Despite being not fully healed yet, Mobei Jun is getting ready to do Demon-things - Fight or Hunt or Something.
Shang Qinghua is having none of it! His King is not allowed to do dangerous stuff as long as he is so sore! At least he tries to hold Mobei Jun back. He really does.
"Ouch," Villain winced as they eased themself down onto the couch. They had been moving very stiffly and carefully. Hero knew they had to be in tremendous pain.
"How bad is it, Villain?"
Villain gave Hero a crooked smile. "I've definitely had worse."
Hero frowned. Villain had fought off Other World Creature after breaking out of some power suppressing cuffs. Hero knew it had taken a great amount of strength to do both. And that Villain had been seriously hurt by Other World Creature's attacks.
"Don't lie to me. I know they hurt you. I know you jumped in so I didn't have to fight."
"Sweetheart, I couldn't let you have all the fun. Besides, my power lends itself to physical fights. Yours...well, it has its uses." Villain attempted to lean back and grimaced. "I will admit I am a little sore."
"How about I run you a nice warm bath and put those fancy epsom salts in it that you like."
Villain smiled at Hero again. "That sounds amazing."
summary: caitlyn's role as commander weighs heavily on her. throw a cold into the mix, and a fight brews between you and your sick, irritable, girlfriend. (1.4k)
tags: angst (w/happy ending), fem!reader, sickfic. ty to @whumpril for the prompts!
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“Here, sweetheart,” you murmur, placing a china teacup on Caitlyn’s desk, being careful to avoid touching any of the important-looking papers nearby. “I made you more tea.”
Caitlyn distractedly nods in acknowledgement, not bothering to look up from the document she’s frowning at. She brings a fist to her face to cover a loose, rattling cough, and you wince at the sound of it.
“You should drink the tea,” you frown, dropping your hand to your girlfriend’s back and rubbing softly. “Your cough sounds worse. How’s your throat?”
Caitlyn hums noncommittally, her sharp eyes still affixed to the paper in her hands. She blindly reaches for the teacup and takes a sip, then pulls a face.
“It’s far too sweet. How much honey did you put in that?” She finally glances up at you, frowning with displeasure. Her voice is almost gone, reduced to nothing but a low croak from her lingering cold. The irritation in her tone comes through clearly, however.
“Last time you said there wasn’t enough honey, remember?” You sigh, raking a hand through your hair, and trying to keep your voice neutral. “So I added more this time.”
“It isn’t that hard to make a proper cup of tea, love,” Caitlyn says snippily, turning up her nose and pushing the cup aside. “I shan’t be drinking whatever that is.” She coughs hard, then returns to her paperwork.
You scowl, putting your hands on your hips. “You know, being sick doesn’t give you the right to be rude, Cait. I’ve been taking care of you all day and you haven’t said so much as thank you once.”
Caitlyn drags her gaze away from the papers, her eyes an unforgiving, icy blue as they trace over you. “I believe you are my girlfriend, not my nursemaid, last time I checked. I never asked you to take care of me, and I certainly didn’t ask you to waltz in here and nag me when I’m trying to work.”
“Nag you?!” Your mouth falls open in disbelief. “Wow. I didn’t know bringing you tea and caring about your health is considered nagging now. You’re a real piece of work sometimes, you know that Cait?”
Your chest is heaving and your blood boiling as you let loose the frustration that’s been building in you all day as you dealt with Caitlyn’s surly attitude.
There isn’t even a hint of emotion in your girlfriend’s face as she stares at you placidly, and a sharp pang of hurt squeezes your chest. You almost wish she would just yell at you instead.
“Perhaps it would be best if you left,” Caitlyn says dismissively, returning to her work. “I’m busy.”
You glare at her, swallowing down the array of insults you want to hurl her way. You settle for sharply turning on your heels and stomping out of the room, slamming the door shut behind you.
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You’re still fuming an hour later. You’re outside at one of your favorite locations in the Kiramman Estate, a private section of the gardens where there’s a stone bench nestled in an alcove of trees, overlooking a small koi pond.
You watch the fish make ripples in the water, the late afternoon sunlight illuminating the pond in soft golden light. The scent of blooming jasmine flowers swirls around you on the light breeze. You let out a quiet sigh, trying to calm the anger thrumming in your veins.
