#Building a home medical kit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pucksandpower · 1 month

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Stitched Together

mafia boss!Charles Leclerc x surgeon!Reader

Summary: helping a man in dire need of medical attention leads you down a road you never could have imagined

Warnings: this is a mafia romance so … yeah (gunshot wounds, drugging, kidnapping, and Mattia Binotto)

The quiet streets of Monaco glisten under the soft glow of streetlights as you make your way home from a work dinner. The night air carries a slight chill, and you pull your jacket tighter around yourself, your heels clicking rhythmically against the pavement.

Suddenly, a pained groan echoes from a nearby alley, stopping you in your tracks. Your instincts as a surgeon kick in, and you cautiously approach the shadowed passage.

“Hello?” You call out, peering into the darkness. “Is someone there?”

Another groan answers you, and as your eyes adjust, you spot a figure slumped against the wall. Rushing forward, you kneel beside the man, immediately noticing the dark stain spreading across his midsection.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, your training kicking in. “Sir, can you hear me? I’m a doctor. I’m going to call an ambulance.”

As you reach for your phone, a hand weakly grasps your wrist. “No ... no hospitals,” the man rasps, his voice strained.

You frown, conflicted. “Sir, you’re seriously injured. You need medical attention.”

“Can’t ... risk it,” he manages, his breathing labored.

Biting your lip, you consider your options. “Okay, what’s your name?”

“Charles,” he replies, grimacing as he shifts slightly.

“Alright, Charles,” you say, your voice calm and steady. “If you won’t go to a hospital, will you at least let me take you back to my apartment? I’m a surgeon and I can patch you up there.”

Charles hesitates, his piercing green eyes searching your face. After a moment, he nods. “Okay.”

With some effort, you manage to help Charles to his feet, supporting his weight as you slowly make your way out of the alley. “My place isn’t far,” you assure him. “Just hang on.”

The short walk feels like an eternity, but finally, you reach your apartment building. As you fumble with your keys, Charles leans heavily against the wall.

“Almost there,” you encourage, guiding him inside and into the elevator.

Once in your apartment, you lead Charles to your couch. “Lie down,” you instruct, already moving to gather supplies. “I need to assess the damage.”

Returning with your medical kit, you carefully cut away Charles’ blood-soaked shirt. The bullet wound is clearly visible, and you breathe a sigh of relief when you realize it’s not as severe as you initially feared.

“Good news,” you tell him, meeting his gaze. “The bullet seems to have missed any vital organs. I can clean and stitch this up, but you’ve lost a lot of blood. Are you sure I can’t convince you to go to a hospital?”

Charles shakes his head firmly. “No hospitals. Please.”

You nod, respecting his decision despite your reservations. “Alright. This is going to hurt, but I’ll do my best to be quick.”

As you work, Charles grits his teeth, his hands clenching into fists. “So,” he says, clearly trying to distract himself, “what’s a surgeon doing patching up strange men in her living room?”

You can’t help but chuckle. “Honestly? I have no idea. I guess I just couldn’t leave you bleeding in that alley.”

“Most people would have just called the police,” Charles points out, hissing as you clean the wound.

“Well, I’m not most people,” you reply with a small smile. “And you seemed pretty adamant about avoiding official channels.”

Charles studies you for a moment. “You’re not going to ask why?”

You shrug, focusing on your work. “It’s not my place to pry. Though I have to admit, I am curious about what kind of trouble you’ve gotten yourself into.”

A wry smile tugs at Charles’ lips. “Trust me, it’s better if you don’t know.”

“Fair enough,” you concede. “Hold still, I’m about to start stitching.”

As you work, a comfortable silence falls between you. Charles watches you intently, his eyes never leaving your face.

“You’re good at this,” he comments after a while.

You smile, not looking up from your task. “I should hope so. I didn’t go through years of medical school for nothing.”

“How long have you been in Monaco?” Charles asks, seemingly genuinely interested.

“About three years now,” you reply. “I came here for a fellowship at the hospital and ended up staying.”

Charles nods. “Do you like it here?”

You consider the question as you finish the last stitch. “I do. It’s beautiful, and the work is challenging. But ...”

“But?” Charles prompts when you trail off.

Sighing, you begin applying a bandage. “I don’t know. Sometimes it feels a bit ... lonely, I guess. It’s not always easy to connect with people here.”

Charles’ expression softens. “I can understand that. Monaco can be a difficult place to truly belong.”

You meet his gaze, surprised by the understanding in his eyes. “Exactly. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job and I’ve made some friends, but sometimes I miss the sense of community I had back home.”

“Where is home for you?” Charles asks.

“Originally? A small town that feels like a lifetime away from here,” you answer. “Nothing like Monaco, that’s for sure.”

Charles chuckles, then winces slightly. “I can imagine. It must have been quite the culture shock.”

You nod, smiling. “You have no idea. But enough about me. How are you feeling?”

“Better, thanks to you,” Charles replies, attempting to sit up.

You gently push him back down. “Not so fast. You need to rest and let that wound start healing.”

Charles raises an eyebrow. “Are you planning on keeping me hostage, doctor?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Hardly. But I’d feel better if you stayed put for at least a little while. Can I get you something to drink? Water? Tea?”

“Water would be great, thank you,” Charles says, settling back against the couch cushions.

As you move to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water, you can’t help but glance back at your unexpected guest. There’s something intriguing about Charles, beyond his mysterious injury and resistance to seek official help.

Returning with the water, you hand it to Charles, who takes it gratefully. “Thank you,” he says, his fingers brushing against yours as he accepts the glass.

You sit in the armchair across from him, suddenly feeling a bit awkward. “So, Charles,” you begin, “what do you do when you’re not getting shot in dark alleys?”

Charles nearly chokes on his water, coughing slightly before letting out a surprised laugh. “You certainly don’t pull any punches, do you?”

You shrug, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Well, you did say it was better if I didn’t know. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be curious.”

Charles regards you with amusement. “Fair enough. Let’s just say I’m in ... business management.”

“Business management,” you repeat skeptically. “That must be some high-stakes business.”

“You have no idea,” Charles murmurs, his expression turning serious for a moment before he shakes it off. “But really, I’d much rather hear more about you. It’s not every day I meet a beautiful surgeon with a penchant for rescuing mysterious strangers.”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks at his compliment. “There’s not much more to tell, really. I work, I occasionally have dinners with colleagues, and apparently, I moonlight as a back-alley doctor.”

Charles laughs, then winces, pressing a hand to his side. “Careful,” you warn, “You’ll pull your stitches.”

“Worth it,” Charles says with a grin. “You’re quite something, you know that?”

You roll your eyes, but can’t help smiling. “You’re not so bad yourself, for a guy who got shot and refused proper medical care.”

“What can I say? I like to live dangerously,” Charles quips.

You shake your head, amused despite yourself. “Clearly. Though maybe you should consider a slightly less dangerous lifestyle. I can’t imagine getting shot is good for your long-term health.”

Charles’ expression turns thoughtful. “Maybe you’re right. Perhaps I’ve been due for a change.”

An unexpected wave of concern washes over you. “Charles, are you in some kind of trouble? Is there anything I can do to help?”

He looks at you, surprise and something else you can’t quite place flickering in his eyes. “You’ve already done more than enough. Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

“Clearly,” you say dryly, gesturing to his bandaged midsection.

Charles chuckles. “Point taken. But really, you’ve been incredibly kind. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Just promise me you’ll be more careful,” you say, surprised by the intensity of your own words.

Charles holds your gaze, his expression serious. “I promise.”

A moment of charged silence passes between you, broken only when Charles slowly pushes himself to his feet. “I should go,” he says, though he sounds reJoristant. “I’ve imposed on you enough.”

You stand as well, moving to steady him. “Are you sure? You’re welcome to stay and rest.”

Charles shakes his head. “Thank you, but I really should be going. I have some ... matters to attend to.”

You bite your lip, concerned. “Alright. But please, take it easy. And if you need anything — if that wound gives you any trouble — don’t hesitate to come back or call me.” You scribble your number on a piece of paper and hand it to him.

Charles takes the paper, his fingers lingering against yours. “Thank you,” he says softly. “For everything.”

As you walk him to the door, you find yourself wishing he would stay. There’s something about Charles that intrigues you, draws you in despite the obvious danger surrounding him.

At the threshold, Charles turns to you one last time. “I meant what I said earlier. You really are something special. I hope our paths cross again under ... better circumstances.”

Before you can respond, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your cheek. Then, with a final smile, he’s gone, leaving you standing in your doorway, your heart racing and your mind reeling.

As Charles exits the building, he immediately pulls out his phone, his expression hardening into one of intense focus. He dials a number, speaking in a low, authoritative tone the moment the call connects.

“It’s me. I need eyes on someone, 24/7. A surgeon named Y/N Y/L/N. She’s under my protection now. No one touches her, understood?”

He ends the call, casting one last glance at your apartment building before disappearing into the night, already planning when and how he’ll see you again.

***

The glittering lights of the Hotel de Paris’ ballroom cast a warm glow over the assembled guests. You smooth down your elegant evening gown, feeling slightly out of place among Monaco’s elite. The hospital’s annual benefit gala is always a grand affair, but tonight feels different, charged with an energy you can’t quite place.

“Y/N!” A is familiar voice calls out. You turn to see Dr. Sophia Moreau, one of your closest colleagues, approaching with two champagne flutes in hand. “You clean up nicely,” she teases, offering you a glass.

You accept it gratefully, taking a small sip. “Thanks, Sophia. You look amazing too. How’s the night been so far?”

Sophia shrugs, her eyes scanning the room. “Oh, you know, the usual schmoozing and small talk. But there’s a buzz going around. Apparently, the director has some big announcement planned.”

Your interest piques. “Really? Any idea what it’s about?”

“No clue,” Sophia replies. “But whatever it is, it’s got the board members practically giddy. And you know how rare that is.”

You chuckle, nodding in agreement. The hospital’s board is notoriously hard to please, a fact you know all too well from your years of lobbying for transplant certification.

As if summoned by your thoughts, Dr. Henri Beaumont, the hospital’s director, takes the stage. The room falls into a respectful hush as he taps the microphone.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Dr. Beaumont begins, his voice carrying across the ballroom. “Thank you all for joining us tonight in support of our wonderful hospital. Your generosity never ceases to amaze me.”

You listen politely, expecting the usual platitudes. But as Dr. Beaumont continues, you feel your heart begin to race.

“Tonight, I have the great pleasure of announcing a new chapter in our hospital’s history,” he says, his eyes twinkling with excitement. “Thanks to an incredibly generous donation from one of Monaco’s own, we will be embarking on a project that will revolutionize healthcare in our principality.”

You grip your champagne flute tighter, hardly daring to hope.

“Within the year, our hospital will become fully transplant certified,” Dr. Beaumont announces, his words met with a wave of gasps and excited murmurs. “And that’s not all. This donation will also fund a dedicated medical helicopter, allowing us to transport organs and critical patients with unprecedented speed.”

The room erupts in applause, but you barely hear it over the pounding of your own heart. After years of fighting, of presenting proposal after proposal, it’s finally happening.

“None of this would be possible without the extraordinary generosity of our donor,” Dr. Beaumont continues once the applause dies down. “Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in thanking Mr. Charles Leclerc!”

As the room once again breaks into enthusiastic applause, a figure rises from one of the front tables. Your breath catches in your throat as you recognize the man turning to face the crowd.

It’s him. The mysterious Charles from the alley, the man whose life you saved. He looks completely different now — impeccably dressed in a tailored tuxedo, his presence commanding the room’s attention. But those piercing green eyes are unmistakable.

“Y/N?” Sophia’s voice breaks through your shock. “Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You blink, tearing your gaze away from Charles to look at your friend. “I ... yes, I’m fine. Just surprised, that’s all.”

Sophia raises an eyebrow. “I’ll say. This is everything you’ve been working towards. You must be thrilled!”

“I am,” you assure her, your mind still reeling. “It’s just ... a lot to take in.”

As the applause dies down and the crowd begins to disperse, you find your eyes drawn back to Charles. He’s engaged in conversation with Dr. Beaumont and several board members, but as if sensing your gaze, he looks up. Your eyes meet across the room, and a slow smile spreads across his face.

“Excuse me,” you murmur to Sophia, setting down your champagne flute. “There’s someone I need to speak with.”

You make your way through the crowd, your heart pounding with each step. As you approach, Charles politely excuses himself from his conversation and turns to face you.

“Dr. Y/L/N,” he greets you, his voice warm. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“Mr. Leclerc,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Charles’ smile widens. “I’m full of surprises. Though I believe you already knew that.”

You glance around, noticing the curious looks from nearby guests. “Could we speak privately?”

“Of course,” Charles says, gesturing towards a secluded balcony. “Shall we?”

You follow him out onto the balcony, the cool night air a welcome respite from the crowded ballroom. For a moment, you both stand in silence, looking out over the twinkling lights of Monaco.

“So,” you finally say, turning to face him. “Charles Leclerc. I’m guessing that’s not the name you usually give to people who find you bleeding in alleys.”

Charles chuckles, shaking his head. “No, it’s not. But it is my real name.”

“And you’re ... what? A millionaire philanthropist?”

“Among other things,” Charles replies enigmatically.

You cross your arms, studying him. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were that night?”

Charles leans against the balcony railing, his expression turning serious. “Would you have believed me if I had? A man refusing hospital treatment, claiming to be a wealthy businessman?”

You have to admit he has a point. “I suppose not. But this ...” you gesture back towards the ballroom, “This is incredible. The transplant certification, the helicopter ... it’s everything I’ve been fighting for.”

“I know,” Charles says softly.

You blink, surprised. “You know?”

Charles nods. “After that night, I ... may have done some research. I was curious about the remarkable surgeon who saved my life without asking questions or for anything in return.”

“So this donation,” you say slowly, “it’s because of me?”

“In part,” Charles admits. “Your passion for your work, your dedication to improving healthcare here — it’s inspiring. But more than that, I saw an opportunity to do some real good. To maybe balance the scales a bit.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Balance the scales? What exactly is it that you do, Charles?”

He gives you a rueful smile. “Let’s just say my business dealings aren’t always as philanthropic as tonight’s donation might suggest.”

A chill runs down your spine as the pieces start to fall into place. The gunshot wound, the refusal of hospitals, the mysterious “business management” — it all points to one conclusion.

“You’re not just a businessman, are you?” You ask quietly.

Charles holds your gaze, his expression unreadable. “No, I’m not. Are you sure you want to know more?”

You take a deep breath, considering. Part of you wants to walk away, to pretend this conversation never happened. But a larger part — the part that couldn’t leave a bleeding man in an alley, the part that’s drawn to the mystery and danger Charles represents — wants to stay.

“Yes,” you say firmly. “I want to know.”

Charles nods, respect flickering in his eyes. “Very well. But not here. This isn’t a conversation for a crowded gala.”

“Then where?” You ask.

“Have dinner with me,” Charles suggests. “Tomorrow night. I’ll answer all your questions, I promise.”

You hesitate, weighing the risks. But the memory of that night in your apartment, the connection you felt with Charles despite the strange circumstances, makes your decision for you.

“Alright,” you agree. “Dinner tomorrow.”

Charles smiles, relief evident in his features. “Thank you. I’ll send a car for you at eight.”

Just then, the balcony doors open, and Dr. Beaumont steps out. “Ah, there you are, Mr. Leclerc! And Dr. Y/L/N, how wonderful. I was hoping to speak with both of you.”

You plaster on a polite smile, trying to hide your frustration at the interruption. “Dr. Beaumont, good evening.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important,” Dr. Beaumont says, looking between you and Charles.

“Not at all,” Charles replies smoothly. “Dr. Y/L/N was just expressing her excitement about the transplant certification project.”

Dr. Beaumont beams. “Yes, isn’t it marvelous? And it’s all thanks to your generous donation, Mr. Leclerc. We can’t thank you enough.”

“Please,” Charles says, “call me Charles. And the thanks should really go to Dr. Y/L/N here. Her proposals and persistence were what brought this need to my attention.”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks as Dr. Beaumont turns to you, his eyebrows raised. “Is that so? Well, Dr. Y/L/N, it seems we owe you a debt of gratitude as well. Your dedication to this cause has clearly paid off.”

“Thank you, Dr. Beaumont,” you manage, still reeling from Charles’ praise. “I’m just glad we’ll finally be able to offer these life-saving services to our patients.”

“Indeed,” Dr. Beaumont agrees. “In fact, I’d like to discuss the possibility of you heading up the new transplant department. Your expertise would be invaluable in getting the program off the ground.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “I ... I would be honored, sir. Thank you.”

“Excellent!” Dr. Beaumont claps his hands together. “We’ll set up a meeting next week to discuss the details. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to mingle with our other donors. Charles, Dr. Y/L/N, enjoy your evening.”

As Dr. Beaumont retreats back into the ballroom, you turn to Charles, still stunned. “Did you have something to do with that offer?”

Charles holds up his hands innocently. “I merely suggested to Dr. Beaumont that the project would benefit from your leadership. The decision was entirely his.”

You shake your head, a mixture of gratitude and confusion swirling inside you. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you doesn’t seem like enough.”

“Then don’t say it,” Charles replies softly. “Just promise me you’ll use this opportunity to do what you do best — save lives.”

You nod, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the events of the evening. “I should probably get back inside,” you say reluctantly. “People will be wondering where I’ve gone.”

“Of course,” Charles agrees. “I look forward to our dinner tomorrow. There’s much we need to discuss.”

As you turn to leave, Charles gently catches your hand. “Y/N,” he says, his voice low. “Whatever you learn tomorrow, whatever you decide ... know that my feelings for you are genuine. That night in your apartment, it ... it changed things for me.”

You feel a flutter in your chest at his words. “It changed things for me too,” you admit softly.

Charles brings your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “Until tomorrow, then.”

As you make your way back into the ballroom, your mind is a whirlwind of emotions and questions. You spot Sophia across the room, waving you over with a curious expression.

“Spill,” she demands as soon as you reach her. “What was that all about? How do you know Charles Leclerc?”

You take a deep breath, trying to find the right words to explain the inexplicable situation you’ve found yourself in.

“It’s ... complicated,” you finally say. “And I think I’m about to find out just how complicated it is.”

***

As the sun sets over Monaco, casting a golden glow across the city, you find yourself standing in front of your apartment building, nervously smoothing down your dress. The sleek Rolls Royce that Charles promised pulls up, and a uniformed driver steps out to open the door for you.

“Good evening, Dr. Y/L/N,” he greets you politely. “Mr. Leclerc is expecting you.”

You slide into the plush leather seat, your heart racing with anticipation. The drive through Monaco’s winding streets is brief but gives you time to collect your thoughts. Before you know it, the car is pulling up to Le Louis XV, arguably the most exclusive restaurant in all of Monaco.

As you step out of the car, you spot Charles waiting for you at the entrance. He’s impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, his presence commanding even among the elite clientele entering the restaurant.

“Y/N,” he greets you warmly, taking your hand and pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “You look absolutely stunning.”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Thank you, Charles. You clean up pretty well yourself.”

He chuckles, offering you his arm. “Shall we?”

As you enter the restaurant, you’re immediately struck by the opulence of the decor. Crystal chandeliers hang from intricately painted ceilings, and the soft strains of a string quartet fill the air.

The maître d’ greets Charles by name, leading you to a secluded table tucked away in a corner. Charles pulls out your chair for you before taking his own seat across from you.

A waiter approaches, offering you menus. As he leans over to pour water into your glasses, you notice his gaze lingering a bit too long on your neckline. Before you can react, Charles clears his throat sharply.

“I think we’ll need a different server,” he says, his voice cold and authoritative. The waiter pales, stammering an apology before hurrying away.

You raise an eyebrow at Charles. “That was ... intense.”

Charles’ expression softens as he looks at you. “I apologize if that made you uncomfortable. I simply don’t tolerate disrespect, especially towards someone I care about.”

His words send a flutter through your chest, but you push it aside, reminding yourself why you’re here. “So,” you say, meeting his gaze, “you promised me answers.”

Charles nods, his expression turning serious. “Indeed I did. But first, let’s order. This conversation may take a while.”

Once you’ve placed your orders and the new, much more professional waiter has poured your wine, Charles leans back in his chair, studying you intently.

“What do you know about the Monegasque underworld, Y/N?” He asks quietly.

You shake your head. “Not much, honestly. I know it exists, of course, but it’s not exactly something we discuss in the hospital break room.”

A small smile tugs at Charles’ lips. “No, I suppose not. Well, to put it bluntly, I am what you might call the boss of the Monegasque Mafia.”

Despite your suspicions, hearing him say it so plainly sends a shock through you. “The Mafia? Charles, that’s ...”

“Illegal? Dangerous? Morally questionable?” He finishes for you, his tone wry. “Yes, it’s all of those things.”

You take a sip of your wine, trying to process this information. “How did you end up in that position?”

Charles sighs, his eyes distant. “It’s a long story, but the short version is that I inherited the role from my father. He built this empire, and when he died, it fell to me to maintain it.”

“And the gunshot wound?” You ask, remembering the night you first met.

“A disagreement with a rival organization,” Charles explains. “It’s been dealt with.”

You feel a chill at the implication in his words. “Dealt with how?”

Charles meets your gaze steadily. “Do you really want to know?”

After a moment’s hesitation, you shake your head. “No, I don’t think I do.”

“Smart,” Charles says approvingly. “The less you know about certain aspects of my business, the safer you’ll be.”

The waiter returns with your appetizers, providing a brief respite from the heavy conversation. As you start to eat, you find your mind whirling with questions.

“Why are you telling me all this?” You finally ask. “Isn’t it dangerous for you to reveal your identity?”

Charles nods slowly. “It is. But I trust you, Y/N. That night in your apartment, when you helped me without question, without judgment — it showed me what kind of person you are. And I find myself ... unwilling to lie to you.”

His honesty touches you, despite the circumstances. “I appreciate that, Charles. But where does this leave us? What happens now?”

Charles leans forward, his eyes intense. “That depends on you. I won’t lie — being associated with me comes with risks. But it also comes with benefits, as you’ve seen with the hospital donation.”

“Is that what this is about?” You ask, a hint of disappointment creeping into your voice. “You’re trying to buy my loyalty?”

“No,” Charles says firmly. “The donation was genuine. Your passion inspired me to do some good. This ... this is something else entirely.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite yourself. “What do you mean?”

Charles takes a deep breath. “I have a proposition for you. I’d like you to work for me, as my personal doctor when the need arises.”

You blink in surprise. “Your personal doctor? But I’m a surgeon, not a general practitioner.”

“Exactly,” Charles nods. “In my line of work, emergency surgical skills are more valuable than routine check-ups. You’d be on call for me and my ... associates when medical attention is needed discreetly.”

You sit back, considering his words. “That sounds an awful lot like being a mob doctor, Charles.”

He doesn’t deny it. “It is. But it would also give you the opportunity to save lives that might otherwise be lost. And I can promise you, the compensation would be ... substantial.”

The waiter returns to clear your plates and bring the main course, giving you a moment to gather your thoughts. As you cut into your perfectly cooked steak, you mull over Charles’ offer.

“What about my work at the hospital?” You ask. “I can’t just abandon that, especially not now that we’re getting the transplant certification.”

Charles shakes his head. “I wouldn’t ask you to. This would be in addition to your regular work, called upon only when necessary. Your hospital duties would always come first.”

You take a sip of wine, studying Charles over the rim of your glass. “And what if I refuse? What happens then?”

“Then you walk out of here, go back to your life, and we never speak of this again,” Charles says simply. “I meant what I said, Y/N. I trust you. If you choose not to be involved, I know you’ll keep my secret.”

His sincerity is clear, and you find yourself believing him. “Can I ask you something, Charles?”

“Anything,” he replies.

“Why me? Surely there are other doctors you could approach, ones with more ... flexible ethics, perhaps?”

Charles’ expression softens. “Because you’re extraordinary, Y/N. Your skill, your compassion, your integrity — they’re rare qualities, especially in my world. And selfishly, perhaps, I want to keep you in my life.”

His words send a warmth spreading through your chest, and you find yourself at a crossroads. On one hand, everything you know tells you to walk away, to keep your life simple and safe. But on the other ...

“What would it entail, exactly?” You ask, surprising yourself.

A glimmer of hope appears in Charles’ eyes. “Primarily, it would involve treating injuries that can’t be taken to a hospital — gunshot wounds, knife punctures, that sort of thing. Occasionally, there might be a need for more ... specialized care.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Specialized how?”

“Let’s just say that sometimes, information needs to be obtained through methods that aren’t entirely ... ethical,” Charles says carefully.

You feel a chill run down your spine. “You mean torture.”

Charles doesn’t flinch from the word. “Yes. Your role would be to ensure that lines aren’t crossed, that no permanent damage is done. To save lives, even in the darkest of circumstances.”

You take a deep breath, trying to reconcile the charming man across from you with the brutal world he’s describing. “I don’t know if I can do that, Charles. It goes against everything I believe in as a doctor.”

He nods, understanding in his eyes. “I know. And I wouldn’t ask you to participate directly. Your job would be to mitigate harm, to heal. Nothing more.”

As the waiter clears your plates and offers dessert menus, you find yourself at a loss for words. Charles watches you carefully, giving you space to process.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” he says gently. “Take some time to think about it. Weigh the pros and cons. I know it’s not an easy decision.”

You nod, grateful for the reprieve. “Thank you. I ... I will think about it.”

As you share a decadent chocolate dessert, the conversation shifts to lighter topics. Charles tells you about his childhood in Monaco, and you share stories from your medical school days. Despite the heavy subject matter earlier, you find yourself laughing and enjoying Charles’ company.

All too soon, the evening draws to a close. Charles insists on walking you out, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back as you exit the restaurant.

As you wait for the valet to bring his car around, Charles turns to face you, his expression serious once more.

“Thank you for hearing me out tonight, Y/N,” he says softly. “Whatever you decide, know that I meant every word. You’re an extraordinary woman, and I’m honored to know you.”

Before you can respond, Charles leans in, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth in a kiss that’s both chaste and charged with potential. You feel your breath catch in your throat, your heart racing at his proximity.

As he pulls back, Charles meets your gaze, his green eyes intense. “Think about my offer. And when you’ve made your decision, good or bad, call me.”

With that, he steps back, leaving you feeling slightly dazed as the valet pulls up with his car. Charles opens the passenger door for you, ever the gentleman.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he says softly. “I hope to hear from you soon.”

