. Your drunken self was clearly unfiltered with opinions. Ah! Bruce Wayne.

“Ahem!" Someone cleared their throat, forcing you to quickly open your eyes.

Only to find the actual Bruce Wayne, standing a few feet before you. And just right then, the heart did not hesitate to signal its beat to increase in deathly speed.

Like fuckin’ beetle juice, you thought to yourself.

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Sharply dressed as always, never did Bruce Wayne fail to look attractive, ever. Truthfully, it seemed possibly impossible for him to do so. Though your body reacted to the sight of him with devotion, your intoxicated heart had other plans.

“Ah! Mr. Wayne! ” You cried out louder than you should. Lifting your glass, the intoxication was evident in your tone, “Welcome …to my Private party…”, followed by a giggle, “…You here to tinkle?” Your inquiry was full of mischief.

“Actually…Yes, I am…” the Billionaire replied. How exactly he said it, you had difficulty remembering, “Are you alright?” He asked with concern. A concerned voice laced with his signature softness. You scoffed with disbelief. “Me? I’m FINNNE!” You answered, your last word seemingly elongated and possibly dragged, “But …wait a minute…” squinting one’s eyes, you pointed at him bravely, “W-Why do you keep…seeing me drunk??”, You slurred, “WAIT! You know what?…” you cried out, before he could even answer, “Don’t care…” you said proudly, as you turned away. “Gonna quit this job anyways…” you muttered to yourself, rolling your eyes. Yet you danced, in hopes he would stand there and watch you. You danced, in hopes he would have a spark of interest somehow. With your intoxication unlocking the doors to the inner desires of your heart, you now had access to them all. And that was what you actually desired for. His attraction, his approval, his validation, his love. Taking in more sips to burn your tongue, you felt braver and energized. You felt cheeky too, in fact.

You wanted to turn back, facing him with such confidence that he could not resist you. But you only managed to sink your heart instead.

For he was gone.

Landing on the armchair once again, you wondered if what you just saw, was just an illusion. Regardless, you knew one thing for sure: You never felt so foolish. Gulping down the last of your drink, you collapsed to the armchair once again. Clarity had finally dawned on you:  You were never really over him. You were just that stupid, foolish girl, hopeless about someone who will never care back.

Curse these emotions! This heaviness that lingered in your chest burdened you. Unrequited emotions could never be as torturous as this. For it would be the constant sadness that will remain. Desire leads to impatience, impatience leads to disappointment. The disappointing fact that Bruce Wayne will never look your way, even though you hope to.

You have never felt sorry for yourself. But being drunk, it was easier to do so. And with your inhibitions lowered in a rush, it did not take long for that pitiful heart to sink in further deep. And it certainly did not take long for the tears to slowly form around your eyes as well.

The truth was to be faced, you were worthless, you were never good enough for him. Blind and hopeless, this was just a ridiculous idea in the first place. Bowing your head down, you allowed your self to cry softly, reaching out for the other glass. Tonight, it seemed the only company you had were the echoing music, the burning alcohol and your salty, never ending tears. Truthfully, they may possibly be obliged to keep you company forever.

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

Two glasses of whiskey got you incredibly intoxicated, especially with no food in your system. As it should. Yet, you were conscious enough to make an exit before causing any more trouble to anyone ever again. Sneaking out into the lobby from the secret exit of the room, you managed to head out in peace. With your handbag slung over your shoulder, you were on a dire attempt to wipe off the smudged mascara, sniffing softly as you exited the hotel.

Only to sigh in frustration when there were no taxis at this hour.

With the possession of two working legs on you, it was decided to walk further down the city to hail one. Unexpectedly, you found yourself walking down a smaller street, dark and lonely.

“Can't take my eyes off you, my eyes off you No matter what you do, no, no way…”

You sang to yourself quite lazily, as you made your way. Clang! The sound of a garbage bin falling down made you halt. Quickly turning back, you felt a slight dizziness in your head. Holding your head to stop the spinning, you took a few deep breaths. But when you looked back, there seemed to be nothing. Rats maybe, you thought, turning forward to resume your walk.

Only to scream as you found three men standing before you. Dressed in ragged, dull clothing, two of the men held out guns, while the other stood empty handed. Muggers, possibly?

“Gimme your wallet, Lady!”

The man wearing a beanie yelled out threateningly, brandishing his gun at you. Confirmed, they were indeed muggers. Though intoxication was in your system, sobriety took over for a few minutes to save your life.

“Okay…” you slurred, “…take it easy” you added calmly. The man furrowed his eyebrows. “You bossing me, bitch?” He yelled angrily. 

“No! No! I was… talking to myself…” You answered quickly. Putting both hands up, you took a deep breath, “Let me just slowly…reach into my bag…” you said, while your right hand dug into the bag with certainty, “….and-ah shit!” Your heart sank immediately. “WHAT IS IT??” “I left my wallet…” you answered in all honesty, “ I-” “PUT YOUR FUCKING HANDS IN THE AIR!!” The man bellowed. “Okay okay okay…” You responded. Maintaining your composure to much surprise, you tried not to stumble, “Listen…gentlemen…” you added, “This is not worth the trouble, okay?” You took a deep breath,  “I’m drunk… and from the looks of it…” you showed your two hands, “…incredibly destitute! I have nothing to offer you-” You paused. The empty handed man was surprisingly quiet compared to the other two. Your eyes widened the moment he decided to finally weaponize himself, with a knife instead.

Seeing the sharp, shiny object, sent immediate signals of fear throughout your system. This man, he seemed to be more in control of his actions. His features were ambiguous, yet he seemed certain.

Very certain of the fact he will kill you tonight.

Before you could even flee, the other two had you surrounded from both sides. With your heart beating fast, your breath began to quicken. If money was out of your reach, then why would they still bother?

“What? Why are you doing that? Did I offend you in some way?” You pattered, watching the knife wielding man, “Did you think I was underestimating my self worth or something-ah crap! You’re coming closer” you said meekly, seeing the man confidently walk towards you. Leaving no choice, you put your bare fists up in defense. Yet you groaned with fear, “Oh!...Why the hell am I talking so much when I’m nervous-”   The moment you almost felt the side of the knife graze your arm, the moment you almost had your life taken, your eyes caught the sight of a giant black figure jumping on top of him. “ARGH!!” Falling on your back from the indirect push, you looked on to see the knife wielder cry out loudly. You sat up, gasping as you watched the him being incapacitated, and instantly tied to the nearest pipe. All by that Dark Figure. The figure whose cloak blew to the side by the sudden gust of wind.

It was Batman. In the flesh.

Distressed, the other two muggers began to fire shots,  only to have those pitiful bullets be deflected weakly, leaving them powerless even with their weapons. Batman charged towards them in the form of a walk, whilst they kept shooting, all until their bullets finally ran out. Skillfully avoiding their amateur punches and kicks, Batman’s responsive blows were godlike by nature, leaving them down on the ground faster than expected. With added aching pains. Getting up on your feet, you watched the caped crusader tie them up.

“You alright?” He asked, in a gruff voice. You nodded frantically, awestruck by his power and presence. “Yeah…” you replied, clasping both hands together, “My god…That was-” “Hey Ma’am! Do you want me to call 911?” An older, good samaritan cried out from the other side of the street. It was possible he may have heard gunshots from a mere few seconds ago. Looking over to him, you smiled. “Yeah, that would great, Thanks” you yelled back politely. Sighing with relief, you knew your gratitude was deserved by someone else, “And thank-” You quickly towards Batman, “….you” Only to find him gone. Poof! Disappeared into thin air.

The culprits appeared far from powerful as they rolled around and groaned in pain, hands tied to various stationary objects on the ground. You could not fathom what just happened. But most importantly, you could not believe you were still alive. All thanks to him. The Dark Knight.

Your heartbeat increased once again. To make matters worse, a strange feeling formed in your stomach, a feeling that traveled all over your body. It made you uneasy and sweaty. Not to mention the quickened breathing. Before you could even dare to decipher these sudden effects, life decided to answer that riddle for you. The moment you collapsed to the ground to hurl up a thin stream of vomit. As you went through the horrid process, your tongue certainly was stained with the taste of whiskey and bile. “Er…Ma’am?”   You heard the kind man from afar once again, “Are you okay?” “Yeah, I’m good…” you said hoarsely, waving your hand with assurance,  “I’m good…I-Argh!-”

Assurance had very little battery life when you continued to vomit even more. An apt punishment for drinking two whiskeys on an empty stomach. You earned this for sure.

——————————————————

Chapter 3 HERE!

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[babyybitchhh]

Alright, so now that I’m sober I realize I answered that one ask all wrong and also I threw down enough names for a fiveway, not a foursome so ... embarrassing. My inner thot really illiterate, huh? Smh go back to school and learn to count bitch.

My real answer: Shikamaru get the pussy because he’d want to be on the very bottom anyway but also I feel like his dick was made for hitting that g-spot just right when ya girl on top. That shit will have you seeing stars on a good day but the added penetration from the back? Hng. Bitch you bout to be cumming nonstop.

Kakashi get the booty because, first of all, I know he’s about that life. He looks like someone who’s biggest fantasy list would have anal right at the top next to (you guessed it) threesomes. He had two girls in mind but this is fine too, and I know he ain’t shy about knocking on the back door. Biggest hurdle here is that he’s thick, god, I know that man packing, so getting himself inside your tight ass is going to take some work. But that’s exactly why Shikamaru is on pussy duty and it’s thanks to him that you’re relaxed and doped out on endorphins enough for Kakashi to stretch out your puckered little hole. Also, the delicious burn of having your asshole played with added to the blinding pressure on your g-spot is absolutely going to have you shaking through one orgasm and right into the next so buckle up bitch, it’s gonna be a long night.

Last but not least Yamato gets the neck in my dream foursome for a few different reasons. One is that I don’t think he’d be into butt stuff, giving or receiving. Just doesn’t seem like something he’d be up for. Second is that Shikamaru really does have the kitty on lock and he’d probably be real smug about it too. No one else is getting near your pussy if he has anything to say about it (totally not because taking up any other position would require him to put forth effort. Nope. That’s definitely not what he’s thinking. 😗) Biggest reason though is that Yamato is mad into face fucking and you’ll have to pry that opinion out of my cold dead hands. I don’t remember which blog I saw it on, but someone definitely put the thought in my head with a HC list for him and I had one of those ... you know what, you’re right and you should say it moments. Anyone else might be kind of salty that they don’t get to have their way with your body like the other two but not this man. Oh no. He’s going to fuck your mouth just like if it were a second pussy and if you don’t think he’s gonna go just as ham as the rest you’re sorely mistaken. Only drawback is that, because of how enthusiastically he’s going to go at your throat, he’ll have to stand sort of to the side and have you crane your head around so that all the drool leaking out of your mouth doesn’t get on Shikamaru. Sex is messy, especially sex with multiple partners, and he gets that but that doesn’t mean he wants to be coated in spit for the foreseeable future. 🤷‍♀️

Im sort of thinking all this goes down on a couch or a big comfortable ottoman. So like, Shikamaru sprawled out under you, groping your tits and playing with your clit to make you writhe between them and really drive you crazy. Kakashi working himself over your back, pressing his chest flush against your spine so he can kiss and nibble at your neck. Once he had you loose enough to really go to town, he’d bring his foot up and brace it on the edge near Shikamaru’s hip so he can sink himself into your ass straight down to the base. At some point he’d throw caution aside and just climb all the way up, hunching over your prone body and fucking into you like a dog in heat. This is the point where the clap clap clap of his stomach smacking against your upturned ass cheeks would be at its loudest. Meanwhile Yamato’s standing over the three of you, just to the side of Shikamaru’s shoulder, holding your face in his big hands and keeping you in place while he alternates between fucking your mouth in quick, shallow thrusts that leave you feeling like a well used onahole and long, drawn out thrusts that have his cock wedged inside your throat with his silky soft ballsack pressed tight against your chin. He’d pause to give you a breather every few minutes and messily smear the spit on your face, letting you moan and wail freely into the heavy air before silencing you with his cock again. Everyone’s real good about staying focused on the task at hand (which is fucking your brains out) and they easily find a rhythm that feeds off one another and never leaves you feeling empty or an orifice unoccupied for more than a second or two at a time. No jealousy or macho posturing here, which is exactly why these three are The Chosen Ones. They’re each laid back enough that I know we could have an amicable fuck fest without someone trying to upstage the others or start shit because “I want to fuck her pussy too”. Everyone’s happy with what hole they’ve got and overall it’s just a good time.

Side note: I don’t entirely recant my initial answer which included Asuma in this game of sexy Twister but remember what I just said about everyone getting along without any macho posturing? Yeeeaaah. Knowing how much Shikamaru looks up to his sensei, I can easily see it either turning into something of a pissing contest where he tries to match Asuma’s energy or show off, really trying to make his own sexual prowess stand out in front of someone he genuinely admires, OR he’s gonna feel some kind of way about his dick game and put himself down about not being what he’d no doubt perceive as being “better”. We all know Shikamaru can be kind of hard on himself at times, that just comes with the Virgo package where he expects nothing but the very best out of himself, so I can see it potentially turning into a small problem.

But also consider Asuma “teaching” Shikamaru how to fuck you properly. Giving him pointers and smugly telling him you’ll like it if he does this or that, and then showing him by example. 🥴 Imagine being their little guinea pig while they take turns trying out different techniques on you, treating you just like a living breathing sex toy and using you solely for these lessons. Big nut tbh and I’d be straight up lying if I said I’m not also thinking about some father son bonding time in the same vein with Shikaku, hrrrrnnng. I’m here for it today.

[sevdrag]

Getting Dirty, Coming Clean

Here’s my contribution to @mandatoryfunday! Apparently I just wanted to write gratuitous smut! AO3 Link incoming soon.

Bucky huffs angrily as he picks up his plastic container of laundry soap. Mostly he’s glad that his relationship with Natalia has leveled out to the point where she can ask him for favors, but sometimes, it’s really frustrating. He can’t read her much, anymore, and so the point where she’s asking a serious favor versus asking an amusing favor is a line Bucky hasn’t quite learnt to see, yet; and he’s still working on earning Avenger goodwill, no matter how many times Stevie says he doesn’t need to.

And even if this is some kind of Natalia joke, Bucky thinks, it isn’t like it’s a hardship for him to go help out Clint. He hopes Natalia hasn’t figured it out, cause he’s tried to put every ounce of his ill-begotten training into hiding his own interest cause the part of his brain still stuck back in the 40s thinks he still has to. And if that ain’t messed up - using seventy years of brainwashing training to block out a notion he knows is old-fashioned - Bucky ain’t sure what is, but messed up is still better than Natalia, or Stevie, or Clint figurin’ out that he has some kind of notions towards their archer teammate.

With all of that in the back of his head, though, Bucky still ain’t sayin’ no to the chance to go catch Clint outside of normal hours. They hang out plenty, but it’s gettin’ regular: one of them finding the other in the shooting range, or in the shared theater room watching something at 0200 hours, or even sitting down after a mission to watch some kinda crap Clint always comes up with. It’s a good habit, great habit even, but Bucky’s gone enough that he’ll take any kind of jump that gives him extra time with Clint outside that habit. If that’s pathetic, well, at least he’s hidden it from Natalia for this long.

Or so he thinks -- until he shoves the door to the laundry room wide open, and his enhanced eyes spot Clint in the dark -- totally fuck naked, sitting on top of one of the machines, humming to himself.

“Fuck!” Clint yells, and in that spasm of gesture Bucky realizes he ain’t entirely naked: no, Clint’s wearing these black briefs that soak up all the light, not that he’s lookin’ or anything. “What the fuck!”

“Jesus shit,” Bucky replies, his heart racing, trying to make it calmer than Clint’s; he wins, if only by a small margin and only cause Clint’s literally curling in on himself. “What the fuck. Natalia sent me down here with your goddamned laundry detergent.”

“Aw, Tasha, no,” Clint moans, shoving his face into his hands momentarily before remembering that those hands have something more embarrassing to cover; they hover over his hips, awkwardly, until Clint just crosses his arms and slumps. “I told her I had to do, like, all my laundry.”

“Wait,” Bucky squawks, which is embarrassing enough; “did she send me down here knowing you were naked.”

“She kind of goddamn did!” Clint yelps, jumping off of the machine. He seems to realize what a bad idea that is the second his feet hit the floor, cause it gives Bucky yards of skin to look at, with only a few inches of dark fabric blocking his view onto that, um, particular area. And Bucky’s blown away enough with this much of Clint on display; he’s seen the bits and the pieces, sure, but with all them bits and pieces bare at the moment, Bucky isn’t even sure he’s gonna be able to hold it together.