You know that Caitlyn has a tendency to lash out when she’s under stress. You can tell that her role as Commander wears on her, and it’s a very politically fraught time in Piltover right now. And it certainly doesn’t help that she’s been battling a cold for several days that has left her with a painfully sore throat from her constant coughing. But that still doesn’t excuse her brusque attitude toward you all day.
The wind softly rustles through the trees surrounding you, as you continue to sit on the bench and let your frustration dissipate. It does feel calming to be outside, and your argument is starting to feel less important as more time passes.
You’ve just decided you’ll head back inside and try to patch things up with Caitlyn, when there’s a quiet throat clear to your left.
You turn and see Caitlyn tentatively step into the alcove, her shoulders slumped, weariness practically radiating off her.
“You love it here,” Caitlyn says softly, her voice sounding even rougher than when you last heard it. You can’t help but give a small grimace of sympathy, it practically sounds like she’s gargled glass. Caitlyn turns away to cough, then sighs, the sound almost indecipherable from the wind through the trees.
She hesitantly comes over to you, and when you don’t say anything, sits down on the stone bench next to you.
“I’m sorry, darling,” she murmurs after a beat, stretching her endlessly long legs out in front of her. She frowns pensively at the pond, not meeting your eyes. “I’ve been an arse, and you’ve been nothing but kind.”
You feel your heart softening as you listen to your girlfriend’s croaky voice, and then watch her smother another cough. She’s pale, and there are dark circles under her eyes that she never seems to be able to shake. You know she doesn’t sleep much these days, despite your best efforts to help.
You let out a quiet breath of your own, and reach for Caitlyn’s hand. “It’s alright. You’re not feeling well.” You run your thumb over the curves of her knuckles.
“I’m not,” Caitlyn admits quietly. Her eyes meet yours, and for once her gaze is unguarded, vulnerable. Raw. “Everything…all of this…it weighs on me. Constantly. Endlessly. But it isn’t an excuse for my poor behavior.”
“You don’t have to shoulder it all alone, you know.” You brush a hand over her cheek, and tuck a strand of navy hair behind her ear. “You’re so determined to never let it show. But I know that you’re struggling. And I’m here – you can talk to me, Cait. Let me help, let me take some of the weight.”
There’s a sadness in Caitlyn’s face that seems far too deep for someone so young. She reaches for you, tracing a thumb over your jaw with a sad smile.
“Thank you, my love. I appreciate it. It’s just…” She glances back out at the pond, a faraway look in her eyes again. “I always thought I wanted to be in charge, to have the opportunity to change things for the better. And yet, now that I’m here, the right path is hardly as clear as I thought it would be.”
You nod, still rubbing her hand and silently encouraging her to continue.
“I have seen the consequences of inaction. I lost…so much, because I hesitated. And I’ve promised myself to never make the same mistake twice.” Caitlyn shoots you a wry look. “But now I fear I’m making new ones.”
“Things are rarely black and white,” you say. “As much as we’d like them to be.”
Caitlyn hums in agreement, closing her eyes briefly “I just miss her. Every day, every moment, it feels like.” Caitlyn’s lips lift in a wistful smile. “We could never get along when she was here. And now that she’s gone, I’d give anything to hear her scold me again.”
You lean forward and press a gentle kiss to Caitlyn’s cheek, your heart aching for her. You know there aren’t any words you can offer that will soothe her wounds.
Caitlyn gives you a grateful smile, but then dissolves into a small coughing fit. You rub her back through it, feeling useless as you watch her struggle to catch her breath. Eventually the cough stops, and you smooth a hand over her shoulder, frowning sympathetically.
“Maybe we should head inside. It’s chilly out, and you’re still sick,” you point out. “Get you tucked up in bed with some soup, hm?”
“I suppose that would be prudent.”
Caitlyn turns to you, and wraps both her hands around your own. Her slim fingers are slightly cold, but you still feel soothed by her touch. The detached look from earlier is gone, and her eyes are nothing but tender now. “Will you forgive me, darling? Truly. I’ve been acting like a spoiled brat all day, and my cold is no excuse.”
