#and consider all of the injuries ive ever given reader

[roosterr]

babes why does reader always almost have a sprained ankle in your works?

HEY. don't call me out like this LMAO I will sprain your ankle if I want to anon.... it's just a very convenient injury alright let me live

[bradshawsbaby]

Si Vis Amari Ama

IV. Kissed by Fire

SERIES MASTERLIST

Pairings: Rooster (Roman Name: Gallus) x Female Reader (Roman Name: Sabina), featuring Hangman (Roman Name: Carnifex) x Phoenix

Summary: A girl whose freedom was stolen to pay her father’s debts. A gladiator enslaved for the entertainment of Rome. A love they never thought possible.

Author’s Note: This chapter ended up being a beast to write! It’s very Hannix-centered, so that you can have a little bit more context and background regarding Carnifex and Phoenix’s relationship. But fear not, for there are hints of Gallus and Sabina as well, and we’ll be back to our main protagonists in the next chapter!

Word Count: 11k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Explicit sexual content, slavery in the ancient world, gladiatorial training/combat, discussion of minor injuries, brief language, slight angst, idiots in love, alternating point of view.

She hadn’t meant to get tangled up with him. She really hadn’t. Yet here she was.

Phoenix prided herself on being a rational, intelligent, level-headed woman. Perhaps it was her Greek heritage, or maybe it was the fact that she had learned long ago that the less you said and the more you listened, the better off you would be in this world. Either way, in the years since she had been robbed of her freedom, she had learned to rely on no one but herself, save for a few trusted friends for whom she would gladly lay down her life. She didn’t expose herself to unnecessary dangers, and she didn’t enmesh herself in anything that would make life harder than it already was. She avoided complications at all costs.

Until him.

She hadn’t been able to stand him from the very first day he’d entered the ludus of Atticus Cornelius Juventus. A great champion, Dominus had called him while gloating about his latest acquisition during a dinner party. A mighty warrior. The only gladiator he had ever seen who could give even Gallus a run for his money.

Phoenix knew then who he was speaking of—Carnifex the Gaul. He was the opponent who had given Gallus the scar on his shoulder, the one whom her old friend detested so wholly and complained so bitterly about whenever they were pitted against one another.

She only had to know him for a day before she understood the sentiment.

Carnifex, the man so named because he had somehow managed to survive the hangman’s noose when his village in Gaul was put to Roman flames, was the smuggest man she had ever known. And that was saying something, considering she’d spent the better part of her life catering to the whims and fancies of some of the most spoiled men the Roman Empire had to offer. He was arrogant. Obnoxious. More in love with himself than Narcissus, and quick to throw all his fellow gladiators to the lions if it meant more fame and glory for himself.

He made her blood boil.

And what was worse? He knew it.

Almost from the moment they first met, Carnifex seemed to make it his personal mission to get under her skin as often as he possibly could. Whether it was winking at her from across the training grounds while she was working around the ludus, making disparaging comments about Gallus and the others when he knew she was within earshot, or smirking skeptically when she came to assist Titus with the gladiators’ medical needs, he seemed to know all the ways to make her grow hot with a rage so potent she almost thought it would choke her one day.

“Has he always been so unbearable?” Phoenix huffed in annoyance as she bandaged one of Gallus’ hands one day after a morning training session. Carnifex stood about twenty feet away from them, bragging to the younger, more inexperienced gladiators about his most recent victory.

“Always,” Gallus muttered darkly, frowning in the other gladiator’s direction for a moment before shifting his attention back to her. “Trust me, he hasn’t changed one bit since his arrival here. If anything, he’s only gotten worse. Keep your distance from him, as much as you can.”

Phoenix knew without having to ask what Gallus really meant when he shot her a pointed look. It was no secret among the household slaves that Carnifex was notorious for bedding the prettiest slave girls. And because he was a Pugio, one of Atticus’ champions, he got his pick of the litter. He never lacked for any willing volunteers either. She couldn’t count how many times she’d witnessed giggling, simpering girls tiptoe out of their slave quarters in the middle of the night, only to return a few hours later with hushed, breathless stories of what an incredible lover Carnifex the Gaul was. The others may have listened with bated breath, but Phoenix just covered her ears, shut her eyes, and tried to block them all out.

“After all these years, do you really think so little of me that you suppose I would fall into bed with a man like him?” Phoenix demanded, tying off Gallus’ bandage with a little more force than was strictly necessary.

Gallus winced slightly, a chastened expression in his dark eyes as he looked at her. “No,” he replied firmly, and she knew he meant it. “It’s him I’m wary of, not you. I just don’t want him getting any ideas in his head where you’re concerned, thinking that he can—”

“He won’t,” she cut him off, glancing over her shoulder at where Carnifex stood, having moved on from regaling his captive audience with tales of his conquests in the arena to tales of his conquests in bed. She felt the distaste on the back of her tongue like sour milk as she turned back to Gallus. “Trust me, he suffers from no lack of female company in this household.”

Gallus didn’t look so certain, but he let the matter drop.

His rivalry with Carnifex, however, was not as easy to let go of. Even as the months wore on, the two of them couldn’t seem to let go of the deep-seated tension and competition that had marked their relationship for as long as they had known one another. Being members of the same ludus, they no longer competed against one another for the crowds, but within the training arena, it was another matter entirely. Phoenix watched each day as they brutally battered one another, two powerful men refusing to cede the upper hand.

On a few occasions, however, the battering went beyond mere combat training. Brawls weren’t uncommon among gladiators—they were basically an occupational hazard—but between Gallus and Carnifex, they had a tendency to turn ugly and to turn ugly fast.

Atticus greatly frowned upon disorder in his ludus, so whenever a fight broke out between two of his greatest champions, everyone else was quick to step in and stop it. Magnus, Pollux, Felix, Caius, even Titus, were always on call to tear the two of them apart when things got too vicious.

On a few occasions, when she’d been near at hand, even Phoenix had gotten involved. No matter what had happened, or who had done what to whom, she always gave Gallus her attention first.

“Sure, take his side, like you always do,” Carnifex spat one day, nursing what was sure to be a black eye.

She was startled by the heat in his voice. As much as he seemed to love tormenting her, his tone was always teasing and borderline playful. But today, it sounded like there was something akin to anger in it. Hands still resting on Gallus’ shoulders, she turned to look at him and didn’t fail to notice the way his jaw tightened when he looked back at her, his eyes flickering down to her hands and then flitting back up to her face. Something burned in those green eyes of his that she couldn’t quite name.

“Forget it,” he snapped, kicking aside his sword and shield as he pushed past the others and stormed back to his cell.

She cursed herself for not being able to get that encounter out of her head for days afterward. What had upset Carnifex so deeply? Why had he looked at her like that? And why did it seem that his eyes now followed her whenever she was around the ludus, especially when she was talking to Gallus?

He drove her mad. 

Truly. She must have been going mad. That was the only reason she could come up with to explain why such an infuriating, insufferable man as Carnifex the Gaul was taking up more and more space in her head. At night, when the other girls giggled about his smile, she couldn’t help but recall the way it had touched his eyes when he’d turned it on her after his training bout. When they whispered about his muscles, she couldn’t fail to remember the way the sun glistened off his slick skin as he trained, his muscles rippling as he hefted his sword and shield with an ease almost too great to be believed. And when they gossiped about his talents in bed, she burned with an ache that settled deep in the pit of her stomach, pooling between her thighs until she squeezed her eyes shut and forced her traitorous body to go to sleep.

This was Carnifex they were talking about. Cocky, selfish, arrogant Carnifex. She would not allow herself to become another one of his playthings.

Yet each time she was around him, she realized with horror, her defenses seemed to crumble more and more. One afternoon, while she was handing out water to the men, he even managed to coax a smile out of her.

“Look at that,” he whistled softly, taking a satisfied gulp of water. “I finally managed to make the Grecian goddess smile.”

She flushed at his words, mentally kicking herself for it all the while. “I am capable of it, you know,” she shot back, arching a dark eyebrow as she gazed up at him.

“Perhaps, but I’ve never seen it,” he returned evenly, his green eyes sparkling in the midday sun.

“Maybe that’s because you don’t do anything to make me smile,” she offered, rolling her shoulders back and standing up straighter.

He leaned in a little closer, his breath tickling her cheek as he whispered, “Until now.”

She couldn’t help it. She blushed. And he smiled.

Damn him.

He got under her skin and he knew it. He enjoyed it.

From that day on, the two of them danced around each other, sparring with words the same way he and Gallus sparred with swords. And though she would never admit it out loud, Phoenix enjoyed the challenge of matching wits with Carnifex. He kept her on her toes, always pushing back and eliciting her own competitive streak as she strove to outsmart him.

Whenever Pollux or Felix or Caius or Gallus shot them sideways glances, eyebrows raised or silent looks exchanged among them, she always scoffed and brushed it aside. There was absolutely nothing going on between her and Carnifex, and there never would be.

Or so she thought.

She hadn’t intended to be over at the ludus that afternoon, too busy helping to prepare the household for a banquet that Atticus and Aurelia would be hosting in a few days time, but Titus was currently tending to Atticus’ ailing mother and had asked her to look to any injuries the men sustained during their training bouts.

As she approached the small arena where Gallus and Carnifex were training, she could feel the tension pouring off them in waves. They were both sweating and grunting, looking the worse for wear but unwilling to yield or admit defeat.

“Give it up, Gallus,” Carnifex growled through gritted teeth, bringing his sword down sharply against Gallus’ shield. “One of these days, that good fortune of yours is going to run out.”

“Maybe so,” Gallus snarled in return, lunging at Carnifex and aiming his sword at his exposed side. The other man quickly parried, jumping back to avoid the disastrous blow. “But not today.”

Phoenix felt her heart squeeze inside her chest as she watched the two of them go at it, viciously swiping and pouncing at each other. She noticed, with a stab of fear, the way that Gallus was starting to slow down, his breathing growing more labored as he tired out.

Carnifex noticed it, too. Not failing to take this rare opportunity, he lunged forward and expertly knocked Gallus’ sword from his hand, kicking it across the sand so that he would be unable to retrieve it. Smirking, he held his own sword up and aimed it at Gallus’ throat.

Chest heaving, Gallus just stared down his opponent, his shield still strapped to his arm as he realized that there was no way out.

“And so Carnifex the Gaul bests the Barbarian from Britannia,” Carnifex crowed triumphantly, slowly edging closer. He threw his sword and shield down, as they always did at the end of their training matches. “Looks like Rome will get to cheer for another dead Briton.”

Phoenix froze at his words, a feeling of dread sinking into her bones as she looked over at Gallus. Her friend’s eyes darkened in an instant, and she knew that in his mind’s eye, he was seeing his mother and father, and all of his people who had been slaughtered at the hands of Rome. She watched as something inside him twisted and snapped, and then he was on Carnifex in an instant.

“You son of a bitch!” Gallus roared, lunging at the other man and knocking him to the ground with a loud crash, quickly gaining the attention of everyone else on the training grounds, who immediately came running.

Carnifex made an admirable effort to fend off the blows, but Gallus was in another place altogether as he punched and kicked at his rival, landing one harsh hit after another on the other man’s exposed chest and legs.

“Get the fuck off me, you fucking barbarian!” Carnifex thundered, trying to hit back. It was difficult for him to do so, however, considering Gallus had him pinned to the ground. “Get off me!”

“Gallus! Stop!” Pollux exclaimed, he and Caius rushing forward to try to put an end to the violence. Even with the both of them pulling at him, however, Gallus wouldn’t be stopped.

His eyes had clouded over, and Phoenix knew he was in that place, that place deep inside his mind where he retreated during his fights in the Colosseum, when every decision and every move he made meant the difference between life and death.

But this wasn’t a matter of life and death. At least, not for Gallus. But if someone didn’t do something, it might be a matter of life and death for Carnifex.

“Gallus!” Phoenix shouted over the din of the restless crowd of gladiators, pushing them out of the way as she ran towards the fray. “Gallus!” she screamed again, louder this time, crouching down on the ground behind Carnifex’s head, right in front of him. “Stop!”

The sound of her voice seemed to penetrate that dark place inside him because as he looked up at her, blinking slowly, his fists came to a halt. Gasping for air, he gazed down at a bruised and blooded Carnifex, swallowing when he realized the magnitude of what he had done.

Everyone was silent as Gallus rose on unsteady feet, breathing hard and staring at his bloody knuckles. Phoenix saw shame wash over her friend, and she felt a stab of empathy for him, but she continued to kneel beside Carnifex as Gallus looked from the other gladiators, to her, to the man lying on the ground at his feet.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered brokenly, turning away from all of them without another word as he stumbled towards his cell and slammed the door shut behind him.

“That damn savage,” Carnifex muttered angrily, slowly starting to sit up and wincing as he did so.

Instinctively, Phoenix reached out her hands to support his back, her eyes quickly scanning to assess for injuries, the way Titus had taught her.

Pollux, Caius, and Felix were quiet, even as the other gladiators began murmuring loudly among themselves, questioning aloud what had happened to set Gallus off so tremendously.

“Back to work!” Magnus shouted, corralling all of the less experienced men back to their training. “There’s nothing more for you to see here.”

“You’re hurt,” Phoenix muttered, running her hands over Carnifex’s tender and swollen flesh.

“I’ll be fine,” he insisted, tensing under her touch.

“You don’t know that,” Phoenix shot back sternly. “Gallus really did a number on you. I have to check you out and make sure you’re okay.”

Normally, she was sure he would have made some ridiculous comment in response to her words, but today, he just looked at her and frowned. “No,” he said flatly.

“Yes,” Phoenix told him stubbornly. Two could play at this game. Turning to her friends, she said, “Felix, Caius, can you help me get him to his cell?”

As they stepped forward, however, Carnifex held up a hand and slowly rose to his feet on his own. “I’m not an invalid. I can get there myself.”

“If you see Titus, let him know what happened,” Phoenix called over her shoulder as she began walking with Carnifex, albeit a bit slowly, across the training grounds and towards his cell.

Once they were inside, Phoenix took charge. Tossing her dark braid over her shoulder, she closed the door behind them and ordered, “Sit,” pointing at his bed in the corner of the small room. She’d been in his cell countless times before, to serve him meals or tend to his wounds, but never by herself. She had never been more aware of that bed.

Carnifex frowned again, but did as she said, taking a seat on the edge of his bed and spreading his large hands out on his thighs, trying not to think too much about the pain that was throbbing in his limbs.

“How are you feeling?” she asked him in a calm, cool voice, stepping closer to him and carefully examining the discolored marks that would soon be bruises all over his body. “And tell me the truth.”

Swallowing back the lie he’d been about to tell, Carnifex sighed quietly as his green eyes searched her face. “I’m in pain. Mostly in my shoulders and my side,” he admitted, although reluctantly. “I might say a lot of things about Gallus, but the man knows how to throw a proper punch,” he grimaced, wincing as Phoenix pressed down on a particularly tender spot on his chest.

“Sorry,” she murmured, trying to be more gentle as she prodded and poked at him. “You said your side? Here?” she asked, resting her hand on a spot midway down his body.

He shook his head, reaching up and placing his large, calloused hand over hers. “No. Here,” he clarified, taking her hand and moving it downwards, until it rested just above his hip.

Somehow the room, already quite small to begin with, seemed to grow much smaller as the air between them grew heavy.

Clearing her throat, Phoenix carefully ran her fingers over the spot he had indicated, feeling for any swollenness that would indicate an internal injury. Thankfully, she found none.

“Well, luck seems to be on your side,” she murmured, glancing up and realizing with a slight start that his face was much closer to hers than she had first thought. “No broken bones and no deep damage, from what I can tell, though I’ll make sure to let Titus know to check you out. You’ll just be sore and have some serious bruising, but nothing you’re not used to.”

He was quiet for a few moments, absorbing her words as he continued to stare at her. “Why are you helping me?” he finally questioned.

“What do you mean?” Phoenix asked, taken aback. “That’s what I do. It’s one of my jobs.”

“You know what I mean,” he said in a low voice, which made her lean in even closer to be able to hear him. “This isn’t an injury I sustained from training. It’s because of a stupid fight I got into with Gallus. And you always take Gallus’ side when we fight. So why are you here, and not with him?”

“Gallus will be fine,” Phoenix murmured. She didn’t want to point out the obvious, but he had fared much better in this fight than Carnifex had. “You were the one who bore the brunt of it.”

“Which was my fault, right? Because of what I said? I’m sure that’s what you’re thinking,” he said, his green eyes boring into her brown ones.

Phoenix took a breath, trying to organize her jumbled thoughts. “What you said—it wasn’t kind, but Gallus shouldn’t have reacted the way he did. I know why he did, but he shouldn’t have. He could have really hurt you.”

“He would have, if you hadn’t stopped him,” Carnifex pointed out, his expression indecipherable. “He listens to you.”

“We’re friends,” Phoenix said, as if that explained everything. “But just because we’re friends doesn’t mean I can’t admit when he’s done something he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t have hurt you like that. But you shouldn’t have said what you said either. Gallus has known more pain than you can imagine.”

“I have known pain, too,” he replied sharply, a trace of bitterness creeping into his tone that she had never heard before.

“I know,” she whispered. “As have I. As have we all. You and Gallus have far more in common than you know, if you would just put aside this petty rivalry.”

Carnifex just waved his hand and turned his face away from her, staring at the wall.

Sighing, Phoenix went to take a step back, but suddenly Carnifex’s head was whipping back around again, his eyes trained on her.

“Are you leaving?” he asked, looking oddly bereft at the thought.

Her mouth felt dry as she looked back at him. “Is there some reason I should stay?”

He didn’t say anything in response to that, just wrapped his fingers lightly around her wrist and tugged her towards him until their chests were pressed flush together. Her breath caught in her throat as his gaze flickered down to her lips. And then he kissed her. With one hand still wrapped around her wrist and the other cradling the back of her head, he kissed her with a hunger and an urgency that she could feel radiating through her body.

But before she could even process exactly what was happening, and what it was making her feel, he pulled back and released her, eyes wide. “I shouldn’t have done that. I—”

She cut off his excuses as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, her fingers raking through his hair, the hair that reminded her of the sandy beaches of home. It took only a second before she felt his arms snaking around her waist, holding her tightly as their mouths melded together, desperate for a taste of the other.

As the kiss deepened, he reached up and buried his fingers in her thick braid, tugging fiercely at it until her beautiful dark hair came loose, cascading down her back. She let out a soft moan at the feel of it, and that sound alone seemed to unlock something feral in them both.

Rising from his bed, Carnifex wrapped his arms more tightly around her small body, pressing her to his chest as the two of them stumbled backwards in a lust-fueled frenzy, grasping at each other as they fell back against the wall on the other side of the room. Another moan of pleasure slipped from Phoenix’s lips as she felt the rough stone against her back, Carnifex’s thick fingers buried in her hair as his kisses began trailing from her lips, across her jaw, and down her neck.

“Phoenix,” Carnifex gasped, peppering her skin with hot, open-mouthed kisses. “Oh, Phoenix,” he groaned, running his hands up and down her body as she gripped his hair and brought his lips crashing back down onto hers. “Been dying to taste you for so long,” he panted against her mouth, nipping at her chin as she angled her face upwards.

“And?” Phoenix murmured, her brain fuzzy with wanting as she trailed a hand down his naked chest. “Was it worth the wait?”

He chuckled despite himself, despite the circumstances. “Yes,” he nodded, lifting a hand to her face and brushing his thumb over her lips. “Most definitely yes. Need to taste more of you,” he moaned, latching onto her throat and sucking softly.

“More,” Phoenix echoed breathlessly, her eyes fluttering as her entire body pulsated with desire. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew this was crazy. She should leave before they crossed any more boundaries than they already had. But though the rational part of her knew that that was what would be best, she couldn’t force herself to do it. She couldn’t force herself to leave.

“More,” Carnifex whispered, his mouth covering hers as his hands slid up and began gently massaging her breasts through her thin tunic. He kneaded and caressed until her nipples hardened to sharp buds, standing out distinctly against the fabric that covered her. Pulling back just enough to look down and meet her eyes, he raised his eyebrows in silent question.

“Yes,” she moaned in reply, nodding her head slowly. “Yes.”

In an instant, his hands were on the knots at her shoulders, untying them with deft fingers, while she quickly discarded the cord around her waist. With just a gentle push, he sent her tunic pooling to the floor at her feet.

Naked and exposed, she stood before him and watched as he took the full measure of her. His eyes glowed with appreciation and she felt herself grow flushed under his scrutiny.

“You really are a goddess,” he whispered hoarsely, reaching up to cup her bare breasts in his hands. A shiver ran down her spine as he brushed his thumbs over her aching nipples. Eyes still on her, he lowered down slightly so that he could take one into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the bud as he hummed softly.

Her breath hitched in pleasure and she reached up to rest one hand on the back of his head, her other bracing against his shoulder. Her eyes fluttered shut as he continued to suckle gently, releasing her breast with a wet pop before moving to the other one. He repeated the process once more, eliciting soft mewls of arousal from her. She could feel herself growing slick with desire for him, a fire kindling deep inside her belly.

Grasping her hips in both hands, Carnifex slowly lowered down to his knees, kissing his way down her stomach and nipping lightly at her smooth skin. She hoped he couldn’t feel the way she trembled beneath his touch, the way her entire body quivered with delight at every kiss.

When she felt his hot breath between her legs, her hips bucked slightly and she let out a strangled gasp, immediately opening her eyes and looking downwards.

“Carnifex, what are you—?”

“Sh,” he murmured, pressing lazy kisses to the front of her thighs. “I wanted to taste you, remember?”

At any other time, she would have been mortified by the moan that escaped her lips at his words, but at that moment, she was too far gone to care. Reaching down and burying her fingers in his hair, she let out a short gasp of surprise when he lifted one of her legs and draped it over his shoulder, supporting her with a hand still on her waist.

“I’ve got you,” he winked, turning his head and smothering her inner thigh with slow, sensual kisses that already had her seeing stars. How would she possibly survive what else he had in store? Heart pounding inside her chest, she watched as his kisses began to trail inward, closer and closer to her center, to the place where her body was crying out with need for him.

When he finally reached the thatch of dark curls between her legs, he reached up with an almost breathless reverence and parted her with his fingers, prompting a small cry to fall from her lips. “Fuck, look at you,” he said quietly, almost to himself, as he slowly trailed a finger downwards. “Already so wet for me.”

“No games,” she gasped out, fighting the urge to press his face between her thighs. “Just….just…oh,” she moaned, her knees going weak when he began tracing the tip of his finger around the tiny bud at her center, the one that made it hard to think or move or breathe when he was touching it like that.

“Just what?” he asked, looking up at her with faux innocence as he pressed a kiss between her legs. “Hm?”

“Just keep doing that,” Phoenix sighed, her head falling backward against the wall. She reached up to run her hands over her breasts, overwhelmed by the sensations suddenly overtaking her body.

“Whatever you say,” he smirked, suddenly leaning forward and diving facefirst, his tongue tracing a trail up and down her soaked opening. Spurred on by her cries of pleasure, he wrapped his lips around her bud and sucked, feeling a surge of triumph when she began tugging on his hair and babbling out his name. Feeling that she was close, he gripped her thigh more tightly and teased her entrance with two fingers, coating them with her slick before slowly easing them inside her tight walls.

“Carnifex!” Phoenix practically screamed, biting down roughly on her lower lip to keep from being overheard. She felt so full, his large fingers stroking her walls as his tongue worked over the source of the most exquisite pleasure she had ever experienced. Unable to stop herself, she pressed her hand against the back of his head and began grinding herself against his face, chasing the high that he was giving her.

“That’s it. That’s my girl,” he praised her, lapping up her wetness like a starving man. “You’re so close, I can feel it. Just let go. Let go,” he encouraged her, squeezing her thigh and increasing the speed of his fingers.

“I—I—I’m—oh, oh, oh!” Phoenix gasped, the fire inside her belly building and building and building until it felt that surely she would be consumed by the flames. But she wasn’t. Instead, that burning sensation came to a feverish crescendo, and then suddenly there were white spots floating in her vision as her body rode out the waves of pleasure that crashed through her, making it impossible to catch her breath.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, do you know that?” Carnifex almost growled, rising and lifting her into his arms. She was glad for it, because she was suddenly certain she wouldn’t be able to stand on her own. He kissed her then, despite the fact that his mouth and chin were drenched with her nectar, and she found, surprisingly, that she wasn’t at all offended by the taste of herself on his lips.

He laid her down on his bed, and when she looked up at him, she could see his arousal clear as day in the front of the short tunic he wore wrapped around his waist. Sitting up on her knees, she crawled towards the edge of the bed and reached for his waistband, looking up into his eyes.

“Seems unfair that I should be the only one undressed here,” she told him, undoing his belt and pushing his tunic down to the floor, followed by the small cloth he wore for modesty while he was training.

He now stood before her, as naked as she was, and it was her turn to look him over with appreciation. She had known that he had a good body, of course, from watching him train and patching him up. And she’d heard from the girls in the slave quarters that his other assets were more than adequate as well. Apparently, for once, they hadn’t been exaggerating.

“Like what you see?” Carnifex asked with a small smirk, noting the way her eyes widened when she took in the size of his hardened length.

“Very much so,” Phoenix nodded, licking her lips as she felt her desire ratchet up once more. Not wanting to feed his already inflated ego too much, however, she quickly added, “But don’t let it go to your head, gladiator.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he assured her smugly as he pressed her down onto his small bed, clearly designed with only one occupant in mind, and mounted her.

If her body wasn’t craving this forbidden pleasure so badly, she would have been more than happy to smack that self-satisfied look right off his face. But as it was, his lips landed on hers once more and she was able to concentrate on nothing beyond the feel of his bare skin pressed against hers.

Moaning softly into his mouth, she hooked one leg around his waist and buried her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer as his fingers danced across her skin, tracing the contours of her body with a grip that was shockingly gentle, but which hinted at the power and strength that lay beneath the surface. She shivered at the thought of those rough hands, those hands that had ended the lives of so many nameless, faceless opponents, digging into her skin and marking her flesh—marking her as his.

His kisses were everything and nothing like she thought they would be, all at the same time. He kissed her with a bruising intensity, sucking and nipping at her lips as though he wanted her to know that she was his and his alone. Yet at the same time, his tongue was soothing and gentle, tracing the seam of her mouth with an almost painful tenderness. His kisses tasted sweeter than honey and finer than even the best wine their masters served at their fancy banquets.

If a girl wasn’t careful, she could get addicted to those kisses.

Groaning under his breath, Carnifex began muttering to himself as he ground his hips against her, his stiff, pulsing length burning her skin as it rubbed against her thigh. It took her a moment to become conscious of the fact that she didn’t understand the language he was speaking. It must have been the language of his people.

“What are you saying?” she asked, curious despite herself as their mingled pants and moans filled the air.

“Just how fucking crazy you make me,” he confessed, burying his face in the crook between her neck and her shoulder. As he began peppering her shoulder and collarbone with searing kisses, his hand slid down between their bodies, finding the apex of her pleasure once again and rubbing it slowly.

“I like it,” she whispered, running one hand over the planes of his handsome face, her back arching up off the bed as he stoked the fire inside her. “Your language.”

“The Romans find it savage,” he grunted, dipping a finger inside her while he nipped at her jaw.

“I’m not Roman,” she said firmly, spreading her legs wider beneath him and biting down on her lower lip as she felt that burning sensation filling her body all over again.

“No,” he replied, resting his forehead against hers, their noses bumping together as they stared into each other’s eyes. “You’re not.”

Wordlessly, Phoenix reached between their bodies and wrapped her hand around him, drawing a sharp hiss from deep inside his chest. She stroked him softly, feeling how rigid he was with need. Need for her. In that moment, he longed for her just as much as she longed for him. Something about that realization caused a chasm of yearning to open up inside her chest.

Still grasping him firmly in her hand, she drew him closer to her entrance and then released him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to kiss him once more. He hissed again, but this time it was in pain. Pulling back, she realized with a wince that she had pressed down on one of the tender spots from Gallus’ beating.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, heat rising to her cheeks. “Would you rather we didn’t—”

“Phoenix,” he cut her off, silencing her with a finger to her lips. “The gods themselves could not keep me from you right now.”

He smothered any further arguments she might have tried to make with a heated kiss, cradling her face in one hand as he lined himself up to her entrance with the other. For all their frenzied passion, he took his time about it, teasing her soaked folds with the tip of his length until she finally let out a small grunt of frustration.

“So impatient,” he smirked, slowly pushing himself into her, just an inch or so.

“Oh,” Phoenix moaned, fisting his roughspun blanket in her hands as he gripped her hips, watching himself sink further and further inside her, the both of them gasping at the sensation.

“Fuck,” he grunted once he was fully seated inside her, stilling his hips for a moment and just gazing down at her.

“Don’t stop now,” she told him in a breathless voice, reaching up to trail one hand down his chest and stomach. “Please.”

That little beg was all the encouragement he needed. Resting his hands on either side of her head, caging her within his grasp, he began to rock his hips against hers, her gasps and moans of ecstasy spurring him on until he was pistoning inside her, the sound of his naked body slapping against hers filling the small cell.

“Fuck, fuck, yes!” Phoenix cried out, her dark eyes screwing shut as she clung to him, her nails biting into the thickened flesh of his back, hardened from years of enduring the whip. “Yes, yes, yes, keep going!”

Grasping her jaw in one hand, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against hers, and told her, “Open your eyes. I want you to look at me. I want to see you when you fall apart for me.”

Her eyes flew open instantly at his words, her pupils blown wide with lust and desire as she gazed up at him, seeing the same feelings reflected in his green irises. She knew she must be close to falling over the edge once more, for she could feel that same all-consuming fire burning in her lower belly, causing her legs to tremble and her breathing to become more shallow.

“Carn—Carnifex,” she groaned, digging her nails into his shoulders while her hips continued to thrust upward, aligning herself with his unforgiving pace as he chased her to higher and higher heights of pleasures. Aphrodite herself would envy her, she was sure of it.

“I know, I know,” Carnifex panted, letting his body drop down on top of hers and pressing his face into her neck. “I can feel you. Oh, you’re so tight. Let go. I want to feel you let go,” he whispered, sucking at the pulse point just beneath her ear.

