#but she still took him to the familiar doctor despite hating the place

[wolfnight2012]

The way the entire latter half of 5x06 leaves zero room for doubt about how much these asshole vampires truly care for each other.

Nadja and Nandor are both ready to risk their lives for their family members.

Nadja in particular was intensely protective of Guillermo, the entire last half of their plot is about how much Nadja (and Nandor) CARES

From the moment the doctor says he'll have to perform more tests, Nadja starts to worry. She seeks Guillermo out to sneak out of the hospital before his "secret" is revealed. This has no bearing on her, its solely to protect Guillermo from a hypothetical/possible threat.

She outright claims him, (TWICE) "he's our familiar" and the "he's mine"

She searches desperately for him, she sounds SCARED while calling for him, and it's 100% fear for him, Nadja is not on the hook (yet), the doctor doesn't blame her for Guillermo's freakish half-transformation

Fighting off several workers, putting herself between Guillermo & danger--putting herself IN danger (she does not let up/fly herself out of harm's way when the doctor turns on her, she calls for Guillermo's help but never Once does she rescind her claim on him) and claiming Guillermo in every way she can.

I really do think her "he's mine" is a personal claim. Guillermo is Nandor's bodyguard, her family's shared familiar, and he's her's.

She does say Nandor deserves to kill him, but that excuse immediately falls flat when the doctor starts trying to kill her, and yet she keeps herself between him & Guillermo.

Wwdits really said these guys will do anything for each other. Nandor would undergo a painful (and dangerous) energy transfer to save Colin Robinson. Nadja would fight off several vampires in order to protect Guillermo.

Laszlo would keep Guillermo's secret (even from his lovely lady wife) & ask her to implicate herself with him, all for Guillermo & Nandor's sake

They love each other your honor 🥺

[mysafehaneul]

Timestamp! Aquamarine Au!

Wonwoo x Reader

Part of this Series.

Angst, Hurt comfort, a child and a dog and some ice-cream.

TW: Mention of Chondrosarcoma.

12:31am:

You found yourself leaning against the kitchen counter, hands still gripping the smooth slab as you watched the water slowly dry in the sink. Your gaze was fixated on the droplets that fell and scattered; your fingertips still damp from washing your cup earlier.

The evening dress clung to your body, a reminder of the office event you had attended on behalf of your father. A wave of sadness washed over you, the ache in the lump of your throat intensifying as your eyes stung with unshed tears. Memories played in your head, and life didn't feel the same ever since you found out about

your father's diagnosis with Chondrosarcoma. The feeling of impending loss loomed over you, lurking in the corner, ready to impose itself on you at any moment.

It had been two days since you lost your appetite, preoccupied with your father's condition and the transition of the company's management. Meanwhile, Noel was away for the summer with Jeonghan and Victor and their son, and your daughter was about to start preschool. Everything seemed to be falling into place, yet the taste of the tea you had just drank still lingered on your tongue.

As you stood there lost in your thoughts, you felt sturdy yet careful footsteps approaching you. The familiar scent of his being, fresh from a pre-bed shower, reached you before his arms wrapped around your waist. His hot breath on your neck sent shivers down your spine as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His lips left a tingling sensation as they moved to speak.

"Everything will be alright," he whispered, his voice a comforting reassurance in the midst of uncertainty.

You drew in a breath, feeling your chest constricted as your brows scrunched in distress. Despite your efforts to control your voice, it still came out tight. "My father is dying, Won. What could possibly become alright?"

"Y/N," Wonwoo stood straight, pulling you closer to his chest as his hand gently caressed the top of your head, your head now resting against his shoulder. "Don't say that. You know I talked with Doctor Jung, and he's hopeful that there is still a chance. If we go forward with the treatment, then he can…"

"I know that, but at what cost, Wonwoo?" Your voice shook, tears streaming down your face. "He's 70 years old, and he refuses it. He says he'd rather live out his days than lease them in exchange for pain. And I don't understand what's wrong with my mother that she's supporting him in this."

Your knees wobbled, but Wonwoo tightened his grip, carefully sitting down on the floor with his legs crossed and placing your shaking body on his lap. He pressed kisses on top of your head, then nuzzled his forehead against your back, his heart breaking at seeing you like this – his strong wife who always pushed through no matter what hurdles life threw at her.

"How can they be so selfish? Why didn't they think of me? Doesn't what I want matter?"

"Your points are valid, Y/N, and I know that," Wonwoo began, gently removing your hand from your face to look at you, providing reassurance. Mascara ran down your eyes, leaving a trace in its wake, and your lipstick was slightly smudged. The sight made him hate himself for being unable to take away your pain.

With downcast eyes, you spoke, your voice filled with childlike innocence that left no doubt that even though your daughter took after him, she inherited all her mannerisms from you. "But I need my father. I'll always need my father. I can't fathom the day where I pick up my phone and dial his number, and he won't be there to pick up after the second ring and tell me, 'Don't worry, I'll take care of it,' Wonwoo. I hate to think about it. Even a thought like that makes me feel like someone has taken the roof off my head and left me in a room surrounded by walls."

Wonwoo could feel a lump arising in his throat as well. He reached out to kiss your tears, but you moved your head and buried your face in the crook of his neck, circling your arms tightly around him. He shut his eyes and did the same.

"Why do I have to be the one always losing people around me? Why can't I–"

"Please don't finish that sentence, please, Y/N," his voice wobbled as he tightened his embrace.

You let your emotions take over, and the sobs soon turned into silent tears. During that time, your husband silently rocked you, rubbing your back and planting kisses periodically. You didn't know how long you both sat there, but the night had surely grown darker, and his hair was dry.

When his voice hushed, "There will be times when life makes us realize that our mortality is the ultimate and unescapable fact. Thus, it makes it necessary for us to live it while we can. Instead of crying, fighting, and complaining, I think you should spend time with your father and make the most out of it so that you don't have any regrets again about the things unsaid and the opportunity to make new memories with him and our kids."

You shook your head in understanding. "Okay."

"Okay."

You wiped your face with the back of your hand and moved away from his neck, his eyes trained on you with the same gaze as the night in London where he proposed to you.

"Since when did you become so philosophical?" you gave him a small smile.

Catching on to your attempt to lighten the mood, he said, "Just ever since I married this woman. You may know her very well. Or Maybe it's a girl-dad effect."

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head at his antics, a small smile gracing both of your lips. You leaned in and planted a kiss at the corner of his lips, pulling back as both of your foreheads rested against each other.

"Have faith, my love. Let's try and talk with him about the treatment together, hmm?"

"Hmm."

You took a breath as you were about to move off and go change your dress. The pitter-patter of small feet and four paws slowly rushed down the hall.

"You didn't put her to bed?" you asked, your eyes still closed. "I did," both of your heads still connected.

"Hush, Denny, you're making too much noise. You're gonna wake papa and mama up," the voice was now coming from the other side of the kitchen island as both of you were hidden from plain sight. "I am going to grab the chair and get the ice-cream, but don't bark, okay?"

"How is she going to move the chair?" you whispered to your husband.

"That's what I also want to know."

There was a little screech from the dragging on the floor, then a little huff resounded. "This is heavy," the cute voice concluded. There was silence for a few seconds when the patter against the floor resumed.

You both exchanged looks when Iris opened the pantry and brought out the kitchen step stool. With a look of triumph written across her face, she made her way to the other side of the kitchen where the fridge, as well as the two of you, were sitting, with Denny wagging his tail, giving the telltale sign that this was not the first time they were doing this and he was well aware of what was about to come.

"We wouldn't need this if Oppa were here," she said, looking at Denny, when you said, "Is that right?" making her startled and drop the tool. "Hello Iris, fancy seeing you here way past your bedtime."

Your daughter looked at you, then at her father, eyes widened. "Mama, Papa."

You raised your brows in acknowledgement, Wonwoo's failed suppressed chuckle slipping past. "What are you doing with that, baby girl?" he said.

She moved away from the tool and approached where both of you were sitting and said, "Papa, Denny woke me up and he wanted ice cream."

Wonwoo looked at you and then at Denny before amusing his daughter, "Is that right, Denny?" Denny, none the wiser, gave a bark.

"Well, if Denny wants it, then we can give it to him. You can go to bed."

"Noo," she yelped, then looked down and pouted. "So did I."

You and Wonwoo exchanged amused looks as he said, "Hmm, ice cream does sound like a good idea. What do you say, Mama?"

You couldn't help but chuckle as both of you got up. You wiped your face with the kitchen towel and reached out for the ice cream bowls.

When Iris asked, "What were you guys doing on the floor?"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: I have an exam tomorrow but I am kinda sad, and can't take this scene out of my head, Its cringe might delete it later. I know I must focus on the cheol fic but ya know the same'ol writter's bloc. Wish me luck for my exam.

[m0nsterqzzz]

is it possible for a Carol Danvers x reader where Reader is a new caretaker of the baby flerkens/kittens and sometimes asks Carol tips since she looks after Goose while this is happening Kamala ships it and asks Kate to help her ship set sail and the two of them tries to be like spies like the Black Widow siblings but fails and in the end Carol has the guts to asks reader out but Kamala and Kate has to do training about stealth as punishment?

this is so cuteeee ahhh

love the flerkens with all my heart so i'm so excited to write this <3

it'll actually be the first carol oneshot i've posted!! (despite writing hundreds and hating all of them lol) so thank you for requesting bestie <3333

sorry it took so long but here you go :)

pairing: Carol Danvers x gn reader

summary: taking care of baby flerkens is scary. That's for sure. But would such a positive outcome of getting a date with a pretty superhero be enough to make you stay?

a/n: love the ask, hate my writing. just like always.

carol is wifey tho so we chill.

You wouldn’t exactly say your job is superhero important, but taking care of thirty kittens who can open up their mouths and swallow you whole at any second has its own set of risks.

It started with you going to visit the vet place you used to work at as a doctor before leaving to pursue other interests. You’re still close friends with the rest of the vet’s there, so you go and visit when you have time. While you were there, your friend Maggie had been telling you about some girl that came in with thirty cats, which surprisingly, has been seen before. That wasn't why this lady was remembered in the office so well. It was because the kittens kept eating workers, just to spit them back up perfectly fine- well maybe a little bit covered in saliva- about an hour later.

When Maggie described the woman, an older blonde woman that had manners, was accompanied by two young girls that wouldn't stop getting on her nerves, and had fists that glowed when one of the girls accidentally ate a dog treat that was shaped like a cupcake. The woman's name was Carol Danvers- a superhero you and millions of other people were familiar with- and her friends, Kamala Khan and Kate Bishop.

Fun day for the office, and you could only say you wish you’d been there to see it. The smirk on your friend's face was one you see quite often, one she only has when she’s planning something.

So that day, you left the vet building with a piece of paper in hand, one that had a messily scribbled out phone number. Carol’s number. She’s looking for someone to take care of the flerken kittens while she's at work, and she was so happy to hear back from someone that she hired you without even asking to see your credentials.