As the car pulls away from the curb, your mind is a whirlwind of emotions and conflicting thoughts. You touch your fingers to the spot where Charles kissed you, still feeling the ghost of his lips.

Part of you knows you should run as far and fast as you can from Charles Leclerc and the dangerous world he inhabits. But a larger part – the part that yearns for excitement, for purpose beyond the hospital walls – is already considering his offer.

As Monaco’s glittering lights pass by outside the car window, you realize that no matter what you decide, your life will never be the same. The question is, are you ready to take the leap into the unknown?

With Charles’ business card burning a hole in your purse and the memory of his kiss lingering on your skin, you know that the decision you make will shape not just your future, but potentially the future of Monaco itself.

***

The shrill ring of your phone pierces the quiet of your bedroom, jolting you awake. Fumbling in the darkness, you grab your phone, squinting at the bright screen. Unknown number.

Your heart races as you answer, “Hello?”

“Y/N,” Charles’ voice comes through, tense and urgent. “I’m sorry to wake you.”

Sitting up, suddenly alert, you reply, “Charles? What’s wrong?”

There’s a brief pause before he continues, “I wish I could give you more time to consider my offer, but I’m afraid circumstances have forced my hand. One of my associates is badly injured and needs immediate medical attention.”

You can hear the strain in his voice as he continues, “If you’re willing to accept my offer, I’ll have someone pick you up right now. If not, I understand, and I’ll look for help elsewhere. But I need to know your decision now.”

Your mind races, weighing the implications. This is it — the moment of truth. Do you step into Charles’ world or walk away?

Taking a deep breath, you make your choice. “I’ll do it. Send the car.”

You can almost hear Charles’ relief through the phone. “Thank you, Y/N. A car will be there in five minutes. Be ready.”

The line goes dead, and you spring into action. Throwing on clothes and grabbing a bag with some basic medical supplies, you’re waiting outside your building when a sleek black car pulls up.

The drive is tense and silent. The driver, a stern-faced man, offers no conversation as he speeds through Monaco’s empty streets. Within minutes, you’re pulling up to an expansive, gated compound.

As soon as the car stops, the front door of the mansion flies open. Charles strides out, his face etched with worry.

“Y/N,” he greets you, guiding you quickly inside. “Thank you for coming. Follow me.”

You hurry after him through opulent hallways, your mind struggling to take in the surroundings. “What happened, Charles? Who’s hurt?”

“My right-hand man, Pierre,” Charles explains as he leads you down a staircase. “He was ambushed leaving a meeting. Took a bullet to the chest.”

You nod, your mind already racing through possibilities. “How long ago?”

“About an hour,” Charles replies, pushing open a door.

You step into what appears to be a fully-equipped operating room. On the table lies a man, his breathing labored and shirt soaked with blood.

Rushing to his side, you begin your examination. “Pierre? I’m Dr. Y/L/N. Can you hear me?”

Pierre’s eyes flutter open, filled with pain. “Y-yes,” he manages to wheeze.

You turn to Charles, who’s hovering nearby. “I need to examine him properly. Can you help me remove his shirt?”

As you and Charles carefully cut away Pierre’s bloodied shirt, you assess the wound. The bullet hole is below his right collarbone, and his breathing is increasingly strained.

“The bullet’s punctured his lung,” you announce, your mind already formulating a plan. “He needs surgery immediately. Charles, I’ll need assistance. Are you up for it?”

Charles nods without hesitation. “Tell me what to do.”

You quickly outline the procedure as you prep Pierre for surgery. “We need to reinflate his lung and remove the bullet. It’s going to be tricky, but we don’t have time to get him to a hospital.”

As you work, you fall into a focused rhythm, your years of training taking over. Charles proves to be a capable assistant, following your instructions precisely.

“Suction here,” you direct, carefully navigating the delicate lung tissue. “Good. Now hold this retractor steady.”

Hours pass in a blur of intense concentration. Finally, you step back, exhaling deeply. “I think we’ve done it. The lung’s reinflated and the bullet’s out. He’s not out of the woods yet, but his chances are good.”

Charles looks at you with a mixture of awe and gratitude. “Y/N, I ... thank you. You’ve saved his life.”

You nod, suddenly feeling the weight of exhaustion. “He’ll need close monitoring for the next 24 hours. Is there somewhere I can clean up?”

Charles leads you to an adjacent bathroom, where you wash the blood from your skin. As you emerge, you find Charles waiting, two glasses of whiskey in hand.

“I thought you might need this,” he says, offering you a glass.

You accept it gratefully, taking a long sip. The alcohol burns pleasantly, helping to calm your frayed nerves.

“So,” you say, meeting Charles’ gaze. “I guess this makes it official. I’m your doctor now.”

Charles nods solemnly. “Indeed. And I can’t express how grateful I am. Not just for tonight, but for taking this risk.”

You lean against the wall, suddenly feeling the weight of your decision. “I still have questions, Charles. About all of this. About what I’m getting myself into.”

“Of course,” Charles agrees. “Ask me anything. You deserve to know what you’re part of now.”

Taking a deep breath, you begin, “How often can I expect nights like this? And what exactly is the nature of your ... business?”

Charles considers his words carefully. “Nights like this are, thankfully, rare. Most of what I’ll need from you will be more routine — treating minor injuries, regular check-ups for my key people. As for my business ...” He pauses, taking a sip of his whiskey. “It’s complex. We have interests in various sectors — some legitimate, some less so. Gambling, real estate, import and export. And yes, sometimes that involves activities that aren’t entirely legal.”

You nod slowly, processing this information. “And the violence? The rivalries that led to Pierre getting shot?”

“An unfortunate reality of our world,” Charles admits. “We try to minimize it, but conflicts do arise. My goal is always to resolve things peacefully, but sometimes ...” He gestures towards the operating room, where Pierre lies recovering.

“I see,” you murmur. “And my role in all this? Beyond providing medical care, I mean.”

Charles’ expression softens. “Your role, Y/N, is to be a light in this sometimes dark world. To save lives, to minimize harm. And perhaps ... to remind people like me that there’s good in the world worth protecting.”

His words touch something deep inside you, and you find yourself nodding. “I think I can do that.”

A comfortable silence falls between you, broken only when a monitor in the operating room beeps. You both rush to check on Pierre, finding his vitals stable.

As you adjust his IV, you ask, “So, what happens now? Do I just ... go home and wait for the next emergency call?”

Charles shakes his head. “Not quite. I’d like you to stay here for the next day or so, to monitor Pierre’s recovery. After that, we’ll set up a more formal arrangement. You’ll have a secure phone for communications and a driver on call for when you’re needed.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And my regular job at the hospital?”

“Remains your priority,” Charles assures you. “This work will always come second to that. I don’t want to jeopardize your career or the good you do there.”

Relieved, you nod. “Alright. And ... us? Where do we stand?”

Charles steps closer, his eyes intense. “That is entirely up to you. My feelings haven’t changed since our dinner. But I understand if this is too much, too complicated.”

You find yourself drawn to him, despite the rational part of your brain screaming caution. “It is complicated. But ... I can’t deny there’s something here. Something worth exploring.”

A smile spreads across Charles’ face, genuine and warm. “I’m glad to hear that. We’ll take it slow, see where this leads us.”

Just then, Pierre stirs on the operating table, groaning softly. You both move to his side, your instincts taking over once again.

“Pierre?” You call softly. “Can you hear me?”

His eyes flutter open, unfocused at first but then settling on you. “Who ... where am I?”

Charles steps into his line of sight. “You’re safe, my friend. This is Dr. Y/L/N. She saved your life tonight.”

Pierre’s eyes widen in recognition. “The surgeon ... from the alley. You recruited her?”

You can’t help but chuckle. “It’s a long story. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been shot,” Pierre croaks, attempting a weak smile.

You check his vitals as you explain, “The bullet punctured your lung. We’ve repaired the damage, but you’re going to need time to recover. No strenuous activity for at least a month.”

Pierre nods, then looks to Charles. “The meeting ... did we get the information?”

Charles places a hand on Pierre’s shoulder. “We did, thanks to you. But don’t worry about that now. Focus on getting better.”

As Pierre drifts back to sleep, you turn to Charles. “He needs rest. And so do we, for that matter.”

Charles nods in agreement. “I’ll show you to a guest room. We should both try to get some sleep before morning.”

As you follow Charles through the mansion, the events of the night start to catch up with you. By the time you reach the luxurious guest suite, you’re practically swaying on your feet.

“Get some rest,” Charles says softly. “I’ll have some fresh clothes brought for you in the morning.”

As he turns to leave, you catch his hand. “Charles ... thank you. For trusting me with this.”

He brings your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “No, Y/N. Thank you for taking this leap of faith. Sleep well.”

As the door closes behind him, you sink onto the plush bed, your mind whirling with the night’s events. You’ve crossed a line tonight, stepped into a world you never imagined being part of. But as you drift off to sleep, you can’t help but feel a thrill of excitement about what the future might hold.

For better or worse, your life will never be the same again.

***

As the weeks pass following that fateful night, you begin to notice subtle yet undeniable changes in your daily life. It starts with a prickling sensation at the back of your neck, a feeling of being watched that you can’t quite shake. At first, you dismiss it as paranoia, a natural reaction to your new connection with Charles’ world. But then you start to catch glimpses — a man in a dark suit lingering across the street from your apartment, a familiar face that seems to pop up wherever you go.

One morning, as you’re grabbing coffee before work, you decide to confront the situation. Turning abruptly, you lock eyes with a tall, broad-shouldered man who’s been tailing you for the past few blocks.

“Alright,” you say, crossing your arms. “Who are you and why are you following me?”

The man looks momentarily surprised before his face settles into a neutral expression. “Mr. Leclerc assigned me to ensure your safety, Dr. Y/L/N. I’m not meant to interfere with your daily life.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And does Charles think I need a bodyguard to get my morning coffee?”

The man — you decide to call him Shadow in your head — gives a small shrug. “Mr. Leclerc believes in being thorough. I’m here to protect you from any potential threats.”

Sighing, you shake your head. “Fine. But can you at least try to be a little less ... obvious? I don’t need my colleagues at the hospital getting suspicious.”

Shadow nods. “Of course. I’ll maintain a more discreet distance.”

As you continue your walk to the hospital, you can’t help but feel a mix of irritation and a strange sort of warmth at Charles’ protective instincts.

The surprises don’t stop there. Later that week, you return home from a long shift to find a large, elegantly wrapped package outside your door. Curious, you bring it inside and carefully open it.

Inside, you find a stunning designer handbag — one you vaguely remember admiring in a shop window weeks ago. Attached is a simple note:

A beautiful bag for a beautiful doctor – CL

You can’t help but smile, even as you shake your head at the extravagance. Pulling out your phone, you send a quick text to Charles.

The bag is gorgeous, but you really didn’t have to.

His reply comes moments later.

I wanted to.

Is it not to your liking?

You chuckle, typing back.

It’s perfect. But you don’t need to shower me with gifts.

Perhaps not. But I enjoy it. Allow me this small pleasure?

Rolling your eyes fondly, you respond.

Fine. But nothing too outrageous, okay?

You can almost hear his chuckle in his reply.

I make no promises.

True to his word, the gifts keep coming. A rare first edition of your favorite medical text. A pair of ridiculously comfortable designer shoes that somehow fit perfectly. Each accompanied by a note signed simply “CL”.

But it’s not just the material things that change. One day, as you’re buried in paperwork at the hospital, a delicious aroma wafts into your office. You look up to see your colleague standing in the doorway with a bag from your favorite local restaurant.

“Special delivery,” Sophia says with a grin, setting the bag on your desk.

You blink in surprise. “I didn’t order anything.”

Her grin widens. “No, but apparently you have a very thoughtful admirer. This has been showing up every day for the past week. The nurses have been taking turns bringing it up.”

Your cheeks flush as you open the bag, finding a perfectly prepared lunch and another note from Charles.

Sophia leans in, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “So, who’s the mystery man? Anyone I know?”

You quickly tuck the note away. “It’s ... complicated. We’re still figuring things out.”

“Uh-huh,” Sophia says, clearly not buying it. “Well, whoever he is, he’s got good taste. In food and women.”

As Sophia leaves, you can’t help but smile. Despite the complexity of your situation with Charles, these small gestures warm your heart.

The changes extend beyond gifts and food, though. You start to notice that things at the hospital seem to be running more smoothly. Bureaucratic hurdles that used to take weeks to clear now resolve themselves in days. Equipment requests that were once denied due to budget constraints are suddenly approved.

One afternoon, you’re in a meeting with Dr. Beaumont, discussing the progress of the new transplant center.

“I must say, Dr. Y/L/N,” Beaumont says, beaming, “the speed at which we’re moving forward is remarkable. It’s as if all the red tape has simply ... vanished.”

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, suspecting Charles’ influence but unable to confirm it. “Yes, it’s ... quite fortunate.”

Beaumont leans in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Between you and me, I think our generous donor, Mr. Leclerc, might have something to do with it. He seems to have friends in high places.”

You force a neutral expression. “Oh? What makes you say that?”

Beaumont chuckles. “Let’s just say that certain government officials who were dragging their feet on approvals suddenly became very cooperative after a few calls from Mr. Leclerc’s office. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

As you leave the meeting, your mind is whirling. You appreciate the help, but the extent of Charles’ influence is starting to sink in. That evening, you decide it’s time for a face-to-face conversation.

You send Charles a text.

We need to talk. Dinner tonight?

His reply is almost immediate.

Of course. I’ll send a car. 8 PM?

At eight sharp, you find yourself being ushered into an exclusive rooftop restaurant. Charles is waiting, looking as handsome and composed as ever in a perfectly tailored suit.

He stands as you approach, pulling out your chair. “Y/N, you look lovely.”

You sit, fixing him with a serious look. “Charles, we need to discuss a few things.”

His expression turns concerned. “Is everything alright?”

Taking a deep breath, you begin. “The bodyguard, the gifts, the lunch deliveries ... it’s all very sweet, but it’s a bit much. And the thing with the hospital — are you pulling strings to make things happen?”

Charles listens intently, his face unreadable. When you finish, he leans back, considering his words carefully.

“I apologize if I’ve overstepped,” he says finally. “The protection is non-negotiable, I’m afraid. Your safety is paramount to me. But if the gifts make you uncomfortable, I can scale them back.”

You nod, relieved he’s listening. “And the hospital situation?”

Charles sighs. “I may have ... encouraged certain officials to be more cooperative. But I assure you, it was all above board. No bribes, no threats. Just a gentle reminder of how beneficial the new transplant center will be for Monaco.”

You can’t help but chuckle. “Gentle reminder, huh? And I suppose your reputation had nothing to do with it?”

A small smirk plays at the corner of Charles’ mouth. “I may have a certain ... influence. But I used it for a good cause. The transplant center will save lives, Y/N. Isn’t that what matters?”

You shake your head, but you’re smiling. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Charles reaches across the table, taking your hand. “I know my world is very different from yours, Y/N. I’m trying to bridge that gap, to make things easier for you. But if I’m going about it the wrong way, tell me. I want you to be comfortable with this ... with us.”

The sincerity in his eyes touches you. “I appreciate that, Charles. I do. I just ... I need to feel like I’m still in control of my own life, you know? Like I’m not just being swept along in your wake.”

Charles nods, squeezing your hand gently. “I understand. From now on, I’ll consult you before making any decisions that affect your life. No more surprises. Well, fewer surprises, at least.”

You laugh, feeling the tension dissipate. “I suppose I can live with that. But maybe we can compromise on the bodyguard situation? I don’t need a shadow 24/7.”

“How about this,” Charles proposes, “The security detail maintains a distance unless you’re entering or leaving your apartment or the hospital. They’ll be there if you need them, but not constantly in your space. Would that work?”

You consider for a moment, then nod. “I can live with that. Thank you for listening.”

He brings your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “Always, Y/N. Your happiness and comfort are important to me.”

As the waiter approaches to take your order, you find yourself relaxing, enjoying the evening with Charles. The conversation flows easily, touching on your work at the hospital, Charles’ legitimate business ventures, and your shared love of classical music.

By the time dessert arrives, you’re feeling more at ease with the situation than you have in weeks.

“Charles,” you say, savoring a spoonful of soufflé, “I have to ask. How did you know about the handbag? The one I admired weeks ago?”

A mischievous glint appears in Charles’ eyes. “I have my ways. Let’s just say I pay attention to the things that catch your eye.”

You shake your head, amused. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Perhaps,” he agrees with a smile. “But admit it, you’re starting to enjoy it.”

As you leave the restaurant, Charles’ hand resting lightly on the small of your back, you realize that he’s right. Despite the complexity, despite the lingering concerns about his world, you are enjoying this. Enjoying him.

Charles walks you to the waiting car, opening the door for you. Before you get in, he catches your hand, his expression turning serious.

“Y/N,” he says softly, “I want you to know that I treasure what’s growing between us. I know my world is complicated, often dangerous. But with you ... I see a possibility for something real, something good. I hope you can be patient with me as we navigate this.”

Touched by his honesty, you lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “I’m here, aren’t I? We’ll figure it out together.”

As the car pulls away, Charles watching from the curb, you lean back in your seat, a small smile playing on your lips. Your life has certainly become more complicated since that night in the alley. But as you reflect on the past few weeks — the challenges, the surprises, the growing connection with Charles — you can’t help but feel a thrill of excitement about what the future might hold.

***

The cool evening air greets you as you exit the hospital, your shift finally over. You roll your shoulders, easing the tension from a long day of surgeries. As you walk towards your car, your mind drifts to Charles, wondering if he’ll be free for a late dinner.

Suddenly, a sharp prick in your neck startles you. Before you can react, a wave of dizziness washes over you. The world tilts, your vision blurring. You try to call out, but your voice fails you. As darkness encroaches, your last conscious thought is of Charles.

When you come to, it’s to a pounding headache and disorientation. You blink, trying to focus. The room is dimly lit, cold, with bare concrete walls. As awareness creeps back, you realize you’re strapped to a chair, your wrists and ankles bound tightly.

Panic rises in your throat, but you force it down, trying to assess the situation. You’re still in your scrubs, which means you haven’t been unconscious for too long. There are no windows, no indication of where you might be.

The creak of a door opening snaps your attention forward. A man enters — relatively tall, curly-haired, with a scar running down the left side of his face. His eyes, when they meet yours, are cold and calculating.

“Ah, Dr. Y/L/N,” he says, his voice carrying a slight Italian accent. “So good of you to join us. I hope you’re comfortable.”

You glare at him, finding your voice. “Who are you? What do you want?”

The man chuckles, pulling up a chair to sit across from you. “Where are my manners? Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Mattia Binotto. And as for what I want ...” He leans in, his gaze intense. “I want Charles Leclerc.”

Your heart races, but you keep your expression neutral. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mattia’s laugh is harsh. “Come now, Doctor. Let’s not play games. I know all about your ... relationship with Charles. I’ve been watching you both for quite some time.”

“Why?” You demand, tugging futilely at your restraints. “What does Charles have to do with this?”

Mattia leans back, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Everything, my dear. You see, I used to work for Charles’ father. I was his right-hand man, his most trusted advisor. And how did the old man repay my loyalty? By kicking me out, exiling me from Monaco.”

You listen, your mind racing. Charles had mentioned conflicts within the organization, but this ... this was something else entirely.

“So this is about revenge?” You ask, trying to keep him talking.

Mattia’s eyes flash dangerously. “Revenge, yes. But also reclamation. What was taken from me, I intend to take back. And you, my dear doctor, are the perfect bait.”

Fear claws at your insides, but you push it down, channeling it into anger instead. “Charles won’t fall for this. He’s smarter than that.”

“Oh, I’m counting on his intelligence,” Mattia says, standing up and beginning to pace. “You see, Charles knows exactly who I am and what I’m capable of. He’ll come for you, make no mistake. And when he does ...” Mattia’s smile is chilling. “Well, let’s just say I have quite the reunion planned.”

You struggle against your bonds, your mind whirling. “You’re insane if you think you can take on Charles and his entire organization.”

Mattia stops pacing, turning to face you. “Insane? No, Doctor. Prepared. I’ve spent years planning this, gathering allies, waiting for the perfect moment. And you ...” He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. You jerk away from his touch. “You are the key to it all.”

“Don’t touch me,” you snarl, glaring up at him.

Mattia chuckles. “Feisty. I can see why Charles is so taken with you. It will make breaking you all the more satisfying.”

A chill runs down your spine at his words. “If you hurt me, Charles will-”

“Charles will what?” Mattia interrupts, his voice mocking. “Come charging in to save you? That’s exactly what I’m counting on, my dear.”

You fall silent, realizing that every word you say is potentially giving Mattia more ammunition. Instead, you focus on studying your surroundings, looking for any potential way out.

Mattia seems to sense your shift in focus. He leans in close, his breath hot on your ear. “Don’t bother looking for escape routes. This room was designed to hold people far more dangerous than you. You’re not going anywhere until Charles arrives.”

Pulling back, he checks his watch. “Speaking of which, I imagine he’s discovered your absence by now. Shall we give him a call?”

Your eyes widen as Mattia pulls out a phone — your phone. He scrolls through your contacts, finding Charles’ number.

“No, don’t-” you start, but Mattia silences you with a sharp look.

He puts the phone on speaker as it rings. After two rings, Charles’ voice comes through, tense and worried. “Y/N? Where are you? Your security detail lost track of you hours ago.”

Mattia’s grin is triumphant as he speaks. “Hello, Charles. It’s been a long time.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence before Charles responds, his voice low and dangerous. “Mattia. If you’ve hurt her, I swear-”

“Now, now,” Mattia interrupts. “Your precious doctor is fine. For now. Whether she stays that way depends entirely on you.”

You can’t stay silent any longer. “Charles, don’t listen to him! It’s a trap!”

Mattia backhands you, the slap echoing in the small room. “Quiet!”

“Y/N!” Charles’ voice is anguished. “Mattia, I’m warning you-”

“You’re warning me?” Mattia laughs. “I don’t think you’re in any position to be making threats. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to come alone to the address I’m about to send you. If I see any of your men, if I even suspect you’ve involved your friends in the police, the good doctor here will suffer the consequences. Understood?”

There’s a tense pause before Charles responds. “I understand. Let me speak to her.”

Mattia considers for a moment, then holds the phone closer to you. “Make it quick.”

“Charles,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “Don’t do this. It’s not worth-”

“Y/N, listen to me,” Charles interrupts, his voice intense. “I’m coming for you. Just hold on. I promise, I’ll make this right.”

Before you can respond, Mattia pulls the phone away. “How touching. You have one hour, Charles. Come alone or she dies.”

He ends the call, turning to you with a satisfied smirk. “And now, we wait.”

The next hour is agonizing. Mattia leaves you alone in the room, your mind racing with possibilities, each worse than the last. You test your restraints, but they hold firm. The chair is bolted to the floor, leaving you no way to move.

Just when you think you can’t take the suspense any longer, the door opens. Your heart leaps, thinking it might be Charles, but it’s Mattia who enters, followed by two burly men.

“It seems your knight in shining armor has arrived,” Mattia announces, his eyes glinting with malice. “Let’s make sure we give him a proper welcome, shall we?”

He nods to one of the men, who moves behind you. You feel the cold press of a gun barrel against your temple.

“Is this really necessary?” You ask, trying to keep the fear out of your voice.

Mattia shrugs. “Insurance, my dear. Can’t have you trying anything heroic when Charles arrives.”

As if on cue, there’s a commotion outside the room. The door bursts open and Charles strides in, his eyes immediately finding yours.

“Y/N,” he breathes, relief and worry warring in his expression.

“Charles, no,” you plead. “You shouldn’t have come. It’s a trap!”

Mattia steps forward, clapping slowly. “Bravo, Charles. Right on time, and alone, as instructed. I must say, I’m impressed by your obedience.”

Charles tears his gaze from you to glare at Mattia. “Let her go, Mattia. This is between us.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Mattia replies, circling around to stand behind you. He places his hands on your shoulders, and you struggle not to flinch. “You see, your lovely doctor here is my insurance policy. Insurance that you’ll listen very carefully to what I have to say.”

Charles’ jaw clenches, but he remains still. “Say your piece, then.”

Mattia’s grip on your shoulders tightens. “It’s quite simple, really. I want what’s rightfully mine. The position your father stole from me, the respect I deserve. You’re going to step down, hand over control of the organization to me, and leave Monaco. Forever.”

You can’t stay silent any longer. “Charles, don’t do it! You can’t trust him!”

The gun presses harder against your temple, silencing you.

Charles’ eyes flick between you and Mattia, his expression unreadable. “And if I refuse?”

Mattia’s laugh is cold. “Then you get to watch your beloved doctor die, slowly and painfully, before I kill you too. Your choice, Charles.”

The tension in the room is palpable as Charles considers his options. You try to catch his eye, to silently communicate that your life isn’t worth the price Mattia is demanding. But Charles’ gaze is fixed on Mattia, his mind clearly racing.

Finally, Charles speaks, his voice eerily calm. “You’ve made one critical mistake, Mattia.”

Mattia’s eyebrows raise. “Oh? And what’s that?”

A small, dangerous smile plays at the corner of Charles’ lips. “You assumed I came alone.”

In that instant, several things happen at once. The lights in the room suddenly cut out, plunging everything into darkness. You hear the sound of breaking glass, followed by several muffled thuds. Someone grabs you, and for a moment you panic, thinking it’s Mattia. But then a familiar voice whispers in your ear.

“It’s me, Y/N. Hold still.”

It’s Pierre. You feel him cutting through your restraints. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you make out shapes moving in the room — Charles’ men, you realize, taking down Mattia’s guards.

When the lights flicker back on, the scene has completely changed. Mattia and his men are on the ground, subdued by Charles’ team. Charles himself is standing over Mattia, a gun pointed at his head.

“You’re right, Mattia,” Charles says, his voice cold. “This was between us. You should have left Y/N out of it.”

As Pierre helps you to your feet, you stumble, your legs weak from being bound for so long. Charles is at your side in an instant, supporting you.

“Are you alright?” He asks, his eyes scanning you for injuries.

You nod, still trying to process what just happened. “I’m okay. How did you ...”

Charles manages a small smile. “Did you really think I’d come unprepared? My men were in position before I ever entered the building.”

You lean into him, relief washing over you. “I thought ... I was so scared you’d give in to his demands.”

Charles’ arm tightens around you. “Never. I would never let him hurt you, Y/N.”

As Charles’ men secure Mattia and begin to lead him away, you turn to Charles. “What happens now?”