Clint’s hands sort of hover around, up until the point where he decides he has nothing to be ashamed of, and Bucky watches in a haze as those hands come to rest on Clint’s hips.

“Well,” Clint says, and it’s a little self-righteous but a lotta unsure, “for your information, I stole Cap’s detergent, so I should be able to, uh, have some pants, in like an hour and a half or so.”

“I still feel like you need somebody to be the doorman,” Bucky says, his mouth working before his brain does. He really didn’t mean it to be so flirty, but it was, and it is, and it’s out there now. So he sets the bottle of laundry soap down on the nearest counter and leans up against the doorjamb, crossing his arms over his t-shirt and settling in.

To his surprise, Clint grins, and those hips come to rest leaning up against the nearest machine. “Well, shit,” Clint drawls, “if I knew I had a bouncer I could have washed everything.” The look Clint gives him is nearly filthy - is it filthy? Bucky can’t tell; Clint has most of the lights still off, and Bucky knows he could easily be imagining things.

“Do you need this or not,” Bucky manages to get out, and it’s barely a question. The thought of all of Clint’s bare skin flirting back has Bucky momentarily stunned, which is usually a sign to abort and get the hell out of the situation, except that this scene is specifically relevant to Bucky’s interests and he ain’t all that concerned with leaving right now.

Clint’s eyes seem to trace him down to the bottom and then back up, but he can’t really be sure.  “Yeah,” Clint says eventually, gesturing with one hand. “Bring it.”

And now Bucky has no choice but to wander over there, cause the second he makes some kind of protest with regards to Clint’s lack of attire, he knows Clint will be all over him.

So instead he takes the opposite approach and stalks over there with a determined swing to his own hips, settling the bottle down directly on top of the machine Clint’s leaning against. “Here,” he says, grinning. “If you need it.”

Clint bites his lower lip, which makes Bucky want to lick at it. “Why, thank you,” he murmurs. “My hero.”

This bit of a moment’s extending between them, and Bucky wants to recoil cause it could go really, very, super wrong, except the look in Clint’s eyes from over here - from this lighting - is low and amused, almost encouraging, and sort of hints that Clint knows something Bucky doesn’t at this point.

He goes to say something, but to his surprise, Clint jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ve still got another load,” he says, and Bucky’s eyes can’t stop staring at his mouth. “You got anything to throw in?”

And, well, that’s a leading line if Bucky ever heard one, but in case he wasn’t exactly clear Clint reaches a hand out to clutch at the hem of his t-shirt. “Like this, maybe?” Clint asks, innocence and spice in his tone.

Well. Bucky may be a bit hesitant, but he ain’t dumb, and he ain’t gonna waste the opportunity.  He fists his own hands in the shirt and helps Clint tug it off, over his head, and once his face is clear he leans in -- until he’s a breath, maybe two breaths, away from Clint’s mouth, and says, “I guess you’re probably right.”

And that’s all he can manage to say because Clint’s mouth turns up in a smile and his eyes flutter shut and Bucky isn’t even sure which one of them moves first but they’re kissing, right there, Clint’s lips softly demanding on his like even that’s a question. Bucky swallows the sigh he makes and gets his fingers into Clint’s hair, tilting Clint’s face down onto his until the angle’s just right for his tongue to sweep through Clint’s mouth. Clint makes this groaning sound and pulls Bucky closer so that skin’s on skin, and they press together until Clint’s own hands come up to tug Bucky’s hair and Bucky cedes, willingly, letting Clint dip down onto his mouth with an urgency he hasn’t felt in decades.

Bucky can’t stop the noise he makes, and he kind of doesn’t want to once it makes Clint’s fingers tighten in his hair. Clint pulls his mouth away only to lick along Bucky’s jawline, and Bucky nearly keens as Clint’s lips stop to suck just under his ear, his fingers tangling in Clint’s messy hair.

Clint breaks away to pant into Bucky’s mouth, their noses brushing, his pupils blown. It’s the hottest fucking thing Bucky’s seen in a long goddamned time. His head is still tilted backwards by Clint’s hands in his hair, and normally he’d hate seeing anyone above him, but Clint’s entire expression is so goddamned gone that it’s almost like Bucky could say a single word and shatter this. Not that he would, fuck; he’s wanted this for so long that it hurts, below his sternum, and even this distance is too far away from Clint right now.

Bucky pulls a hand from Clint’s hair and slowly traces it down Clint’s back - fingers outlining shoulderblade, then spine, then sinking to trace hipbone before settling at the very top curve of Clint’s ass. Clint shudders, and Bucky’s breathing is erratic, shivering right back into Clint as his fingers twitch against all that skin. Their eyes meet, again, and Bucky slowly fastens his fingertips into Clint’s skin to tug the other man’s hips forward into his. When Clint realizes what he’s doing, a groan catches in his throat unlike anything Bucky’s ever heard, and he remembers a few clear moments of Clint’s wanting eyes on his before Clint’s mouth descends and everything turns hazy.

Clint’s mouthing at him, tongue making a counterpoint against Bucky’s lips, and he doesn’t even have a chance to rub his hips up against Clint’s before Clint’s fingers are at the fly of his jeans. Bucky fucking groans, sighing into Clint’s mouth, now with one hand clutching at Clint’s ass and the other in Clint’s hair, tugging those lips back down onto his every time Clint seems to need a breather.  

“Let’s throw these in as well,” Clint murmurs as his quick fingers unfasten the button, unzip Bucky’s jeans, and Bucky’s murmuring something in agreement as he shifts to let Clint wrap his fingers over the hem and pull the jeans down to the floor.

“Shit,” Clint hisses, and Bucky turns his distracted gaze up to Clint’s face. Clint’s eyes are raking down Bucky’s own abdomen and over his boxers almost greedily, focused on where Bucky’s mostly-hard dick is trying to make an appearance, pushing up against the fabric. “Buck,” Clint whines, and Bucky hears too much in it -- something nearly akin to his own weeks of wanting, and the small portion of his mind that isn’t entirely absorbed by Clint’s briefs wonders whether Natalia knew what she was doing with this favor.

He pauses, and then even that section of brain gives itself over to feeling, because of course Natalia knew what she was doing, and he can thank her later.

For now, Bucky backs Clint up against the nearest machine and tugs Clint’s face down onto his, pressing their hips together, frantic and needy. The noise Clint makes is low, hot, deserves to be enshrined somewhere, and Clint shifts his thigh between Bucky’s such that Bucky - only slightly shorter - is leaning forwards on it, thrusting up against it, and trying to rub his hipbone against Clint’s hard cock with every move he makes until they’re both moving against each other, uncontrolled and wanting.

This is good, this is better than good, but Bucky wants to see Clint’s cock, wants to taste it and feel it in his hand, in his mouth, and his fingers tug at the band of Clint’s briefs like a question.

“Shit, Barnes,” Clint breathes into his mouth, but he shifts so that there’s enough of a gap for Bucky’s fingers to work the fabric down and away. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Bucky chucks the fabric away and then lets Clint pull his own boxers down over his thighs, and knees, and kicks it away once at his ankles. “Fuck, Barton,” he says as Clint’s long fingers wrap over his hips and pull them up against each other. Clint’s cock is hot and hard against the skin of his hip and Bucky hisses as his own dick presses into the curls of Clint’s pubic hair, the heat of the crease between crotch and hip, and these sensations are gonna fucking kill him if he doesn’t come soon.

He’s about to shift his weight when Clint pulls his mouth away to breathe against Bucky’s collarbone, lips and teeth and tongue working a rhythm on the skin there, and when Clint breathes, “Shit, Buck, can I?” Bucky has no better response than a nod before Clint sinks down onto his knees on the floor of the laundry room.

The goddamned view is rich enough that Bucky almost comes all over Clint’s hand as he reaches up and softly grabs Bucky’s cock. Clint’s looking up at him, eyes wide and blown, his mouth reddened and rough as he lips at the head of Bucky’s dick. Bucky’s gone, watching it, Clint’s tongue flicking out against the slit, and he has to grip at the edge of the machine behind Clint to keep his balance as Clint licks up his length before sucking the tip into his mouth.

“Fuck,” Bucky blurts out, “fucking hells, Clint,” and Clint works his tongue against Bucky’s slit again and Bucky can’t help it when he thrusts his hips forwards against the flat of Clint’s tongue. Clint makes a noise that’s pleased and wanton at the same time and Bucky’s pressing farther, and Clint lets him, until Bucky’s deep in Clint’s mouth with Clint’s whole throat swallowing around him and his world turns white until Clint backs off, slightly, giving Bucky breathing room.  

“Oh, god,” Bucky says except that it’s a whine, needy and wanting and weak; “don’t stop,” he says, and Clint surges forward again to swallow Bucky’s cock down, and it’s really minimal movement and motion until Bucky’s eyes smash themselves shut and Bucky comes with a twisted howl down Clint’s throat.

“Fuck, fuck,” Bucky’s saying when he comes back into himself, his hips still working a low stutter of aftershocks into Clint’s mouth. “Fuck.” Bucky pulls back, and shudders as his dick pulls out over Clint’s soft lips, but then he’s pulling Clint upwards and pressing him back against the machine again, tugging his head down and licking into his mouth. That salty taste must be his, and it has Bucky making some noise deep in his throat as he pulls Clint hard against him, tongues working hard against each other as Bucky enjoys the hardness of Clint’s dick up against his own sensitive flesh.  

He pulls away and slams Clint’s hips back up against the edge of the machine. “Stay there,” he hisses, and Clint makes this whining noise as Bucky bends down to lap pressure against one of Clint’s nipples before lowering down to his knees on the cold floor.

He barely notices, though, between the hot hardness of Clint’s cock against his cheek, the scent of Clint himself - sweat, and some woodsy tang - up against his nose as he licks into the dip of Clint’s skin between groin and hip. Fuck, but it’s delicious, topped with the noise Clint makes, absolutely no restraint in his throat as he moans loudly. Bucky sucks at the skin and hair until there’s a mark there, one he knows will look purple-dark against the light, and then turns his face into Clint’s dick, slowly mouthing his way up its length.

“My fucking God, Buck,” Clint gasps out, and Bucky looks up to note that Clint’s hands are gripping hard at the edge of the machine behind him, knuckles almost as white as the appliance.

Bucky responds by pulling the tip of Clint’s dick into his mouth. He tongues at the bottom, then brings a hand up to hold Clint’s shaft in place as he pops his lips forwards and then backwards over the bottom edge of the head. He loves feeling that, the pressure of the swollen ridge against his mouth, and Clint makes this noise like he’s being strangled that Bucky interprets as encouragement. He sets his lips right below the rim, so that it’s just the head of Clint’s cock in his mouth, and then sucks hard, loving the way it fills his mouth, loving the sound Clint’s making as he does so.

Bucky pulls off, grinning up at Clint, and gets a split-second view of Clint’s face - lax, surprised, overwhelmed - before he sinks back down and works Clint’s dick all the way to the back of his throat.

Bucky’s maybe not as good at this as Clint - and fuck, that had been a surprise - but Bucky knows how to work between his fist and his mouth to make up for the fact that he can’t deepthroat someone for days, and that’s what he does. His fist is slick, now, spit and sweat and precum letting him glide tension all the way to the tip before sliding the pressure back down all the way to the base, his hungry mouth following. He loves the taste of Clint’s dick, the weight against his tongue; he can feel it as Clint gets closer, his dick swelling until Clint’s hands are in Bucky’s hair and he’s gasping a litany of words and curses as Bucky hollows his cheeks to suck Clint down as he comes.

He swallows the hot liquid and then keeps swallowing, his hand working Clint in slow pumps until he’s sure the other man is done, aftershocks shuddering against Bucky’s lips, and Bucky moves to mouth the line of Clint’s hipbone instead, waiting for Clint to be here and coherent and suddenly almost a little embarrassed.

What he gets is Clint sliding down, his back against the washing machine as his body collapses to the floor, until his arms are around Bucky’s shoulders and he’s pressing messy, wanton kisses against every surface he finds: Bucky’s cheek, his neck, his shoulder; the hollow of his throat.

Bucky pulls him forward until they’re kissing again, again, and again, tongues just brushing as they dissolve into something that’s breathy and sloppy and not laughing but not tears, either.

“Fuck,” Clint breathes, finally, breath gusting against Bucky’s cheekbone with a hitch that might be a laugh. “Shit, Buck, did that really just happen?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m bare-assed on the floor, Barton.” Bucky leans in to mouth at Clint’s throat, that fucking tender skin he wants to mark up with his teeth.

“Oh my god,” Clint says, and his hands are all over Bucky as if he needs to remember: up Bucky’s back, then one into his hair as the other one sinks to grab his ass, then fingers working their way over his hipbone just so that Clint can drag knuckles up his abs and chest to his shoulder. “Oh my fucking god, Buck.”

Bucky laughs into Clint’s neck, suddenly happy and light with it, licking against the skin there before he kisses the spot tenderly.

“Do you have any clothes left?” Bucky asks, slowly tilting his head until he’s looking up into Clint’s face. “Like, enough that we could make it up a couple floors in the elevator without a disaster happening?”

Clint grins down at him, filthy and fond all at the same time. “I’m not sure,” he murmurs, leaning forward again to kiss along Bucky’s temple. “It’s not like I do laundry all that often.”

Bucky snorts. “Obviously, if you’re always stealing someone else’s detergent.”

Clint freezes, and then snorts, reaching over into a laundry basket and pulling out his mobile. “You know what? She owes me.”

“Natalia?” Bucky asks, surprised, and when Clint nods confirmation while hastily typing away, Bucky huffs a small laugh. “I think I might owe her,” he admits.

Clint’s eyes flick over to Bucky, and his face lights up with this crooked little smile Bucky’s never seen before. It makes something twist in his chest.  “Yeah,” Clint says, “I know she did this on purpose.” And that tells Bucky somethin’ about Clint’s feelings, don’t it, and the warmth in his chest flips over again.

He’s about to say something sappy and stupid, but then Clint continues cheerfully, looking back down at his phone. “That being said, I’m pretty sure she’s tired of seeing my bare ass in public. Bet I can get her to run interference long enough for us to head… somewhere?”

Clint glances back up at him, question in his eyes.

“My room,” Bucky says decisively, and catches a flicker of that smile on Clint’s face again. “I have clean clothes I can lend you.”

“Hmm,” Clint hums, typing away. “Bold of you to assume we’ll need clothes.”

[artificialqueens]

The Taste of You (Brooke x Yvie) - ImposterZoe

AN: I literally wrote this in 2 days. Thanks to Pipedream for helping! From Brooke’s POV. IZ

I hate being an empath.

Have you ever tasted an emotion before? I have. I guess technically, I have a type of synesthesia where I can taste emotions. But I like empath better. Anyway, I can tell what you’re feeling. Only problem is I have to french kiss you to do it.

Seems like a good deal, huh?

“My emotions don’t make sense to me.”

“I can help! Just gotta lemme slip you the tongue!”

Cool, right? Hahahaha!

Wrong.

Try explaining to someone you can taste their emotions by frenching them, and tell me how it is when they send you to the looney bin.

That’s why I’ve never had a boyfriend. I can taste it. Every one night stand, I taste the sweet-salty tang of passion. (Makes the sex great, by the way.)

But in the morning, if I care enough to kiss goodbye, it's… normal. No added tang of leftover passion, the fruity taste of hope for a date, the indescribable taste of love. There’s no flavor and I don’t try to do anything to add some. I just…. Leave.

I didn’t even know love had its own distinct taste until Vanessa.

Drag Race was… what it was and I learned. I discovered the plethora of emotions I could taste. The hint lavender in her happiness. The coolness of relief every time she survived a lip sync. The overwhelming iron that showed her anger. The heat that showed her stress. The beauteous taste of love that I tasted for four months camera free. The strongest bitterness my tongue ever struck when I gave her that last sad kiss goodbye. And I started to think I would never taste the sweet tang of love again.

Then Yvie won. And in my drunken haze later that night, I kissed her. When I kissed her, I tasted it all.

The strong lavender for her happiness. The sorting popping taste (like pop rocks?) of her excitement. The tang of her cigarette, (I know it’s not an emotion but that’s besides the point). But in the back of her throat, just as it became evident she knew who she was kissing, the sweet caramel-like taste of a pleasant surprise.  Then the unmistakable taste of… love?

I froze in shock as I determined her feelings. Yvie loved me?! She pulled back and stared at me in confusion.

“Why do you taste so much like lavender?” There was a very evident blush on her face that was probably mirrored on mine.

Yvie loved me and she could taste me back. And she tasted lavender? That means I’m happy. I shouldn’t be happy. I just lost Drag Race after making top two. I was so close and I just kissed the person who’s going home with everything I wanted. And she tasted happiness?!