She was right on the edge, dancing dangerously close to the precipice of no return. Her skin burned with a white-hot fire that he had started inside her, a fire that only he could extinguish. Somewhere in the hazy back of her mind, she couldn’t believe she was here, couldn’t believe she was in the arms of this man who had been the bane of her existence since she first laid eyes on him. And yet, somehow being here also felt so right. Her body felt so alive, every part of her tingling with a newness and a vibrancy that she didn’t understand, but never wanted to let go of.

Tears pricking the corners of her eyes, she cupped his face in her hands and pulled him down to her as she fell apart, her entire body quaking as the flames engulfed her, consuming every part of her until she felt like nothing more than ash and bone. She lay back in exhaustion, her chest heaving and sweat dripping down her body, not a single coherent thought in her head.

She only became aware that he had pulled out of her when she felt a strange emptiness between her legs, a soft, unconscious whimper escaping her lips at the loss.

“I’m here,” Carnifex told her, groaning as he pumped himself above her. “I’m right here.” Sweat poured down his chest, his skin flushed and hot to the touch as he reached his own finish, his seed spilling forth and landing on her stomach. Spent, he collapsed down beside her with a low grunt, struggling to catch his breath just as she had.

They lay side by side like that for several minutes, neither of them saying anything. As they slowly came down from their high, the magnitude of what had just transpired between them sunk in and the air in the room shifted.

Carnifex suddenly reached for her, opening his mouth to speak. “Phoenix, I—”

“I have to go,” Phoenix told him quickly, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of his bed. “They’ll be wondering where I’ve gone. Aurelia is probably looking for me.”

“Phoenix,” Carnifex said again, gripping her arm and sitting up beside her. “Please don’t just—”

“I have to,” she insisted, hurrying to grab a rag in the corner of the room and clean herself up. Without looking at him, she combed her fingers through her tangled locks and, fast as lightning, rebraided her hair, reaching for her discarded tunic and pulling it over her head. She’d gotten used to preparing herself quickly over the years, and within a couple minutes she already had her tunic knotted at the shoulders and the cord wrapped around her waist like before.

Stepping towards the door, she knew she should have walked through it without a backwards glance, but she couldn’t do it. Freezing in place, she turned and looked over shoulder, meeting his eye. He was still sitting on the edge of his bed, watching her. He hadn’t moved to clean himself up or get dressed. His eyes were simply fixed on her.

“We shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t say that,” he rasped, what looked to be pain flashing in his eyes. But maybe it was just a trick of the light. “Please don’t say that.”

“I have to go, Carnifex,” Phoenix murmured, regret coloring her voice. But what it was she was regretting, she couldn’t be sure. Was it falling into bed with him? Or was it the fact that she had caused that wounded expression on his face?

He didn’t say anything in response, just stared at her with those big green eyes until she finally turned away from him and slipped out of his cell, shutting the door firmly behind her.

If only she could shut the door on what had happened between them so easily.

But even as the thought entered her mind, she knew it wasn’t true. She would never be able to erase what had just happened, and the reality was, she didn’t want to.

She had never meant to get tangled up with him, but now she had.

And there was no going back.

He had never meant to fall in love with her. He really hadn’t. Yet here he was.

He should have known from the moment he first laid eyes on her that she would be trouble. She was the most infuriating, difficult, stubborn woman he had ever met. She was also the most beautiful, with those big brown eyes and that dark hair that reminded him of the wings of the ravens that used to nest in his village back in Gaul.

She didn’t like him. He could tell that right from the start. Those pretty eyes of hers always narrowed whenever he was around, her mouth, with those lips that he wanted to taste more than anything, puckered like she had just eaten something sour. She was always by Gallus’ side, so no doubt he had poisoned her against him.

And yet, despite the obvious disdain she felt for him, he constantly found himself caught in her orbit, like a moth drawn to a flame. She might not have offered him smiles or flirtatious giggles like the other slave girls in the household, but he found that the more she pushed him away, the more he desired to be by her side. She might have been infuriating and difficult and stubborn, but she was also witty and cunning and sharp. Every time she lashed him with her tongue, or put him in his place with her quick words, he found himself even more enamored with her.

He ached with need for her, particularly in the moments when she tended his broken body with those skilled, agile hands of hers. Of course the old medicus had chosen her to be his assistant in the ludus. There was no one more capable or intelligent.

There was no one he wanted more.

But she loathed him. She made that clear whenever she was in his presence. And so he chased his pleasure elsewhere, sought to satiate that ache that rested deep within his bones by bedding every simpering slave girl who batted her eyelashes in his direction. They adored him, praised him, coddled him, and begged to be his forever.

But they weren’t her.

Even he had enough shame left within him to feel disgusted with himself on the nights when he closed his eyes and pretended that the girl twisting and moaning beneath him was her. He’d turn his back when he was finished, disappointed when he opened his eyes to find it wasn’t her, and ashamed of himself for thinking it could ever be otherwise.

They never seemed to mind, the endless stream of women who came to his bed. To them, it was enough to have been bedded, even once, by Carnifex the Gaul. That was all he was to them. That was all he was to just about everybody.

He wanted to be more. He wanted to be more to her.

He hated himself for feeling the way that he did. Feelings like this, especially for a woman who couldn’t even stand the sight of him, were dangerous. Love made men weak, and he couldn’t afford to be weak, not when his very life depended on being the best of the best in the arena.

She was a distraction.

She was a stumbling block.

She was a thorn in his side.

She was everything he had ever wanted.

And just when he had been convinced that she was everything he would never have, somehow, by some miraculous intervention of the gods, she had ended up in his arms. In his bed. And for the first time, he didn’t have to close his eyes and pretend, imagining what her body would feel like or what her lips would taste like.

She was real.

She was there.

She was his.

At least, for that brief moment in time. But it wasn’t enough. No amount of time with her would ever be enough, not unless it was eternity.

She dodged him for days afterward, pointedly avoiding his gaze whenever she was working around the ludus, and conveniently finding ways to get around having to tend to his injuries after his training sessions.

It drove him mad.

She drove him mad.

Finally, just when he thought he couldn’t possibly stand it any longer, he managed to catch her while she was on her own, leaving the bathhouse after delivering fresh linens.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” he demanded, cutting straight to the chase as he snagged her around the waist and tugged her into a private alcove.

She looked startled, uneasy, her dark eyes shifting nervously back and forth, as if expecting some hidden figure to jump from the shadows. Not wanting to cause her such anxiety, he let go of her waist, but continued to stand in front of her, blocking her exit for the time being.

“I haven’t,” she lied, shifting back and forth as she blatantly refused to meet his eye. Even she couldn’t possibly believe the words that had just come out of her mouth.

“Phoenix,” Carnifex breathed out, leaning in closer, the tip of his nose bumping against hers as he angled his head downward. He knew the longing was evident in his voice, but he didn’t care.

“Carnifex, we shouldn’t,” she told him in a hushed voice, her breath catching in her throat as he reached up to cup her jaw, his rough thumb brushing against her skin.

“But we did,” he countered, his lips hovering above hers, waiting for her to push him away. When she didn’t, he closed the gap between them, slotting his mouth over hers and kissing her slowly, gently.

“This is foolish,” she rasped when they finally broke apart, her dark eyes turned upward to meet his gaze. “Someone could see.”

“So let them see,” he insisted, cradling her face in his hands and leaning in to kiss her again.

“No,” Phoenix shook her head in frustration, pushing him back. “No, it’s a terrible idea.”

“I want you,” he confessed, keeping a distance between them so as not to upset her further. What he felt for her went so much deeper than mere wanting, but he knew he couldn’t tell her that. Still, he had to try to make her understand. “And I know you want me, too.”

He counted it a victory that she didn’t deny his words outright.

“What does that matter?” she snapped, crossing her arms firmly over her chest and turning her head to look away from him.

“It matters,” he said firmly, taking one small step closer to her. “It matters because Rome has taken everything from us for her own pleasure. We deserve a little pleasure of our own, don’t you think?” he murmured, running one finger down her bare arm. He didn’t fail to notice the way it made her shiver, though she tried to mask it. Resting one hand on the wall behind her head, he ducked his head low and whispered against her ear, “I know I gave you pleasure.”

“What do you want from me, Carnifex?” Phoenix demanded, something catching in her voice as she tilted her head to look at him. It was the first time he had ever caught that look in her eye, that hint of sadness and brokenness that he had seen in the faces of so many others. He didn’t want to see it in her.

“I want you. Just you and nothing else,” he said simply, twisting a loose lock of her dark hair around his finger. “Whenever you’re able, come to me. Let’s find what pleasure we can, in whatever time the gods may grant us.”

“I won’t be your whore,” she told him sharply, recoiling from his touch. “I’m not your plaything that you can command to come and go.”

“Don’t you ever call yourself that,” he retorted, his voice just as sharp, his green eyes flashing. “You are not…I would never…” He took a breath, trying to collect his thoughts. “You’re free to come and go as you wish, whenever it pleases you. I would not hold you to anything.”

Phoenix swallowed, gazing downward for a moment as she seemed to contemplate his proposition. After several beats of silence, she lifted her head and raised one dark eyebrow. “It would be for pleasure and nothing more?”

By the gods, how he wanted so much more with her. But how could he ever expect that, with the lives they led? So swallowing past the lump in his throat, he merely nodded. “For pleasure and nothing more.”

She was quiet again, but this time she kept her eyes on him as she cocked her head to the side, thinking. Finally, she spoke.

“Alright.”

“Alright?” he repeated, eyes widening slightly. He was shocked she had actually agreed.

“But don’t expect me to always be available at your beck and call, gladiator,” she insisted firmly, poking him in the chest. “It’ll be when I’m good and ready.”

Carnifex couldn’t help but smirk at her words, a satisfied expression slipping onto his face. “How about tonight?”

“We’ll see.”

But she did come to him that night. And for many more nights that week. And then the week after that. And the next one after that, until eventually months had passed.

“We can’t tell anyone about this,” she panted one night as she rode atop him, her nails digging into his chest as he lay with his hands behind his head and admired her beauty. “It’s safer that way. For everyone.”

He knew she was right, but that didn’t mean from time to time he desperately wanted to shout from the rooftops that the most beautiful woman in all of the Roman Empire spent the majority of her evenings in his bed.

Especially when the others questioned him about the scratches on his back or the love bites on his chest.

“You need to keep it down at night, my friend,” Caius complained during one morning training session. He had the misfortune, as he often called it, of occupying the cell directly next to Carnifex’s. “Some of us actually try to get some sleep. Who was that girl you had in there last night anyway? The two of you could have woken the dead.”

Carnifex just smirked in response, though his eyes couldn’t help but slip towards Phoenix, who was hanging freshly washed tunics just a few feet away. He could tell from the ruddiness of her complexion that she had heard Caius loud and clear.

She made sure to keep her voice down that night, much to his amusement.

He loved each and every moment that she spent in his arms, but he hated what came afterwards. Even after months of their secret arrangement, she still refused to stay with him during the night, always grabbing her tunic and fleeing his cell as soon as the deed was done.

“Why won’t you stay with me?” he asked her one night, her body still pinned beneath his as he pressed lazy kisses to her neck and shoulder.

“You know I can’t,” she replied, matter-of-factly. “I can’t be caught in here with you, and it would be too suspicious if I spent the whole night away from the slave quarters.”

Damn her and her rational mind.

“Then stay with me just a little while,” he insisted, pecking the corner of her mouth. “Don’t run off as soon as it’s over.”

“Why?” she asked quietly, running her fingers through his hair absent-mindedly. He loved it when she did that.

Knowing he couldn’t give her an answer that wouldn’t scare her off and send her running for the hills, he simply shrugged, allowing that smug, overly confident mask to slip into place. “You help keep the bed warm.”

She seemed aggravated by his response, but he noticed that after that night, she wasn’t as quick to get up and go, sometimes lingering for up to an hour or more after they finished.

Tonight, she seemed more exhausted than usual, curling up against his chest and closing her eyes as he traced his fingers up and down her spine, enjoying the feel of her heart beating in tandem with his.

“You seem tired,” he voiced his observation out loud, glancing down at her and brushing some of her dark hair out of her face.

“I am,” she admitted, fighting back a yawn as she swirled her finger around his chest in lazy patterns. “Aurelia’s been working us like dogs lately. Except, I think she might actually treat dogs better than she treats us. Stupid bitch,” she muttered darkly, her hand stilling as her body tensed with resentment.

“Hey,” he murmured, nudging her gently until she looked up at him. His brow furrowed in concern, noting the dark circles under her eyes. He should have been paying more attention. How had he failed to notice them? He knew there was no love lost between Phoenix and their domina, but her voice held a particular trace of venom this evening. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“It’s nothing,” she deflected quickly, then let out a heavy sigh. “It’s just…she treats Sabina so badly. And it makes me so angry. She’s the last person on earth who deserves it, and I just want to be able to protect her.”

Carnifex hadn’t failed to notice how much you had come to mean to Phoenix since your arrival in the household a few months prior. He had never seen Phoenix interact with any of the other slave girls until you came along, and now you two seemed as close as sisters. And though he didn’t yet know you very well, from all the interactions he’d had with you thus far, he could at least say that he understood the impulse to look out for you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured sincerely, stroking her back with a comforting hand. “I know how much Sabina means to you, and how much you already can’t stand Aurelia to begin with,” he added with a grimace. Was there anybody in the household who could stand Aurelia? He doubted even Atticus could.

Phoenix sighed again, rubbing at her eyes and sitting up slowly. “Speaking of Sabina, I should get going before she starts to worry. I promised her I wouldn’t be gone long.”

“Where does she think you go at night?” he asked curiously, reluctant to let her go.

Though their tryst had started before you had even entered the household, and though you and Phoenix had become as thick as thieves since your arrival, she maintained that she didn’t want to burden you with the responsibility of knowing what was going on between her and the infamous Gallic gladiator.

“It’s better that no one knows, Carnifex,” she often told him, whenever he insinuated that their closest friends might be piecing things together. “That way they won’t have to be responsible for lying for us, if it comes to that. Besides, it’s just sex, right? Why does anyone need to know?”

He pretended that those words didn’t cut him to the core.

Sitting up in his bed, Phoenix twisted her dark hair into a loose knot at the nape of her neck and glanced down at him. “Sabina is a smart girl. She doesn’t ask too many questions. And she knows I help Hrodebert with the accounts sometimes. I just let her believe that’s where I’m going,” she explained. “But I know she worries about me, and that it’s hard for her to sleep until I get back, so I have to go.”

“Gallus cares for her,” Carnifex said suddenly. He wasn’t sure why he said it, to be honest. It wasn’t his business, and Gallus’ love life was none of his concern, but perhaps he hoped it would keep Phoenix in his arms just a few moments longer.

She stilled at his words, leaning back for a moment as he draped an arm around her shoulders. “What makes you say so?” she asked, arching an eyebrow as she looked over at him.

“Is having eyes in my head not good enough?” he chuckled, running his hand up and down her bare side. “His eyes follow her everywhere she goes, at least whenever she’s in the ludus. Though I’m sure he wishes he could watch over her in the villa as well. He already made us promise that we’d ensure no harm comes to her.”

“He asked Hrodebert and I to do the same,” Phoenix nodded, recalling the worry that brimmed in her old friend’s eyes when he’d made the request. “I have to say, I’ve known Gallus a long time and I’ve never seen him like this before. It’s like she’s unlocked something inside him. He’s quite attached to her.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so concerned for another person before,” Carnifex agreed, though he frowned slightly as he looked at her. “Except maybe you.” His voice was edged with jealousy as he spoke the words aloud.

As if he hadn’t disliked Gallus, his old rival, enough when he’d first arrived at the ludus, he’d been even more frustrated to see the bond that he and Phoenix shared, a closeness that he could only dream of having with her.

“There’s nothing between me and Gallus,” she told him firmly, placing a hand on the center of his chest as she looked deeply into his eyes. “Nothing except the love borne between a brother and sister, between two people who have survived the worst together. We’ve known each other a long time and we look out for one another, Carnifex. That is all.”

When he didn’t respond, just shifted his gaze moodily, she leaned forward and pressed a long, slow kiss to his lips. When she finally pulled back, she couldn’t help but smirk a little bit. “And as you’ve already so astutely pointed out, he seems to have eyes for no one but Sabina.”

Just as Carnifex only had eyes for Phoenix.

She frequently teased him about how the other girls grumbled in their quarters at night, complaining that he no longer called for any of them the way he used to. It hung unspoken in the air between them, the implication that he now only sought her company in his bed, and what that meant.

“I have to go,” Phoenix whispered, kissing him one last time as she slipped out of his bed and reached for her tunic. “Get some sleep. Magnus has been working you all extra hard lately.”

“Be careful,” he murmured, climbing out of bed as well and wrapping his tunic around his waist as he walked her to the door of his cell. Touching her cheek lightly, he couldn’t resist the urge to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“I will,” she promised softly, squeezing his hand once before she was gone.

She took a piece of his heart with her, every time she left.

Tiptoeing on quiet feet, Phoenix checked her surroundings to make sure no one was in sight before slipping across the training grounds, trusting the darkness of the night to shield her from anyone who might have been observing from a distance.

Once she was beyond the gate of the ludus and within the confines of the main villa, she breathed a little easier, knowing she would be able to come up with a simple enough excuse should anyone catch her out of the slave quarters.

What she hadn’t been expecting, however, was for Hrodebert to suddenly appear before her, candle in hand as he stepped out of the office where he did most of his accounting work.

Gasping, she slapped a hand over mouth, her heart jumping into her throat as she stopped short in the hallway.

“Phoenix?” Hrodebert asked in surprise, lifting up his candle to better see her face. His eyes were red-rimmed with exhaustion and from his rapid blinks, she could tell they must have been aching from hours spent reviewing numbers and accounts. “What are you doing out here?” he questioned, raising his candle further and glancing over her shoulder.

“Oh, nothing, I just needed to return some things to the kitchen before I went to sleep,” she fibbed, biting down on her lower lip. It would have been easy to lie to a random slave or steward. It was much harder to do so to Hrodebert, who had been one of her closest friends for years now.

“At this hour?” he countered, raising a skeptical eyebrow. He glanced over her shoulder once more, then lowered his voice significantly. “You wouldn’t be coming from the direction of the ludus, would you?”

Her heart sank like a stone inside her chest as her eyes widened. “How did you—?”

“We’ve known each other a long time, Phoenix. I know you better than you might think,” Hrodebert said softly, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “But you need to be careful with him.”

Much to her surprise, Phoenix felt a surge of protectiveness course through her at her friend’s words. “He’s not as terrible as some people think he is, you know. He wouldn’t intentionally try to—”

“I’m not warning you about Carnifex,” Hrodebert interrupted, prompting another shocked look from her.

“I never said that it was—”

“You didn’t have to,” he told her, a small smile playing on his lips. “My eyesight might be poor, but I’m not completely blind, you know.”

She blushed deeply at his words, wondering if anyone else had figured out what she and Carnifex had been up to. “But if not Carnifex, who—?”

“Aurelia,” Hrodebert whispered in hushed tones, glancing over both his shoulders. “You know what she’ll do if she finds out he’s attached himself to you. You need to be very careful, Phoenix. Please.”

She could hear the worry in his voice, and it made her stomach drop.

“Don’t worry, Hrodebert. I’m always careful,” she assured him, reaching out to pat his arm. “Go get some sleep. I promise I’ll come help with the accounts tomorrow night.”

“Good night, Phoenix,” he nodded, heading in the opposite direction toward the male slave quarters.

A few moments later, when Phoenix finally laid back down beside you, thankful to find that you had already fallen asleep, she tried to shut her eyes and shake away the sense of foreboding that Hrodebert’s warning had cast upon her.

He was right, and she knew it. What Carnifex and her had, whatever it might be, was dangerous. She had known it from the start, and she had been foolish to allow herself to become complacent. She needed to talk to him, needed to let him know that her visits to his cell would have to become less frequent. They couldn’t run the risk of Aurelia finding out and ruining both their lives.

Months ago, Carnifex had told her that they should try to snatch moments of pleasure when they could, that they deserved it. But had she not been a prisoner of Rome long enough to know that that could never really be possible?

She and Carnifex stood no real chance at happiness, and she needed to accept that.

Fighting back the tears that suddenly threatened to engulf her, Phoenix wrapped her arms around you and fell into a fitful slumber, promising herself before sleep finally claimed her that she would do whatever she had to do to protect those she cared about most.

[ladyartemesia]

The Kiss

◐ PART VIII of THE ALPHA ◐

◐ Series Masterlist ◐

◐ Part I ◐ Part II ◐ Part III ◐ Part IV ◐ Part V ◐ Part VI ◐ Part VII ◐

Pairing: Alpha Werewolf Jimin x Omega Reader

Rating: Hard Mature 18+ (for this installment)

Warnings: this one is a little darker, descriptions of violence, ABO sexual dynamics including discussion of scenting, marking, mating, and claiming, strong sexual innuendo, discussion of violence relating to ritual combat, possessive behavior, injuries and discussion of injuries, lots of people have, use and are threatened by knives, kidnapping and drugging, its not as bad as it sounds, but it is definitely a bit darker…

Word Count: 4250

Author’s Note: I said it before but it bears repeating...You have no idea what your support has meant to me. Truly your asks and your messages and comments…they made me so happy. You made me believe that people wouldn’t forget about this story. I am so grateful you were able to wait. As many of you know I faced a medical emergency recently and you were all so lovely. The best followers on this site and I MEAN that. As always, my angels @ppersonna @xjoonchildx and  @untaemedqueen​  were (and continue to be) the best betas and the best friends anyone could ask for. My thanks to ALL of you for helping me bring this story to life! I don’t know what I would do without your daily encouragement and your daily support. You guys are the heartbeat of this story. It wouldn’t be here without you.

——◐——

Two Years Ago 

—���◐——

Centuries ago the moon goddess stumbled across her human soulmate while he was sleeping. Struck by his beauty, but reluctant to reveal her identity, the goddess began to visit him in his dreams where she could hide her true form and appear before him as a mortal woman. 

In the world of dreams their love flourished and from that blessed union the packs were born…

The wolf nations celebrated this sacred romance every ten years during the Festival of the Lover’s Moon…

The day of the festival was spent eating and drinking and dancing at large parties, but when the sun went down… well—

That’s when things got really interesting. 

On the night of Lover’s Moon the young unmated wolves of the pack were permitted to commemorate this legendary love story in a decidedly scandalous manner. 

The unmated men assumed the role of the goddess’s sleeping lover—they were blindfolded (to represent slumber) and led into a large sectioned off area of the dark forest to ‘wait and dream.’

Unmated she-wolves over the age of maturity (eighteen) took herbal scent suppressors and ventured out into that very same forest in order to anonymously ‘visit’ the young men ‘in their dreams’...

The rules for what exactly that meant were pretty fast and loose which was why Min Yoongi was thanking the goddess and every other deity he could think of that Yunli was still seventeen. 

“But I will be eighteen in two days! Please can’t I just—“

“No. Absolutely not under any circumstances ever.”

“But Yoonji is going!”

“Ji-ah is nearly nineteen and has never been interested in any of the snotty little man-pups of our pack.” He snorted. “She’s probably going out just so she can shove a bunch of them in the lake.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Yunli mumbled irritably. 

Kim Taehyung yawned idly and snuggled into the cozy little pallet he prepared at the base of his favorite tree. The blindfold he and all the other unmated ‘lovers’  wore was made from witchcloth and could not be removed while the sun was down—so he had snuck into the forest earlier to set everything up. 

Now all he had to do was wait until—

“H-Hi Taehyung.”

Oh sh—

“Uh. Hello...Miss.”

Taehyung didn’t recognize the owner of that voice, but he knew for sure who it wasn’t. 

“I was hoping to find you tonight.”

This is not good. 

“Well I’m—I’m flattered… naturally but—”

She touched his hand and he squeaked. 

“I was thinking you and I might get to know each other a little bet—eep!”

The sharp point of a custom blade pressed directly into the unfortunate young beta girl’s pulse point. 

“Are you lost, puppy?”

A heavy cloak obscured the newcomer’s features, but there was no mistaking her meaning. 

Taehyung bit his lip to keep from snorting as the poor she-wolf scrambled away. 

“Ji-ah,” he tsked with feigned disapproval, “that wasn’t very nice.”

Min Yoonji grinned as she sheathed her wicked looking dagger and slid languidly into his arms. 

“You don’t like nice girls, Kim Taehyung.”

“I like you,” he whispered breathlessly against her lips. “Nice or not—it doesn't matter to me…” His hands slid greedily over her soft curves—pulling her closer till he felt the beat of her heart against his own. “I’ll like anything as long as it’s you.” 

This was the stupidest idea in the history of stupid ideas. 

Jimin huffed as he struggled to find a comfortable position against the giant boulder he’d chosen as his perch.

Why did I let Taehyung talk me into this?

He could be at home—in bed—comfortably sleeping off the all-day feast he’d indulged in. 

Instead he was out in the middle of the forest sitting blindfolded on a rock in the off chance that one of the she-wolves was out looking for him. 

Not bloody likely. 

Not when prime targets like Namjoon, Hoseok, Jungkook—and countless others—were scattered throughout the woods. 

“Park Jimin?”

Every hair on Jimin’s body stood on end. 

It was a soft whisper—the speaker clearly didn’t want her voice to be recognized, yet something about the sound sent a curious frisson of interest down his spine. 

He gulped. 

“Yes… that’s me. But if you’re looking for Hoseok he’s just a little deeper in. You probably caught his scent downwind so—”

“I’m not looking for Hoseok.”

Jimin licked his lips and the sight of it sparked a odd curl of heat in the pit of your belly. 

“I don’t know where anyone else is…”

“That’s quite alright.” A muted shuffle of movement reached his ears as you settled down beside him. “I was looking for you.” 

“Oh…” He rubbed the back of his neck idly. “Are you sure?”

Laughter like fairy bells whispered through the air and Jimin felt his heart clench.

Don’t get your hopes up. 

“Who are you?”

You were silent for a long time and then—

“I am someone who owes you a debt. One I have never been able to repay.”

Jimin’s head tilted curiously as he considered your words. 

“I’m sorry, miss… you must be mistaken. There isn’t—“

“You don’t remember.” 

It was a statement—not a question. Your voice was nearer now. He could feel the warmth of your body close to his—though not quite touching. “It was your wolf that saved me. But you had not gone through the Change yet.”

Familiar shame spiked sharply in his chest.

“I’m seven years past the Change...Why have you never mentioned this before?”

“Circumstances prevented me from doing so.” 

There was a cold finality to your pronouncement—which of course did nothing but further inflame his curiosity. 

“Then why come to me now?”

“I’ve come to repay you.”

Jimin’s mouth dropped open. 

Were you trying to—?!

“Oh—no please that-that’s not necessary—I could never take advantage of—”

You giggled again.  

“I am not offering my body, Park Jimin.”

Jimin breathed a heavy sigh of relief then shook his head with a wry chuckle. 

“Well considering the circumstances I can hardly be blamed for assuming you might be. And honestly most men would jump at the chance to—”

“You...are not most men.” 

Jimin’s eyes narrowed beneath his blindfold. 

“Little she-wolf—I may not be wrestling bears for fun or bare knuckle boxing in the town square, but I am still an alpha.”

The weight of his command poured over your body as he spoke the last word. There was no order or intent—he had simply given you a taste of his power. 

Aside from your direct blood relatives, no alpha had ever dared unleash their compel in your presence—therefore you were utterly unprepared for the effect it had on you—

Utterly unprepared for the strange surge of want so potent and profound that it stole the breath from your body. 

It was primal—invigorating—

Sensual.

You and your wolf may not have been entirely connected yet, but she was suddenly quite vocal about her desire to fully bask in Park Jimin’s attention.

A wicked grin played over his lips as he leaned in closer and you could almost feel the soft brush of his lips against your cheek. 

“Did you think I would not desire the touch of a beautiful woman in the moonlight?” he whispered. 

Please touch me, Alpha. 

Your eyes widened. 

Dear goddess. Your inner wolf was turning out to be a shameless hussy. 

“You might desire it, but you are far too  honorable to accept it as payment for a debt.”

Jimin drew back warily. 

You were correct of course. After all he had refused you when he believed that was your intent but—

“How could you know that?”

Evade. Evade now. 

“Well... how could you know I was beautiful? You’re blindfolded.”

He shrugged and your wolf took careful note of the way it made all the pretty muscles in his back and shoulders ripple. 

He will give us such strong—

Oh boy. 

He will do no such thing. Please calm down. 

“Not everything must be seen with your eyes.”

Is that how you found me? All those years ago...

Questions churned chaotically beneath your consciousness but you dared not give voice to them. 

Focus.

“I must repay this debt. Ask for what you want and—if it is in my power—I swear it will be yours.”

Jimin smiled again, but this time it was somehow softer. For a moment he looked almost…

Sad. 

“I’m afraid that the only thing I have ever wanted is not within your power to give...and I dare not ask you or anyone else for it.”

For her. 

He sighed and drew even farther away from you—in fact it seemed like he was preparing to leave. 

No. 

Your hand reached out almost of it's its own accord and wrapped tightly around his wrist. The contact sent a shock of searing heat through his veins and he froze. 

“Please alpha. It is not acceptable for someone like me—” a leader, a Luna, “—to owe another my life and offer nothing in return. You must let me pay my debt.”

Omega, his wolf growled, sweet perfect omega. 

Suppressors may have hidden your scent, but the siren song of an omega pleading prettily in his ear was unmistakable—irresistible…

“What if all I want is your name?”

You sighed deeply. 

“I cannot give you that. My name is… not mine to offer.”

Jimin laughed. 

“A woman I cannot remember with a name I cannot know and whose face I cannot see.” He shook his head. “Perhaps you are just a figment of my imagination.”

It was hard to explain what happened next...For whatever reason his words cut you deeply and you were overcome with the desire—no need—to refute them somehow. 

“I’m real enough,” you whispered, bringing his hand to your cheek. 

Jimin was genuinely beginning to wonder if you were a witch as well as a she-wolf. Being close to you was intoxicating and the urge to draw you in was steadily overpowering every other thought.

“Could I ask you for a kiss, then?”

“You—...You saved my life and all you want... is a kiss?”

The air grew heavier as the strange magnetic pull between you swelled to a silent inescapable crescendo. 

