#micro fic

Bruce hmmed, still leaning against Tim’s doorjamb. Alfred, behind him, was giving even less away. There was a possibility he was in trouble. That possibility was growing less and less likely with every second of silence.

“It isn’t bruised yet,” Alfred corrected over Bruce’s shoulder. “It’s swollen.”

“It’s just going to stay swollen,” Tim said defensively. “Don’t freak out, okay? I’ll figure out a way to cover it up. I’ll borrow some of Steph’s makeup or something.”

“Freak out,” Bruce repeated, monotone. That was a bad sign.

“Please,” Tim begged. “It was a solo thing. You don’t need to — intervene.”

“Intervene?” Bruce’s eyebrows lifted, breaking the mask-like expression on his face.

“You always do that. You go behind my back and you just—” Tim trailed off, exasperated. “Intervene!”

“I’m not intervening,” Bruce rebutted. He turned to look at Alfred over his shoulder. “Am I intervening?”

“Certainly not, sir.”

“Do I plan to intervene, Alfred?”

Something charged passed between the two men, unspoken. Alfred cleared his throat. “That would be ludicrous, sir.”

“See?” Bruce turned back to Tim. “I’m not intervening.”

Alfred inclined his head. “With that settled…”

Tim’s eyes narrowed, watching the butler depart down the hallway. “What was that look?”

“What look?” Bruce asked innocently.

“That look you just gave Alfred.”

“I didn’t give Alfred a look.” Bruce’s eyebrows twitched. “I barely even glanced at him.”

Tim pressed his lips together, frustrated. “So where is Alfred going?”

“I couldn’t tell you,” Bruce said, shoulders rising and falling.

“Of course you can.”

“I haven’t the foggiest.”

“Bruce.”

“You asked me not to intervene. This is me — not intervening.”

“Daaaaaadyyyyy!” Harry screeched.

The blood curdling call echoed through the whole house.

James dropped the mug he had been washing and pelted at full speed up the stairs.

“Harry? Harry, where are you?” James cried out frantically, searching for his small son, flinging doors open as he ran down the hallway.

“I'm in here!” Harry called out.

Still breathing, then, thank christ!

James burst through his own bedroom door and saw Harry sitting on the floor of the wardrobe. James dropped to his knees and started checking Harry over for life ending cuts. But there was no blood and didn't even appear to be any bruises either.

As James ran his hands all over Harry's little body, Harry started to giggle.

“Daddy, stop, that tickles!”

James stopped his ministrations and gazed into his son's cheerful face.

“Harry, what the fuck?” James grimaced at his mistake and Harry gasped.

“Daddy, Papa says not to say that word.” Harry scolded.

“Well, Papa wasn't just given a heart attack by a three year old.” James muttered as he collapsed, lying on his back and clutching his chest.

“Silly, daddy.” Harry chuckled, as he busied himself with whatever he had been looking at before.

“Why did you call for me, anyway?” James asked as he continued lying on the floor, trying to get his heart rate down to normal.

“Cause I found this!” Harry declared, as he scrambled up to sit on James' stomach.

James made an oof sound when Harry plopped down and then lifted his head up to see what the little menace was holding.

Harry was holding up an old photo from James’ school days. James just stared at his son in disbelief.

“And this warranted you screaming the house down, did it?”

Before Harry could answer, they heard the front door open and close. James let out another oof as Harry pushed down in his attempt to bound to his feet and run downstairs, taking the photo with him.

James also scrambled up, in an attempt to catch up with the tiny terror before he fell down the stairs in his hurry.

“Papa, Papa, Papa!” Harry shouted as he bounced down the stairs on his bottom.

“Hello my little munchkin.” Regulus swept Harry up as he reached the final step and jumped up into his fathers waiting arms. “What are you both doing upstairs?”

James reached the bottom of the stairs and kissed Regulus on the cheek.

“Oh, nothing much, just your son trying to kill me.” James ruffled Harry's hair and walked into the kitchen.

“My son?” Regulus questioned, a slight tone of amusement to his voice as he followed James, Harry situated happily on his hip.

“Yes, it seems he has inherited your flair for the dramatic, Love.”

“What is Daddy talking about, Munchkin?”

“I found this super cool, amazing picture and I needed to show him right away.” Harry answered with more seriousness than James had ever seen in a three year old.

“I see,” Regulus replied, smirking as he looked at the photo in their son's little hands.

“Yup. Daddy ran all the way up to me, then he tickled me and then he fell over annnnd,” Harry drew out and James knew what was coming before he could stop it. “He said FUCK!” Harry beamed at his Papa as he yelled the swear word.

~

Merlin frowned. “You don’t think your dead Mum would approve of me?”

“You have a criminal record!” Arthur screeched.

