CALLING ALL UNITS.

So that brought you to now, running through alleys as the news played in your ear about Flambae’s defeat and consequent arrest.

You arrive at the scene, the fire dying down as you watch Mechaman restrain Flambae and walk him to the police– shit, was he bleeding? 

Frost gathered at your fingertips, breath growing cold as you waited for the perfect moment to bust that idiot up and out of there.

“Fuck off you fucking bald-ass metal clanker piece of shit!” Curses dripped like venom from Flambae’s mouth, loud enough that it could echo across half the city no doubt. It had your lips twitch, lying if you said you weren’t a little amused. 

But you weren’t here to watch the fall of your closest comrade– rival? Friend? More than a friend? Whatever he is, you were getting him out. 

A wall of ice burst out of the ground, blocking both the police’s and Mechaman’s way. The cold breeze had them stunned for a moment, and before Mechaman could cut through it like paper, his metal body froze. Frost curled around gears, just enough for you to rush in and knock Flambae out of his grasp. Flambae dropped to the floor, cursing as you so roughly grabbed his arm and dragged him off into the alley you came from. Unlike him, you weren’t taking your chances with the hunk of metal.

Footsteps splashed against puddles and concrete, the sound of sirens a cacophony following the two of you. “You fucking idiot! I didn’t mean to actually do it!” You hissed, ducking into another alley when a police car cuts the two of you off.

“You told me to!”

“As a joke! Do you know what that is, huh? Have you ever heard one before?”

You could hear him grumbling, and you two shared no more words as you dodged into alley after alley. Waiting out law enforcement before making your way to a shitty but safe garage. Perfectly abandoned by society and cradled by its outcasts. Outcasts being you. It only took a few blocks, a jump from a rooftop and a fire escape scorched and frozen in multiple places.

You shut the door behind you, breathing in a sigh as Flambae looked around. Still cradling his hand.

“Let me see.”

“See what?”

“That.” You flicked your head towards his hand, still bleeding like crazy over his sexy tattered costume. 

He rolls his eyes, turning away from you with a huff. “It’s my fucking hand. Its fine. Where’s your bathroom?”

You squinted at the back of his head. It was definitely not fine. “Don’t have one.”

He turned to you again, lips pulled into a sneer. “The hell? Who doesn’t have a bathroom?”

“Me, apparently.” You deadpan, turning to grab the first-aid kit you hid inside the walls. “Sit. I got a few bandages left for whatever that is.”

“Bandages aren’t going to be enough, genius.”

“What do you mean?”

There was a second of hesitation, followed by an annoyed click of a tongue. Flambae’s voice was lower now, enough to be above a whisper. “I got my fingers cut off, idiot.”

Silence followed like a crisp dawn, a realization. Your hands, previously fumbling to pull the first-aid kit out of the wall, freeze. You turn your head slowly, eyes scanning his face. “What?”

His other hand drops to reveal two short stumps where two full fingers should be. His eyes don’t meet yours, and suddenly guilt eats at you like gluttony itself.

“Holy shit man,” You finally tugged the kit out of the wall, walking closer towards Flambae. “You should’ve told me you lost your damn fingers! Sit down before you bleed out!”

You push him towards some dusty old crate, eyes still glued to the blood flowing out of the wound. You could see a dot of white– barely there as its stained with red, red, red– and it made you sick.

“Yeah, yeah. Sure thing mom,” He complained, but complied as he sat his ass down and held out the hand.

“Hold shit,” Your hands shook as you held his, inspecting the cut further. At least it was clean. “Mechaman did this?”

“Yeah, fucking obviously.” He scoffed. “Who else has arm blades–whatever the fuck they are.” You could hear the frustration in his voice, the anger.

Your lips thinned into a line as you rummaged through the first-aid kit to grab a cloth. With brows furrowed, you clean off as much blood as you could while applying pressure on the stumps. He hissed every so often, twitching to pull away.

Guilt clawed up your throat, your voice a murmur despite the nagging undertone. “I didn’t mean for you to actually fight him.”

He side-eyed you, teeth grit and jaw ticking like he was one second away from biting your hand out of pure spite. “Yeah, I know that genius.”

You bit your lip. “..Sorry.”

“The hell?”

“I said I’m sorry, I should've went with you– or at the very least got there faster.” You tighten the bandage around the stumps, stopping the bleeding.

He scoffs. “Damn right you should’ve. Do you know how good I beat his ass at first? You shouldve seen it.” He jokes, grinning at the memory. It faded quickly though, noticing the genuine turmoil in your eyes. 

“Oi, I’m the one who lost my fucking fingers, why are you the one sulking like a loser?”

“Its my fault!” You squawked.