“I… had tea.” The lie rolls of my tongue too easy for my liking but just because Yvie can taste me back, doesn’t mean she needs to know the details of what it means.

“You like lavender tea?” It occurs to me that there are two drag queens incredibly close to each other, bright red, looking stupidly confused. A fan walking by would suck right now.

“I like kissing you,” my drunken brain replies and Yvie smiles that damn smile, touching her front teeth with her tongue. She has so much tongue, no wonder she can taste me.

I leaned in again, wanting to taste her beautiful mix of emotions again when A'keria comes to the end of the hallway.

“Where’d y'all go? Party ain’t over yet!”

Can you say mood killer?

“Be back in a second,” I call, stepping back from Yvie, “Miss Winner here needed a breather. Not used to people actually liking her.”

Yvie gives me one of her famous eye rolls. “Fuck off, Runner-up,” She mumbles. As A'keria walks away, I lean into Yvie’s ear.

“My name is actually Brock,” I whisper to her, “Learn it so you can scream it later.”  Yvie turns bright red and on impulse I kiss her again, tasting the tartness of embarrassment and nervousness, mixing with the richness of her love. I pull away and smirk as I walk back to the party. After a long minute, (enough time for me to get a fresh beer), Yvie comes back looking dazed with her lipstick slightly smeared.

A'keria looks between me and Yvie with a shocked expression. I just winked at her and enjoy the party.

After too long a time, I get to my hotel room and turn myself back into Brock. Just as I’m organizing my makeup, there’s a knock at my door. I walked over and open it, a knowing smile on my face the second the door opens.

“Hey there, Miss Winner,” I purred, relishing the blush on Yvie’s face.

“Hi, Brock,” Yvie chokes out. And the rest of the night is history.

[Many months later.]

I walk in the door of me and Jovan’s shared apartment, throwing my keys on the table.

“I’m home! You here, Babe?” I call, dropping my bags. I hear a faint call of, “Bedroom,” and hurry in. Jovan’s bent over a sketchbook and I have many conflicted emotions as I take in the fact that he’s wearing my beanie, has my hoodie around his waist, and is using Henry as table while he sketches with one hand, petting Apollo with the other. Seems like a renaissance painting, but whatever. I sprint over and jump in the bed, effectively leaving it cat free and Jovan rubbing his leg from where Henry used it as a launch pad.

“Hi,” I whisper in his ear, kissing him softly. I don’t use tongue. I haven’t seen Jovan in about a month, and long periods away from each other, makes my first taste of his emotions special, so I try to save it.

“Hey,” he grins. We hug each other, Jovan’s head buried in my shoulder. After a minute I pull back and glance at his sketchbook.

“What’s this for?” I ask, taking in the sketch. Jovan attempts to cover the page but I move his hands, admiring the tiny details he must’ve spent forever on.

“Do you like it?” he whispers excitedly. I nod, tracing the drawn hem line.

“It’s so pretty, Jovan,” I whisper back, my finger still running along the page. A humongous smile blooms on his lips.

“Thanks. As far as what’s it for,” he bends over the page with me, “It’s going to sound cheesy but I drew it thinking of you. It represents how you make me feel.” Jovan is slightly pink as he says this and I blush too, as I find that he was looking at me when he says this.

“I love you.” The words pop out of my mouth and in the back of mind I realize that maybe these words should’ve been said BEFORE we moved in together.

Meh, what’re ya gonna do?

Jovan stares at me, not in shock, but in adoration.

“I’ve loved you since drag race,” he admits.

I almost say that I knew that but how could I tell him? Even after all this time, Jovan doesn’t know I’m an empath. But I’m thinking too much right now.

I pull Jovan slightly in my lap and kiss him deeply. I sigh as I taste the deep coolness of his relief that I’m home, the lavender of his happiness, for a second I taste the slight citrus of doubt, but it’s gone as I rub his back. It’s all wrapped up in the silkiness of his love. Jovan’s love tastes different than Jose’s. Jovan’s is fresh. New. And for once in my life, I like something different. I love something different.

Jovan pulls back with a complentative look on his face.

“Kissing you is different. You taste,” he struggles with the right word, “… Different.”

“Different how?” I have to ask. I can’t taste myself and I bury everything so it’ll be nice to get my feelings read.

“Different like lavender,” (happiness),  "something cool, like mint or something,“ (relief), "and something I can’t describe. Something…silky.” Love. He tastes love.

“Did you just say I taste like Silky?” I ask in mock disbelief.

“Oh my god, I hate you,” he yells slapping my shoulder. I smirk as grab his hand and kiss his knuckles.

“I’m pretty sure you just said the exact opposite.”

“You’re an asshole,” says my blushing boyfriend.

My grin turns impish. “And you love me.” He sighs softly.

“Yes I do. And I have no idea why.”  I smile wider and kiss his knuckles again.

“Wanna get lunch?” I ask, standing up.

“Yeah sure.”  He kisses me again and I taste the now familiar silkiness of love on his tongue.

“If that’s what Silky taste like, I’m leaving you,” Jovan deadpans as he pulls back. I simply smack his side and walk out.

[…]

Usually when I kiss Jovan, it’s all good. Happiness, Passion, Love. But the longer we were on tour, the more different emotions came into play.

I tasted the bitter sadness on his tongue as we watched the reunion. The citrus that shows his doubt after Vanjie hugs me for a smidge too long. The intense heat of his stress before a show. The strong iron of his anger after a drawn out argument with Silky. That’s the only reason I’m glad he can taste me. With a simple flick of the tongue, the silky taste of my love mixed with my cool calmness relaxes him. The bitterness turns to lavender. The iron turns to the coolness of mint. The citrus turns into copper taste of possessiveness which eventually turns into that silky taste as he realizes I’m with him and only him.

But I still have to kiss him to relax him. And lemme tell ya, when Jovan puts his barriers up, trying to steal a kiss is quite the uphill battle. Trying to steal french kiss? Basically like trying to fight a war.

How am I supposed to explain that I can help understand him if he lets me kiss him?

The realization comes to light after a bad argument between us.

“You just try to solve everything with kisses!” Jovan had screeched at me. I don’t remember my reply but Jovan had locked himself in our bedroom and I heard him crying his eyes out. I paced along the wall for the better part of an hour when it hit me.

Jovan doesn’t know, so he doesn’t understand. I’m knocking on the bedroom door before the thought had even formed. I need to tell him about my ability.

The door cracked open. “What do you want?” Jovan asked miserably.

“I have to tell you something important and I can’t do it through the door.”

If anything Jovan’s face breaks even more and the door slams shut, the lock turning. I heard his sobs on the other side and realize that what I just said is scary as hell.

“That came out wrong. I’m not breaking up with you,” I call through the door.

“Yeah right,” comes the soft, shaky reply.

“Please let me in.” I whisper. After several seconds, I hear the lock turn and I don’t hesitate before rushing in the room.

Jovan’s on the bed now, staring at the ground and wiping his face dry.

“I have to tell you something,” I blurt.

“Yeah you said that.”

I kneel before him and grab his hand.

“I don’t think you get. This is important. I’ve never told anyone this before.” Jovan looks at me.

“No one?” he whispers.

“No one. Not Vanjie. Not Nina. Not even my mom. But I’m going to tell you and I’m just praying you believe me, because I’m going to sound fucking nuts.”

Jovan looks like he wants to make a joke but my face is deathly serious so he just pats the bed. I get up and sit down next to him. Jovan looks at me expectantly and immediately words fail me. I open and shut my mouth like a fish out of water while he stares at me.

“Brock I know words screw with you, but if you don’t say something soon, I’m leaving and I won’t turn back for a long time.” It’s not a threat. Jovan’s serious and I try to force the words out. I’m not losing him.

“I can taste your feelings!” I blurt. Jovan stares at me for a long time. Then he gets up and heads toward the door. I jump up and rush to cut him off at the door.

“I told you it sounds nuts! But I’m not lying. And you can taste me back. I know you’ve noticed that my mouth taste different when I french kiss you based on what I’m feeling.”  

Jovan just gives me a blank stare before he rubs a hand over his head.

“Brock, this is insane. No one can taste emotions. Especially not other people’s by kissing them! I mean how stupid do you think I am?”

I rub my own face in aggravation. “I don’t think you’re stupid. I’m telling you something about me that’s special and I want you to believe me. Ask me anything about it. You know I can’t lie and it’s to crazy for me to make up.”

A sigh leaves him but he sits on the couch and thinks on it. I sit in the chair opposite of him and watch him.

We sit in silence for a while and each passing second making my anxiety skyrocket.

“Do you love me?” Jovan whispers. My head snaps up at the sudden break in the silence.

“Yes. I do.” I whisper back. Short, sweet, and to the point.

“What does love… Taste like?” He whispers.

I swallow hard. “It’s hard to describe but to give it a try… it’s the sweetest, silkiest taste. Like the world’s best dessert.” Jovan weighs my words quietly.

“That’s what you taste like,” he mumbles, “no matter what else you taste like, that’s always there. In the back of your throat. That means you love me?”

I nod again. “I love you more than anything.”

Jovan sits back on the couch. “That’s why you kiss me when I’m upset? To know what I’m feeling?”

I sigh softly. “No. Like I said, you can taste me back. If I’m calm and I kiss you while you’re angry, you taste my calmness which helps you relax. But sometimes when you retreat into your head, I kiss you so I can figure out what to do.”

I pat my lap and Jovan makes his way over and settles onto it, his head on my shoulder.

“This is insane,” he whispers.

“I know,” I whisper back, “but I know you’re special because you can taste me back.” I grab his face and make him look me in the eyes. “So anytime you’re scared, just kiss me and remind yourself. I love you.”

I lean forward and kiss him softly, slowing sliding my tongue in his mouth. There’s a strong taste of citrus. He still doubts me. But as my tongue pushes forward, I taste the pop of his excitement and the lavender of his happiness.

And I know it’s because we both taste the same sweet, silky taste in each other’s mouths. We both taste the love we have for each other and I feel a tear fall from Jovan’s cheek to mine but judging from the lavender that’s everywhere in my mouth, they’re tears of joy.

“I love you.” Jovan whispers later that night.

“I love you, too.” I whisper back. He looks down and kisses me slowly.

“I know.”

We relax in each other’s embrace, love coating both our tongues.

I love being an empath.

“Hey, Brock?”

“Yeah?”

“What does horniness taste like?”

“Oh my god. Fuck all the way off!” I laugh.

I do love being an empath.

I just really hate my boyfriend.

[beetlebop]

Numbers 1 and 12 for the love tropes meme~? For the OG Juice man!

f/o love tropes asks

Aborted Declaration of Love: How long did it take for you to finally confess to your F/O? How did it go? Were there several attempts, or was it just The One?

it took fucking forever for me to confess to him cause I’m a big nervous baby. i work myself to do it numerous times and chicken out every single time cause I’m scared. I get a lot of pep talks from ghost mom and dad they mean well but I’m so fucking nervous about it that whatever they told me just goes right out the window. I honestly probably confessed on accident like he made me laugh and something and I just smile at him and go “god I love you” and he just whips his head around really fast at that and just stares at me. It takes a minute but I finally realize what I said and get really embarrassed and flustered and just go “I have to go” and go out of the room super fast and lock myself in the bathroom and just cover my face in my hands and scream cause I just said what I’d been hiding for months. he for sure follows cause he’s not about to not have an answer why. he’s thrown for a loop sure but he’s also super smug about it. he ignores the locked door and pops up inside finding my embarrassed ass and I’m like fuck this is the worst possible thing and immediately start word vomiting all over the place like it’s ok if he doesn’t feel the same way it just slipped out and he probably didn’t like a silly little breather like me anyways and he just zips my mouth closed literally and goes “babes why do you think i even bothered to stay around this shithole? sure stirring up shit for the Maitlands and deetz is fun and all but I stayed for you.” and oops there I go I’m crying and he doesn’t know what to do except unzip my mouth and look away awkwardly and I just hop up and immediately rush to hug him

Accidental Hand Hold: When did you first hold hands with your F/O?

Lydia probably put on a scary movie to watch and forces me to watch with her and keatlejuice just tags along cause he likes making fun of breather movies tbh and me being the scardy cat i am I probably unconsciously reach out and hold his hand. hes fucking confused as all hell cause he’s way scarier than anything in this damn movie and yet I’m holding his hand as if my life depended on it. he’s not complaining though. nope not one bit.

After-Action Patch-Up: How does your F/O react when they see you got hurt? How do they tend to your injury?

oof boy if he ever sees that I’m hurt he’s immediately pissed the fuck off and ready to find whoever did it and send them to a worse fate than death. spoiler alert: it was me most of the time. once he calms down he definitely goes and grabs shit outta the bathroom cabinet and cleans my wounds and put band-aids on them. I just hold out my wounded area and go “kiss it better?” and he grumbles but totally does it. it’s only cause I asked not that he wanted to do that

Almost Kiss: What was your first kiss with your F/O like?

It wasn’t anything special just mostly him sliding up to where I was grabbing my waist and dipping my down and planting a big old smooch on my lips and I’m so frazzled I don’t kiss him back and he sets me back on my feet with a grin and starts to walk away and I just reach forward and grab his arm and he turns back at me with a brow quirked, grin still on his face, and I lean up to kiss him on the mouth which he returns obviously

Beautiful Dreamer: Who’s usually the first to fall asleep while the other stares and admires?

I always fall asleep first once it gets late enough or I just get sleepy. I always end up falling asleep on him on top of him an he just lazily runs his fingers through my hair with the most loving smile watching me sleep. Lydia has pictures of these little encounters and he wants to burn them cause he ain’t soft no matter what she says.

Bodyguard Crush: How does your F/O make you feel safe?

Makes sure if we are in public to just generally touch me maybe a hand snaked around my waist pulling me next to him, ready to fight / murder anyone that even dares to look at me or make me uncomfortable. if I’m scared he lets me snuggle into him arm draped across me drawing patterns into my back. just like being around?? something about his whole presence makes me feel super safe.

Caught In The Rain: How does your F/O react if a sudden rainstorm interrupts your date with them?

gets really grumpy and angry for sure ready to 100% fight the weather and / or that stupid breather weather man for getting the weather wrong but that all stops once I start yawning and I lean forward rest my head on his shoulder. eh maybe that’ll get done later, much later

Grow Old With Me: How long have you and your F/O been together?

if we are talking real time? it’s about 8 years it’s been a really long time time for me and him honestly

Laugh Of Love: What are some things your F/O does to make you laugh?

cracking jokes! complete with references and costume changes! definitely pulls out the sexually charged jokes once he knows that I laugh at those too. just yells out curses sometimes and it just gets me so tickled I snort, “gosh babes you’re making me fall to pieces with how hot you look” cue him actually falling apart and me crying from laughing so hard, scares people cause it always, always makes me laugh and he loves that.

Love Epiphany: When and how did you realize you loved your F/O? When and how did they realize they loved you?

I probably figured it out once I realized I was constantly staring at him way too long and getting caught every single time and he just winks at me going “like what’cha see, baby?” and I get embarrassed and almost blurt out that I do and I’m like fuck shit oh no fuck I love him shit for him he’d probably have to be beat over the head by barb and Adam about it and he’d deny it rambling that “he doesn’t like breathers especially ones not cute little pretty ones who laugh at his jokes and has a fuckin cute laugh. it’s not like he’s thought about kissing her — he means breathers — all the time and he definitely hasn’t thought about wanting to fuck her senseless definitely not.” and oops did he confess yes. but fuck you.

Marry For Love: Are you and your F/O married? If so, how was the wedding like? If you aren’t, do you plan on getting married, and if so, how would you like it to be like?

listen I have stated before that I would 1000% get over my commitment issues for this fool but that being said it’s gunna take a lot for me to actually agree. he’s been trying boy has he been trying. I do call him my husband off hand sometimes and he just goes “wanna make it official then, babes?” and maybe one day I’m just like “yes” and he’s already prepared for my whole “yes but not right now” speech and he’s thrown off for a second but he so genuinely happy because he’s been trying to marry me for ages. the wedding wasn’t anything big he took over the house again for it though and insisted that I’d wear the dress he made me with his powers — he wasn’t about to let his girl go wear some dumb old breather dress. he totally wears the same suit he did during lydia’s wedding cause that’s all he has and my dress is obviously a black and white motif. Barbara and Lydia did my makeup and he actually bought stole a ring — it’s a tarnished sliver ring with a emerald in the middle

Post-Kiss Catatonia: How did you and your F/O react to your first kiss together?