That's how you find yourself here, chasing around one of the kittens with a treat in hand. Kamala, the sweetest angel, was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now she’s in the wrong place. I.E, one of the kittens' stomachs. As Carol explained it, whatever goes in their mouths aren't technically in their stomachs, just in a pocket of time and space that starts in their stomachs. At least, that's what you thought she said. You were too busy watching the way her arm muscles flexed in the tank top she was wearing while she was hammering a nail to connect parts of the giant bed she’s building for the kittens.

Suddenly, as you get into the kitchen with the cat still several feet in front of you, somebody chuckles and leans down to catch the meowing animal before it can escape again. It’s Carol, dressed in her usual attire of slightly baggy jeans, an old band t-shirt and converse. 

She holds the cat up but it’s armpits, facing him away from her and in the opposite direction of you before she says, “give her back.” That’s all it takes, and then the kitten opens it’s mouth and spits out Kamala.

You’re barely paying attention to the girl gasping for air on the floor though, instead you’re watching Carol's cute smile as she nuzzles the cat and then sets him back on the ground. “How’ you do that?” You start, trying to get your breathing back to normal. “I’ve been trying to catch him for like an hour.”

“Yeah, that was a really long time!” Kamala chimes in, but neither you nor Carol are listening.

“I learned from Goose that if you show disappointment in your voice, they’ll let ‘em go. Weird, but effective.” The blonde says before she goes back to cooking. “I’m making lunch. You want some, honey?

You find yourself turning crimson at the nickname, about to say no thank you before suddenly Carol is speaking again, panic in her voice. “I mean do you want honey! In the tea! That I haven’t made yet. Not you honey! This honey!” She holds up a honey container shaped like a bear to prove her point.

Kamala smirks, awkwardly winking at Carol and mouthing the word, “Smooth!” before the superhero finally just shoves her out of the room.

You sigh, nodding your head before grabbing the baby flerken and making your way out of the room. It’s obvious she doesn’t feel the same way and you shouldn’t be surprised. Why would a superhero like her fall for…you?

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Carol Danvers is madly in love with you.

You don’t know that, of course. But she is.

It’s why she’s here, panicking in the kitchen after accidentally calling you a nickname. Someone snickers behind her, and without missing a beat, she throws a rag towards Kamala’s head. “Shut up. That sucked! What is wrong with me? The blonde pleads, and Kamala’s eyes soften even though her tone is still teasing as she says in a sing-songy voice, “You like them.”

“No shit sherlock. Of course I like them. Have you seen their smile? And the little laugh they do whenever one of the flerkens eat something? Or-”

She’s cut off by Kate barling into the kitchen, Goose in her arms and training suit on. “What’s going on?”

“Carol’s telling us about her crush on the flerkins caretaker.”

“Ooooo! Are you gonna ask them out?”

“Can you two shut up?”

“No. I totally ship you guys!”

“Fine. How about this, if you don’t shut up and let me handle this, I’ll make you do 48 extra hours of training over the course of the next two weeks. That's almost two extra hours a day.”

They shut up.

It’s not like she doesn’t want to go out with you. That would be amazing. But she hasn’t had a relationship in years. Well, there was that little situationship with Valkyrie but we don’t talk about that!

Point is, she doesn’t know all the proper dating etiquette nowadays. Should she take you to dinner and a movie? Ask your kin if it’s okay? Recite poetry?

The two younger girls notice her spiral as she leaves the kitchen, making them feel sorry for their friend. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Kate asks with a smile.

Kamala is silent for a minute before she says, “We should go to the store and get Goose to steal ice cream sandwiches for us because we’re poor?”

“Later. Right now, I think we need to help Carol get a date.”

“I don’t know about this Kate. It’s clear she doesn’t want our help.”

“Wow. Since when did Kamala Khan not want to meddle? It’s like your favorite activity.”

The young girl sighs, petting Goose before she says, “You’re right. Carol needs our help and it’s going to take serious meddling.”

So, with that idea in mind, they come up with a plan. As superheroes, their main job is keeping people out of danger. It’s what Carol also does on a daily basis. If they can put you in a dangerous situation, Carol can swoop in and save you.

It’s why they went to the store and got 2 pounds of butter, melting it over the stove before dumping it all over the living room floor.

Just because they’re superheroes doesn’t mean they’re smart.

Then, they hide behind the kitchen counter, heads peeking over the side that makes it obvious it’s them.

You open the front door, back from your lunch as you call out for the baby flerkens. You stop in your tracks when you see the butter, eyes darting around the house as you call out, “Carol?”

She comes running in, successfully slipping in the butter before you can catch her. Kamala and Kate gasp from their hiding spot, hiding their heads again when Carol narrows her eyes towards them.

“Are you okay? Do you need help?” You say, but she just shakes her head with a grimace. “No. I’m fine. Go on. The kittens are in my room.” With a hesitant nod, you walk around the pool of butter with your crush smack dab in the middle of it, then into the hallway and towards her room.

Carol takes a deep breath while closing her eyes, deciding to lay in shame and butter. Kamala and Kate quietly get up from their hiding spot, taking her moment of silence to escape this situation. “Three hours of extra stealth training tomorrow. A punishment for this and because I don’t know how the hell you two become superheroes. And please….for the love of god….clean up the fucking butter.” The blonde mumbles with her eyes closed, the younger girls grabbing each other's arms as they hold in a groan and continue trying to sneak out despite the fact they’ve already been caught.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

After a quick trip to the grocery store for ice cream, Kamala and Kate spend all night watching movies, eating, and coming up with a new plan to make their ship sail.

Carols a good cook, having had to learn how when she got tired of eating packaged space food on her ship. You don't get home cooked meals a lot, so maybe they can invite you over for a dinner so that you and Carol can have more time to talk about things that aren't work related.

You easily accept their invitation with the idea that Carol knows you'll be there, so its a bit upsetting when you show up and she frowns in confusion. "Hey. Did you forget something?" Carol questions when she opens the front door to see you.

"Um....no. Kamala and Kate invited me for dinner? I figured you knew." You say with a frown of confusion, and she lets out an annoyed sigh that for a second your kinda scared is pointed towards you until she yells, "Kate! Kamala!

They jump up from behind the couch, the nervousness clear in their eyes. "Oh hey Carol. We were just hanging out."

"Behind the couch?"

"Yup. This is our....meeting spot. How'd you not know that?"

The blonde stares at them for a minute before she snickers. "That's another hour of stealth training. Leave the spy stuff to Yelena and Nat from now on girls." You’re still confused about what's happening, but in the end just decide to leave it be and come inside with the dessert you brought.

Carol follows you into the kitchen, thanking you for the treats with a bright smile. “I already ate, and I have to do some repairs on my ship, but I’ll see you tomorrow alright?” With that, she leaves, once again squashing any hope you ever had of starting a relationship with her.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

The next day, you show up at the house to take care of the flerkens like usual though something feels off. The air is more tense, and there’s not laughing going on from some dumb joke Kamala told like there would usually be. It’s always been such a fun, energetic home. Right now though, you feel like you’re in a library and have to stay quiet so a 100 year old librarian doesn’t come and tell you to shut up.

After a awkward run in with Carol in the hallway while you’re on your way to the flerkens room and she’s on her way to make breakfast before leaving packing her bags for the week long job she has to go on in space, she walks into the kitchen were Kamala and Kate are sitting at opposite ends of the table. They’re on their phones, both texting someone.

They’re texting each other about a new plan, but Carol doesn’t need to know that.

“What’s this?” They finally look up from their phones when the blonde speaks, her tone bitter and confused as she holds up a takeaway coffee cup with someone's phone number scribbled messily on it. It’s not her phone number, and it’s not one of the girl’s ethier.

“I don’t know. It’s something your little crush brought in. Said something about the girl behind the counter at the coffee place hitting on them.” Kamala chuckles, fighting the urge to roll her eyes when Kate begins to hit her arm repeatedly.

The archer takes a moment to compose herself before she says in the most casual voice she can muster, “Seems like you missed your chance.”

Carol’s eyes finally move away from the cup to look at her younger friend with wide eyes. “You really think so?” Kamala smiles knowingly and hums. “Yup. I do.”

You come into the kitchen with a flerken in your arms right at that moment, not exactly reading the room as you grab the cup from Carol’s hand and smile. “Thanks captain. I was looking for that.”

You begin to make your way out of the room, but she gently grabs ahold of your wrist before you can so you turn around to face her. She’s nervous, you can tell that by the way her hand absentmindedly draws stars on the counter and she uses her other hand to tap the beat of the Star Wars theme song against her thigh.

“You okay Carol?” You ask with a small chuckle, reaching over to put your hand over the one drawing stars which only seems to make her more nervous.

Kate coughs then whispers, “Chicken.” Carol narrows her eyes at the giggling pair at the table, point towards the entryway to the kitchen. “Out.”

They grumble something about her being a big baby as they leave, but you have a feeling they don’t get very far.

“So I was thinking.” She starts.

You snicker before saying, “That’s never good.” 

She groans, playfully shoving you away. The joking helps to ease her nerves a little, and she can finally look you in the eyes as she speaks. “I was thinking….that if you’re free, and you want to, we can maybe….go out to dinner together? Like more than friends? Only if you want to though! I totally understand if you don’t want to and I guess this might have been a little too-” Your laughter cuts her off, but it doesn't help her nerves.

“What's so funny?” She tries to awkwardly giggle as well.

One look at her face is all you need to go silent.

“You’re not kidding?” The question comes out as more of a whisper. Her stomach churns as she shrugs. “Not really.”

You think about it for a minute before asking, “You like me?”

“I really, really like you. But it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way. I totally understand.”

She watches as a small smile forms on your face, then changes to a cheshire cat grin. “I….I would love to go out to dinner with you Carol. Because I really, really, really like you too.” With that, you pull her into one of the tightest hugs she's ever gotten, her arms hesitantly wrapping around your waist to bring you even closer. 

You guys stand there in silence for a few seconds, just enjoying each other's embrace before she suddenly calls out and is followed by loud groans and your laughter, “Girls, I know you’re in the hallway. That’s five hours of stealth training. Really, how have you guys saved cities?" 

bonus: 

Carol: And me? Oh, I'm 60 years old.

Kate and kamala: damn!

Carol: ……

Kate and kamala: ……we’re sorry.

[quietwingsinthesky]

Okay,

12th & 15th

15th seeking comfort in his past, which is not the right place to do so. Don't really have to make to NSFW if you don't want to.

i swear i was gonna make some 12/15 comfort porn but 15 had other plans about why he’d be going back to meet that regeneration specifically and. well.

He does- He means to-

But how can he? What can he say to Susan, after all this time? When does ‘I’m sorry’ even begin to cover it?

There are two options: either she’s alive and alone in the universe without knowing it, and his life hasn’t destroyed hers anymore than it did from the moment he shut her out. Or. He’ll go looking for his granddaughter and find a grave. He doesn’t think he could survive either of those options. The loss of a planet, of half the universe, is almost great enough to withstand. The loss of a friend has always been what undoes him. And to lose Susan, to not let her exist in nebulous safety beyond his view-

He means to, and his course takes him somewhere else. The TARDIS thrums with gentle scolding.