“No hard feelings, honey,” you lean in to kiss her, letting your lips linger against hers. Then you stand and help her up. “C’mon, sickie. Let’s get you warmed up.”
You walk back to the manor with your arm around Caitlyn’s waist and hers around your shoulder. Things are difficult, yes, but at least you have each other.
Whumpril day 3 - enemy turned caregiver (alt prompt)
Flambae checks in on Robert at his apartment when Robert doesn’t show up to work.
Word Count: 1,542
Tags: Robert Robertson | Mecha Man-centric, Robert Robertson | Mecha Man Needs a Hug, Trans Male Character, transmasculine Robert Robertson | Mecha Man, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Period Cramps, Soft Flambae | Chad (Dispatch), Domestic Fluff, Cooking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Enemies to Lovers, Post-Canon, Fluff
Robert wasn’t going to work today and, honestly, he didn’t care what Blazer had to say about it.
He’d managed to get home to bed the night before, which his mind was still reeling from, but because he’d fallen asleep so early, he ended up waking up at almost 5 in the morning, unable to fall back asleep because of the pain. So, he laid in bed, scrolling his phone.
He told himself that he would do something productive today- go out, get some air, maybe take a walk- but it was clear after a day of curling up in bed, on and off crying, and scrolling through social media with only the occasional break to take painkillers and make sure he wasn’t bleeding everywhere that he wasn’t doing anything of the sort.
Honestly, the only reason he was able to drag himself to his living room today (if you can even call it that, it’s a room with lamps and a dog bed), was to feed Beef. After that, he was right back to curling up in pain, trying to pretend like he didn’t feel like his guts were ripping out of his body no matter how many painkillers he took. It may be a shitty, miserable day, but it was his and his alone.
That is, it was. Until he heard a loud knock at the door.
He took a breath. It was probably just a neighbor, or his landlord… maybe a maintenance worker coming to take a look at his busted air conditioner. Whatever it was, he had no interest in answering it at the moment, so he listened to Beef bark at the knocking while staying silent in his room, waiting for whoever was at his door to decide he wasn’t there and leave a note for later.
Of course that didn’t happen. Why would Robert get such peace?
He could hear a voice outside the door, but not who it was or what they were saying. Just that it was a man, or at least someone with a very deep voice, banging on his door and calling for him.
Then, his eyes widened as he heard the sound of his door unlocking. He jumped up, wincing in pain as he did so, quickly opening the door to his sad bedroom just to see Flambae standing in his even sadder living room, in full hero attire, casually petting Beef like he hadn’t just committed a crime by breaking into Robert’s apartment.
Before Robert could open his mouth to speak, he was already talking. “I knew you were in here! Knew you wouldn’t go anywhere without your yappy little dog,” he spoke casually, like him being here was the most normal thing in the world.
Robert took a breath. “Chad. How did you get into my apartment?” he asked, brows furrowing.
“You gave me a key,” Flambae replied casually.
“No,” Robert spoke calmly, though his voice was clearly alarmed to an extent, “no, I didn’t.”
“Okay, well, I stole it. I don’t know why you wanna hear, Bob-bob,” Chad laughed deeply, finally standing up to face Robert. His frame towered over him, making him feel weirdly insecure- the fact that he was in a band shirt from high school and distressed pajama pants certainly wasn’t helping.
“I don’t want to hear that you stole my house key, that’s for sure-“
“Well, I had to get you to bed last night somehow,” Flambae shrugged, “You didn’t seem to mind too much then.”
“I didn’t- I was- but-“ Robert stammered. As he tried to get his thoughts out, another strike of pain hit him and he clutched his stomach like he’d just been hit by a baseball bat. “I’m kinda busy, man.”
“Busy with what, exactly? Being in pain?” Flambae asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Look, man- why are you here? I just want to go back to wallowing in pain, mkay?”
“I’m here,” Chad scoffed and rolled his eyes, “to check on you, you fucking idiot. And thank god I did, you look like shit.”
“Thanks,” Robert snarked.
“You know what I mean!” Flambae huffed, “Like, do you need anything? Food, warmth? The thought of you rotting in here, alone, just feeling bad, is…” Flambae shivered.
“I’m glad you think my life is so sad, thanks,” Robert replied sarcastically, to which Flambae sighed again.