“In Seoul I often searched for someone who could ease my loneliness, yet each time I walked away emptier than before.” His thumb brushed gently over your lips and your eyes fluttered shut. “I have never had a kiss that meant anything to me.”

But yours might. 

It was unclear who moved first, whether he pulled you to him or you surged forward but when your bodies aligned and your lips met his for the first time it was as if you had never been separate from one another. 

As if you had always been deeply—intimately —together. 

The indescribable feel of him lit over your senses like a struck match. It was an ignition in the purest sense of the word— a fiery visceral awakening fueled by a consuming flood of desire. 

Yes, Alpha. 

He might never see your face or hear your name, but Jimin knew he would remember the taste of you for the rest of his life. It was hot and bright like liquid sunshine— a pure relentless light flowing through him where there was once only darkness. 

A soft needy moan rose up from your chest and he growled in primal satisfaction as you melted against him. 

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt of their own accord, desperately trying to bring him closer until he wrapped his arms around you in a heated embrace. 

“Please,” he begged breathlessly against your mouth. “Please tell me who you are.”

The words crashed over you like a bucket of ice —dousing the hazy pleasure of his kiss with a cold bite of reality. Suddenly you were wrenching yourself away from him and your wolf whimpered in misery at the loss of his touch. 

“I can’t,” you whispered. 

And then you were gone. 

“Did someone hurt you?”

You looked up to find Jin taking in your tears with cold fury. 

Twin knives were already gleaming dangerously in his hands and he appeared ready to filet whichever bastard was foolish enough to make you cry. 

“No,��� you sniffed—well aware of how pitiful you were at the moment—crying in the corner of your cousin’s kitchen. “I got myself into this mess without any help—as usual.”

Jin sighed and slid down next to you. 

“Tell me.”

“Something happened that I…I didn’t intend.”

“Oh I knew that already. The Luna isn’t supposed to be running around on the night of Lover’s Moon in a forest full of blind horny wolves—“

You snorted and shook your head. 

“You’re absolutely right. I should have stayed away.”

Jin’s eyes narrowed and he wondered if perhaps you had caught Kim Namjoon with another omega. Nothing would be official until after the Change of course, but your bond with him was basically a foregone conclusion at this point. 

“You went looking for someone...didn’t you.”

You nodded miserably—all but confirming his fears. He made a mental note to push Namjoon in the swamp at the next available opportunity. 

“You know... the stories say that a Luna is powerfully drawn to her mate under the Lover’s Moon—that her wolf can sense him even before the Change.”  He reached over and gently began to brush the tears from your eyes. “So it’s not surprising that you sought him out, but it’s not really fair to hold whatever it is you saw against him. There is no relationship between you yet and…” he chuckled, “kisses beneath festival moonlight don’t really mean anything anyways.”

It was clear that Jin had somehow gotten the entirely wrong impression, but perhaps that was for the best. 

No one knew of your connection to Jimin and no one had seen what passed between you. 

Still…

Something about his assessment stung you. 

“You really believe that? ...That a kiss exchanged tonight means nothing?”

“I do.” Jin spoke with conviction. “There’s ancient magic at play in those woods. You can’t always trust what you see—or what you feel.”

“Oh I...I didn’t know…”

After a moment you laid your head against his shoulder and let the last of your tears run silently down your cheek. 

“Jin-ah have you ever wanted something you knew you couldn’t have?”

“Yes.” He sighed heavily and pulled you in to snuggle a bit closer. “When I was younger I dreamed of having a mate just like everyone else…”

The words were so softly spoken—almost wistful. Your heart splintered just hearing them. 

“But… she could be out there—your mate.”

Jin shook his head. 

“When is the last time you heard of a female alpha?”

Fresh tears welled up in your eyes. 

“Jin…”

“Hey,” he whispered, “don’t waste your crying on me. I’ve long since come to terms with who and what I am.”

“You’re not sad anymore?”

“Well… maybe sometimes I am… but I had to accept that people like us are not like everyone else. Our destinies were written long before we were born.”

“And you believe you’re destined to be alone?”

“Wolves in a pack are never really alone.”

“Yes...but they can be lonely,” you whispered thinking back to Jimin’s words. 

For a moment Jin’s eyes were the saddest you had ever seen them. 

“Well...I suppose they can.”  Then he chuckled and gave your nose an affectionate little tap. “But you don’t need to worry about that. When the time comes Namjoon will take his place at your side and the two of you will build a wonderful life together... Isn’t that what you want?”

Isn’t it?

Your treacherous thoughts drifted back to the boy in the moonlight—to the way your body sang when he touched you and the strange insatiable desire to know him and be known by him in return.

“Please...Tell me who you are.”

A heavy ache settled in your heart. 

You were the Luna of the mountain nations. A true born moon princess. 

You could never be the woman who kissed Park Jimin underneath the stars. 

You were not like everybody else. 

“...Yes. That is what I want.”

——◐——

Now 

——◐——

Jimin’s heart pounded as he tore through the dark paths of the wood with Taehyung, Yoongi, and Jungkook close behind. 

He had never led an attack—had never been trained to command wolves in battle. 

It was his first true test of leadership and he hadn’t even been a leader for twenty-four hours. 

Yet the fears and anxieties that might have normally clouded his mind were notably absent. 

There was only you.

Ironically Jimin owed Namjoon yet another debt—this time for explaining what exactly someone like him was capable of. 

The alpha Jin captured had given up their plan and position after being exposed to Jimin’s unique gifting, so he had a concrete target in his mind… He suspected however, that your captors had taken precautions after leaving some of their men behind. They had shifted their camp. 

But it wouldn’t be enough to save them. 

Jimin didn’t need your location to find you. 

He spent years refusing to look at you, and even then he always knew exactly where you were. He could sense you in any crowd—hear your voice in a thousand.

Once it had tormented him cruelly to be so aware of you. 

Now it was the only thing keeping him sane. 

He followed the connection between his heart and yours like a lifeline and it guided him as surely as the stars. 

The alphas followed him without question. 

If any of them harbored lingering doubts before, they were firmly laid to rest after what they saw at the cottage. No ordinary wolf could do what he had done. 

The Alpha would bring back their Luna and retribution would be swift indeed. 

The drugs in your system kept swinging you in and out of lucidity like a nightmarish pendulum. You tried to shift after the initial nausea faded, but whatever they gave you kept your wolf caged beneath your skin. 

Jimin

The longing you felt for your mate was the only thing tethering you to reality. You could almost hear him echoing in the far corners of your mind—  

I’m coming Omega—hold on. 

I’ll find you. 

Part of you recognized that his voice was likely nothing more than the wistful creation of your drug-addled mind, still you clung to it like the last shred of hope while the minutes (or hours) flew past.

Chaos clouded your thoughts even in clearer moments as many unavoidable concerns forced their way through the haze. 

Jin was at the house with you when they broke in. You had no way of knowing if he survived. 

The men who took you were crass and irreverent. Their eyes followed your form with too much interest and too little respect. 

It was starting to get cold and (due to you nearly dismembering a high council member and needing to be compelled unconscious) you were still wearing a thin white ceremonial dress which offered very little protection from the elements. 

You wondered idly if your idiot captors would let you freeze to death before they accomplished whatever it was they took you for. They clearly needed you for something or you would have been long dead by now. 

None of them struck you as particularly brilliant planners so the mastermind must be somewhere else... 

Frankly the entire situation was as puzzling as it was troubling. Iron Claw had always gotten along well with your pack. 

Technically they were (almost) what the human governments called a vassal state. The presence of a Luna determined the dominant pack in a region and the Luna of the mountain nations had been born into Silver Fang—your pack—for the last thousand years or so. 

Why would they challenge us now? 

The birth of a Luna indicated that the goddess had chosen that pack to lead. Their willingness—not only to kidnap you—but to go against the dominant pack by doing so was alarming to say the least. 

A sudden explosion of movement and sound interrupted your contemplation. Motion erupted all around you—boots pounding on the ground, men falling into their wolf forms, knives being drawn… 

You lifted your head—straining forward to see the source of the commotion—and nearly collapsed in relief when you finally did. 

Alpha

Your mate stood at the edge of the camp flanked by two enormous black wolves. 

A deadly looking jingum sword gleamed dangerously in his right hand. You recognized it immediately as your great-grandfather’s combat blade—the thousand year-old weapon of the Silver Fang Alphas. 

Relief flooded your chest all over again at the sight of it. Only Jin could have given him that sword—which meant he was still alive. 

The black wolves—Yoongi and Jungkook—snarled viciously but made no move to attack. 

Your captors were still scrambling into some sort of combat formation when Jimin finally spoke. 

“You have violated our sacred laws, trespassed in sovereign pack lands, kidnapped a Luna under the protection of our goddess, abducted the mate of the Silver Fang Alpha, and risked open war between our peoples.” He took a single step forward. “Surrender now and I will be merciful.”

The biggest of your captors—a man you recognized as the de facto leader—spat viciously on the ground. 

“You are not my Alpha,” he growled.

A cold—almost cruel—smile twisted over Jimin’s lips.

“Very well.”

Then he dropped to one knee and a massive grey wolf—Taehyung—leapt over his head and tore out the defiant leader’s throat before he even hit the ground. 

Your mouth dropped open. 

Bangtan formation.

Yoongi and Jungkook lunged forward in opposite directions, tackling their targets to the forest floor in a bloody clash of teeth and claws. 

One of the larger Iron Claw alphas half-shifted and charged Jimin but his arm shot out lightning fast, catching his attacker by the throat to send him flying through the air into a tree. 

The next several minutes could only be described as terrifyingly beautiful.

It was immediately clear that Jimin had been holding back when he fought Namjoon. 

He dispatched his opponents with such elegant savagery it was almost art.

You were so mesmerized watching Jimin sensually sword dance his way through a dozen alphas nearly twice his size that you almost missed Taehyung’s wolf rushing over with a dagger clenched between his teeth. 

Luna are you okay? 

You grinned and held up your rope-bound wrists. 

“I’ll be better once you pass me that knife.”

Taehyung nodded once and dropped the blade at your feet before tackling another wolf that was tearing towards the two of you. 

You sawed through the ties around your ankle first then twisted your arms to try and slice through the restraints on your wrist. 

The Iron Claw wolves were clearly no match for Jimin and his alphas. 

Jungkook and Yoongi chased after the few who were trying to run while Taehyung half-shifted to subdue the handful of wolves left alive as prisoners. Only Jimin continued to fight as the last three of your captors still standing took turns being slammed into the dirt by his strikes. 

He was clearly capable of dispatching them, but you were fairly convinced that you would die if you had to stay away from him for another second. The ropes, however, were surprisingly thick and the angle you were cutting them at wasn’t the best. If only—

You were almost free when you saw it. 

One of your captors had pulled a hunting javelin from their supply wagon. He must have hid himself at the onset of the fight, but now he was comfortably concealed by the shadows—and taking aim at Jimin. 

Your heart dropped into your stomach. 

The attacker appeared to handle the weapon with familiarity. He was too far back—too well hidden—Jimin would never see him in time—

The last cord around your wrist snapped and you were on your feet, pushing through the combined haze of fury and sedatives to charge the wolf who dared attack your mate. 

By the time he saw you it was far too late. 

Under the effects of the drug your aim was a little skewed but you weren’t Kim Seokjin’s cousin for nothing. 

One clean flick of your wrist and the dagger shot through the air, burying itself between the brute’s shoulder blades—all the way to the hilt. 

His body fell to the ground just as Jimin sent the last of your captors careening into a pile of previously defeated foes. 

For a moment all was quiet. 

Then your eyes locked across the distance and everything around you sharpened to a single whispered word. 

“Jimin.”

He had run non-stop for miles and torn apart a dozen wolves to get to your side—no amount of space between you now was tolerable. 

The sword clattered to the forest floor as he moved toward you—desperate to feel you—to wrap himself around you and know that you were safe. 

What happened next was as natural as breathing.

You opened to him and he lifted you into his arms, taking your lips in a hot unrepentant kiss. 

Fire exploded across your senses, burning away everything but the touch and taste of him. Every part of you was at once fiercely and gloriously alive. Desperate moans passed between you as he licked into your mouth—a dark primal promise of the pleasure he would take between your thighs. 

“Alpha,” you whimpered, too delirious with want to manage anything else. 

Suddenly Jimin’s eyes shot open. His hands flew to cup your face, searching it with a mixture of realization and disbelief.

“You… It was you.”

If you are already on the taglist, then I will automatically tag you for the next part! If you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know.

Please tell me what you thought of this update! I am really excited to hear your thoughts! Feedback really does fuel my writing and hearing from you means a lot to me! On days that its hard to write, I go back and I read your lovely words and it makes me want to keep going! I cannot overstate its value in my heart! Seriously this story keeps going because you guys have been so supportive and wonderful. You have no idea how much just a few word can brighten my world and fire up my muse. 

[sunntownn]

Are your requests open? If yes i had an idea

How would bots (op ratch and wheeljack) react to seeing their charge all bruised and beaten up and turns out they fought their bullies?

If you've closed the recuests then ignore me mate❤

➪

         ,,GN! reader,, platonic relationship

         ➪

         ,, i hope you can forgive me for taking so long on this! 😭 i had immediately started working on it and as soon as i got to writting OP's part i got stuck,, so i hope you dont mind but i only wrote for ratchet and wheeljack - request are always open btw,, <3

         ➪

         ,, TW!!,, none

        ➪

        ,, word count,,

WHEELJACK

• the final straw was when they mentioned "your car," in a snippy side comment after pushing you into the lockers

• their exact words had been, "whered you get that thing anyway? looks expensive, maybe japanese, did you steal it? you probably did. considering the way you dress. honey if you need money just ask, i have plenty to spear," she grinned mockingly

• your patience had already been stretched thin with this girl. you had done every civil means of avoiding this situation with her,, you had spoken to teachers, your parents, the principal and counselors, she had been given detention and had to sit through school therapy sessions, but nothing had ever effected the way she treated you

• fuck the school record, you were sick of this bitch

• so, you did exactly what Wheeljack showed you when you had watch him and Bulkhead spar

• you balled your fist as she cackled at her own lame jokes, you swung and a sickening punch landed on her face, you swept her leg, and as your "enemy" (as Wheeljack had phrased it after complaining about this bully) was falling backwards with a cry, you tackled her while an angry war-cry

• of cource, her goons got to you before the teachers left their rooms to stop the fight

• and you gatta say, looking in the mirror of the nurse's bathroom, you were rocking the black eye my dude

• Wheeljack had been there to pick you up, he could whenever he was nearby or summonedfor missions, and when he wasn't, you rode with miko and bulkhead

• as soon as you plopped into the passenger seat, wheeljacks rear view mirror turned you

• you threw your back to the drivers seat and grinned wickedly up at the mirror

• "... is that the human make-up thing miko was talking about?"

• "nope," you smiled. and then after his confused silence, you gave the explosive-loving-robot the whole story while holding up a slip of paper intended for your parents to read that said in large font "suspended"

• he was a little surprised at first. sure, your a little spunky, but he didnt think you had the guts to do it with all your talk about "school records" and "college," whatever scrap that was

• "get 'em tiger!" he cheered as you both raced to base, "did you really use my moves?! i dont think ive ever been so proud of a sparkling before"

• "and your getting rewarded by your school for it??? i thought miko said theyd punish you!"

• "uuh, yeah so being suspended is a punishment"

• "how???"

• you shrugged

• and after several minutes of bickering over which bot's moves were best (wheeljack was deadset on himself, while you argued on arcees behalf) he asked

• "wait. you memorized my fighting technique, by watching me play-fight with bulk??"

• your guardian is proud AND impressed

RATCHET

• ratchet was not impressed

• he scanned your body as you sat on the railing near his work station and inwardly cringed at his disaproving scowl

• "no major injuries, just a small cut on your lip and bruising on your ribcage"

• you licked your bottom lip as he said so and winced,, chap stick wont fix that as you had hoped

• "care to explain yourself?" Ratchet sassed, shifting his weight in front of you and putting his servos on his hips

• you could tell he was trying to intimate the parental figure scolding thier child in the movie raf had picked out the night prior,, but the sight was too humorous to be considered imitating

• you swung your legs as you sat on the rail, "it was the bully..." you mumbled

• ratchets optics had softened at that, but you continued

• "i kind lost my grip and kneed him in the balls"

• "I-"

• "so technically I started the fight,, miko said it looked like i won though so thats something i guess,, am I in trouble?"

• eventually, after a long scolding on violent behavior, ratchet finally settled down and sent you on your way

• you were kinda bumbed out as you sunk into the couch and watched the others play video games

• you dug out a book to entertain yourself from you bag and curled up in a comfortable position,, as comfortable as you could get with ice on your middle

• after a while, finishing several chapters of your preferred novel, Agent Fowler approached you with an annoyed frown

• "are you ready," he grumbled

• "..ready for what?"

• "what? the doc didnt tell you? he wants me to teach you how to protect yoursel-"

• "YOURE GANNA TEACH THEM HOW TO KICK ASS?!?!" miko shouted with an accusing ginger and a wide smile

• "to protect themselves," he stressed, "not attack."

• "why?"

• "because he rather you know how to deal with the situation than come to him with minor human injuries. his words not mine."

• you smiled to yourself

• several days later you finally had the courage to thank the doc bot

• "i dont know what youre talking about," he waved a servo, turning away

• however, you did catch a glimpse of an relieved sigh

[we-have-bangtan]

Again.

Pairing: Doctor! Yoongi x Patient! Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Crack (??), Ex's, smut

Warning: Swearing, smut (just an old memory)

Synopsis: When Yn is forced to go to the hospital after falling down the stairs of her office. The doctor who was to attend to her was none other than her ex-boyfriend Min Yoongi.

A/n: let me know if you like it! And give me a reblog to support me!!!

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Yn turned over onto her back, her eyes still closed. She wondered silently why her normally soft bed was hard today. With another roll, she landed with a thud on the cold, hard floor, jolting her awake.

When the blinding lights of the room filled her vision, she suddenly regretted opening her eyes. She sat on the floor, rubbing her eyes to clear the sleep from them, oblivious to the drool on her chin. Her eyes opened in confusion when she saw the IV line on her wrist, her gaze following the line, attached to a bottle mounted onto an IV stand.

She sprang to her feet immediately, taking in her surroundings: the IV stand, the white bed, white walls, the hand sanitizer mounted on the wall, the white floor tiles, and the white blinds that kept the sunshine out.

A hospital? She guessed as she took in all the equipment, the machines that beeped every few seconds were a dead giveaway. Is this a private room? She asked herself, trying to find any clue which hospital this was when the door swung open.

Min Yoongi entered the room, wearing a white lab coat and a stethoscope around his neck. He walked over to her side and encouraged her to take a seat on the bed.

"Where am I?" Despite the fact that she already knew the answer, she inquired. "Take a wild guess," Yoongi replied dryly as he flipped through the papers on his clipboard. Yn racked her brain for the name of the hospital; she was certain she knew which one Yoongi had been working at, but her mind was blank, displaying only a buffering page similar to that of a 2004 Dell laptop.

"Did you really hit your head that hard?"  Yoongi said what he was thinking, a little concerned for her safety. "Do you have a headache? Can you recall what you ate for breakfast or what happened just before you passed out? "He questioned.

"My head hurts a bit, so for breakfast, I had cinnamon crunch with milk, and lunch I had a sandwich. Walking down the stairs is the last thing I recall," She responded. All of her responses matched what her coworkers had told them, leading Yoongi to believe that Yn simply didn't know where he worked and that her head was okay.

He was irritated that Yn had no idea where he worked, but he forced his resentment to the back of his mind before informing her that she was in a private room at Asan Medical Centre in Seoul. "Wait, are you serious?" She yelled as she struggled to get out of bed.

"Yes, seriously," he explained, forcing her back onto the bed "You fell down the stairs in your office and one of your colleagues brought you in; you were unconscious for 5 hours; you will need to stay the night so we can run some tests on you; you will need to stay the night so we can run some tests on you," he added. "Why on earth do you have no idea I work at Asan?"He demanded once he was done briefing her.

"I would have noticed if you hadn't blocked me on all your social media pages," Yn said after some thought. She hisses, reminding him why she was blocked in the first place. "I wouldn't have had to block you if you hadn't started tagging me in those dumb Facebook memes," he retorted as he paging one of the nurses to come to change the IV bag.

"Is there something bothering you? Aside from your head," Yoongi inquired, reaching for his fancy click pen, which Yn had given him in college. "You still use that?" She inquired, her gaze falling on the royal blue color of the pen, the brand name has faded over time. He calmly replied, "I started using it once I got my residence, now answer the question."

To search for any injury, Yn moved her limbs around, starting with her feet. She turned them around to look for any discomfort before moving on to her legs, which were still perfect.  She eventually tested her shoulders and despite her best efforts, winced in pain as she raised her left shoulder.

"Left shoulder, okay. Do you feel nauseous?"  Yn shook her head as Yoongi asked more.

"Any ringing in your ears?"

"Nope"

"Is that gray hair on your head?" Yn interjected, pointing to a few strands at the start of Yoongi's hairline. He dismissed her and instead scribbled a note on his clipboard.

"OK, so you don't have any concussion symptoms, your hearing is good, and you're not feeling dizzy and your eyesight is better than ever before considering the fact that you could pick out my gray hair from that far. We still have some blood work to do and I'm putting you on observation tonight in case any symptom pops up, you're free to go home after that," Yoongi informed.

He reasoned that saying anything else would be unprofessional of him. Heading for the door when, "Yah, why am I in a private room in the first place?" Yn intervened, preventing him from leaving. Yoongi replied, turning around to face her, "I figured it would be more convenient for you."

"Bruh, do you have any idea how broke I am," she grumbled, crossing her arms over her stomach. "I ain't a hotshot doctor to be able to afford a private room in Asan Medical Centre," she sneered. "Who said something about you paying?" asked Yoongi. As he returned to her side. "So, who is going to foot the bill?  You? " She inquired, he nodded, causing her jaw to drop. She was perplexed by his words and asked, "Why would you do that?" "What good is it to be a hotshot doctor?" He shrugged.

The mental picture of a very sleepy and confused Yn, with her hair all tangled up and a tiny spot of drool on her face had made him soft, and there was no stopping his heart from falling head over heels for her all over again as he walked out of the room, the smile he had been battling slowly crept into place...

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Yoongi peeked into Yn's room after his shift, his shoulders slouching from the stress of his job. He had his coat and stethoscope wrapped over his arm, his hair slightly damp from the shower he had taken, his white t-shirt clinging to his body.

When they were dating, one of Yn's 'rules' was that if he wanted to get close to her, he had to shower after returning from the hospital because she hated the scent of antiseptic. With the scent of antiseptic all over her, he wondered how she was doing.

He discovered her in bed, knees drawn up to her stomach, phone in hand, the screen almost brushing her nose as she mindlessly scrolled through Instagram. Her food, which had been left on the side table, had not been touched.

He warned, walking into the room, "You'll go blind if you keep doing that." Yn's head snapped up at his voice but calmed down when she saw who it was. He drew up a stool next to the bed and checked what Yn had received from the hospital. Soup, kimchi, rice, and pickled radishes were served on the side (Yn hated those). "Is the food not to your liking?" Concerned about her dietary habits, he inquired.

"They don't have any salt or spice," she replied as she stowed her phone. Yoongi grimaced after taking a sip of the soup. There was no salt or pepper and was as bland as raw tofu.

"SEE!!" Yn screamed, delighted that she had been proven right, but Yoongi, not one to concede defeat, put on a display. "How come it's so salty?" His face scrunched up in exaggeration as he groaned. "Stop acting, I can see right through you," Yn said, raising an eyebrow to call him out on his nonsense.

"All right, fine, you're right," Yoongi conceded as Yn yanked the sheets off herself and reached for his shoulders. He thought it was strange, but didn't say anything when she gently rubbed the spot near his collar, the tension in his shoulders dissipating as she applied pressure. He'd always thought Yn had magical hands. It felt like a miracle to have her hands on him again, something he had never expected to feel again.

"Can you tell me what I can do to get you to order me a plate of jjajangmyeon?" Yn asked. Yoongi thought, Darn it, I knew it was a trap, but he was too relaxed to say no. As she worked out the knots in his muscles, he melted under Yn's touch. She was no longer connected to the IV, enabling her to freely move about the room.

"I knew you were only in it for food," he chuckled, moving away from her to grab his phone from his coat, "What else did you think I was in it for?" Yn jested, playing along as she massaged his shoulders.

"Only jjajangmyeon?" He questioned, scrolling through the options, Yn looking at the phone from over his shoulder. "Order some side dishes too," she added, Yoongi let out a groan when Yn put pressure on THE SPOT at the back of his shoulder blade, the sound making Yn blush. "Stop that, people will think we're filing a porno," Yn scolded lightheartedly, continuing her ministering.

"I don't think we need to film any more of those, I have a whole collection already," Yoongi teased. His gummy smile showing up when he felt Yn's hand round his throat, threatening to choke him. "I think it's the other way round," he scoffed. His heart going into dangerous territory.

Yoongi remembered the night he had discovered Yn's choking kink, it had been a very eventful night. He had just come back home from the hospital when he had heard moaning coming from his bedroom, he had walked inside, totally unprepared for the breathtaking view that awaited him.

Watching porn wasn't considered cheating by Yoongi as long as Yn showed him what she was watching so he knew what they were getting into. When he walked in on Yn in his rotating chair, her legs spread out on the armrest, touching herself to a film about choking, he was pleasantly surprised. He went up behind her softly and wrapped his fingers around her throat, not putting much pressure. When Yn groaned for him, he felt himself harden in his pants and murmured, "You like that baby."

"Stop imagining it," Yn snapped, pushing away from Yoongi, "How do you expect me to just stop, those were some great moments of my life," he chuckled when his phone rang. It had something to do with the meal. He went to get the dinner by himself, leaving Yn alone.

When he returned with her dinner, he delivered it to her before saying his goodbyes and preparing to leave. "Enjoy your meal and get some sleep," he added as he gathered his belongings. "Where are you going?" Yn inquired. "Home??" Yoongi answered, taking his phone from the table when Yn stopped him. "Did you have dinner?" she asked, opening up the takeout box to reveal a generous serving of jjajangmyeon.

"Not yet, I was planning on getting some on the way," He answered, waiting for Yn to say anything. "Then you should stay and give me some company, it's not like I can finish all this on my own," She mumbled. "You sure?" Yoongi confirmed, taking his place on the chair as Yn grabbed the chopsticks from the bedside table, letting him have the wooden chopsticks that the restaurant provides.

They both dug into the meal, savoring every mouthful. In the otherwise peaceful hospital, just the sound of them slurping their noodles and the beep of the monitors could be heard. The majority of the patients were fast asleep, and those who were awake were taking special precautions to avoid making any noise.

Yn was the one who broke the stillness by inquiring about Holly. He said, licking his lips to get rid of the sauce, "She's good, I got her a ribbon for her ears the other day." He was intrigued about Yn's cranky cat, Buster, who had scratched Holly once. Yoongi's heart dropped to his stomach as Yn replied, "We had to put him down."

Although he was simply a large, sluggish cat who refused to get his butt off the window pane, Buster had been Yn's pride and joy, her support system. "That must have been difficult," Yoongi paused, unsure of how to express his condolences.

"It had to be done; he was in a lot of agony," Yn shrugged, shaking her head to clear her mind. "How are the boys doing?  I haven't seen them since we broke up" Yoongi's six other friends were the subject of Yn's inquiry. He assured her everyone was ok. "You might see Jungkook tomorrow," he said, explaining that he had taken the day off today. "Does Jungkookie work here?" Yn inquired, quite surprised by the information. "Yes, he's an intern trying to get his residence, surprising isn't it," Yoongi admitted.

Yn burped after she finished her dinner, making Yoongi laugh at how cute she looked. Once Yn had freshened up, Yoongi said, "Ok, now that you've finished eating, I'll go home, and YOU'LL go to sleep." "You always leave," Yn remarked, rolling her eyes. The words weighed heavy on his mind as he tucked her in. On his way out, he turned out the light and gave her one last look before walking away.

Yoongi slouched his shoulders again once he was in his car. The words Yn had just said reverberated in his mind. Since he had broken up with Yn, the words "You always leave" had tormented him. He had been in love with her, yet he was the one who had abandoned her. NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND, HE LEFT HER. It was painful to recall the details of their breakup.

Yn crying into his chest, asking why she wasn't enough. Him holding her as fiercely as he could, not knowing if he'd ever get another chance. His cowardice had broken both of them that night. He'd run away from one of the most precious part of his life, and he still regrets it.

They had broken up because of him. Yoongi always believed Yn deserved someone better than him, she was too good for him. She had yelled at him when he had told her that. Saying that it was her who got to decide who was worth her time and affection, and if h really thought h didn't deserve her then maybe he should make himself deserving, she had said that that was the solution for Yoongi's thoughts, breaking up was not the solution, but he was stubborn as a mule, refusing to see how he was destroying both of them and everything they had.

And now here he was, striving to be less of a wimp than he had been all those years before. He remembered how enraged the boys had been when he told them what he'd done. "Have you gone insane?" All Yoongi could do was nod when Jin Hyung asked. Yes, he'd gone nuts, which was why he'd been insane enough to let her go. He had no problem admitting it.

He cruised around the deserted roads, far too late in the evening for anyone to be out. He considered calling Jin hyung for advice, but he opted against it because he assumed he was already in bed. For the rest of the night, he was alone with his thoughts, his mind eating away at him, keeping him awake at night, tossing and turning in bed, contemplating what they could have been if he hadn't been a coward.

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.

The next morning was the same as any other, the only difference being the speed of Yoongi's car when he was on his way to the office. The usual 60km/h had escalated to 80km/h and he was certainly a little too excited for someone who was going to be at the hospital for the next 18 hours.

He was walking up the corridor to Yn's room after exiting the elevator on the third level when he heard screams. "MOVE, MOVE OUT OF THE WAY PEOPLE!" shouted Yn as Jungkook pushed her wheelchair down the slanted corridor quicker.

What the fuck!!, Yoongi thought as he saw Jungkook climb onto the wheelchair's back supports, watching in horror as the two of them laughed and giggled their way down the corridor at full speed (which wasn't much speed btw), completely disregarding the 'no noise' and 'no running' placards which were stuck to the wall.