He ducks his head out into a familiar office. He remembers the smell of this place most clearly, weighty with age and knowledge. Another breath, and he realizes there’s another scent, an amalgamation of oil and food that Bill could never scrub off, especially when she tended to come straight here as soon as she was free. He’s walking through memory, and it makes him dizzy.

Or, maybe that’s the timelines crossing. Probably that, he tells himself, as he lingers a moment longer with his eyes closed to take it in.

He crosses the room to his old desk. It’s a little jarring to see two TARDISes sitting beside each other.

(He freezes, hand on the desk, and raises his gaze to the older TARDIS. Behind it. Searching.

There’s nothing there. Death undone is undone through all of time, reverberating back and back. He doesn’t think about every trip he took Bill on, doesn’t think about skin and bones turned to sand-)

He picks up his old picture of Susan just as he walks in through the door. The Doctor has always had a sense for dramatic timing.

Missy was right about the eyebrows, he thinks, despite himself.

“Put that- down.” His younger self begins to snap before the sparking dissonance of their time streams hits him. He takes one look at the Doctor, at the frame he’s holding onto like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded, and says, “Don’t tell me you lost it.”

The Doctor looks down at Susan, the memory of her bright smile caught forever. “I… can’t actually remember if I did.” It wasn’t like he’d ever flown back as his next self. He would have had to face how empty this place was or the Vault below and all its failures, and he can barely stand it now.

“Because if you did,” his younger self continues, “now you know why.” The Doctor laughs.

“It isn’t stealing if it’s mine.” He pauses, still smiling, words kept locked behind his teeth when he so badly wants to say, I need her more than you.

“It’s a bad habit.” The other Doctor looks at their TARDISes, sitting side by side. The inevitable question is coming, he can feel it, and he holds Susan’s picture to his chest like it can shield him. He hears himself say, so long ago and not nearly long enough, “Is Bill still traveling with us?”

“No.” He can’t lie to himself. He’s terrible at it. He watches his younger self’s face fall, concluding as he must with how much grief he knew in this life and the last- It’s something the Doctor can’t stand to see, and he continues, “She’s happy. I hear she has a new girlfriend.”

“Finally,” the other Doctor says. “Someone good for her?”

“Don’t be overprotective, she’d- She’ll hate that.” The slip-up gets him narrowed eyes, so he keeps talking to avoid discussing the details of Bill’s situation. “We even introduced them, technically. You’ll see. You like her.”

He watches his younger self weigh pushing for more information against knowing how hard it is to get it from himself. In the end, he takes the good news for what it is.

To be honest? The Doctor’s more glad he didn’t think to ask about Missy’s progress.

“You can take it,” the younger Doctor says. “Better we both know where it is rather than forget it here because we got stranded on Mars or-”

“Oh, yeah, that does happen later.” His younger self isn’t even surprised. “I’d warn you more, but-” He makes a gesture that he hopes encapsulates ‘the delicate state of time will destroy your memory of this encounter anyway, so I can’t tell you in detail how to avoid becoming me. Not that I would, I think, because I like being me. Despite it all.’ It’s more of a hand-wavy thing, but he’s sure, being himself, he got the gist.

“Keep her safe?” the younger Doctor asks. He doesn’t hold out his hand—he wouldn’t—but the older Doctor wouldn’t take Susan from him without giving him one last look. He watches his eyes memorize every detail of her smile in the past before handing her picture over a final time.

“I’ll try,” the Doctor promises.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Finding Light + Snippet (LU in Healthcare)

(@hermitdrabbles56 @squigglywindy @alasse-earfalas)

(AO3 link)

Legend yawned as he entered the emergency department, energy drink in hand. He felt incredibly sluggish and worn out, torn in different directions between multiple shifts. Not to mention yesterday's fiasco - one day off in between multiple stretches of work never felt like enough. It was barely the amount of time needed to just get his head above water most days, and it figured that his one night off was the one that Warriors decided to drunk text him.

He still didn't know what was wrong with his new friend. People made dumb decisions and got wasted all the time, and it wouldn't surprise him if Wars was one of those people, but in the car... it had definitely seemed like there was more to it.

Sighing, Legend took another swig of his energy drink, pinching his nose to fight the oncoming headache. He didn't have energy to parse this out. All he knew was that Warriors was gone before he'd gotten up the next day. The military nurse had folded the blanket and left a thank you note and hadn't said two words to him since, despite a text he'd sent this afternoon.

Passing by the waiting room, Legend saw that there was a large group of people waiting. Dread weighed heavily in his stomach. Great. More fun times cleaning up day shift's mess - a room full of people who had been waiting for hours meant everyone would be annoyed, and they'd have to start doing protocol orders just to get things moving since the doctors were lagging. He hoped he wouldn't get triage.

As he wandered into the staff room, he caught sight of Warriors, who was staring at his phone absentmindedly. Legend immediately made his way over to him.

"Hey," he said quietly.

Wars glanced up, his face neutral, and then he gave a small smile. "Hey. Thanks for last night, sorry to put you in that position."

"Yeah, about that--"

"Did you see the waiting room?" he continued, barreling over Legend's words. "Tonight's going to be busy to start."

Before Legend could continue, the charge nurse entered and started huddle. "Hey, everyone, happy Friday! We have 100 patients in the department, 34 in the waiting room. Staffing's pretty good tonight, we're only down one nurse and two techs. Here are the assignments."

Legend bit his tongue as Warriors was assigned the behavioral health unit, and he himself was assigned the 300 block. He'd hunt his friend down later.

XXX

It was quiet. But it was a different kind of quiet from home. Home was solitary, quiet with gentle nature but also isolation. Beautiful and lonely, peaceful and too still all at once. But here it was a warm quiet, like the comfortable silence one felt while resting with friends and family.

The stained glass spilled colors into the area, bathing him in blues and greens and reds as the sun continued to set. A few candles were lit in around little shrines and statues, and one notable one in the center over the altar.

Sky sighed, trying to breathe in the peace of this place.

He wasn't entirely sure what was wrong with him. Things were better than they used to be. He wasn't spending one day to the next wondering if he'd live or die. He wasn't separated from friends and family. Sure, he was more distant from those he'd bonded with over the last couple years, but... was that... was that what was wrong? That he'd trauma bonded with those people and now they were less prominent in his life?

He didn't know. He was just tired. He was always tired now.

He hated it.

Sun had suggested he go home, but he wasn't sure. She wasn't there anymore anyway, so what was left for him? Instead, he tried looking up somewhere familiar to go, somewhere safe. A cabin in the mountains was familiar, away from people was safe. He loved it there.

But it was so damn quiet. But he wanted quiet. He was exhausted dealing with people but he wanted to be around people. But everything was so new and different here. He'd chosen this city because it was the only place a pilot's position was available, and in such a familiar capacity too. He hadn't...

He hadn't expected to see them. Any of them. But they were so happy to see him, and he hadn't known what to make of that either. Why would they be happy? He'd abandoned them.

He couldn't lie to himself and say that it didn't mean the world to him, though. But he felt guilty about that too, because now they wanted to spend time with him and catch up with him, and he just sat there and soaked up the attention and barely asked anything in return.

He felt like lately he just took and took and took. He had nothing to give.

He had nothing to give.

Sky slid to his knees, leaning heavily on the pew in front of him. Give me light. Give me hope. I can't give to others if I don't have any for myself. Please...

Give me hope. Give me hope.

He didn't know how to fix this. He didn't even know if he could. All he knew was he felt his life draining out of him, like he was bleeding from an invisible wound.

This was so stupid. He had no right to feel this way.

You have every right to feel this way, a voice whispered, a quiet reminder in the hurricane of thoughts in his mind. Sky took a shuddering breath, holding it as his world froze a moment.

Then he huffed out a tired laugh, relenting as he stared at the lit candle. "Fine. You're right."

Didn't make it any easier to deal with, though.

Sky's phone buzzed, and he looked at it distractedly before gazing back at the altar, silently asking for permission. Then he sat on the pew once more, checking his text message.

SKY HI you wanna get ice cream?? just got out of class and it's SO FRIGGING MUGGY EW I NEED ICE CREAM LET'S GET SOME

Sky smiled, Wind's excitement being infectious even through a simple speech bubble. Then he looked back at the candle, watching it flicker gently, before his gaze drifted down to the golden little doorway hidden from view by a veil.

"Thanks," he said softly before getting up to meet with Wind.

XXX

The first thing Hyrule thought when he pulled up to the house was this is going to be a pain to extricate her if she can't walk.

They were dispatched for someone withdrawing from their medication. The woman was reportedly unable to walk. She was on the second floor of a two-story home that had a gravel driveway and uneven paved steps leading up to the front porch.

Just as he was grabbing the stair chair, however, Mo, who had entered first alongside the fire department, waved him off. "Fire's going to help her walk out here. We just need to get the stretcher ready."

Relieved, the medic put the stair chair away in the side compartment of the ambulance and helped his partner prep the stretcher as the firefighters approached with the patient. One of the firefighters was carrying a couple of the woman's supplies - a large pink trash bag filled with items and a purse. As Hyrule and Mo lifted the patient and stretcher into the ambulance, the firefighter deposited the items on the bench seat. Hyrule thanked his fellow first responders and then hopped in the back to assist Mo.

Thankfully, despite the woman's distress and uncomfortable symptoms, she wasn't in dire need. While a trip to the hospital was necessary for her, Hyrule didn't have to be the one to do it. The 12-lead was unremarkable and her vitals were within defined limits. Mo gave him a thumbs up, and Hyrule hopped out of the truck to drive while Mo ran the call. Hyrule merrily listened to the radio, keeping a careful listening ear out in case his partner needed anything, and drove them to the hospital.

Upon their arrival, Hyrule told dispatch they were at the ER, walked to the back of the truck and opened the doors and saw Mo putting the patient's enormous trash bag on her lap. Confused, he was about to ask why his partner didn't just place the bag behind the patient - they had a little cubby behind the back of the stretcher where they could place things, after all. It seemed rude to put that on her lap.

But then Mo placed the purse on the woman as well. And then another bag of belongings. And then a trash bag filled with toiletries. And then a clear bag filled with shampoos and conditioners. And then another bag filled with more clothes.

Hyrule stared as the patient progressively disappeared beneath enough personal items to fill a luggage rack in a hotel - heck, the patient had become the luggage rack in a hotel. Hyrule tried his absolute hardest to not laugh, but the patient was out of sight and he kept making eye contact with Mo, who was looking increasingly more exasperated.

He supposed the firefighters had brought a few more personal items than he'd realized.

As the pair wheeled in their pile of luggage (and somewhere in its midst was their patient), Hyrule was half tempted to tell the charge nurse they were checking in for the night.

It only got better when he realized they were giving report to Legend, whose eyebrows immediately rose to his hairline as they entered.

[simplegenius042]

Late WIP Poll Winner(s) Wednesday

With Round 2 results in, here are the FC5 WIPs of Silva's Hope and the still unnamed "Proposed Arranged Marriage" scenario. For a cleaner context, I added a few more sentences.

I will be combining the rest of the other non-winner poll WIPs into one post soon. And catching up on some tags.