I was a fucking mess and couldn’t think straight bc holy shit we’re kissing we’re kissing we’re kissi—

he on the other hand hand been wanting to do this since day one and is really happy he did it especially after I decided to kiss him back. he’s smug about the whole thing but also he has the most zonked out look on his face the fucking sappy bastard. he decides right then and there he likes kissing me so he’s going to do it any chance he gets.

[mangled-dreams]

Fever Dreams

My first and maybe only attempt at Dr. Schneeplestein. So here you are. Reader X Dr. Henrik Von Schneeplestein. Enjoy.

It's not often that you get sick, but when you do it's very fun. Not that getting sick is ever fun, but for you it just seems to hit your harder. Now is one of those times you get sick.

You'd been holed up in your room for the past three days, slowly dying of...whatever you've got. Well, you know you're not dying dying, but it sure feels like it. Anti and the other egos have been concerned for you, but you'd told them you'd be okay after few days of rest.

“You ain't getting any better, kid. I'm sending in the Doc.” Anti had told you after the third day of you being ill. He'd come to check on you as the one of the only egos that wouldn't get sick from you.

“Oh, don't do that. Dr. Schneeplestein is always so busy,” You'd responded, whining a little at bothering Dr. Schneeplestein for just a little cold. It doesn't help that you have a crush on Dr. Schneeplestein. You think Anti knows of your crush, but he'd never ratted you out for it.

“To bad, we need you back in working order.” Anti added sternly before leaving you.

A few hours have passed since Anti had visited you, although times seems to be blending into one singular moment. Your roommate and older sister Jessica has been feeding you and makes sure you take your cough syrup, but otherwise she steers clear of you. She hates being around people that are coughing and/or ill. You don't blame her. Ever since she was a kid she couldn't stand the sound of anyone coughing around her.

“Hey, Y/n, you have a visitor.” Jess says opening your door. You barely have the energy to sit up but manage to do it before a familiar face greets you.

“Oh, my goodness, how did zis happen?” Dr. Schneeplestein cries as he enters your area of contamination., as your sister loves to call your room. It's not often that the good doctor has time to come see you, but you're glad he does. Jess says nothing and closes the door to keep your germs isolated to your room.

“Doctor. It's good to see--” You can't finish greeting Dr. Schneeplestein, instead you cough until you can't breath and then some. You double over, your hand covers your mouth with a tissue. When you've done coughing up a lung you toss your tissue into a bin at your bed side and use hand sanitizer.

“Oh, do not zink to talk. My poor dear, you look terribly ill.” Dr. Schneeplestein says sitting down on your bed, his bag propped up on his thighs. You watch him through weary eyes. Dr. Schneeplestein  takes out his stethoscope and places the buds into his ears. He stands up and walks over to your side and motions for you to lean forward. “Now, take two deep breaths for em.” He instructs you, the sound pressed against you back just to the side of your shoulder blade.

You do as he asks to the best of your ability. You hear Dr. Schneeplestein hum behind you and shift the sound head across your back. He doesn't have to instruct you to do anything and automatically breath in as deeply as you can. You remember this from your last doctor's visit.

Leaning back against the wall you let Dr. Schneeplestein listen to your lungs from the front of your chest. A few seconds later he takes the buds out and puts them back into the bag. “Despite your coughing, it seems your lungs are very clear.” He tells you sounding a little relieved.

“Just a cough?” you ask a little winded.

“Yes, zit looks like ze common cold, I would recommend you continue to rest and get loots of fluids.” Dr. Schneeplestein advises.

You nod and lay back again. “Thank you for coming, even though it wasn't necessary. Anti's just a worry wart.” You tell Dr. Schneeplestein even though you know it's not needed.

“Oh please, I vould come even if he did not azk me.” He tells you happily.

“Thank you, again, Dr. Schneeplestein.”

“Henry, please. I vould conzider us friends by now.” Henrik responds quietly.

You nod, agreeing with Henrik before coughing again. Henrik gives you a tissues and you use it cover your mouth. You hate being sick. You especially hate being sick around Dr. Schneeplestein. “Right,” you say breathing heavily. Your nose is stuffed up once again so now you're a mouth breather. “You don't have to... stick around, Henrik.” you say opting to use his actual first name and not the “Americanized” version.

“I vould never juz abandon my patient.” Henrik tells you in earnest. You smile at him but don't respond. You aren't really a patient, just a friend that's ill.

Henrik stays with you for a few hours before leaving for the night. You'd fallen into a tired haze by the time he left. You remember him saying something about his ex-wife. You hate how badly his marriage to Lilith had dissolved so quickly after the ceremony. You know Henrik hasn't been happy for quite sometime despite many attempts to rekindle the relationship.

You fall sleep with the hope that Henrik will find happiness, even if it isn't with you.

“Good morning!” Henrik greets when Jess opens the door. It's been a few days and Jess is actually letting you wonder around the house now that the “contamination period” is over. You don't look like death anymore and your coughing had gotten lighter and less frequent.

“Oh. Dr. Schneeplestein, how nice to see you today. Come to check on my sister?” Jess asks closing the door behind Henrik.

“Jess? Who's at the door?” You ask popping your head out of the steam filled bathroom. With your stuffy sinuses you'd taken up to taking steam shower or steam baths to help clear them. “Oh, Henrik!” You gasp happy and a bit surprised to see Henrik come by unannounced.

“Oh, I am zo, zorry, I did not mean to interrupt your zhower.” Henrik says almost blushing at the implication you're naked. You laugh and step out of the bathroom in your damp black tank top and shorts.

“Oh, it's no worries, Doctor. I was just trying to clear out my sinuses with some steam. Walking down the hallway you thank your sister for letting Henrik in and usher the good doctor into the living room. “So, Doctor, what bring you by today?” you ask sitting down across from Henrik.

He's in casual clothing—which is a nice change of pace. Usually Henrik is in scrubs and his lab coat while pulling double, sometimes even triple shift to avoid going home. You can tell he hasn't been eating as much as he should. Last time you saw him in casual clothing he filled them out more than he does now.

“Vell, I can to check up upon you, my dear. You zeemed to be quite ill laz time.” Henrik tells you.

You nod in agreement. You had been quite ill. “I'm on the upswing now, Henrik. I'm really only dealing with an occasional stuffy nose and a little bit of coughing, but nothing like I was a few days ago.” You report to him with a big smile. “Have you eaten? Jess and I were just about to decide on what to have for lunch.” You ask standing up with a little bit of dizziness, but nothing to knock you off your feet.

“Oh, no, I could never intrude in zuch a manner.” Henrik says quickly, standing up with you out of habit. You wave your hand at him and head to the kitchen.

“Don't worry about it, Henrik.” You tell him softly. Pausing a moment you say, “on second thought, let me treat you to lunch. I've been cooped up in this house for at least a week and a half, it'd be nice to get out for a few.”

Henrik smiles at you. “If you inzist.” He says playfully. You smirk at him and request he wait in the living room for you to change. The air outside still quite chilly despite the rise in temperature.

You dress in you favorite pair of blue jeans and slip on a cream colored long sleeved crocheted top with a burgundy colored tank top underneath. Your crochet top has large holes in it so you layer yourself with a solid black knitted cardigan. Looking at yourself in your mirror you like the color scheme you've created and pick out a cream colored infinity scarf with a metallic gold foil yarn mixed in with it. You spend a few minutes brushing your hair out until smooth before bundling it atop your head in a messy bun, using a few hair pins to keep the wild strands in place.

Applying only a fruity scented and flavored chap stick you look yourself over again in the mirror, slip your socks on, and leave your room to collect your guest. Halfway down the hall you pause as a coughing fit takes you over then continue on. Fresh air will do your lungs—not to mention your sanity some good, and it's always bound to be a good day if you get to spend it with Henrik.

“Oh yeah, my sister's always talking about you, Dr. Schneeplestein.” Jess says as you get closer to the living room.

“Oh, I did not know zat she zought to highly of me.” Henrik responds and you can't tell if he's flattered or concerned by whatever else you sister's been telling him.

You stand just outside the living room, waiting to hear if your sister or Henrik say anything more before deciding you're being too creepy and step into the living room. “Jess, I hope you're not telling embarrassing stories about me to the good doctor here. I'm sure he wouldn't be interested in hearing about our childhood.” You say trying to defuse the anxiety you feel about having left your sister alone with Henrik.

“Oh, no, no! Y/n, I always vind it interesting to learn more about my friendz.” Henrik says quickly, trying to reassure you.

“Have a good trip out, if you need me to pick you up, just call me. Okay?” Jess says as you head to the door. You nod and wave at her. You know she means it too. Day or night she will come if you call.

“Ah, fresh air!” You sigh happily. Beside you Henrik chuckles, watching you spin around on the  sidewalk. You spin on the ball of your foot and face Henrik, fighting against a coughing fit. You win the fight and continue to smile at Henrik.

“So full of ze energy. It iz good to zee you back to normal.” Henrik chuckles again. You blush and quickly turn away to hide your enjoyment at his words. You turn to quickly, your foot catching on a crack in the concrete. With a shriek you fall to the ground.

Henrik reacts quickly, launching himself forward to grab you, twisting his body to cushion your fall. Everything happens so fast you can barely register it all, but when you open your eyes Henrik is beneath you, his arms wrapped around you hugging you close.

“Oh, are you okay, Henrik?” you ask scrambling to your feet. Reaching out Henrik takes your hand and allows you to pull him up. You look him over for any scratches or cuts. You dust off his jacket as you do and sigh with relief when you find nothing out of order.

“I am okay. Are you?” he asks looking you over for any wounds. You nod your head, press your hand against your chest, and breath a sigh of relief again.

“I'm fine, Henrik, but you gave me a heart attack.” You say as a bout of coughing over takes you for a few seconds. When it's over you feel winded and out of energy. Henrik takes a hold of your shoulder steadying you as you recover from your coughing fit.

“You? You gave me a heart attack!” Henrik responds smiling when he saw your lips curl at the corners.

“Oh, look what a pair we are.” You mutter standing up with a little help from Henrik. Looking up at him you see his glasses are crooked and reach up and adjust them for him. “Okay, now that we have that out of the way,” you chuckle. “Let's get some food.”

Henrik touches the edge of his glasses a light tinting of pink dusting his pale complexion. He watches you walk ahead of him a few steps, your head looking up and down to various restaurants trying to decide where to eat lunch at. Part of him worries about agreeing to lunch. Is he just using you to fill the void of loneliness he feels since the separation from his wife?

“Henrik?” You call, your voice shaking him from his thoughts. “Is everything okay? I didn't hurt you did it?” You ask walking back to Henrik. You look him over again with just your eyes. He looks fine, a little dusted and a bit distant but okay otherwise.

Henrik stares down at you. He likes the way you care after him. In the short time he's known you he's received more attention and affection than he has in the past three years of his marriage.

“Henrik, if you don't want to have lunch you can tell me no.” You tell him feeling a little heart broken but you understand. He never did fully agree to go out for lunch.

“Oh, no, no, it iz not zat.” Henrik says waving a hand in front of himself. You can't help the confusion from entering you. “I vas jus in thought. I do apologize for zis mizcommunication.” Henrik says quickly. You still look at him with confusion. “I vas jus admiring ze amount of caring you have zhown me.”

Relaxing a little you glance away from Henrik a little embarrassed and happy he appreciates your concern for him. “Well, good... Good. You are someone I really like so of course I'd want to take care of you. Now, come along Henrik, let's go get some food in out bellies.” You tell him being a little more forward than you have in the past. You take his hand and shoot him a reassuring smile before tugging him along with you.

“Thank you.” you both mutter to your waiter and hand off your menus before a hushed silence settles between you.

You gaze around the building, looking at the various people populating the place. You smile at the families taking an afternoon out together. “Oh, what a cutie pie.” You coo seeing a chubby baby smashing two fist fulls of french fries into its little tray.

Henrik turns to look at the baby and smiles. He too think the child is quite adorable. Turning to face you he asks, “Do you plan to ztart a family zome day?”

Your cheeks flush and you look away from him. “Eventually. I'm still quite young, not to mention I don't have a prospective boyfriend, so there are a few little barriers to get over before I can start a family.” You chuckle softly. “What about you, Henrik? Do you have plans to try again? I mean if you found the right partner?” you ask softly, sipping on the lemon water in front of you.

You hate the questions as soon as they pass through your lips. You really didn't mean to get so personal so quickly, but it'd been almost to natural. Before the finalization of the divorce Henrik was a bit easier to joke around with, now everything seemed to be a trigger.

“Perhaps if ze right voman came around.” he responds and it's the end of that conversation. Oh, how he wishes you'd be that right one.

“Well, thank you for joining me for lunch.” You tell Henrik as you come up to your townhouse. Henrik nods, but he looks troubled. “Henrik, if you're still thinking about the family thing and finding the right woman, it's okay. I wasn't offended. I crossed a line, I know that now.” You offer softly. Of all the things Henrik is he is not a bad man. A little mad sometimes in his practice, but he's a good man and a good doctor.

Henrik snaps his head up, his eyes locking on yours. “No! No, you get me vrong.” Henrik says quickly. “I vas not shtill thinking of zat conversation. I vas jus... Vould you mind if ve did zis again?” He ask almost shyly.

You feel your whole face, ears and all heat up with excitement. “Yes! I-I mean, of course, Henrik. It's always a pleasure being around you.” You shout without thinking unable to contain yourself. You reel yourself back and giggle nervously. Henrik nods, a big cheesy grin on his face. You always know when Henrik is truly happy with something when me has that big grin on his face.

“Great. Great! Zo, I shall zee you again, perhaps Tuesday?” Henrik asks looking a little pink around the cheek bones and ears as well. You smile with a nod.

“Tuesday it is.”

“Good...Good! I vill be by around seven zirty.”  He tells you taking a step down from your door. You giggle when he misses a step but wave goodbye as he leaves.

Pausing a moment you shout after him, “Did you just ask me on a date?”

“YES!” Henrik shouts from a few yards down. Your heart beats faster at his admission.

“I'll see you Tuesday!” You shout back and quickly duck inside your house. The door slams shut under your full weight as you squeal and jump and giggle at the turn of events. You hadn't truly entertained the idea that Henrik was truly interested in you but now that you know well, you ain't gonna let him go.

[jinkies-its-a-writer]

Mud and Daisies || Bruce Wayne

Pairing: Pre-Batman!Bruce Wayne x Reader

Word Count: 2,415

Warnings: Enough fluff to make you smile :)

Prompt: Based on this - (Eventually)

Listen While You Read: Lava

Notes: Part 2 to Dirt and Roses

“This is the most amazing lemonade I have EVER tasted.” You rubbed your lips together, the sweetness of the ice-cold drink clearing your head and quenching your thirst on the spot. “Mmm… Man, that is good.”

Bruce grinned through his cup as he tilted his head back to drain the contents of his own glass. “Alfred, she’s right. This is some magnificent lemonade.”

“Thank you, Ms. (y/l/n), Master Bruce.” The butler poured you each another glass.

“I could drink this for the rest of my life. Thank you, Alfred.” You turned to the man, hoping he realized how sincere you were.

“You’re welcome Ms. (y/l/n). It is my pleasure.” The older man returned your smile. Then it slowly faded from his lips as he held out his wrist to check his watch. “I apologize, Master Bruce, but I believe it is time for your meeting.”

Bruce’s expression soured quickly, an abrupt change from the flirting he had been doing a minute ago. “Ah… Thank you. Have a car pulled around.”

The butler departed, but not before letting you know that it was a pleasure to meet you.

“Thank you for the lemonade, Bruce… And the second break.” Your sun-kissed skin glowed in the brilliant daylight as you grinned at the young man before you.

Bruce couldn’t recall ever being this reluctant to attend a meeting. Sure, they weren’t his favorite things in the world, but he had never had an actual reason not to attend before. He tried his best to wipe the disappointment from his features. “Thank you for sharing a glass of lemonade with me.”

“That wasn’t difficult, it’s still the best lemonade I’ve tasted in my entire life. I honestly don’t see why you would want to share it with anyone.”

That seemed to bring a spark of happiness back into his eyes. “Well, (y/n), you’re not just anyone.” He turned and entered the car before you had a chance to respond, and all you could do was watch the license plate as it disappeared down the driveway.

You sighed before realizing you still held the crystal glass in your grasp. You are such an idiot (y/n)…

You slowly climbed the front steps of Wayne Manor, hesitating before knocking softly on one of the large doors. It momentarily swung open, Alfred standing behind it with a polite smile.

“I’m really sorry about this, I forgot I still had the glass in my hand…”

“Come in, Ms. (y/l/n).” He held his hand out for the glass.

You passed it to him, then gripped your hands together. Your nerves were completely wack from everything that had occurred today.