Charles’ expression turns grim. “Now, we make sure Mattia can never threaten us again. And then ...” He looks down at you, his eyes softening. “Then we talk about upgrading your security. Because I’m never letting something like this happen again.”

***

The morning after your harrowing ordeal, you find yourself seated in the hospital’s main conference room, feeling as though you’ve stepped into some sort of surreal dream. To your left sits Charles, his posture rigid and his expression unreadable. Across the table, the hospital’s board of directors fidget nervously, their eyes darting between you, Charles, and Dr. Beaumont, who sits at the head of the table.

The tension in the room is palpable as Dr. Beaumont clears his throat. “Well, Mr. Leclerc, Dr. Y/L/N, thank you for meeting with us on such short notice. I understand there’s been some ... concerns about security?”

Charles leans forward, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of steel. “Concerns would be putting it mildly, Dr. Beaumont. Dr. Y/L/N was kidnapped from your parking lot last night. I think that warrants more than just concern.”

You can see the color drain from Dr. Beaumont’s face. “Kidnapped? I ... we had no idea. Dr. Y/L/N, are you alright?”

All eyes turn to you, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat. “I’m fine, thank you. It was a ... misunderstanding that’s been resolved.”

Charles’ hand finds yours under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “A misunderstanding that could have ended very differently. Which is why we’re here to discuss new security measures.”

Dr. Beaumont nods, still looking shaken. “Of course, of course. What did you have in mind?”

“Two of my personal security team will accompany Dr. Y/L/N at all times while she’s on hospital grounds,” Charles states, his tone brooking no argument.

There’s a moment of stunned silence before one of the board members, Dr. Rossi, speaks up. “Mr. Leclerc, while we certainly understand your concern, having armed guards in a hospital environment is highly unorthodox. It could make patients uncomfortable, not to mention the potential liability issues ...”

Charles’ eyes narrow. “I’m not particularly concerned with what’s orthodox, Dr. Rossi. I’m concerned with Y/N’s safety.”

You decide to intervene, hoping to smooth things over. “Perhaps we could find a compromise? The security team could maintain a discreet distance, only stepping in if necessary?”

Dr. Beaumont latches onto this suggestion eagerly. “Yes, that sounds more reasonable. We could provide them with visitor badges, allow them access to staff areas ...”

“No,” Charles cuts in firmly. “They stay with Y/N at all times. This isn’t up for negotiation.”

Another board member, Dr. Chen, leans forward. “Mr. Leclerc, please understand our position. We have protocols, regulations to follow. Having armed personnel constantly present could jeopardize our accreditation.”

Charles’ smile is cold. “I’m sure exceptions can be made, Dr. Chen. After all, I’d hate to think that the hospital values bureaucratic red tape over the safety of its star surgeon.”

The implied threat hangs heavy in the air. You can see the administrators exchanging nervous glances.

Dr. Beaumont attempts to regain control of the situation. “Now, let’s not be hasty. I’m sure we can come to an agreement that satisfies everyone. Mr. Leclerc, what if we were to increase our own security measures? Install more cameras, hire additional guards ...”

Charles shakes his head. “Not good enough. My men are highly trained professionals. They stay with Y/N.”

You can see the frustration building on the faces of the board members. Dr. Rossi tries again. “Mr. Leclerc, please be reasonable. We can’t just allow civilians to roam freely through sensitive areas of the hospital. There are privacy concerns, not to mention-”

“I think you misunderstand me,” Charles interrupts, his voice dangerously soft. “This isn’t a request. It’s happening. The only question is whether you choose to cooperate or not.”

The threat in his words is unmistakable. You watch as the color drains from Dr. Rossi’s face.

Feeling the need to defuse the tension, you speak up. “Perhaps we could implement this on a trial basis? See how it works for a month and then reassess?”

Dr. Beaumont seizes on this suggestion like a lifeline. “Yes, excellent idea, Dr. Y/L/N. A trial period would allow us to address any issues that arise and make adjustments as necessary.”

Charles considers this for a moment before nodding slowly. “A trial period is acceptable, provided there’s no interference with my security team’s duties.”

Relief is palpable around the table, but it’s short-lived as Charles continues.

“Of course, I understand this arrangement may cause some ... inconvenience for the hospital. To that end, I’m prepared to make an additional donation to help smooth things over.”

The board members perk up at this, their expressions shifting from worry to interest.

Dr. Beaumont leans forward eagerly. “That’s very generous of you, Mr. Leclerc. What sort of donation did you have in mind?”

Charles’ smile is predatory. “Let’s say ... sixteen million euros, to be used at the hospital’s discretion. Provided, of course, that my security requirements are met without further argument.”

The room falls silent as the enormity of the offer sinks in. You can practically see the dollar signs in the administrators’ eyes.

Dr. Chen is the first to recover. “Mr. Leclerc, that’s an incredibly generous offer. I’m sure we can work out the details of the security arrangement to everyone’s satisfaction.”

Charles nods, satisfied. “I’m glad we understand each other. Now, shall we discuss the specifics?”

What follows is a detailed negotiation of the security protocols. You watch, somewhat bemused, as the very same administrators who were stammering objections moments ago now fall over themselves to accommodate Charles’ every demand.

By the end of the meeting, it’s agreed that Charles’ security team will have full access to all areas of the hospital, will be allowed to carry concealed weapons, and will have final say on any security matters relating to you.

As the meeting wraps up, Dr. Beaumont turns to you, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity. “Dr. Y/L/N, I hope you know that your safety is our utmost concern. If there’s anything else we can do ...”

You manage a small smile. “Thank you, Dr. Beaumont. I appreciate the hospital’s flexibility in this matter.”

As you and Charles stand to leave, Dr. Beaumont calls out, “Mr. Leclerc, a word in private, if you don’t mind?”

Charles nods, turning to you. “I’ll be right out, Y/N.”

You exit the conference room, your mind whirling. As you wait in the hallway, you overhear snippets of the conversation inside.

Dr. Beaumont’s voice, low and eager, “... sure there isn’t anything else we should know?”

Charles’ reply, cool and dismissive, “... all you need to concern yourself with ...”

A moment later, Charles emerges, his expression softening as he sees you. “Ready to go?”

You nod, falling into step beside him as you walk towards the elevator. “Don’t you think this is all a bit ... excessive?”

He stops, turning to face you. “After what happened last night, I’m not taking any chances with your safety. I can’t lose you.”

The raw emotion in his voice catches you off guard. You reach out, touching his arm gently. “You won’t lose me. But Charles, this is my workplace. I need to be able to do my job without feeling like I’m under constant surveillance.”

Charles sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I know. And I’m sorry if this complicates things for you. But please, just give it a chance. For my peace of mind, if nothing else.”

You study his face, seeing the worry lines etched around his eyes, the tension in his jaw. Despite your reservations, you find yourself nodding. “Alright. We’ll try it your way. But if it becomes too disruptive ...”

“Then we’ll reassess,” Charles finishes, relief evident in his voice. “Thank you, Y/N.”

As you step into the elevator, you can’t help but wonder what you’ve gotten yourself into. The world of medicine, with its clear rules and ethical guidelines, seems far removed from Charles’ realm of shadowy deals and armed guards.

“Charles,” you say as the elevator descends, “what exactly did Dr. Beaumont want to discuss in private?”

Charles’ expression turns guarded. “Nothing you need to worry about. Just some details about the donation.”

You’re not entirely convinced, but you decide not to push it. As the elevator doors open, you’re greeted by the sight of two men in suits — clearly Charles’ security team.

Charles nods to them. “This is Andrea and Joris. They’ll be your primary security detail.”

You force a smile, extending your hand. “Nice to meet you both.”

Andrea and Joris nod respectfully, but their expressions remain impassive. You can already tell that this is going to take some getting used to.

As you walk through the hospital lobby, you’re acutely aware of the stares and whispers from staff and patients alike. Charles seems oblivious to the attention, but you feel your cheeks heating up.

“Charles,” you murmur, “people are staring.”

He glances around, then shrugs. “Let them stare. Your safety is more important than gossip.”

You’re about to argue further when you spot Sophia rushing towards you, her eyes wide with concern.

“Y/N!” She exclaims, pulling you into a hug. “I heard you were in some kind of trouble last night. Are you okay? And who are these guys?”

You extract yourself from Sophia’s embrace, acutely aware of Charles and the security team watching. “I’m fine, Sophia. Really. It was just a misunderstanding. As for these gentlemen ...” You gesture vaguely. “They’re, um ...”

“Private security,” Charles interjects smoothly. “In light of recent events, we felt it prudent to take extra precautions.”

Sophia’s eyes dart between you and Charles, clearly bursting with questions. “Private security? Y/N, what’s going on?”

You can feel a headache building behind your eyes. “It’s complicated. I’ll explain later, okay?”

She nods, though her expression says this conversation is far from over. “Okay, but you owe me details. Lots of details.”

As Sophia walks away, you turn to Charles with a sigh. “This is going to be a nightmare to explain to everyone.”

Charles’ expression softens. He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I know this isn’t easy for you. But I need you safe. Everything else ... we’ll figure it out together.”

Looking into his eyes, seeing the mix of concern and affection there, you feel your resistance crumbling. Despite the complications, despite the danger, you know that what you and Charles have is worth fighting for.

“Together,” you agree softly.

As you head towards your office, flanked by Andrea and Joris, with Charles by your side, you can’t help but feel like you’re stepping into a new chapter of your life. One filled with more danger and complexity than you ever imagined, but also with a depth of love and protection you never thought possible.

The hospital corridors stretch out before you, familiar yet somehow changed. You take a deep breath, squaring your shoulders. Whatever challenges lie ahead, you’ll face them head-on — with Charles (and now apparently with an armed escort) by your side.

***

A year later, life has settled into a new normal. You’ve grown accustomed to the peculiarities of being the personal physician to Monaco’s most powerful man, including the late-night calls and the sometimes bizarre injuries.

Tonight is one of those nights. You’re in Charles’ private medical suite, nestled within his sprawling mansion, tending to yet another gunshot wound. The room is state-of-the-art, rivaling any hospital, but with a touch of luxury that screams Charles.

“Ow! Easy there, mon cœur,” Charles winces as you clean the wound on his upper arm.

You roll your eyes, but there’s affection in your voice as you reply, “Maybe if you’d stop zigging when you should be zagging, we wouldn’t be here so often.”

Charles attempts a charming smile, but it turns into a grimace as you start preparing the sutures. “You know I can’t help it. Danger follows me everywhere.”

“Mhmm,” you hum skeptically. “And I’m sure you do nothing to encourage it.”

As you begin stitching, Charles lets out an exaggerated groan. “Y/N, you’re torturing me. Is this revenge for forgetting our dinner reservation last week?”

You can’t help but chuckle. “If I wanted revenge, I’d let Pierre patch you up instead. Now hold still, unless you want a scar to ruin your perfect skin.”

Charles pouts, looking more like a petulant child than the feared boss of the Monegasque Mafia. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Only a little,” you admit with a smirk. “Someone has to keep that ego of yours in check.”

As you finish the last stitch, Charles flexes his arm experimentally. “You know, for someone who claims to care about me, you’re awfully indifferent about my pain.”

You start cleaning up, shaking your head in amusement. “Stop getting shot if you don’t want stitches.”

Charles’ hand snakes around your waist, pulling you closer. “But it hurts,” he whines playfully. “You should kiss me, treat me with care. I’m your patient, you should be good to me.”

You laugh, gently extracting yourself from his grip. “Nice try. But doctor’s orders are rest and recovery. No strenuous activity for at least a week.”

Charles’ eyes widen in horror. “A week? You can’t be serious. What am I supposed to do for a whole week?”

“I don’t know,” you tease, “maybe try not getting into gunfights? I hear it’s good for your health.”

Charles stands, testing his arm’s mobility. “You know that’s not what I meant. Come on, mon amour, surely there are some ... activities we could engage in that won’t strain my arm?”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep a straight face. “No sex, Charles. You’ll pull your stitches.”

“You’re so mean to me,” Charles groans dramatically, flopping back onto the examination table. Then, a mischievous glint appears in his eye. “What about just a little ... oral attention? That won’t affect my arm at all.”

You can’t help but laugh at his persistence. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Charles grins, clearly thinking he’s won. “But you love me anyway.”

“God help me, I do,” you admit, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “But the answer is still no. Doctor’s orders, remember?”

Charles sighs in defeat. “Fine, fine. But you owe me when I’m healed.”

“I’ll make it worth the wait,” you promise with a wink. “Now, let’s get you to bed. And I mean for sleeping, mister.”

As you help Charles to his feet, he leans in, his breath hot against your ear. “You know, this whole stern doctor act is incredibly sexy. Maybe we could role-play once I’m better?”

You playfully swat his uninjured arm. “Behave or I’ll have Pierre stand guard outside our door to make sure you rest.”

Charles chuckles as you guide him out of the medical suite and towards the bedroom. “You wouldn’t dare. Pierre’s terrified of walking in on us after last time.”

The memory makes you blush. “Don’t remind me. I still can’t look him in the eye.”

As you reach the opulent bedroom, you help him settle into bed. He catches your hand as you turn to leave. “Stay with me?” He asks, his voice soft and vulnerable in a way few people ever get to hear.

Your resolve melts. “Just to sleep. I mean it, Charles.”

You kick off your shoes and climb into bed beside him, careful not to jostle his injured arm. Charles immediately pulls you close with his good arm, nuzzling into your neck.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “Not just for this, but for everything. For patching me up, for putting up with my dangerous life, for ... for loving me despite it all.”

The sincerity in his voice touches you deeply. You turn in his embrace to face him, cupping his cheek gently. “Charles, I don’t love you despite your life. I love all of you, dangerous parts included. Though I could do with fewer midnight patch-up sessions.”

Charles chuckles softly. “I’ll try to schedule my injuries for more convenient times in the future.”

You roll your eyes fondly. “How about trying to avoid injuries altogether?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Charles teases, but then his expression turns serious. “I know my life isn’t easy, Y/N. I know I ask a lot of you. If it ever becomes too much ...”

You silence him with a gentle kiss. “Stop right there. I’m not going anywhere. I knew what I was getting into, and I choose this — I choose you — every day.”

Charles’ arms tighten around you, mindful of his injury. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Probably not,” you agree with a smirk. “But you’re stuck with me anyway.”

As you lay there in comfortable silence, your mind drifts to the events of the past year. The increased security measures, the close calls, the exhilarating highs and terrifying lows of being part of Charles’ world. It hasn’t been easy, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“What are you thinking about?” Charles asks softly, noticing your contemplative mood.

You trace lazy patterns on his chest as you answer. “Just ... everything. How much has changed in a year. How different my life is now.”

Charles tenses slightly. “Do you ever regret it? Getting involved with me, I mean.”

You prop yourself up on an elbow to look at him properly. “Never. It’s crazy and dangerous and sometimes I think I must be out of my mind, but I’ve never been happier.”

The relief on Charles’ face is palpable. “Even when I wake you up at ungodly hours to stitch me up?”

“Even then,” you assure him with a smile. “Though I reserve the right to be grumpy about it.”

Charles laughs, then winces as the movement jostles his arm. “Fair enough. I suppose I should be grateful you haven’t accidentally stitched anything embarrassing into me yet.”

You grin mischievously. “Don’t give me ideas. I’m sure ‘Drama Queen’ would look lovely across your bicep.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Charles gasps in mock horror.

“Try me,” you challenge playfully. “Keep whining about your injuries and find out.”

Charles pulls you closer, nuzzling into your hair. “Alright, alright. I’ll be a model patient from now on.”

You snort in disbelief. “I’ll believe that when I see it. Now get some rest. Doctor’s orders.”

As Charles’ breathing evens out, you find yourself marveling at the turn your life has taken. From a chance encounter in a dark alley to this — sharing a bed with one of the most powerful men in Monaco, patching up bullet wounds in the middle of the night.

It’s not the life you ever imagined for yourself, but as you feel the steady beat of Charles’ heart beneath your hand, you know it’s exactly where you’re meant to be. Dangerous, complicated, and wonderfully yours.

You press a soft kiss to Charles’ chest, careful not to wake him. “I love you,” you whisper, knowing that no matter what challenges tomorrow brings, you’ll face them together.

As sleep begins to claim you, your last coherent thought is a mix of amusement and affection. You make a mental note to stock up on lollipops – it seems your most frequent patient has a penchant for post-treatment rewards, and you have a feeling you’ll be seeing a lot more of his pouty face in the future.

But that’s okay. Because for every whine, every pout, every dramatic sigh, there’s also the fierce protectiveness, the tender moments, and the love that radiates from Charles in everything he does. It’s a package deal, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

With a contented sigh, you snuggle closer to Charles and let sleep take you, ready to face whatever adventures — or misadventures — tomorrow might bring.

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yoditopascal · 7 months

Text

Work From Home Pt 2

warnings: established relationship, fluff and smut, sending nudes, minors DNI

Part 1

Time seemed to slow down as Jason raced his way through traffic.

Just as he begins approaching your shared neighborhood, his police radio goes off, it's a bomber hostage situation down by Crime Alley a little ways away from the Hill… your neighborhood.

Are you shitting me?

He barely had his phone out before he was turning his motorcycle back around.

‘Gonna be a little late, don't wait up’

When he finally gets home he finds you on the rooftop when he gets home, gazing at the stars or rather the sun that was starting to rise.

“The hell happened to you?” you asked, taking in his appearance, he looked disheveled, his clothes torn and bloody, body hunched over as he leaned over the edge of the roof to balance himself, his arm wrapped around his ribs as he rubbed at them softly

“Oh you know the usually bad guy bullshit, except this time he had a bomb” his voice modulator answered though his helmet

“Oh fuck you aight?” you asked walking over to him to further assess the damage but he stops you

“Yeah baby I’ll live”

He walks down the fire escape to your building, you leading the way, before you both enter your shared bedroom through the window. He stalks into the room and disappears into the bathroom, the sound of running water soon fills the dim room moments later as he hops into the shower

Jason watches the murky mixture of dirt and blood swirl at his feet before it disappears down the drain. He finishes up quickly before he can get lost in his thoughts and heads back into the room boxers on as he towel dries his hair.

“C’mere.”

You take his towel and begin to messily dry his hair for him. “That’s better,”

“Now pop a squat” you tell him as you pushed him down to sit on the mattress, on the nightstand by the bed was an array of medical supplies ready to patch him up, another nightly routine of yours.

The scrapes and bruises that litter his frame are much more obvious now that he’s showered, causing you to frown as you get to work cleaning his scrapes and wounds. He raises his arm over his head so you can get better access to the injuries on his torso, that's where the worst one was, it was gonna need a couple of stitches.

His eyes follow your every movement as you go about your business, humming while you worked to break the quiet, silently observing and admiring how gentle you are with someone like him, someone who’s never been treated like this before in his entire life. He’s not sure how he got lucky enough to have you in his life but he sure as hell can’t imagine what it would be like without you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you chuckle as you plaster a bandage to his scraped arm.

“Like what?” he feigns innocence.

“Like— like that. You know, like you’re gonna devour me or something.”

“Maybe I do wanna devour you.”

“Shut up and stop moving,” you snort as you sit next to him on the bed, attempting to focus on stitching up his chest. The darkening of your cheeks deepens.

Just as you finish up the last stitch his much bigger hand grabs yours, forcing you to stop what you're doing.

“What?” you ask cocking your head to the side as you raise an eyebrow at him

“Nothing.” he shrugs caressing the back of your hand before letting you go, you skin soft under his rough calloused hands

“Ok nothing you wanna talk about it?” you asked setting the stitches down and scooting a little closer.

“You wanna talk about those pics you sent earlier?” he asked, it was his turn to cock an eyebrow up at you. Smiling brightly, having almost forgotten them, you shrug back at him as you get up to put the medical supplies back in the first aid kit in the kitchen. “No idea what you're talking about baby.”

“You can't be sending pics like that when I’m out working.” he says grabbing you arms pulling you back down to the bed, he gets closer practically towering over you as his lips hovering over yours.

“Maybe you should work from home more often then.” You say closing the distance between you just before you could move in to kiss him Jason pulls back a teasing glint in his eyes

“Please…” you plead

“Please what?” he chuckles relishing in the idea of having you beg for him

“Please touch me....” you said sealing the deal

Jason presses his lips to you gently once and then a second and third time, as if testing the waters, before he reaches to grab the back of your head deepening the kiss, your stomach begins to flutter and knot with excitement.

He presses you down against the mattress as he continues to ravage. His kisses trailing down your neck as his hand explores your plush rolls, he slowly begins to make his way to your chest.

“These are in the way.” he grumbles sitting up

Without warning, he pulls your shirt up over your head and your pajama shorts down your legs, tossing them to the floor below, exposing your bare skin to the cool night air.

Jason gives you no time to respond as he dips his head back down, stealing another kiss before he takes your nipple in his mouth. A shudder wrecks its way through your body as he nips and licks at your chest with surprising gentleness, you throw your head back reveling in the sensation.

“Fuuuuuck me” you rasped out as he continues to suck and bite at your chest, earning yourself a chuckle from him.

“We’re getting there baby, we’re getting there.”

He’s getting sloppier, more impatient, you can tell as he reaches back up to kiss and nip at your lips, his clothed dick grinding against your inner thigh as he does so but he doesn’t want to stop, not until he can completely convey to you just how much you mean to him with his lips and teeth.

His boxer, which had been barely containing him, finds themselves on the bedroom floor in a matter of seconds. The knot in your stomach tightens at the sight of him, tip wet and sticky with precum.

Before you could scoot back and situate yourself on the bed so he could get between your thighs like you wanted him Jason grabs your hips and rolls over with you so that you’re on top of him.

“You’re in charge today princess.” he smirks up at you

You lean down and kiss him hard, his cock pressing against your belly, and drag your hands down his chest as he looks at you intensely, palms rounding over the globes of your ass as you line him up with your entrance.

You sink down onto him slowly, enjoying every inch as it slid inside you, slick cunt stretching around his girth. You roll your hips and when they meet his, you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, watching as his eyes flutter shut, a tiny groan working its way past his lips as you let yourself fully adjust to him.

With one hand on his chest to prop yourself up, and begin rolling your hips as you ride him, Sparks of pleasure radiate through your body as you move, your muscles contracting around him you rest one hand on his shoulder the other reaches out for him absentmindedly holding his hand in you lust fueled haze.

He mumbles your name, rolling his hips softly to meet yours. Your lips part in a moan, digging your nails into his shoulder as he slid in and out of you effortlessly as he begins to thrust up into you. He pulls you close, wrapping his arms around your back to bring you in for another deep kiss while also pulling little gasps and moans out of your mouth with his tongue.

“God damn, baby, you're squeezing me so damn tight,” Jason huffs, burying his face against your chest, his thrust are becoming a stuttering mess, He lets out a sharp breath and grabs your hips to pull you down onto him hard drawing loud lewd sounds from you that he never gets tired of hearing. His cock twitches for a moment against your walls before a warmth fills you. He curses, his head dropping to your chest as he pushes a few stuttered thrust into your core painting your insides hot and white as you come with him.

Finally releasing you Jason sighs, a satisfied look on his face as he trembles ever so slightly beneath you, you sigh contentedly too, as you pull yourself off of him, and fall with your back to the mattress. The whole room is a mess, comforter and sheets a tangled disaster, clothes strewn about all over the floor but in your exhaustion you can’t find it in you to care.

“You didn’t tear your stitches did you?” you asked between breaths with a laugh.

He chuckled too, looking up at you with lust-clouded eyes.

“Don’t think so.” He sighed, kissing you softly, already heading towards that post-adrenaline sleepiness.

“Good boy.” you mutter as sleep starts to cloud your vision.

He pulls you on top of him, he likes having you on top, your soft breast pressed against his hard chest, it's enough to almost get him going again, almost, if it wasn’t for the fact that you were already drifting off to sleep in his arms.

A smile crosses his lips as he leans down to kiss your forehead, a yawn escapes him as he pulls a sheet over you both.

“Get some rest.” he tucks you both in.

“Welcome home Jay.” you yawn as you kiss him on the chin, both of you drifting off to sleep.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #red hood #dc comics #jason todd imagine #red hood x reader #jason todd smut #jason todd x black!reader #red hood smut #red hood x black!reader

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have-you-seen-my-sanity · 16 days

Note

Hi! I loved your latest fic about yandere Moon boys and medical student reader. What if one night Marc or Steven gets home injured and reader patches him up? They look into each other's eyes, tension rising... 😏 and before we know it, reader ends up in a Stockholm syndrome situation 😌 (I'm a sucker for smut, I can't help it 😈)

Hi! Marc and Steven would be the only yanderes I would happily end up with Stockholm syndrome 😏

And now, I present to you with honor✋🙂‍↕️🤚

Patch up

Based on this one here [X]

Yandere Marc Spector & Steven Grant x fem!reader

Please heed the warnings!!👇

Warnings/Triggers: Blood, explicit, mention of captivity, p in v, smut, nsfw, sexual tension, reader gets Stockholm syndrome, minor blood play, detailed description of wound treatment, comfort, Marc is so dirty.

*Marc, you should have listened to me!*

Marc ignored Steven's voice, he was way too busy limping back home. He already had some makeshift treatment around the wound on the left side of his abdomen and some ripped cloth around his arm to atleast stop the bleeding. He was fighting a group of bad guys and he un-summoned his Moon Knight suit too fast, not realizing one of them was still alive, attacked him from behind, sliced Marc's arm and cut into the left side of his abdomen. Luckily before that guy could do more damage, Marc snatched his gun and shot him right in the head.

Now the only thing left to do, is get back and treat those wounds.

*You'll pass out before you even make it back, the hospital is closer.*

Marc passed a small mirror, taking a look at Steven's reflection while also looking at his current state. He looked like someone who fought with an animal.

"No, I'll manage getting back. We have everything necessary there."

*Alright. But let me take the body so you can rest a bit.* Steven demanded.

"Fine, have it your way."

Marc surrendered and Steven took over the body, making his way back home.

Steven arrived at his building, hastly getting into the elevator because the stairs would only take more energy. He rushed into his apartment, some blood already seeping through the makeshift first aid dropping onto the floor.

You were in your room, hearing the rushed noises outside. Curious, you headed out, seeing some blood drops on the floor leading into the kitchen.

Meanwhile, Steven had already surrendered the body back to Marc because Steven knew Marc knows what he's doing and trusted him. Marc opened a cupboard, grabbing a bottle of pure vodka.

*Whoa, what are you- oh no, no, that's a bad idea.* Steven chimed in, already knowing what Marc is going to do.