Tagging everyone who tagged me or were in the notes of this poll: @voidika @chazz-anova @inafieldofdaisies @cassietrn @adelaidedrubman @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat and @strangefable + anyone else who wants to read.

First! More Silva's Hope. Reminder that this WIP of mine is still under construction and some things may or may not change in the future. Introducing John's personal Chosen bodyguard (translation: unpaid babysitter), Nadi Sinclair doing some digging for Nancy:

Adjusting her shoulder, bringing the phone closer to her ear, Nadi asked into it, "Sister Nancy, I can't find any headlines nor editorials on "Elsa Omar" or any "Floristry"... are you certain there's something here? Perhaps you had read wrong, no?"

The older woman on the other end replied, her aged and gentle voice filled with patience, "I guarantee its in one of them papers, Sister Nadi. My eyes remember the exact words when I read the cover. You'll find it eventually dearie." Nadi made an affirmative hum as she unwrapped the next piece of paper.

And lo and behold, the words "MISSING OWNER OF ELSA'S FLORISTRY FOUND! BODY RECOVERED IN LOCAL HENBANE CAVE" were centered right in the middle of the page. Nadi blinked, momentarily perplexed, and checked the date of publishing. December 7th, 2013. Bringing her eyes back to the story, she read the first few lines the page had to offer.

And Kamski's POV in the arranged marriage scenario WIP!

[TW: Mention of coerced marriages and implications of canon infanticide. Also emotional manipulation?]

Joseph appeared unbothered by his lack of trust in the prophet's words, and seemed to decide to placate the doctor's paranoia, "I assure you Doctor Neon, we care for Deputy Omar's health as much as you do. God is looking out for your charge, and will protect her from the Collapse. You can trust me to keep her safe."

Kamski hummed, unconvinced. He really wanted to scoff and snarl at the man in front of him. Yeah, shooting, stabbing, almost drowning, torturing, drugging, sicking wolves on her, almost killing her in general, letting her starve and dehydrate while conditioning her to kill innocent people has been a wonderful method of tending to her health. He hated the serenity in Joseph's voice, how easy it was for him to lie to the Good Doctor's face. Does he really think me, a 58-year-old self-taught medic and doctor, that naive? Is he so focused on what he thinks God demands of him that he can't see this isn't what Silva needs or wants? How trapping her in another set of walls will do her more harm instead of less? "Care for her" my ass. Kamski doesn't exactly know what Joseph's game is, but the evidence points to possibilities that do nothing to decrease the disgust and contempt he felt toward the so-called prophet. He knew the last place Silva should be was near Joseph and the cursed prophecy that just continues to take so much from them. He hated the familiarity of the situation, hated how little control he had again, and despised himself for wishing Paul was there. At least Paul could protect her.

Kamski shooed away those thoughts. No! Remember what he took away from Silva. Be glad he's gone. Kamski exhaled a breathe and looked to Joseph. His siblings were still around, including Silva's unwanted suitor, but the doctor felt unconcerned by their presence. If they wanted Silva to join the family, despite how low of a chance that actually is, they would need him alive. Though Kamski wasn't unprepared to fight back should he need to. After all, he couldn't trust these Saints to keep their words. He stared through the yellow lens of Joseph's aviators. It nagged him, the certainty Joseph had that he could keep anyone, especially Silva, safe, when it was him who was the danger. Kamski knew from experience that at a moments notice, whether it was "God's Will" or his own, he could have Silva life end without hesitation. Even his own family wasn't safe. A reminder he chose now to address in his response.

"Just like you protected your daughter?"

[quietwings-fics]

memory, held again

Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Fandom: Doctor Who Ship: Gen (Fifteen & Twelve) Additional Tags: Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s14e08 Empire Of Death (Doctor Who), Timeline Shenanigans, Mentioned Susan Foreman, Multiple Doctors (Doctor Who) Wordcount: 848 Summary:

The Doctor goes back for something he lost. No. Not her. Not yet. But as close as he can manage.

Prompt:

"12th & 15th, 15th seeking comfort in his past, which is not the right place to do so. Don't really have to make to NSFW if you don't want to."

He does- He means to-

But how can he? What can he say to Susan, after all this time? When does ‘I’m sorry’ even begin to cover it?

There are two options: either she’s alive and alone in the universe without knowing it, and his life hasn’t destroyed hers anymore than it did from the moment he shut her out. Or. He’ll go looking for his granddaughter and find a grave. He doesn’t think he could survive either of those options. The loss of a planet, of half the universe, is almost great enough to withstand. The loss of a friend has always been what undoes him. And to lose Susan, to not let her exist in nebulous safety beyond his view-

He means to, and his course takes him somewhere else. The TARDIS thrums with gentle scolding.

He ducks his head out into a familiar office. He remembers the smell of this place most clearly, weighty with age and knowledge. Another breath, and he realizes there’s another scent, an amalgamation of oil and food that Bill could never scrub off, especially when she tended to come straight here as soon as she was free. He’s walking through memory, and it makes him dizzy.

Or, maybe that’s the timelines crossing. Probably that, he tells himself, as he lingers a moment longer with his eyes closed to take it in.

He crosses the room to his old desk. It’s a little jarring to see two TARDISes sitting beside each other.

(He freezes, hand on the desk, and raises his gaze to the older TARDIS. Behind it. Searching.

There’s nothing there. Death undone is undone through all of time, reverberating back and back. He doesn’t think about every trip he took Bill on, doesn’t think about skin and bones turned to sand-)

He picks up his old picture of Susan just as he walks in through the door. The Doctor has always had a sense for dramatic timing.

Missy was right about the eyebrows, he thinks, despite himself.

“Put that- down.” His younger self begins to snap before the sparking dissonance of their time streams hits him. He takes one look at the Doctor, at the frame he’s holding onto like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded, and says, “Don’t tell me you lost it.”

The Doctor looks down at Susan, the memory of her bright smile caught forever. “I… can’t actually remember if I did.” It wasn’t like he’d ever flown back as his next self. He would have had to face how empty this place was or the Vault below and all its failures, and he can barely stand it now.

“Because if you did,” his younger self continues, “now you know why.” The Doctor laughs.

“It isn’t stealing if it’s mine.” He pauses, still smiling, words kept locked behind his teeth when he so badly wants to say, I need her more than you.

“It’s a bad habit.” The other Doctor looks at their TARDISes, sitting side by side. The inevitable question is coming, he can feel it, and he holds Susan’s picture to his chest like it can shield him. He hears himself say, so long ago and not nearly long enough, “Is Bill still traveling with us?”

“No.” He can’t lie to himself. He’s terrible at it. He watches his younger self’s face fall, concluding as he must with how much grief he knew in this life and the last- It’s something the Doctor can’t stand to see, and he continues, “She’s happy. I hear she has a new girlfriend.”

“Finally,” the other Doctor says. “Someone good for her?”

“Don’t be overprotective, she’d- She’ll hate that.” The slip-up gets him narrowed eyes, so he keeps talking to avoid discussing the details of Bill’s situation. “We even introduced them, technically. You’ll see. You like her.”

He watches his younger self weigh pushing for more information against knowing how hard it is to get it from himself. In the end, he takes the good news for what it is.

To be honest? The Doctor’s more glad he didn’t think to ask about Missy’s progress.

“You can take it,” the younger Doctor says. “Better we both know where it is rather than forget it here because we got stranded on Mars or-”

“Oh, yeah, that does happen later.” His younger self isn’t even surprised. “I’d warn you more, but-” He makes a gesture that he hopes encapsulates ‘the delicate state of time will destroy your memory of this encounter anyway, so I can’t tell you in detail how to avoid becoming me. Not that I would, I think, because I like being me. Despite it all.’ It’s more of a hand-wavy thing, but he’s sure, being himself, he got the gist.

“Keep her safe?” the younger Doctor asks. He doesn’t hold out his hand—he wouldn’t—but the older Doctor wouldn’t take Susan from him without giving him one last look. He watches his eyes memorize every detail of her smile in the past before handing her picture over a final time.

“I’ll try,” the Doctor promises.

(Enjoyed it? Any interaction is welcomed. You can even support me on Ko-Fi <3)

[a-trying-writer]

(original fic, based on an older idea I had for a few years. chemotherapy mentioned.)

He had her cornered. She is weak, unable to move, much less talk. With the pistol in hand, he aimed it at her head, his finger on the trigger.

But he didn't pull it, yet.

"Why you?" he asked.

She looked up at him, eyelids heavy from weariness.

"Why did you have to live?!"

It took her a moment to realize what he was talking about. All this time, she wondered why he looked familiar, but she could never put her finger on it, until now. He was her brother.

She took in a deep breath, trying to keep the bile down in her throat. Her entire body felt heavy from the chemicals pumped into her system. It took away all the hair too. Made her feet and hands numb. But she still pushed herself to stand to look directly at the man's eyes. "I never... asked for this..." she replied.

The brother growled as he lunged forward with the gun, to shove it under her throat.

She noticed how he moved his finger away from the trigger. That's too bad, she thought.

"She didn't want to die!"

"No one... of us did... We were kids."

He glared, staring at the sick women he had pinned against the wall. He has her cornered. He was waiting for this!

But why is he so hesitant on taking the life of someone who took his sister's?

Maybe... he just knew who was really to blame. So he let her go, and watched her slide back down onto the ground.

Then he cursed out loud in his primary language, shouting at the people who put the two into this twisted game. He hated the woman. He spent so much time and money to hunt her down. But now, he doesn't even know what to do.

Until a third person stepped in. "I'm surprised that Cassandra isn't dead, Mr Huang."

Lu huffed out a heavy breath before glaring at the man. So many questions ran through his mind, but this isn't the time for it. "You said we need her. But she can't even speak without wanting to throw up!"

"Side effect of chemotherapy." The man shrugged.

"So you used me to get to her."

"Yes, because she was supposed to be my patient, until they took her away."

"Then here she is." Lu waved his hands towards Cassandra.

"Thank you." The man nodded his head, before approaching the woman. "Good afternoon, Miss."

"What time is it...?" she asked, genuinely wondering.

"Twelve fourthy-three p.m."

"I see... Can I sleep then?"

"No. I need you awake to take you to a much safer place. Can you walk?"

"I can't feel my legs."

"Then I will just carry you."

"Right... Who are you?"

"I'm Doctor Trent Wellington."

"Doesn't... sound familiar."

"No, but I know of you, Cassandra. Or rather, Beanie, right?"

If Cassandra could blush, she would from that embarrassing nickname. "That's... what some... call me..."

"You do wear some colorful beanies." The doctor smirked. "But that's neither here nor there. We have to get out as soon as possible." With that said, the doctor wrapped his arms under Cassandra's, and slowly helped her on her feet. "I trust you to protect us, Mr. Huang. You're the only one with the gun after all."

Lu readied the pistol, despite how much he didn't want to agree to this idea. He already felt guilty letting his sister's killer live. "Let's go," he said.

"Good."