“Thank you.”

You tried to maintain eye contact with the man, but you had never been in a place like this before and your eyes were wandering absolutely everywhere. “Uh, you’re welcome. I’m sorry to have caused so much trouble.”

Alfred shook his head. “I apologize, I meant to thank you for Master Bruce.”

Your eyes snapped back to the butler with the mention of Bruce. “What?”

“It has been a long time since he has been happy and to see him smile again is truly a magnificent sight that I thought I may never see again.” The tiniest glimmer in the old man’s eyes led you to believe he was telling the truth, and that made you feel a whole handful of emotions at once.

Mainly you were confused. How could someone so… so… you, make someone who could have anything they could dream of wanting, happy? That didn’t make any sense. Then there was some happiness. You made him happy? Well, he made you happy too… even if it was in a flustered ‘I am making a total fool out of myself’ sort of way. And there was some sadness. Had he really been so unhappy before today? For as long as Alfred made it sound? You had never met him before today so you had no idea what he was like before you talked to him, but for someone to be devoid of happiness for so long… the thought of it broke your heart. All of these flooded over you in a tsunami of emotion, all because of what the butler had said.

You stared, dumbfounded, at the older man for a few seconds before realizing you should probably say something.

“He makes me happy too.” The whole world seemed to stand still when you spoke those words. Everything was frozen in time. In that moment of silence.

“How would you like to join Master Bruce for lunch tomorrow?” You could tell the man was feeling a little more than mischievous.

“I would love to, but are you sure? I mean I don’t want to bother him or anything.”

“I’m certain. How would noon work for you, Ms. (y/l/n)?” He looked so casual, practically setting you up on a date. A date with a billionaire.

“Okay, yeah. That sounds good.”

“Brilliant.”

“Well, I should get back to work… Thanks for everything, Alfred.” You smiled, if a little nervously, and waved before exiting the humongous house.

“You are most welcome, Ms. (y/l/n).” The large door shut behind you, pushing you back into the reality that you still had a couple of hours before you were free to leave for the day. You mentally prepared to have the events of the past half hour on repeat for the rest of your day. Or the rest of your life. You are so in over your head.

Today you wore a watch, which you had checked every five minutes for the past hour. The closer it got to noon, the more wildly your mind ran in every other direction except towards your job. You and Mrs. Evans were working on the daisies today, near the east side of the manor.

“Lass, you’re stressing me out.” Your friend, Mrs. Evans, had been trying to get you to calm down for the past hour. “You’re going to have lunch with a nice young man in half an hour and that’s it. You have lunch with me every day and you ain’t never been this nervous ‘bout eating near me before.”

“Yeah, but you’re my friend, Mrs. Evans. I like Bruce. I like him more than I’ve ever liked anyone before and it’s just got me on edge a little is all.” You stood up to move your equipment to the right a little before bending back down and resuming your work.

“A little? You could sharpen an ax on your nerves today, missy.” She chuckled, taking a breather to grab her water bottle.

“When I spoke to Alfred yesterday, he practically said he thinks Bruce likes me. Nobody has ever like liked me before. I have absolutely no idea what I’m supposed to do. I have absolutely zero experience in the romance department. Zilch, nadda, nothing!” You pulled your glove down to glance at your watch again. 11:33.

“And - another thing! He’s so handsome! I doubt he’s ever met a girl who hasn’t swooned over him. I don’t want him to think I like him just because he’s got money and he’s hot.”

“Thanks… I think?”

He did it again. He had walked up behind you exactly when you said the most embarrassing thing you could have said.

“Ah, hi… Bruce…!?” You honestly couldn’t believe that this was how you were going to start off your lunch. The same way every single thing you did yesterday had gone.

He rubbed the back of his neck, apparently taking the awkward situation a little bit more smoothly than you. “I was wondering if I could help... Alfred’s still putting the finishing touches on our lunch, and I was getting tired of waiting.”

“Uh. Okay.” You tried to get your brain to move again. He wanted to help. Help with what? What were you doing a second ago? Embarrassing yourself… Um… your job. Yeah, you were pulling weeds. Okay, he wants to help pull weeds. Simple enough to teach. Okay. You got this.

“Here, use this so you don’t get your clothes dirty.” You got up to hand him your kneeling pad, but he waved it away.

“Okay, um, first things first. Take these so you can protect your hands.” You went to remove your gloves and pass them to him, but again he waved them away.

“No thanks.” He almost had a sort of pride in his voice like he was trying to prove something to you.

“Are you sure? Your hands are going to end up caked in dirt.” You weren’t quite sure what he was up to.

“Positive.”

“Fine then,” you pulled your gloves off completely and stuck them with the rest of your tools, “I can play this game too.” You grabbed the kneeling pad and placed it beside the gloves. You stretched out after having been kneeling already for a couple of hours previously, cracking your knuckles.

If he was surprised by your actions, you couldn’t tell.

“It’s on.” After a moment, his smirk faded into a confused frown. “Wait. I have no idea what we’re doing.”

“Pulling weeds?”

“Yeah, I got that, but I’ve never really…”

“It’s fine, I’ll teach you.” You plastered the first confident smile you had been in possession of around him on your face. Not everyone pulls weeds in their lifetime, and you didn’t want him to feel bad about it.

You got down on your hands and knees, motioning for him to do the same.

“Okay, so there are a few different types of weeds in here with the daises. You pointed to the different weeds. “This kind right here,” you grabbed ahold of a taller, thicker weed, “it’s extra stubborn so you really have to use your muscles.” You let go of the bigger weed and grabbed a smaller one. “And this type, it breaks off easily, so occasionally you’ll be lucky and be able to pull the whole thing out at once, but more often than not you’re going to have to dig it up roots and all while avoiding hurting the daisies.”

You looked back to him and he seemed to be following along pretty well.

“There’s a bit of clover and some wild grasses and stuff but those are quick and easy. Got it?”

He nodded, that little bit of pride still sticking to his features. “Yep.”

“If you have a question about anything just ask.” You smiled back at him. “Sometimes a random weed sneaks its way into the mix… Oh, and you can put the weeds you pull in this bucket, and when it fills up I’ll dump it into the barrel.”

“Aye aye, captain.”

You laughed a small laugh, feeling surprisingly more comfortable around him now than you had yesterday. That didn’t mean your mind wasn’t still reeling though. The moist coolness from the dirt soaked into the palm you were resting your body weight on. The smoothness of it always calming. You other hand removing intruding plants and placing them in the bucket beside you.

“Do you like flowers?” Such a stupid question, but you were slightly curious. You worked in his flowerbeds for a living for crying out loud, but that didn’t mean that he actually liked them. There was an equal chance that they were just for show.

“I don’t know.”

You hummed slightly at his response.

“I’ve never really thought about it before, but I think I’m starting to.”

Suddenly he fell backward, dirt spraying everywhere, most specifically all over both of your faces.

You couldn’t help but crack up at the sight, soil in his hair, his clothes grass stained and dirty.

He sat back up, and this time he was the one feeling embarrassed.

You reached up with the hand that was covered in the dark substance, “You’ve got a bit of dirt right here.” sliding your finger down his cheek you smirked at him, giving him a taste of his own medicine.

“Oh, really?” He dragged his finger down your nose. “Well so do you.”

His eyes diverted from you, fixing on something you couldn’t see he got up and ran to something a few feet away.

With a start, you remembered there being a wheelbarrow nearby full of soil that was going to be used for some of the surrounding flower beds.

“Oh, no you don’t!” You took off after him, but he had already beaten you to the treasure. The soil inside had gotten damp recently, and instead of plain old dirt the wheelbarrow was full of mud.

“Jackpot.” The boy had a devilish grin spread across his face.

You froze in your tracks. How were you supposed to get any ammo? He had the whole thing to himself. Unless… You decided to brave it, rushing towards the pile of mud.

*Smack*

A goopy spot of brown guk landed smack dab in the middle of your stomach. You met the eyes of the offender, but you couldn’t quite read what he was thinking. Was he concerned he had gone too far? He definitely didn’t look like he wanted to give up yet, a glop of muck in his hand ready to be launched.

You continued forward a look of pure determination hardened on your face. Another blob gloshed into your shoulder, but you continued onwards, reaching the pile of glooshy gold. You sunk your hand into the mix, pulling up a large glob of ick and hurled it back at him, catching him right where his heart would be. He faked being shot, calling out to the light, and saying not to forget him. To go on without him.

You sent another blob of nasty towards him, again in the chest. He crawled his way towards the barrow, you peppering his back with gross sploshes of mud as he made his way towards you. Slowly he pulled himself up and started flinging mud at you again. You grabbed some and rubbed it into his hair, and he returned the favor.

He took off sprinting again, you following behind. Both of your laughs echoing through the air. He continued to the font of the property where he abruptly jumped into the fountain, splashing you furiously. You followed suit, trying to aim for the face. Out of nowhere, he managed to tackle you and you both fell into the water, completely soaked from head to toe. You were both laughing so hard that you just laid there in the water, breathing heavy and grinning like idiots.

[shewhowantsmouseears]

The Son Of Scheherazade, 9

Notes: As always, big thanks to my amazing editors Drucilla and BlueShifted!

Welcome to the "breather" arc, a filler meant for hilarity before we dive back into the plot. Donald's reaction to Panchito's and Jose's... enthusiasm is kind of like one of those anime cliches where the girl becomes so embarrassed she runs away with her hands on her face. Embrace popularity, Don.

Another anime cliche I had in mind was with Minnie and Lotus Blossom - you remember those old-school anime where rival girls would fire lightning from their eyes? Poor Mickey.

For those not in the know, Lotus Blossom is a comics-only character. Sometimes friend, sometimes foe, always a pain in the butt.

Summary: With Mickey's confidence at an all-time high, he's about to learn arrogance has its price. He's also about to have his first date... but it's not with Minnie!

Mickey would never call himself a patient person, but he was currently waiting calmly in front of Clarabelle and Horace's room with a smile on his face. Panchito and José were at his side, struggling to be as composed as Mickey was and failing, judging by their incessant tapping of feet and fingers itching on Panchito's guitar. Minnie was napping in her lamp – at least, that's what Mickey assumed she was doing, since he didn't see any other purpose for being in there. He definitely wouldn't have guessed Minnie was rolling around trying to handle all the confusing feelings and questions swirling around in her mind.

“Almost done!” Clarabelle's voice called out from inside. “Why, you won't even recognize Donald when I'm done with him.”

“It's not that big a difference, for crying out loud,” said Horace, who was no doubt earning a smack from his wife. Donald could be heard chuckling quietly, which made Mickey pleased beyond measure.

Ever since Donald had first climbed onboard, he had followed Mickey around like a baby bird imprinting on its mother. Mickey hadn't minded at all, happy to show Donald all around the ship and properly reintroduce him to everyone. Donald had been nervous to express any of his natural feelings, out of fear for his powers, but with every passing day he allowed more and more of his real self to emerge. It had finally culminated in him timidly asking Clarabelle for a favor, which she cheerfully obliged.

“And...there! What do you think, Donald?” Clarabelle asked.

A moment of silence followed, and then the doorknob twisted. Donald opened the door and stepped into the hallway, revealing the “big change” - Clarabelle had snipped away his ponytail, and smoothed down his feathers, giving him a much more humble and natural look. It highlighted all the other changes that had taken place since his arrival – the bags under his eyes were gone, and now his stomach was fuller, since he'd been given proper meals and attention. Mickey mused that Donald now looked more like a handsome prince than he did when he thought he was royalty.

“What do you guys think?” Donald asked, scratching his cheek shyly.

“It doesn't matter what we think,” Mickey replied, a hand to his heart. “What matters is what you think, Donald! This is your life now, after all.”

Donald took a moment to consider this, and nodded. “In that case...I like it! I kinda feel more free. Like a burden's off my shoulders! And I'm going to wear different clothing too! No more tight, frilly, fancy stuff! I'm even going to choose my favorite color and everything. I'm a whole new man!” He proudly put his hands on his hips, ready to strut his stuff, when he realized Panchito and José were staring at him dumbly. “...What's with them?”

Mickey raised an eyebrow. “Probably something very silly. Watch yourself.”

Panchito suddenly slammed his hand downwards, creating a loud chord with his guitar, then pointed up in a dramatic fashion. “José!”

“Panchito!” José called back, holding his umbrella out in the same manner a knight would brandish their sword.

“Long have we searched this world for the very thing that has been missing from our souls!”

“Yes, we who are two, we have been incomplete! But we could not tell what we lack!”

“But you who understand me so deeply, you now know what I know, and so you know now!”

“I know now and now know more than anything else I ever known!”

“Can you put a name to this feeling in my heart, the one that calls out in this moment?”

“Of course I can, for I feel it in the very depths of my soul! Say it, my friend, say it!”

Donald was about to ask what in the world they were going on about, when Panchito latched himself onto Donald's left arm. “This can only be... love! Our third caballero!”

José snatched the right arm. “Love and love only! I implore you, dear Donald, to be with us forever and ever!”

Donald's entire face began to redden, and the sunlight that was pouring through the windows began to intensify to a blazing degree. “Wuh-wuh-WHAT ARE YOU TWO TALKING ABOUT?!” Oh, this was the feeling called embarrassment.

“I think they like you,” Mickey said mildly, by now used to the bird's bizarre antics.

“We love him!” Panchito agreed, pressing his cheek to Donald's. “Come, we shall drink and be merry and make you a part of our life forevermore!”

“We shall sing songs and dance and introduce you to everything about this world we live in!” José took the other cheek. “We shall be your constant companions, your loyal servants, your wingmen! … See, it's funny, because we're birds.”

Donald, who had never heard a genuine compliment in his whole life, was wholly unprepared for the instant adoration thrust upon him. He covered his face with his hands and ran down the hallway, with the two nutjobs giving chase. “WAUUUUGH!”

“Look at how fast he goes, José, already bragging about his superior speed!”

“Praise be unto Donald, for he is mighty and amazing in all he does!”

Horace finally poked his head out of the doorway. “Oh, that's going to be fun to adjust to.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

Mickey chuckled nervously, unsure if he should help or not. “Well, at least they won't constantly be asking for stories from me anymore.” He had been delaying that every chance he got, knowing he had nothing in his head that could compare to his mother's marvelous imagination. “I just hope Donald's emotions don't crash the ship before we land. How long until we reach Khade Town?”

With the crew having to adjust to another member, especially one with potentially destructive powers, Goofy had deemed it necessary to make a stop at nearby town to get extra supplies. “Should be less than an hour!” the captain himself declared, walking down the hallway, having just barely dodged the parade of birds that were now running up and down the ship. “We should be done in a day or two, maybe even shorter if we don't run into any distractions.”

“Like Mickey picking up another friend,” Clarabelle continued, giving Mickey a small smirk.

Mickey crossed his arms defensively. “It's not my fault we keep running into people who need our help! Besides, Minnie and Donald are going to help us out in my journey to get my parents back. Maybe we could even find another helpful person in the town!”

“Look kid,” Horace walked out of the room. “I'll admit, so far your knack of chronic hero syndrome has worked out for the better... but it's not always gunna be that way. Sometimes we can't save everyone, and sometimes not everyone deserves saving. You gotta be ready for people to take advantage of that big heart of yours.”

“I think I can take care of myself pretty darn well.” Mickey turned his head away. Shoot, he'd already been in some epic battles and used his strength and smarts to get out of them. He could take on any challenge that headed his way! And even better, his victories had nothing to do with him being the Son of Scheherazade. His heart would never steer him wrong! He was the hero of the story, and the hero was always right!

“We shouldn't run into too much trouble,” Goofy interrupted, trying to stop an argument from occurring. “It's a pretty small town... the only notable thing about it is a shrine to some gods from the north. Other than that, it's your average, run-of-the-mill kinda place. So we probably won't find anyone in life-threatening danger or folks with magical powers or villains with evil schemes to take over the world.”

“Boy, wouldn't that be nice,” Horace groaned.

“Don't be such a coward, Horace!” Mickey held his chin up, and began to head back to his room, full of confidence and swagger. “We can take on anything that comes our way! I ain't afraid of anything!” If he had heard this line of dialogue from one of his mother's stories, he would have immediately assumed that the hero of that tale was going to eat his words by the story's end. But now Mickey was drunk on his own spirit, unable to conceive his own failings. He was the hero who rescued the genie, who freed the prince of storms!

What could the world toss at him that he couldn't handle?

~*~

The ship “landed” a few miles outside of the town, anchored in by small rocky mountains. Once again, Pluto stayed behind to guard the ship, and the rest of the crew was split into groups. Panchito and José insisted on showing Donald around, and Donald allowed it if they stopped singing for several seconds. Goofy, Clarabelle, and Horace would be the second group, and Mickey and Minnie would be the last group – although Horace objected to this, insisting Mickey should stay with him, due to his attitude.