He quickly stepped in the way, feeling a little sense of joy watching Jungkook's eyes widen in fright. Bringing the wheelchair to a screeching halt a few inches away from Yoongi. "Good morning, Hyung!!" he said cheerfully as if he hadn't just broken every regulation in the hospital.

"Can you tell me what you're up to?" His gaze fell on Yn, who appeared to be having the time of her life. "Relax, Yoongo-boongo," Yn remarked. Yoongi frowned at the old nickname, which he had pleaded with Yn to abandon.

"This is risky, you know," Yoongi said, "especially since you wounded your shoulder," He added, quick to understand that Jungkook had no idea about Yn's wounded shoulder. "You hurt your shoulder?!?" the younger one screamed. Yn scowled at Yoongi for giving up that knowledge so easily. Yoongi justified himself by saying, "Don't look at me like that, he was going to find out regardless."

"Yes, but you didn't have to tell him so early, now he won't let me have any fun." She whined, Yoongi scoffed at that, "he isn't supposed to make you have 'fun', he'd supposed to take you to get your x-ray done, it's on the first floor."

Yn pouted as Jungkook nodded at the instructions, pushing the wheelchair with Yn still in it towards the elevator. "Without the wheelchair," Yoongi clarified, making Jungkook pout as well, helping Yn out of the wheelchair.

They both sulked like kicked puppies in the elevator and Yoongi could not stand it. "Ok, fine, take the freaking wheelchair, but just be careful." he said, finally giving in. The two of them gave him bright smiles. Yn sat back in the wheelchair just as the elevator door slid open and Jungkook rolled Yn out.

They're fortunate. Yoongi thought to himself as he went about his rounds that Namjoon owned the hospital. While Yn was getting her x-ray, he checked in with his patients. Yn had a good night's sleep and awoke fairly early, according to the nurse in charge of her surveillance. She felt a minor headache, but nothing else was wrong with her. Only the shoulder was a big issue, and they were unable to determine what was causing the pain.

It took 2 hours for Yoongi to check up on all his patients and meet with a few others in the clinic when Jungkook barged into Yoongi's office with an envelope. "Jungkook you can't just barge in like that," Yoongi groaned as he quickly gave the patient their prescription before sending them out. Telling the receptionist to not send any more patients, he turned all his attention to Kook.

"Now, what's wrong?" He asked, spinning in his chair to face the intern. "Noona's reports are here" Jungkook informed, holding out the envelope. "So fast?" Yoongi questioned. It usually took a day or two for the reports and none of the radiologists took Jungkook seriously, dismissing him as just an intern. He found it suspicious that they had given the reports back so early.

"Namjoon hyung was there for an inspection, he got it done when he saw noona," Jungkook said with a cheeky grin. Yoongi nodded at the explanation. Namjoon always had a soft spot for Yn regardless of if Yn and he were together. He pulled out the reports, scanning through them. "Where is Yn now?" He asked, putting the reports back inside. Jungkook informed that Namjoon had taken her to her room, playing along with Yn's wheelchair drama.

Yoongi rolled his eyes at that, but Jungkook didn't miss the quiver of his lips. Jungkook followed Yoongi upstairs to Yn's room, where they found Yn squishing Namjoon's cheeks. Jungkook joined them, laughing, and Yn hastily let Namjoon free. "So, Doctor, what do you have to say?" Yn asked as Namjoon got out of the chair, rubbing his red-tinged cheeks.

"You must slow down with the usage of your shoulder. You appear to be putting a lot of tension on it; fortunately, it's only strain and nothing dangerous." Yoongi said, instructing Yn to apply heat and ice packs to the affected area. "Are you going to issue me a leave sick note?" Yn inquired as she got out of bed.

"Nope, you can go back to work just fine as long as you don't do any heavy lifting," Yoongi said, scribbling something on a piece of paper. "Yah, Yoongi-ah pleaseeeee write me a sick note," Yn pleaded as she searched for the t-shirt she had worn when she had come into the hospital yesterday. "Nope, and are you really going to wear that?" He asked, surprised that Yn hadn't called anyone to come to pick her up.

"Yeah, I need to head home," Yn answered, gathering her things, "Wait, you can't wear that, I have a spare shirt in my office I'll get that," Yoongi said, getting out of the chair while Namjoon and Jungkook exchanged knowing looks.

"We'll get it hyung, don't worry," Jungkook assured, dragging Namjoon with him. The two of them got into the elevator before spilling the tea. "He is SO whipped!" Jungkook exclaimed, pushing the button to go downstairs. "So is she and did you know Yoongi hyung was footing her bill and he got her a private room?" Namjoon asked, amazed at the extent his extremely tsundere hyung was going to for Yn. "He's pretty much in love all over again, and the nurse said that Yoongi hyung spent more than an hour in noona's room," Jungkook informed with a giddy smile.

"Jin hyung NEEDS to know about this," Namjoon exclaimed but made no move to call their hyung, quickly going to Yoongi's office and grabbing the gray FG shirt which was in his locker before going back upstairs.

As soon as the boys returned to the room, Yn grabbed the t-shirt. She hurriedly removed the hospital gown she had been compelled to wear. Yoongi was quick to respond, instantly stepping in front of Yn so the two younger men wouldn't get a glimpse of his lovely ex's exquisite body, and only pulling away once Yn was covered in his shirt.

"You didn't have to do that, I was wearing a tank top beneath," Yn said, tucking the shirt's hem into the jeans she had worn the day before. "For safety reasons," Yoongi shrugged, avoiding eye contact as though it weren't a big concern that he was covering up his ex. Namjoon's sniggering at the entrance went unnoticed.

"Noona how are going home?" Jungkook asked, checking the time realizing it was his lunch break. "I'll take a cab, don't worry," she assured, grabbing her phone and keys from the bedside table. "I'll drop you home, it'll be hard to get a cab at this time over here," Yoongi said, following after her into the hallway as Jungkook and Namjoon watched.

As she approached the elevator, Yn commented, not really trying to stop Yoongi from coming with her, "There's a thing called uber Yoongi, I'm sure I'll catch a cab." "Jesus woman, will you ever accept aid without a fight?" Yoongi moaned as he snatched her wrist and brought her downstairs to get his keys.

"Aish is so stubborn," Yn grumbled as she trailed behind him, her hand slipping into Yoongi's. They didn't seem to be aware that they were holding hands.

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"Jin hyung will be so happy hearing about this," Jungkook exclaimed, watching Yn and Yoongi argue like an old, married couple while holding hands as they went to the hospital parking lot.

"They look cute, 10$ that they get back together by the end of the month," Namjoon bet, moving away from the window of the private room. "Hyung, you literally own the hospital, I'm just a flimsy intern, how could you expect me to pay 10$," Jungkook whined making Namjoon laugh as Yoongi’s car spedmout of the driveway.

__________________________

[itsthenovelteafactor]

Fall of the House of Hargreeves

So I mentioned a while back in my Superhero Gothic meta that there were a number of parallels between the season one finale of The Umbrella Academy and the Edgar Allen Poe short story The Fall of the House of Usher and that I could probably write a whole meta on that if anyone was interested. Shout out and love to the anon who requested that I do that! 

It’s been a minute since I’ve done one of these long form metas, but I am very excited to get back to writing about two of my favorite things: gothic literature and chaotic superheroes. 

Part I: The Fall of the House of Usher

The Fall of the House of Usher (which I’ll call House of Usher for convenience for the rest of this meta) is a short story by Edgar Allen Poe first published in 1939. It is considered a classic gothic short story, and deals with themes of family, madness, inheritance, and isolation. 

Since it’s in the public domain, I’ll go ahead and link a pdf to the story here. If you aren’t interested in reading, though, or just want a refresher, the story follows an unnamed narrator going to visit his ill friend, a man named Roderick Usher in his isolated (and very spooky) family estate. Upon arrival, he discovers that Roderick’s sister, Madeline Usher, is also ill, and has a tendency to fall into dreamlike trances.

Over the course of the visit, Roderick confesses to the narrator that not only does he believe the house is alive, but that it is connected to the fate of the family which, at this point, only includes Roderick and Madeline. He later comes and tells the narrator that Madeline has died, and enlists his help in order to bury her in the family tomb beneath the house. They do so, but for the next couple of days Roderick is suspiciously...on edge. 

Then, one dark and stormy night, Roderick shows up in the narrator’s room incredibly worked up, and throws open the window, and starts low-key (read: high-key) having a breakdown. The narrator is unsure as to why until he hears ripping and tearing sounds coming from somewhere in the house. These ripping and tearing sounds are revealed to be Madeline whom Roderick and the narrator buried alive whose appearance scares Roderick to death, right before she collapses, also dead from the strain of tearing through the foundations of the house.

The narrator decides this would probably be a good time to leave and is very much right about that because as soon as he leaves, the house (which was already in pretty bad shape) splits in two and collapses into the lake surrounding it. The end.

Part II: Umbrella Academy as Gothic

So, there are probably a couple similarities between House of Usher and The Umbrella Academy season one that stand out right off the bat, but I’d like to start by taking a step back to talk about thematic parallels between the two works. If you’d like to read a very long winded explanation of why I consider The Umbrella Academy to be a modern gothic tale, I have a really long meta about it. 

If not, here’s a quick overview:

Gothic does not have a clearly defined set of requirements as a genre, but its purpose is to explore the contradictions and the failing edifices of convention in a way that is dramatic and often fantastic. 

Gothic fiction plays with reality, but usually in a way that is representative of the characters and story. 

It often situates itself during times of great change, as there is something haunting about the irreversible passage of time, particularly for those that struggle to acknowledge it and hide behind conventions that have grown increasingly irrelevant. 

Poe is considered one of the classic authors of gothic fiction (though the genre significantly predates him), and is decidedly one of the best well-known examples of it. 

The Umbrella Academy is a family drama about former child superheroes dealing with their trauma while trying to prevent an apocalypse that their every move seems to set further in motion. It explores the messy and complicated relationships between siblings who have been abused and pit against each other for years. And yeah, it’s fun with great music and talking gorillas and dance sequences, but the premise is kind of hard for me to read as anything other than gothic.

Part III: Parallels

Like House of Usher, the first season of Umbrella Academy takes place in a massive, largely empty mansion where siblings gather with disastrous consequences. Both works explore a family that is past their prime and disconnected from the present. They also both explore the psychological toll of isolation, the consequences of tyrannical family rules, and why it is a really bad idea to lock your unstable sister in a basement and just leave her there. 

Let’s start with some thematics parallels. Everyone in House of Usher is extremely isolated, and the absence of anything resembling the modern world amongst the house full of relics is part of the horror. All of the siblings in Umbrella Academy are defined by their isolation as well, physically (Luther, Five, and Ben), socially (Vanya, Diego, Klaus, and Allison), and emotionally (legit all of them). It is this isolation that drives the conflict of the story, feeding into every characters’ choices. 

In both House of Usher and Umbrella Academy, the main characters are trapped in this isolated state as a direct result of their familial legacy. In House of Usher, the titular house is a character itself, a manifestations of the obligations Madeline and Roderick hold as members of an aristocratic family that is so far divorced from wealth and status that it keeps them from ever fully moving on and rejoining the real world. In Umbrella Academy, the characters are similarly trapped by their familial legacy, this time in the form of the specter of their abusive father, and the roles he created for them. Like the Usher siblings, the Hargreeves have no way of maintaining the roles their family left out for them – they were never given the tools to function in the real world and it cripples them – but are trapped in them regardless. 

Part IV: The Woman* in White 

*As of the time I am writing this, nothing has been said regarding Vanya’s gender identity being written to match Elliot Page’s. I am using she/her pronouns for Vanya, as that is what has been used for the character thus far. 

Aside from thematic parallels, however, the most direct connection between the short story and series, and in fact the reason I was inspired to write this meta in the first place is the way both of the stories end: with a sister trapped beneath the house clawing her way out to face her brother(s and sister) and creating a disruption of the family legacy so great that the entire estate crumbles.

Madeline Usher is described at this point as wearing a white dress, strained with the injuries she sustained from physically breaking herself out of the basement tomb her brother buried her alive in. Vanya, of course, becomes at this moment the White Violin, and though she has not yet had the epic violin-music-so-powerful-it-changes-the-color-of-her-clothes scene, the principal still stands.

As characters, there are also a couple of noteworthy parallels between Vanya and Madeline. The narrator at one point describes “the illness of the lady Madeline had lone been beyond the help of her doctors. She seemed to care about nothing” (Poe, 27). The reader never knows what illness precisely is the cause of Madeline’s apparent madness, but we see the effects. It dulls her emotional responses to situations and leaves her withdrawn and powerless. Similarly, we learn over the course of the first season of The Umbrella Academy that the medication Reginald Hargreeves prescribed Vanya for her anxiety is actually a power suppressor for her abilities that has much the same effect – because they are strengthened by extreme emotion, the drugs numb Vanya’s emotional responses and deprive her of the ability to access her powers.

Additionally, the final scene of the story story shows Madeline escaping her tomb during a great storm and going to face her brother who put her there, the storm itself being a metaphor for her anguish that tears the house apart. Vanya’s connection to the destruction of the house is a bit more literal, but it is similarly a manifestation of her anguish and trauma. She sees flashbacks of her siblings being distant and rude to her in their childhoods and the anger she feels rips the foundation apart. 

It is not entirely clear in the short story why Roderick buries Madeline alive – there are a lot of theories: he genuinely believed she was dead, he wanted her out of the picture, he himself was succumbing to the madness of the house, etc – but the guilt he feels for doing so manifests as him hearing her scraping her way out for several days preceding her escape. The justification for Vanya’s imprisonment is more clear in text, but the series of flashbacks make it clear that it is not just the imprisonment that has driven her over the edge. It it guilt for her sister, anger at her abusive upbringing that is much more easily directed at her siblings than her father, the newfound emotions experienced by being off her medication for the first time since childhood, Leonard’s manipulations, etc. 

In both cases, amidst a spiral of emotions and experiences folding in on themselves, Vanya and Madeline experience a single, cold moment of clarity that drives them to escape, and it is that moment of clarity that breaks the shadow of the family legacy. They observe the situation as it stands and realize that it is completely unacceptable, and it is the realization that leads everything to crumble. Because gothic literature is focused on the complexities of maintaining that which is out of date, the realization that things must change can break the spell.

Part V: Conclusions 

As per usual, I have no great theories on why this is or what it means. One of the reasons I love gothic literature is that it is rife with meaning that can be more easily felt than deciphered. I welcome any and all interpretations, theories, (politely worded) disagreements, and comments. 

Thanks for taking the time to read; I have a lot of fun doing these. Enjoy spooky season, y’all. 💛

[azucanela]

chapter iv

pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

summary: the internet is enamored with the idea of y/n l/n and bakugou katsuki, two renowned pro heroes, dating. the first issue? the pair rarely interacts. the second issue? apparently, they hate each other, not that anyone knows about that bit. of course, after one night of many mistakes, the whole world knows.

warnings: mentions of blood. violence. injuries. cursing. 

word count: 2k

[series masterlist] [wattpad] [ao3]

THIS HAS TO BE A DREAM. Y/N really doesn’t want to be dealing with this right now, this is literally the last thing she wants to be dealing with right now. She has half the mind to just disappear into the shadows using Telen’s quirk, seeing as she hadn’t returned it yet. 

‘Returned’ probably isn’t the best way to put it, after all he can still use his quirk but… she’s never really had a different way to explain it. But, Y/N is capable of using his quirk until she’s returned it to him, meaning his pain is hers and so is his quirk for the time being. Not that it matters right now, because she’s currently staring down Bakugou, who looks just as shocked as she does. 

“What are you doing here?” She finally asks, scowling. 

In response, Bakugou is rolling his eyes, allowing the door to shut behind him. “You don’t own this café,” he grumbles out.

That was actually incorrect, Y/N had bought the set of buildings on this street to make sure that the café wouldn’t go out of business, she was sentimental in that manner Meaning she technically had authorization to kick him out, something Bakugou seems to catch onto as his eyes narrow at her, “of course you do.” 

Y/N scoffs, looking away from him, “only legally. I have too much respect for Rosalyn to tell her what to do with her business.” She waves him off, “they’re getting something from the back, you’ll have to wait.” Y/N finds that she’s wishing she had a little bit less respect for Rosalyn, because maybe then she would have the guts to kick Bakugou out.

Bakugou says nothing, simply eyeing Y/N as he moves to grab a bag of chips from the stand, awkwardly standing by the cash register he waited for them to return. Of course, Y/N had a feeling they wouldn’t be returning anytime soon at this point. She wouldn’t be shocked if Lily had done something to make this happen, all to torture Y/N.

Although Lorelai might consider this the perfect time to apologize, Y/N finds it her personal hell. And she’s fairly sure Bakugou has the same sentiments as she begins to tap her foot rhythmically against the floor. The space is silent aside from that, and Y/N almost wishes a stranger would come in and end her misery.

A sudden pain courses through her, and Y/N’s brows furrow as her mouth gapes open slightly, hand coming to her stomach, though her thoughts are interrupted as Bakugou snaps, “could you quit tapping your damn foot?”

And Y/N does stop, but not because he asked, instead to say, “you can always leave.” There’s a sarcastic smile on her face as she glances at him, preparing to continue tapping her foot despite the throbbing that had appeared in her leg as well. 

If Y/N had to guess, something had happened to Telen. But that wasn’t necessarily out of the ordinary in hero work, and given how high profile Hawks’ agency was, they had a healer on call. She had no doubt that whatever injury he’d somehow sustained, he would be fine. And yet, Y/N can’t help the frown that washes over her, a certain fear and anxiety that definitely doesn’t belong to her suddenly drowning her senses. 

Y/N is about to make a phone call when she hears Bakugou, “you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

She’s about to make some sort of witty comment in response, only to see that he’s looking outside, where the presence of paparazzi has become apparent. Though they hadn’t started their mobs yet, any trained Pro Hero was well aware when they were being followed. Despite attempts to hide, Y/N could easily see that there were several people hidden throughout the area, trying to catch pictures of the famed Y/N L/N and Bakugou Katsuki together.

They were probably hoping the pair would start arguing, maybe even get into a physical fight knowing Bakugou. Though, if that did happen, Y/N was fairly sure Lorelai would have her head. 

That and the fact that the shippers on Twitter were going to love this. But Y/N certainly wasn’t, scoffing as she came to a stand, “did they follow you here?” Her tone is accusatory, she knows that. But if Y/N is honest, she has no shame being upfront about her emotions with Bakugou, not anymore. 

He glares at her once more in response, placing his order down more roughly than necessary, “obviously not. If anything it was you they followed here.”

Y/N comes to a stand, inhaling deeply as she reminds herself that she and Bakugou are currently the stars of the show that is the media. Everyone who's anyone, and anybody that’s a nobody wants to bear witness to their interactions if it means advancing their career. And Y/N has no intent of further damaging her reputation, or giving the media the easy way out.

Though she wouldn’t mind putting an additional dent in Bakugou’s already horrid reputation, there were bigger things than that. And at the end of the day, they were stuck together for the time being, until things died down that is.

So, Y/N finds herself heading over to the counter with her items in hand– discarding them behind the register to make sure that Lily would hold onto them for her— before looking to Bakugou, “we need to leave, now.”

Bakugou is frowning, eyes falling on his order, but he simply nods as he returns his gaze to Y/N, “and how do you suppose we do that?”

While she’s grateful he elected not to argue— probably because he’s well-aware of his own dwindling reputation and wants to salvage whatever he can, like the selfish bastard he is— Y/N finds herself narrowing her eyes at him, simply turning around and gesturing for him to follow her, “come with me.”

“What, we can’t just go out the front door?” 

She’s not shocked by his proposition, though Y/N is also aware that Bakugou isn’t a fool. He may be impulsive at times, and extremely confrontational to a fault, but he was not an idiot. Even if he seemed to be just some annoying brute.

Y/N glances back at Bakugou, looking to him incredulously, “the moment we step outside, we will be bombarded with questions.” A bitter laugh escapes her, “and we both know how you’ll probably respond to that.”

“Oh so this is my fault?” He asks, taking a few steps closer. 

Bringing a hand to her temple, Y/N looks up to him, “we don’t have time for this.” Comes her response, “either you come with me, or I leave without you.”

With that, Y/N turns on her heel, hand shoved into her pocket as she pulls out a set of keys and begins to flip through them in search of the right one. She can feel Bakugou’s eyes on her as she finally finds the right key, the one that leads to the hallway behind the second staff door. Most people don't have access because if you take a wrong turn you’ll end up in the studio apartment of the owners. But, if you continue down the hallway, there’s an exit into the alleyway that Y/N intended to take.

Finally, she pushes the door open. Y/N doesn’t bother to look back as she steps inside the hallway, dimly lit, in fact some of the lights are even flickering. But she can see the bright red ‘EXIT’ sign not too far away. 

Y/N doesn’t hear the door click shut, and with a sigh she turns back to see Bakugou had planted his foot in the door, kicking it open while his hands remained shoved into his pockets. Wordlessly, he stepped inside, and Y/N simply returned her gaze to the exit.

Until another spike of pain coursed through her. Her steps falter, though Y/N manages to catch herself on the wall, hand planted firmly there as she inhales deeply. 

To be fair, the average person would’ve passed out from the pain by now, and Y/N didn’t have her hero suit to help cushion the blows of pain nor was she necessarily prepared for sudden pain— she wasn’t in battle. Though her pain tolerance is high enough that it's manageable.

Bakugou seems to notice, no— he definitely notices. Looking to her pensively as he pauses behind her, Y/N doesn’t want to meet his eyes as she huffs, pushing off the wall. “Let’s go.” 

He says nothing, and Y/N is grateful as they continue down the hall.

It’s a short walk to the actual exit, but Y/N’s head is pounding so she doesn’t really notice anything out of the ordinary until Bakugou’s arm comes to stop her. She bumps into it, frowning as she looks up to him ready to speak in protest, to yell at him for touching her— though there's no skin to skin contact so she doesn’t really have much to worry about yet. 

Until she realizes blood is coming from under the door. Evidently, she had a lot to worry about.

Y/N looks up to Bakugou, offering him a nod that he returns. A silent communication between the pair which brings Bakugou to press his separate hand against the door, brows drawing together before he rapidly pushes the door open and the pair steps out into the alley.

And there lies the body of Pro Hero Telen. Y/N recognizes him instantly, and it makes sense given how badly her body is throbbing with pain. 

Her mouth gapes open, but Y/N is no fool as her back meets Bakugou’s, each of them surveying the area for the hero’s attacker. 

But there’s no one to be found. 

Y/N looks back to Bakugou, who simply nods, prompting Y/N to drop to her knees despite the blood that begins to seep through her clothes. Eyes falling on Telen as a hand comes to his chest. Nobody has ever died while Y/N was using their power, and if Y/N had to guess, Telen was still alive. There was no need for her to check for a pulse, simple as that. 

“He’s alive. Call for backup.”

When Bakugou doesn’t reply, Y/N turns, and she can see the explosions sparking in his palms but there are no enemies nearby. But Y/N recognizes the look on his face, the frustration, the anger. But he’s not angry with anyone other than himself right now. 

“Bakugou.” She repeats, an attempt to pull him out of his thoughts. They don’t have time to be distracted right now. While the attacker clearly isn’t around right now, there was a possibility he’d return. Not that Y/N was too worried, if they had any sense of bloodlust, she’d notice them.

He inhales sharply, simply nodding stiffly once more before pulling out his phone. But all Bakugou can think about is the fact that the Stain Copycat was here, and they’d targeted a member of Hawks’ Agency. The Number 2 Hero. Which meant whoever it was, they were getting bolder, and even worse, two of the best upcoming Pro Heroes were just next door and they hadn’t even noticed.

Even if the new Hero Killer had failed to finish the job, it didn’t matter. This would be a sign to all. A bad one. A message even. It felt as though this copycat was mocking him with every move. 

The only thing that Y/N can think about, is how dark this alley is, how easy it should’ve been for Telen to escape from his attacker. Which can only mean one of two things, the perpetrator had done something to prevent Telen from escaping into the shadows. Or, it was someone he trusted enough that he hadn’t felt the need to. Not until it was too late, that is. 

This was a problem. A big problem.

note: short but eventful chapter? and look at me go, updating on an actual schedule thats a first!

[winterscaptain]

caught out.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader 

a/n: i am SO excited to share this installment with you! There are a few key developments in this chapter, so get excited! we fly through route 66 and in the blood in this part, and we might get a ring..... :)

an ajf fic that requires little to no context!

words: 5.3k warnings: canon-typical injury, medical setting, some really soft stuff

summary: foyet’s scars leave more than trauma in their wake, but aaron finds he has more to live for - a future, a life, a family. (au!october 2013)

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

Before this moment, you’d never fully considered what it would be like for Aaron to die in front of you. You’d certainly come close before - between close calls with unsubs and a fair few stupid decisions, close calls weren’t unheard of by any means. But even in those moments, as scared as you were, there was always part of you that knew he’d be okay. A part of you that knew he’d come home to you. 

Right now, that knowledge is universally absent as he collapses out of nowhere in the conference room. 

“Aaron!” You shoot out of your chair and drop to the floor beside him, immediately reaching for his wrist. You’re relieved to find a pulse, albeit a weak one. You know you’re already crying, absolutely terrified. 

Somehow, you manage to look up at JJ, meeting her wide, scared blue eyes. “Call EMS. They’re in the building and faster than an ambulance.”

She snaps to, running to Aaron’s office for the direct line. 

“Hang in there, baby.” You wrap his hand in yours, and Derek helps you turn him over. Aaron’s halfway in your lap now, your body bowed over him. 

He stirs a little, and you shush him, brushing the hair off his forehead. His breath rattles in his chest, struggling, as he reaches for you. 

“Don’t leave me. Don’t you dare leave me.” You don’t realize you’re talking until Derek lays a hand on your shoulder. 

EMS arrives, and you’re not sure how much time has passed by the time they get him onto the gurney and down the stairs. You keep up with them for as long as you can before Anderson and Derek snag your arms, holding you back. 

Derek tugs you once, gently, by the wrist, and you fall into him. He’s already moving, guiding you to the elevators and down to the car. He repeats the same things, over and over, every minute or so, as you make the long journey to the hospital. 

“It’ll be okay, kiddo. He’s tough. Hotch isn’t going anywhere.”

+++

A doctor opens the doors, a clipboard in her hand. “Hotchner?”

You rise, approaching the doctor. “Yes?”

“Are you his next of kin?”

You nod, reaching for your wallet. 

The doctor smiles at your obvious agitation. “No need to show your credentials. Agent Hotchner is out of surgery and resting comfortably.”

“What happened?”

She sighs. “The scar tissue from his previous wounds tore, causing slow, but significant internal bleeding. It was touch and go on the table, but he’s a fighter. Something kept him here. Your attending will have more information for you once you’re settled with him.”

You swallow, trying to keep your throat clear as your eyes well up again. 

She presses a hand to your arm. “You can see him now. He was asking for you before we put him under.”

“Thank you.” 

When she disappears behind the doors again, you return to the chair you’d been glued to for the previous six hours. 

Dave stands with you as you gather your things. You look at him and he leans forward to kiss your cheek. “Take your time. We’ll be reachable. Let us know when he’s awake.” 

You nod. Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you mentally draft a text message to Jessica before sending it off. JJ let her know what happened after she called EMS, and she’s been standing by ever since. 

As a pair, you decided to keep things from Jack until you were certain of an outcome. No need to make him worry longer than necessary. 

4:27pm Aaron’s out of surgery. Not sure how long they’re keeping him. I’ll let you know when it’s a good time to bring Jack over. 

She replies right away. 

4:27pm. It never ends, does it? 4:28pm I’ll have my phone on me. Thank you. 4:28pm Love you. 

With a little tug at your lips, you reply. 

4:28pm Love you too. Kiss our boy for me. 

A little whoosh sounds as she replies. 

4:28pm Of course xx

You’re finally able to breathe when you see Aaron. Though he looks shockingly small in that big bed, hooked up to intimidating machinery, he is alive. 

Bar’s on the floor, today. 

He’s still out, like the doctor said, and probably would be for another few hours. You cross to his side - the one without the IV - and sit beside him. When you get there, you take his hand and press his palm to your forehead, leaning into him. Even among the sharp, antiseptic smell of the hospital, he smells like himself. 

His touch, as it always does, heals you from the inside out. You can feel your blood pressure drop, your heart rate slow. The warmth of his hand sinks into your head, your chest, letting you take deeper breaths that are far more satisfying. 

After you're sure he’s well and truly alive, you wrap his hand in both of your own and scoot your chair so you can drop your head against his pillow. Uncomfortable in the extreme, you close your eyes, happy for the weight of his hand in yours. 

+++

When Aaron wakes, he’s confronted with a few things that confuse him (the ache in his ribs and the pounding in his head, to name two) and a few that don’t (the smell of your skin, the familiar feeling of your fingers laced through his). He decides to address the less confusing elements first. 

He turns his head, a shockingly difficult maneuver, and finds you out like a light - your head on his pillow, your arm tucked under your face. Even in sleep, your brow pinches and your mouth draws a tense line. 

There’s an attempt to move his hand so he can touch your face, but you wake and startle before he even makes it a quarter inch. 

Your eyes meet his and you heave a sigh of relief. “Aaron.”

His lips pull at the corners. “Hi.” There’s a scrape in his voice, raw from disuse. 

You haul yourself up, bringing one of your hands to his face, mindful of his nasal cannula. “You scared the fuck out of me, you know that?”

“I’m sorry.” His sincerity breaks your heart, and he tries to sit up, but you shake your head, reaching for the remote. 

You prop him up a little and he reaches for you again. You meet him halfway, pressing your lips to his. 

He whispers against your lips. “I’m so sorry.” He leans back, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “Did they tell you what happened?”

You nod, your eyes still roaming over his face. “Well first of all, they lost you twice on the table, but before that, the scar tissue from your stab wounds tore and caused significant internal bleeding. They’re sure it was a slow bleed - over the course of hours, maybe days.” 

You swallow, and a fresh set of tears fall down your cheeks. It’s frustrating. 

“If you didn’t go down when you did, when you were awake, it’s possible you could have bled out in your sleep without even realizing it.”