"Wanna go to the hospital and get drugged?" Marc opened the bottle, grabbed a nearby towel and slapped it on the table. He removed the makeshift first aid around his abdomen and pulled his shirt up, the bleeding had almost stopped. He poured half of the pure vodka onto the towel before taking a long swig himself and poured the remains on the open wound.

"Fuck!" he hissed from the burning pain, slamming his fist on the table. He grabbed the vodka drowned towel and pressed it against the wound. The burning was still there but it slowly faded away.

"Oh. My. God."

Marc turned around, seeing you standing in the doorway with a shocked expression.

"Go-go back to sleep sweetheart, we got it from here." He tried reassuring you but you didn't go.

Steven and Marc had kidnapped you, and now seeing how injured they are, it could have been easy for you to just run or call the police on them. Is it a bad idea? Yes, probably.

"You look like you went through a meat grinder! How bad is it?"

"Not that bad." Marc lied.

"You're almost bled out, let me help you!" you insisted.

Marc didn't answer, instead he walked past you, into the bathroom and got a first aid kit before returning to the kitchen.

"Hey Marc! Please, just let me help." You almost pleaded with him.

*She's right, let her help you.* Steven chimed in.

Marc thought for a split second, before he finally sat down on the chair and turned his attention to you. "Alright you can help."

"Good, just pull your shirt up, no need to take it off, I don't wanna-"

Before you could even finish your sentance, Marc has already pulled his shirt off and threw it away.

You let out a small sigh, headed over to him, grabbed the needle and thread from the first aid and kneeled down infront of him.

You examined the wound, it was a quite deep cut, so stitches were in order.

"How bad is it?" He asked.

"It has to be stitched."

Marc nodded weakly, grabbing a piece of cloth from the first aid kit and put it into his mouth to bite down.

You looked up at him "I'm sorry in advance if I hurt you."

He gave a curt nod, giving you permission to start.

Slowly, you held the wound with your thumb and index finger, trying to push the sliced skin together as best as possible. The thin needle cut through the the skin, causing Marc to inhale sharply and grit his teeth against the cloth between his teeth.

"I know it hurts, but I have to do this in order to help you." you tried calming him down. You were so focused on your first stitch, not noticing Marc glancing down at you the whole time.

Some of his blood was already starting to stain your fingers, but you didn't mind, you just wanted to get the stitches done.

First stitch went well, only approximately five more stitches and it should be okay. For the next two stitches, Marc was silent and you thought he passed out. So you looked back up to check on him.

"Hey don't die. The bleeding has almost stopped."

He let out a small hiss. "It takes more than that to kill me."

You hummed, going for the next stitch. "Yeah I noticed."

Marc let out occasional small whimpers, but those weren't actually from him, they were from Steven because he let him front from time to time.

"How did you even manage to get those?" You asked, sticking your tongue out a bit to concentrate.

"Surprise attack." He simply answered, letting out another hiss at the needle penetrating his soft skin.

"Shit, sorry." you mumbled, looking back up to see if he's okay. Never once did he stop looking at you, then you catched his gaze with yours, he looked so done, you'd think he's about to pass out but there was something else in his brown eyes, something you couldn't describe. Maybe it's just from the blood loss? But damn, he looked so handsome.

"I-it's gonna be okay.." You tried tearing your gaze off from his, but your eyes flicked back to his before you could go back to doing stitches. You were blushing slightly, and you hoped he wouldn't notice.

But he noticed, he noticed every single thing on your features. "You're not used to stitch up others, hm?" he breathed out.

"What?" His answer caught you off guard and you accidentally tugged a bit on the needle while only the sharp tip was through his skin. Marc grunted at the sudden pain.

"I'm so sorry!" you apologized, quickly getting the stitch through.

"It's okay. How many stitches until it's good?"

"Two."

The last two stitched were done without a fuss. You got a bandage roll and some sterile pressure pads. You poured some disinfectant on the wound to avoid bacterial infection. Marc held the pads on his stitched up wound while you wrapped the bandages securely around him.

After he was done he sat back down on the chair.

"What's with your arm?" you pointed at it.

"Just a cut." he removed the ripped cloth, revealing the wound. Marc and Steven agreed that Marc would endure the big wound and Steven the cut on his arm so both of them could get some rest in between.

"But the arm won't need stitches, yeah?" It was Steven now.

"Nope. Only some disinfectant and maybe a bandage." You began poking with your finger around the cut to see if something important had been damaged. "Does anything there hurt?"

Steven let out a small whimper, "No only the cut burns. Why are you doing this?"

"To see if something important is damaged, maybe ask Marc if he knows about this."

*Yeah it's common, no need to panic Steven.*

"He said yes."

You nodded, grabbing the disinfectant, poured some on the wound, got a pad again and wrapped another bandage roll around it.

"Wow, thanks love. You could have made a perfect doctor." Steven said.

You glared back at him with narrowed eyes. "Get some sleep."

"Did I say something bad?" he replied nervously before standing up.

While Steven got to sleep, you cleaned the blood drops on the ground up and put the first aid kit away. You returned to the living area, seeing them slumbering on the bed. If you wanted it, you could sneak out, run and call the police. They're injured after all, they wouldn't make it far. But something inside you didn't want to get away, you grew... fond of them now. Very fond...

They didn't sleep long, maybe just a couple minutes before they woke up again. You were in the bathroom to clean the blood off your hands and tossed your bloodied clothes into the washing machine. Meanwhile Steven let Marc front again as he got himself some pain killers and a glass water.

You came out of the bathroom, assuming they'd still sleep but you saw them sitting on the bed with the glass. "Are you in pain?"

*She looks so beautiful like that. Hey, wanna repay her for fixing us up?* Steven asked in the headspace, making Marc's eyes roam over your body from head to toe and back.

Of course you didn't notice, Marc did it so subtle you couldn't see it. "Just some pain killers."

You made your way to the kitchen for a drink, your back was turned towards the door, so you didn't see them entering.

Clink!

The sudden clank of the empty glass on the counter next to you made you jump and look back, seeing Marc there with a smug expression and something else.

"You trying to give me a heart attack?" you gasped.

"No but we'd rather repay you, sweetheart." He stepped closer and before you knew it, he ducked, one arm went to the back of your knees and the other around your back, picking you up brydal style as he brought you back to the bed.

He was already rock hard when he dropped you off on the bed, standing between your legs. "Wanna know something?" he asked, already removing your panties.

"What?" you gasped, realizing what's gonna happen now. And to be honest, you weren't against it.

Marc pulled his throbbing cock out and positioned himself at your entrance. "You looked pretty good on your knees, honey."

In response, your cheeks got tainted in bright red, making him chuckle and he pushed his cock into you until he was fully inside, causing you to gasp at the sudden intrusion.

"Marc..." you moaned, starting to adjust to his size.

He moved in a slow pace at first, grabbing your hips while his eyes closed as he lost himself in the feeling of you wrapped around him.

You moaned uncontrolably, feeling your pussy staining his whole girth with your juices.

Something red on his side caught your attention, seeing a bit of blood on the bandage. "Marc?" you whimpered.

"Mmhhmm?" he opened his eyes again, looking down at you with his dark eyes as he fucked you.

"Your wound."

Marc looked down at the wound, shrugging it off. "It's nothing, concentrate on me fucking you as a reward."

He increased his thrusting, your moans got louder and eventually his breathing got heavier.

You noticed some blood running down his side, your eyes widened. With every hard thrust, as he got closer and closer to orgasm, it seemed like more blood ran down.

"Marc, your wound is bleeding!"

He moved his hand towards it, feeling the sticky red liquid on his hand before looking down. "It's just some blood, baby." his bloodied hand moved to your stomach, leaving some blood on your belly before it returned to grip your hip.

"What if it's open?"

Marc leaned down. "Shh, shh. Don't worry about the wound. Worry about me fucking this good little pussy." he increased is pace even more, moving in to kiss your neck as your eyes rolled back.

Marc groaned. "Honey, if I could, I would fuck you all day. You're so warm, so soft. So fucking wet."

You let out such a needy moan, it made him loose control, fucking you relentlessly. "Yeah you'd like that, hm?"

"Oh goddd..." your orgasm was close, he felt it too from how your pussy tightened around him.

"When you were doing the stitching, I had to seriously contain myself from pulling my cock out and fuck your cute face until your throat would be sore." Marc was so close to cumming, but he wanted to hold it back as long as possible.

You on the other hand couldn't take it anymore, your eyes fluttered close as your pussy clamped down like a vice around his cock.

"Oh fuckkk..." Marc groaned deeply, releasing himself inside you, painting your walls white with his cum.

He pulled out and laid down on the bed beside you, still panting.

You looked at him, calming down yourself. "What the hell was that?"

Marc chuckled softly. "Steven and I wanted to say thank you."

"It was a good thank you, very good." you grinned, scooting closer to him.

"So you don't hate us anymore?" he asked, reaching out to pull you against his side.

"No. I don't wanna leave anymore, I want to stay with you two." you laid your head on his chest.

"And what made you change your mind?" Marc gently ran his fingers through your soft hair.

"I don't know, it... just happened.."

"That's our good girl. Go to sleep, you've earned it." Marc wrapped his arms around you and gently kissed your hair, smirking because he knew they finally had you where they wanted and you'd never want to leave.

#moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #oscar isaac #yandere steven grant #yandere marc spector #steven grant x reader smut #marc spector x reader smut #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader

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pygmi-cygni · 1 month

Text

T Minus Ten

remember that miguel fic I talked about....

here she is!!!!

series warning: eventual smut (light), angst, pining, lovesickness, adorable migs, enemies (?) to lovers, more like emotionally repressed to infatuated, angst, miscommunication, as many tropes as I can possibly manage

warnings for this chapter: lots of exposition, medical inaccuracies, introduction basically, canon violence

miguel o'hara x reader (afab) no description other than reader is v strong and has some small tattoos on hands (important later i swear)

enjoy!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

The medical field was essentially obsolete in the Spiderverse. It takes hundreds of years to name a disease, let alone cure it, and then to add in the factors of different biology, different gravitational boundaries, bacterial possibilities....you honestly just felt like hanging up your lab coat and starting an Etsy.

Each branch of the Multiverse was grouped in the extensive medbay located in HQ. The branches with the most similar biology and treatment varieties were closest together. Every spider was given their hall number that had any resources they'd need depending on their genetic makeup.

It was tough work, remembering where everyone was from and the unique characteristics that came with them. Especially when some varieties blurred the lines.

Namely one.

Miguel O'Hara, head of this shit-show and arguably the biggest pain in the ass you'd ever seen, rarely found himself in need of the medical ward's services. Which is probably why nobody thought to figure this problem out.

See, most spider-people were predominantly human. The spider that bit them had only added on to existing capability: extreme strength that improved muscle mass, improved grip on fingers...the only 'inhuman' factor was the webbing.

Miguel had a slightly different build. His DNA had been spliced; like two ropes being braided together. The spider DNA had rebuilt his human DNA, therefore it didn't follow the same pattern in response to medicine or bandages. Which made his medical aversion a little more realistic.

Either way, it didn't matter how much he hated doctors, he couldn't fix a poisoned spear through his chest with an at-home first aid kit.

Eight of HQ's most qualified doctors sat around various scans of the monstrous Spiderman, puzzling through the bizarre data. Your education had been focused on epidemiology, or the spread of disease. Poison wasn't really your thing, but you thought it might be cool to watch.

Dr. Ben Parkinson, the 'head' doctor, was explaining the possible treatments.

"It doesn't seem to be deadly," he reasoned, "but prolonged exposure without medication might have some deteriorating effects." He pointed to a highlighted area of the wound. "See, the muscle tissue is deteriorating, and long-term deterioration could be permanent."

The medical staff shot amused glances at one another, trying to imagine Miguel as anything other than a hulking boulder of muscle.

Ben rolled his eyes and tapped the scans. "Do we have any base vitals for him? Any logged info?"

Maria, his assistant, scrolled on her tablet. "Uhhhh....negative on that. Looks like he hasn't done his immunos either."

You frowned. When HQ had established itself with a medbay, you and the few other nurses had done rounds to make sure any necessary vaccines and medications had been administered. How did we skip him?

"New plan," Ben said slowly, "let's get him up to date and then we'll evaluate. he's relatively stable right now, so let's keep up the current treatment and move from there, yeah?"

He looked at you. "You're the nurse responsible for his wing, right? Do you mind doing his vitals and reporting back?"

You nodded, faltering. What if the spider DNA screwed up his vitals? His resting heartrate was probably higher, and his metabolism had to be insane...the rest of the staff clearly did not share your concern, glad to be rid of the Miguel problem.

Maria handed you her tablet and gave you an apologetic smile. "At least the sedatives will stop him from scratching you," she whispered in your ear.

You shuddered. Here goes nothing.

Miguel was laid out on two beds with the guardrails removed. He couldn't fit on one, so the staff had to quickly improvise. You tried to hum a calming tune, hyperaware of the large claws hanging off the blanket.

Even though he was unconscious, a ripple of fear went through you. He was enormous. If he got mad....you shuddered.

Tenderly, you angled your stethoscope under the mess of tubes feeding into his chest. His skin was unbelievably warm, and you pursed your lips. Definitely feverish. You took his heart rate, tried as gently as you could to do his blood pressure, and measured his blood sugar on the dial near his bed.

Well.

His DNA was definitely strange, because all of his vitals pointed to cardiac arrest and a 104F fever.

"What...the fuck?" He should be dead by those numbers.

You did everything twice more, just to be sure. Still the same. Elevated heart rate, high temperature, and blood pressure that wasn't physically possible.

It confirmed your theory. That meant you had to do a full body scan, analyze the numbers, try to find some kind of pattern....ugh.

His hands were beginning to twitch, and you scurried out of the small room. He'd likely be pissed, waking up in a hospital room with a poisoned stake sticking out of his chest.

Reading through his file, you chewed on your pinky nail. Apparently, a new variant of Green Goblin had been discovered on the fringes of a random universe. It produced a highly acidic venom, the same that had infected the rebar impaling Miguel. The science labs were analyzing the poison, and little info had been found.

Corrosive, acidic, highly destructive on human tissue.

Huh.

Miguel seemed to be holding up okay. Explains the elevated temperature and heart rate. His body was cranking out energy, repairing the damage almost as soon as it occurred.

A grin teased its way onto your face. This was the part of your job that you loved. The puzzle, all the little bits that opened up a bigger picture and eventually, the solution.

You wrote up his chart with your hypothesis and sent it to Dr Ben. Tomorrow would be exciting, to say the least.

Exciting was one word for it. Apparently your prediction was correct: Miguel was decidedly not happy with his living situation at the moment. The nurse who'd gone in to give him his IV had dodged a flying chair, and it had escalated from there. Jess had intervened, resorting to an anomaly cage to keep him secure.

After that frazzling morning, Ben was ready for some good news. You were excitedly explaining the deductions you'd found last night, when a small knock came from the office door.

Gwen, one of the newer spiders, shyly poked her head in. Ben went to shoo her away, but you beckoned her in warmly.

Wait a second, you nodded to your boss, and he sat back with a sigh.

The young woman's colored hair hung limp and unwashed. She had been on the backup team to help Miguel and his crew, and the fallout had been hard on her. It was a big mission, especially for a rookie. She was struggling.

"Hi, Gwen, how are you today?" You pulled over a chair, nodding at her to sit. She folded her hands tightly and didn't meet your eyes.

"'M fine," she mumbled, fidgeting with her hoodie. You grabbed the notes you'd taken earlier and a pen.

"...Do...you wanna talk about it? Anything you remember, something we might have missed?"

The room was quiet as you waited. Ben shot you an exasperated look and nodded towards the clock. Not much time.

You sighed and leaned forwards. "it's okay if you don't have anything, Gwen, but we want Miguel to get better, so if you remember-"

"He was glitching," she blurted, cheeks flaming.

You exchanged another glance with Ben.

"He...when the..."she gestured vaguely, "spear thingy went into him, he started glitching. Like, really bad."

That made you stop. "Was...did you see his watch fall off at any point?"

She shook her head sharply. "No. It was like as soon as the venom hit him, he glitched. and it didn't stop until Jess and the guys got there. He was..." she shuddered, and you patted her arm comfortingly.

Though you did technically have spider abilities, you would never in a thousand years want to be fighting. You couldn't imagine dealing with that every day, especially at Gwen's age. You made a mental note to ask the psychiatrist for a check in.

"What were the details of the mission? was there anything specific about the Goblin that made him so strange?" As a member of the med crew, you didn't have access to mission files.

Gwen nodded, wiping her eyes. "Yeah. He was portal jumping like crazy. Miguel was so pissed," she laughed weakly, "he was jumping in circles like a cat."

"Was he glitching?"

"No, he was fine. It was weird...like he somehow belonged to all of the dimensions. We chased him through three different ones before..." A glazed look came over her, and you figured she needed a break.

"Thank you Gwen," you said gently, walking her to the door, "you've been very helpful. Get some rest, honey."

Watching her shuffle down the hall, you puzzled with the information she'd given.

What the fuck was going on?

Ben's serious look confirmed your bewilderment. This was clearly a bigger problem than you anticipated.

"We should give that to the labs," he pointed to your notepad. "They'll wanna know that info."

You nodded wordlessly, handing it over. What did that mean for Miguel? If this Goblin wasn't following the multiverse rules, was there even a possibility of fighting this?

Ben disappeared around the hall as you groaned into your hands. The excitement of the last 36 hours had done a number on you. Despite your heightened energy levels, you still felt sluggish. Flipping to the surveillance footage, you peeked in on your burly patient.

He was laying awake, the sharp spikes on his heart monitor indicating his agitation. His limbs were lightly restrained to keep him from disabling the glowing red net cast over him.

Oddly, you felt bad.

It was hard enough being injured and alone, but he was being treated like a prisoner. Poor guy. No wonder he doesn't socialize much.

Figuring you had some time, you grabbed your med kit and strolled down to his room. Maybe he'd have a good explanation of his situation. He was a renowned geneticist, after all.

The spider positioned outside his door gave you a wary look. "Miss, you might wanna-"

"Doctor," you corrected crisply, "and I'd like to see my patient."

The young man hesitated, but let you through anyway. He rambled about precautions and avoiding Miguel's temper, but you weren't listening.

His eyes were red.

A bitter, furious shade of scarlet that made your tongue dry and your heart cower. He was pulsing with so much restrained energy that you felt three times smaller. Again you were reminded of his size. You clutched your kit and dismissed the guard.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Despite his condition, Miguel could still easily snap your arms in half. Sharp canines dug into his lower lip. Maria's earlier comment came back to you. I'm more worried about the teeth than the claws, honey.

"Miguel?" Your voice was surprisingly stable, though quiet.

He blinked but gave no further answer. Swallowing, you walked slowly around to the side of his bed and sat. His straining thighs were inches away. The net hummed gently, resisting any movement.

You squinted against the bright threads. Miguel continued to scowl, eyes narrowing to slits. Trying to breathe steadily, you pulled out a capped syringe.

"I'm going to give you your vaccines is that alright?" stay calm stay calm oh my god oh holy fuck-

A singular, clawed finger poked through the net.

"Be my guest, mija."

He'd broken the restraints.

______________________________________________________________

part two out on Aug 18! love you xox

let me know if you want to be tagged for updates!

#fanfic #fanfiction #atsv miguel #spiderman #spiderman atsv #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara #across the spiderverse #into the spider verse #x reader #reader is female

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ilguna · 30 days

Text

☼ the great war pt2 (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; your relationship has been rocky with finnick lately, and each time you think you can let it go, it comes back full force. it isn’t until you’re injured on the way to storm the capitol, are you able to slow down and fix what’s wrong.

warnings; swearing, blood mention, ehh gore, weapon use, death/death mention, torture mention, emotional/mental abuse, cheating, use of derogatory names such as whore, slut, etc.

wc; 9.6k

notes; based off of the taylor swift song!!

part one.

Your teeth crash together as your chin comes into hard contact with the ground. All you do is move your jaw and a crunch fills your ears. You’ve broken a tooth. You hope it’s not noticeable.

There’s pressure on your back, like someone’s holding you down. That’s when a second bomb goes off, much closer than the first, shaking the ground. You wince at the ringing in your left ear, struggling to breathe through the smoke.

“(Y/n).” A hard voice says, a hand grabs your jaw, turning your head. Your eyes meet Finnick’s. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” You say, reaching to touch your teeth, curious to see where the piece has broken off from. With shaky hands, you assess and come to the conclusion that it must be a canine, because it’s not as sharp as it used to be.

You’re pulled into a sitting position, forced to face the gory scene that lies a few feet away. Blood has been sprayed all over the walls and down the tile. Boggs is now lying where he’d been standing less than a minute ago, and he doesn’t have legs. Just torn flesh and fabric where they were.

Katniss and Homes are by his side. A first aid kit has been presented, but you know nothing in that box could preserve the amount of blood fleeing from Boggs’s body. Still, it’s Homes’s job to find a way.

Finnick, seeing that you’re fine, moves on to the rest of the squad, checking on others. You carefully get to your feet, being careful where to step in order not to slip. Katniss crawls away to find the Holo, bringing it back to Boggs when she does. In this time, Homes has managed to put a compression bandage on one of Boggs’s thighs, but it’s soaked through already.

Finnick crouches next to Messalla, shaking him gently, going to pull out his water bottle to pour it on him. A few feet away, Jackson is shouting into a field communicator, trying to alert the base camp that medics are needed. There is no saving Boggs, though. This is too much blood.

Katniss passess off the Holo to Boggs, who immediately gets to work on it. You turn away, not wanting to continue to stare at a man who will be dead in the next few minutes. You wander to Finnick, who can’t seem to get Messalla awake. You crouch, feel for a pulse on his neck, and find his heart is beating steady and strong.

“He’s alive.”

“Prepare to retreat!” Jackson hollers across the grass.

“Look!” Finnick yells back at her, pointing at the way you came.

A black and oily matter geysers from the street, shooting twenty feet into the air before raining back down. A different pod, triggered by the bombs. It’s coming between the buildings, a wave growing bigger as it gains momentum.

Gunfire begins as Gale and Leeg begin to blast a path down the stones toward the far end of the block. They manage to set off another bomb ten yards away. You watch as Katniss and Homes each take a side of Boggs to grab him and bring him with.

You reach for the unconscious Messalla, lowering one of your shoulders as you begin to pull him toward you. Finnick must understand what you’re trying to do, because he does his best to help you get Messalla on your shoulder. He’s as heavy as he looks, so you struggle under the weight to get to your feet at first, but once you’re up, it’s a piece of cake.

This is not your first time carrying someone like this.

“You should’ve told me to do that.” Finnick says, you wave him off as you begin to hurry down the courtyard, desperate to keep up with the squad.

No matter how slow you move, Finnick refuses to pass you. He keeps a steady hand on your back, guiding you forward. Ahead, Boggs is crying in pain from being jostled from side to side. They can’t carry him any better.

You watch helplessly as Peeta runs up on Katniss in an attack. He grabs the back of her jumpsuit, pulling her down. She lets go of Boggs, losing her balance, slamming into the stones. Peeta aims the butt of his gun over her head, and in one fluid motion, throws it down in an attempt to kill her.

Katniss dodges, your pace slows, unsure of whether or not you should drop Messalla, when Mitchell tackles Peeta. The two of them tumble to the ground as Mitchell struggles to pin him down completely. It’s impossible. Peeta is fueled with adrenaline and rage as he gets his feet on the soldier’s hips, and launches him down the block.

A pod triggers. A snap fills the air. Cables appear out of the stones, encasing Mitchell, and stringing him up several feet above your head. He begins to bleed, cuts dripping blood, raining down on those who are behind far enough to watch. It must be barbed wire, because there is no other idea.

You make a wide arc around Peeta, holding onto Messalla tightly as you pass him. Finnick detours entirely, heading straight for him, as well as Castor and Pollux. You continue straight, hot on Katniss and Homes’s heels. Gale and Leeg shoot a lock off one of the apartment doors, allowing you inside. They turn their attention to the cables holding Mitchell, but the situation doesn’t seem hopeful.

A trail of blood leads you through the pink and white velvet living room. You follow them down a hallway with family photos and into a kitchen with marble flooring. They gently let Boggs down, who has lost all his color. Homes then turns to you, watching as you get down on a knee to roll Messalla off your aching shoulder.

Finnick and Pollux drag in a struggling Peeta, Castor acting as backup. Jackson manages to get a pair of handcuffs on him, and then all four of them throw him into a closet to force him to cool down. The door to the living room slams shut, several people shouting. Leeg and Cressida come in coughing, a violent gag coming from Leeg.

“Gale!” Katniss screams, but he comes in through the kitchen door less than a second later.

“Fumes!” He chokes.

Castor and Pollux work fast to grab towels and aprons to shove in the cracks while Gale struggles to keep his breakfast from covering the yellow sink.

“Mitchell?” Homes asks, Leeg shakes her head.

Boggs grabs Katniss, giving her the Holo, trying to speak. None of you can hear, so she leans down to allow him to whisper in her ear. When she jerks away suddenly to see his face, it gives you a clear look. He’s dead.

“What? Boggs? Boggs?” She shakes him slightly.

A loud bang interrupts the moment, several heads whip in the direction of the closet, where Peeta is having a tantrum. It isn’t long before he loses the motivation to continue, the kicks turning to drumming, and then nothing.

“He’s gone?” Finnick asks, looking at Boggs. Katniss nods solemnly. “We need to get out of here. Now. We just set off a streetful of pods. You can bet they’ve got us on surveillance tapes.”

“Count on it.” Castor agrees. “All the streets are covered by surveillance cameras. I bet they set off the black wave manually when they saw us taping the propo.”

“Our radio communicators went dead almost immediately. Probably an electromagnetic pulse device. But I’ll get us back to camp. Give me the Holo.” Jackson orders, holding out her hand.

Katniss clutches it to her chest. “No. Boggs gave it to me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Jackson snaps quickly.

“It’s true.” Homes says. “He transferred the prime security clearance to her while he was dying. I saw it.”

“Why would he do that?” Jackson demands.

There’s a moment of silence as Katniss stares at Jackson, gears turning in her mind. He must’ve said something to her right before he died that’s making her hesitate. Her eyes move to look at him, but she doesn’t move her head. Her whole body is rigid.

“Because I’m on a special mission for President Coin. I think Boggs was the only one who knew about it.”

Jackson almost immediately turns her nose up. “To do what?”