“I don't need a babysitter,” Mickey insisted as the groups walked into town, the birds already going in a different, loud direction. “Tell 'em, Minnie, didn't I do great at Donald's kingdom?”

Minnie gave him a curt look. “Is that a wish?” She had quickly settled back into her snide routine, not wanting to entertain the warm, weird thoughts the last adventure had brought her. Okay, so, Mickey was a decent enough fellow, but that just meant his darkness was hiding deeper than most people's did. He was not an exceptional, extraordinary being. Sure, maybe he was the tiniest bit clever, and perhaps the smallest bit generous, but in the end he would be the same as all her other masters. Not that she cared when this happened. Because she didn't. At all. Just like she didn't care how much Mickey was so-called “in love” with her, which he wasn't, he just liked her looks, and not her personality, because genies don't have personalities, they are tools, and so by that logic, Mickey didn't really love her and so Minnie really didn't care SHE ABSOLUTELY DID NOT CARE SO STOP TALKING ABOUT IT.

Mickey rolled his eyes, oblivious to Minnie's inner nonsense. “Thanks, Minnie.” He would have explained further, but his big black ears picked up an odd sound.

It was something the others didn't pick up on, especially Horace. “Kid, I'm just trying to look out for you.” He closed his eyes, drawing upon years of experience. “You've been cooped up in a palace all your life, so you don't know the cruelties of the world! In a year's time, I bet you'll be thanking me for all my help. All you have to do is... he ran off while I was talking, didn't he.”

“Yes, yes he did.” Minnie pointed to the cloud of dust that had once been Mickey.

“Kid's gunna age me twenty years,” Horace groaned.

“Aw, let's just go shopping like we planned!” Goofy insisted. “We gotta buy some lemons so we don't get sky-scurvy.”

As Clarabelle yelled at Goofy for the tenth time that sky-scurvy was not something that existed, Minnie took it upon herself to look for her wayward master. What had distracted him?

The rapid sound of footsteps, that's what – Mickey had weaved himself through an open alleyway, and that's when he caught the origin of the sound. Three burly, tall, masked men were chasing a young woman who was carrying a wrapped bundle in her arms. Startled villagers ducked out of the way, frightened by the display.

“Get back here!” One of the men shouted, full of anger and spit. “There's nowhere you can run!”

Mickey instantly decided he knew what was happening – those three bullies were trying to rob that woman! So much for peace, quiet, and boredom. Looks like it was time for the Son of Scheherazade – no, Mickey the Hero, to write another exciting chapter! He looked around the area, trying to think of a solution – as much as he wanted to leap into the heap of battle, he didn't like the odds of one against three. The entire group was coming up, and if he didn't act fast, they'd all pass him.

What could he do, what could he use? He quickly surveyed the area – a humble food market, full of yummy fruits and vegetables, such as bananas, apples, and oranges – round oranges! Mickey ripped off a satchel of coins from his belt. “Hope this'll pay for everything!” He shouted to the shopkeep who had probably hidden inside by now, and he tossed the satchel inside the building – before taking out his scabbard and hacking away the legs of the fruit stand, causing it to crack and break, sending the oranges spilling into the street.

The timing had been perfect – the woman managed to avoid the spill, but the three men now found themselves tripping and rolling over the mess beneath their feet.

“Hey!”

“Whoa!”

“Dude, I JUST washed my robes this morning!”

While they tried to regain their balance, Mickey dashed ahead to the woman's side, having an idea for one more trick. “Here, this way!” He grabbed her wrist, which is when she finally noticed him, giving him a surprised, puzzled expression. He pulled her into another alleyway, spun her around, dipped her low, and took off one of her pointy yellow sandals, and then chucked the shoe across the street. Once the action was done, he held up a finger for silence, while the woman blinked at him. Mickey would later realize she had been awfully calm all the while.

The trio of attackers managed to finally find their footing, catching up to the alleyway. The leader of the group stopped them, pointing at the shoe. “Look! She must have gone this way!”

“Excellent finding, bro-ski. Don't worry, we'll find her!” said the smallest of the group.

“Only when we find ourselves, can we find another,” said the largest of the group.

They then took off ahead, believing they were right on their victim's tail. Mickey waited until he could no longer see them to let go of the girl – to be frank he wasn't sure how much longer he could have held her, given that she was two heads taller than he was. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, he could get a good look at her.

She was a pretty thing, he supposed, the kind of prettiness that other men would find beautiful but simply not Mickey's type. Her long black hair was tied up in a high ponytail with bright orange flowers, and a pair of golden earrings hung in round circles, rocking back and forth whenever she moved her head. Her deep blue top had yellow lining, exposing her pale arms that apparently could carry heavier things than one would think, given how large the bundle in those arms was. Her blue dress had noticeable slits that revealed shapely long legs. Curious dark eyes studied him, and she finally smiled, curling a lose hair behind her small ear. “You saved my life!”

Mickey placed his sword back in its scabbard. “Aw, it was nothing.” He replied with a puff of his chest. “It's just what us heroes are made to do. Are you all right?”

“I am now, thanks to you.” She held the wrapped bundle close to her chest. “I was trying to get my precious family heirloom home, when those thugs corned me! I thought I was a goner until you arrived! May I know the name of my brave hero!”

“I am Prince Mickey, the Son of Scheherazade!” Mickey only realized what he'd said when it was too late, and he resisted the urge to slap his forehead. “But... uh... just 'Mickey' will do.” Shoot. He was so conditioned to that title it came out as natural as breathing.

The woman's eyes took on an intense glitter. “Prince?” she repeated, before putting the heirloom on the ground and bowing low, hands on the ground. “I am not worthy to be in your presence, your highness.”

“What?!” Mickey jumped, and then raced over to grab her hands. “No, no, stop that! It's not like that at all! You don't have to do anything like that! I just wanted to help you, I don't want any special treatment.”

“Please forgive me, then... I have never been with someone so important.” The woman didn't pull her hands away from Mickey's. “My name is Lotus Blossom. How can I ever repay you for your kindness?”

“I don't need any kind of payment, really!” Mickey now tried pulling his hands away, but my, she had an awfully tight grip on him. “Listen, Lotus, if those guys are still out and about, maybe I should walk you home so they can't get their hands on you.”

“Your generosity truly knows no bounds, Mickey. But now I carry a burden with me, if you can't allow me the simple act of returning a kindness. How will I sleep at night with this guilt? Can't I be allowed one simple thing?” She raised a hand to touch his cheek, leaning in and lightly whimpering.

“Ah... well...” When she put it that way, it did seem harder to deny her. “I... I guess if you really want to, it'd be rude if I said no. Doesn't have to be anything big, though.”

“Oh, thank you, your highness!” Lotus suddenly threw her arms around Mickey, drawing him close to her plump chest. Mickey jerked, but he didn't want to insult her by backing up. His cheeks burned, and he tried to patiently wait out the hug and praise, eyes darting around for a proper place to rest his eyes. Like the sky, or the walls, or Minnie -

… Or Minnie standing in the alleyway staring at Mickey as he was pushed into the bosom of a pretty woman.

“NOTWHATITLOOKSLIKENOTWHATITLOOKSLIKE-” Mickey yelled loudly, his words so smashed together that no one understood what it was he was trying to say, jumping backwards and landing on his butt. Forget Mortimer the Magnificent or Donald's storms, this was as close to death as he ever felt!

Lotus frowned, and then looked in the direction Mickey was flailing at. “...Can we help you?” Her sweet voice now turned sour.

Minnie looked at Lotus, looked Mickey, then back to Lotus. “I was merely searching for my Master, and I have found him. That's all.” An average onlooker wouldn't have noticed the fire in Minnie's eyes or the aura of wrath all around her, but Mickey sure did, and he hoped one of the laws the genies had to follow was to not murder their masters. “Come, Master, we should return to the duties the Captain gave us.”

“Uh,” said Mickey, which for the moment all he was capable of saying.

“Right now?” Lotus put her attention back on Mickey, taking his hand with both of hers. “But I haven't properly thanked you yet! And what about those vicious men who are after me? You said you would help me.”

“Uh,” said Mickey again.

“My Master has his orders to follow, and can't afford to waste any time helping every single person he meets.” Minnie began to walk towards Mickey, and grabbed his other hand. “I'm sure this woman can find her own way home. She is an adult, not a child.”

“Uhhh.”

“Why yes, I am.” Lotus smiled, with a hint of fang to it. “Are you saying you're an adult too? I'm surprised, since you certainly have the body of a child...”

“UHHH.”

Now Minnie was glaring hellfire at Lotus and got it back in turn. “My looks have nothing to do with my Master returning to where he is supposed to be!”

“If he really is your master, then he should be able to make his own decisions, shouldn't he? You sound awfully bossy for a slave.”

“And you sound awfully attached for someone he just met. Why can't you find someone else to take you home?”

“He saved my life, of course I trust him!”

“He saves everyone's life, that's what he does!”

“Why don't you back off, tiny?”

“WHY DON'T YOU BACK OFF?!”

“WHY DON'T YOU MAKE ME?!”

Mickey had finally gathered enough bravery and strength to whistle high enough so both women stopped. “Listen... I have no idea what you two are doing, but that's gotta stop.” He cleared his throat, starting over. “Yes, I do have duties to fulfill, but Lotus Blossom was in trouble. I can't ignore people when they need help! And she says she won't be comfortable unless she repays me. So I'll take her home, and then she can repay me, and then I'll return to my duties. Everyone okay with that?”

Minnie “hmph”ed, but then glanced away. “...I suppose it is a matter of honor.”

Lotus clapped. “Wonderful, we're all in agreement! And I know exactly how to repay you, your highness! It will be something you and I both enjoy! And it's the only thing I want to give you, so you can't say no.” Was it Minnie's imagination or did this sound rather planned and rehearsed?

Mickey merely nodded. “Sounds fair. So, what is it?”

Lotus took Mickey's hand again for a big squeeze. “A date!”

“... A date?” Mickey repeated in disbelief.

“A date?” Minnie repeated in equal lack of belief.

“A date!” Lotus finished, now standing up and gathering the heirloom into her arm. “Oh, it'll be so much fun! We'll have a great time together! A hero and the damsel in distress he saved, together... isn't it romantic?” She then paused in her glee, noticing Mickey wasn't celebrating, and she eyed Minnie suspiciously. “Unless you two are...?”

“Oh, no, uh, she's, no.” Mickey fumbled, airily trying to gesture what he himself was barely figuring out. “She's... well... my friend? I mean, we've never... you know...?”

“I must say, that is a relief!” Lotus chirped, giggling. “There are some truly despicable masters out there.”

“NO, NO! I would never do anything like that!” Mickey said realizing what she meant, and then felt he just had to add, “I don't think I would be comfortable even kissing Minnie now.”

Now, Mickey was still trying to work out the tricks and oddities of romance. So he was fairly clueless why Minnie's jaw had dropped and she looked ready to either burst into tears or strangle him. “Comf...Comfortable?” She said shakily, her body twitching, fingers clenching. “You think the idea of kissing me is uncomfortable?”

Mickey blinked, knowing he was digging himself deeper yet unable to understand why he had the shovel. “Well, sure. Wouldn't anyone feel that way?” Lotus Blossom grinned, enjoying the show.

“Youuuu...” Minnie stretched the vowel out, shaking harder with anger. What happened to the dopey, goo-goo-eyed boy who had been drooling over her when she was on stage? Was she that repulsive now that she was a genie? What was so uncomfortable about kissing her?! Had he been uncomfortable when she kissed him on the cheek ages ago? NO SIR, THAT STUPID BOY HAD ENJOYED IT! “You, you, you...” She sucked air in through her teeth, her tail curling up behind her. “Well... I'm SO SORRY that I make you so UNCOMFORTABLE, MASTER!” Mickey had never heard her shout so loudly, and was literally floored, reeling on his back. “DON'T ALLOW ME TO MAKE YOU ANYMORE UNCOMFORTABLE! ENJOY YOUR DATE!”

Minnie then stormed off, her feet stomping so hard one could swear she was leaving footprints that would last a lifetime. Fine! FINE! Let him have his fun! He really just was like all the others! Let that harlot take him so they could cuddle and coo and KISS and have COMFORTABLE kisses! What did she matter? She was only a genie, and genies weren't supposed to entertain any thoughts about their master besides sheer obedience. It was her own fault for feeling this way.

As for Mickey, he still laid there, trying to process everything. “...Wha'happen?” he mumbled, as if he'd been run over by a wild stampede of elephants.

“I'll show you the way home!” Lotus took Mickey by the hand and began to drag him away, not caring if he ever got up to walk. “Then we can plan our date! I simply can't wait!”

Then Mickey thought the one thing no hero in a story should ever think – At least it can't get any worse.

[searchingff-blog]

CHAPTER 4: FAMILIARS

It was a Saturday night at Aces, and a new DJ was coming into the club. Gigi’s first week at the club went amazing. She already made enough in tips to pay her car payment, and half of her rent. The fast paced money is what she loved, because it's the same way she was able to afford her transition. Back then she was escorting, so bartending was a safer alternative.

“I'm lowkey still tired from last night. I don't even know why I went to IHOP after the shift with y'all. That shit is a dub tonight.” She chuckled, talking to a coworker.

The night before she joined the other bartender, and a few of the strippers for food after work. It was a good time, but she missed out on sleep. This lifestyle was something that she was going to have to get used to.

“Can I get a shot of Henny, please?”

Gigi was facing the other way when the voiced pierced her ears. It was still pretty early, even for the ones that got to the club early. When she turned around to face the male she could have sworn drool slid out the crack of her mouth.

“You good ma?” Montell asked.

This was his first night on the job, and he was a little nervous. A shot of his favorite brown was sure to get him in the right mood.

“Ummm, yeah. Uh a shot of Henny coming right up.” She shuffled around the bar as if it was her first night.

“That's Jack.” He laughed lowly along with her co-worker.

Gigi was feeling foolish now. There was no need for her to be this shook. Plenty of men came through the club, but it was something about him that rubbed her the right way. It could also be the fact that she was feigning for sexual pleasure.

Once she finally got the right liquor she poured him a shot, and passed it to him.

“Good looks. You think periodically you can send shots up to me through the night?”

“Like at your section, yeah.” She nodded.

“Nah.” He chuckled “Up to the DJ booth.”

“Ohhh, you're the DJ for tonight. Ohh okay, yeah you got it.”

He laughed, staring at her right in those hazel eyes of her’s.

“You're cute shorty. What's ya name?” He asked after throwing the shot back, and passed the glass back across the table.

“Giselle but everybody calls me Gigi.”

She fidgeted with her fingers under the bar. Het poker face was solid, but deep down she was hoping he wasn't showing her attention just so he could get served drinks all night.

“Well I ain't everybody. I'm Monty” A sly smile formed across his face.

“Nice to meet you Monty.”

“Same to you, Giselle. You just started working here?” He got comfortable on the bar stool.

“Yeah, I just moved back from Cali.”

“So you a Call girl. Hope you can handle these tough NY streets.”

“I was born and raised here. Ain't nothing gonna happen that I haven't dealt with before.”

“Ohh word, then why this my first time seeing you?” He smirked.

“Because unlike most of these girls I wasn't out here in the mix.” She giggled, getting more comfortable with him as the conversation continued.

“I fucks with good girls. They tend to be the most freakiest.” Monty was working his magic on her.

“Unfortunately, most guys don't find out because they don't know how to court anymore.”

Without a second thought he took his phone out of his pocket, and unlocked it for her.

“Save your number in my phone under whatever you want.” The gold IPhone 7 plus slid across the bar top.

Gigi picked the phone up, and entered her number. She took a second to think about what her name should be. Coming up with something corny, but cute she smiled at FUTURE BAE💦 before it was passed back.

“I'm a text you later tonight so you have it in your phone. But let me get to my booth before they start coming in. Be safe baby girl.” He left her with one more smile before he walked away.

“You need some new panties bitch?” Her co-worker played around with her, and they laughed in unison.

“Shut up.”

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

“Baby!”

Roman walked into the house earlier than usual. He wanted to surprise his wife, Hazel, since the two of them had been distant. When she had the miscarriage it put a strain on their marriage. It wasn't intentional, but she felt like less than a woman. Up until now she was able to give her husband everything that he wanted, and the one thing that he wanted most she wasn't able to. Her confidence was low, and she barely had touched or showed Roman any attention in weeks. It started to affect their connection as a couple.