You’re proud of yourself for getting through your thought, even if you were shaking toward the end. It’s close to unbearable to consider the possibility of waking beside him, finding him cold and unmoving beside you. The horror of it pushes at your eyes and a sob rips through your chest. 

For some reason, you apologize. 

He shakes his head, his brow crumpling. “Come here, honey. Come here.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. I -“

He shushes you and moves over, leaving space for you to shuffle onto the bed beside him. “You’re not gonna hurt me. Come here. I’m alright.” You tuck your face into his neck as his other arm wraps around you the best while attached to his IV. “You aren’t getting rid of me that easily.”

You kiss the skin you can reach, placing a hand over his heart. “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. So much.” 

One of his hands traces up and down your back, dancing in patterns you don’t have the brain space to follow, while the other covers yours on his chest. Soon enough, you’re asleep again. 

+++

When Dave comes back to check on you both, he finds you curled together - as much as you can be - in the hospital bed. Aaron’s cheek is smooshed against your head, his cannula knocked out of place, your leg hooked over one of his on top of the covers. Your hands are still clasped together over his chest, his IV easily accessible to the nurses that flutter in and out as the day passes. 

The tear tracks are still visible on your face, the exhaustion still pulling at your eyes. 

In all his years of knowing you, Dave had never seen you as distraught as you were when Aaron went down in the conference room. Up to that point, he thought you both somewhat invincible, even at your weakest. 

Though you both had your fair share of hospital stays over the years, none of them ever broke through that ceaseless calm that arced between you and Aaron. When you’re in the room together, there’s a pervasive comfort, almost moving as two halves of the same person at any given time, hardly capable of the wild panic he saw in your eyes this morning. 

Satisfied you’re both alright, he takes his leave. There is a case to solve, of course. 

+++

Jessica brings Jack over the next morning, and he’s quick to gingerly crawl into his father's lap, wrapping his arms around his neck. 

Jack says something you can’t hear, but Aaron’s response carries across the room in his low, murmuring baritone. 

“I’m okay, buddy. We’re alright. I’ll be home soon, and off work for a little while, so we’ll get to spend some time together.”

You meet Aaron’s eyes over Jack’s head before his flicker to Jess’s. He nods once, and holds Jack tight to him. 

When they part, Jack trots back to you and you rake your fingers through his hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. 

He looks up at you, and something passes between you. 

I’ll take care of him. He’ll come home safe to you, bud. 

Jack sighs and tucks into you, wrapping his arms around you. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, baby.” 

+++

“I saw Haley.” 

You look up at him, your chin propped on his shoulder. “What?”

“I saw Haley. We -” he laughs a little, with only the barest hint of a wince. “We were dressed like old Hollywood movie stars and we were in this...theatre.” He shakes his head a little and you know he thinks it’s absurd. 

“Don’t do that. Tell me. What did you see?”

He throws you a grateful look and continues. “She found me in the lobby and we went inside. Foyet was there too, but she wasn’t scared. They were almost friendly. It was...strange.” He squints, remembering. You gingerly place your hand on his chest, feeling the heat from his healing wounds. He places his hand over yours again, his thumb tracking back over the back of your knuckles. “There was this massive screen and she had popcorn...and then a bunch of little scenes from our,” his arm flexes around you, “life since she died started rolling. We talked - about Jack, about you, the way you are with him.”

He’s holding something back. “What did she say?”

“She said,” he swallows thickly, “that you’re good with him. She looked really happy watching you two together.”

You smile, but there’s an edge to it, something long-suffering and raw. “I’ll never be her, though.” You know he misses her and you know it’ll never be the same. But even then, you know you aren’t a replacement, either.  

Aaron closes his eyes and presses a desperate kiss to the top of your head. “You’re just what we need, sweetheart. You’re everything.”

You look at him and he looks at you. There’s something at work behind his eyes. You blink once, slowly. “What are you thinking about, over there?”

The thing playing in his eyes sneaks down to his mouth, dancing at the corners. “Marry me.”

A hysterical laugh leaves you, but there’s no anxiety in it, just disbelief. “What?”

“Marry me.”

He’s dead serious. Weirdly, that observation doesn’t send your heart racing like you thought it would. Nevertheless, you find yourself without speech. You open and close your mouth a couple times, struggling. 

Of course you’d talked about this before. You already lived together, already co-parented Jack with teamwork and consistency - almost every step accomplished completely out of the traditional order of things. There were moments where you brought him a beer or cashed in some favor or another in the bedroom and Aaron would say, “I could marry you, just for that,” but there was always a playfulness to it. You always told him you’d meet him in Vegas by way of response, only half-kidding. 

Marriage was always on the table, always the implication, but you always figured you’d get around to it later. It never seemed to be the right time and you’re happy right where you are, so it never mattered much. 

But here you are, suddenly sitting at the proverbial table, staring engagement in the face. 

Aaron Hotchner just asked me to marry him. 

Well, actually he told you to marry him.

True. I mean it’s not like he has to ask. He already knows the answer. 

So answer him, stupid!

He waits for you with an endless patience. There’s not a hint of concern or anxiety in his gaze - just a soft adoration you’ve seen thousands of times before. He knows what your answer will be. He always has. 

“Okay.”

Aaron snorts. “Okay?”

Your face breaks out into a grin. “Okay, Hotchner. I’ll marry you.” You shrug while he gingerly lets out another laugh. “I’m more than happy to be more than your quasi-spouse and Jack’s quasi-parent.” It’s obviously a joke and he mirrors your grin. “So...okay. Final answer.”

He shakes his head and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“Go into the back pocket of my go-bag and bring me what you find in there.”

You frown at him, but follow instructions, clambering off the bed. 

There’s a little, flatish box with the smallest of code-locks securing the lid in the pocket. It’s made of something reinforced, and it’s heavier than you anticipated. 

Returning to the bed, you sit on the edge, handing him the box. He adjusted while you were shuffling about, now sitting up almost all the way in the cocoon of pillows you built for him. 

With a sly smile, he rolls the code into the lock, and the box springs open. He turns it around toward you, and you’re confronted by a simple, gorgeous ring. 

You blink rapidly, your eyes shifting from the ring to Aaron, and back to the ring. 

“I bought this after I installed Derek as unit chief, four years ago. You rightfully tore into me after I pulled that stunt with that unsub, and I…” he trails off, thinking. 

You can tell he’s choosing his words carefully, picking around years and years of feelings. 

“I don’t know. I knew something I didn’t know, if that makes any sense at all. I knew it was yours, too, when I got it, but I didn’t acknowledge it even after I tucked it in my old go-bag for safe keeping and kept it there, ever since. The only time I didn’t have it with me was in Pakistan. I left it in a locked box in the office at home.” 

He laughs at himself, looking down at the cable-knit blanket over his legs. 

“I’m an idiot, and of course you set me to rights after Pakistan, and Haley told me I was still an idiot not fifteen hours ago. She said you’re the best thing that’s happened to our family, she misses you, and I’ll only be four years late if I ask you to marry me now.” He looks back at you with a little smile. “I love you. It’s not enough, but I love you.”

There’s nothing to say, so you just let him take the ring from the box and slip it in your finger. The silver shines against your skin, the tiny diamonds casting rainbows against the wall in the morning sunlight. 

It’s gorgeous. 

When it’s in place, you scoot closer to him. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you, smiling against your mouth. 

“Your flair for the dramatic never ceases to amaze me,” you say against his lips. You lean back, carding your fingers through the hair at his temples. “You couldn’t have proposed to me in the absence of a near death experience, could you?”

He shakes his head. “Where’s the fun in that?”

+++

Wearing your ring around the house feels right. Jack was, of course, in on the whole operation and was absolutely stoked when he saw the ring on your finger as you helped his father through the door. 

You take a few days off together before the next case. Much to your surprise, Aaron lets you help him as he recovers, taking it easy until all of his wounds close back up and his whole regimen of pain meds are almost completed. 

He’s home for a few more days while you return to the field. The team asks after him when you return, and you keep them abreast of his recovery without mentioning your change in status. 

“They’re gonna figure it out eventually,” Aaron said, putting his toothbrush back into his toiletry bag. 

You roll your eyes, throwing your pajama shirt over your head. It’ll likely be removed once you actually get into bed, but it’s the thought that counts. “Yeah, but I’d rather handle that when we’re not actively solving a murder without you, don’t you think?”

His brow quirks and his head tips the slightest bit - a concession. “Fair point.”

When you lean over to grab your jeans off the floor, the ring and chain slip out of your collar and hang down, swinging a little. It falls back against the center of your chest as you straighten, bouncing against your shirt with the lightest of clinking sounds. You find Aaron’s eyes on it when you look over at him and offer him a small smile. “Hey.”

He startles and his eyes jump to yours. 

“I love you.” 

A wide smile and an eye roll return your sentiment.

Wearing your ring on a chain seems like the best way to keep it safe in the field. Aaron doesn’t mind, and you like to have it close to your heart anyways. The indent it leaves in your skin when you remove your vest brings a smile to your face. 

“What’s with you?” JJ asks. “You’re all smiley.” 

You shrug. “I just feel good. It’s nice to have Aaron home and safe, you know?”

She nods, squeezing your shoulder. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.” 

+++

When you get to the door with Aaron and Jack in tow, Penelope opens the door with a wide grin. “I didn’t think you were going to make it!” 

She wraps Aaron in a tight, but careful hug, presses a kiss to your cheek, and ruffles Jack’s hair. Her all-intents-and-purposes nephew jets past her, finding Henry and Spencer in the dining room playing cards together. 

“We were feeling up to it, and Jack’s friend offered to pick him up here for a last-minute sleepover, so we figured we’d come crash the party,” you tell her. 

She snags Aaron’s sleeve as she steps back into the house. “Oh, happy almost-birthday, sir.” You glance at Aaron with a suppressed smile, and he presses a finger to his lips. “I’ll keep it on the DL, don’t worry.” With another wide smile at the both of you, she ushers you into the house. “Alright everyone .” 

Emily rounds the corner to get Spencer, leaving the boys to play. You have your photo ready, as does Aaron (but he cheats - he always has his photo with him), when you all step up to the beautiful altar Penelope has set up in the middle of the living room. 

Penelope grabs a glass of wine with a fake eyeball in it for Aaron, and one with a fake ear floating in it for you. 

“Uh... I want to thank everybody for doing this with me,” Penelope smiles at you all, “and our altar's burning, and I just feel so blessed to have you all here. I will start. Uh…” She pulls a photo out of her dress. “This is my mom and dad. I miss them.” 

She places another photo, this time of a cat. “And this is my cat Simba with his usual bowl of soda pop. He's a weird cat.” Everyone laughs, and she passes it to JJ.

“Uh, ok. Well, uh, this is my sister Roslyn.” She sets a photo of her sister on the altar. The resemblance between them is uncanny. “Ros. She always dreamt that someday she'd live in Paris, so, um...it didn't happen, but I thought this would bring her some happiness.” Careful fingers drop an Eiffel Tower trinket beside the photo and it draws a little smile to your face. 

Dave steps up, pinning a photo of two smiling young men in Vietnam and two tickets on one of Penelope’s tiny easels. You recognize one of the men as a very young Dave. 

A much older Dave tells you the other man is, “Private First Class Darryl Jenson. We lost him during the Tet offensive.” 

Derek looks around, trying to get a better view. “What are the tickets?” 

“Opening day next season, Wrigley, right behind the home dugout. Jenson was a die hard Cubs fan.” 

“Sweet.” Derek claps Dave on the shoulder and you all direct your attention to Alex. 

“Um... My mom.” Alex places a photo of a smiling older woman next to Roslyn, propped up with a fountain pen. “She was the one who got me into crossword puzzles-- no erasing allowed-- which got me into linguistics.” She looks over at Spencer, who pulls two photos out of his pocket. 

“You said we could bring more than one, right?” 

Garcia nods vigorously. “Oh, yes. This is a come one, come all altar.” 

Aaron pulls you close, and you loop your pinkie through the belt loop at his hip. 

Spencer places a picture of Maeve near a red rose, and your heart breaks for him. He doesn’t say anything until he’s got the second of his photos ready in his hands. “Nikola Tesla. I figured he's probably been inventing things on the other side, so hopefully he'll bring something to us.” You smile as Spencer meets your eyes. 

I love you. 

He smiles a little back. Love you. 

Derek’s next. “I guess that's me. Ok. I brought... My pops.” He props a photo of his dad against a candle, keeping him secured with a cigar. “He was a cigar aficionado, big time.” He laughs a little, as do the rest of you. “And, actually, Rossi, he was also a huge Cubbies fan, so I was thinking maybe he and Private Jenson over there, maybe they could go to the game together.” 

Rossi smiles, and tips his glass to Mr. Morgan. “They can sort that out when they get here.” 

They look at you, and you slip the photo out of your back pocket with your right hand, keeping the other tucked against Aaron. “This is Jenny. Some of you know her as the late Director of NCIS, but she was a mentor of mine for the entire time I knew her. She was killed in the line of duty back in ‘08, protecting a friend.” You laugh a little. “Once, over lunch, she told me to chase what I wanted, to push hard, and advocate for myself.” You throw a glance at Hotch and he catches it with warm eyes. “The next day, I asked the SSA in charge of my NAT class to consider me for a unit placement to complete my case hours.” 

A little smile pulls at your lips. “I wouldn’t be at the BAU, I wouldn't have my life,” My Aaron, you add to yourself, “if it wasn’t for her.” You place her photo next to a candle on the other side of Roslyn. Jenny’s red hair and bright smile match the flame. 

Wordlessly, Aaron pulls the photo of Haley out of his wallet and places her beside Jenny while the team looks on with quiet eyes. He carefully places an opalescent barrette beside her. You recognize it from her box of jewelry - the same one that holds her engagement and wedding rings - that lives in his bedside drawer. 

He tucks you under his arm and kisses your temple. You rest your head against him, wrapping an arm around his waist under his sport coat, winding your fingers in his shirt. You’re wearing your ring, but nobody’s noticed it yet. 

Dave takes the proverbial stage again as he raises his glass. “Well, I guess this is proof positive that ancestry ain't all bad.” 

Garcia follows suit, raising her glass as you all share fond looks. “How about a toast to the... 30 or 40 of us?”

You all cheers, and drink to those in the room and out of it. Haley and Jenny smile back at you. You look at them both, for a moment, before meeting Aaron’s pensive gaze. The same thought floats through your head. 

These are the women that lead you to each other. These women built your future, your present. One to guide you to Aaron and the other to guide Aaron to you. 

It’s only when you absent-mindedly reach over JJ for a snack, after Aaron abandons you for Dave, that the levee breaks. 

“Oh my god.” 

Finally caught out. 

Instead of looking at you, her head whips up toward Aaron, who’s watching her with a smug smile on his face. Her mouth drops open and she grabs your hand, looking at the ring in the low light. It’s all happened within a split second, but Penelope is the next to catch on. 

“‘Oh my God’ what? What’s going on? What did I miss?” She turns, trotting over in her heels to see what JJ’s going on about. 

Her squeal almost deafens you, and you crane your neck to look over at Aaron, who’s taken refuge by the fireplace. 

With a squint, Asshole. 

What? His brows say. I’m just standing here. I didn’t do anything. He takes a sip of his wine and you roll your eyes. 

Help me!

You can see him snort. Not a chance. 

“I can’t believe you got engaged and nobody told me!” Penelope’s indignant shout carries across the room, and Derek’s the next to whip his head toward you. 

“What?” 

She turns toward him, her hands on her hips. “Hotch proposed and nobody said anything.” 

You bite back a smile as the rest of the team advances on you. Your hand seems to fall into everyone’s palm once or twice as they look at the ring. They all coo over it in one way or another before the information actually sinks in. 

“Wait, hold on.” As usual, JJ is the first to bring everyone back down to the ground. “When did this happen?” 

Two hands land on your waist, and you tilt your head, giving Aaron space as he slides his arms around you. “There’s nothing like a near-death experience to straighten your priorities, don’t you think?” 

Alex laughs. “Don’t tell me you proposed in the hospital.” 

You give her a yikes expression, and she huffs.

“C’mon Hotch. Really?”

He chuffs good-naturedly. “Like I said, I experienced a certain...clarity regarding the direction of our lives.” He squeezes you, and you laugh. “Don’t just jump on me for this, though. This one,” you know he’s gesturing to you with his chin, “just said ‘okay’ when I asked.” 

You twist around to glare at him. Traitor bastard. 

He looks way too smug. 

“No you didn’t,” JJ insists. “No you didn’t!” 

“Oh come on, Jayje. You left Will hanging for three years. You don’t have a single leg to stand on.” 

She rolls her eyes, but you know you’ve got her when Will steps up beside her and kisses her cheek. “Got you there, darlin’”

Rossi, of course, takes your face in his hands and plants two kisses on your cheeks and then does the same to Aaron while Derek pulls you to his chest. 

“I’m so happy for you,” he says. He looks over your shoulder at Aaron, still holding onto you. “Hotch, if you fuck this up, I’ll make your death look like an accident and cry at your funeral.” 

Aaron laughs, and you duck out from under Derek’s arm while they embrace with some manly back smacks. 

Alex gives you a hug, followed by Spencer, who offers you a quiet congratulations. Jack and Henry wander out after a few minutes, drawn by the commotion. Henry goes straight to his mom, while Jack runs to you. 

“Did you tell them?” He asks. 

You nod, running your fingers through his hair. Both Hotchner boys have the best hair - thick and soft - and it's nearly impossible to keep your hands out of it whenever one of them makes themselves available for head scratches. It also helps that they’ll do anything for head scratches. 

Win-win, by your standards. 

Dave taps a fork against his glass, getting the attention of everyone in the room. “We have much to celebrate tonight. Not only do we celebrate the lives of people no longer with us, we celebrate the love between two people who are.” He raises his glass. “To our past, to our present, to our future.” 

The rest of you toast, clinking your glasses together. A sense of something you can only describe as normal winds around you all as you drink and chat and laugh in Penelope’s living room. 

Aaron steps up beside you and kisses your temple. “Having a good time?”

“Mhmm.” You lean into him as he wraps his arms around you, pressing his chest to your back. “Really good time.” 

There’s music playing - one of Dave’s playlists - and you sway back and forth, only loosely connected to the beat. You tip your head back, letting your weight rest in his arms for just a moment before remembering he’s still healing, pulling away from him all at on

You can feel him pull you back toward him. “I’m fine, honey. Relax.” After a moment, you do, melting back into him. You almost feel silly for pulling away from him. If you’ve learned anything in the years you’ve known Aaron, he’s anything but fragile. 

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @ange-must-die @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @gublergirls @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @micaiahmoonheart @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @joemazzello-imagines @pinkdiamond1016 @pan-pride-12 @hotchlinebling @lee-rin-ah @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @nohalohoseok @giveusbackourbucky @writerxinthedark @bauslut @yourlovelynewsbian @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @a-dorky-book-keeper @hotchnersgoddess @buckybau @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @dontkissthewriter @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @ahopelessromantic @violentvulgarvolatile @andreasworlsboring101 @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @garcia-reid-lovechild  @cevanswhre @colbyskoalas  @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @infinity1321 @zizzlekwum @katiejuliana @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl

[prodtrouver]

I posted 833 times in 2021

739 posts created (89%)

94 posts reblogged (11%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 0.1 posts.

I added 2,299 tags in 2021

#[🦋] ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ admin ac - 325 posts

#[👑] — admin answers - 263 posts

#[📂] — asks - 260 posts

#txt imagines - 248 posts

#txt aus - 247 posts

#txt scenarios - 244 posts

#txt ff - 244 posts

#txt fluff - 235 posts

#soobin ff - 117 posts

#taehyun ff - 116 posts

Longest Tag: 85 characters

#he's like the very first bou ive ever had a crush on ever since entering the industry

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ how can I focus when you're like this?

SMUT

See the full post

307 notes • Posted 2021-11-06 10:59:18 GMT

#4

[9:18 pm] You softly let out a grunt as drunk Jisung placed you in his lap just to kiss you. His touch was gentle but he was being too clingy on you.

His lips tasted like alcohol as this was his first time drinking ever since he became an adult. His right hand gripped on your waist while his other was on your shoulder.

His already swollen lips on your swollen ones. Both melting into the kiss as the night progressed. Jisung bit your lips, only to receive a soft sound from you.

"My baby is so cute," he whispered before he planted a kiss on your collarbone. Both of your cheeks were red and you were sweating due to the sudden hotness of the room.

That's when you realized that drunk Jisung is your enemy but also a side you want to see again.

Suddenly, you flinched when someone hit Jisung's head. You pulled back and a pout appeared on his red swollen lips.

"YOU ARE A CHILD!" Jaemin and Renjun shouted.

A/n: no, this was not intended to sexualize Jisung. This is simply just making out and I don't want to sexualize the kid

332 notes • Posted 2021-01-20 10:40:21 GMT

#3

Be The LO♡︎ER To This LO$ER - Choi Beomgyu

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞ ☺︎︎☹︎You were the right person, at the right time... but at the wrong universe.

᯾ sypnosis: beomgyu is an online streamer who streams to escape from his painful life — that was until he was humiliated that brought more chaos into his life. with nothing else to do, he destroys the things he considered his life until he finds a mysterious phone number under a vinyl. with not knowing whose number it is, he would be messaging someone from a parallel universe.

᯾ pairing: choi beomgyu x reader

᯾ genre(s): social media au, parallel universe au, fluff, humor, angst, university/college au

᯾ warning(s): swearing/cursing, abuse, running away from home, injuries;cuts/scars are mentioned, more will be added...

᯾ other(s): memes are used, visible confusion, two members of txt members (except beomgyu)...

᯾ status: finished.

᯾ schedule: undecided :(

᯾ taglist: (send me an ask!)

See the full post

454 notes • Posted 2021-08-19 12:06:11 GMT

#2

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞ ✵ vinyl and coffee — kang taehyun

᯾ sypnosis: yn becomes a song writer and decides to write songs for their school's band; tomorrow x together. they have a special spot in hello future cafe to which yn considered it as their safe place — that is until the band starts hanging out there after their practices — that includes the boy they have a crush on and who made them a song writer.

᯾ pairing: kang taehyun x reader

᯾ genre(s): social media au, university/college au, fluff, humor, angst

᯾ warning(s): swearing/cursing, more will be added

᯾ other(s): mentions of nct dream, a lot of memes, timestamps are not related at all, more will be added...

᯾ status: on-going

᯾ schedule: undecided :(

᯾ taglist: (send me an ask!)

See the full post

523 notes • Posted 2021-07-16 16:07:34 GMT

#1

summary — it's normal to have servants serve you, especially if you are royalty. however, you didn't expect two butlers to be given to you, intead of maids. you learned how to trust them and deepen your connection with him... but it's gotten way too deep.

pairing — butler! jaemin x princess! reader x butler! jeno

genre — slight angst, fluff, personal butlers au, princess x butler au, strangers to friends, slight frineds with benefits, modern royalty, kind of slow-burn

others — mentions sex and threesome (no smut), stripping, a curse word, teasing, paparazzi, bold yet oblivious princess, suggestive moments; helping the other take a bath, make out, seeing the other naked etc..., love bites (hickeys)

word count — 13.6k

moodboard — butler! jaemin ,, butler! jeno

a/n — okay, so this is my longest ff and my first very suggestive one. I hope you guys like it ><

See the full post

554 notes • Posted 2021-07-02 15:40:11 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[coleyholts]

The ER and the Operation

First off-Sorry I haven’t posted in a while.  For obvious reasons, this post took a lot of time to put into words that were relatable.  

Trigger Warning: Infant Injury.  This is by far the worst part of the entire ordeal.  I want the reader to know that none of this is exaggerated whatsoever, and it may be difficult to read.  What happened in the ER and trauma center that day has truly changed me.

The glass doors parted in front of me to reveal a line of people waiting to get checked in. This was the first time I cried. They all quickly waved me up ahead of them once they saw that I had an obviously unconscious, super pale, vomit covered infant in my arms.

The helplessness set in when I was required to sign in like everyone else.  It’s not like I expect special treatment, but my baby was dying and no one seemed to understand the urgency of the EMERGENCY.  There were no nurses coming out to receive a trauma patient. There was no alarm.  I stood there, alone, with my rapidly worsening baby, sobbing and screaming for help while dripping in her breakfast and lunch.  At this point, she would wake up and pass out again in a vicious cycle.  Over and over, I watched her light dim for what felt like an eternity. After what I would rationally estimate to be about seven minutes (48,369,526 years to a scared parent), they finally called us back.

Everyone was taking their time.  I wondered if they thought I was being dramatic.  Were they rolling their eyes and blaming my emotion on “New Parent Syndrome?”  They were.  I felt it.

It wasn’t until they FINALLY decided to run vitals that they discovered what I was trying to stress since I had entered the hospital.  My daughter had something way more serious going on than any of us expected.  We walked (very briskly) down the hall to get a better look at what was actually happening in her head.  The tech and nurse cloaked me in protective gear so that I could stay with her.  I gently stroked her toes (also known as de peets) as she woke up, cried in pain, and fell back into her trauma-induced sleep while they got all of the imagery they needed.

We were brought back to our room and had a brief moment alone.  I held her so tight while I kissed her face and alternated holding her feet and hands.  They were so cold.  A nurse rushed up to our door, looked at me and said, “make sure to keep her as upright as possible.”  

That’s when I knew there was a bleed in my baby’s head.

A team of nurses came in and told me that they were going to start an IV, which actually made me feel relieved to know she would be feeling better soon. This is when Daniel arrived, and being that he is the epitome of girl dad attitude, he understandably doesn’t like to watch her get stuck.  He stuck his head in the room and immediately backed out when they tried to start the line. Unfortunately, we found out very quickly that she had no blood in her limbs whatsoever.  

They stuck her over and over again just to find air bubbles, which means they were unable to administer any intravenous medication to replace fluids, relieve pain, stop her from fading in and out of consciousness, or do anything to prevent the blood pooling in Natasha’s skull.  They decided that her condition was serious enough that she needed a line no matter what it took, which I agreed, which meant that they were going to use a legitimate power tool to drill into her shins to run a line into her bones.  I consented and sobbed, knowing the pain my baby had already endured that day was going to be the start of much more, if she survived.

While this was going down, Daniel was right outside the door, unaware of the issues we were running into, he heard a nurse at the nurses’ station ordering a helicopter for an infant, and that the “family wasn’t aware yet.”  My husband is a strong, supportive man that is a fixer.  If he cannot fix a problem, he expresses himself with (verbal) anger.  He comes into the room and says very abruptly to the nurse, “You’re flying her out?! Why?!” to which the male nurse responded, “because there's something seriously wrong and it needs to be fixed.”  I saw him escalating with anxiety so I assured him that they were just having a little trouble getting the line in and he returned to the hallway to start the wait for the doctor who was going to tell us what the hell was actually happening to our baby.

When she arrived, the doctor came in with Daniel.  She told us that Natasha had fractured her skull, and along with potential brain damage and hemorrhage, we were also concerned about blood loss, as her supply was pooling in her head.  The only way to save her life was to get her to INOVA Children’s Hospital for an emergency surgery, on a helicopter that I was not allowed to accompany her on.

Alone with my baby and the nurses, I was so upset.  My sweet girl was in so much pain. I made eye contact with a nurse and while sobbing, begged her to please administer anything whatsoever to ease the headache and all of the needle sticks-not to mention the drill.  For the first time, someone heard me.  She RAN into the hall and managed to bring back Versed, which can be administered nasally to relax muscles and calm the patient.  I am given the same drug when I get my back injections, so I was relieved.  It also prevents the patient from remembering everything, when administered in proper dosage.  It helped Natasha’s discomfort immediately.  They gave her the numbing shots in her legs, and while she was dozing and truly unaware of my presence, I stepped into the hallway.

This was the first time since the CT scan that she wasn’t in my arms. This time was different.  We knew the severity of the injury and she was being cared for by the entire trauma team of 7+ people.  I took one step out of the room, one step to the left, and planted my butt on the wall and hands on my knees for stability while I hung my head in complete disbelief.  How could this happen?  I opened my eyes and saw my clothing, dripping in her vomit.  I can still smell the banana berry baby food she ate without hesitation two hours earlier.  I screamed and sobbed as my muscles locked up in my legs and chest, then I felt someone put their hands on me.

I was literally picked up and supported while I shakily stood, completely losing my mind over the guilt and hatred I felt for myself.  The drilling began and I let out a sound I didn’t know I could make, while I was held tighter than I’d ever been.  I pulled back, just for a second, to look into the eyes of my soulmate and all I could say was, “I’m so sorry.”  Daniel pulled me back in, kissed my face, wiped my tears (which really didn’t do anything considering they just kept coming, but the gesture was so kind), and proceeded to tell me that it wasn’t my fault, and that he loves me and he loves that I am his daughter’s mother.  In that moment, his anger subsided and he moved to a different headspace.  That small exchange is burned into my heart forever and I have never been so incredibly thankful to be his wife.

They helicopter team arrived and they were still unable to get a steady line going.  According to their transport regulations, a patient transported by air has to be hooked up to an IV as well as intubated.  Time was ticking and my baby was visibly fading.  While still in the hallway, we were met by some medical coordinator who was trying to arrange a ride for us while she was in the air.  I don’t know how he was able, but after insisting over and over, they let us go.  They finally put an IV in my baby’s forehead; there was no other way.  They were discreet and covered it but I know what an IV mark looks like after the fact.  They could not get her intubated and save her so that (very brave) helicopter team took a huge risk that ultimately got her to INOVA by deciding to take her anyway.  WE kissed her goodbye while sobbing and told her how much we loved her.  The thought of her dying in flight weighed on us heavily, so we took off as soon as they wheeled her out.

The ride there was crazy.  I had no thoughts and all the thoughts going through my head.  My heart was nauseous.  I set a quick group text to my immediate family.  We saw the helicopter fly over us and it was a sigh of relief-knowing we were FLYING down the highway but she would be there faster.

We pulled up to the ER/Trauma Center.  I got out and ran in.  All I could get out was “Natasha” until they asked my relation and I somehow got out, “my baby...”  They valeted the car so Daniel could be with us.  They were rushing to get her into surgery.  They brought us into the trauma room (families usually aren’t permitted there but there was no time) and pulled up some waiver and permission forms.  They briefly explained the surgery, we signed, then it was GO TIME.