“To assassinate President Snow before the loss of life from this war makes our population unsustainable.”

Jackson doesn’t miss a beat. “I don’t believe you. As your current commander, I order you to transfer the prime security clearance over to me.”

“No.” Katniss says defiantly. “That would be in direct violation of President Coin’s orders.”

In an instant, guns are pulled and pointed. Those in favor of protecting Katniss shove theirs in Jackson’s face. Those who were trained by District Thirteen, most loyal to Jackson, aim theirs at Katniss. It’s a standstill.

Until Cressida says, “It’s true. That’s why we’re here. Plutarch wants it televised. He thinks if we can film the Mockingjay assassinating Snow, it will end the war.”

Jackson hesitates, then motions her gun to the closet, where Peeta is. “And why is he here?”

Katniss stares, Cressida is quick. “Because the two post-Games interviews with Caesar Flickerman were shot in President Snow’s personal quarters. Plutarch thinks Peeta may be of some use as a guide in a location we have little knowledge of.”

“We have to go!” Gale suddenly shouts. “I’m following Katniss. If you don’t want to, head back to camp. But let’s move!”

Homes lowers his gun, unlocking the closet. He lifts Peeta onto his shoulder the same way you did with Messalla. “Ready.”

“Boggs?” Leeg asks.

“We can’t take him. He’d understand.” Finnick says. He frees Boggs’s gun, slinging it over his own shoulder. “Lead on, Soldier Everdeen.”

Katniss looks down at the Holo, lost. She’s too smart to get caught up in her own pride, though, because she offers it to Jackson. “I don’t know how to use this. Boggs said you would help me. He said I could count on you.”

Jackson scowls, yanking the Holo from her, tapping in a command. An intersection appears in the open air. “If we go out the kitchen door, there’s a small courtyard, then the back side of another corner apartment unit. We’re looking at an overview of the four streets that meet at the intersection.”

You all stare at the projection, watching the colorful blinking pods. No matter what direction you go from here, you’ll be met with some danger. Katniss lets out a tough breath. “Put on your masks. We’re going out the way we came in.” A couple strong voices try to overrule her, but she speaks over them. “If the wave was that powerful, then it may have triggered and absorbed other pods in our path.”

The room goes quiet. Pollux signs quickly, Castor interprets. “It may have disabled the cameras as well. Coated the lenses.”

Gale props his shoe on the counter, he uses a kitchen knife to poke and scrape off the black oil, which has now mostly solidified. “It’s not corrosive. I think it was meant to either suffocate or poison us.”

“Probably our best shot.” Leeg agrees.

Everyone puts their mask on. Finnick pulls Peeta’s on for him. Cressida and Leeg get Messalla off of the floor. He’s not entirely awake just yet, but he’s coming around slowly. Katniss takes the lead out of the kitchen door, moving slowly to properly assess the black oil, which is now a gel substance. She figures out that it doesn’t absorb the pattern of the boot tread, so there’s no reason to be overly cautious.

The apartment complex has been completely coated. The buildings, paving stones and the rooftops are covered in a thick layer. There’s a single teardrop that hangs above the street, with two protruding shapes coming from it. The barrel of a gun and a human hand. It’s Mitchell, trapped in there forever.

Katniss waits on the sidewalk beneath Mitchell until you’ve gathered around her. “If anyone needs to go back, for whatever reason, now is the time. No questions asked, no hard feelings.” When no one begins to retreat, she turns in the direction of the Capitol.

You’re forced to move fairly quickly, afraid of the Peacekeepers showing up at any minute with how much time was spent inside the apartment. The good news is that Katniss’s instincts seem to have been correct, because as you go, it’s clear several pods have been set off. There’s a whole block littered with dead tracker jackers, suffocated by the fumes.

A whole apartment building has collapsed on the next block, and it’s nothing but a mound beneath the thick gel. Katniss takes the responsibility of hurrying across intersections, checking to make sure it’s clear, and then waving you onward. The more you see that things have been disabled, the more you can relax.

Finnick keeps you within arms reach in case Katniss’s assessments are wrong, sometimes even pushing you back if he feels as if you’re walking a line. You try not to get too annoyed when he does this, but after the third time, you step away when he tries to grab you. You don’t need his help.

By the fifth block, the wave has finally begun to reach its limit. The gel has become thinner and less effective. The color scheme here is a baby blue, and you can tell by the rooftops that the oil didn’t quite reach. Katniss keeps a stern eye on the sunlight, and decides that it’s time to take cover since it’s going to be dark soon.

She guides you to an apartment, where Homes pulls out a tool to unlock the door. She stands outside of the door while the rest of you head inside, where you’re met with an apartment that’s laid out almost the exact same way as the one that you hid in. Only, the decoration is much more different.

No matter where you look or turn, the walls are covered in mirror shards, creating an abstract picture. When Gale flicks on his flashlight, it shines directly into his reflection, creating a colorful projection on the ceiling.

He checks the windows while Katniss shuts the door. After a couple minutes of examining the front room, he removes his mask. “It’s all right. You can smell it, but it’s not too strong.”

Katniss turns the lock on the door, giving him a nod. She heads straight inside, through a hallway that has two bedrooms with bathrooms. A spiral staircase sits off to the side of the living room that brings you to an open space that takes up most of the second floor. No windows have been installed upstairs, but the lights have been left on.

A television screen takes up an entire wall, glowing softly to provide some light. With how many chairs and sofas occupy the room, it’s obvious that this must be the main sitting room, and downstairs is just a facade. Most of the squad fall down onto a cushion, breathing heavily, closing their eyes.

Finnick is among them, patting the velvet next to him to invite you. You shake your head, shedding your backpack and some of the gear into a corner on the floor. It’s a relief not having to carry the heavy stuff anymore, so it’s easier to stand. Finnick presses his lips together.

Jackson keeps her gun trained on Peeta, despite the fact that he’s still unconscious and handcuffed. He’s laying across a blue sofa where Homes laid him down.

“(Y/n), why don’t you sit? We don’t know how long we’ll be able to rest for.” Finnick murmurs, reaching to grab your hand.

You cross your arms over your chest. “I’m comfortable where I am.”

He tilts his head at you, mouth opening, most likely to tell you that you’re being ridiculous, when a distant chain of explosions makes the ground shake.

“It wasn’t close.” Jackson says. “A good four or five blocks away.”

“Where we left Boggs.” Leeg says.

The television comes alive, emitting a high-pitched beeping noise, bringing other members of the squad to their feet. “It’s all right!” Cressida shouts. “It’s just an emergency broadcast. Every Capitol television is automatically activated for it.”

As if to prove her right, the television shows your group, scrambling to pick up the pieces right after the first bombing took place. A female narrates what’s happening on screen to catch viewers up to speed. Getting to your feet to grab Messalla, Jackson trying to communicate with base camp, Homes trying to slow the blood loss, Leeg and Gale shooting down the path.

The geyser of black oil begins, all of you shoot into action to try and escape, only for Peeta to lose his mind and launch Mitchell into the next pod. It catches the entire scene of you disappearing into the pink apartment. The last thing the cameras capture is Gale by himself on the street, trying to free Mitchell before it’s too late. Then the oil coats the lens.

The reporter is able to identify Gale, Finnick, you, Boggs, Peeta, Cressida and Katniss by name.

“There’s no aerial footage. Boggs must have been right about their hovercraft capacity.” Castor points out.

It then cuts to the courtyard on the other side of the apartment, where Peacekeepers line the roof across the building. Shells are launched into the row of apartments, setting off the explosions that you heard and felt, and then the building collapses. Next is a live feed, where the reporter stands with the Peacekeepers. The apartment buildings burning behind her, firefighters trying to control the flame.

Everyone is pronounced dead.

“Finally, a bit of luck.” Homes sighs.

“My father. He just lost my sister and now….” Leeg trails off.

They play the footage over and over, celebrating their victory in killing the Mockingjay and her friends. They briefly interrupt to play a pre-made montage of Katniss’s rise to rebel power, and then go right back to live feed to allow a pair of reporters to tear Katniss down. They promise that Snow will make an official statement later on, and then the screen fades back to a glow.

“Oh,” Finnick breathes, lips turned downward. “I hope Annie wasn’t watching that live.”

You press your lips tightly together, hands forming balled fists as you shove them into your pockets. Well, that’s not what you think at all. You hope she thinks the both of you are dead, because in her mind that’ll mean she never got to have Finnick back. He’ll be yours forever. Just a pile of ash mixed together.

When Finnick’s head begins to move, you try to change the angry expression on his face, but he’s quick with gauging your reaction. The expression on his face completely wipes, changing to worry. He plants his feet on the floor, going to push himself up from the couch. You stop him by holding your index finger up, shaking your head.

“Thirteen must think it’s true if they didn’t intercept.” Jackson murmurs.

“So, now that we’re dead, what’s our next move?” Gale asks.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Peeta speaks, a couple people look over, as if they’re just realizing that he’s awake again. He looks miserable, eyes devoid of life. He pushes himself upright, staring at Gale. “Our next move… is to kill me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Jackson says.

“I just murdered a member of our squad!” Peeta shouts.

“You pushed him off you. You couldn’t have known he would trigger the net at that exact spot.” Finnick tells him.

“Who cares? He’s dead, isn’t he?” A tear escapes his eye, and it’s just the start of the many to come. “I didn’t know. I’ve never seen myself like that before. Katniss is right. I’m the monster. I’m the mutt. I’m the one Snow has turned into a weapon!”

“It’s not your fault, Peeta.”

“You can’t take me with you. It’s only a matter of time before I kill someone else.” Peeta shakes his head, looking around the room. “Maybe you think it’s kinder to just dump me somewhere. Let me take my chances. But that’s the same thing as handing me over to the Capitol. Do you think you’d be doing me a favor by sending me back to Snow?”

Katniss hesitates, Gale does not. “I’ll kill you before that happens. I promise.”

Peeta stares, weighing this, and then begins to shake his head again. “It’s no good. What if you’re not there to do it? I want one of those poison pills like the rest of you have.”

You raise your eyebrows at his demand. He’s asking about the nightlock pills that everyone was given in the case of capture. If the Capitol turned to torture, the escape would be the pill, where you would die within seconds of biting into it. Of course, you could try to live through what they have planned, but after seeing the state of Peeta and Johanna, it might be better to skip the process.

It’s unsurprising that they didn’t give him one. He doesn’t have a stable hand over his mind.

“It’s not about you.” Katniss tells him. “We’re on a mission. And you’re necessary to it.” She looks away. “Think we might find some food here?”

With this, the group splits into two. Some stay to guard Peeta, like Jackson and Leeg, while others keep an eye out for Snow’s broadcast. The half of the group that used to live in the Capitol split to begin looking for hiding spaces where food may be kept. You, however, are immediately dragged downstairs by Finnick to talk in one of the bedrooms.

After a minute of staring at each other, he speaks. “What’s going on, (Y/n)? I feel like we’re not making any progress.”

“Probably because we’re not.” You lean back against the wall, watching the way his face twists.

“We were fine a couple of days ago, and then Peeta came and we started having issues again.” Finnick pauses. “You’ve hardly spoken to me in two days.”

You shrug.

“You don’t care?” He asks. “(Y/n), this is not how a relationship works. You can’t just stop talking to me because you’re mad.”

“We’ve had this discussion about a hundred times.” You tell him. “And no matter how I explain it to you, it doesn’t seem to matter. You don’t care.”

“I do care. I’m the one making the effort to fix this right now. Why are you mad this time?”

“This time?” You echo, face screwing. “I don’t know, you’re smart. How about you stand there and think about what I’ve been trying to tell you for a couple weeks?”

“If this is about Annie—”

“Of course it’s about Annie.” You cut him off. “You and her might have verbally broken up, but you never emotionally left that relationship. It’s clear in everything you do that her feelings take priority over mine.”

“How is that even remotely true?” He asks. “(Y/n), who do I go to bed with every night?”

“You bring Annie up every time you’re given the chance.” You motion vaguely to the door. “And it’s pretty obvious that you know what you’re doing because you look at me after as if you’re seeking gratification from it!”

Finnick lets out a laugh. “You think I get gratification from you being upset? You think I like arguing?”

“Do you think I like listening to you talk about Annie all the time?”

“Is that really the issue here?” Finnick asks back. “I think the real issue is that you don’t trust me because of what Vaughn did to you. (Y/n), I have done nothing to earn your distrust.”

You grit your teeth, glaring at him.

He raises his eyebrows. “Am I wrong? Annie and I are just friends. You and her are friends.”

“I am not friends with her. And you shouldn’t be friends with your ex.” You spit.

It’s exactly what Vaughn did. The girl he’d been cheating on you with was practically a coworker. She didn’t exactly work the same division he did, but they were in the same general station. He saw her frequently, which is how he got to know her so quickly. She was an easy target.

“She’s a victor, (Y/n). You and I promised to take care of her.”

“No.” You snap. “No, I did not. That was you. You took it upon yourself to take care of her, even though she has her entire family to do that for her.”

“Not anymore.” Finnick says. “We both know that they killed her family when they took her to the Capitol. Who’s going to take care of her? Do her grounding techniques?”

“I don’t know, the medical professionals that are equipped to do that?” You ask. “The doctors in District Thirteen are more than capable of taking care of a girl that’s lost her mind.”

“Once again, you’re making jabs at her, and she’s not able to defend herself. She can’t help it.”

“I don’t care!” You shout, throwing your hands up. “And you’re doing it again, thinking about the feelings of a girl who isn’t even here!” You take a breath to calm yourself, because you’re almost ready to fly off the rails. “I am so sick of having this conversation with you. You don’t get it. I don’t want to explain it anymore.”

“Listen.” Finnick tells you. “You need to trust me.”

“How can I trust you when you continue to do the things that incriminate you?” You ask him, this makes him pause. “I don’t want to do this for the rest of my life. In fact, I don’t want to do this anymore now.”

This brings him back to life, “What does that mean? You want to break up with me?”

You open your mouth with the intention to tell him no, but the word doesn’t come out. You press your lips together, staring at him. The expression on his face changes completely, from anger to worry.

“(Y/n), you can’t be serious.”

You tilt your head at him. How can you trust him when he’s doing what Vaughn did, just in a different dance with different steps? Instead of a girl from work, it’s a victor that both of you mentored. He keeps running to her, to her feelings, slowly fleeing from you the same way Vaughn had.

You don’t want a repeat of Vaughn. You don’t want to spend almost a year shut inside of your house trying to fix what’s broken inside. You loved Vaughn, you put a lot of your feelings into that relationship. And you were almost willing to do the same thing with Finnick, because he seemed as if he genuinely wanted to be with you.

You can’t trust Finnick, not completely. Not when he’s doing the same thing your ex did.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” You tell him, feeling yourself distant from the conversation.

“I want you to tell me that I’m wrong. You don’t want to break up with me.” He tells you.

“You’re wrong.” You say slowly.

“That wasn’t convincing.” Finnick shakes his head. “Come on.”

“Finnick, I don’t want to be cheated on again, and you’re not really proving to me that you won’t.” You tell him, grabbing the door handle to the room.

When you leave the room, you can hear Finnick calling you back, but you ignore him. You opt to join the group upstairs, and find most of them gathered around a table in the middle of the room, now littered with food. A couple of people look at you, as if they’ve heard even a fraction of your conversation. You ignore them and sit down.

A couple seconds later, Finnick comes back, too. He doesn’t sit next to you. He finds a sofa on the other side of the room. You make brief eye contact with him before directing your attention elsewhere.

“Isn’t this illegal?” Leeg asks, referring to the hoarding of food.

“On the contrary, in the Capitol you’d be considered stupid not to do it.” Messalla says. “Even before the Quarter Quell, people were starting to stock up on scarce supplies.”

“While others went without it.” Leeg says.

“Right.” Messalla agrees. “That’s how it works here.”

“Fortunately, or we wouldn’t have dinner.” Gale says. “Everybody grab a can.”

Some of you move immediately, already having an eye on your favorite soups. A couple of the soldiers hesitate, not used to the freedom of eating. In Thirteen these cans would be rationed by age, body weight, and physical exercise. You don’t think any of them have been able to eat as much or as little as they’ve wanted in their life.

You shake your can of soup before cracking the lid open. A few people follow Katniss’s example of using their can lid as a spoon, but you opt for drinking it straight. The top is mostly broth, which is easy to drink. The further you go, the more you have to be careful to chew.

It’s when you start passing around a box of cookies when the beeping begins again. A seal of Panem appears on the screen and remains while the anthem plays. Cressida hums long, resting her head on her palm. The Capitol starts to show your supposedly dead faces, just like they do for the Hunger Games.

It begins with the camera crew of Castor, Pollux, Messalla and Cressida. It moves on to Boggs, Gale, Finnick, Peeta, Katniss and yourself. And they completely skip over the soldiers of Thirteen, likely because they have no idea who they are and they serve no real significance to the Capitol audience.

President Snow appears at his desk, hands neatly laced on the wood. The Panem flag is hung behind him, placed so it’s clearly viewed on television. There’s a white rose on his lapel, a signature he could not appear without.

He starts with congratulating the Peacekeepers on doing such a fantastic job of tracking your squad down and eliminating you quickly. With the Mockingjay being dead, he declares that this will certainly be a turning point in the war, since there is no face to continue to lead the rebels.

He then tries to deface Katniss by calling her a poor, unstable girl with a measly talent with a bow and arrow. She apparently isn’t a great thinker, and hardly the mastermind of a rebellion, merely a face plucked from the rabble because of her antics in the Games. But needed since the rebels have no leader among them.

They must have enough of Snow in Thirteen, because Coin appears on screen, a haunting smile on her face. She introduces herself as President Alma Coin, the leader of District Thirteen. She’s the head of the rebellion. She gives Katniss’s eulogy, praising the girl who managed to survive the Seam in Twelve and the Hunger Games, turning a country of slaves into an army of rebels.

“Dead or alive, Katniss Everdeen will remain the face of this rebellion. If you ever waver in your resolve, think of the Mockingjay, and in her you will find the strength you need to rid Panem of its oppressors.” Coin says.

“I had no idea how much I meant to her.” Katniss muses, earning a laugh from Gale.

A heavily edited picture of Katniss appears. There are no words. There is no slogan.

President Snow is back. If he’s angry, it’s well masked. He speaks in a calm and collected voice. “Tomorrow morning, when we pull Katniss Everdeen’s body from the ashes, we will see exactly who the Mockingjay is. A dead girl who could save no one, not even herself.”

The seal. The anthem. A glow.

“Except that you won’t find her.” Finnick mutters.

You're sure as soon as the sun rises tomorrow, they’ll be tearing the rubble apart for your bodies. And when they come up with twelve missing bodies, the hunt for your squad will begin.

“We can get a head start on them at least.” Katniss says, as if reading your mind.

She pulls out the Holo, asking Jackson to walk her through the basic commands she should know. It consists mainly of entering the coordinates of the nearest intersection. Once that’s done, a projection appears in the sky of the outside surroundings.

The room is quiet as you observe the amount of blinking pods. It’s easily four times the amount that you saw earlier this afternoon when Boggs had the Holo. It’s going to be damn near impossible to get through a street without setting off a single one. And this is hoping that they’re all correctly labeled.

“Any ideas?” Katniss asks.

“Why don’t we start by ruling out possibilities.” Finnick says. “The street is not a possibility.”

“The rooftops are just as bad as the street.” Leeg shakes her head.

“We might have a chance to withdraw, go back the way we came.” Homes suggests. “But that would mean a failed mission.”

Katniss sighs. “It was never intended for all of us to go forward. You just had the misfortune to be with me.”

“Well, that’s a moot point. We’re with you now.” Jackson says. “So, we can’t stay put. We can’t move up. We can’t move laterally. I think that just leaves one option.”

“Underground.” Gale says.

Katniss nods, changing the Holo from showing street-level pods to the sewers. It doesn’t take long for you to realize there’s little to nothing that can stop you down there. It’s clean of pods. And the ones that are active, seem to be the easiest attacks you can deflect. This raises hopes almost immediately.

The only bad news is the streets become a tangled mess underground. There’s a lot of twisting and turning tunnels that seem to intersect. This is not enough to deter the squad, though. You can handle a confusing path, as long as you have safety in numbers.

Messalla informs the group that there’s a vertical ladder two doors down that should connect the row of apartments you’re in to the tunnels. All you have to do is squeeze through a maintenance shaft that runs the length of the building. The shaft’s entrance is in the back of a closet on the top floor.

“Okay, then. Let’s make it look like we’ve never been here.” Katniss tells everyone.

You work together to wipe your trace. All empty cans are sent down a trash chute, the full ones are saved for later. The couch cushions have to be flipped because of smeared blood. The tiles in the kitchen are wiped clean of gel that might have come off of shoes. The one thing you can’t fix is the lock on the front door, but that doesn’t matter because you lock a second bolt, anyway.

The last thing on the list to do is to get Peeta off the blue sofa, but he’s planted himself firmly, outright refusing to get up. “I’m not going. I’ll either disclose your position or hurt someone else.”

“Snow’s people will find you.” Finnick tells him.

“Then leave me a pill. I’ll only take it if I have to.”

“That’s not an option. Come along.” Jackson orders.

“Or you’ll what? Shoot me?”

“We’ll knock you out and rag you with us.” Homes says. “Which will both slow us down and endanger us.”

“Stop being noble!” Peeta bursts. “I don’t care if I die!” He turns to Katniss. “Katniss, please. Don’t you see, I want to be out of this?”

Katniss takes a moment to think, but it doesn’t work out in Peeta’s favor. “We’re wasting time. Are you coming voluntarily or do we knock you out?”

Peeta buries his face in his hands, shaking his head before he gets to his feet.

“Should we free his hands?” Leeg asks.

“No!” Peeta snaps loudly, pulling his wrists to his chest.

“No.” Katniss agrees. “But I want the key.”

Jackson hands it over, no objections. Katniss slips it into her pants pocket.

Homes takes the squad to the maintenance shaft, where he pries the metal door open. As soon as eyes are laid on the narrow hallway between the walls, it’s clear that the protective gear that Castor and Pollux wear for their cameras will not fit. So, they take them off, resorting to their backup cameras which are considerably smaller.

Messalla looks around the apartment, but he can’t find a good place to put the gear besides the closet. Katniss doesn’t seem happy about this. Still, you move on through the hallway, which is an incredibly tight fit, even after going single file and taking off your backpacks.

You’re not stuck in the walls for long. Messalla breaks open the second apartment, leading you to a room inside that’s marked ‘utility’. When you go inside, you’re met with a circular tube going down.

Messalla pops the latch open, frowning. “It’s why no one ever wants the center unit. Workmen coming and going whenever and no second bath. But the rent’s considerably cheaper.”

A wide ladder with tread steps stares back at you. One by one, you head down and gather at the foot of it, waiting for your eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness. The lights above are clearly dated and coated with dust, making it hard to see. Not to mention the smell of chemicals, mildew and sewage that assaults your nose.

The sound of heavy breathing begins, causing you to look for the source. You’re met with Pollux, who has paled and begun to sweat. He grabs onto Castor’s wrist, staring at him intensely.

“My brother worked down here after he became an Avox.” Castor informs you. “Took five years before we were able to buy his way up to ground level. Didn’t see the sun once.”

There’s a moment of silence, as no one knows how to respond. Peeta turns to Pollux. “Well, then you just became our most valuable asset.” This earns a laugh from Castor and a weak smile from Pollux.

It doesn’t take long before you all realize that Peeta’s right. Pollux takes you on his own path, onto a set of tunnels that mimic the main street plan aboveground. Apparently, it’s called the Transfer, since small delivery trucks use it to get around quicker in the city. With it being daytime and active work hours, most of the pods are disabled to avoid accidentally killing their own. At night, it’s a complete minefield.

If you didn’t have Pollux, the place would be your personal nightmare. There’s hundreds of passages, utility shafts, train tracks and even drainage tubes that form a huge maze. Not to mention the offshoots that require gas masks, have live wires or giant rats that will eat you alive.

He alerts the group when a gush of water should sweep through the sewers, knows exactly what time the Avoxes change shifts, and leads you through damn but obscure pipes to avoid the cargo trains. And finally, Pollux knows exactly where all the cameras are underground.

With his guidance, you move quicker than you did this morning. However, after about six hours of traveling, it’s clear the squad is tired. Katniss suggests resting while you can, and no one says otherwise. Pollux finds a small, warm room that’s humming with machines. The walls are covered with levels and dials.

Pollux holds up four fingers to tell the group that you must be gone by then. Jackson works out a guard schedule for both Peeta and in case a surprise comes around. Finnick is put on the first watch, you are not. He picks a spot fairly close to the opening of the room.

You stand over him. Half of you wants to sit down next to him to be close, but the other doesn’t know if it’s right to do that. After the argument you had in the apartment, it might be better to put some distance between the two of you. Still, you never really sleep without him.

Before you can sit down, Jackson squeezes beside him, taking the spot. You frown, and Finnick seems to look between you two, but you don’t say anything. Only move further inside of the room, toward the back, where you rest your head in the corner, backpack in your lap.

It figures you don’t sleep well. You’re in and out of dozing, waking each time someone coughs or moves too loudly. The most you get out of the four hours is a nightmare that you can’t even remember the details of. But once you’re awake after it, there’s no falling back asleep.

By the time seven is approaching, you’re ready to leave. The room has become stuffy and humid. There’s a pit in your stomach telling you that you need to move, quickly. It makes you antsy, especially considering your gut has never lied to you in the past.

Katniss and Pollux take their time waking everyone up. It works slowly down the line, as people yawn and rub their eyes. It isn’t until the last person has been shaken awake, does Katniss suddenly hush the group, getting up slowly to lean her head out of the room. It sounds like a whisper, a long string being repeated. You can’t decipher it.

“Katniss.” A voice whispers. Katniss jumps at the sound of her name, bow loaded and aimed at Peeta. “Katniss.” The word is almost inaudible and hard to trace back to him. “Katniss.” She lifts the arrow, pointing it at his head, the look in her eyes distancing. Peeta jerks upright, eyes wide. “Katniss!” He finds her immediately, but doesn’t move. “Katniss! Get out of here!”

Katniss hesitates. “Why? What’s making that sound?”

“I don’t know. Only that it has to kill you.” He tells her. “Run! Get out! Go!”

She lowers the arrow, but doesn’t pull it off the string. Instead, she directs her attention to the rest of you. “Whatever it is, it’s after me. It might be a good time to split up.”

“But we’re your guard.” Jackson reasons.