“Do you hear yourself? What is your fucking problem? Why are you so determined to feel bad? Have you even eaten today? Drank water? Showered?” Flambae asked, sparks of irritation coming off his fingers and startling Beef. Robert blinked, then sighed in a mix of acceptance and defeat.
“I mean… no, not really. I fed Beef, but I don’t have anything worth cooking for myself.”
Flambae raised an eyebrow. “Not even, like, instant rice? Ramen??” Robert just shook his head. Flambae sighed, his face falling. “You stay here. I’m gonna go get groceries.”
“Where would I even- what do you mean you’re gonna go get groceries??”
“I mean what I said,” Flambae shrugged, “I’m going to go get groceries so I can cook. You need to eat something.”
Robert’s mind was reeling. He stammered, trying to get one of his several questions out, but it was too late. Chad was gone. A part of Robert thought that the ex-villain was just messing with him- that he wasn’t going to return with food of any sort. Honestly, Robert didn’t know what he would prefer; the idea of Chad doing favors for him, going and getting food and cooking it, did make his heart flutter in a weird way.
He blamed it on the pain.
Honestly, Flambae just fucking with him would be the easy answer. But nothing was ever easy for Robert- so of course Chad was back with shopping bags full of food. Of course Chad was in his kitchen cooking something that smelled better than anything he had ever made in that kitchen. Of course, this stupid, sexy, perfect man had to be standing in his apartment in one of the worst weeks of Robert’s life, insisting that he get to take care of him while Robert sits in his sad plastic lawn chair.
Despite his hesitations, Robert didn’t push back. Why would he? How could he? Especially when he got no say in it in the first place. Flambae had just showed up and started cooking, what was Robert supposed to do about that?
Robert was snapped out of his thoughts by Flambae standing in front of him, offering him a plate of delicious-smelling rice and meat. “Here. Eat,” he said simply as Robert took the plate. Robert hesitated- not because of the food, but because of the way Flambae stood over him with his arms crossed, watching him like an eagle. He blinked up at the taller man, then back down to the plate of food. Wordlessly, he scooped up a fork full, shoving it into his mouth.
It was delicious.
He shoved another bite in his mouth. Then another, and another. “Holy shit- Flambae, this is incredible!” He commented between bites, “I didn’t know you could cook! What is this? It’s so good!”
Flambae cracked a grin from where he stood, finally looking away from Robert. Robert swore he could see a hint of blush on his face, but he told himself that Flambae’s face was probably just flushed from the heat of the kitchen. “First of all,” he started, “fuck you?? What makes you think I can’t cook?? Second of all… I’m glad you like it. It’s kabuli pulao- I always make it when I’m sick. I know you’re not sick, but…”
“No, no,” Robert insisted, watching Flambae’s face as his voice trailed off. “It’s.. it’s perfect, thank you.”
“Of course it is,” Flambae replied quickly, flipping his hair over his shoulders and placing his hands square on his hips. “I’m fucking incredible. Now, let me put the leftovers in your fridge and pack you a plate.”
Robert nodded, mouth too full of rice and spiced lamb to reply properly. The two of them ate together in near silence, but the food was certainly helping Robert. Not only did having something in his stomach help the cramps, the food was also just so good he wasn’t thinking about the pain. It was so good, in fact, that much to Chad’s teasing, Robert got himself a second plate full.
“Well,” Chad spoke up eventually after the two had been done eating for some time. “I’ll let you get back to your ‘very busy’ day. I just wanted to make sure you were… okay.”
“Y-yeah,” Robert stammered, “thanks.” Flambae looked like he was going to say something, but he didn’t. Instead, he turned around and started to leave. “Wait!” Robert called out. Flambae turned around, silently raising an eyebrow. “Can you… do the warm thing again..?”
Flambae cracked a toothy grin. “Of course I can.”
The night ended with Robert on his mattress, drifting off to sleep as Flambae held his hands over Robert’s lower stomach, gently warming him up, holding him close. It was the best Robert had ever felt.
But nothing good ever lasted. Of course, in the morning, he was gone, and Robert was left again with that cold, sharp pain.