We stepped out of the room as the table with my baby strapped to it-full of wires and tubes-flew out of the trauma room.  The anesthesiologist made brief eye contact with me, halted the team, and said, “Let her kiss her baby.”  He knew she could easily not make it through this surgery.  Daniel kissed her and loved her for a few seconds and backed away with teary eyes.  I laid my forehead against her cheek.  I sobbed and screamed.  I kissed her over and over as my tears soaked us.  I told her I was so so sorry and that I loved her so much.  I wished it was me.

They took her away then.  The team saw my raw sorrow.  I got a very quick but kind pat on the back and they took off.

We were met by a social worker who brought us to a private room where we could chat and have some water.  Of course, we were asked all the suspected child abuse questions, but they got the idea pretty quickly that this was a freak accident.

After the interview, we were brought to a huge waiting room that must have been filled with 100+ seats.  We found a spot and the social worker left us.  We sat for a moment, touching hands.  They we both had to cry, then stand, then pace... The wait took forever, even more so not knowing if she was even going to live.

My brother, Jason works out that way and asked us if we needed anything right at that moment.  I was wearing a paper shirt provided by a nurse, so we gave him a small list and he stopped by.  He and Daniel stepped out for some fresh air while I sat breathing deeply and trying not to worry myself into another panic episode.  Then, an actual angel emerged from the hospital doors.

Dr. Leon Moores, a pediatric neurosurgeon at Pediatric Specialists of Virginia performed the emergency surgery.  I called for Daniel as Dr. Moores hugged me so tightly.  I didn’t know if this was a good or bad hug yet.

Daniel and Jason walked (ran) back in and sat with us to hear the outcome.  He told us that he was able to remove a blood clot the size of his fist from Natsha’s skull and that her vitals were wonderful.  So she had 100% survived the surgery.  Next was about brain damage, and by some miracle, her brain remained unharmed.  Dr. Moores saved my baby.

While they were getting her settled into the PICU, Jason took us to Target to get some clothes and snacks.  We had no idea how long this journey was going to be.  We got back to the hospital, gave gigantic hugs, and went up to see our baby as she woke up.

[happenedinkingsman]

𝐓𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞

Pairing: Merlin x reader

Summary: Y/N contemplates her entire career at Kingsman on the floor of Stateman’s surgery room, after a particularly difficult surgery she performed on a certain agent

Warning: Description of surgery, swearing if you squint your eyes

Words: 1.5 k

Y/N kept laying on the Statesman’s surgery room’s floor, even after three different agents had come by to see if she had aid to get to her room, or desired a change of clothes. Polite as ever, she declined every time, shaking her head a little, making everyone else grow irritated while she just rested there, smiling slightly. 

It had been a long and god-awful surgery. And Y/N had had their share on long and awful surgeries, this one was easily the worst. Not only because her feet were basically screaming form pain and her neck was cramping after the 16 hours of complications and near-death experiences, but mostly because who she was trying to save.

Really, it was only a matter of time, before he’d go and pull something so heroic and stupid like he now did. She had always told Merlin how one day he’d be hanging from a thread on the surgery bed.

“Lucky me then, I have the best surgeon in the world to save me,” He’d answer cheekily, earning a slap to his chest from Y/N.

Now, he was wheeled into another part of the med wing, mostly in one piece minus one limb.

Y/N hadn’t realized it before, always too busy with her work in the med bay to see what was right in front of her the whole time. She always considered herself to be married to her job, as did all the other agents as well. Drilled into their minds that working for Kingsman was certainly not a position to mix business and pleasure, made Y/N forget any kind of possibility to find love.

She was stupid not seeing it before when it was so obvious. Immediately after she switched from her position from the central hospital to Kingsman (being noticed by Arthur after she saved a child’s life with a juice box straw and a bottle of whiskey) she and Merlin had clicked, bonding over the work off-field. Whenever they’d wheel in an injured agent, he’d wish her good luck although everyone in the whole department knew she could handle almost any injury.

After a while, he’d begin to bring her coffee in the morning, in exchange Y/N would leave him tea on his desk, as she always came to work before him. Sometimes she’d leave a note, with a stupidly hilarious comment of the work she’d have that day, never failing at making Merlin chuckle.

Indeed, Y/N had been a complete idiot, not seeing how much she loved the adorable man in the chair. That was most likely the reason she was so dead set on getting Merlin out of that surgery room alive. He had in a way saved her life when the attacks had hit their homes. Defying orders, Merlin hadn’t put Y/N’s address into the database, for reasons the woman did not know. Not yet at least.

But it had saved her life, and now she had hopefully saved his.

“Gaius”, Agent Tequila greeted Y/N as she finally managed to peel herself off of the surgery room’s floor. She smiled at him tiredly, noticing how Eggsy and Harry were also in the room waiting for her. Knowing she must have been in the surgery room for at least an hour plus the seventeen hours before, it made her beyond happy to think the two had waited for her, patiently in the lobby.

Harry got up from his seat, hugging Y/N shamelessly. She hugged him back, burying her face into her chest, still not completely used to him being back.

“You did marvelous job darling,” He praised, speaking softly. Y/N just smiled. “So far at least, he’s alright.”

“I’m glad,” Understatement. She was more than that, there wasn’t most likely enough words to describe how glad Y/N was right now.

Eggsy smiled his goofy lop sided smile, pulling Y/N into a hug as well. He made a pretend scowl when she hugged him back.

“Yeah, you really were there for 17 hours,” Eggsy joked. “You need a shower.”

Y/N chuckled and hit his bicep after pulling away from the hug.

“Your girlfriend alright?” She asked, a hint of worry in her voice. Eggsy nodded, smiling contently and dug his hands into the front pockets of his trousers.

“Damsel de-stressed do to speak,” He said humorously, although everyone could see the rock being rolled off of his chest. Y/N had been so busy with getting Merlin out of Poppy’s secret lair without him completely bleeding out on her hands she hadn’t had time to comfort Eggsy. Or anyone for that matter.

“Right”, Y/N stepped back a little, playing with her hands. “I think Eggsy’s right, I do need a shower.”

“I’ll come by to check on him, after?”

“Don’t rush”, Harry warned her, knowing how little rest Y/N had gotten during the past 72 hours. Y/N smiled and nodded, walking back to the other direction and towards the room she was given.

Y/N looked after Merlin, not trusting anyone else at Statesman to do the job. She knew the doctors were talented, surely. They were working for an agent corporation, but still, she couldn’t quite place the life of the most important person she knew into someone else’s hands. Not after she had had to cauterize his wound so he wouldn't bleed out and then cut him open once again to remove any infected flesh.

No, she couldn't let go of him, quite yet.

Merlin had been sedated for the past week. Y/N wanted to give his body some time to begin the healing process, also it would lessen the pain he was most likely going to have to endure for the next month or so.

For the first time since she joined the Kingsman, Y/N shamelessly walked around the Statesman HQ just in sweats and a thick sweater. After everything that had happened, the woman quite literally said fuck it when she had changed out of her surgeon gown. She had been almost been nuked by a terrorist, as of now, out of all the things she was worried about, what Y/N decided to wear was most likely the least important one.

Y/N walked down the same, familiar hallway towards the infirmary, holding a cup of coffee in her hand. In her left hand, she messaged Galahad, telling him she was once again checking up on Merlin.

It was a bummer that neither Y/N nor Merlin could go to Eggsy’s and Tilde’s wedding, but it was better for her to lay low for a bit and Merlin to just get better. Eggsy, of course, understood this, but still threatened to come over and throw another reception party at Statesman, if Y/N couldn’t bring her ass to England to see them soon. His words, not Y/N’s.

“Hey”, Y/N briefly greeted another doctor, who was checking up on a field agent. From what she could see through the small crack of the curtain, he seemed to have quite a few bruises and most likely a broken nose. Nothing too bad.

Y/N turned to Merlin, after making sure the curtain was fully pulled in front of the bed for maximum privacy. The heart monitor gave out reassuring and steady beeps, while Y/N checked for Merlin’s IV and other vitals. They had decided to stat gradually lowering the propofol, so Merlin could begin to wake up on his own. A couple of times, Y/n had caught him mumbling something incoherent in his sleep, signalizing that he had begun to dream. It was a good sign, as then she knew he had begun to wake up slowly.

“Hey you,” She eventually sat down beside the bed. Merlin looked a lot better than she had a week ago, that’s for sure. His face was much more colored, not hollow and grey anymore. His fingers didn’t feel as cold either.

“What are you dreaming about?” Y/N spoke again, as Merlin mumbled something so lowly sh couldn't understand. She smiled and placed her hand on his forehead to make sure he had no fever. He didn’t.

Y/N left her hand there, gently stroking his head with her hand.

“You’re going to be alrigh-”

“Y/N?” She sat up straighter when she recognized her own name form the middle of the mambo Jambo Merlin was murmuring about. Y/N gently grabbed his hand, squeezing it slightly.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

Y/N could almost see a hint of a smile, trying to tug the corner of his lips. She leaned a bit closer, trying to figure out what he was saying.

“What is it?” She asked softly, squeezing his hand again, selfishly trying to keep him awake. Instead of speaking again, Merlin grasped her hand, ever so slightly squeezing it. Y/N chucked, squeezing back with glossy eyes.

“I’m going to take care of you”, she said, softly stroking his cheek with her free hand. “I promise.”

---

[mandadoration]

you’re a fine girl - iii

summary: Agent Whiskey would really like you to say his real name for once, and you refuse, playing this little game of his until he finally makes you say it. The circumstances for it aren’t exactly ideal, though. 

word count: 1, 909

pairing: agent whiskey (Jack Daniels) x reader

warnings: canon-typical violence (and then some), swearing

chapters: i | ii | iii

Read this on AO3

As much as you want to, you can’t find the power to visit Whiskey while he’s recovering. He’s fine, obviously, with the medical advancements and Soda’s expert skill, he’ll be up in no time. But every time you stand in the elevator, hand hovering over the button for level sub-4, you feel sick.  You retreat back to your office and ignore the video calls from Ginger and Soda. You’ve even gone as far as to shove Whiskey’s black Stetson in a cabinet under your desk, and you consider doing the same to the necklace he had given you, but instead opt to just wear it and tuck it into your shirt out of sight. It weighs heavy against your neck, but it makes you feel the slightest bit better. Maybe you can just ignore everything until you finally grow a pair and do something about the worry that’s been nagging at you. 

You, however, cannot ignore Ginger and Soda when they walk into your office unannounced. 

“Can I help you?” you ask tiredly, taking off your Statesman issued glasses to rub your eyes. 

“What's wrong with you?” Soda asks bluntly, and Ginger smacks him. “What? I’m being honest. You’re holeing yourself up in your office more than usual.” Ginger rolls her eyes. 

“What he meant to say,” she stresses, “is that you’ve been… down ever since Whiskey came back Saturday.” You sigh and put your glasses back on. “We’re worried. This isn’t like you.”

“I’ve been working,” you say. A total, complete lie, and they know it too. “There’s a lot of paperwork that comes with severe injuries sustained in the field.” Not a lie. “Besides, why would… There’s no reason for me to go to the medical wing.” The biggest lie. 

“Brandy--”

“Whiskey’s been asking for you,” Soda blurts out, and Ginger smacks him again. “Ow! Quit that!” You tense and crumple a paper in your hand as anxiety swells in your chest. Well, there goes the contingency plan mock-up you had made for Ale’s mission. 

“Why?” you ask before you can stop yourself. Ginger stops her harassing to stare at you incredulously. 

“Seriously?” she sighs. “You don’t know?” You throw your hands up in the air. 

“Once again!” you say, almost hysterically. “What am I supposed to know? Everyone keeps asking me that, I really don’t know what the fuck--”

“For an intelligence supervisor, you’re really fucking stupid,” Soda says, and Ginger doesn’t hit him this time, instead nodding in agreement. You’re taken aback. 

“Excuse me?”

But Ginger and Soda are soon manhandling you out of your office and shoving you into the elevator, paying no attention to your complaints as they head to sub-4 and practically drag you to Whiskey’s recovery room, ignoring the curious stares that follow the three of you. They push you in, and shut the door, and your heart leaps to your throat when the lock clicks. You bang against the wall. 

“Let me the hell out!” you shout, but all you can hear on the other side of the door are the receding footsteps of the traitors you call friends. “I swear to God, I will make your life a living hell when I get out of here--”

“Brandy?”

If your heart was hammering before, it completely stops at the sound of his voice. There’s the shuffling of sheets behind you, and you slowly turn around with wide eyes as the blood drains from your face as Whiskey strains to sit himself up, looking much worse for wear that you had initially feared. You really should stop him from overexerting himself, but you’re glued to the floor. “What are you doing here?” he asks. His voice sounds so tired, and it’s only made worse when he tries to crack a smile. “Here to see little ol’ me?” he rasps, but dissolves into a coughing fit, holding his ribs as his face contorts in pain. Once he calms down, he looks up at you again, and frowns. “Sweetheart, are you okay?”

“I think I should be the one asking you that,” you finally say, voice small as you slowly make your way over to him. You keep a good distance away from him still. 

“‘m better now that I’ve seen you,” Whiskey says, running a hand over his face. He motions to the chair next to him. “Take a seat, darling, you’re making me anxious.” Your eyes dart over to it, and then back to his face, and eventually lower yourself into it. 

“What happened?” you ask. Whiskey winces. 

“Dealers somehow found out I was there to take down their operation,” he explains. “Got ambushed, got the shit kicked out of me, got the hell outta dodge.” He chuckles. “Told ya I didn’t want to go back.” You play with the impeccably white trim of his hospital blanket.

“Why didn’t you tell us as soon as you got on the plane that you were hurt?” you whisper. Whiskey runs the hand not stabbed full of IVs through his greasy hair. 

“I knew you would worry.”

“It was irresponsible of you.”

“And it was irresponsible of you to not take care of yourself,” he says sharply. “Seltzer’s been telling me how you’ve locked yourself away since I got here.” You curl inwards and lean away from the bed. Whiskey sighs. “I do apologize, sweetheart,” he says after a moment. “I’m going crazy from being stuck in here. Didn’t mean to snap at you.” 

“It’s fine,” you mutter. You’ve had your fair share of bedrest, and it is not fun. He shakes his head. 

“No, it’s not,” he says. “There’s no excuse for treating you like that.” A beat. 

“I said that you didn’t have to get me anything,” you say to change the subject. 

“And I said that you couldn’t stop me,” he laughs, but it wheezes out. Whiskey slowly reaches a hand out, pausing when you tense up, but keeps going when you don’t stop him. He loops his forefinger under the chain that’s peeking out of your collar and pulls it out from under your shirt. “You like it?” he asks, and he sounds uncharacteristically nervous, and he’s playing with the collar of your shirt instead of pulling his hand away. “I know-- Well, I don’t see you wearing any fancy jewelry or nothing, but I saw this and thought the opportunity was too perfect. Like, c’mon, it’s a braided chain--”

“‘Made of finest silver from the north of Spain’?” you finish. You’ve gotten countless jokes about the song, but it’s endearing when it comes from him. He quirks a smile. “Andalucia is technically Southern Spain, Agent Whiskey.” His smile drops. “N-not that I mind,” you stammer, afraid you’ve said something horrifically wrong. 

“I know you don’t,” Whiskey sighs. You purse your lips. 

“Then what’s wrong?” He shrugs. 

“I guess I dreamt you saying my name in the elevator,” he says, following it with an empty laugh as he looks away. “Ain’t that the cruelest trick the Sandman could play? He’s always been a son of a bitch to me. It had sounded so sweet...” You swallow and grab his hand where it rests on your collarbone, and you scoot your chair closer until your knees press against the edge of the bed. You hear his heart rate jump up on the monitor. 

“I… It wasn't… It wasn’t a dream.” Whiskey turns your hand over until he can lace his fingers through yours. 

“No?” he murmurs, and he brings your hand to his lips as he presses a kiss to it. He closes his eyes and keeps your hand there for a moment before letting it rest in his lap. “Mind reacquainting me with the way my name sounds coming from your lips?” Your mouth is suddenly very dry, but you lick your lips and the way you feel warm with how his eyes watch you is enough to give you the little push you need. 

“Jack.”

It’s barely audible over the rapid beeping of the monitor, but a pained noise emanates from his chest, and the hold on your hand tightens. “Again.”

Then louder this time, “Jack.” A disbelieving laugh. 

“Again.”

“Jack.”

And Jack Daniels yanks you closer to him until you’re halfway on the bed to bring you in a bruising kiss that steals the breath from your lungs, an arm wrapped around your waist as he presses as much of his body to yours as he can without yanking the IVs out. His heart rate is through the roof, rapidly beeping on the screen next to him. Jack’s mouth is warm and yours is pliant as he nips at your bottom lip, digging his fingers into your side. His voice is growling when he says, “Good girl,” against your lips.  

You’re one second away from slinging your leg around his hips to straddle him when Vermouth bursts in with wild eyes and a flushed face. 

“Whiskey! What’s wrong-- Oh.”

You nearly throw yourself out of Whiskey’s embrace, but he keeps you close as he glares daggers at the cowering medical assistant standing in the doorway. “You ever hear of knocking?” he drawls. Vermouth’s mouth opens and closes like a fish. 

“It’s just that-- Well, your heart rate it, um, we thought that you were, uh-- We thought you were in danger,” they stutter. Whiskey motions around the room. 

“Do you see any dangers here?” Vermouth makes a ‘kind of?’ motion with their hands. 

“You really shouldn’t be overworking yourself--”

“Kid, I’m fine,” Whiskey interrupts. “Now, shoo,” he says, “get,” and waves his hand at Vermouth, who has never looked more eager to leave the situation. And they’ve seen a lot of shit. You bury your head into his shoulder as you sigh. While Vermouth wouldn’t be coming back any time soon, you know they’re blabbing about what they’ve seen to anyone and everyone. 

“That was so embarrassing,” you whisper.  

Whiskey just laughs, pets your hair, and lets you keep your head where it is, only moving when you slide in the narrow bed next to him when your leg goes numb. The worry that’s been constricting around your heart starts to loosen with every breath he takes in, and he must sense that because he holds you as close as he can, minding the bandages and stitches and his bruised ribs. “You’re mighty affectionate today.” 

“I’m allowed to be after the emotional trauma you put me through,” you mumble. “I still have your hat.” Whiskey just hums and runs his fingers over the skin of your upper arm. He clears his throat. 

“Brandy, I… I have to tell you something,” he says, and there’s that nervousness from the day he was scheduled to leave. His heart rate picks up again, and he presses kiss to your hair to give him a moment to gather his thoughts. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” Whiskey says, “what you mean to me, and I know I’ve been a real ass sometimes, but I promise you, it’s all in good humor.” You’re glad you’re not hooked up to a monitor because your heart is pounding in your ears. “And… and I can’t promise anything, not after--” His voice catches, and he clears his throat. “But I, um, what I’m trying to say is--” You take pity on him and reach up to kiss the underside of his jaw, rough with stubble. 

“Don’t you know, Whiskey?” you say. “I already know.”

---

Forever Tag: @mabelleen @mando-vibes @isaissafail @adikaofmandalore @lavenderl3mons

you’re a fine girl Tag: @mrsparknuts @jokersdoll @ariasfandom​ @blondecity​ @yodaswrinkles​ @everythingaboutnothingstuff​ @cloud-of-roses​

[avengerscompound]

Protector

Protector:  A Bruce Banner Fanfic

Buy me a ☕ 

Character Pairing:  Bruce Banner x F!Reader

Word Count:  2552

Warnings: Violence, Graphic description of injuries and blood, Smut (M|F, slight D/S, roughish sex, vaginal sex).

Synopsis:   What happens when a girl who can only heal falls for a man that houses something that is built to destroy.

Protector

You lie on the ground your body broken.  Each breath in feels like dragging your body over shards of superheated metal.  It stings and burns and takes all your willpower to do.  There is so much blood.  It pours from you from wounds too numerous to count, pooling and spreading out from your ruined body.  A bone protrudes from your thigh, your femur snapped clean in two.

At this stage, the pain is so intense that your body has been flooded with endorphins just to ease you into what would be an inevitable death.

Now you just wait.

There is a loud thud and the ground rumbles near you.  You open your eyes as much as you can manage to see the large green form of the Hulk looming over you.

“Make sparks.”  He growls, balling his hands into fists.

You try to speak but trying just makes you cough up the blood that’s been pooling in your lungs.

Hulk slams his fists on the ground.  “Make sparks!”  He roars.

You see a cut on his shoulder and reach your hand up.  “You’re… bleeding.”  You murmur as blood trickles from the corner of your mouth.

Hulk holds out his hand to you and you touch your palm to the end of his finger.  His injury is what does it.  It never works for just you.  You need to be helping someone else.  Your powers engage.

You can feel your energy draining as it gets poured into healing both of you.  It starts with Hulk.  It always does.  You see the flesh knit together on his arm and the various bruises on his skin fade.  It then turns inward, repairing the damage to your lungs.  Fusing bones back together.  It drains you quickly.  The excess ions leaking from your eyes.  It shimmers and sparks blue before dissipating into the air.  The damage to your body is extreme and you slip out of consciousness as your energy drains from you.

You’d been an official Avenger for a little over six months.  Originally going to them because of the accident that had caused these powers to manifest and not knowing what they were or how to use them.  They had all been varying levels of tolerant and kind.  Initially, Bruce had been the one that you’d spent the most time with you.  To begin with, it was just because he was the expert.  He ran tests.  Reassured you when you let the fear get the most of you.  He was kind and surprisingly patient for a man who housed a whole other being who was known for his unfettered rage.

When it became clear that what you did was heal, the rest of the team became interested in training you.  The inherent value of someone to treat injuries perfectly without needing to withdraw from combat being obvious to them.  While they trained you to fight defensively, it was always your job to stand back and stay out of trouble.  Only coming in if needed.  Like the healer in a role-playing game.  Only worse, because it was real.

Even with the new training, you kept finding yourself coming back to Bruce.  Again and again.  He was your safe place.  Even when you started seeing the Hulk come out on missions you still felt safe with him knowing Bruce was in there with him.  After a few months, you realized you might be in love with him.  You were sure there was something there.  There was a lot of incidental touching.  Bruce blushed a lot when he spoke to you.  He was however extremely hesitant about starting any kind of romantic relationship with you.  So you did your best to put in him the friend column.  Your love was unrequited.  There was nothing to be done about it.

You focused on training and your new role as an Avenger.  The problem was it was a little boring.  They almost never needed you.  You just stayed in the jet and then they’d come back and patch up their cuts and bruises.  That was it.  You wanted to go out and help too.  So when you saw Hulk on the monitors being completely overwhelmed something in you snapped.  You ran out with a gun in hand and started firing into the swarm of people.  Enough of them turned on you for the Hulk to break free and get back his control of the situation, only there were too many for you to deal with.

The results were not good.  They had swarmed and you had been overwhelmed.  You were shot more than once and someone had hit you hard enough to knock you down.  You’d crawled away but taken a fall off the side of a ditch.  That’s when your leg had broken and you’d given in.  Hoping he’d come for you.  Knowing he would.

You wake up with a gasp.  The room is bright white and there is the high pitched sound of a heart monitor beeping quickly as someone’s heart raced.

“There she is.”  Steve Rogers says.  You blink your eyes and see him looking down at you with his bright blue eyes.  “Just breathe, honey.  You’re safe.”

You focus on your breathing and look around the room.  You’re in the med bay.  It hasn’t had a lot of use since you joined the team.  You’re hooked up to a heart monitor and there is an IV in your arm.

“How are you feeling?”  Steve asks.

You go to speak and nothing happens.  You clear your throat and try again.  “Really thirsty.”  You say in a croak.  “Hungry too.”

“I’ll go get you something.”  He says.  He disappears for a little while and you try and figure out how long you’ve been out for.  You were seven hours out from the compound so at least that long.  When Steve comes back he has juice and a sandwich.

You drink the juice all in one go and start scarfing down the sandwich. “You weren’t kidding were you?”  Steve says with a laugh.

You shake your head.  “How long was I out?”  You ask with your mouth still full.

“A little over a full day.”  Steve answers.  “That was really stupid.  You know that don’t you?”

You nod.  “I know.  I just… he was overwhelmed.”  You try and explain lamely.

“He’s the Hulk,”  Steve says.

“I know but…”

“You don’t even have any real-world fighting experience.”

“But he…”

Steve sighs.  “Call for backup next time.  I know you think you’re invincible, but we nearly lost you.  Hulk was so worked up the lullaby wasn’t working, so we didn’t have Bruce to help.”

Guilt bubbles up at the talk of Hulk.  Not even because you nearly died, just that he was so upset about it.  “I’m sorry.”

Steve shakes his head.  “Try and be less impulsive.”

Part of you wants to call him a hypocrite, not that you ever would.  You just nod.  “Can I see Bruce?”

“He’ll be in soon.  I’ll get him to bring in some more food considering you inhaled that.”  Steve says.  “And you’re on bed rest for two days.”

“But I’ll be fine.  That’s what I do.”  You complain.

Steve shrugs.  “Consider it your punishment for breaking orders.”

You’re left alone for what feels like an eternity considering how hungry you still are and how guilty you feel.  In reality, it takes Bruce 36 minutes to arrive with a plate laden down with high energy food.  There is a large plate of pasta, more bread, fruit, and even a slice of cake along with a bottle of Gatorade.  He puts the tray down on the tray table without a word and starts fussing around you not making eye contact with you.

“Bruce?”  You say as you start eating.  He ignores you and you put down your fork and look at him.  “Bruce, I’m sorry, okay?”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment.  He turns away from you and puts his palms flat on the counter as he stares down at it.  “He’s really upset.  It’s… I’m having trouble…”

“I didn’t… I was just trying to… they were going to kill you.”  You implore.

Bruce turns on you suddenly his eyes bright green.  “You really scared me.”  He roars, it’s half him and half the other guy speaking.  Their voices split right down the middle.  You jump.  His muscles start to shift and grow under his skin and his skin becomes tinged with green.

You aren’t scared of the Hulk though.  You reach up and put your hand on his jaw.  You don’t know why but your powers engage.  Blue sparks float from your eyes. A sense of calmness washes over you, easing your guilt.  As it does you see Bruce shifting back to himself.  The green fades and his eyes return to his normal brown.

Your eyes return to normal and Bruce blinks at you.  “Sorry.”  You say slightly panicked.  “That was an accident.”

Bruce shakes his head.  “It’s okay.  Just that need to fix of yours.”  He says gently.  “I’ve never known him to be so upset.  He always just expresses everything negative as rage.  I didn’t even know what had happened.  He was terrified.  And I come back and you’re pale and not breathing.  You were covered in blood.  Your heart stopped beating.”

“I’m sorry, Bruce.  I am.  It was stupid, but I saw you and panicked.”  You plead.

“It’s not your job to look after me, sweetheart,”  Bruce says, sounding pained.  “It’s his.”

You shake your head.  “No, it’s my job too.  That’s what I do.  I take care of people.”

Bruce chuckles and shakes his head.  “That is one savior complex you’ve got there.”  He says climbing up on the bed beside you.  You shift over to make room for him and he pulls the tray table into you both.  “Eat something, please.”  He says, putting his arm around you.

You snuggle into him a bit, not used to him giving you this level of affection but wanting it badly.  “Well, how am I wrong.  It’s why I’m here?”  You say, starting to pick at the food.  “The rest of you are here to save the world.  I’m here just to save you guys.”

Bruce shakes his head and sighed.  “You are more than just your powers and none of us want you dying to save us.  Especially not me.  Please promise me you’ll never do that again.”

You nod.  “I promise.  I’m sorry.  It’s just… I …”

Bruce lets out a breath.  “I know, I love you too.”

You look up at him not quite sure you heard him.  “You do?”

“Yes. Of course, I do.   I can keep pretending that I don’t actually need people.  But I quite obviously do.”  He stops and runs his hand over your jaw.  “The other guy is really angry with me.”

“I love you too.”  You say quietly.

He gives you a half smile.  “Do you think I can kiss you?”

Instead of answering you lean up and capture his lips with yours.  It starts slow and hesitant, a gentle caress of his lips against yours.  You dart your tongue out and brush it over his top lip.  His comes to meet yours and you circle them together.  You run your hand up his neck and into his hair.  That’s when things change.  He wraps both arms around you and pulls you tighter against him.  Holding you in place like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.  He starts kissing you hungrily and frantically like he’d been holding back for so long and all the desire and need for you is coming out all at once.  You match him in intensity.

He rolls you so he’s pressed on top of you and you spread your legs welcoming his weight.  Your hands roam over him until you yank the IV and the stand it hangs on nearly tips right over.  You both break apart breathless and giggling.

“Maybe we should stop,”  Bruce says, straightening the stand back up.

You look up at him and graze your fingertips along his jaw and down his neck.  “Do you want to stop?”  You ask.

He shakes his head.  “No.  Not really.”

“Me either.”  You say.

He looks down at you and takes the hand the IV is attached to and moves it up above your head placing it on the head of the bed and closing your hand around the bar.  “That stays there.”  He says.

You smirk up at him and he leans in and begins kissing you again.  He rolls his hips into yours as he kisses you and caresses his hands over every part of you he can reach.  You feel the gradual hardening of his cock through his pants, and you cunt floods as your arousal grows.  You slip a hand between you and run your palm over the outline of his cock.  He lets out a guttural moan and for a second you question who’s actually here with you.

He buries his face in your neck and his hand goes into your panties.  His finger circles over your clit sending a little jolt up your spine.  “Bruce?”  You mewl.

He raises his head and looks down at you, his eyes their normal dark brown.  “Mmm?”

“Please fuck me, Bruce?”  You plead.

He smiles at you and you start to kiss again.  He grabs your panties and works them down with your help before fumbling to get his pants unfastened.  When he does, he pushes them down just enough to free his cock and he’s inside you.  You moan as he thrusts his cock into you to the hilt, and you wrap your legs around his waist.  He starts to roll his hips into you as he continues to kiss you.