“It was a caution! God, you graffiti one bus stop one time and nobody ever lets it go.”

“I think you’re omitting a crucial detail.”

“Oh, you are such a tory sometimes! For the last time, it was an expression of my political consciousness—“

“Be gay do crime? That’s the ethos of your politic?”

“Exactly! And from what I know about your Mum, that sounds right up her street.”

“Merlin,” Arthur said, in that way that made Merlin’s name into a full sentence.

“What? You can’t tell me that photo of her and your godmother is not giving girlfriends.”

Arthur sat up, outraged. “Aunt Nim did not shag my Mum! Do not put that image in my head!”

Merlin held back a laugh. He changed tactics. “She’d like me more than your Dad does, that’s for sure.”

“That’s true. I don’t think he’s ever going to get over The Incident.”

“No, well, your Dad catching us in flagrante in a disabled loo was never going to do wonders for our relationship.”

“I think Mum would have found that funny,” Arthur admitted. He settled his head back in Merlin’s lap. “I love you,” he said quietly. “You make me happy. I think that would be enough for her.”

Alice,

I was going through my office, and I found this. I don’t remember writing it! The 80s really are a blur. I can’t believe I was shitty enough to call my girlfriend’s pad a “little lair.”

May 13, 1982 A, I’m writing this in the early morning, after you snuck out to whatever little lair you hang out in when I don’t see you. Leaving me strung out on the couch, as usual. I bet you knew I was pretending to be asleep. I wonder if you’re looking through my window right now… damn, nothing. You’ve had this mourning look to you every time you show up at my door. Typically, you’re animated; like the embodiment of the Flight of the Bumblebee. Dragging me off to Pagliacci again, or a club on Fire Island, or that one museum I can’t bother to remember the name of. Or staying in and watching movies on tape. Never show me that tape of you sleeping again, by the way, I can’t understand why you’d want to look at that. Anyway, I know I’m usually pretty dumb when you’re around—maybe I’m just dumb all the time—but you have to have something you’re not telling me. Am I finally sick with it? Is that it?

Shane huffing and puffing on it, thighs shaking and his whole body red and dripping sweat bc Ilya is making him ride it after intentionally exhausting him with an insane workout. And Ilya just does the little head tilt and is like, "What? Can the big, strong athlete not keep up? You can't handle it?" (he is intentionally making this harder.) So Shane tries to steel himself because he can do this, but his thighs are giving out and it's so hard to not get to just lay back and take it. Ilya tilts his head again. "Hm? Are you just a bad fuck or do you need motivation? How about if you can't make me come in 2 minutes then you don't get to come for 2 weeks." Shane can't tell if it's sweat or tears in his eyes (it's both). Yeah

Anon please come back to me,,, say more beautiful anon,,, anon please do not leave me like this.

Arthur watches skilled hands prepare herbs he doesn’t know the names of; Clean them, chop them, grind them down to a pulp.

“Are you certain you know what you’re doing?”

Merlin answers with a sidelong glance – Arthur, please – and ties the poultice with the efficiency of someone who has done this a thousand times.

A sharp pain cuts through Arthur’s side, making him wince. “Ow… Those bandits have truly grown vicious.”

“Maybe you’ve just grown slow,” Merlin retorts cheekily as he dips the poultice in hot water and smiles. Arthur deflects the sudden fond flutter in his chest with a threat:

“Tell me, Merlin, are you aware of the various punishments in place for insulting the King?”

“Shh.”

“Now, you can’t just shush—”

His remark is cut short as Merlin shifts forward, suddenly only inches away. When did he get so close? And gods, when did he get so… Arthur ignores the rest of his thought, heart beating faster than he would admit. Must be the injury.

Without the ability to fly by sword or enhance their speed it had taken them over a month just to find their way out of the wilderness and reach the closest town.

Unfortunately, two young lords with too much money and no way properly protect themselves were an easy target. Soon they had lost only time, but also almost all the belongings that they had carried on their person.

By the time they reached the town by the foot of Cang Qiong Mountain three months had passed. They were hungry and exhausted.

„Tomorrow.“ Shen Qingqiu stated tiredly as they gazed at the height of the mountain flooded by the red light of the setting sun.

„We don’t have any money left. We’re are we supposed to stay the night? And we need to eat…“

„I know a place.“ Shen Qingqiu‘s robes fluttered in the evening breeze as he swiftly turned on his heel and walked off. Liu Qingge recognized the direction.

„Are you deaf?! We don’t have any money left! Especially not for brothel whores!“

Shen Qingqiu threw his shidi a cold gaze as piercing as an ice spear. The exhaustion had revealed a much more unpleasant side to his prickly Shixiong. Liu Qingge was glad it would soon be over.

„Follow me or go sleep under a bridge for all I care.“