In her long career as the head of a pit crew, Florence had witnessed her fair share of accidents. But none of them were this horrible.
For a single, brief moment, there was silence. The audience, crew, and announcers stared slack-jawed at the overturned car of twisted green metal and plastic. The rumbling of engines began to dissipate as the rest of the racers slowed down one by one.
Florence was the first to react.
"Oh gods, SYLVER!"
She dashed over to the car, which prompted the coaches around her to take action as well. The audience exploded with commentary and panicked voices, while the announcer implored everyone to stay calm. The rest of the pit crew followed Florence. At least, she thought they were. She neither knew nor cared. She had already reached the wreck, and she could make out her friend's body trapped underneath.
Fuelled with nothing but pure adrenaline and deep panic, she gripped the edge of the car and tilted it upwards. Metal edges dug into her skin and drew blood. She couldn't let go, though. She could see Sylver under there, bloodied and scraped and unconscious. She needed to get her out of there, she just had to lift this car a little higher. She had to.
She wasn't strong enough.
Her grip was going to-
A second pair of hands accompanied her's, adding their own strength. There was a frenzy of voices, and two people managed to pull the young woman from beneath the car. The second Sylver was out of the way, Florence allowed her load to crash to the ground.
She was on Sylver in an instant, checking for a pulse and yelling out her name. She was alive, but they had to act fast if they wanted her to stay that way.
"CALL AN AMBULANCE, QUICKLY!" she yelled, loud enough to put the announcers to shame.
The rest of the pit crew was trying to speak to her, but their words were foreign to her. Insignificant. All she could do, all that mattered, was keeping her eyes on Sylver.
Anything could happen if she stopped looking at her for even a second.
This takes place before Y/N, about 6 months into Kiran being a hero. Now, this snippet has content in that I don't usually post, so in addition to the tags, there will be trigger warnings up here as well. This snippet is very long, so most of it is going under the cut!
@just-a-space-rabbit was kind enough to tag team with me today! Make sure you check their art out!
TW: Bees, wasps, insect stings, swarming insects
An orange blur burst from the clouds, streaking through the air like a comet. Kiran hadn’t gotten to fly all week. He had almost made it into the sky a few times, but something always came up.
“We need to test your endurance.”
“Have you done your exercises?”
“Eat the rest of your dinner.”
“Let’s run a blood test.”
“Make your bed.”
“It’s time for your thermo-therapy.”
“Finish your studies for the day.”
ASTRA’s scientists were great and all, but gosh, they really went buck-wild with the nagging, not to mention the poking and prodding.
Solar Flare pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind. He was weightless, up in the clouds with the birds and the fresh air. Nothing else really mattered right now. He zipped between skyscrapers at a breakneck speed while a trail of vermillion blazed behind him. He flew up, hovered for a moment, then let himself fall. The wind rushed by his ears as the G forces made themselves known.
Sometimes his comet energy was a curse. Yes, it got him out of going to school for his entire life, and yes, it let him do amazing things like fly and shoot fireballs from his hands, but it also came with a heap of medical examinations and scientific tests. Everyone at ASTRA was always worried something bad was going to happen to him. As if! What could possibly happen?
Solar Flare glanced down. He was about a good fifty stories up still. He took flight once more, breaking his descent along with the sound barrier.
A beeping in his ear told him the fun was over. He pressed a finger to his comm and sat cross-legged in the air.
“What’s up, Horatio?” he asked.
“Come home, Flare, now.”
“I’m just flying,” Solar Flare argued.
“Now, Kiran.”
Solar Flare heaved a sigh that was much louder than necessary, and to any other adult in his life, would seem incredibly disrespectful. He hung up and started his descent. Slowly. Horatio said to come home, but he didn’t say he had to come home at the speed of sound.
Kiran was just over the roof of a few shops when the dart pierced his shoulder.
“Argh!”
After removing the offending object, his hands burst into balls of flame. He whirled around, scanning for his assailant.
Shadows swathed the alleyway below, and the surrounding area lost its shape and form. All of a sudden, Solar Flare felt incredibly heavy.
He dropped out of the air like a stone. His cape fluttered around him as his eyes slid shut. A great clatter could be heard as his back made contact with a nearby fire escape’s railing, followed by a shop’s awning, followed by the unforgiving concrete below.