You become breathless and fuzzy.  Your heart rate monitor beeps faster and faster as you come apart under him.  You raise your other hand to the bed head and just hold on, gripping the metal frame of the hospital bed and arching up under him.  The bed bangs against the wall with every thrust.  He breaks the kiss and you gasp for air, looking up into his eyes.  His pace picks up and his fingers go to your clit.  You pulse your walls around him.  Spreading the hot prickle of your impending orgasm through you.

“Oh god, Bruce, I’m gonna…”  You moan as you begin to writhe under him.

“Come for me.”  He says, his voice a deep growl.

It’s as if his words are a trigger.  You moan and arch up under him.  Your muscles clench and you come.  Your eyes flash blue when you do.  The pulse of your orgasm seems to bring him along too.  His hips snap into you and he releases.  He lets out loud groan that borderlines on being a roar.  His eyes flash green.

He leans his head on yours and both your eyes fade to normal.  He slips from within you and lies down beside you curled against you.  You snuggle up under his chin.  “I’m kinda not sorry anymore.”  You tease.

He squeezes your side.   “I would have gotten here eventually.”

You lay back against him and close your eyes for a moment as you graze your fingertips up his arm.  “I’m glad it was now though.”

[youngnari]

A Bullet For A Kiss // Ten

—Notes :  🌻💚 , presenting an nctzen anon project #mission 5: the reveal! For @brokenchimera who had done nothing but filled me with fluff and endless love, random small conversation in the asks, and having the patience and efforts to do the missions which touched me dearly! I want to tell you how much this whole project meant a lot and I was so bloody happy, and knowing you as the person I am going anon with - it was a great journey!! Thank you!! 

This is for you! Your gift for all the effort you spared for me in the past few days, I hope you like it!! :D

From, Nari 🌻

—Wc : 893 words 

—Warning : slight mentions of blood, character injuries, violence 

—Pairing : mafia!Ten x mafia!reader

Your hand rustled in the plastic bag, creating an annoying crinkling noise that filled the empty space.

Ten groaned from the sound, annoyed that he was awoken so abruptly from his deep slumber. He registered the beeping monitor beside him, the IV dripping right above his head. He could feel the bandages that surrounded his arms and his left shoulder, the ache from it causing him to groan even more.

“You are a fucking idiot. Do you know that, Ten?” He squinted, looking at the ceiling light before resting his gaze to focus on you.

“Even after I took the bullet for you. You’re bloody welcome, Y/N.” He hissed out. 

Ten; boyfriend and assassin, government sector on a mission who decided to be heroic and take a goddamn bullet for you during an attack. His heroic action didn’t go to waste, instead his reward was to stay bedridden in the hospital wing for two weeks and an extra week homebound before he must go back to work. You, on the other hand, took in his workload and had to babysit him, and it was all due to his command.

“I have to babysit you.” You stated, picking up the tub of ice-cream in the bag, setting it down on his bedside table for him to grab.

You softened up a little when you saw his eyes light up, taking the frozen sweet in his hand. For a grown man who’s known to kill, never once missed his target, Ten was an actual child at heart. He moaned when he tasted the creamy delicacy, humming in content when it melted in his mouth.

“God, I love you so much.” He whispered. You scoffed, laughing a little at his response.

“Good to know, Chittaphon.” You said.

Ten turned to you, giving you a small smile. He knew what he did was considered dumb and careless, especially for someone who’s not trained to battle physically on ground. But when he saw you being thrown unconscious with a gun held to your position; he didn’t have any choice. Ten shot the male, giving away his hideout, and they started firing at him. He ran, faster than he could ever imagine. He could care less about the shouts from his teammates or the gunshots being flown everywhere, he just ran.

Ten couldn’t remember much, but he knew he was probably crying at that time. He saw the gun hovering over your figure, you could barely wake up and get your head together. When you heard the gunshot, you didn’t register it was coming for you. Ten rammed himself towards you, taking the shot in the process. You could hear his groan, his tears dropping as they hit your cheeks, and his shaking hand around your body.

“T-Ten?” You slurred out.

“It’s okay, everything is okay. I’m here, Y/N.” And both of you blacked out.

It took you a full day to recover, some bruises and cuts but nothing too major. Ten, on the other hand, went into surgery, that’s what had caused you the headache. You had heard Taeyong sighing, calling him an idiot. But you knew his intentions meant no harm.

“You weren’t supposed to be on the ground, you were supposed to shoot from above.” You sighed, staring at him in sorrow.

“Did you expect me to watch you die then?” He snapped back.

You opened your mouth to answer, but no words come out of. You stared at him, hurt visible in your eyes.

You felt guilty; he knew it. He knew you were scared.

“It was my choice to take that bullet for you, and I don’t regret it.” He said. His cold demeanour crumbled down when he saw your saddening gaze. He shifted a little on his bed, creating a space for you to sneak in. He extended an arm for welcome, you hesitated.

“Come here, my love.” He said in a soft lull.

Slowly, hesitantly, you went closer to him. When you were close enough, you felt his hand circle around your arm. It was as if a spark of electricity ran through your veins, and he pulled you down towards him.

Ten pulled you into his embrace easily, enveloping you with his warmth. You felt the rollercoaster of emotions coming in, without much thought a stray tear left your eye. One tear soon evolved into streams of tears, sniffing turned to sobs.

Ten simply pulled you further into his embrace, letting you cry to your heart’s desire. He swallowed your sorrow, taking whole frustration and worry into him. He was guilty. When your sobs ceased, you looked up to meet his gaze.

He felt his heart swell, mixed emotions in his heart. Worry, guilt, adoration, and love.

He kissed you. Once, twice, and again.

Each given kiss was soft and innocent, a sign of reassurance towards you that everything will be okay. He left you breathless, the only time to breath was through moans and groans left from your mouth. You felt warm, as if everything was normal. He sighed when he pulled away, brushing his nose against yours every now and then. Ten pressed his forehead on yours, gazing at you with his dark orbs.

“I love you, so much. I will take any bullets if it means you stay alive.”

And he leaned down, taking your lips once again.

[cassiopeiassky]

When Everything’s Made to be Broken (I Just Want You to Know Who I Am) Part 51

It’s heeeeeere!  I finally connected all the dots.  Special thanks to @the-chubby-persimmon for beta-ing and giving me the encouragement I needed to finish the chapter - you’re the absolute best.  Oh, and although the chapter wraps nicely, this isn’t the end.  I’ll let you all know when we get there ;)

Also I need love and affirmation please send love and affirmation

Plot:  When you inadvertently become a witness to a murder and are suddenly a target for death, it takes a specially skilled soldier and his team to keep you and your family safe.

This will eventually be a is a reader x Bucky fic. The reader, by the way, is a civilian. No super powers, no fighting skills, and by no means perfect.  

Word count: 5808

Warnings:

For the entire work:  Language (I have a potty mouth), violence, and angst.  This will probably get pretty dark later on, and there will be smut.  If that’s not your thing, you may want to avoid this story.

Additional warnings specific to this part: Mentions/descriptions of anxiety, panic attack, injuries, and blood.  Oh...here there be smut (say it with me in a piratey accent...it’s fun).  I’m not doing an edited version this time because the first and last time I did that it was a raging dumpster fire.

***I do not own any of the lyrics/music in this story, so please don’t sue me for using them***

Tags moved to the end.

WEMtbB Masterlist

Previously on WEMtbB:

“Absolutely.  FRIDAY, please show any Disney animated movie except Snow White and Pinocchio.”  

Honestly, this man is too good to be true.

“Yes, Sargent Barnes.”  The tv lights up and just a few moments later the opening for the Emperor’s New Groove starts playing.  “I hope you don’t mind – I took the liberty of downloading your preferences from SUNDAY.”

“That’s perfect FRIDAY, thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

“I never thought I’d get used to and actually miss an AI presence, but here we are,” you mutter.

Bucky puts his arm around your shoulders as he snickers.  “I’m right there with you, Sweetheart.”  

He waits until you finish eating before he cocoons you both into the blanket, content to watch your favorite movies until the jet lands safely in New York.

You begin to wake, but you fight it with everything you have because this dream is so much better than your current reality.  The strong arm around your waist holding you snug against a warm, solid chest is a memory you don’t want to lose to consciousness.  The smell of Bucky surrounding you as his slow and even breaths cause your hair to gently tickle your ear is such a welcome and familiar comfort, but you can’t help but notice that something is off.  Has your memory already begun to fray?

His scent is mixed with something…an unfamiliar detergent, maybe?  Not at all unpleasant, just different.

You’re lying on your left side.  Bucky is behind you, and the arm around you is his natural arm.

Wait.

That’s not right…

Bucky has a thing when he sleeps - he needs to be between you and the door.  If you’re lying on your left side, you’re facing the door.  He should be in front of you, not behind you...he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep like this.  You know this, even in your dreams.  Yet, with all this thinking bringing you further into the realm of wakefulness, you still feel him.  You finally concede defeat and crack open an eye.

A window?  Or a door to a balcony, maybe?  Certainly not the window of your prison, and not a window at home – well, the safehouse – either.  There’s a sharp ache in your right thigh as you move, causing you to finally shake completely free of slumber’s hold and realize that this isn’t a dream.  This is real, you’re really in Bucky’s arms.

Fully awake and mind now crystal clear, you remember the hours on the jet and watching out the window as you flew into New York.  You remember being swarmed by medical personnel almost immediately upon landing, and having a panic attack when someone with good intentions injected morphine into the port still in the back of your hand without letting you know beforehand.  That guy now has an accidentally broken hand, courtesy of Steve, and a completely intentionally broken nose, courtesy of Nat.  

Bruce was there, and he explained the plan they had in place to fix your leg:  First, surgery to remove the lead coated bullet from your thigh, then they were going to apply some sort of self-regenerating tissue patch that would allow your leg to almost fully heal within 96 hours…apparently it had been shipped in from a Dr. Cho as a special favor.  You consented to the treatment, but you’d wanted local anesthetic instead of general.  Bruce, Bucky, and Tony teamed up to persuade you to accept the general anesthesia because it would be safer for you and better for the tissue patch, which you were told would cause significant pain for the first hour or so.  They also wanted you under because they wanted to transport you – preferably unconscious to avoid any unnecessary discomfort – to another facility for safety and privacy almost immediately after the surgery. When you’d finally consented, Tony thrust a clipboard full of papers into your hand; he said that he needed your formal, signed consent to treat since you’d be cared for under his policies.  You looked for the bright pink signature flags and signed them all as quickly as you could while Bucky rubbed your shoulders; he knew you were afraid you’d chicken out and change your mind about the anesthesia.  

You didn’t.  Somehow, your trust in these people overcame your anxiety.  Bucky was holding your hand when you succumbed to unconsciousness.

Your memories after that are quite a bit shiftier, thanks to the anesthesia.  Still, there are bits and pieces for you to put together.  After you started coming out of the anesthesia, they cleared you to leave the infirmary.  The patch you’d been given sped the healing process up so significantly that just a few hours post-surgery was more like a day.  There’s a choppy recollection being transported to another area, a helicopter ride, and hearing voices – even more intangible is the vague memory of hearing good-natured laughter after you told someone to kindly fuck off and leave you the hell alone because you were tired and wanted to go back to sleep, and oh, where was your unicorn – the sparkly one with purple hair?  Maybe that was a dream?

That’s the last you can remember, and now you’re here.  The gaps in your memory scare you a bit, but you remind yourself that you’re no longer in the hands of people that wish to do you harm; you’re here, curled up with Bucky.  Safe.  Barely containing the laugh that tries to bubble out of you, you shift to look around in the dim light.  What time is it?  It’s dark, but it’s also late January so considering how short the days are that doesn’t tell you much.  Well, you think it’s still January, but you’ll have to ask someone to make sure February didn’t come around while you were still stuck in hell.

There’s a gentle, pale blue glow coming through the window from the almost full moon and the plethora of stars twinkling in the clear velvet sky.  If you crane your neck just a little more, you can see the snow blanketing surrounding area and reflecting the starlight.  It’s extraordinarily peaceful, and you’re grateful that Bucky left the blinds open.  You’re pretty sure he did it for your benefit, so you wouldn’t wake up in the pitch-black darkness of an unfamiliar room.

There’s a nightstand next to your side of the bed with a lamp and pile of books.   Directly across from the bed there’s a dresser with another pile of books stacked on top, and there are doors on either side.  Given the placement of the doors, you can only assume that one leads to a bathroom and the other to a closet.  At least, you hope so.

Moving slowly, you carefully disengage from Bucky’s embrace.  It’s not that you want to move, but damn you have to pee.  Testing the range of motion in your leg, you find that the ache feels less like an injury and more like the stiff disuse of waking up the second day after a car accident or really intense workout.  It easily holds your weight as you stand and even seems to loosen slightly as you carefully stretch.  There aren’t any crutches or a cane nearby, and you think you remember someone telling you that by the time you awoke you’d be sore but healed enough to get around. There are bandages on your arm and hand from the IVs, but those seems to be the only other lasting reminders of the fact that you went through actual surgery.

You take a step, but then turn back to watch Bucky for a few heartbeats.  God, you fucking missed him.  You can clearly see the toll these past few weeks have taken from him – even in the semi-darkness you can see the dark bags of exhaustion under his eyes, the longer than usual facial hair, the way his cheeks almost seem gaunt.  The lines on his forehead seem just a bit deeper, and his lips are chapped.  It might just be a trick of the moonlight, but you could swear that you see some sparse spots of silver in his scruff.  It’s obvious that he hasn’t been taking care of himself, and you feel a now familiar stab of guilt because you know damn well that it’s because of you.

Holding back a sigh, you turn and walk to the door to the left of the dresser.  When you step through the threshold you are delighted to find that you have, in fact, found the bathroom.  At least now you won’t have to wake up Bucky to find out where it is. Before turning on the light, you close the door with a quiet click, thinking to spare Bucky the sudden brightness, and are pleasantly surprised to find that the bathroom light must be on both a sensor and a dimmer because the room is now gently lit but not so much so that your eyes have to struggle to adjust.  

Glancing in the mirror gives you a start – for all your concern for Bucky, you’re not exactly looking like a prize yourself, not that you ever really do.  A good washing will fix your hair, but your complexion has an unhealthy waxiness to it, your eyes are sunken and dull, and although they are slowly beginning to fade, the bruises from your assaults are still on your face and body.  You’re either going to have to get someone to pick up some makeup for you or you’ll have to forgo FaceTiming the boys tomorrow and call instead.  They shouldn’t see you like this.

After relieving yourself and washing your hands, you start pulling off your bandages.  The IV sites on your hand and in the crook of your arm look exactly as you would expect – you rinse off the little bit of dried blood that’s left behind and double check to make sure the tiny wounds don’t start bleeding.  You do the same for the bandage on your leg except, when you wipe away the blood, the skin underneath isn’t a stitched incision like you’d expected but rather a shiny red scar.  

Holy shit, it looks like you’ve already been healing for over a week.  There isn’t even a scab.  “Well color me impressed,” you mutter in surprise.  This is incredible, so why the hell isn’t this type of technology mainstream? It’s something you’ll have to ask about later.

But for now, it’s time to get back to Bucky.  You don’t fight the smile that comes to your face – back to Bucky, because he’s just on the other side of the door, sleeping peacefully.  When you turn to leave, you find a plastic bag hanging from the door handle of what you assume is the linen closet.  It’s hanging by just one side, so as you walk by you can clearly see into the bag.  It’s…your bodywash?  You find yourself almost beaming as you start sifting through the bag.  There’s the bodywash you’d used for years, the only shampoo and conditioner that have ever truly come close to managing your curls, your favorite body lotion, and even your preferred skin care.  Tears fill your eyes at the simple gesture; you’d have been perfectly fine using whatever Bucky had on hand, but he’d wanted you to feel like yourself again.  

“I don’t deserve you, Buck. You sweet, sweet man,” you hum as you snap open the bodywash cap and lift it to your nose.  The smell is…it smells like you.  Like you. It smells like early mornings before you went to work.  It smells like the middle of the night right after the boys were born, washing off the endless spit up during the only 10 minutes a day you could get to yourself. It smells like showering before bed because it was the only time you could fit it in, and then bringing one of the boys to bed with you because he’s sick and can’t sleep without your cuddles.  It smells like lazy mornings at the safehouse when everyone was awake and tangled together under the comforter as cartoons played in the background.  It smells like Bucky nuzzling into your neck from behind, then leaving a soft kiss before telling you that you smell amazing.  

Then the memory of Jimmy trying to use your bodywash instead of the tear free formula you buy for them comes to mind – he told you he wanted to smell like Momma.  Like you.

And with that, you finally break from the weight of what you went through.  

For the first few moments it’s a little hard to breathe.  Five and a half jagged breaths later the sobs start, and you somehow end up on your knees desperately clawing at the floor to feel something, anything, other than the suffocating torment that’s been waiting for the right moment to descend upon you.  Then your hands are in your hair, clutching fistfuls near your scalp because it’s the only thing your fingers can find, and because the dull pain from pulling your hair offers just the slightest distraction from the debilitating agony in your psyche.

The sound you make when you feel something warm on one wrist and cool on the other is almost inhuman; a mix of a wail and a howl, the very essence of devastating grief marrying incomprehensible suffering.  The gentle but insistent tugs finally succeed in getting you to straighten up enough for Bucky to pull you into his arms.  Your hands go from your hair to around his neck, holding on in a frantic attempt to keep from being swept away by this brutal tsunami.

“I’ve got you, Sweetheart.  Go ahead, it’s okay.  I’ve got you.”  Bucky repeats these words like a favorite song on a loop as he holds you close and rubs your back.  Your entire body shakes with your bawling sobs, but he somehow manages to keep you from breaking apart completely despite the pain, anger, humiliation, guilt, shame, and fear trying to pull you in different directions.

There’s no sense of time in this abyss – it would be inconsequential even if it did exist – but even the fiercest, most destructive storms don’t last forever.  Eventually, it will sap the atmosphere of fuel and die down.  When your wracking sobs finally subside to gasping shudders, your head is pounding, your lungs ache, and your face has grown hot and itchy from the tears.

But despite your physical discomfort, you feel considerably lighter.  Exhausted but relieved.  It feels like you lanced a festering would – it was an ugly process and it still hurts, but it’s a different kind of hurt.  It’s a hurt that feels like it might finally begin to give way to healing because the poison has been let out.

Bucky’s gentle humming gives you something else to focus on as you close your swollen eyes and allow him to shift you slightly.  He’s sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, and you’re sitting between his legs and leaning against him, more or less cradled in his arms with your legs draped over one of his thighs.  He’s so solid and steady; the immoveable rock in the unreliable landscape of your shifting emotions.

Without loosening his grip on you, he reaches for something – the bottle of bodywash – and clicks open the top to smell it before setting it to the side.  “I get it, Sweetheart.  I get it, the significance of this smell.  When I was first free, I didn’t know what to do with myself.  I didn’t know who I was after everything I’d done, and everything that was done to me – I didn’t feel the same, I sure as hell didn’t look the same, and the whole damn world had changed – and I just wanted something comfortable.  Familiar. So I thought,” he twirls a lock of your hair around his finger, “that if I could maybe just smell like myself, that it might be enough to hold on to, to remind myself that I wasn’t HYDRA’s puppet anymore.”  Bucky chuckles, “It was a good idea, in theory.  Not so much in practice.  Most men, myself included, just smelled like armpit and cigarette smoke a few hours after bathing.  While I definitely appreciate cologne and deodorant now, it really wasn’t a thing for men back in the 30s and 40s – that stuff was considered to be for women only.”

Bucky presses a kiss to your forehead.  “It got to the point where I couldn’t stand myself, and it didn’t exactly help me blend in or get jobs for cash, especially since I couldn’t always afford to wash my clothes regularly.  Then one day I stopped by a drugstore to pick up some razorblades.  There was an open jar on the counter for people to try, and I caught a whiff of it as I walked by.  It…it smelled just like my ma.  It surprised me so much that I started crying in the middle of the store, which of course really, really concerned some of the other customers.  It was only a few months after I got free, so I was still pretty rough and crusty looking. Some lady approached me and I panicked – I swiped the jar and ran out.  I spent the next two days just intermittently sniffing the stuff.  Turned out to be cold cream – I don’t know if it was the same brand my ma used, but I didn’t care.  It smelled just like her.”

A warmth blossoms in your chest – that’s probably one of the sweetest things you’ve ever heard.   “Did it help?”

“Mmm hmm.  Gave me something good to remember, instead of all the bad.  It reminded me of who I was before – before HYDRA, hell, who I was before the war.  My ma was…she was my safe place.  I got along with my dad just fine, but deep down I was always a mama’s boy.”

“Do you still have it?” You don’t remember seeing it, but that doesn’t mean anything.

“Yeah, but I don’t need it anymore.”  Bucky tightens his hold on you.  “You’re my safe place now.”  The two of you sit in silence for a while, just holding each other.  Just before you begin to drift off, he murmurs, “Do you want to take a shower?  Smell like you again?”

You nod wordlessly as you untangle yourself and clumsily rise.  Because yes.  Yes, you do.

He swiftly puts your toiletries where they belong as you stare at yourself in the mirror.

Yikes.  

“You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”  He steps past you and into the shower to start the water while you begin to get out of your…what the hell are these things, anyway?  Hospital issue shorts that snap at the waist and a top that ties at the neck and sides.  Not exactly the pinnacle of comfort, but much better than one of those drafty ass-baring gowns.

There’s no mistaking his hesitation when he speaks, “Alright, Sweetheart.  You should be good to go.  I’ll be nearby, so just call if you need anything.”

It hadn’t occurred to you that he would leave.  Panic tries to rise but you grab his hand as he walks by and the contact immediately soothes you; and if the relief in his eyes is anything to go by, the simple touch does the same for him.  “Stay with me.”  Your mouth is dry as you swallow against the lump in your throat, and you wonder if you’re crossing a line.  Is it too familiar?  Too soon after what you’ve been through?  You just know that you don’t want to be alone.   “Please.”

Will anything ever be the same?

His eyes seem just a bit bluer when he looks to you in surprise.  “Really?  Are – are you sure?”  Bucky stares as you slowly nod.  “I thought…I didn’t want to assume –“

There’s a comfort in knowing that you both seem to be on the same page.  “I’m sure.  Please…stay.”

Bucky nods and begins to undress as you finish slowly.  He keeps his eyes averted as he steps into the shower.

Suddenly feeling inexplicably shy, you follow him through the frosted door.  The shower is huge - more than big enough for two and is actually quite lovely.  Two of the walls are made of glass, and oversized beige tiles line the other two walls up to the ceiling, with coves intermittently placed for holding whatever would be needed for bathing.  Along the far wall is a built-in seat, also tiled – it makes sense, considering who this shower was built for.  Even an Avenger might not have the energy for standing in a shower after a mission.

Bucky takes your hand and leads you under the generous spray, letting the hot water rinse over you both. His hands lightly trail up and down your arms as you both stand, silently facing the other.  After the space has become thoroughly steamy and you’ve begun to relax, he pulls you out just enough so he can start shampooing your hair, and good lord you’d forgotten how wonderful his hands feel massaging your scalp.  He doesn’t stop, even when rinsing.

“Mmm…Buck, you missed your calling as a hair washer.”

“Yes, I think you might have mentioned that before,” he chuckles as he smooths in the conditioner, then twists your hair to rest atop your head to give the conditioner a chance to do its thing.  He squeezes some bodywash onto a poof and begins washing your shoulders and back, arms, and legs as you remain still, taking in the familiar scent and touch.

You take his hands in yours when he circles around to your front.  “I missed you so much, Bucky.”

“My god, Sweetheart,” his voice is so tight you almost can’t understand him, “I missed you so fucking much, and I was so scared, I couldn’t breathe without you.”

You brush the wet hair out of his eyes, and before you can overthink it you pull him into a kiss, attempting to say everything you can’t manage to express with words into it.  You keep your arms around his neck, breaking the kiss only to whisper, “I love you so much, Bucky.  I love you so, so much.  I…Thank you.  Thank you for going back into hell to get me.”

Bucky whispers your name, just as lost for words as you.  “I…always,” he finally manages.  “I’ll always come for you.”

Then he kisses you deeply, thoroughly.  This kiss is emotion, but it’s also fire.  You tighten your arms in the impossible effort of getting closer to him, as though the immeasurably thin sheet of water separating you two was too much.  

There’s nothing to hide it when Bucky hardens against you, and a tension you didn’t realize you were carrying fades away.

He still wants you.

When he pulls back to look at you there’s a desperate, hungry glint in his eyes that you’re sure mirrors your own.  He kisses you again, slower this time, pushing you back slightly so the back of your head is under the spray.  Bucky continues kissing you as he rinses the conditioner from your hair, turning what was just moments ago a comforting, soothing gesture into something completely different.

Even with the hot water streaming over your skin, goosebumps rise at his needy touches.

Bucky’s hands are everywhere as he again guides you backwards; when the back of your legs hit the shower seat you lose your balance, but of course he doesn’t let you fall. Two hands grip your hips, steadying you before pushing you down gently until you’re perched on the bench and he’s kneeling in front of you. You wrap your legs around his torso, trying to pull him closer as he kisses your neck, your shoulders, your breasts, your lips.  For the briefest of moments you can feel his cock nudging at your entrance, but then Bucky grips your thighs, loosening himself from their grip and sits back on his heels before lifting your injured leg over his shoulder.

He scooches you forward to the edge of the bench and dives in.  There’s no teasing, no waiting.  He begins licking and sucking like a starving man, periodically growling quietly, pausing only to gently but firmly push your thighs further apart.  Your left hand goes back to support you, while your right hand goes into his hair.  You don’t need to guide him – he knows damn well what he’s doing and he’s fucking good at it – but you need as much contact with him as possible.

Staring at the sight of the man before you, you watch, mesmerized, at the powerful muscles in his shoulder and back pull and stretch under smooth and scarred skin as he feasts.  Bucky chases you mercilessly into an orgasm, not giving you a chance to come down from one before he’s working on another.  

“Bucky…fuck…Buck please…I can’t...oh my fuck please stop…”  You’re just about cross-eyed from bliss, but if he doesn’t stop there’s a good chance your brain will short-circuit if you come for a fourth time without a break.

At first you’re not sure if he hears you, but finally, reluctantly, he pulls himself away, gently guiding your right leg off his shoulder as he straightens from a position that would have been uncomfortable had he cared.  Kisses are planted on your thighs and belly as his hands roam, giving you some time to catch your breath before his mouth is on yours once again.

“I love you so much, Sweetheart, so fucking much,” he mumbles against your mouth, as if pulling away any farther would cause you to disappear on him again.  A wickedly satisfied grin graces his lips, “And I fucking missed that.  Now hold on.”

You throw your arms around his neck as he grabs you by the ass to pull you to him, standing while he does so.

“Show off.”

Your breathless smirk just makes him chuckle darkly.  “Oh Doll, I happen to know you like this.”  His irises have almost completely disappeared, and it seems impossible but your heart beats even faster in anticipation.  He’s not wrong.

Secure in his hold on you, you pull him in for another searing kiss as he carefully exits the shower and brings you back into the bedroom.  Not caring that both of you are still dripping wet, he tenderly lays you on the bed.

The mood shifts with his gentle actions.  Bucky cradles himself within your thighs, nuzzling your neck and planting soft kisses as he goes.  The next time his lips meet yours it’s sweet and unhurried.  His right hand takes yours, holding it firmly just above your head as your need for him explodes.  There are tears in his eyes when he slowly pushes in; he fills you, and for the first time in weeks you feel complete.  His strokes are slow and languorous, deep and deeply satisfying, allowing you to feel every inch of his movements while he feels every inch of you.

Bucky’s eyes meet yours, and neither of you can look away.  He’s giving you everything he is, everything he has been or will be, and trusting you to do with him what you will.  You do the same; offering anything less would be an insult to the way you feel about him. You surrender completely, knowing and accepting that you’re safe and that he can and will handle whatever your future holds; he’s not going to give up on you any more than you’d give up on him.

You’ve never felt so secure.

“I love you.”  The words are spoken at the same time, and you can feel his pieces filling the cracks left by your ordeal.  In this moment you feel whole, almost as if you’d never been broken.  Bucky stares into your eyes with an expression of wonder, and you know damn well that your own face reflects the awe you feel at the enormity of the bond you share.

It almost seems against his volition when he begins to thrust faster.  Your body betrays you, too, movements matching Bucky’s and encouraging him to move even faster, harder, deeper.  He obliges, rolling his hips into yours as your free hand roams at his back and shoulder and ass, desperate to touch as much of him as you can.  He tightens his grip on your hand and presses it more firmly into the mattress to keep you from sliding back and hitting the headboard.

Bucky’s getting close – you can hear it in his uneven breathing and feel it in the way his rhythm occasionally falters.  You are, too, and of course he knows this.  He hasn’t forgotten how to play your body, how to get you to respond in any way he pleases.  And right now he wants to you to come.  With his eyes, he demands it.  

You couldn’t deny him if you tried.  Stars explode and you clutch him to you as tightly as possible; he keeps going as long as he can, but your release soon sets off his own.  Hand in hand you ride the violent waves of bliss and pleasure, knowing nothing but each other in this timeless moment.

When the aftershocks subside, you pull your hand from his and begin to softly run your hands up and down his back as Bucky trembles in your arms.  Neither of you pulls away – this is where you want to be – and a smile grows as you catch your breath.

This man.

“What’s goin’ through that pretty head of yours?”  Bucky’s voice is quiet but rough.

“Huh?”  

He kisses the tip of your nose.  “You’ve got a goofy grin on your face.  Just wondering what you’re thinking.”

You huff a laugh as you come clean.  “Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?  How’s that?”

“I got the trifecta. Didn’t think it even existed, but it does.”

“The trifecta,” he repeats, waiting for your explanation.

“Mmm hmm.  I found a man that loves me.”  You begin tracing the lines of his face with your fingertips.

He turns his head to press a quick kiss to your palm.  “You’re damn right you did.”

“He’s hot.”

Bucky smirks.

You run your finger along his lower lip.  “And…he knows how to fuck.”

Bucky ducks his head as he lets out a gentle laugh.  His lips meet your neck, then your ear.  He takes his time, but between kisses and nibbles he whispers, “Then I guess we both got the trifecta.  And don’t you dare roll your eyes, cause it’s true – you love me, hell, you trust me which is so fucking incredible to me, you’re gorgeous, and I will freely admit that I can’t get enough of this…I’m insatiable for you and what you do.”