“I'm up here!” She screamed from the second floor of their town home. Hazel was in the bed answering emails for work. It was what she turned to since the loss of her baby. Most of the time she didn't want to be in the house, or even in Roman's space. She felt like a disappointment, and there was a layer of embarrassment.

“How you doing baby?” He made it to their room.

“I'm good working, stressed about these parties coming up. A few artist haven't confirmed if they were going to come or not.”

He slipped off his shoes, and walked over to her side of the bed. Hoping to be off some help, he placed his hands on her shoulders. The moment he did she moved away from his touch.

“What are you doing? Can't you see I'm busy.” She rolled her eyes with irritation in the pit of her voice.

“Well damn. I'm just trying to fucking help ya ass out.” He got up from the bed, and went over to the dresser to take off his watch and other pieces of jewelry.

“Right now I have to be focused on work, and not you.”

“That's a lot lately. Surprised you remember my name.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” This was the first time she looked up from her phone.

“It means you been so into work lately that you forgot about your damn husband. I'm sure that statement was self explanatory.” He begun getting undressed.

“Well excuse the hell out of me for having a job. If I say on my ass all day, and asked you for every penny you'd call me a gold digger, so miss me with that.”

“What the fuck is ya ass talking about?” Confused was the only expression on his face.

“Nothing apparently.” She shook her head, and continued with her work.

“I'm saying I want some more attention from my wife, and you talking about gold digger and bullshit. I came into this fucking house with good energy, and you the one with a stank ass attitude. Need to fix that shit ASAP.”

She dramatically rolled her eyes and took a deposit breath. Fighting wasn't what she wanted to do right now, but that was their norm.

“Ever since the ba-”

She cut him off instantly.

“Please don't bring up my baby right now.” She'd didn't have the energy to cry today.

“Your baby? My nigga we both lost that baby, and I'm sick and tired of you acting like you're the only one who lost something.”

“Something? Wow.” She couldn't believe he just said that to her. Hazel closed her laptop, and got up from the bed.

“Uuggh, you know what I meant.” His palm hit his face, wishing he didn't use that word.

“I'm going to sleep in the guest room. Enjoy your night Roman.”

Her body started to shake, and she didn't want to break down in front of him again. As she rushed out the room she slammed the door behind her, so he didn't follow her out the room.

“So fucking stupid.” He plopped on the bed, and shook his head. Roman had foot in the mouth disease.

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

“Werk that shit bish!!”

Azure’s friends amped her up. Her besties from college drug her out the house tonight, and brought her to Aces. They were tired of her wallowing in her mother's house, and tonight it wasn't going to be the same thing. It took many shots for her to finally start dancing, and she really couldn't stop.

Her hips rocked to the beat of the song, and even if she wanted to stop she couldn't. It was either the liquor or the stranger she danced on had a big weapon in his pants. Either way, she was just happy to make someone besides herself happy. Finally her friend's pulled her off of the man, and brought her over to the bar.

“Bitch what are y'all doing? His dick felt amazing against my ass.” The three of them cracked up.

“Nope, you need to take a breather. Can we get another round of shots please.” Her friended spouted out.

“You trying to get me fucked up like y'all did on my wedding day. Fucking around I might take somebody in here home with me.” She laughed, secretly already plotting on somebody

“Still the same bitch I see.” An unknown voice was heard clearly.

Azure, and her friends looked to the right of them and was already put on guard.

“Hoe, why is you talking to me? Matter of fact why are you even worried about if I'm the same bitch or not?”

Right after Quincy, the last person she wanted to see was Zeus’ ex. After she dropped the news on her that she was pregnant with her baby back in day the two hated each other off principle.

“Because ever since you got divorced Zeus started acting crazy with me.”

Azure bursted out laughing. “Let me guess he's not fucking you no more, or not as much and you think I am.” He girls chimed in, and laughed to be petty. “Let me tell you something mama, because I'm feeling a little saucy right now I'm a be a friend to you unlike your ragged friends, and tell you that, that nigga ain't ever gonna pick you.” She shook her head.

She had a lot of animosity built up inside, and majority of it had nothing to do with Jasmine, but she was the one on the receiving end of her wrath.

“And let's just get something clear, I you think you took something from me you didn't. I walked away willingly because I just never been that bitch. I thought I was making the decision easy for him, but I guess he still didn't want your washed up a-”

Before she could finish her insult Jasmine’s fist connected with Azure's mouth, and her head shifter back. At the same time her reflexes kicked in, she grabbed a chunk of her hair, and pulled her head down to start upper cutting her. It didn't even register in her mind that both of their friends started fighting, and she don't care.

Jasmine grabbed ahold of her forty inches, and locked her arm around her neck.

“Bitch!” Azure screamed out.

She maneuvered her body to make the both of them fall onto the ground, and Azure landed on top of her. Wasting no time she started throwing hooks her way, connecting with her jaw. Finally, security was able to make it through the crowd. One big, burly man whisked Azure off of Jasmine but she still had a tight grip on her hair.

“Let go of her hair!” The security commanded, but Jasmine paid them no mind.

“Get off my hair bitch!!” Her hairstylist was smart to sew the wig down, and subconsciously she was thanking God for it.

The security was trying to pry her hands from her hair, but were failing. Luckily, one of Azure's friends was close enough to stomp her out. She got one good kick in, it did the trick, before the guards separated the group.

“You hating ass bitch! You gonna see me again hoe!”

Azure wanted round two, but knew the security wasn't going to let them go again. Her crew got escorted to the back, and she blew up Zeus’ phone. It irritated her that the first time she was calling him it had to do something with his baby mama. She was so pissed that she wanted to fuck him just to piss her off, but instead she was going back to her mother's house alone.

She missed somebody loving her.

[lyricalt]

[ovw]  carry

Rating: T Pairing: mcgenji Note: Pre-relationship, flirting, pining, Recall.  A kinda dumb warm-up.

(Now on [AO3])

The trouble with always finding the high ground is the possibility for a very long fall back down. Genji hasn’t been keeping an eye on McCree, though he has been aware of McCree’s revolver falling suspiciously silent for the last three minutes. This leaves Genji with a little more enemies than he cares to fight by himself, but it’s only been three minutes. There must not be any stairs for McCree to climb.

He ducks behind a car to reload a new set shuriken, make sure his swords are still within easy reach, and take a quick breather to set a new rhythm. His gaze flits upwards, sweeping over ledges and balconies. He is annoyed to find them all clear.

A whistling rocket flies above him. Genji sees that. It crashes into the building behind him, the shattering debris forcing him to leap out from cover and into incoming gunfire. He distantly feels the sidewalk shake from the impact, making his footsteps skip over the ground before he can stand proper, but he cannot afford to stay still for long. He draws his sword and goes for the mercenary with the rocket launcher.

Seven more mercenaries move to intercept Genji, his beeline charge across the street towards his target too obvious and brazen. Genji deflects the first wave of bullets, gets a knife lodged into his armor where his left clavicle should have been, and puts three shuriken into the neck of the last man standing between him and the mercenary with the rocket launcher.

Genji’s HUD flashes several warnings once the point of the missile is directed his way. A dozen suggested escape routes scroll over his screen, his mind rejecting each one faster than he can blink the commands through the interface. He has no time to clear the screen, knowing he is surrounded on all sides with a rocket pointed to his chest.

Genji stomps his foot down, crossed, though he has enough discretion to make it look as if he is only backing away. “I have lined them up,” he mutters.

The mercenary’s eyes snap upwards, away from Genji. The rocket pointing at Genji shifts, but Genji has no time to stop it, letting it fire over his head. The shrieking audio input renders him deaf for the five seconds it takes to lunge for the mercenary, sword driving deep into the man’s abdomen while the second blade slashes across the throat. He knows where the mercenary had aimed the rocket, why it had been directed behind him instead of his head.

Genji doesn’t get to hear McCree’s shots over his ringing ears, but he turns around to take quick note of the six dead bodies before he starts sprinting back.

His audio sensors come back online in time to hear the rocket’s impact into the opposite balcony.

This, he thinks, jumping over fallen slabs of concrete and giant cracked asphalt—this is why the high ground is troublesome.

McCree is silent when he falls from the exploding balcony. Genji can see his hands reach out to grab onto a ledge, but it’s already crumbling into pieces. His hand slips, and McCree becomes a blur of vivid red in the air, serape fluttering in the wind.

Genji dives across the broken sidewalk, arms outstretched before he can stop himself.

There is nothing quite like catching a hundred kilograms of armor and cowboy. A second later, and Genji ends up on ground, surrounded by rubble, and McCree in his lap. His cybernetics are not pleased by the impact, sounding out critical warnings—something about strain and arm damage—but Genji is happy enough when his hands still have enough control to tighten his grip as he sits up.

“McCree?” Dust and broken glass spills off them both. Genji lays his hand over McCree’s eyes to block most of it from getting on his face. When he removes his hand, McCree stares back, eyes wide and dazed. Blood from his forehead trails down his face, dripping to his beard.

Genji flicks McCree’s hat upwards, which has a miraculous habit of staying on against all odds. The quick movement causes McCree to blink and lift a hand to his head to tip his hat back into place. He looks up at Genji.

“This is embarrassing. I think I might’ve swooned,” McCree finally says, breathless.

It’s more likely from whatever head injury McCree has taken from falling, but Genji huffs. “And why not? Is this not impressive?”

McCree gives him an unfocused look that appears vaguely sick and very concussed.

“Hm. Perhaps I will ask again later,” Genji says. He shifts a little, testing his legs as McCree starts to wiggle in his arms.

“I can still walk, it’s—oh. Oh, well, alrighty then.”

McCree weak protests die out once Genji stabilizes himself on his own two feet. He has one arm beneath McCree’s legs and the other around his mid-back. For a moment, McCree doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, making a few abortive movements before he resolutely hooks his metal arm around Genji’s neck and presses closer to their center of gravity. It helps. Genji assumes a man of McCree’s size and disposition doesn’t get to be carried very often, much less in a hold that is, for all intents and purposes, a princess carry.

But McCree doesn’t say anything and Genji doesn’t mind for now. He starts walking. Their rendezvous point with Winston and Reinhardt is nearly two blocks away.

“I will make you walk the last block,” Genji says, snickering.

McCree’s arms loosen around Genji’s neck. He frowns. “You ain’t gotta carry me at all.”

His tone isn’t the usual mocking whine or sharp teasing they frequently exchange. Genji looks down at McCree, but McCree’s gaze is elsewhere, watching behind Genji’s back and all around them. He looks solemn, though it suddenly occurs to Genji that McCree has never liked feeling incapacitated or useless. He supposes not much has changed since Blackwatch.

“Ah,” McCree says, sounding relieved. He points at some spot to their left. “My gun.”

He sounds apologetic but Genji hitches him higher and jogs lightly to where McCree had pointed. His cybernetics makes it easier to keep McCree in his arms, but they are both acutely aware that there are better ways to carry an injured man. Better ways that are less entertaining, though. Genji wonders how long McCree will last before his pride gives out.

The gun is, predictably, on the ground. They exchange amused looks with each other before McCree sweeps his free hand out in invitation.

“Now I usually don’t like another person touching my gun, but if you do a squat for me I’ll be very impressed,” McCree drawls.

“No, you can do it yourself,” Genji says, fond, and drops McCree on the ground.

This is how they discover the metal shard in McCree’s right ankle, and how McCree ends up sprawled on the pavement again with Genji crouched over him.

“How did you not notice it?” Genji asks, once McCree’s muffled cursing is over with. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Had a lot on my mind at the time,” McCree says testily. He glances at Genji and prods his chestplate. “And you’ve got a knife sticking outta your left clavicle.”

Genji pulls out the knife while McCree takes care of the metal shard embedded through his boot. They both mutter, though Genji is happy to hear that McCree’s pained grunt had been louder.

With their most serious injuries taken care of, McCree reaches over to grab Peacekeeper, slowly getting to his feet. Genji does a few quick stretches to shake out the soreness, alloyed arms scraping against their new dents, and stands as well. He turns to McCree, surprised to find the other man already at his shoulder.

“Ready?” McCree asks. His expression is a good mix of expectant and resigned.

Genji pauses, uncomprehending, before he realizes what McCree is waiting for.

“Oh. You still want to be carried?” Genji asks, slightly taken aback. He holds out his arms.

Many things happen at once, though the most fascinating one is the color washing over McCree’s face before he ducks his head. Genji stares, expecting a smart quip or sarcastic remark from him—and it’d be easy to make one since it’s all they do, most of the time—but McCree only steps back with his sad limping right ankle and puts his hands up.

“Uh, um,” says McCree, waving them uselessly. He tugs his hat down over his eyes. “Oh, I just thought, uh-”

Flustered. The word pops up in Genji’s mind like one of his HUD warnings. McCree is flustered, which in turn makes Genji a little embarrassed as well.

“It is perfectly fine to enjoy being carried like a princess,” he says, adopting Zenyatta’s kind tone. He has gotten very good at mimicking it. “By me, especially. Anyone would understand.”

McCree throws him a mean look. He is still red to his ears, but he at least he’s stopped trying to wring his revolver to pieces. With one metal arm, he might actually succeed.

“Genji,” he says evenly, “Shut your mouth.”

“You cannot see it.”

“Oh, for cryin’ out—ugh.”

Grinning, Genji sweeps McCree off his feet in a manner very befitting of a princess. He manages a small mocking spin, cut short by one of McCree’s stupidly long legs hitting a crooked streetlamp. It is the injured one, of course.

“Fuck you, fuck Recall,” McCree hisses, grip on Genji tightening. “Shoulda never answered you people.”

Genji laughs, stumbling as McCree shifts his weight, but it only causes them to knock heads with each other, McCree’s warm breath fogging the corner of Genji’s vision before he sways back. Genji regains his footing and continues to walk.

“I think,” McCree begins, leaning in to glare, “you want to carry me.”

The blood is beginning to dry on McCree’s face, clumping his eyelashes and staining his teeth. Genji becomes very conscious of McCree’s broken nose just inches from his mouth. It’s his helmet. It confuses people on where they should look or meet his eyes. Genji bounces McCree in his arms, jostling him to sink lower into his hold. The top of McCree’s hat brushes harmlessly beneath Genji’s chin, and McCree’s stare becomes hidden beneath the brim. Better.

“Woah now,” McCree says, clinging harder, hand going to Genji’s neck. His thumb brushes the rim of Genji’s faceplate.

It’s the helmet again. There’s no sense of space. Genji thinks he may have miscalculated the move after all.

“You are walking the last block,” he says, whether to remind himself or McCree is up for debate.

McCree scoffs. “Carry me some other way then.”

“Hm,” Genji says thoughtfully, as his HUD flashes a red warning, and McCree goes dropping from his critically damaged arms once again.

Later, Winston asks, “Why didn’t you two call us earlier?”

Reinhardt’s huge arms are more suitable for carrying any amount of people. Genji is fairly certain Reinhardt can fit four more occupants within his embrace, but he is too exhausted to ask, and Reinhardt’s arms are very comfortable despite the armor. His body twitches, drained cybernetics making it difficult to even shrug his opinion.

“Listen,” McCree begins, nestled within Winston’s fur. He doesn't get to finish, too muffled by Winston’s hand going over his face as he leaps into the air to get McCree back to base. His hat doesn’t fly off, for some reason.

Meanwhile, Reinhardt booms into Genji’s ear, “I admire your perseverance! Very noble of you to carry a comrade back to safety.”

“Yes,” Genji agrees, voice growing fainter as he hears Reinhardt’s charging engine start to fire. He has seen that thing in action, usually against enemies. His grip on Reinhardt attempts to tighten, but his arms dangle uselessly over his chest, all his energy spent from carrying McCree.

“Are you ready, friend?”

“Yes,” Genji says, just to get it over with.

“I think I may have swooned,” Genji admits to McCree, laying in the next bed over, once they have both woken up in the medbay.

“Y’see?” McCree says.

[the-kings-tail-fin]

Short fic on Sally,Flo and Lynda all having a girls day together in RS and they all have so much fun together exploring the town and talking about their husbands and the crazy things they've all done?

YES. GOOD PROMPT, ANON. GOOD PROMPT.

“Do you think they ever get tired of just driving around in circles all day?” Sally asked. “They’ve been at it for almost an hour.”

The entire town was parked beside the dirt track at Willy’s Butte watching Doc, Strip, and Lightning fly around the oval over and over again. They weren’t really racing, just enjoying each other’s company and trying to best each other in friendly competition. Three generations of racers having fun.

“You’d be surprised.” Lynda told her. 

“Watchin’ them drive like that is starting to make my mind go ‘round in circles.” Flo added. “You girls wanna go for a drive? Get away for a little while?”

“Yeah, sure!” Lynda happily agreed.