“And your crew.” Cressida adds.

“I’m not leaving you.” Gale tells her.

She looks around your group, deciding what has to be done. She tells Finnick to give one of his guns to Castor. They eject the blank cartridge from Peeta’s gun, load it with a real one and hand it over to Pollux. Both Katniss and Gale give up their guns to Messalla and Cressida, since they have their bows.

There’s not enough time to show them how to do everything, so they settle with how to point and pull the trigger. Katniss warns them to be careful, though, because of the tight space of the sewers. They could accidentally hit someone if their target isn’t clear.

The only person without a weapon is Peeta. No one objects,

Pollux leads the way out of the room, allowing you to hear the whisper better. If it’s coming from mutts, they might move fast. For now, they seem to be at a far distance. Katniss tells you that she’s suspicious they’re tracking by scent, but encourages everyone to be quiet, anyway.

She follows the path she made with Pollux earlier, because she can’t find a reason why you shouldn’t. While the squad tries to be quiet as you move, it’s hard to avoid an accident every half an hour. A boot splashes in the water too loud, a gun clips a metal pipe on the wall, Katniss speaks above a whisper.

You make it about three blocks through an overflow pipe and a neglected train track when the screams stop you. They’re loud, laced with fear and surprise, coming straight from the chest. They echo off the walls, straight to you.

“Avoces.” Peeta says immediately. “That’s what Darius sounded like when they tortured him.”

“The mutts must have found them.” Cressida says.

“So they’re not just after Katniss.” Leeg assumes.

“They’ll probably kill anyone. It’s just that they won’t stop until they get to her.” Gale shakes his head.

Katniss closes her eyes. “Let me go on alone. Lead them off. I’ll transfer the Holo to Jackson. The rest of you can finish the mission.”

“No one’s going to agree to that!” Jackson throws her hands up.

“We’re wasting time!” Finnick snaps.

“Listen.” Peeta whispers.

The screams have stopped completely, replaced by the whispers once again. This time, they’re below and behind you. Closer this time. Moving faster than you thought.

You start to run. Katniss and Pollux lead you to a staircase. She whips out the Holo, trying to find a different path to where you’re going, when she begins to gag. Jackson orders for masks to be put on, but Katniss waves the idea away. She takes a sharp turn into a door, slamming the right half of her body into it to get out.

You find yourselves in the Transfer. Here, it’s tiled nicely the way it is aboveground. The only difference is that there’s brick walls, no apartments. It’s void of anyone and everything, besides the group of you and the pods that lie ahead.

Katniss acts quickly, using an explosive arrow to blow a pod into pieces. She heads for the next intersection, ordering you to stay close. You try to keep up, following behind Finnick tightly, when a flash of light blinds you. You cover your eyes, peeking through your fingers to find Messalla trapped in a bright beam of light. He’s unmoving, mouth open wide, staring up. You watch as the flesh melts off his body, pooling at his feet.

“Can’t help him!” Peeta shoves you forward, causing you to stumble. “Can’t!”

It works to get your feet moving again, as you take off behind Katniss, who is barely moving faster than you are. She comes to a sudden halt at this intersection, throwing her arm out to keep you from falling forward. A spray of gunfire cuts you off from going any further.

A squad of Peacekeepers are coming down the Transfer in your direction. Katniss refuses to step foot on the next stretch, likely because the pod is more trouble than you can afford right now, and begins to fire back at the Peacekeepers. You swing your gun up, aiming carefully before spraying bullets back at them.

Realistically, the Peacekeepers outnumber your group, which grows smaller by the hour. Still, you’re able to take out three quarters of them before more begin to come out a side door in the tunnel, flooding the area. And they’re not stopping.

“Those aren’t Peacekeepers.” You whisper in horror, as your eyes fixate on the details. It’s the mutts that have been following you. They look like Peacekeepers, since they’re about the size of a human, white, and have four limbs, but they’re naked with reptilian tails, arched backs and elongated necks.

They mow down the actual Peacekeepers, opening their mouths wide before clamping down on the necks of the Capitol workers, ripping their heads off. Blood begins to spray, coating the pastel-colored Transfer, causing your stomach to turn. It’s only a matter of seconds before all the Peacekeepers are decapitated, and you’re the next target on the mutt’s list.

“This way!” Katniss shouts, hugging the wall and making another sharp turn to avoid the pod ahead. When everyone has gathered, she shoots behind you, activating a pod that has large mechanical teeth that chew the tile to dust.

She grabs Pollux. “Forget the mission. What’s the quickest way aboveground?”

Pollux takes the lead again, bringing you down the Transfer and through a doorway. Tile changes to concrete. You’re forced to crawl through a small pipe. It leads you to a ledge that’s barely a foot wide. When you look up, you can see that you’re in the main sewer now.

And below is the most disgusting mess you’ve seen in your life. Human waste, garbage, and chemicals create a smell that brings tears to your eyes. You retch, forming tight fists as you struggle to breathe through your nose. The surface below is continuously moving, and some of the garbage on top is on fire.

It’s clear that if you fall in, you’re never getting out.

In an alcove on the other side of the bridge is a ladder. You catch glimpses of it, Pollux smacking it with his hand, pointing upward. Behind you sounds the mutts, slipping against the concrete floor.

“Wait! Where’s Jackson and Leeg One?” Katniss asks.

“They stayed at the Grinder to hold the mutts back.” Homes says.

“What?” Katniss lunges in your direction, but Homes grabs her to pull her back.

“Don’t waste their lives, Katniss. It’s too late for them. Look!” Homes points to the mutts that are moving quicker, now that you’re in their sight.

“Stand back!” Gale shouts, pulling out an arrow that you recognize as explosive. He aims it at you and Finnick, and neither of you have crossed the bridge yet.

“Wait!” Finnick calls.

Gale releases the arrow when he realizes his mistake. You watch as the arrow comes into contact with the bridge, a rough hand grabs the back of your protective gear, swinging you away from the crumbling edge. You trip over Finnick’s boots, landing on your knees, facing the mutts.

Up close, you can get a better and more detailed look. They’re human and lizard. They’re white with scales. They’ve got clawed hands and feet. And they have blood of your enemies and friends smeared around their mouths.

You can feel your heart shoot into your mouth at the sight of them only a few feet away. You and Finnick are their next closest target, and now you have nowhere to run. You can fight or you can jump. It doesn’t matter which way you go, because it’s going to be painful.

You whip your head from side to side, desperate to find a different solution, hoping for just one other option. Something that can save you, you deserve it after everything that’s happened to you, right?

Right, the universe must say back, as your eyes lock onto a single doorknob that’s sticking out of the brick wall. It belongs to a small door, barely half your height. You dive for the handle, aggressively turning the knob, feeling the relief as the door swings open.

“Finnick!” Your voice is shrill, trying to get his attention. You don’t even bother to turn as you begin to scramble across the floor to hide.

The room is tiny, and for a second you’re terrified that it won’t fit both of you in it. Finnick comes sliding in, squishing you against the wall while he struggles to slam the door shut.

The mutts begin to pound at the door, trying to break it open. The room is barely big enough for the two of you to sit side by side, backpacks in your lap, feet planted firmly to the door to keep it shut. You close your eyes, head resting on the brick, sweat running down the side of your temple.

You can hear gunfire on the other side of the door, and they must set off several more explosive arrows, because you can hear the blast, feel the shake of the ground beneath your butt. For a moment, all noise stops, and then there’s one final blast that causes debris to rain from the concrete cracks above.

The mutts almost stop banging at the door completely, except for a few stragglers that refuse to leave. Neither you or Finnick move to open the door, afraid that there might be more than what you can handle right now. You’re exhausted and running low on bullets. And Finnick’s trident is not good enough for fighting those mutts. In the Transfer, they were taking dozens of bullets without slowing down.

After about an hour of catching your breath and slowly relaxing your muscles, you open your bag, pulling out the only can of food you have.

“I don’t know how we’re going to get out of here.” Finnick says, “We don’t have the Holo. I think Katniss might’ve used it to kill the rest of those mutts.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she did. It was probably a way to help us.”

“How far away from the Capitol do you think we are?” Finnick asks.

You shake your head, shrugging a shoulder. You rip the can open, throwing the lid into the corner of the room by your left foot. “I think just a couple of miles now. We did a lot of distance early this morning.”

“It might be easier for us to sit here and wait for them to find us. I’m sure Katniss and Gale saw us hide in here, they can get to the Capitol and alert them that we’re here. That way, they’ll be able to tell everyone that we’re still alive.”

“They’re going to find out that we’re alive when Katniss shows up.”

“Not completely, not all of us made it out. Just Pollux, Gale, Katniss, Cressida and Peeta.”

“We lost Castor and Homes, too?”

“I saw the mutts crossing the gap by drowning each other before I came in here. Homes was too close to the edge, and Castor was about to go down, too.”

“Annie will be happy to know we’re both alive.” Finnick says.

You blink, slowly turning your head to look at him. “Are you kidding me?”

“What? I think it’s the perfect time to have this conversation. You walked away last night. You didn’t even give me a chance to respond to what you said. Do you really think I would cheat on you with Annie?”

“Finnick, you’re practically obsessed with her!” You roll your eyes.

“I have not. She’s our friend.”

“She’s your friend!” You tell him. “Which I’m not comfortable with, by the way.”

“So I’m not allowed to have female friends?” Finnick asks.

“You don’t get it.” You wave your hand.

“Don’t wave your hand at me.” He snaps.

You glare at him. “The worst part is that you didn’t start acting like this until recently.” You shake your head. “As soon as the Quarter Quell was announced, suddenly she was the most important person in your life. You wanted her to be saved from the reaping, but not me, right?”

Finnick’s face twists. “What are you talking about?”

“You practically begged me for months to volunteer over her, so I felt obligated to. I didn’t want to go back into an arena, but if not me, then who, right? Mags?” You look away from him, down at your can of food, which you’ve lost the appetite to eat. “And then during the interviews with Caesar, you completely embarrassed me. I poured my heart out to the Capitol about how in love I was and wanted to experience life with you, and then you went ahead and fucking mentioned all the important people in your life, but I wasn’t any one of them.”

You take a shaky breath, “But you know who was?”

Finnick’s sitting in silence, you turn your head to look at him, earning a blank look.

“Annie, Finnick. You named Annie.” You tell him. “It wasn’t until we were fighting for our lives in the arena did I feel like you gave a shit about me again.” You can feel yourself calming down, but then you sigh. “When we went to Thirteen, everything changed again. You found out that Annie was taken by the Capitol. All you could talk about was her. It didn’t matter if you were delirious from the drugs or you were sober, you couldn’t shut up about her.”

A laugh escapes you, but it’s not out of humor. “I was fucking relieved when they finally knocked you out.” You admit. “I cried because it was nice not having to hear about her all hours of the day. And then all I felt was guilt for being happy that you were unconscious. And don’t even get me started on the whole rescuing bullshit.

“When you pushed me aside in the hallway to get to the hospital faster. The two of you hugged like you were more than friends. Like you were a long lost pair of lovers that had finally been reunited.”

Once again, you’re shaking your head, the more you think about the situation, the worse it seems. You can feel the pressure in your eyes growing, the urge to cry.

“(Y/n)…” Finnick murmurs.

You swallow thickly. “And maybe it is ridiculous for me to feel this way. All I can see is Vaughn doing the exact same thing. He was sleeping in the same bed as me, but he was also seeing some other girl. I never saw it coming.”

“I’m sorry.” Finnick starts. “I didn’t realize how bad it was from the outside. (Y/n), honestly, I think a part of me feels the need to take care of her because we were her mentors. I don’t see anything romantic in our friendship anymore.”

You slowly turn your head to look at him, unsatisfied with his answer. He must realize this, because he reaches over to take your hand. “You’re right, honey. Annie needs to be on her own.”

“Thank you.” You breathe, closing your eyes.

“I love you, (Y/n). I promise I’ll be better.”

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x yn #finnick odair x y/n #finnick imagine #finnick oneshot #finnick fanfic #finnick x reader #finnick x you #finnick x yn #finnick x y/n #thg #the hunger games #angst

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seat-safety-switch · 3 months

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In the evening, it's not unusual around here to hear a lot of birdsong. Once the heat of the day begins to break, all the little robins and chickadees head out for some delicious grubs and worms. And I'm no different, except I head to the garage. Recently, though, I've felt like a bit of a landlord. Not just because I earn money without doing much work through an artisanally-arranged combination of government-endorsed financial scams, but because I'm building affordable housing for birdie tenants.

It all started when I was shoplifting tools at Home Depot. Loss Prevention had hired a new lady, and she was fast. So fast, in fact, that she was going to catch me if I didn't do something. I ducked into a nearby display, which turned out to be some kind of odd gathering. "Father's Day Build-A-Birdhouse Workshop," it advertised. There were dozens of children and presumably their fathers in attendance, all working hard to construct a simulacra of a human house for a bird to enjoy later.

To throw the Loss Preventionatrix off even more, I swiped an unused apron and started helping out the less capable dads. We all need a little bit of assistance sometime, even if it's something as basic as "which end of the hammer do you use?" (just hit it with a socket wrench, coward) and "do you have something with which to medicate my child?" (model airplane glue.) I found the entire experience fascinating, and it gave me a real urge to do some amateur carpentry of my very own. Not all the dads had shown up, so I helped myself to the several dozen unbuilt kits and headed for the fire exit.

Now, I have a utopian backyard. Our avian friends flit through the air, bringing new life into the world. They feast on the seeds dropped by the frankly ridiculous amount of overgrown plants, supercharged by iron-oxide-rich water falling out of my shitboxes. My fence sags under the weight of fifty-plus tiny little homes. Birdsong fills the air to such a degree that my neighbours all wear hearing protection to bed.

As well, the local news has noticed: did a whole profile on me on the evening news, in between the red-faced screaming at federal politicians for eating the wrong kind of cheese. Speaking of, we managed to leverage the positive coverage into a pretty good-sized cheque from the city government, too, enough for another Volare, because they forgot to specify in their homebuilding incentives that "affordable housing" should be human-sized. Better luck next time.

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threepandas · 3 months

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The Vod's List: Yandere Clones

The Galaxy changes, thanks to spit.

It's not even the first time it's happened, in my peoples history. But it's... kinda weird it happend? Twice? The FIRST time we actually PLANNED for it to happen. It was biological warfare. But this? This was just an accident. One that could have KILLED somebody.

Cause, see, the Techganic people? Are... well to put it lightly, we are the result of centuries of an ideological and spiritual holy war, that nearly tore our plant apart. The two sides don't really "talk" to each other any more. Or... you know... ACKNOWLEDGE the other.

They are waiting for the other to "inevitably die off, due to their own hubris".

Yeeeeeah. Fun times. You can see why I wanted OFF that dirtball.

At least on other planets? The politics aren't PERSONAL... is what I naively thought. Forgot about empathy! You know, like an idiot! Kark. Where was I? Right! Galaxy, changed, spit. Okay, sooo... here's the thing? My family was part of the bloody bone-sucking Holy Naturalist Empire. (Translated to Basic, the word "Naturalist" has more of a specific to the body? Meaning? Not so much "nature of the world" as "nature of the Self" you know? And in THIS case, the word they are using for "holy" in ancient means less strictly "divine" and more "pure like the divine"? It's Complicated.)

And the Progress Collective was ORIGINALLY this whole project, supposedly, that got WAY out of hand, became a cult, then a religion, and tore the planet apart? It was a technological hive mind that want to "perfect" the planet to a "higher state of being". And then extend its reachs to the stars.

We held the karking LINE. Died in legions. Refusing to give our bodies to be made machines. Droids and puppets. Refused to give our freedoms, our homes, our planet. Any of it. But it was at the cost of our original bodies. The only way to truely fight BACK? Was to become... poison.

The Jedi who eventually came, some how FEELING our distress, dispite the blockade the Collective created on the interplanetary transmitters? Our planet's holonet connection? Said that the creator of Our Salvation was guided by the Force. None of us could really argue. The Salvation treatment was madness. A machine so ahead of it's time, we STILL aren't sure how it works, just that it DOES.

We had a choice.

It was no choice at all.

And now? NOW? Kriffing CENTURIES later? I am STILL a biological weapon! Not do much to non-human adjacent races, but anyone human or human modified? Human descended? Kriff, even a few humanoids! If they're CLOSE enough!

I have to take neutralizers if I plan to be swapping any sort of bodily fluids with ANY race that isn't on the "verified Safe" list. For MONTHS. So it can build up in my system properly. And the side effects? Ugh. Stars and Bone, is it AWFUL! Like I GET why people do it. You love who you love. But the nausea! All those meds just to counter the side effects of other side effects!

It made me kinda glad to be single. Stars, poor cousin Tango.

Of course, I AM responsible. I always carry a FULL kit of emergency neutralizers with me. Just in case, Bones and Blood forbid it, the worst should occur. I have some for accidental blood mixing, some for plasma, a couple for bile, and the majority of the rest? Saliva. The most common accident reported. My kit even has an emergency medical guide on a lil piece of flimsy, on the inside lid!

...I feel like I'm getting distracted agai- OH! Right!!

I work in the senate building, now! Astral, right?! Center of the GALAXY! First step to making a DIFFERENCE! Granted, I am basicly the assistant nobody of no one... but STILL! It's a start! I'm ON Coruscant! That's more then most people can say! I go to work passing THE jedi temple each day! You can see them coming and going from your airspeeder!

Unfortunately? Rent is BRUTAL. I live in a glorified closet with barely a bunk and a sonic shower to my name. Not even a proper 'fresher! It's not like we're traveling. Or my species needs to avoid water! No, I literally just CAN'T AFFORD IT! And if you saw the prices? Droids be carting you off to the medcenter before you know it! Where do they GET their water? The outer rim?! Do they deliver it by HAND?!

.....I haven't had my Caf. Ignore me. I just miss feeling proper CLEAN. Sonic showers just... I know it's a psychological thing, but it doesn't FEEL as clean, you know? I am pouting. Pouty me. Unhappy.

Wait... what time is i- OH KARK!!!

See, on Coruscant there is no real "beating" the traffic. But there ARE certain steps you can take to cut travel time. Like making sure you're on the Senatorial speeder. It has right of way and is pretty comfy. And? If I get ON it early enough? Blend in with the walls? I not only can't get kicked off by some plasbone slimeball of a "I think I'm better then you" senator's aid... but they'll run their mouths!

I have learned SO MUCH that way~!

Unfortunately for me? The Caf merchant was REALLY popular today. So dignified I am NOT.

"Hold the 'LIFT!"

It more a desperate plea then an order, but two seperate armored hands immediately reach out and stop the turbolift's doors from closing. Out of breath behind my Goverments mandated mouth gaurd, I struggle to catch my breath as I finally make it. The kriffing thing makes running almost impossible. It makes most things karking near impossible.

"Tha... thank! You!" I manage to pant, trying not to double over. I am a bit light headed. It's hard to remember what I'm supposed to do when I'm like this. "Kriff! I hate running. Can.. never breathe! Afterwards!"

The lift is full of Coruscant gaurds, their mysterious gazes presumably locked onto me. I could only assume, given how their helmets were turned towards me, but ultimately it was impossible to tell. The gaurd standing next to me was more heavily painted then the others. I still couldn't for the life of me figure out what the marks MEANT. Rank maybe?

"Should we be requesting a medical droid?" Came the mechanized voice of... I was fairly sure the one to my left? I turned to address the one I was preeeeetty sure had spoken. It was a small, echo-y lift.

"No, no. It's just the mask. Makes it kinda hard to breathe. Gover-"

I never got to finish explaining. Just as we reach the Speeder platform. As the doors began to open. An explosion ripped the world apart. The very mask I disliked so much, likely saving my lower jaw from being ripped completely off. The turbolift slammed back, crashing, durasteel screeching as supports ripped apart and gave way.

Rapid fire, more explosions. The Gaurd next to me grabbed me, tucked me tight as they braced. Away from the exit. As.. the world... slowly LEANED.

All I could do was stare, terrified, down at the sheer drop of the now frantic Coruscant traffic below. Commuters desperately trying to avoid falling debris. I could hear alarms. The transparasteel below my face cracked.

Wait.

Below?

The 'lift had leaned. MORE then leaned. It was half unmoored. Hanging out into open air. I clung to the gaurd that held me, my caf dropped long ago, now seeping like dark blood through the cracks to drip... drip... drip... out into that terrible drop.

I.. I couldn't breath. My heart was pounding. Too fast. Too hard. Oh Stars that take us in the End, oh Bones and Blood, that we are! C-can't BREATHE! I managed to make a hand unseize. Rip the glorified muzzle from my face, so I could suck in air. I was drooling. Like a mad hunt beast. A panic response, I remembered distantly.

So far down. Oh Stars. We were going to fall so far down!

A creak. A snap. We jerked and swung downwards. I think... I think I sobbed. Pressed as tight as I could make myself to the red heavy gaurd. He was sturdy. Hold strong. I could hear the other gaurds working quickly and in tandem behind me. But... but I was frozen. Useless. N..nothing but dead weight.

I must have started babbling. Apologizing. Because the helmet near my head turned slightly, the arm around my waist tightened just a bit.

"You have nothing to apologize for ma'am. We were trained for this. Made for this. Not you. You're going to be just fine, all right? We'll get you out of here. Just stay calm and try not to move."

We are almost out. Almost free. When the next attack hits. The cheap duracrete crumbles and we DROP. Gravity releasing us for a few, brief, and terrifying moments.

I do not face them with dignity. I am terrified. A fractured, strangled, scream trying to rip its way free of me. Fear too great to let it. Some stars blessed 'Lift cord catches, arresting our fall violently. We slam into the side of the building the Senatorial Speeder pad is on. Throwing gaurds around the lift pod. Smashing us all together.

The man holding me has his helmet knocked off in a violent bounce that leaves his jaw sporting a shallow but painful looking scrape from someone's boot. Two panes of the transparensteel are just... GONE. Howling wind a deadly reminder of what waits below, should anyone fall through those holes.

"Hammer, Tricks! Get those doors open NOW! I don't care if you have to BLAST them open! We are running out of time and I'd prefer not to learn what the low levels taste like at SPEED." Growled a commanding voice in my ear. Then the voice turn reassuring. "We got you. You're not dying here. We're getting out, okay? Just hold on."

I managed to nod. Drool had long ago overwhelmed my mouth, now painting my chin, smearing everywhere. A mess. It mixed with my tears and some part of me was screaming. Dangerous, dangerous! But... but all I could see was that DROP. Gonna fall. Oh Stars, gonna fall! Please. Scared. Don't let go!

I pressed closer. Ignorant of the way my drool wet cheek pressed against the still bleeding wound on his his face. Ignorant of how I was doing the ONE THING I had been warned time and time again to NEVER EVER do.

The turbolift door gave a screeching clunk as they were force out of place. Toppling away. The gaurds ignored it, immediately getting into action. There was a patrol speeder clearly waiting to get into position. One by one the jumped into it. Careful not to destabilize the already precarious lift any further.

Finally it was our turn. And? With a gut turning drop as I was carried down? We were safe. The Speeder immediately making room. I cried. Clung. It took me entirely too long to remember that something might be amiss. It was only when the gaurd I was clinging to stumbled. Admitted to a "bit" of a headache. That everything came crashing back.

Like ice water to the soul.

Oh Stars! What have I DONE!?

I scramble for my neutralizers. The full anti-spectrum kit. Oh Stars! It's in his BLOOD! I stared in horror at the damning sheen of my own spit against his cheek, my hands shaking, trying to rip open the pack. A medic takes it from me. Opens it for me and reads the flimsy guide in side. Curses.

There is no way to REALLY know who was exposed to me. So everyone has to go to the medcenter. Immediately. Get emergency shots just in case. Then follow up with medical droids for a couple weeks afterwards. BARE MINIMUM.

Why? Because my spit carries organic nanites. They hunt and DESTROY anything they deem "non-native" to the body... as defined by MY species. They ignore obviously alien races but human adjacent ones? They were DESIGNED to destroy augmented humans. "Purge" them of their enhancements. They can't tell they difference. Alien humanoid? Augmented Techganic? Same thing, right?!

Without the neutralizers? The nanites will RIP PEOPLES BODIES APART. And even WITH them? All it does is soft reset them to whatever current race their in. They still cause massive problems and medical trauma as they go about "fixing" any perceived damaged. Like, you know, medical devices. Or shrapnel.

They are meant to break and cannibalize what they can. Fix indiscriminately. If it causes YOU unimaginable agony? So be it. At least you will be "whole". Die Technoganic. Pure. The pain has KILLED people. The nanites? Dumb enough to attack VITAL STSTEMS they deem "wrong". Killing their hosts before they themselves can FIX anything. They were a WEAPON. And... and I infected an innocent man.

I am a monster.

All I can do, is apologize. Again and again and again. Stare in horror, into the eyes of the man who SAVED me, and know that I returned the favor by poisoning him horribly. If there was room? I would grovel. This is... this is unforgivable.

He grimaced past the building headache. Pats my shoulder.

The worst part is... is no one is blaming me.

T-they SHOULD be...

The hand on my shoulder spasms, grip turning crushing as my savior's body violently seizes. His hands shoot to his head, limbs twitching and lashing. Blood trickles from his nose. Eyes shut tight against some terrible pain. They've GIVEN him the shot! It should be countering the nanites! The only reason he should be in this much pain would be if there was something lodged in his brain!

All at once... like a doll with his string cut... he relaxes. Just in time for us to arrive at the Medcenter. They try to usher me away from the gaurds. Push them off towards some "take care of it yourself" corner of nowhere.

I throw a FIT. Loudly.

I am prepared to sit on the floor and scream and cry like a youngling, and it must SHOW, because they hurriedly rush us along. People GET their kriffing bacta. Their technoganic poisoning shots. Yes, I had to harrass the nurses it digging the shots out of storage. NO it couldn't KARKING WAIT!

I learned my saviors name was "Fox". That he's actually stationed in the same building as where I work. The Senate.

Thankfully? "I got BOMBED" is a valid excuse not to show up to work. I was allowed to head home. Fox even escorted me. Showed me where the Gaurds all get their off duty meals. Pretty spicy! But good! I don't really notice how clear headed Fox seems. Surely he always was, right? I can't have CHANGED anything, right?

I don't notice him bracing for headaches that never come. Having thoughts that don't slip away. Seeing the world and for once... REALLY seeing it. Being about to trace all the changes back to one person. The smiling, laughing, soul who NEEDED him so much.