[mt-musings]

Bluebell

Chapter 31

After being abruptly transferred to the BAU at what she suspects was Gideon's request, Cassie Boann struggles to find her footing. Shy and solitary by nature, the transition is made all the more difficult when Dr. Spencer Reid seems to take an almost immediate dislike to her. Unfortunately for them both, their respective areas of expertise leave them paired off more often than not. But when Cassie's past literally starts hunting her, Spencer is forced to consider that he might, in fact, not hate her at all.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Spencer Reid x OC

Warnings: Canon typical violence, kidnapping, stalking, drug use, blood, injury, death, PTSD, eventual smut, more tags to be added

Series Masterlist

Read on AO3

31. Цепь

She had a name: Hadeon Lyvychko. 

A name, and not much else. 

She had fresh samples being set to the Smithsonian, a box of police reports, and a pounding headache from not sleeping for 34 hours. 

But it was still a name. 

She watched as the tarmac grew closer, the familiar swooping sensation in her stomach as the wheels landed on pavement. 

All she wanted to do was either sleep for four days or find a back alley doctor willing to give her an IV drip of caffeine so she could keep working and working until something made sense, until she had an answer. Somehow both seemed entirely nauseating. 

She pulled her bag from the overhead compartment, swinging it over her shoulder. She still had to find a new place on top of everything else—and she doubted she’d get as lucky as she had with her current sublet. She’d probably end up somewhere blocks off the Green Line again. Though she was sure it’d be cheaper than what she was currently paying. Probably by a lot. 

She stepped out of the gate and turned to dig into her bag for her Metro card. It’d be less of a fuss to take the Blue Line than finding a cab. And she could read on the train without getting sick—

“Cass! Over here!”

She looked up to see Spencer waving at her. She couldn’t help the smile that curved her lips or the flush that gathered high in her cheeks as she jogged over to meet him.

“What are you—aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“Hey, hello, I missed you too,” he said, hesitating a moment before pulling her into a one-armed hug, “Hotch let me out early to pick you up on the condition I don’t let you back in the office until at least Monday.”

Cassie hugged him back, too tight, burying her face in his jacket. She spent a moment just breathing in his familiar scent and feeling his arm around her. She knew it was out of character but at that moment she just wanted to be held.

“Are you alright?”

She didn’t know how to respond. How could she explain the rollercoaster of the last three days, of digging up her grandfather, who she learned was an abusive prick, and picking the shards of bones that would be sent back to the lab for testing? Of seeing, for the first time, the places that had been the backdrop of her mother’s young life.  Of finally finding that elusive lead, a name. 

And that name being the half-uncle she’d never known existed. 

That she did, perhaps, still have some family out there, family that had ensured that she had no one else. 

That she grew up alone and terrified. 

She took a step back, forcing a smile. “Yeah, sorry. Just glad to be back.”

She could feel him searching her face, feel him profiling her behavior and she dropped her gaze to the dirty linoleum of the floor, muttering something about making sure her bag didn’t get lost before not-quite-running towards baggage claim. 

---

Spencer had insisted on carrying her luggage to the car, despite her protests. She followed him, feeling awkward with nothing to do. 

Cassie paused outside the passenger door of Spencer’s car, looking at the plain white box tied with a wide purple bow that sat on the seat.

“Open it,” he said, sounding almost nervous. 

She glanced up at him, brows furrowed, before untying the bow and opening the box. Inside was a spiral-bound soft cover book, the front page carefully lamented.

  Identifying Victims of Serial Murder through Partial Skeletal Remains

By Cassandra Boann, BS, MS, MSc

“I know that you said that you didn’t have time to finish it and that Voron’kiv was more important, but I wanted you to have the option to still submit. It’s—it’s all yours, all I did was make some grammatical edits and there were a couple of calculations that were a bit off that I fixed. I just—“ he checked his watch, “there’s still two hours until the deadline, if you wanted to submit it.”

She just stared at the book he’d made her, trying to stop her hands from shaking. She knew she was crying, knew she should reach up and wipe away the tears before Spencer noticed, but she couldn’t stop staring at the book in her hands.

Spencer barely even used his computer at work. He hadn’t had the original file, he’d re-typed the whole thing, all three-hundred-odd pages. 

“I’m sorry, it was probably overstepping, I just—“

She wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you. Thank you. This—this is one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me.”

Spencer stiffened for a second under her touch before hugging her back, pressing his face into her hair. 

“Do you want to go drop it off?” He asked, voice slightly muffled by her hair. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She just smiled, biting her lip as she brushed the tears from her cheeks. 

---

Spencer glanced to the passenger seat where Cassie was still staring at the book he’d made out of her dissertation, a small smile curving her lips. She’d tied the ribbon to the top handle of her backpack, something that he was sure Penelope would notice and tease him for, considering she’d helped him pick it out. 

Beneath the smile, though, there was something darker. A new weight on her shoulders, one he’d noticed the moment she’d stepped off the plane. 

He wondered what she’d found in Voron’kiv that had left such deep shadows under her eyes, like bruises, what weight had bowed her shoulders. He didn’t know whether it was better to bring it up or let it be. On one hand, acknowledging it could be validating and help her to not have to deal with whatever it was alone and on the other—he knew what it felt like for people to try and get you to open up before you were ready. How invasive it felt.

He didn’t want to make anything worse, especially now that she’d just gotten back. He’d missed her, enough that everyone had noticed at work. He was half sure it was the reason Hotch had come down to his desk after lunch to tell him to go pick up Cassie and make sure she got home safe. He’d been less than pleased once he found out from Gideon that Cassie’s idea of ‘vacation days’ was flying halfway across the world to follow a lead on a cold case she was barely officially assigned to. 

It was easier than he thought to find street parking, though he hated every second it took to parallel park on the uneven pavement. From there it was only a short walk to the Museum of Natural History and the side door that lead to Cassie’s lab. 

The halls were tiled, the floors the same off-white linoleum of seemingly all government building built in the 1970s. But the rooms off the halls were filled with whirring machines, some he recognized and some he didn’t, enameled examination tables, and in one room a tank filled with hundreds of beetles. 

“They’re dermestid beetles. They eat away the remaining flesh on remains without compromising the integrity of the bones.”

“Gross,” Spencer replied flatly, trying not to look too hard at what else might be in the tank. Cassie just giggled, the sound infuriatingly adorable, especially in regards to flesh-eating beetles. 

She lead him through a maze of hallways, ending in a large room filled with rows and rows of carefully labeled storage boxes. 

“This is the Unidentified Collection. I do most of my work for Dr. Garvey here, and some for the Bureau too, though not as much now that I’m with the BAU. He should be around here somewhere,” she said, glancing down the long rows of shelves. 

Dr Garvey was seated at a wooden desk in the back, looking over a stack of paperwork. He looked much the same as the last time, with his three piece tweed suit and puff of white hair, a pair of gold-rimmed glasses perched on the tip of his nose.

He stood back and watched as she went up to Dr. Garvey to hand him the manuscript, as the little old man let out a shout and wrapped her in a hug as he took it. 

“Ooooh, finally! Finally Cassandra! Oh, you had me going this time, I must admit! Not that I don’t want to see you back in the lab next semester, but I’m much happier to welcome you back as Dr. Boann.”

“I—I think Spence—Dr. Reid took your words to heart last time, because he helped me finish it. I couldn’t have done it without him.”

Dr. Garvey whipped around to face him, his face lighting up. “Dr. Reid! I didn’t even see you there, my apologies!”

“She’s being far too modest. All I did was check the grammar and print it.”

Dr. Garvey just beamed at him before turning back to Cassie.

“This calls for a celebration! I’m taking the pair of you out for dinner.”

“No-no-no-no-no, thank you, but I—we can’t. I just got off a plane and Spencer—“

“I’m free,” he said, a smile playing on his lips. “All weekend.”

Cassie glared at him which only made Dr. Garvey laugh, clapping her on the back. 

“Ooh, I like him, Cassandra, I think he’s a keeper! How about Sunday then? That’ll give you a day to get rid of your jet lag. There’s this wonderful fusion restaurant in Georgetown and it’s got a very large vegetarian menu so I know you’ll be able to find something you’ll like. I’ll make a reservation and email you, alright?”

“You really don’t have to—“

“I want to. Now Dr. Reid, I’m counting on you to get her home safe and make sure she rests and I’ll see you both Sunday.”

Previous Next

[withlovemark]

i want to be with you, everywhere.

warning: i need to get better with my warnings so um, grief, hospital, mentions of death, nightmares, angst! as always

pairing: steve x female reader

words: 5.1k+ (hoping i edited this well enough)

an: despite the warnings, take this as my apology note, especially for those who had to go through all the cliffhangers! im so sorry! AND this is the last chapter of this mini series, thank you so much for reading and for all the kind words!! <33 your reactions make me laugh so much and they do brighten my day more than you think! maybe you can also help me think of what to write next? my ask is always open! :> hope to see some of you there!

one. two. three.

four.

steve.

he had your favorite flowers in hand, hopping into his car and dreading the familiar drive. it’s been a week and five days since the tragedy that left him crying out your name. 

for the past 12 days, the boy makes sure he picks up something you like before his daily visits. cassette tapes, vanilla ice cream, strawberry flavored chapsticks. 

everyday, he talks to you. everyday, he gets no response. 

a familiar figure was already there once he arrived, “hey max,” he greets her gently, a light tap to her back, soft smile making an appearance upon his pink lips, tired eyes crinkling slightly. she looks up from sketching in her notebook, the flowers in his hands makes the girls’ heart swell at the thought of your reaction if you were to see it. 

“she’ll love those,” a quiet hum of approval. 

“you think?” an eyebrow going up, a tiny smirk dancing upon his face, proud of his choice. 

“i know.” the girl nods, he places the flowers beside the numerous gifts your friends have left for you. 

taking his seat on his usual spot next to you, fingers immediately wrapping yours, “hey beautiful, i’m back,” he whispers, planting a gentle kiss on your temple. the heartbeat through the monitor filling the corners of the pale, gloomy, walls, his only assurance that you were listening. 

“the doctor said her vitals are improving,” max breaks the silence, hope blooming in their maimed hearts, “she should wake up soon.”

“that true?  will you let me see your pretty eyes soon?” steve asks you, his hold on your fingers gently tightening. carefully watching the way your chest slowly rises and falls. max collects her things, the tender hearted moment making her believe that love is veracious. 

“i have to go to class, ping dustin if anything happens,” handing the extra walkie-talkie and a quick hug to the brown haired boy, leaving you and steve alone. 

the boy gets comfortable, head gently laying on your mended stomach, “eddie’s still in jail,” he starts,“it’s looking up though, they can’t really find any evidence that he did it, y’know?” updating you about the events that were taking place. 

“he might just make it to graduation,” he chuckles, looking up at you “by the way, you really need to wake up or else they’ll hold you back and i know how much you hate doing homework,” he teases, tucking the stray hair out of your eyes, the light bursts of air slipping from your lips providing the comfort he needed. 