“Absolutely.” Sally smiled.

They left everyone else watching the “race” and headed back to town. Radiator Springs was peacefully quiet with everyone gone. It was beautiful. They drove down the freshly paved road and looked at all the empty buildings as they went by.

“Do you think they’ll ever have businesses in them again?” Sally asked, feeling a bit sentimental about the town she never truly got to see.

“In time, sweetheart.” Flo assured her. “People just gotta recognize that we’re back on the map!”

“This all brings back a lot of memories.” Lynda commented, looking around. “I grew up in a town a lot like this.”

“I thought you seemed like a small town girl.” Flo winked at her. 

They turned right out of town and headed for the vista. The long stretch of open road before them seemed to beg to be driven on. They found themselves gradually going faster and faster as they entered the forest.

“Woo, I ain’t got over 40 miles an hour in years.” Flo exclaimed with a smile on her face. “I forgot how good this feels!”

“Come on, Flo, give it what you got!” Sally encouraged, slowing herself so as to not outrun the two older cars. “It’ll be fun!”

Flo sped up little by little, but slowed drastically for the turns. “Girl, I can’t take these corners like I used to.”

“Then try this.” Lynda suggested as they rounded the corner before the straight stretch that ran beside the lake. She gunned it and shot past Sally in a flash. Flo watched her, smiled a little, and did the same. Unsure that they were behaving in their best interests, Sally quickly sped up to keep up with them. She knew she could handle the speed, but the other two? They weren’t built to be sporty or fast, to her knowledge.

On the other side of the pond, Lynda slowed down and let Flo catch up.

“Dang, honey, you’re hiding some serious power!” Flo complimented her. “That inner derby girl is still kickin’!”

“Oh, now.” Lynda smiled and rolled her eyes a little, downplaying it. “It’s nothin’.”

“Mm-hm.” Flo saw straight through her. “I know a Hemi when I hear one.”

They drove up the road on the side of the mountain and stopped for a breather at the overlook by Wheel Well. Sally of course had to show them her favorite place, as even Flo never really went out of town. They sat there and appreciated the view in silence for a long time.

Out of the blue, Flo lets out a warm laugh and sighs. “Did I ever tell y’all the story of how my first date with Ramone played out?”

“No, do tell.” Sally replied.

Flo laughed again. “I was in town with my Motorama girls and suddenly this low rider comes up to me. And boy, let me tell you, he was a smooth talker. And I was used to that sort of thing, but my Ramone was on a whole ‘nother level. Within a matter of hours, he had me sittin’ next to him at a table in the local cafe. 

“We were havin’ such a good time, just talking about anything under the sun, but then some pickup truck that no one knew showed up and tried to talk to me, buy me drinks. Ramone got real defensive, let me tell you. He gets up, raises up on his hydraulics, and gets in the truck’s face. I’d never heard such lewd Spanish insults in my life!

“The pickup wasn’t gonna tolerate it, though. Seconds later they were out on the streets, havin’ a knock-down-drag-out. The entire town was watchin’, and I was embarrassed, more than anything. I just wanted it to end. So what did I do? I stepped in. That truck was layin’ on his side in no time, completely confused. He’d just gotten his tailpipe handed to him by a show girl.

“After that, Ramone told me it was best if we go out of town for a while, and he took me up here to watch the stars come out. That’s when I decided I couldn’t leave.”

“Aww.” Lynda commented. “That’s wonderful, Flo.”

“Ramone never really struck me as a fighter.” Sally pondered. “I guess there’s a time and place for everything, though.”

“Sure is, honey.” Flo confirmed with enthusiasm. “How about you girls? Got any good stories?”

Sally and Lynda both moaned in unison, and then looked at each other and laughed a little. They knew the pain of having a racer as a significant other.

“I don’t even know where to start.” Lynda muttered.

“You know, The King doesn’t really strike me as the type to really get into trouble or do anything spontaneous.” Sally told her. 

“Maybe not now, but we were young once.” Lynda elaborated. “He would go to ridiculous lengths to try and impress me, even though he didn’t need to. We were already dating. Whether it was winning some race, or getting me something elaborate, it didn’t matter. He always wanted to do better and one-up his previous attempt.

“I remember one time I got mad at him for gettin’ himself hurt one night at a race. The accident could’ve been avoided had he not been showing off. I’d told him over and over that he needed to stop trying so hard. He just wasn’t gettin’ the point. It’s kinda funny lookin’ back at it, ‘cause I don’t really know why I was so furious at the time, but I really laid into him when I found him by his sponsor’s tent afterwards. And then I left. I just left him there without saying another word.

“By the time I got home, I felt guilty as all get out. I knew I should’ve handled it better, but I was still too emotional to try and apologize. Two days went by and I didn’t hear from him. Typically, he’d call at least once a day. Lord, I missed him. I’d made up my mind to go to his next race, and try to find him and apologize. 

“I never got the chance to. One night, real late, my doorbell rang, and it was him. The sprinkler in the yard was raining water down on him and he just looked so sad. And he tried to apologize to me. I told him it was me that needed to apologize. We made up and it was fine. We’d finally reached an understanding. But I later found out he’d waited outside for nearly ten minutes before ringing the doorbell, waiting for that darn sprinkler to rotate and give the illusion it was raining on him. I wanted to smack him.”

“That’s hilarious, actually.” Sally laughed a little. “I would never have dreamed he’d do something like that.”

“Oh, he’d deny it now.” Lynda assured her. “But what about you, Sally? Surely you’ve got something to add.”

“Ugh.” Sally rolled her eyes. “The town might’ve gotten rid of Sticker’s cocky attitude, but he’s still over-confident. I kid you not, two weeks ago, he comes into the Cozy Cone and tells me he’s got something to show me. Something about Doc showed him a new trick.

“He takes me out to the track and tells me to watch. He just takes off and makes a couple laps, nothing special. But then, according to him, anyway, he sees a snake cross the track and freaks out. He tries to avoid it, but gets loose in the dirt. Ends up flying straight at Willy’s Butte, and he can’t stop or change direction.

“He ramps off of a smaller rock, hits the side of the butte and comes to a standstill resting on a ledge on his rear bumper, straight up and down, nose in the air and everything. Can’t move at all. So, of course I rush over there to see if he’s okay, and he is, except for his ego. I couldn’t reach him to help so I had to go get Red and Mater to tip him back over on his wheels. I still don’t know what it is he wanted to show me. He refuses to talk about it.”

“A good time, maybe?” Flo giggled a little.

“Maybe he just wanted to impress you with his spontaneous endo skills.” Lynda laughed.

“I don’t know. It doesn’t make any sense to me.” Sally sighed. “I don’t think he’ll ever make sense.”

“Oh, they never do, sweetheart.” Flo assured her. “It don’t matter how long you’re around them, they’ll always manage to do something that just blows your mind and makes you reconsider your life.”

“Gotta love ‘em anyway.” Lynda added.

[eclissy]

I stress wrote about the time a 5* Donnel in the 8th stratum almost wiped my team (Chrom 5*, Hinoka 5*, Jeorg 4*, Narcian 4*) to break from exam studying. 

Chrom sneezed at the enemy troubadour and they exploded.

Not literally but they did break a few ribs on their way down to the ground. The rest of their team was faring no better.

Farther down river, Chrom’s three other allies were getting rid of the last of the hapless foes.

“Milady, Hai-knocka,” Narcian ran his garishly gloved hand through his hair, his voice making all of the blood in the Princess’ head drain down to her knees. “As the power behind the group, I’ve come to realize that you must be growing bored of watching me mow down the vermin.”

Next to Hinoka, Jeorg picked off two lancers with his bow and arrows, leaving a young boy with a pot on his head shivering all alone.

“I’ll let you handle the brat,” Narcian chuckled, tossing his bangs back. “Don’t hesitate to ask for help, your highness. My dashing beauty and strength—“He made a sweeping bow. “–is all yours.”

Hinoka couldn’t believe it. The gaudy wyvern rider was making her hate the color red. As for Jeorge, he was beginning to feel sorry for the poor nobility that Narcian served. Unfortunately, both knew that they had to clench their teeth and cooperate with this mess of a man for the greater good.

Narcian had his wyvern land on the bridge, trapping the little pot-head boy between him and dense forest. The Hoshidan Princess shared a forced stoic look with Jeorge before having her Pegasus fly across the river, hearing Chrom and the Summoner return as she did.

“Donnel?” Chrom spotted one of his shepherds trying his best to hide behind his thin-as-paper lance. “Did the Emblians get you too?”

Distracted, Hinoka glanced over her shoulder at Chrom and seeing his chance, Donnel yelled and jumped at her. His brave lance struck twice, the second thrust bolstered by Draconic Aura. Hinoka was winded and in the water before anyone had time to blink.

And Narcian started screaming before anyone had time to react.

“No!” Chrom jumped to the bridge, grabbing the wyvern’s tail and pinning it to the ground as it was about to lift off. “Stay! You! Stay!” The Prince glanced at the Summoner for help but they were busy fishing Hinoka out of the river.

“Did you see that?” Narcian’s words were barely understandable with how loud he was shrieking. He was so shrill that Jeorg was sure his eyes were going to shatter from the noise. “He killed her! That hog farmer killed her!”

“Hey, I may not be a hog farmer but darn tootin’, don’t be usin’em as an insult.” Donnel said, struck by an arrow to the pot helmet in the next second. His ears rang and the farm boy panicked, stabbing erratically at Narcian.

“Why did you aim for his head?” Chrom chastised Jeorge as Narcian’s Wyvern leaned out of the way, allowing the lance to repeatedly strike their rider directly in his stomach.

The tip bounced off of its target like Donnel had just tried to kill a wet rock.

“Mother of tarnation!” Donnel resorted to batting at Narcian and for all it was doing to the trash pile, the weapon might as well have been a wet noodle. “What are you?”

“Too beautiful to die!” Narcian needlessly shielded himself, stomping on his Wyvern for them to move.

Seeing what happened to Hinoka, they were in huge trouble. If Narcian, the only one of the three who wouldn’t keel over from a lance nick, escaped, Donnel was going to kill everyone on the other side of the river.

Chrom had two plans, both of which needed Narcian to stay put.

He hopped on to Narcian’s Wyvern, grabbing the back of the rider’s collar and crouched behind him, effectively using the General as a loud meat shield.

“Unhand me, you dunce! You’re getting your sweat all over me.” Narcian shouted, arms flailing wildly to reach Chrom. The wyvern general forgot all about the deadly edge of Donnel’s lance jabbing at his stomach for that. “Fly, you damn lizard, fly!” Narcian stomped on his wyvern harder.

“I’ll give you some belly rubs later if you don’t,” Chrom offered gently. Of course, the wyvern was happy to curl up and disobey their life-long handler. “Donnel? It’s me, Chrom!”

“Prince Chrom, I don’t understand what’s happenin’ exactly but those fine Emblians told me you were in some deep trouble!” Donnel was sweating buckets trying to gouge through Narcian with all of his might, kind of tickling him and that succeeded in getting Narcian to kick him in the chin. “ACCKKK, MA TAnGe!”

“Sorry, this is the best I can do,” Chrom struggled to hold Narcian still. “The last time Narcian was this upset, it took three hours of the Summoner touching his face to calm him down,” The Prince grunted as Narcian knocked his head back and it slammed against Chrom eye. “Gods! Ughh…just—Look! Let’s talk! The Kingdom of Askr is rescuing us and many more worlds. They’re here to help.”

“Your highness, who told you that?”

“Donnel, you must have seen them around,” Chrom sighed, relieved that Donnel had stopped attacking. Not that Narcian was going to stop thrashing or insinuating that Chrom was ‘too poor to afford a second sleeve.’ “A Prince and a Princess came to our aid. The Prince has blue hair, his younger sister is a blond. Their tactician came to our aid too. They’re with us here actually. Over there, the one with the hood.”

Donnel took one glance at the Summoner in the middle of pulling Hinoka up on the grass and promptly went back to stabbing at Narcian.

“Clones!” Donnel exclaimed. “They’re using clones to trick you!”

“Huh,” Chrom paused. “Now that you mentioned it—OW!” Donnel’s lance had slipped under Narcian’s arm and cut him. “Hhsss oh, that right in the nail bed.” He hissed in pain.

Obviously, the first plan was dead in the water.

“Alright, I’ll listen to your reasoning, Donnel.” Chrom said, regaining Donnel’s attention. He inched closer to the Shepherd, still holding Narcian between them.

“You believe me, don’t ya, Prince Chrom?” Donnel came closer too.

“Of course I do, let’s all take a breather, we’ll calm down and—ANYTHING CAN CHANGE!”

The Falchion jabbed at Donnel from over Narcian’s shoulder, missing by an inch when Donnel staggered back.

“Swords! The strategy was to keep me away from swords!” Somehow Narcian’s vocal cords hadn’t snapped and he hit impossibly high notes with that yelp. “That is a sword!”

“I know. Shut up,” Chrom grimaced, trying to inch closer to Donnel again. “Apologies, Donnel!” He said in chipper tone. “I got a little surprised back there. Let’s actually talk.”

“Fool me once, shame on you! I might not know that second part to that ol sayin’ but darn tootin, it ain’t happening twice!” Donnel swung his lance, slapping the side of Narcian’s face, sending his spittle through the air.

“Ah! Not the face!” Narcian groaned. “The gods put it on the earth to be admired, not scarred!”

“Stop moving. You’re fine!” Chrom ducked away from the lance. He had dropped to a squat, with Narcian draped over him like a table cloth. “I heard people like scars anyways.”

Narcian coughed something along the lines of “But I hate pain.” Only, it was inaudible thanks to Chrom pulling his collar so tight that he had gone as blue as the Prince’s hair.

Without any warning, Chrom leaped to strike at Donnel. Narcian’s legs flew up with the motion, giving Donnel a clear opening he didn’t know was coming.

The Shepherd’s lance slipped between Narcian’s legs and nailed Chrom, crushing his Nagas so hard that Lucina and Morgan flickered in and out of existence.

Chrom froze, midair, and fell on his knees. His mouth was open in a dry, silent scream.

“Finally!” Narcian shook Chrom off and slipped, doing a backwards summersault off of his wyvern. Fate was kind enough to give a final grace to this embarrassing tragedy by making sure the back of Narcian’s skull hit the bridge as he fell into the water.

“Yahoo!” Donnel raised his lance in victory, earning an arrow between his ribs. The realization hit after Donnel blinked twice, lowered his arms, and flicked the arrow stuck in his chest as the contract binding him faded. “Aw, I guess them Askrs were nice after all.” He collapsed, meaning to sleep off the hole in his lungs.

By the wyvern’s swishing tail, Jeorge pretended he had been waiting for an opportunity all along. That whole farce hadn’t mesmerized him with its sheer stupidity, not at all.

Once the Summoner made it to Jeorg’s side some time later along with a revived Hinoka, Donnel slowly recovered. Meanwhile, Chrom knelt there, eyes to the sky, jaw wide open, killed in action.

“So it all went well?” The Summoner asked, noticing how quiet it had gotten. A bush of freshwater kelp was flung at Jeorge and caught in his hair, meaning that Narcian had burst out of the river just then. The Wyvern General, in a crazy turn of events, stayed quiet and glared daggers at all of them.

A short beat of silence swept over the team, amounting to a second for a clock but was a humiliating hour for all of them.

Clearing her throat, Hinoka simply said “It’s done.”

“What?” Narcian sputtered. “You sniveling cowards almost killed me and say nothing?” He dragged himself to his feet. “I’m more important than all of you combined and I was practically dead!” Narcian said despite nearly everyone except him being of noble blood. “All of you dogs should be drying me with your tongues!” Though glowing red with anger, there wasn’t a scratch on him that wasn’t his own fault. Jeorge, rolling his eyes into the next dimension, was still nice enough to approach him and Narcian harshly shoved him off. “I don’t need your help.” He spat.

The Summoner’s shoulders sank, having gone to Narcian’s side as well. “Ok, then.” They began to walk off with Hinoka.

Suddenly, Narcian was flat on the ground, moaning pitifully.

“P-please…” He faked a stutter, reaching out to the non-present Summoner. “A hand?”

Now, Jeorge never felt the need to shoot someone while they were down but Narcian was so pathetic, he had to. Narcian managed to see him aim in the peripheral of his vision.

“No no no, that’s one of my best parts! Not the aAAAAAAAAA—“The arrow flew and Jeorge didn’t bother to make sure it landed as he stepped over Narcian to join the other two.

Going unnoticed, Donnel had gone to check on the silent as stone Chrom.

“Uh, y’all?” Donnel tried to get attention. “Y’all? I think Prince Chrom stopped breathing. Y’all!”