He...he was MADE to be needed. To serve and protect. But does everyone DESERVE his service?

Huh... a strange new thought, that one.

But THIS one... this one might make The List. He really hopes she does. Nodding to a passing vod, his eyes drift back to her. She was warm. Stands as a rare bit of bright in Coruscant's filthy everything. He'd... He'd really like to keep her. Feels too soon, but it's true.

Everyone else have their generals. What do the Gaurds have?

Maybe this? Might be nice.

He hopes she makes the List.

#threepandas #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere star wars #yandere clone troopers #yandere Coruscant gaurd #alien reader #the Vods list au #the vods list #not openly yandere yet #those chips are stopping the yandere #dont worry #we gonna fix thaaaaat

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cringe-but-proud · 9 months

Note

Would you do a 1610 miles morales request where he and the reader became close at visions and she figures out he’s Spider-Man so he tends to go to hers when needing comfort/help so one night after patching him up, they end up sharing a bed cause he’s too hurt to go home and they’re both flustered and cute cause they clearly like each other?

Yurrrrrr

Miles Morales x Fem!Reader

Warnings: light swearing, mentions of pain/injury, reader and miles share a bed (NOTHING SPICY 😑)

A/n: First non-second person POV fic on here. As always, my requests are open 🥳

Tonight had been pretty rough for Miles. He had gotten in a pretty bad fight with some guys that were trying to rob a jewelry store. He had stopped them, which was good, but his entire body felt sore.

So, like always, he made his way over to her apartment.

This had become a sort of regular thing for him to do. His best friend, Y/n, was one of the only people who knew about his secret identity, and so, he went to her whenever he was in need of some quick first aid.

Miles swung over to the familiar apartment building and knocked on her bedroom window.

After a short moment, Y/n opened the window for him. She scanned his disheveled state while helping him climb through the window. "Wow, you look like shit." She commented.

"Thanks. Good to see you too." Miles replied as he pulled his mask off and let it fall to the ground.

She laid a towel on her bed before he sat down (Y/n was very serious about Miles not getting blood on her sheets) and grabbed the first aid kit that she kept in her room.

"Rough night?" She asked as she got out some of the medical supplies she'd be using.

"Yeah. I'm alright though."

She began disinfecting the wound and a comfortable silence fell over them. Miles always liked coming over to her place. Even though he was almost always injured or hurt when he came over. He liked how cozy her room was, he liked that she always had music playing, and he liked that she was always too focused on patching him up to notice him staring at her.

After about 30 minutes of tending to his wounds, she finished with a relieved sigh. "You're lucky I like you, dude. If anyone else asked me to do something like this I'd tell them to never talk to me again."

Miles chuckled and looked down at the floor. "Uh... Thanks?" He tried standing up, but winced.

"You alright?" Y/n asked, looking back at Miles as she put away the first aid kit.

"Yeah... Just a little sore." He said as he sat back down on her bed.

"You gonna be able to make it back home?'

Miles thought about it for a moment. He didn't think he had the strength to swing or even walk home right now. "Uh..."

"If you need to you can stay the night." She tells him

"Really?"

"Of course, man." She smiled softly. "It's not a big deal."

To Miles it was a big deal. Staying over at his crush's house? Huge deal.

But, he had to play it cool.

"Uh... Yeah, alright." He shrugged, trying to act nonchalant about the whole thing.

Y/n had given him some of her oversized clothes for him to sleep in.

There was a brief argument over the sleeping situation (Miles didn't want to kick Y/n out of her own room, but Y/n wasn't gonna make an injured Miles sleep on the couch) they decided to just share the bed.

No big deal. Two friends sharing a bed. Totally normal. No big deal.

Miles settled into her bed, back turned to her as he stared at the wall.

The two of you exchanged a brief 'good night' and then it was silent.

Miles was wide awake. The position he was laying in was uncomfortable, but he didn't dare move. The minutes passed by like hours and he wanted to look at the time, but he couldn't wake her up.

Little did he know, Y/n was feeling the exact same way. Wide awake, unable to move, and unable to speak.

Somehow, against all odds, after what was probably at least 2 hours of still, dead silence, they both managed to fall asleep.

If they thought falling asleep next to each other was awkward, then the dilemma of waking up cuddling each other was going to be absolutely unbearable.

#x reader #fanfiction #spiderman across the spiderverse x reader #spiderman into the spiderverse x reader #miles morales x reader #spiderman x reader

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just-moondust · 4 months

Text

Honey & Herbal Tea

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Aaron Hotchner x Fem OC

Summary: During an investigation, Hotch ends up being dragged out of a burning building by a fire captain. One he now kinda has feelings for.

A/N: Hotch kinda acts more like Thomas in this, with the giggles and all.

I know I'm a shitty writer, but hey, gotta write my own stuff sometime. This will have more parts eventually, just kinda testing the waters with this...

‐‐-----‐------‐-------------------------------------------------------------

Aaron Hotchner wasn't one to be speechless, but today had been one of those days.

Paramedics were scattered around the scene treating burns and comforting distraught victims. One in particular had been adamant that he stay put till he could get checked out for injuries, but the medical teams were stretched thin as is.

He watched, still a little dazed as the firefighters combed through the smouldering ruins of what was once an office building. One that he had barely made it out of alive. They were too late figuring out that this place was latest on the unsub's list of places to burn. As a result, more than a few people had been hurt. Thankfully no one had been killed. Whether that was down to his own stupidity for choosing to stay in a burning building to help evacuations or just plain luck, he wasn't sure. Either way, being slung over the shoulder of a freakishly strong female fire captain and rescued wasn't in his expectations.

The very same fire captain that was stalking towards him with a furious look on her face.

“Are you stupid?!”

She yells, though he's so taken aback at her aggression he doesn't answer, just blankly staring at her covered in soot. Freckles peak through the dirt on the tip of her nose and where she's away wiped sweat from her forehead.

When he stays quiet, her face turns to concern and she looks him up and down.

“Agent?”

She pulls off a glove and rummages around in the medical kit beside him for an examination pen light, shining in his eyes. It forces him to blink and snap out of whatever trace he was in.

“I-I'm fine” He tries to sound convincing, but all the smoke he'd breathed in had just made his voice crack and the captain shakes her head.

“No, you were in a fire without proper breathing apparatus. So you need to go to the hospital.”

Her voice is stern, almost matching his own when he's ordering his own team. He's not used to being ordered around, and he wasn't about to waste a time on a trip to the emergency room.

“No I don't have time for that-”

Aaron pulls off the oxygen mask and starts to get up, but she pushes him back down on the step of the ambulance, a frown of annoyance now on her face.

“Listen to me very carefully, Agent. You have symptoms of smoke inhalation and you may feel fine now, but if you go home without treatment, it will get worse and you'll die.”

Aaron could see this was an argument he wasn't going to win, this woman was pretty adamant.

The thought of Jack alone crossed his mind and he nods reluctantly, the captain's face softens .

“Good. Make sure you get some rest.”

She pats his shoulder, turning to Morgan and Emily who have appeared at the side of the ambulance, having apparently watched this whole exchange.

“Make sure he goes to the emergency room. Order him if you have to.”

She says, heading back to the singed ruin.

“You heard the lady” Morgan smirks, helping him to his feet. “Let's get you to the hospital”

If Aaron could speak without coughing his lungs up, he'd probably have told Morgan to shove it. He instead shoots him a look of disapproval as he slumps in the back of the suv with several bottles of water.

***

A few days later and he still can't get the dryness out of his throat. He's standing in the BAU kitchen stirring powdered flu medication into his morning coffee, clearing his throat.

“I find herbal tea and honey the best relief.”

He jumps slightly and spins around to the familiar voice.

A light copper haired, freckled faced woman leans against the opposite counter, her dark eyes watch him with amusement as he recognises the now clean and composed fire captain.

“Captain Kneath?”

She nods at the acknowledgement, unfolding her toned arms to reveal a folder tucked underneath that she waves in Aaron's direction.

“I have the latest arson report. I was told to deliver it to the agent in charge.”

He raises an eyebrow, realising she doesn't know she's talking to him.

“Sure, I'll take you to his office.”

She follows as he walks across the empty bullpen and up to his office. She lingers in the doorway as she watches him sit down at his desk and stare at her blankly. She returns the blank look, a thin smile forms on her lips.

“Very funny,” she pulls the door to, reading his name off it, “Agent…Hotchner.”

Aaron shrugs nonchalantly, though inside, he's very proud of his little joke.

She slides the report across his desk and sits in one of the chairs in front of it, smoothing her crisp shirt down as she crosses her legs, waiting for him to read it. In the silence, she glances around his office, taking in the sight of the trinkets and photographs. One in particular catching her eye, Agent Hotchner and a younger boy she could only assume was his son. Cute kid she thinks, not realising the Agent had finished skimming through the report and was observing her.

“So the source of ignition was thermite?” He asks, drawing her attention back to him.

“Yeah, it's pretty common for arsonists. And you can buy it legally.” She sighs, “sorry it doesn't exactly narrow down your suspect list.”

Aaron raises his palms to disagree, “you'd be surprised what tiny details can help. Thank you, Captain.”

He offers his hand, which she accepts with a firm grip.

“And uh, thanks for the rescue.’

That lightens her mood. Even if it does cost him a little dignity. The smile lines and creases by her eyes become more defined as a quiet chuckle escapes her.

“You're Welcome. Just don't do it again, Agent Hotchner.”

She backs out of his office with a smirk, leaving Aaron with an uncomfortably hot blush on his face. One he can't cover before Rossi enters the room, double taking at the departing Captain. The look on his face tells all before he's even opened his mouth.

“Dave, don't.”

Rossi pleads ignorance, “what? I never said anything.” He makes himself comfortable in the previously occupied seat, nosing through the arson report.

“I'm just saying, she's pretty smokin’. Pun intended.”

“Please, stop…”

“Oh look, she left her number on the report. For official queries though.”

Hotch sighs loudly, airing that his patience was wearing thin. He knew Dave was only teasing, but it was the last thing he needed.

After a long, gruelling brainstorming session, the team came to the unwanted conclusion that it could only be a firefighter setting such the blazes. That meant questioning the responders.

Before Aaron can even begin to dish out assignments, Rossi volunteers himself and Aaron to go to the downtown station.

They bring Reid along, mainly because Aaron knows he'll stay focused on the work.

As the three of them enter the open bay, they're greeted by a group of firefighters who look up from the kit they're inspecting, faces dropping to looks of aversion when federal badges are shown.

One reluctantly shows Aaron up to their captain's office, knocking on the open door.

“Cap, feds are here.”

She briefly glances up from what she's typing, spotting Aaron behind the shorter woman in the doorframe, an eyebrow raised in interest.

“Thanks, Em. Tell the others to play nicely please?”

She nods, letting Aaron into the office, not before passing him with a glare as she heads back downstairs.

“They know why you're here, that's why they're being so hostile…”

Kneath says, continuing to type away. She makes a gesture for him to sit and he obliges. The similarity of the scene from this morning in his head as he inspects the shelves behind her. Books, old helmets and a singular photograph. Looked so be the entire crew with a few extra family members gathered round a loaded up Christmas dinner table. Happy smiles on everyone.

The sound of the captain's laptop shutting brings Aaron's attention back. Her face appearing more stern than disapproving, her hands rest atop of the closed laptop together. Why did he feel like he was about to get told off?

“Agent Hotchner, it may not be a surprise to know that I'm quite familiar with the profiles of arsonists.” She begins to explain, he doesn't interrupt, opting to hear what she has to say.

“I know that you're here because there is a theory that firefighters are often responsible for these specific types of fires. That they're often male, white, young and have a history of trouble.” Her eyes narrow and she leans forward, “That's just under half my team. And while I appreciate you have a job to do, what I don't like is the fact you didn't think to consult me first before interrogating my guys.”

Aaron takes a moment, he feels like he's 16 year old again, being lectured by the young teacher in high school he'd had a crush on for getting into too many fights. He didn't really think straight then either.

“Captain, you're right and I apologise,”

He swallows, fighting the urge to look away from her face and down to his lap.

“But we still need to question everyone. Any details, no matter how small, are important.”

She sighs, rubbing her temples as she thinks it over.

“Fine. You can ask questions. But I will be present as well as a union rep, if they choose to have one there.”

Aaron sees this as good as it's going to get, nodding in agreement.

“Come back tomorrow, I'll have everything ready.”

They both stand, walking down to the bay to Rossi and Reid in some kind of territorial standoff with two of the men.

“Griff, Phil, that's enough.”

She calls, and the two back off. Aaron can't help the nerves from somewhere in his stomach emerging at her authority over them, her composure, her voice sounding so stern. Did he even find it.. attractive?

Rossi certainly knew he did by the smug look on his face when he spots Aaron's split second look of distress from his internal debate.

He waits till they're back in the car to start digging for details.

“So we like a woman in charge now, hmm?”

Hotch tightens his grip on the wheel, refusing to play along with the tease. Reid however, hasn't had the memo.

“What'd you mean?” He asks, popping his head between the front seats, looking at Rossi, who's in turn still smirking at Aaron.

“Hotch has the hots for the lady fire captain…”

“What? No way” Reid frowns, looking between the two of them, “right?”

“I can fire both of you.”

“Hmm interesting choice of words-”

“Shut up, Dave.”

***

“Thank you Emma, you can go. Send in Callum next.”

Captain Kneath says as the fifth interview is concluded. She sighs heavily, her fingers pinch the bridge of her nose as she paces behind Reid and Hotch at a table.

This wasn't looking good for a few of her crew, the feeling of unease that someone in her crew was responsible. The loyalty they all had to one another was becoming a problem, though she felt she was the one betraying that trust by letting this whole thing happen.

“We can take a break, Captain?”

The older agent suggests from his spot in the corner of the room, but she dismisses the idea.

“No, it's alright. I want this over as soon as possible..”

The next interviewee appears in the doorway, she looks up at the newest addition to her team with an eased smile.

“Callum, please have a seat. This is the station's union rep, Graeme. Are you happy for him to sit in?”

“Uh, yeah…Sure Cap.”

The two shake hands briefly as Callum sits with him opposite the two federal agents as they introduce themselves.

“Can you tell us your whereabouts on Tuesday from 5:45 am to 6:30 am?”

“I was here, on shift. Cap was here too, she saw me.”

She nods when Aaron glances over his shoulder at her for verification. He scribbles down a note before asking the next few questions. Callum seems to be the most cooperative yet, maybe due to his status as the newbie. He wasn't quite all in on the family bond the rest of them shared.

“And did you notice anything unusual about your colleagues' behaviour before you were dispatched to the fire?”

He shakes his head.

“Everyone was cranky. We were about to clock off and then we had another 4 hours of work”

“What about during the response?”

He lets out a frustrated sigh as he thinks back, shifting in his seat as he looks up at his Captain for a second. She catches on, her face softening as she notices.

“Cal if you think somethings wrong, say it” she encourages gently, the young man nods, looking back at Reid and Hotch.

“When we were looking for signs of a reflash…I was with Griff in the sublevel, he told me to split off. And I know you say that's the number one no go Cap, but we were all tired and wanted to get the job done faster…”

Kneath audibly exhales through her nose, her face resting in her hand to keep her disappointment hidden from him.

“...when I'd cleared my half, I went back to find Griff, he was picking up something and he put it in the pocket of his tunic…”

“Did you see what it was?”

“No, I was too far away” Callum shakes his head again, looking back up at his captain with an apologetic look.

“Cap, I'm real sorry-” He starts, but she raises a hand to cut him off.

“We'll talk about this later Cal. Is that everything agents?”

Hotch agrees and Cal is dismissed. Captain Kneath begins her pacing again, but the calmness she had before is now some kind of amused annoyance as the agents all look at one another.

“I can't believe this” she laughs, “they all know there are procedures for a reason. Griff, most of all.”

“How so?” Reid asks, sensing there's a tension between them. She shakes her head, beginning to unfold the story.

“Griff and I were both in line for the captain job. But he's reckless and cuts corners for efficiency and it got one of our own killed.”

The bitterness in her tone says all, a frustration that a few others in the crew no doubt harbour.

“Do you want him back in here?” She asks, the agents nod.

“We need his permission to search his belongings. If he still has whatever he took from the scene, it may be here.”

She calmly requests the rep to fetch her disgruntled lieutenant.

“He won't give you permission. Even if he had nothing to hide, he wouldn't.”

Hotch and Rossi exchange a look before Aaron stands up, “Captain, perhaps it would be better if we spoke to Lieutenant Griffiths without you present, given the strained relationship between you.”

The suggestion is accepted, and she follows Aaron back to her office, leaving Rossi and Reid to the questioning.

He shuts the door behind them and she slumps down in her desk chair, shutting her eyes and taking several deep breaths.

He takes a seat on the other side, observing her stress.

“Captain I understand you're frustrated-”

“Seren.” She corrects him, “ I don't think I can really say what I want to say as a captain.”

He nods, crossing his legs and sitting back in the chair. He's had members of his team under suspicion before, but never a betrayal that it looked like this was heading for. He can't blame her for wanting to kick and scream. He felt that way too sometimes. It was after all, as they say, lonely at the top.

“He is one stubborn son of a bitch. He hates that I got the job over him. Even after he got Jason killed….” She trails off, shaking her head in hurt.

“He's misogynistic and he's disobedient! Thinks because I'm a woman, I'm too soft on everyone. And don't get me started on the rumours he started…”

She sighs heavily, seemingly to have got the worst of her grievances out.

Aaron's eyebrows raise at the mention of gossip, but he doesn't press it. He can guess what it is, so instead he considers the position it puts her in, something that he'd never have to experience. Is this how JJ and Emily feel? He can't say he understands her.

“From what I've seen of this station and its crew, I think it's clear you were the correct choice.”

He says with a small smile involuntarily curling at the edges of his mouth.

She seems to accept the compliment reluctantly, a thin smile on her lips.

“Thanks, Agent Hotchner.”

“Aaron. Please.”

“Thank you then, Aaron.” She says, the tension of the situation beginning to ease a little. They wait in silence a few minutes more, then there's a commotion outside. When they both get downstairs, Rossi has Griff in cuffs on the ground and he's yelling at Callum for snitching. The rest of the crew are gathered round in stunned silence, one that Seren joins.

“What happened?” Hotch asks Reid, who's holding a makeshift evidence bag.

“We found what was left of the thermite container in his locker and he tried to run…”

“...and you both took down a 178 lbs guy?”

He asks in disbelief. Rossi perks up as he hauls Griff to his feet, who's now uttering insults towards Seren under his breath.

“Actually, we had help” He grins, gesturing to the crew around them.

“Well no one's gonna bad mouth our captain and get away with it,” one says.

Seren feels her heart swell with a little pride at her team as she realises they really didn't think less of her for going along with the intrusive investigation.

“It seems like Lieutenant Griffiths here, had quite the vendetta against you Captain.”

Rossi explains, returning from putting Griff in the car. Though that still doesn't answer the million questions she has.

“I don't get it though, why target those buildings? If he wanted to get rid of me, he could've done it in easier ways…”

She frowns, crossing her arms, looking between the agent for answers.

“We'll know more when we question him.” Aaron says, “for now, just try to put it to the back of your head.”

She nods, “please keep us updated” she asks as they head towards the car. “And thank you!” She calls after them, and heads back inside.

***

“Sorry I'm late” Seren apologises, taking the opposite seat to Aaron. He glances at his watch and grins, seeing she's only over by a few minutes.

“Busy day?” He wonders, she gives a wide eyed nod.

“Like you wouldn't believe. Though things are running alot smoother now I have a Lieutenant that actually works with me.”

Aaron nods along, pleased things had turned out okay.

Things had gotten a little messy during the court case, but Seren had kept her composure unlike her opposition. His legal counsel had reverted to trying to discredit her, that's when Aaron had heard the rumour she'd mentioned.

There was of course, no truth behind it. But she'd sat through the questions and the slut shaming till the jury was satisfied. Aaron felt angry for her. Emily saw it, the silent look of judgement Hotch so often wore in interrogations when people are undoubtedly guilty and still denying it.

She'd told him that it was an unfortunate truth about women in power, even having experienced it herself.

Aaron was aware of it, even realising he'd been quicker to jump to conclusions about how capable his female colleagues were. But seeing it so blatantly used was infuriating.

He'd met up with her several times after the court case had ended, much to Rossi's delight. Though he told himself it was more out of a sense of obligation.

They talked, got on more of a first name basis. She'd laughed at his little efforts at jokes and listened when he had shared frustrations.

Aaron was alot more involved than he knew he should have been. The stickler for procedure, the drill sergeant, as Morgan had once put it. Despite that and the persistent comments from Rossi, he'd worked up the nerve to ask for a date.

And now she was sitting across from him, cradling the cup of chamomile tea with honey in her hands. Wisps of stray hairs fall down the side of her face, having escaped the tight bun the rest of hair was still pulled back into. Her soft smile changes as she recalls a particularly funny rescue that has Aaron blurting out a giggle. He couldn't help it, but she noticed. Her eyes widen in surprise and her smile follows suit. His cheeks go red when she says it's cute.

God he was a mess in front of this woman.

Soon it's late, and the baristas behind the counter are shooting them looks till they take the hint to leave. They walk slowly and closely, fingers occasionally brushing as they exchange glances and words in the evening breeze till they're at her doorstep. They stand in silence a moment, wondering which of them would be the braver one. It's her of course, Aaron watches in mild amusement as she climbs two steps and pulls him by his tie into a kiss that he gladly accepts.

The sweet taste of honey and herbal tea lingers on his lips when she pulls away and says goodnight, leaving him in some kind of weak-legged, giddy state to wander home in.

#aaron hotchner #ssa aaron hotchner #hotch #hotch x oc #aaron hotchner x oc #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #thomas gibson #aaron hotchner fic

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virginsexgod69 · 5 months

Text

1| A Cabin in the Woods

summary Daryl comes across your cabin during a storm and ends up staying

pairing Daryl Dixon x f!Reader

cw use of guns, gunshot wounds, probably some medical inaccuracies

1.6k words

series masterlist

The heavy rain soaked Daryl to the bone. He was shivering and in desperate need for shelter, at least until the rain stopped. The trees in the forest provided no protection from the elements and in these conditions, building a lean-to to sleep under for the night was out of the question. He continued to trudge through the mud, his crossbow at the ready as he watched out for walkers. Giving up wasn’t an option, although he did feel hopeless. His home was destroyed, he was separated from his friends, friends who he wasn’t even sure were still alive, and then on top of all that, Beth got taken.

He wasn’t sure if his mind was playing tricks on him, but he saw a dim light not too far ahead. With the rain heavily pouring, it was difficult for him to see any tracks, which would have been helpful for him to determine if he was about to approach a place where people were already residing. It was a dangerous risk to take, but it could reap worthwhile results, so he followed the light until it led him to a cabin. The only plausible reason for light to be coming from the cabin was that someone was inside. Other people were far too dangerous these days, he wasn’t going to risk it. However, the opportunity to change his mind was taken from him when he felt a searing pain in his upper thigh. He knew what it was immediately, the pain feeling all too familiar, he had been shot.

“Drop your weapon,” he assumed the shooter said. He didn’t want to disarm himself, but he wasn’t even able to spot the person who shot him. He’d be at a disadvantage if he didn’t comply with the commands. He slowly lowered his crossbow to the ground and raised his hands in surrender. Finally, he was able to get a good look at you when you approached to take his weapon, your gun still pointed at him. Through the darkness and rain, he couldn’t get a good look at you, but he could feel the coldness of your piercing glare.

“What’re you doing ‘round here?” Your tone demanded an answer and he didn’t feel like fucking around and finding out what would happen if he didn’t give you one.

“Was lookin’ for shelter. Didn’ know anyone was out here til jus’ now,” he replied evenly.

“Did I shoot you?” You asked.

“No shit,” he replied, thinking your question was stupid.

“Well, excuse me,” you snarked. “That was meant to be a warning shot, but it’s kinda hard to see in this rain.” He felt a little relieved that you weren’t deliberately trying to harm him, but couldn’t fully relax while staring down the barrel of your gun. You uncocked it and put it in your belt.

“You can stay in my cabin til the rain stops, but only if you surrender all your weapons.”

“Fine.” He didn’t want to stay in this rain for a moment longer, especially since he was now injured. He followed you into the cabin, hobbling slightly due to his injury. Once he was inside the lit cabin, he was able to get a good look at you. Your gaze was cold and guarded, but he could tell you were remorseful, at least a little bit. He touched his wounded thigh and looked at his fingers, now covered in his blood.

“Want me to take a look at that?” You asked. He didn’t like the irony of the person who shot him possibly being the one tending to his wound, so he refused.

“Nah. I got it.” You raised a skeptical eyebrow at him, but didn’t insist on anything. “If you say so. I’ll go get some towels and my first aid kit. Don’t try anything funny or dirty my furniture while I’m gone.” He rolled his eyes once your back was turned, annoyed as to why anyone would care about keeping furniture clean during a damn apocalypse. When you came back, you were in different, dry clothes with a towel wrapped around your head.

“Here.” You tossed a towel at him and he immediately used it to apply pressure to his bleeding wound. He could feel you intently watching him as he pressed the towel, now saturated with his blood, to his thigh. You tossed him another and he quickly switched them out.

“You sure you don’t want me to take a look?” He hated the pity lacing your voice. You had some audacity to pity him as if you weren’t the one who put him in this situation in the first place.

“You a damn doctor or somethin’?” He snapped, growing frustrated with your hovering.

“Never mind, you got it.” You placed the first aid kit beside were he was sitting on the floor and sat down on your couch before opening a book and reading. He was grateful to finally be left alone and continued his attempt to stop the bleeding. He checked underneath the towel and saw that it stopped. Upon closer examination, he saw that it was just a graze. He opened the first aid kit and cleaned the wound with the alcohol wipe in there. It needed stitches, but because of where it was on his thigh, he’d be unable to do them himself. He glanced up at you and you were already looking at him from over your book, hiding a smug look.

“Everything okay?” You asked. He just grunted in response, not wanting to ask for your help after he was so adamant on refusing it. Even though it would take more time, his wound would heal without stitches, so he just bandaged it as is. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw you close your book and set it down. You grabbed his bloody towels, left, then came back with a few fresh ones.

“Dry yourself off. Don’t need you catchin’ a cold.” You tossed him the towels and he caught them and began to dry himself.

“You can sleep up here. I’ll give back your weapons when you leave.” You turned off the lights, but let the fire place burn, which Daryl appreciated since he needed to warm up.