“Don’t.” He jabbed you (with the other hand with a finger he still had). “Don’t you dare. I went out. I fought the big metal tin can. My life, my decision.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” you muttered, gently holding his wrist to examine the wrapped wound.

“Not my job to make you feel better,” he shot back. “My job is to complain.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Well you're real damn good at it.”

“I know,” He drawled, a cocky grin back on his face as he flipped his hair back. “Arent I fucking great? So strong and smart. So cool.”

You return his grin. “Yeah right.” You raise his hand in front of him, waving the injured stumps around for emphasis. “This is definitely the hand of a great, strong and smart villain.” He pulls his hand back, kicking you in the leg. 

“Oh fuck off.”

The two of you share a laugh, letting the argument and guilt die quickly. You let yourself breathe after the long night, and Flambae seems to do the same. His eyes meet yours, staring for a few seconds too long before you blinked your gaze away.

You grab the kit, turning away to tuck it back into its dark corner. “I’m– I’m gonna put this away.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He waves you off with his hand (Or more like a palm with three fingers.)

Silence returns like a blanket, more comfortable despite the tension poking at the two of you. You glance back at him, noting the way his brows furrow while he looks down at his hand. Almost mourning the loss of the little limbs. You hum as you look away. “You upset you’ll have a harder time jerking off?”

“Nah, that just means you gotta help me from now on.”

Your head whips around. “What?”

You very well knew that the comedic timing of your flammable hero coming down to be uncharacteristically nice to you after the fire alarm went off a few minutes ago was no coincidence. 

“What did you blow up this time?”

He lets out a chuckle, a little more awkward. “Pssh, me? Blow something up? Please! I could never.”

“Flambae.”

“It was the microwave.”

You clicked your tongue, turning your head to glare at him behind you. “Flambae!” You pushed him back, swiveling your chair as you crossed your arms to scold him. “You broke the microwave?”

“Not broke,” he said, crossing his arms defensively. “More like... upgraded the microwave’s functionality.”

“Upgraded?” you repeated slowly.

“Yeah. It now doubles as a smoke machine.”

A headache blooms behind your eyes, another one this week. The 5th? The 7th? It was only Tuesday. Record low for you, honestly.

“For fucks sake, flambae..”

Flambae threw his hands up. “How was I supposed to know you can’t put aluminum foil in there?”

“Every microwave manual. Every safety poster in the pantry. Every email from HR—which, by the way, is me.”

“Well maybe if you sent me more texts I’d remember–”

You smack his arm, he flinches as he cradles it back. “Do not start.”

“You really need to think about me in and out work more y'know," You cringe, awkwardly nodding at a few of your coworkers starting to stare your way. 

“I said don't start–”

“Because I,” Flambae points at himself, shoulders sparking before igniting in orange blazes. “Flambae, the one who controls the fire and the flame, whose skin does not burn, thinks about you constantly.” He waltzes around you, taking you chair and spinning you to look away from your little audience. Also for dramatic effect.

“Like, really constantly. When I'm fighting, bench-pressing quadruple your weight, in the shower, when I’m in bed all alone–” His breath meets your neck, warm as he whispers into your ear. You feel yourself heat up, pushing his face away. “Alright, alright, I get it! Fucking perv…”

“You’re trying to flirt your way out of another HR violation,” you shake your head, ignoring the hand snaking around your waist.

“Is it working?”

“No.” You turn your head to look at him again. Resolve cracking the second you meet those bitchy little eyes. “This is another HR violation by the way.”

“Eh,” He shrugs. “Never stopped me before–” And suddenly his hand is on your thigh, thumb tracing much too close to your crotch. You slap it away before any blood comes rushing the wrong way.

“Yeah, yeah. I won’t write you up. Go away.” You pull your chair closer to your desk, whispering under your breath. “Save it for when we get back home..”

Theres a grin on his lips as he presses it against your cheek. Victorious. “No promises. Love ya.”

"Where??" That was definitely Visi's voice.

There's an audible hiss. "Fuck off, this is mine."

Malevola's voice cut through, smoother and already no doubt looking over to take a peak at Sonar's phone. "Can I see?"

Quick footsteps approach the break room door, your man bat peaking through to yell your name. "Hey babe? Can malevola see your nudes?"

You think for a split second, before throwing any and all rational thought away for the prospect of a hot demon mommy admiring your tits. You raise a thumbs up, enthusiastically. "Go ahead!"

He smiles, tossing his phone behind him and bounding over to you to pepper your face in wet kisses. "You," Kiss. "Are." Kiss. "So." Kiss. "Perfect." Kiss, kiss- you guessed it, kiss. You giggle, pointedly ignoring the sighs and muttering about HR violations and pda.

You hear a whistle from the breakroom as the red-skinned demon calls out your name. "Nice tits gorgeous!"