“when will you wake up?,” he sighs, eyes starting to get glassy. 

he was exhausted. ever since he got you out of the upside down, unresponsive body blanket wrapped around his back, steve hasn’t had proper rest, leaving only to change out of his wrinkled clothes and rid of tiredness under cold showers, coming back the next morning, wanting to be there when you finally wake. 

once, he spent a night at his house, against his will, dustin and robin forcing him to get some proper shut eye. they were unsuccessful. your body in his arms as you took your last breath playing in his mind, haunting him. he found himself thrashing around, looking for you, greeted only by shadows in the dark. it’s easier in the hospital because when the nightmare reoccurs, he wakes up to you and for now it’s enough to calm him down. 

he can’t forget that night. the paramedics sending electricity through your chest, barely finding a pulse. it took three charges before a melodic beeping finally echoed through his ears and steve swears it’s the best sound in the world as he hid his face in the crook of robin's neck. 

“we won,” he reminds you everyday.  “everyone’s okay…all we need now is for you to come back to us,” letting out a shaky breath, he hasn’t quite figured out how to remain stable in moments like these.

“i need you to come back to me, y/n” a desperate confession. 

—

nine days has passed. exactly three weeks of steve’s words being met with silence. 

“i have a secret,” he whispers like you weren’t the only two people under the moonlight shining through the window. 

“i always had this dream,” the boy starts “in this dream, i have six kids,” he chuckles quietly, “crazy, right? me? a dad?,” he imagines the way your face would have contorted once you heard that. 

“anyways me and my six little harringtons, three girls and three boys…we would be away from here, traveling, seeing the world, just driving anywhere and everywhere our little camper van can take us,” confiding in you the future he had always hoped for. 

“but here’s the secret,” sliding a little closer to you, voice barely audible, “you’re sitting in the passenger seat,” he sighs, a sad smile, confessions in the air taking with it a bit of weight from his shoulders, “like you always are…smiling at me with that beautiful smile of yours,”

“singing at the top of our lungs, making our kids complain about how grossly in love their parents are,” every word stretches out the boy's smile, lost in the creation of his dreamland. 

“and then you’ll laugh, that laugh that makes my heart light up and i couldn’t ask for anything more,” he brings the back of your hand up to his lips, placing soft gentle marks of love, “does that sound okay to you?,” breath hitching in his throat. 

no response. 

taking a deep breath, emotions surging through him, feelings of loneliness and despair escaping through his eyes as silence one again took over the night. 

—

 “do you want to know the day i fell in love with you?” 

“it was when you walked in to scoops ahoy, my first day on the job, i was scared and nervous about people coming in and seeing me, “king steve” he quotes, “working only at an ice cream shop because i wasn’t good enough for anything else” a hand going up to his locks, pushing back the strays of hair that’s blocked him from seeing you. 

“then you walked in, in that cheerleading uniform that drives me crazy by the way, and you smiled at me, congratulating me, and i knew at that moment that i didn’t care about what anyone else thought as long as you’re there… believing in me,” 

“i kept on making you try every flavor of ice cream in hopes that you would stay longer and you did and i just felt so happy, like a boy having a crush for the first time” soft chuckles escaping the boys lips, recalling memories that were keeping his heart glued together. for someone who was labeled as a ladies man, he had no idea what to do when it came to you. 

“but i was so scared… i was scared i wasn't good enough for you, that i’d just mess it all up like i always do and so i pushed those feelings to the side and flirted with any girl who made their way into the store…im sorry,” his voice a faint whisper. he wasn’t proud of those actions but sometimes we do things that we think is best at the time. 

“i just wanted to keep you with me and feelings usually ruin things that are good and god i just couldn’t risk it, i couldn’t risk losing you,” both hands going up to his now, very disheveled hair, he looks up at your silent figure, the sun peeking through the window, illuminating your face. the thought of your twinkling eyes sparkling under them, the way they do every time you look his way, urges him to keep going. 

“then word got out that you and carver were seeing each other and fuck, i was pissed, i served so many customers the wrong order that day y’know?” he can almost hear your laugh. can almost hear the way you would tease him for being whipped. but he wasn’t, he was just a boy who had so much love to give to someone who he thought was unreachable. 

“i didn’t say anything though, cause who was i to tell you to stop seeing him? but you stopped coming around and i was so sad, i convinced myself that i liked robin to finally get you out of my fucking head,” 

“we both know how that ended up,” he smiles to himself, the memories fondly playing in his mind. the way you looked at him that night while he sat on the white tiled floors, bruised and beaten up. soft fingers ghostly grazing over his face, treating him like he was porcelain. handling him with so much care, an emotion he’s never had the privilege of feeling before. something he never thought he deserved. 

truth settling in his heart. 

you came back to him. visiting him every single day. your daily visits were the only thing keeping him from clocking in at work. you had him wrapped around your tiny little fingers and you didn’t even know it.

and then you started coming home with him, after every shift and he was keen on never letting go. home was where your laughs filled the air. 

and it’s been four weeks since he felt it. 

—

“steve,” a soft voice, small taps on his shoulder, carefully shaking him awake.

he sits up, mind still in a haze, slumber in his eyes, before looking up at familiar eyes and for a second, in his half-dazed state, he thought it was you. 

you had your mother’s eyes. 

“you know, you don’t have to sleep here, these hospital couches are really bad for your back,” she warns him, a concerned smile on her lips. steve noticed the wrinkles on her face, now more prominent. he wondered what it was like to be a nurse and having to take care of sick people all the time, to be in these rooms and still feel sane. then he wondered how hard it was for the sick person to be your own child. 

he offers her a smile, “im okay, y/m/n,” the two have grown close this past month. your mother was grateful you had someone who loved you this much. she grew to love the boy like he was her own son. 

“at least eat something, ok? i don’t think my daughter would love to wake up to someone that no longer resembles her steve,” her steve. he loved the sound of that. he nods, completely understanding her concern. 

the boy hasn’t had an appetite lately, his hair always a mess, farrah fawcett long forgotten. despite the doctor’s positive feedback, they had no idea of what monsters you fought. the possibility of you not waking up was becoming more prominent each day. but your mother was right. if you ever saw him in this state, he won’t be able to forgive himself. he can already see the sadness in your eyes, can hear the voices of guilt in your mind. 

he nods. she forces him up and pushes him towards the door, “go, i’ll call you if anything happens,” your mother’s orders. 

he obediently follows, taking one last glance at you before your mom playfully shoves him out, sending him a reassuring smile, “i’ll be quick.” 

he was back in your room that night, the smell of aftershave filling the air. 

–

he’s polite. he started taking care of himself.

he also started decorating your room. cassette tapes, vanilla ice cream, strawberry flavored chapsticks, books of all genres, paintings from the kids adding color onto the walls, beer bottles in the mini fridge, your pom-poms sitting on the couch across the room, the scent of your perfume in the air. 

steve has made it his secret mission to make these walls feel as homey as possible even when your guests started turning up less and less, life becoming busy, with graduation coming up in just four months. college applications. jobs. family. 

he never left. 

with every passing day, his hope is as strong as the first day. everyday for the past six weeks, he’s there. reading you books, telling you stories, playing your favorite songs. 

a light tap against his fingers. a fleeting moment, leaving as soon as it came causing him to stumble out of his seat. 

“y/n,” eyes searching for yours, name tumbling out of his lips. a second passes. heart beating to the ticking of the clock. waiting. hoping. one minute. nothing. 

he slouches back into his chair, “y’know you really shouldn’t lead people on,” he jokes, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice, “i’m supposed to be the player, remember?,” his heart yearning for you. 

the monitor beeps, responding to him. an ungodly tune that makes the boy spring out of his chair and into the halls, calling out for help. 

__

you.

a distress cry, a white bright light shining above, almost blinding. one, two, three people in scrubs looking down at you like you were some rat in a lab experiment, except their eyes seem to crinkle into a warm, inviting smile. 

there’s a boy in the room, a pretty one. he’s looking at you, tired, glassy, eyes, lips, red, hair, disheveled and you can’t help but blush under curious eyes. even in this situation you’ve awakened to, beeping monitors, hospital gowns, scrubs, he was beautiful. he gives you a reassuring smile and you look away, noticing that you were staring for far too long to be considered normal. 

you hear a static noise and then the words “dustin, she’s awake.” you realize he’s talking about you but before you could find your voice, a woman comes bursting into the doors, your mother, in all her glory. her long hair swaying with every step she took towards you, “m-mom?,” you finally were able to mutter. your throat felt so dry, like you had eaten a pack of saltine crackers and had no water to push it down. 

you think you hear the boy let out a sniffle, blocked by your moms own tears falling to the apples of her cheeks, her hand immediately stroking your hair like she used to do when you were younger and had a nightmare, “hi honey, how are you feeling?,”

“a little lost.” is what you want to say. the events that transpired are lost in your memory and you can’t quite figure out why you were here, who that boy is and why he was telling a “dustin” about you. you’ve always had a need to please your mom, to let her know you were fine because if you weren’t, you can see the way her brain gears into tricking herself that it’s all her fault. 

mustering up the best smile you could give, “i’m fine, just a little thirsty,” she chuckles. right answer. it was somewhat true, you’ve never felt as well rested before in your whole life. she hands you a glass of water, “that’s great honey, they’re just going to run some tests, ok?,” you nod at her ever so politely, the cold glass still placed between your lips. since when did water taste so good?

the boy is still there, still staring at you, you can feel it from your peripheral vision. you couldn’t help it. couldn’t stop the three words that came stumbling out of your lips. you wish you could’ve because his face immediately fell and you wanted nothing more than to take it all back and take care of him. 

“mom, who’s that?,” her face torts in confusion, she hides it quickly. she’s a nurse, she’s dealt with patients before, she’s quick on her feet. “that’s steve, he’s a friend of yours,” softly smiling at you. it’s not the whole truth, you can tell by the sympathetic smile she gave him. 

“we’re going to leave you with steve for awhile if that’s okay, y/n?,” the doctor chimed in, clipboard in hand, you assume that’s where all the information about you is. you nod. somehow, you trust steve and if your gut was wrong, you certainly trusted your mother. 

one by one they left the room, leaving a static silence behind. you finally take this time to take in your surroundings. the white, gloomy walls that you hated seeing every time you would come visit your mom at the hospitals, we’re covered in color. some drawings were better than others. stick figures and 3d animations. you glance at each one. 

there’s a particular one that catches your eye. a boy who looked like steve, brown, wavy long hair sitting next to a hospital bed, with who you presumed to be a smiling, twinkling you. he’s holding the most beautiful bouquet you’ve ever seen. those same flowers littered across the floor, yellow in the background, the name max signed on the bottom corner. whoever max was, they were good. 

focusing your attention on steve, he quickly looks away, suddenly finding interest on the ground. you notice the small blush that’s made its way upon his face after being caught staring. you have questions and you feel like he can answer them. 

“do you want to sit here instead, steve?'', pointing to the chair beside you. his name slides off your tongue like it was a practiced prayer. one your mind has forgotten but your body has memorized.  

“i promise, i don’t bite,” you send him a soft smile, you're proud of yourself, the way you made his face lit up. he wastes no time, sinking into the chair like he owns it. unbeknownst to you, it is his chair. 