His muscles, tendons, ligaments, organs, and bones screamed at him in violent protest, then all went quiet, his consciousness choked out by the dark.
…
Solar Flare coughed and sputtered, heaving dry gulps of air that couldn’t come fast enough. Water dripped down his fringe and face, beading on his eyelashes and clinging to his mask. His eyes snapped open and darted around in a wild attempt at registration.
Concrete floors. Steel walls. No windows in sight. Sleek, metal doors in the corner next to a panel of buttons. Blinding white lights. An empty bucket at his feet. Dark splatters on the concrete around him.
Solar Flare reached for the bucket. His arm refused to move. He got a look at himself. Restraints clamped over every inch of him. His ankles and wrists were secured. His arms and legs? Also immobilized. Even his chest had been pinned in place.
“Finished?” a voice echoed.
“No, but you are,” Flare mumbled.
“Cocky as always,” the voice chuckled, “it’s going to be the end of you, you know.”
Footsteps circled behind him until a man no more than five years his senior leaned against a metal table. Solar Flare had neglected to notice that various shiny tools and devices littered the surface of this table. Each implement looked like it belonged in either a robotics lab or a morgue.
“Eyes up here, hero.”
Flare took his sweet time to face the man. He would look at him when he wanted to look at him, and not a moment sooner. He took in the relaxed posture, the tailored suit, and the perfectly kept hair.
“Is this supposed to scare me?” Flare drawled.
The man just smiled, as though sharing a joke with himself, then pushed off of the metal table. His hands found their way to the arms of Flare’s chair, boxing the hero in.
“You’re new to this, so let me make it clear for you,” the man said, “I represent an organization that has, up until quite recently, been able to conduct its business in this part of Lightbridge without a fuss or a care. Then you came along. Your interference has irked our CEO, to say the least.”
“Mm. I guess your organization isn’t exactly dealing in grocery distribution then?”
“You still think this is a game.”
the man removed his hands from the arms of the chair and stepped back.
The punch came out of nowhere. Flare blinked rapidly to quell the watering in his eyes. Red dribbled down his nose and he tasted copper. The man adjusted his cufflinks and wiped the blood from his fist.
So that’s how it was going to be then. Flare had let the idiot have his fun. It was time to bust out of here and make him regret his life’s choices.
He summoned heat into his every limb. He’d melt the metal, get a few hits in, then fly home in time for dinner. Horatio wouldn’t even have to know.
The metal wasn’t melting. Heck, it wasn’t even changing color. Kiran’s glare faltered.
“It’s clicking now, isn’t it?” the man asked, “just how real this is.”
He pulled up a chair of his own.
“We’ve given you enough drugs to take down a whole SWAT team, you’re not going anywhere. Even if we didn’t, tungsten has a melting point of over three thousand four hundred degrees Celsius. Much higher than what your little flames can give out.”
“Who are you?” Kiran demanded through slurred speech.
“I represent the organization known as H.I.V.E.,” the man said, “you can call me Dr. H. As I was saying, you’re new to this game, so we’ve decided to offer you some helpful hints. Stay out of H.I.V.E.’s way, Solar Flare, or else.”
“You’re threatening me now?”
Flare really wished his voice would carry a little more bite to it, but it was hard enough just to get the words out at all.
“Promising, actually,” Dr. H said, “I’m going to be generous and offer you an exclusive preview of what happens if you keep playing the game wrong.”
The hit to his gut knocked the air out from his lungs. Kiran wheezed, trying to regain what breath he could.
Before he could process it, there was a jab to his arm, a kick to his shins, and a blow to his cheek.
Kiran cursed, spitting out blood.
Dr. H turned to the table. His fingers hovered over each of the tools. He was about to pick one up when a woman in honey-yellow spandex with black tactical gear landed from a door in the ceiling. She beamed as her mechanical wings folded behind her.
“Is it our turn now, Doctor?” she asked.
A faint buzzing could be heard from the vents above.
“You’ve landed on free parking, Stinger,” Dr. H said, “it’s all you.”
Stinger whistled, and the buzzing grew louder. An entire colony of bees burst through the vents above, swarming around the woman.