The hot whispers at your ear send a chill through your body, defeating any chance you’d have of successfully rolling your eyes, especially considering that they’re currently busy rolling back into your head with bliss.  His hands start to wander again, and your breath begins to quicken when you feel his softened length still inside you begin to twitch.

Supersoldier, indeed.

“How is your thigh feeling,” Bucky murmurs between dropping hot, open mouthed kisses on your neck and shoulders.

“My what? Oh…yeah…it’s good.  I’m good.”  He’s doing a fine job of distracting you from any lingering discomfort…or rational thinking. Not that you’re complaining. “Everything’s, uh, everything’s good.”

“Mmm…” is the only acknowledgement you get as he continues moving his mouth against you, tasting whatever his lips and tongue can find.  

It’s clear where this is going…until your stomach growls.  Loudly.

Traitor.

Bucky pulls away slightly, obviously biting back his laughter.  “So…I guess it’s time for a break.”

“What?  No,” you plead, pulling his lips to yours.  You’re pretty sure you have him convinced, until another rumble comes from your tummy.  “Dammit.”

“Sweetheart, you need to eat.”  Suddenly he’s all business, pressing one last kiss to your forehead before gingerly pulling out of you, causing you both to wince at the sticky feeling.  “And get dried off.  The last thing you need is to catch a cold.”

Well, he’s not wrong. Now that he isn’t covering you with his body, your damp skin is definitely feeling the chill, especially where the comforter is wet.  In hindsight, maybe the thirty seconds it would’ve taken to dry off wouldn’t have been too much.

Then again…nope. Totally worth it.

“I think I need another shower,” you mutter while you shift to sit at the side of the bed.  

“Sweetheart.”  There’s no mistaking his tone as he drapes a dry blanket over your shoulders; Protective Bucky has been activated.

“Yeah, yeah, I know I need to eat,” you grumble, “and I am hungry.  But I’m also unmoisturized and frizzy.  I need lotion, leave in conditioner, and my face cream, or I’m going to uncomfortable and itchy until my next shower.  And I’ll look like I just stuck my finger in an electric socket.”

Bucky barks out a laugh as he helps you to your feet.  “You’re not that frizzy.”

“Yet,” you counter.  “Friction is not a curly-haired girl’s best friend. You remember what happened the first time we did this, right?”

Bucky’s eyes drift and his lips curl into a ridiculous smile as he thinks back to the day you’re referencing.  It was the second time you’d showered together – he insisted he needed a do-over and you sure as hell weren’t going to complain – and you hadn’t had time to finish your routine afterward because the boys woke up from their nap.  Bucky would have covered you, but he got a call from Steve. All you could do was toss your hair into a bun and go with it.

It took Bucky over an hour that night to detangle your hair before bed.

“Okay fine.”  He starts stripping the wet bedding from the bed and smirks.  “You’ve got 5 minutes, and then it’s off to the kitchen to eat.”

“No,” you scoff, and immediately counter, “20 minutes.  I need to rinse off, too.  You’re messy.”

Bucky straightens indignantly, but you see the teasing light in his eyes.  “I’m messy?  I might be the cause, but you’re the reason.  It takes two to tango, Doll.”

Your laughter echoes through the room; the normalcy you’re feeling right now is almost making you giddy, and the lightness is clearly reflected in Bucky’s entire being.  “Yeah, I guess it does.  I wasn’t complaining, by the way.  Just stating a fact.”

He rolls his eyes before disappearing into the bathroom, returning a moment later with fresh blankets and a grin.  “Ten minutes.”

Shaking your head, you watch his still naked form begin to make the bed while you head to the bathroom. God, he is a thing of beauty. “Fifteen,” you call through the open door.  He doesn’t reply, he just laughs.

Bucky joins you in the bathroom a few minutes later with a pile of clothes for you both.  “Take as long as you need, Sweetheart,” he presses a kiss to the back of your neck as he wraps his arms around you.  “Just keep in mind that every time your stomach growls, I’m gonna think you’re ready to pass out.  You’ve had IV fluids but haven’t eaten since we were on the jet.”

You smile at his reflection in the mirror as you lean into him, intensely grateful for how much he cares for you and for getting back these little moments with him.   “I won’t take too long, I promise.  I just want to get comfortable.”

Eyes soft, he nods.

You both exhale.

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[regrettablewritings]

Cassian Andor x Reader Ship Meme

How differently do they think of each other now compared to when they first met?: You were terrified of Cassian, plain and simple. His reputation as one of the Rebellion’s most aloof and cutthroat captains preceded him, and you were horrified to learn that you would be transferred to Yavin IV where he was currently stationed. You tried to avoid ever having to meet him, fruitless as you knew it would be, but you still held out hope . . . which was promptly dashed considering that, as a medic, your chances of meeting a gung-ho captain was higher than, say, if you had worked in the mess hall. You weren’t sure what made your first meeting with Captain Andor particularly scary: The fact that you had preexisting anxiety towards him; that his dark, piercing eyes appeared to be glaring; or that he had blood on him – some of which wasn’t even his, you discovered, as you wiped away at cuts and bruises, sheepishly asking how many injuries you could expect to patch up. On his own end, Cassian wasn’t sure of what to make of you. Rather, he wasn’t aware that he needed to make anything of you at all. It probably didn’t help that as he left the infirmary, his one takeaway was that you were a nervous slip of girl who wasn’t cut out for being in contact with a war and probably wouldn’t last long. He had half a mind to say this, but knew it wouldn’t do any good. Besides, the Rebellion needed as many hands as possible. Especially in the medical field.

Given how he was typically quite careful on most assignments, the Rebellion captain had very little reason to frequent your domain. And for that, you were thankful. But it was during one particularly grueling mission that he had been ordered by Commander-in-Chief Mon Mothma to see you for psychiatric examination. The subsequent questions, as well as your basic training, assured that you managed to gather more insight about the man’s thought process and experiences that may have given way to recurring issues within his psyche. However, it was your own natural goodhearted nature that drove you the extra mile: In spite of your nervousness around him, you tried actually talking to him – and not just the usual medical jargon about his health. But you tried opening up to him the same way one might attempt to make a pet more comfortable in a new environment by letting them know they were safe. Only all you had to go on were words, weak attempts at small talk and jokes. Given his near nonexistent reactions, you had every right to perceive your kindred attempts as failures. It was when he stopped by three days later, coming in for an unnecessary checkup where he offered some scattered small talk back that you began to reconsider that conclusion. He claimed that growing close to you had been a lapse of judgement on his part (and arguably yours), but that didn’t necessarily stop him from popping up more and more. And honestly? You didn’t mind it as much as you thought you might. It allowed you to become less afraid of him, to know him as more than just a hard-ass (which, let’s be real, he still was) but also as a man who’s sacrificed so much of himself for the cause that he honestly might not know who he is without the Rebellion. All he’s ever known was war and fighting; if you catch him in the extremely rare mood, you’d find out that he’s actually not too entirely sure of what part of him in the real him since so much of who he presents himself as has been formed by his efforts. But during this venture, the both of you can confirm that when he's hard-working, ambitiously dedicated, focused, and agile? That’s all Cassian. But definitely the most shocking of all is that Cassian isn’t some emotionless, cut-blooded soldier as many had you believing with their recounting of him: Cassian actually very much experiences remorse for when things get out of hand even if by the smallest fraction. The frozen shield he puts up is definitely less of his actual personality and more of a defense/coping mechanism that he’s become reliant on. It’s not healthy by any means, but you both understand and even sympathize with it. You just hope that you can introduce a way for him to break away from it and be more open. He sees you as far less of a liability, by the way. In fact, he’s begun to heavily appreciate how soft you’ve stayed in spite of everything. Because war instills this need for jugular-biting ambition and every-last-man mentality, he’d begun to forget how important it is to display kindness and gentleness. He now sees your helping hands as your strength and would rather not imagine where he everyone would be without somebody like you.

What do their friends/family think of their relationship?: Cassian tries to keep the relationship under wraps when the two of you first agree to start seeing each other romantically. He says it’s for your own protection, but considering how you never go off-planet and how you’re not a name the Empire would focus on to begin with, you know this instantly to be bullshit. The reality is that he knows how uncharacteristic it was for him to not only get romantic with somebody, but to do so when all his life has ever been about was the Rebellion. Oh, and the fact that his friends would have a field day might have something to do with it. To both your and Cassian’s surprise (and embarrassment), K2 isn’t the first one to comment on the connection the two of you had. He certainly had his suspicions (all of which he bluntly stated, perhaps to crude degrees in certain cases), but the ultimately first person to actually make a statement about it was none other than Chirrut. Claiming he could sense it, the monk fondly cooed over how the icy captain’s heart melted in the light of your spirit. He keeps calling the union beautiful and necessary as it is a symbol of how even during times of war, love can flourish and grow through the clouds of doubt. Baze scoffs at the comment but ultimately is okay with the situation. Aside from stating that at least Cassian isn’t as much of a hard-ass, the ex-monk is mostly neither here nor there regarding the circumstances. Bodhi himself thinks it’s nice that somebody gives Cassian a safe place to heal; he himself has only been directly involved with the Rebellion for a little while compared to Cassian’s whole life of investment, and his nerves are constantly fried. He can only imagine how Cassian must actually feel beneath it all. Likewise, Mon is just glad that somebody gets along with Cassian who isn’t a subordinate of sorts. While she appreciates the hard work he puts into the Rebellion, his attitude sometimes makes her worry about the decisions he makes out of ambition. Hopefully your presence in his life will give him reason to think more with his emotions than with his own deadly determination. At the very least, she hopes he’s more open with you and venting some of the things weighing on his psyche that he won’t express to her. But above all, K2 is obviously the most vocal about the relationship. He’s like a big younger sibling in a sense, complaining about the ways that the two of you show affection (even when it’s in privacy, even when it’s not anything blatantly resembling PDA). However, you can’t help but snicker when one day, early on in the union, he trudges up to you and states, “Cassian says I need to be nice to you, even though he’s not very nice himself; from what I’ve been told, hitting one’s on the behind isn’t appropriate – ” You die on the ground in a fit of laughter while Cassian dies in a corner, cringing with embarrassment and anger.

How do their personalities/skills complement or contrast with each other?: While the both of you are reserved, you and Cassian are that way for very different reasons and by different means of expression. For you, it was something more akin to shyness and nerves. You hated the idea of getting in the way, and frankly being around people barking orders at one another didn’t do much for this anxiety. For Cassian, it was out of an assigned necessity that he be closed off. Best not to get too attached, because for all he knew, whomever or whatever he got too close to would disappear from his life just as everything else had. He’s getting better at it, but expecting years and years of a defense mechanism to go away is unrealistic. Going off of these forms of quiet behavior, you’re still legions more open than he is. In spite of your shyness, you try to make those that visit you in the infirmary feel better by even 1% considering that unless it’s for a checkup, they’re probably not there under great circumstances. The result is that many Rebels like you to some degree and cannot fathom what you see in Cassian because he’s just so . . . not like you. You have to admit, it gives you a bit of amusement to see the looks of confusion on their faces when they see you strolling about, gooey smile intact whilst walking alongside the perpetually frowning captain. It’s a nice sugar and salt sort of unity: Nobody gets how it works, it just does.

What is their favorite aspect of each other?: Most people would assume that Cassian would immediately say it’s your work ethic or overall determination to see a situation to the end. And, to be fair, that would be what he’d tell them if he cared to answer such a question. But in actuality, while it’s certainly something he likes about you, that’s not his absolute favorite thing. Cassian will never admit to it, but he finds your softness to be something he’s come to greatly appreciate. Yes, the very thing that made him question your ability to withstand the Rebellion is also the thing he loves the most. Go figure! This is because everything in his life has been ragged or uncomfortable, so your gentleness certainly stands out as a daisy on the rocky terrain that has been his life thus far. When he came back from Scarif, you could immediately determine that he was shaken even though he never said otherwise and attempted to act as if nothing about nearly dying had affected him. You’d known him long enough to pick up on his cues, and your medical training required you to recognize certain traits present in those struggling with the aftermath of potentially traumatic events. You tried not to pick at him for details and for that he was thankful but ultimately, the most he was willing to do at that point was just . . . hold you. He couldn’t decide if it was because he needed to show you how much he appreciated you after everything, or if it was because you were soft and warm and felt like an actual home for him, but what did it matter? You were currently one of the only good things he had in his life, and he owed it all to your much softer nature. It allowed him to not have to be so cold and calculating; it just meant he had a place to let his hair down – and be played with. You yourself have come to better understand Cassian’s dedicated nature as something that apparently reaches beyond just his militant duties (something of which surprises even himself, given that he never had the opportunity to extend it beyond that). When Cassian sets his sights on something, he goes all in to acquire the best outcome: Missions, keeping people safe, something pertaining to his relationship, etc. You’ve seen what even a couple months of war can do to people: It exhaust them, robs them of sleep, of energy, of hope. You don’t blame them a bit. It therefore seems miraculous that Cassian has managed to maintain his over the years not only for work, but for play as well. If you’re upset or need something, he’ll do his best to try and find either the desired outcome or a suitable alternative. This man will take a laser bullet for you if need be, frankly!

Do either of them have pet peeves about each other?: While his façade of coldness can sometimes press you, you consider yourself quite patient when dealing with that. At the very least, you knew that that wasn’t the actual Cassian, just something to cover up his vulnerability. The reality is that your greatest admirations are also your biggest flaws when taken to the max. For example, that dedication you are astounded to see in Cassian? Too much of it becomes a death wish. This was to be expected when one knows of Cassian and how far he’ll go for the Rebellion, even if unnecessarily. However, you just wish he’d be a bit more considerate about how things have changed. He has no reason to immediately hop onto arguable suicide missions, especially when they don’t actually need him to come along. Yet he does anyway. You know it’s more likely a case of an old habit struggling to die even a slow death (that, or years of putting his faith and trust into the Rebellion), but when he does things like this, it makes you wonder if he cares about the relationship enough to just not put himself in harm’s way unnecessarily. Worse is when you confront him about this, but that’s for another analysis. Sometimes, Cassian’s old world view of sensitivity in times of war seeps in like venom and tints how he views your temperament. If you appear particularly fazed or too merciful in a situation, he can get very frustrated with you and potentially call you out as being weak or criticize that “you’re gonna get your ass killed if you keep that shit up.” This alone would cause you some irritation and even insult, but it’s the cold, spiteful way with which Cassian delivers it that makes it sting all the more to you.

How would each reconcile with each other after a fight?: It turns out that in spite of your gentleness, you can bite back if you want to or if you’re pushed to your limit. When you and Cassian had your first big fight, it had been over his apparent lack of consideration over his life and how just jumping at opportunities without thinking about how they might impact you suggested an ultimate indifference to your relationship. At the very least, it suggested to you an unhealthy dedication to the Rebellion or how everything was immediately subservient to the cause when compared to it. Considering the time and devotion he’d put into it, of course he felt insulted. Which was why he felt he was the one that deserved an apology, and expected one rather soon given your demure nature. But to his surprise, you didn’t surface for some time. It wasn’t until evening came that you finally approached him, but not necessarily with an apology. You showed him a holopad. “This,” you said, nodding at the rotating holographic sphere, “is Cantonica. I’ve only heard about it, but from what I’ve gathered, it’s mostly desert. But there’s  this one coastal city called Canto Bight that’s apparently quite lively. But in a different way from this place. I was hoping that one day, we could see it together. Maybe have what normal people would call fun.” You press a button and a new planet appears in Takodana’s place. “And this? This is Takodana. It’s lush and green and all around looks very peaceful.” You lick your lips. “I was hoping that maybe we could make a home there.” You press the same button from before, showing not a planet, but a home: It was nothing spectacular, but even Cassian had to admit that it looked quite cozy. You stated that this was the sort of home you’d thought about the two of you having. And it went on like this, showing potential pets, dishes you wanted to try, events you thought he might like to go to, until your voice began to tremble. At the end of it, you set the holopad down with a shaky sigh. “. . . But we can’t do any of this if it’s just me around. Okay?” In the end, both of you apologized, sealing it with an uncharacteristic hug initiated by Cassian himself. But he does point out that none of this would be possible if something doesn’t happen that ends the war in the Rebellion’s favor. He just has trouble trusting others to assure that that future comes out the way he wants it to and the way you deserve for it to. You understand. But since then, he’d made more of an effort to not jump into a fight at the first sign of one occurring. However, when he does or earns your ire in a similar manner, his go-to tends to be talking to you and listening to your venting. In fact, both of you tend to veer towards talking when you’ve upset one another. After all, Cassian’s banked on his feelings of anger: He struggles with approaching more delicate subjects that require him to be more emotionally vulnerable. But practice makes perfect. Similarly, you gain the ability to practice being more assertive during these discussions. The difference in the end is penalty: If Cassian fudges up, he is more likely to take a day or two’s break from shipping his ass out in order to make it up to you, when he can help it.

What would be their ideal vacation getaway together?: Considering that you’re existing in a period of conflict (and he’s a busy body anyway), Cassian hasn’t really put any thought into the idea of a vacation. To be honest, if it hadn’t been annihilated and if he didn’t have such traumatic memories associated with the place, he thought Scarif would have made a wonderful place to visit once the war ended. But ever since you showed him Takodana, he can’t get it off his mind. Sure, he had to go by your word for it, but he’d put in some research on his own ever since you’d mentioned it. And yes, you’d mentioned Canto Bight as your vacation spot of choice but Cassian personally found himself enticed by the tranquility the holopad depicted. He liked the foresty appearance; it looked quite serene, especially compared to the bustling base he’d been on for ages. Maybe the two of you could go hiking, scale the rocky terrain. . . . Or maybe you could just find a nice tree to sit under and just rest. Yeah; resting sure sounded nice . . .

Think of a new way (AU, different situation, etc.) they could have met for the first time: “You need a friend,” Mon stated. “Plain and simple.” She returned back to folding the chairs and placing them back on the rack. Cassian scoffed, “I have friends . . .” Mon pressed her lips together in a thin line. She didn’t even try to hide her disbelief. “I mean friends whom you don’t constantly see in the counseling circle. It’s good you’ve made connections with others – downright miraculous, even, considering how . . . not as agreeable as you can be.” She was, of course, referring to Cassian’s often icy nature whenever the sessions were held. Part of her wanted to be delicate when referring to his mannerisms; not everyone who attended the veteran counselling sessions at New Hope Ministries had been introduced to violence as early as Cassian had. However, what Mon had learned about Cassian was that he preferred things to be blunt; spare him the pussyfooting. And yet, when she flat out told him he needed new forms of companionship, well . . . “First you say I need to open up more, so I do,” the young man griped, crossing his arms. “Then you say I need more friends than what I already have. Where does it end, Mon?” “It ends when you accept that limiting yourself doesn’t do you any good. Besides, part of the healing process is opening yourself to new experiences.” The red-haired woman continued as she began to dismantle the coffee machine. “New points of view could really help a negative one.” “Yes,” Cassian scoffed again with the roll of his eyes, “or it could just remind me why I prefer keeping to myself.” “How about a dog?” Mon blurted. Cassian blinked. “. . . A dog?” he questioned. She was half-tempted to wince, realizing that she hadn’t put much thought into the suggestion before providing it. But she’d grown exasperated by the man’s protesting. Plus, it was too late to go back now. “Yyyesss . . .” she replied with some hesitation. “Dogs are a great way to get the best of both worlds, in many veterans’ own experiences. Dogs are pretty loving, pretty loyal; they can provide you the company you frankly need more of when on your own.” Unfortunately for her, Cassian didn’t seem swayed. She could see it in the way his eyes, normally cold and calculating, now appeared to be partially hooded with bemusement. She sighed, deciding to attempt one last effort. “Besides, you can get them trained. if you do that in a certain way, you can even register them as a therapy animal or service dog . . .” She decided to give the post-session cleanup a rest for a moment, slowly walking over to Cassian before placing her hand gently on his shoulder. “There’s no shame in needing someone, Cassian. Even if it’s a dog; plenty of vets go through the same troubles with reaccepting things back into their lives. You’re no exception.” Cassian regarded her hand for only a second before looking her straight in the eye. “Nobody’s lived like me,” he declared. This, however, only earned the woman an exhausted sigh as she removed her hand from his person. “Isn’t that all the more reason to seek comfort?” She didn’t wait for him to reply before turning to go back to her ministrations. A beat passed. Two. Then three. Six. Until . . . “You’re not gonna let this go, huh?” Cassian asked. ++++++++ “Hi!” you chirped, hearing the door swing open and shut. You were currently beneath the front desk, picking up the M&M’s you’d spilled after your rather rash motion of ripping the bag open. You didn’t hear a usual response (a child blabbering, a simple salutation back, etc). Though you could’ve sworn you’d heard a soft grunt. “Sorry,” you offered, hoping to prompt a more sufficient response. “I dropped some candies down here. I’ll be up in a sec.” “Mm. I’m looking for a dog,” came the voice. It was definitely male, a tad husky. You noted the Mexican accent it carried. “Sounds good,” you claimed, plucking up the last of the loose candies before elevating yourself to a standing position. “Just gimme a sec and I’ll lead you right – ” The first thing you thought when you finally laid eyes on the visitor was “brown.” So much brown. It was in his eyes, his hair, the leather jacket he wore, even his t-shirt and boots. And yet, you had to admit: He made it look good. A little too good, perhaps, given that you could’ve sworn that your cheeks were starting to heat up the more brown you tried to find on him. “R-right this way,” you clumsily delivered, flinging the wasted chocolates into the wastepaper bin at your side. You attempted to try and recover by reverting to a semblance of the script: “So, you know what type of breed you might be specifically interested in, or what type of dog in general you might be looking at?” You were a little surprised to find the previously stern eyes glint with confusion. However, you were definitely more intrigued by the smallest hint of pink developing on his defined cheeks. “Uh, well,” the man coughed. He brought a hand up to scratch the back of his brown hair. “A-actually, to be honest, I um . . .” He bit his lip, averting his eyes towards the wall opposite to you. “I actually don’t . . . know much about dogs.” The sentence’s volume declined with every word. “Pets weren’t really a concern growing up – they were a huge luxury, so I never really thought about having one ever, really. Until now.” That piqued your interest. “Oh?” you questioned. “What made you change your mind?” The man sighed as his hand flopped back to his side. His eyes rolled, holding on the ceiling for a moment. “I’m a veteran,” he explained, “and the group therapist said that I ‘needed to make more friends’ or whatever. She said to maybe look into a . . .” He snapped his fingers in thought. “A type of helper animal?” “Service animal?” “Yes.” You pursed your lips; this guy really did need some type of help, didn’t he? “Well . . . Maybe first off we should just see which of our guys suits you the best and then look into service-training,” you proposed. Cassian, unsure of what to say (not that he could offer anything), nodded with agreement. “Right.” You made your way around the desk, heading towards the door that led to the kennels. “Right his way, Mr . . .” “Cassian,” Cassian introduced. “Andor.” You nodded and pointed to your nametag. “Well, as you can see, I’m (Y/N). Now let’s go introduce you to somebody!” ++++++++ Cassian didn’t like being in the kennel. It wasn’t the smell that got him (he’d smelled far worse in his lifetime), but it definitely probably had to do with the noises and the visuals which accompanied them. Cassian had never put much thought into dogs, but that didn’t mean he disliked them. He just hadn’t formed an opinion of them; he had no need to, after all. But as he walked along the aisles, hearing the squeaks and barking of their inhabitants as they stood on hind legs to tear their paws at the metal wire walls or approach the doors with tennis balls and chew ropes with big, gooey eyes, he couldn’t help but feel bad. They just wanted homes; to know softness and quiet. He could relate. By the end of the first five minutes, part of him – a less focused, more Id-centered part of him – wanted to take as many of them home with him as he could. Well, some of them. There were a few of them that he couldn’t help but furrow his brows at. Like the tall, skinny, yellow dog with an antsy look about him, sharing a space with a far more yappy, small white dog who aggressively barked at Cassian when he so much as glanced in their direction. Or the big, brown, mess of fur that Cassian couldn’t help but question whether it was even a dog or not; it sure as hell didn’t sound like a dog, making peculiar roaring noises instead of actual barking. They weren’t bad dogs, per se, they just weren’t the right fit for him. He felt bad upon admitting so when you’d first brought him to them, but you didn’t appear fazed. He kind of liked that; at least you were being more patient with him than Mon had been. “Oh!” you exclaimed with a clap of your hands. It was barely audible over the barking and howling of the dogs, so it barely registered to Cassian. “I know just the one for you!” You gave him no time to ask before you began speed-walking. Cassian followed suit as you led him further and further down the line. All the while, he could pick up hints of whatever you were saying. Things like “can’t believe I never thought of him first!” and “so alike.” You came to a stop, excitedly opening up the cage before he’d even quite caught up before patting your legs. Cassian arrived just in time to see that particular containment’s occupant lumber out before standing almost dutifully by your side. He was a big dog, but not like the furry, brown one. This one was sleek, skinnier with longer legs. Or maybe that was just an illusion cast by his black fur. Regardless, he was certainly tall in some way or another, as evidenced by where he stood in comparison to your hips. Cassian both dreaded and wondered with impressed curiosity how high this dog could possibly reach if it stood on its hind legs. “This,” you said fondly, “is Kaytoo.” You gave the dog a gentle stroke along the back. His tail gave a small wag but otherwise, he stayed focused on Cassian. “He’s a rescue; we brought him in after reports came in about him being neglected. Not gonna lie, we were a little worried that he wouldn’t be able to love anybody; he was all snippy and closed off but . . .” You gave him an affectionate pat. “He’s actually pretty sweet. In his own way. Hella loyal, though, he’s got a bit of a personality on him.” Cassian couldn’t help but arche a brow at that statement. “How do you mean?” he inquired. “He’s just a dog.” “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Least of all about him,” you nodded down. Cassian followed your stare, landing on its target. Before this moment, Cassian had no idea that a dog could look like it was glaring with the same exasperated expression as a human; up until this point, he’d honestly just assumed the doggish equivalent was growling in pure rage with the threat of going for the jugular. But now, as he looked at Kaytoo, there was no doubt about it: The dog didn’t want to kill him so much as smack him and state, “You are a prime example as to why humans are going to run themselves into the ground, you ignoramus.” Cassian might not have been knowledgeable about dogs, but he certainly had never seen a dog create an expression that could translate as an entire, articulate sentence – and with such dry humor, no less! “H…Hhehe…” It was quiet at first, barely audible over the noise of the kennel. It therefore startled you when the noise increased, louder and louder until there was no doubt about it: Cassian, this man whom you could tell from the very first moment you saw him was a stern, serious sort, was laughing. And in spite of how much it startled himself the more he attempted to think about it, he couldn’t stop; God, when was the last time he’d genuinely smiled, let alone laughed? He knelt down to Kaytoo’s level and extended a hand, giving the dog an awkward but well-meaning pat. To your surprise (and delight), Kaytoo responded by pushing his head closer into the man’s palm. Had this been a regular dog, this would have been normal. But Kaytoo wasn’t regular in your opinion; he trusted very few and allowed even fewer to touch him. “I think he senses that you two aren’t unalike after all,” you cooed. “Yeah, even if he does think I’m a dunce,” Cassian joked lightly, giving the back of one of Kaytoo’s ears a ginger scratch. The beast’s tail wagged gently (though in your experience, this was probably the most excited you’d seen him in a long while). “He really does have some character in him,” he muttered. The expression on the dog’s face arguably agreed, “Of course I do.” You clasped your hands together. You thought they made a perfect match already! +++++++++ You were part-happy, part sad. You always were with the departure of a shelter animal. Of course, there was happiness that the furrow fellow was going to go home with somebody where they would receive love and care and nice, soft, warm things that the shelter couldn’t always provide. But then, you couldn’t help the subsequent attachments one easily develops when working around and caring for these little and big guys. Kaytoo was no exception to this mixture of feelings. However, it wasn’t so much a half-and-half of melancholy as it was more three-quarters happy with the remaining quarter more melancholic. Kaytoo had been with you guys for a while now, always aloof and throwing people off with how “unfriendly” he seemed. The worry quickly became that perhaps his experiences hardwired him to become unable to live with another being, dog or human, ever again. But as you observed him standing obediently beside Cassian (whom was signing the final paperwork), you confirmed that you had nothing to worry about: Those two were going to get along just fine. “Oh, uh, by the way . . .” Cassian muttered as he gingerly handed you the clipboard and pen. “I may need some help.” You blinked, humming with question. “I . . . I mean, I’ve never had to train a dog before,” he clarified, the pink twinge returning to his face. “Ah, I figured,” you said. You offered him a small smile. “Yes, well . . . You said I should try just getting to know him? As a dog-friend-thing? Before trying to think about service training and stuff.” You nodded. “Yeah, it can take a rescue some time before they get truly comfortable in their new home. But there’s some tips in the pamphlets and plenty of suggestions online that we may not have covered. Each companion’s experience is different but” – you regarded Kaytoo and nodded at him – “I get the feeling Kaytoo will feel right at home. Maybe a little too at home. I suggest teaching him boundaries; I get the gut-feeling that he’s gonna try and claim your couch within the first five minutes of entering the place.” At this, Cassian offered you the second smile you’d seen of him the entire time. “Maybe…You could drop by some time? Or we can drop by here? For tips?” You couldn’t help but blink. The idea of going to this handsome man’s house? The idea that he was actually . . . inviting you to come to his house? And it involved a dog, no less!! But alas . . . “Well, I wouldn’t suggest bringing him back here. It might spook him; most times when people bring a dog to the shelter, they have the intention of giving them up,” you admitted. If you hadn’t known any better, you could’ve sworn you saw the slightest microcosm of deflation appear in Cassian’s shoulders. But just as soon as you’d finished your sentence, a new thought arrived. “But I don’t have a problem, dropping in on you guys. Maybe the dog park?” Cassian nodded, a closed-mouthed hint of a smirk inching back onto his features. “Yeah, yeah. Or maybe a café?” “Oh, I know a good one where they let you bring your dogs in.” “Really? That sounds . . . interesting.” Had the two of you glanced down at him, you could have noticed Kaytoo’s expression resemble that of exasperated disgust. He really just wanted to go to his new home and claim the couch at this point.