“how long have i been here?,” you ask the boy. there’s no way your room could be covered with so many various trinkets if it was only for a short time. unless you have many, many friends. but you don’t. or you don’t think you do?

he’s hesitant to answer, you can tell by the way his bottom lip made its way between his teeth, “45 days,” he quietly replies, eyes avoiding yours.

45 days. 6 weeks. a month and a half. 

you couldn’t believe it. how about school? cheerleading practices? graduation? you look up at steve, ready to bombard him with questions. he’s picking at his fingernails. you can tell he’s trying his best to keep his composure and all you want is to calm him down.

“are we really friends, steve?,” he finally looks up at you, golden brown eyes shining into yours. they seem familiar, like the daylight that would peek through the windows in the mornings while you’re covered in soft blankets, waking up with warmth right next to…

who? you try to rack your brain for some sort of answer. none. 

“yeah, we’re really friends, y/n,” your name off his lips leaving a sweet taste in your mouth. you’ve decided it’s your favorite sound. 

“were …,” you hesitate, feeling a bit shy under his gaze, mind going back to the drawing, “were we more than friends?,” you find yourself playing with your hands, unable to keep eye contact with him, even though you wanted to so badly. to get lost in his brown eyes. to drink it up like it’s your favorite coffee. 

he chuckles, a quick, quiet laugh, grabbing your full attention, “you could say that,” a sad smile, your heart bursting at the thought of what more is. 

did you get to taste his rosy lips? play connect the dots on the beautiful freckles that lined up his pretty face? run your hand through his silky hair? why couldn’t you remember? 

you can feel the way he wants to say more so you wait, just looking at him, “we never quite got to labeling what we were?,” he sighs and you want to reach out to him. to tell him to put a label on it. now. but you’ve only met him an hour ago and it would be absurd to fall in love with someone you’ve known for an hour. 

“why’s that?,” you ask, curiosity leaking off of you. to have someone in front of you know everything, to know you more than you know yourself. it’s absolutely frustrating. 

“i was too late.” 

you wanted to cry, you don’t know why, but you did. you felt awful for the boy in front of you. felt awful at the fact that you couldn’t remember him or anything that you went through. before you could stop yourself, a tear escaped your eyes. and then another and another. like a broken, leaking faucet that needed to be fixed. 

“hey, hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re okay,” hushed whispers, hands making their way to your cheeks, thumbs ghostly grazing over each tear, wiping it away. 

you’ve felt those hands. you’ve heard those words.

and then you made the mistake of looking into his golden eyes. 

transported back in the red laced world. memory after memory hitting you like a truck. steve at will byer’s house, makeshift bat in his hand. steve in the driver's seat that halloween night, beer bottles and unspoken truths. steve and his farrah fawcett advice, an arm around your shoulder. steve’s whine of cries, max! driving his car. steve scooping vanilla ice cream, scoop after scoop, rosy lips and blue sailor outfit. steve and the tiled bathroom floors, flowers blooming, singing, driving, late night talkings, kissing, steve, body molding as one, jealousy, pining, confessions, steve, despair, loneliness, hope, love. 

steve, steve, steve.

you remember it all. the basketball game. chrissy. eddie. max. vecna. you remember dying in steve’s arms. you remember it. and you remember hearing him. you heard him. every single day. every story he told, every book he read, every song he sung. 

you heard every word, every pause, every sigh. 

“where are we gonna get a camper van?,” you cry out, tears freely streaming down your face, you smile at the boy you love. he’s stunned, mouth agape, piecing the puzzles together. and then he’s looking at you with so much adoration, almost like you hold all the stars in the sky. 

his own tears fall and he doesn't bother wiping them away. “we can save up for it, y’know? get a job? somewhere that pays well,” he babbles out, hand tight around yours, like he’s afraid you could disappear at any given second. 

“we can get an apartment, far from here, start over,” you continued for him, hands just as tightly enclosed in his. letting him know that you’re there. that you’re with him and you’re in it. whatever it is. as long as he was there. 

he laughs. creating a sound that brings the sunshine in. the one where birds sing. where the trees are green. the one that feels like you’re in a fairytale. 

“i love you,” you’re in the clouds. flying. free. three little words that sent your heart hammering in your chest.

“i love you too, steve harrington.” you feel his chest pounding as hard as yours. you see the smile that’s made it’s way upon his pretty face. your hands in his hair, holding him close to you, feeling his breath upon your lips and it’s taking so much out of you to not devour this man like he was your last meal. 

closing the space between the two of you, he tasted like vanilla and mint. for a second you wonder if this is all in your head. you wonder if you have somehow convinced yourself to create a heaven you’ve only heard of in books. but then the boy pulls you a little closer, kisses you a little harder and you know that he’s real.

and he’s yours. 

your steve. 

—

6 months later

the last box finally sitting pretty in the back of the car, you let out a sigh of success, admiring your work before two large hands made their way around your waist, enveloping you in a warm embrace, feet coming off the ground as bubbles of laughter rang through the neighborhood, “steve!” his name echoed out. 

he puts you down soon after, laughters creating a melodic tune of happiness and love. your boyfriend’s face coming into view, sun shining brightly, creating a halo, making him look like an angel “we did good, baby,” he smirks, capturing your lips between his, a soft peck. enough to send butterflies throughout your body. 

“hm, yes we did,” you smiled, arms finding their way behind his neck, pulling him closer, ready to hear the sound of the bells that play every time he kisses you. 

“god, can’t you guys go a second without eating each other’s faces,” dustin mocked, eyes rolling, cutting the moment short. don’t let his tone fool you, he secretly loves it. you hear the boy wrapped around you groan in annoyance. 

“i’m so happy we’re finally moving away,” he whispers, tickling your ear, causing you to scrunch up your nose in a way he finds absolutely adorable, playfully shoving him away. 

“yeah, seriously, we get it! you’re in love! you don’t have to rub it in our faces all the time, we are just kids!” max adds, clearly not hearing steve’s quiet complaints. 

at the sound of the girl's voice, you finally pull away from your boyfriend's embrace, earning a pout from him as you focus all your attention on the girl in front of you. wide smiles mirroring each other’s expressions, walking over to her and pulling her in a quick hug. 

“do you guys really have to go?” lucas’ voice coming from behind max, a tinge of worry resonating in his voice. you pull him into the hug. 

“we’ll only be two hours away, if you really need us, we’ll be back in a second” eyes stern but soft, you make sure you look at all of them. max, lucas, dustin, reassuring them. 

“but please just call first,” steve adds, breaking up the warm moment. you give him a warning look, one to say this is not the time and he surrenders to your feet “kidding, we’re always here for you kids,” he quickly adds, a forced smile etching onto his lips. though everyone knew he meant every word. these are practically his kids. and after his little hospital confession, you’ve teased him so much about his love for these kids, making him want to take back every word he said. he never does. because nothing has changed. that is still the future he envisioned. especially with you. 

“well, i guess this is the last of it,” robin joins. 

the kids keep themselves busy on your front porch, “found these upstairs, you really shouldn’t leave these behind y’know” she hands you your diploma and on the other hand, the tape that saved your life on multiple occasions. 

taking the diploma out of her hands, you thank her for double checking everything. 

eyes glancing down to the cassette tape you grew to dislike, steve’s messy handwriting:

everywhere - fleetwood mac.

“keep it,” pushing it back towards her, “i don't think i can stand listening to that song anymore,” you shrug. you really hated vecna for that. you hated vecna for a lot of things, especially the lingering nightmares he left you with. but every night, steve is there, holding you, comforting you. every night he whispers hushed i love you’s into your ear and it’s enough. you no longer needed a favorite song to keep you grounded. 

“i hate this song,” she says bluntly, earning a laugh from you. robin looks happier, despite the fact her two best friends are leaving town. she was finally able to muster up the courage to talk to her long-time crush and the two have been hitting it off, going on dates, spending hour after hour just talking to each other, telling jokes. she told you all about it during the times you weren’t here and she continues to do so. you loved each story. 

“well, i happen to like that song so i’ll take it, thank you very much,” eddie intervenes, grabbing the tiny clear tape out of the girl’s hand, his cheeky smile meres away from your face as you mirror his expression. warm, large hands gently disheveling your hair. eddie was able to walk the stage. hell, you both did. he flipped off the entire school afterwards, it was a sight to see, one you were glad you were a part of. his band is doing well. 

steve quickly pushed his shoulders back, “too close, munson,” and you can’t help but look up at your boyfriend, who had every right to do that now. a jealous steve harrington. you loved it. 

“oh c’mon harrington, it was the fifth grade! and i rejected her!,” he jested, sending you a smile, earning an eye roll from you. lips still happy.

“it’s true,” you nod at your boyfriend, who was now standing in his signature pose, arms crossed, biceps protruding, “but even if it wasn’t, i’d still choose you, no offense eddie,” you smile between the two boys, robin chuckling. steve tries to hide the effect those words had on him, hands going to your waist, pulling you closer to his side. 

“none taken, i would also choose harrington,” he cheekily replies, sending a wink to the golden boy, leaving the three of you laughing at an unamused steve.

the others finally join, this time accompanied by nancy, jonathan, will, mike, and el. 

you and steve bid each one of them a see you later, followed by a tight hug, ignoring the tears that are dying to escape. 

“i’m happy for you,” nancy whispers to steve, a small smile on her lips as he looked at the girl that hit his head hard enough to finally get his shit together, he thanks her, “i’m happy for you, too.” 

you hear the exchange between them and you can’t help but feel like this chapter is really closing. you were happy that they were happy. 

—

“you sure you really want to leave all of this behind, harrington?” you ask as the sign that stated you’re now leaving hawkins, indiana came to view. 

“it’s still not too late to change your mind,” a small smile playing on your lips, teasing him, your body turned towards him, a hand laid on his thigh, eyes twinkling. you know nothing in this world could ever change his mind. 

taking a quick glance at you, he smiles. a genuine smile. one that sends all the stars into his honey eyes. placing a soft kiss in the back of your hand that was laced between his fingers, he makes you fall in love with him all over again, deeper, harder.

“l/n, i want to be with you, everywhere.” 

it’s true. because home is where you were. and if that meant being an hour away from hawkins, or being on the other side of the world, hell, even just living on the streets, he’ll take it. steve harrington has lived a life without you sitting on the passenger seat, without laughter engraving his heart, without eyes as beautiful as the cosmic space boring into his. and he swears he could never live through that again. 

side note: i had the beginning and the ending finished since tuesday but i could not, for the life me, figure out how i wanted you to wake up and how the hell i was going to get to the ending. it was so infuriating, i literally though about it every second i wasn't writing. i thought about it so much to the point i ended up dreaming about it and now we're here and it's done. once again, thank you so much for reading!!!

taglist:

@preciousbabypeter @dabria14 @earthkissedcalum @lettyshush @m1ke-wheeler @fujiihime @zeusmyster @buckys-bbarnes @rexorangecouny @impala1967666 @crying-caro

[writtenfangirl]

Hey I really love your work and was wondering if you could write a Steve Rogers x Avenger reader where they are friends with benefits and only Bucky and Natasha know. Reader starts catching feeling for him and Steve also has feeling for her but they both don’t want to tell each other. She discovers that she is prego and is ready to tell Steve about her feelings towards him and about the baby but she sees Steve kissing an agent. Make it have a happy ending please.