…

When you awoke in the morning, the rain was still harshly beating against your window. You slid out of bed and got dressed before walking into the living room. The sight of a man in dark clothing sitting on the floor of your cabin scared you. You had forgotten about what happened last night. He glanced in your direction, but didn’t say anything. He leaned against the hearth of the stone fireplace with a hand held to his injured leg.

“How’s the leg?” You asked. You hoped he was doing better for the sake of him leaving soon, but you doubted it. The wound was pretty deep and you didn’t see him stitch it, so he’d be lucky if it didn’t start bleeding again at the slightest movement. You would’ve gladly helped him had he asked, but you felt he was being rude, so you refused to offer your services again that night.

“Fine.” You could tell that wasn’t all true. His skin looked pale and his forehead glistened with sweat.

“I’m no doctor, but you don’t look okay. Like at all.” You couldn’t help the smirk that tugged on the corners of your mouth as he frowned at you.

“Lemme just take a look. I wouldn’t wanna wake up to some dead stranger wanderin’ around my house tryna eat me,” you joked in an attempt to lighten the mood. Today was a new day and the least you could do was help him out. After all, he wouldn’t even be here had you not shot him. You picked up the first aid kit from the floor where he left it yesterday and sat down beside him on his injured side. He extended his leg toward you and you gave him a small smile in return. The tear in his pants from the gunshot was large enough to where you didn’t need to remove any clothing. You took off the old bandage and examined the wound it was fairly deep.

“This definitely needs stitches,” you informed him as you rummaged through the kit for sutures. He brought his thumb to his mouth and nibbled on the skin surrounding the nail, but nodded his head in approval anyway. You cleaned the wound and unpackaged the sutures.

“What’s your name anyway?” You asked while threading the needle.

“Daryl,” came his reply. In return, you told him your name. You pinched his skin together and stuck the needle through it. You weren’t sure how to sew an injured person’s flesh back together, so you just did what felt right.

“How’d you find my cabin, Daryl?” You tied the thread, bringing together the two sides of the wound then cut it before starting the next suture.

“Jus’ came across it yesterday.” You repeated the process and finished the second stitch before starting the third.

“Why were you outside in a storm yesterday?”

"This a damn interrogation or somethin'?" he hissed instead of answering the question. To tell the truth, you were interrogating him; one, because you wanted to find out more about the strange man in your home and two, to distract him from the pain of you sewing his skin.

"I'm just making conversation," you told the half-truth.

"Got separated from my group a while back. I was out lookin' for em and got caught up in the rain. S'that what you wanna know?" You didn't respond and instead focused on tying the last knot. You placed a bandage over the stitched up wound and cleaned up your materials.

"Looks like you'll be stuck with me for a little while longer," you commented as you watched the rain come down even harder than it was last night. His only reply came in the form of a displeased grunt.

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redd956 · 2 years

Text

Tornado Safety

This year’s tornado season prediction for the united states is looking quite grim, so I decided to make this lil tornado safety post.

Difference between Warning and Watch

First you need to know the different between a tornado warning and a tornado watch.

A tornado watch means there is a potential risk for tornadoes.

A tornado warning means that server weather as bean spotted.

The real one you know to get going for is the tornado emergency which means that there is truly something heading your way. However you should respond to all of these appropriately, and if one is issued keep watch for the weather.

What to look out for

The calm before the storm is a real thing. The wind may die down, and the air become still. Everything might fall silent for a moment

The sky is turning dark really fast, or green, or both.

A roar similar to that of a distant freight train. Tornado’s sound like freight trains.

Fast moving and rotating clouds, especially if they’re making a funnel shape

Obviously tornado watches escalating for tornado warnings

What to do

Let’s say the tornado warning is now issued, and eventually a tornado is coming your way. What do you do? Well the situation depends on how immediate the danger is, and what your circumstances are.

First let’s start with the “average” American advice. Go to the lowest level of your home, and hopefully a basement or storm shelter.

Now if that isn’t an available option, there’s no need to fear or panic. The lowest level of your home is advised. Try an small enclosed room, with low to minimum windows, such as a bathroom, closet, or center hallway.

If you are in a mobile home GET OUT OF THERE.

WHY DOES THE UNITED STATES HAVE THESE, WHEN THEY’RE OVERPRICED ANYWAY, DEATH TRAPS, AND ITS THE COUNTRY WITH THE HIGHEST TORNADO RATES.

Let’s say there’s nowhere to go.

Go to a safe available nearby building, especially if it has a basement. However if that is still not an option lie in the nearest ditch (I know it sounds crazy but it works) and shield your head/neck with your hands

If taking shelter in a home, make sure everyone is with you. That can include pets, but if you’re in a super emergency situation it is better to leave them and get to shelter as quick as possible.

If you can get low and shield head, or body with a mattress, blanket, etc.

Natural Disaster Safety

Doesn’t matter where you live, you should probably have an emergency kit, especially one attuned to the climate of your area. This doubles if you’re in a natural disaster prone area.

Many of those in the United States have learned lately what the consequences of not having the proper equipment on hand are.

So what should you have for a tornado?

Battery Powered Radio

Flashlight

Extra Batteries

First Aid Kit

Water & Canned Food

Emergency things tailored to people of household (medical problems, etc)

If you live in a cold region also have cold safety materials too

What NOT to do & Extra

Don’t disregard the watches, and especially the warnings. They are there for a reason, and you should really keep an eye out. You might even want to head to shelter anyway if the wind is crazy strong.

Don’t stand near windows, or be that classic midwesterner who is on their porch getting a good shot of that swirly cloud of death. I know its fun...but its not safe.

If the situation is an absolute emergency don’t take time to grab your valuable. Its devastating to lose them, I've been there, but you can replace most tiny things and not a life.

Make sure any invalid family members have their own viable tornado plan. My grandma lives in a tornado prone area, and the plan has completely changed since she’s been confined to a walker. Make sure your family members like that have a plan.

Being in a car during a tornado is not safe at all. Drive to nearest shelter, or get out and hop in that ditch.

If the tornado looks like its standing still, it’s not. That shit is heading towards you.

Always be sure to remember to cover your head, or help shield your children.

Myth Busting

Overpasses are not safe shelter for when you’re in a car. It’s a myth, take that ditch instead if need be, or drive to a shelter.

Hiding under your car is dangerous. Tornados can drop on your car, either crushing you or sucking you up into the air along with your vehicle

Cars cannot outrun tornados

Don’t open your windows. It’s not going to stop the tornado from blowing your house over, instead it may even help it. It will allow for debris to enter your home easier, and cause the wind to be able to tear your house apart from the inside out.

Aftermath

It’s hit now, maybe your house was safe or not. Keep track of watches still, tornados can return, or could be apart of a tornado outbreak, meaning a second or even third tornado can hit the area.

Assume all downed lines are active and dangerous, try not to use the gas, electricity, and water til you’re sure its safe.

If you’re not home return home once it’s deemed safe

Keep aware of damaged buildings, glass, debris, etc.

If you want to and have the chance help your fellow man, lost animal, and etc. Checking on people is a kind and lifesaving thing to do, as well as securing people’s pets.

All of this from a person who lived in a tornado prone area growing up, to you.

#tornado safety #survival hacks #tornadoes #tornado #2023 #midwest #tornado alley #tornado what to do #life saving #advice #life tips #natural disasters #cw natural disasters #natural disaster safety #natural disaster #twister #cyclone #safety tips #survival advice

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yourjughead · 9 months

Text

Red Car pt. 2

Requests open.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sweet Pea POV.

I stood watching the red car fade away, just like I had so many months ago.

"Sweet Pea you need to learn to control yourself"

"I know I do" I looked from the shadow down to the ground again as Josie came down the steps to my side. A moment ago I was ready to ask her to be my girlfriend.... Again .... For the like 10th time..... What happened to me? Was Fangs right? Was I losing myself to fit her?

"I can't have any bad press if I'm to become even more of a star, I don't need them focusing on the guy I'm seeing, how cliche" I slightly scoffed at her comment. She can't call us what we are, like yn and I couldn't call us what we were. That felt different. That was a relationship without labels, this is labels without a relationship. I'm Josie's hobby, her toy, her busywork.

"Josie why can't we be seen publicly together?"

"Sweet Pea, you know why, I'm building a brand"

"So I don't fit that brand?" I almost whispered before turning to face her full on. I don't fit that brand, I was never supposed to fit that brand. I was supposed to have a great senior year, be myself, find who I was without yn and instead I slotted into someone elses life when all along I just wanted to get through this year to slot into yns life. I belonged there. She would make room for me.

"Sweet Pea, we're having fun, why is it always so serious with you" she reached for my hand but I pulled it away from her.

"Ive had enough, find someone else to be your groupie" I turned back away before she could answer. I just wanted to see yn and Fangs. Make sure everyone's okay. I can't believe she's home. I gotta get to Fang's trailer.

3rd Person

Fangs laid across the sofa of his trailer, an ice pack held to his forehead by you. You gave a kind smile to the Serpent as he slowly fluttered his eyes open. Groaning, he attempted to put a bruising hand to the back of his head where fresh several stitches slotted together perfectly. You calmly moved his hand back to his side while shushing him gently, his eyes falling closed again. Toni sat across from you watching you carefully.

"We missed you YN, a lot of crazy things have been happening around here"

"I can only imagine" you gave a small laugh to her as she cracked a beer open and passed it to your hand. You hadn't drank since you left Riverdale, needing to stay focused in the intense environment of University but less than one hour in the more intense environment of Riverdale had sent you craving the cold bottle.

"Try to stay awake now Fangs, here hold this to your head if you can" you guided his hand to ice pack, his eyes fighting to stay open.

"Your bedside manner has improved YN" the three of you laughed at this before you moved to put the medic pack back in the kitchen. You decided to leave the things from the kit in your car in it, knowing the Serpents would need it more often than you. As you looked for a place to tuck the kit into, Sweet Pea almost crashed through the door, Fangs flinching to the sound.

"Fangs! Oh my god! I'm gonna fucking kill those hockey heads!" He sat at his friends side, Fangs unable to hide his smile, you watched grinning from the kitchen, Sweet Pea not noticing you there.

"It's okay SP, YN fixed me up, I'm hoping I get a gnarly scar"

"I suppose she ran off again" Toni and Fangs slightly tensed at this remark.

"No SP, right here" his turn to jump at the new noise. He stood up almost untrusting of his feet as you moved into the sitting area again.

"Come on Fangs, I'll help you into bed"

"I knew this was just a plot to get me into bed with you Toni" he laughed, allowing Toni to pull him up to his feet and support him as they walked into his room.

"No need, I was just going, talk to you guys tomorrow, rest up Fangs" you gave a small wave before exiting the trailer to your car again. Silence filled the trailer, Fangs and Toni looked directly at Sweet Pea while he stared at the door. He finally sighed before following you, the two remaining serpents grinning.

You tried to get the red car to turn over, it struggling with the task. Sweet Pea pulled the door open and slid in next to you, a place he hadn't been in months.

"So.... I hear you're dating a rockstar now" you broke the silence, starting to give up on trying to get the car to start.

"I was yeah...well I was seeing her is the way I'm sure she'd prefer I say it but she probably actually would prefer I don't say anything at all about it" Sweet Pea threw his head against the headrest.

"Yikes"

"Yeah, yikes... I guess some things never change, can't quite get out of the secret relationship stage, if that's even a normal stage to be in" he trailed off, silence returning. You moved to start the car again trying to break up some of the silence. Sweet smiled at you before rolling his eyes, leaning over you and twisting the keys until the engine finally gave in and turned over.

"I waited for you to come home at Christmas" he moved away again from you but kept his eyes on yours.

"I just couldn't be around you and Josie, Fangs told me about her"

"Yeah he wasnt too keen on her"

"Were you?" The question Sweet Pea asked himself almost every time after being around Josie. He shook his head.

"I wish I went with you YN, I really wish I went with you"

"I wish you did too"

"Nothing stopping me now" you met his eyes before he leaned across again to meet your mouth. Memories of Summer months past where all you had was one another flooded your mind. The sound of banging glass broke the two of you apart and you looked out the windscreen to see your two serpent friends smiling wildly giving you the thumbs up and cheering from behind the net curtains. Sweet Pea rubbed a hand down his face laughing to himself as you chuckled alongside him.

"Yanno this was his plan all along YN?"

"Yeah it wouldnt surprise me if he took that chair to the back of the head to be a team player" you smiled before it fading away at the memory of what brought you two back together.

"C'mon SP, we have to go pay a visit to someone"

"I'll go anywhere with you" he cupped his hand over yours as it moved the gearstick into action, the red car going willingly.

#riverdale #riverdale imagines #riverdale fanfiction #riverdale x reader #riverdale fic #sweet pea #sweet pea x reader #sweetpeaxreader #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea x oc #riverdale cw #fancfiction #fangs fogarty #toni topaz #sweetpea imagine #sweetpea x reader

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scribble-dribble-writes · 1 year

Text

A thousand crowns

<<<Prev (a trigger, a memory)

(Silver eyes tell no lies) Next>>>

Pairing: Buggy x female mermaid reader

Word count: 2000

Warnings: none

Content: Theodora wastes no time or opportunity to push her son to secure the throne 😤

---

Buggy ran up the stairs of marble with you lying unconscious in his arms. The guards drawing their weapons together to prevent his entry before they recognized your face, their relaxed stance changed into one of vigilance, their eyes pining him down with suspicion as they made way to let him in.

A stolen moment, after endless days that had felt like years, he had gotten to hear your laugh again. He had finally held you again and now, he was thrust into the anxiety of being barred from you. After all the effort to sneak his way in.

The guards who stood in front of your door were in shock when they spotted you, because now they too were answerable for this, they will be questioned on how they had let you out of their sight. As Buggy crossed the threshold, the grand room made his throat run dry, the luscious bed in the middle, the layout of work spaces to the sides, the wondrous balcony. It was extravagantly different to the room he could give you or his quarters, which you seemed to like more than he did.

He wanted to know why? If it was just the nostalgia or the nights you spent with him?

He was careful as he held you and if anyone knew him, they would vouch for the fact that he was never careful. He laid you gently on your mattress, his eyes tracing over you all while making sure he didn’t let his true emotions slip out.

He stroked your forehead with the back of his hand as he pushed away your hair to the side. He didn’t like how this place was run, it lacked spontaneity and flair. The clock was ticking and his feet were tapping away at the wait and the inefficiency of the medical support systen. If he was king...

He stopped himself, he could never be king. But why did this island entice him with an alternate reality that he seemed to like more than being king of the pirates?

He let his hand trail down your neck, to feel your relaxed pulse as he imagined himself as king. He would be here and watch you wake up everyday, to sit by the shore as you enjoyed the warm waters, to stay by your side and travel together just like you and him had always done.

He wouldn’t have to run from island to island, he could kick up his feet and enjoy his drink without any anxieties. Was this what you were trying to tell him anytime he pushed for an other adventure?

His eyes came back to look at your peaceful disposition. Both your goals had been the same, to be with the other without any external pressure, to build a stable life. But the fear gripped him, did he have that in him? To give you a home you desired? But if he did make something of himself, if could be King, then with all the power he would first replace the entire medical division because the doctor was still not here yet.

When the doors burst open. Buggy stood up having sat down next to you on the bed, he observed the characters that had entered. Silver eyed sea slug, sea slug’s mother, going by the resemblance, a bumbling fool who carried a medical kit and his assistant.

“I came as soon as I heard.”, the doctor jumped right into what he had to do, to read your pulse and the other basic checks.

Buggy swallowed a retort as he took a step back. Word was travelling around really slowly or as he caught the grim expression of the future king’s mother, he thought if it was intentional. As his gaze rested on her, her eyes slid to his just for a second as though she knew exactly who he was. That his presence had fooled her son but not her.

He stood with more confidence than the idiot who was now fussing along side with the doctor, not giving him the space to work, pestering him with questions as to what was wrong. Buggy flexed his fingers, glad that he hadn’t carried his blades here because now with the court most likely ready to pin this as an assassination attempt on him, he was more than willing to bear the prize of having assassinated this lady’s son instead.

He looked away, he had been here for a minute and it was stressing him out, making sure no one was watching him, his eyes fell on your sleeping form.

How cruel it must have been for you to adapt to this place.

It wasn’t a dig at your capabilities, he had immense belief in you and your strength. But even great warriors grew tired in a stifling environment. So he understood why you had asked for his help, to be your true guard. Cause these people were waiting in line to take you out and now that he was here, hidden inside this system, he vowed to have your back like he always did.

“The pulse is alright. This must just be out of dehydration.”, the doctor examined as he let your hand rest by your side.

“Dehydration?”, Buggy interrupted. The diagnosis seemed off. He knew how well you took care of yourself, meticulous with making sure you spent time in the water to recharge yourself if you spent time on land.

He watched the doctor fidget his fingers while his assistant clenched her fists around the bag she held. It felt like he was in the wrong play, cues that hinted there was more going on.

“Well, yes. The temperatures have been up recently and it was well known she hated the lagoons, so..”, the doctor dragged on before Helge interrupted.

“It can’t be, it was the only thing she loved from what I built for her. Well that and the circus.”, Helge was looking at you like a boy who was going to lose his bet if you didn’t wake up, Buggy narrowed his eyes as he began to understand the strings that were all around him.

If you were the only one to give him the throne, you were most valuable to Helge for your position. Buggy clenched his jaw, he would have loved all this, to put himself in Helge’s shoes if your path hadn't crossed with his, to take over a kingdom or woo the princess to take advantage of the royal hierarchy and get what he wanted but it was you in the middle of it all. This had already become the most dangerous gamble of his life.

You were worth more to him than a thousand crowns.

But when Buggy looked up it was almost as if an whole conversation had taken place in the silence between the doctor and the mother.

“This might be absurd but there could be another explanation.”, the doctor muttered and Buggy stiffened.

“Could it be?”, Theodora lit up, pushing the conversation.

“Could what be?”, Helge looked up at his mother, his face downcast because of your state.

“With all the time you’ve been spending together, it is highly possible.”, Theodora placed a hand on Helge and it deepened his confusion.

“I don’t think I quiet follow what you are saying, mother.”, Helge’s said in an irked manner and for once Buggy wanted to see how this played out before he reacted.

“She could be with child.”, the doctor said, hearing the conversation but Buggy's face turned pale, only to see Theodora’s eyes on him with a triumphant smile.

The alternate reality he harboured in his heart for a few minutes had now shattered. To see you with another man, building a family with him. He had never thought of any of this before, he would had loved to die at sea chasing some mystery but everytime he held you, he wanted the slower days, he wanted to...

It didn't matter now.

“Oh what wonderful news, a wedding and an heir. The seas have blessed us.”, Theodora flitted about. But Helge only stared her down. His fingers clenched so tight it was almost as if he was going to throw a punch at the wall.

“Mother.”, he said in a low voice. But Theodora continued to talk about the possibilities and everything that needed to be done if the news was true.

“Mother, stop this at once.”, Helge yelled and the room grew silent.

“I will not allow for anyone to mar her honour. She has only agreed to meet me for tea and nothing else.”, he put the rumours to rest right that instant but all Buggy could focus on was the way Theodora’s face slipped. Her true reaction, one of disgust and ambition, that he could tell she was now furious with her son.

Hearing this, Buggy let out the breath he had been holding in. So he was still free to dream.

“Very well, if you say so. I was only looking out for you, my darling boy.”, she stated to which Helge turned away, for the first time he looked rather more exhausted than Buggy had seen him.

Helge looked away as he scratched his forehead, his eyes however coming back to you with that same look Buggy could resonate with. It was how he felt when he had found a treasure chest he didn’t know how to open or worse, was not meant for him to find.

“She’s always so stubborn and reckless and ugh.”, Helge walked away to the balcony to catch some air and Buggy couldn’t help but smile.

The very reasons Helge found you difficult were the very reasons he admired you for.

But while Buggy had been staying quiet, observing Helge, sneaking glances at you, when he turned towards the doctor he felt the icy glare of Theodora on him.

“I don’t seem to understand what she would have fancied outside the castle walls.”, she spoke, her eyes set on Buggy before she turned to her son.

Helge hummed in accordance.

“I could have accompanied her if she wanted to visit the locals.”, he waved his hand as though it was a small task.

“Would you have?”, Buggy jut in, curious because the man was far from being charitable.

His question seemed to have startled Helge, as though he didn’t even know he was here the whole time.

“I would have sent her my carriage and my royal guards. I don’t particularly like the stench of the sea.”, he scrunched his nose, his silver eyes making him look like a ghoul that Buggy was sure Helge was fighting to rule the wrong kingdom.

“Ah, says the soon to be king of a mermaid nation.”, Buggy raised his eyebrow to know he had successfully won the annoyance of both mother and son.

“Why are you here?”, Helge asked as thought Buggy was another problem he had to tackle.

“She was with him.”, Theodora answered on his behalf.

“Was she?”, Helge asked rhetorically, his eyes now turning to slivers as he suspected him.

“I don’t think I hired you to escort her outside her home.”, Helge sounded angry but Buggy couldnt help but hide a laugh that had made its way up his throat, which only made Helge more angry.

“Maybe a week in the dungeon should set him right and teach him about how things work here.”, Theodora stated, her interest now with trying to send him away.

“Did she come to you?”, Helge asked, his tone more serious now as he posed the wary question.

“She did.”, Buggy responded truthfully for the first time, he didnt know why but it was possibly the kick of getting to show you off.

It felt like a hazy dream but as you regained your consciousness, you laid still as you began to hear the conversation that was happening around you.

"Why?", Helge asked as if the answer would help him understand you better.

"Because she loves…", Buggy stopped short from saying ‘me’ at the end of the sentence. His eyes dipped to see you again. It was close call, thrilling and unpredictable how it dawned on him this instant as he looked at you.

"Because she loves the sea.", he said cooly turning to Helge. It seemed to had appeased Helge to an extent but it didn't fool his mother, she looked at Buggy as though he now held some value to play in her plans.

But he was the one who schemed, so to spin a story of his own, he continued to concoct a lie.

“But she came to me here, within the palace and wished to see my ship. So I took her down to the docks. Since I am tasked with supplying her with entertainment. I did what I saw fit.”, he held his gaze with Theodora as he spoke, there was a message hidden in it for her.

“Her happiness will always be my top priority.”, He smiled knowing well his canines would look sharp and deadly. A smiled he deserved for those he hated.

The silence now dripped with heavy tension and anger which you decided was the best moment to wake up, in an attempt to break up this gathering.

The moment you stirred, to open your eyes, Buggy's was the first one you found. His gaze was filled with relief. But as looked at Helge, he looked guarded as his gaze observed you and Buggy. While Theodora didn't look pleased as though she would have been much happier if you had not woken up.

“Are you alright?”, Buggy was instantly by your side.

“Your Highness”, he added as he rolled his eyes, he was ready with orchestrating secret moments that got you smiling no matter how bad you felt.

“You caused a bit of chaos around here. As usual I take it?”, Buggy winked and only when you looked past him did you see Helge.

"I think you've done enough. I would like the guards to escort you out and only let you in if there is any need for your presence.", Helge sounded bitter and you could understand why. He would have brought in Buggy to make himself look better but now it was back firing.

The guards moved towards Buggy but you held up your hand.

"The circus was your gift to me, Helge, but now I've grown fond of my new friend. I wish from him to stay.", you spoke up, Buggy's gaze burning into yours as you publicly stated you wanted him.

The guards stopped and no one could tell you no, not even the Sylvester's. It was clear it had upset Helge, so instead of staying he stomped away when you caught sight of the door closing behind him.

Theodora discharged the doctor but she couldn't approach you, not with Buggy sitting by your side. She could only convey through her glares how she didn't like the two of you together. Leaving a warning that she was not done yet. But you and Buggy had survived the worst of disasters, the moment she left you felt respite and comfort as his hands threaded together with yours.

“I think I know who sent me away from Makara”, you confided softly as you looked up at Buggy, he paused as he laid down next to you, his eye letting you know that he knew the weight of what this meant. He held your hands and what seemed daunting only felt exciting now.

“Can you come with me?", you cleared your throat as you asked him. Unsure because of the time you had spent apart and only now were you reconnectin. It made you feel needy, to even ask him that question.

"To learn of my past?”, you continued finding the courage to look him in the eyes as a weak smile spread across your face.

He pursed his lips, this was a huge step for you. Knowing how you loved to face everything on your own and how he had to disguise his attempts to help you, he knew what it meant you asked his straightforwardly. He didn't want to let this pass by, he wanted you to know that no time apart could stop him from being there when you needed him.

“I would love to.”, he said quietly, watching your smile turn more confident as he leaned up to kiss your cheek.

You felt your body relax into the mattress as he kissed your jaw but before he could pull away, you wrapped your hands around his neck and pulled him close, to hold him tight in a hug. His laugh reverberating through you as his head fit into the crook of your neck.

"What's this for?", he mumbled into your skin as you didn't let go.

"Nothing, I'm just grateful for you is all.", you spoke into his ear as though it was a secret. He stilled under your hold, his hot breath running down your neck as he took in what you said.

"You're saying that as if you're going to lose me.", you heard his voice laced with vulnerability.

"Definitely one of my fears.", you chuckled but he leaned on his arm to find your eyes.

"I don't want to lose you.", you took in a deep breath as you said it.

"You won't.", he responded instantly as he shook his head like he saw no incident in the future where he would let that happen. You smiled as you nodded, taking in his assurance.

"Now tell me one of your fears and it'll make us even.", you traced your thumb over his stubbled jaw taking in his more serious expression.

He took a second before he gave you the answer.

"I'm in love with you.", he said it without a hitch.

You stilled.

"I feared I would never get to say that to you.", he smiled.

There were no more scores to settle, he laid down by your side, both of you staring up at the painted ceiling with smiles that lit up your faces, your pinky finger finding his before your hands were interlocked together. Just like you had all those years ago, when the crew was out celebrating a new year while you were in his quarters. Lying in bed together talking about what the future held and somehow in every version you both were always together.

That's what ship held, all your dreams and promises woven together, etched into its wood over time that this room could never give you. But him with you now, it was a fleeting solace that you held onto, resting your head on his shoulder, putting your minds together to get out of this alive.

Tags:

@lotr-got

#one piece buggy #buggy thoughts #op buggy #captain buggy #buggy the clown #buggy one piece #buggy #buggy x y/n #buggy x oc #buggy x you #buggy x reader #opla buggy #op fluff #op fanfic #opla fanfiction #one piece fluff #one piece fan fiction

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