Dr. H made his way to the elevator doors, waving at Flare with his back turned. Stinger watched the doors slide shut. She grinned even wider.
“Now my girls and I can have some fun,” she said.
At least three bees landed on him, crawling up and down his back and along his arms and legs. Kiran sucked in a sharp breath.
“This it?” he tried not to sound terrified, “you’re gonna make a bunch of bees sting me?”
“What!? Of course not!” Stinger said.
She sounded genuinely offended.
“Bees only get one sting before they die,” she said, “and I love my girls. No, my bees are just developing a profile on you.”
More buzzing from the vents.
“My wasps, on the other hand…”
Solar Flare squeezed his eyes shut as the wasps descended upon him. The back of his neck lit up with a sharp, chemical burning. More stings sent white-hot needles of pain all throughout his body.
“Don’t worry about swelling,” Stinger giggled over the swarm, “my babies have genetically engineered venom. Each girl is special. But I don’t like how swelling looks, so their venom doesn’t do that. All the same, ladies, stay away from the face!”
The crawling on his face stopped. The wasps took off, proceeding to assault his back and shoulders instead.
Flare cried out multiple times, but he was not going to let this crazy chick hear him scream.
Stinger whistled again. As soon as it started, the barrage was over. Every bee and wasp flew back up the vents, all the way to their homes somewhere close by.
Flare seized up as the different venoms mixed inside his system. His limbs twitched, his muscles spasmed, his body convulsed. He couldn’t move a muscle, yet he felt every little punch and sting that had been inflicted on him. He stared up at Stinger with wide eyes. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, and despite his efforts, it wouldn’t move to ask her anything.
She slid on spiked brass knuckles, which were colored with stylized black stripes.
“Let’s teach you how to play with H.I.V.E.!” she beamed.
…
Hi, this is Kiran Blaize. Leave a message. Unless you’re a stalker or something. In which case, go kiss a toilet sea-
Horatio hung up and called Kiran’s number again for the sixth time in thirty minutes. After an agonizing few moments, he heard the same, immature, recorded message in his ear.
“Where are you?” Horatio whispered.
He checked the time. He had told Kiran to come home five hours ago. Five and a half hours ago, as a matter of fact.
When Kiran hadn’t shown up at ASTRA’s main building, Horatio assumed he had gone to Apollo’s Guild headquarters. Horatio wasted no time in driving off to the superhero base.
He was just about to call the ASTRA scientists on shift one more time when tires screeched outside. Horatio looked up through the front window. A black luxury vehicle did a few donuts in the driveway, honking its horn. Then the back passenger door opened, and a flame-colored figure tumbled out. Horatio slammed his fist down on the panic button in the wall. Alarms blared as he threw the front door wide open and bolted onto the asphalt.
The car zoomed off into the night, dropping a few smoke bombs in its wake. Horatio coughed, waving the offending fumes away.
He crouched down and turned the red-and-orange figure over. Solar Flare’s beaten and bloodied face confirmed his fears. His eyes fell to his boy’s chest. He was still breathing. Thank goodness, he was still breathing.
Resonance landed beside the scientist.
“What’s happened, Dr. Yamada?” he asked.
“After that car,” Horatio bit out, pointing down the hill.
Resonance glanced down at Flare. His eyes were shut tight, and even in his unconscious state, his face was contorted in pain.
Riptide and Aura Blue rushed after the car. Good for the girls, at least they weren’t asking time-consuming questions.
Resonance came to his senses and joined them. Horatio huffed, then turned his attention back toward Flare. He peeled the mask from his face and winced as the rest of the damage became visible.
“Help!” he called inside.
V-1-C-T-0-R, or, Victor, came rushing out, his titanium body glinting in the outside lights.
“Flare!” he exclaimed.
“Help me get him inside,” Horatio said.
“Of course, Sir.”
The android lifted Kiran into a bridal carry while Horatio hurried in after them. Kiran’s face was red, and little pinpricks marred every inch of visible skin. When the medics would remove his suit later that night, they would find even more of the tiny punctures, and after a blood test, they’d find more than enough venom to kill a civilian.
Kiran’s game was starting, and H.I.V.E. had just upped the difficulty by a significant degree.
#x men 97
#f1