Little Family

THIS TOOK ME FOREVER TO WRITE BECAUSE SCHOOL HAS BEEN ZAPPING OUT ALL OF MY CREATIVITY SO I AM VERY SORRY IF THIS IS NOT UP TO STANDARD

Steve Rogers x Reader

The cafe’s interior was warm, a cozy atmosphere mixed with the comforting scents of brewed coffee and cinnamon.

She sat at the booth furthest from the door, her fingers tapping the clean table nervously as she watched person after person, figure after figure, walk past the cafe’s cold, nearly frosted window. She waited for Steve’s familiar gait, his confident stance, his dark blonde hair but he didn’t come.

She wasn’t sure if the nausea she was feeling was because she was nervous and scared or because of the life currently growing inside of her. Perhaps it was both. Either way, it was not a pleasant feeling.

Despite the cafe’s warm interior, her fingers felt cold. She cupped her mug of hot chocolate, willing it to warm her freezing hands.

“You look nervous.”

Y/N’s eyes snapped towards Natasha, who slid into the seat across from her.

“I am nervous,” Y/N grumbled before she took a sip of the sweet chocolate, letting it melt through her chilliness.The chocolate’s familiar flavor settled the roaring in her stomach, if only a little bit.

She eyed Natasha as she took a sip of her latte. Y/N couldn’t remember the last time she had coffee and even if her doctor told her that a cup every once in a while was fine, caffeine wasn’t something she’d willingly subject her child to.

“Whatever happens, I’m right here as your emotional support,” Natasha said, giving Y/N a reassuring smile.

“Aren’t you suppose to be doing that from that table over there?” Y/N smirked as she pointed to the table that was nearly at the other side of the small cafe. The chair still held Natasha’s stuff, her friend unworried about her things getting stolen in the empty cafe.

“You looked nervous. I thought you needed support right now.”

“I am nervous and I will continue to be nervous whether or not you’re sitting here.”

Natasha shrugged. “Do you think I should order Bucky his drink?”

Y/N frowned at Natasha’s words. “Bucky? Why would you order Bucky a drink?”

“I invited him.”

“Nat—“

“What?” Natasha said defensively. “Bucky kept your secret from Steve, his best friend. The least you owe him is coffee.”

Y/N sighed, rubbing her face in frustration. “Fine. Okay. Coffee is on me.”

“You need all the support you can get, Y/N.” Natasha said, her eyebrows furrowing in worry. “You’ve been doing this thing all by yourself. Hiding from the team for a month, going to doctors appointments by yourself, not to mention your symptoms.”

Y/N sighed. A sudden feeling of tiredness and weariness descended on her. She felt exhausted and to be honest, she didn’t even know why.

Before she joined the team, she was used to doing things on her own. She was independent, the type of person who hated asking other people for help, who hated burdening other people with issues she could solve on her own.

Yet now? The idea of spending 9 months all by herself, going through the stages of being pregnant alone, the idea of raising a child without any type of support from anyone, had tears swelling in her eyes.

How did the Avengers manage to wedge themselves into the cracks and spaces of her lonely heart? And, more than anything, how did Steve Rogers manage to mend Y/N’s brokenness in the first place?

She had been so guarded, careful even, not to let an inch of affection grow for other people.

And yet, now she finds herself staring down a growing mile of love for people she promised she wouldn’t care about. And with Steve? God knows it was longer than a mile. She wasn’t sure the love she had for him even had an end.

Maybe she was destined to fail the moment she’d asked Steve to engage in a friends-with-benefits type of situation. Or, perhaps she was doomed the moment she called Steve a friend.

Either way, as far as missions go, not falling for Steve had definitely become unsuccessful.

Because she fell. Hard.

Which, all things considered, had to be the biggest surprise of her life before she found out she was pregnant.

Considering the men she used to date—troubled, brooding, bad boys with terrible reputations—falling for Steve was almost laughable. It was why she had chosen Steve to be her friend with benefits in the first place. It was unlikely she’d ever develop feelings for him since he wasn’t her type, let alone actually fall in love with one of the most selfless, most well-adjusted man in the planet.

She couldn’t even pinpoint when it started. All she knew was that at first, she had enjoyed only the physical aspects of the relationship. She found a release in Steve like no other and when that release became an almost daily thing, she had grown to crave it.

And, weirdly enough, Y/N found it fun. Hiding their relationship, using Bucky as a buffer and having Nat conjure up excuses for the both of them because Bucky and Natasha were the only two people who knew about their relationship was fun. She use to think Steve was boring and a little bland but Captain America knew how to enjoy himself, which, had to be another big surprise that Y/N encountered.

“If there’s one thing I know, it’s that time is special. Enjoy every second because you never know how many more tomorrows you’ll have.”

Steve had said that to her once and his words had stuck with her. Perhaps it was the soldier in him, always anticipating the next fight, the next battle, waiting for the day death comes knocking. It seemed almost pessimistic, even. To have the urge to enjoy everything because you anticipate that it will all come crashing down.

Either way, despite Steve’s words, it never really erased Y/N’s disbelief at Steve for enjoying their daily trysts.

“Are you really that surprised?” Steve asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Yes.” She replied, deadpanned.

He laughed at her then and strangely enough, Y/N found herself laughing too. “You just seem like such a serious guy, Steve. Always so uptight. Sleeping with women and then keeping it a secret from your teammates doesn’t seem like the type of thing you would do. Especially since Tony has that no-sleeping-with-fellow-Avengers rule.”

“You’re not just anyone. And I know how to have fun,” Steve replied before he ducked a fist that Y/N flew into his direction. “Besides, Stark can’t tell me what to do.”

“Well an old man’s version of fun usually involves, what, fishing? Maybe mahjong?” Y/N teased, a wicked smirk on her face.

“I am not that old.” Steve huffed before he struck a blow toward’s Y/N’s midriff, which she quickly dodged.

Sweat glistened on Y/N’s forehead, her hair curling behind her ear as her breaths came out in loud pants. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been training with Steve but she found that she hardly cared how much time had past with how much she was enjoying herself.

“Considering that your first love, Peggy Carter, is literally like a hundred, you’re very old Steve. If my father ever found out that I was sleeping with a hundred year old, geriatric man, I would be shunned from my family. Then again, you’re surprisingly very spry for someone who’s older than my grandfather.”

He laughed, the sound echoing around the otherwise empty training room. And just like that, Y/N’s feet went flying as a well aimed kick to the jaw had Steve falling on his butt.

He looked up at her in surprise, clutching his aching jaw, as Y/N grinned at him triumphantly.

“I stand corrected, Captain. Looks like you’re not as spry as I thought you were.” Y/N smirked before offering her hand to him, which he willingly took. But rather than pulling himself up, Steve pulled Y/N down, making her shriek in surprise as her body was caught in Steve’s muscular arms.

“That’s for tricking me.” Steve grinned as Y/N scowled at him.

“Just admit you’re easily distracted.”

“More like you’re just distracting.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, causing Y/N to laugh.

“Easy there, Steve. It almost sounds like you like me.”

“And if I do?”

She paused. She hadn’t realized the close proximity of their faces, Y/N’s body laid on Steve’s, his arms cradling her, their breaths mingling. They were close enough for Y/N to see the golden flecks in Steve’s eyes, close enough to see his dilated pupils. They’d been in far more precarious positions before but somehow, this position was too intimate, too close than what Y/N was comfortable with.

And despite her body’s desire to lean in to Steve’s embrace, to seal their lips into a kiss, she pulled away, ignoring her fast beating heart. She got off his lap, convincing herself that her flaming cheeks was because of the intensity of their workout and not because of the feelings she developed for Steve Rogers.

Because it was at that very moment when she’d realized just how fast and how hard she had fallen for Captain America himself.

And she’d be damned if she ever admitted it to anyone other than herself.

“Y/N.”

Y/N’s focus snapped back to the present at Natasha calling her name.

“Hey, Buck,” Y/N said with a half-hearted smile when she noticed Bucky standing over them.

“Steve hasn’t arrived?” Bucky asked as Natasha scooted farther into the booth so that Bucky could have his own seat.

Y/N shook her head. “I’m starting to think that he won’t arrive at all.”

“Don’t say that,” Natasha frowned, placing a comforting hand on Y/N’s still freezing fingers. “He’s going to come.”

Y/N gave Natasha a bitter smile and shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Y/N, I’m serious. He’s going to come.”

Y/N shifted her attention towards Bucky, who was watching her like a hawk. “How has he been?”

The Winter Soldier shrugged. “He’s Steve. Pretending everything is okay when he’s not. You know, he isn’t the only person in the compound who misses you.”

“Oh?”

“Peter asks about you almost everyday and so does Morgan. Bruce and Tony admitted that they miss having you around to bounce ideas off of. Sam misses his second favorite sparring partner.”

“Second?”

“Well, I’m first,” Bucky said with a smirk, making Y/N laugh.

Y/N looked out the window once again, a soft but endearing smile on her face. She watched the people pass by, busy with their lives, unknowingly walking past three Avengers. Y/N used to wonder what it must be like to live a normal life.

Inheriting her mother’s mutant abilities, becoming a thief at the age of eight, becoming one of the most wanted criminals in the entire world before she became an avenger more or less ensured that she was never going to have a normal life.

She use to not care. After all, a life of crime had to be the most exciting life a person could live. Becoming an Avenger after becoming a world-renowned thief simply was simply an added bonus.

But now, with a child on the way, one she wasn’t entirely sure what to do with, living her high life of missions and taking down mercenaries and villains seemed almost comical. How can she possibly do that while parenting a child and to do it without any of the team knowing?

“I don’t know how Clint managed to hide his family all these years but just thinking about keeping this whole pregnancy a secret seems exhausting,” Y/N remarked, shifting her attention once again to her two friends.

“He didn’t do it alone,” Natasha answered. “He had Laura. She did most of the heavy lifting.”

“Must be nice to have a Laura,” Y/N sighed miserably as she leaned against the booth’s comfortable red backing. Her aching back almost seemed to sigh in relief as she let her shoulders sag. She wasn’t showing that much yet but her back was already beginning to hurt.

“You might not be able to have a Laura but you can have a Steve.” Bucky said.

Y/N sent his a wry smile. “Well, we don’t know if I’ll have a Steve. But I do know that I have a Natasha and a Bucky. Thank you, for being there for me.”

“Of course,” Natasha said with a soft smile, taking Y/N’s hand in her own. “What are friends for?”

“Well I definitely know who’ll serve as my baby’s godparents.”

Bucky looked at her intently, a look of wonder on his face. “You’re going to make me the godfather of your child?”

“Yeah. It feels right,” Y/N said with a shrug, a small smile on her face. The first, genuine smile she’d had for the past few weeks.

“You won’t ask Steve?”

“I’m sure if he knew, he’ll agree with me.”

Bucky’s eyes swirled with emotions and it was a few moments before he grabbed Y/N’s free hand and said, “It would be my honor.”

Y/N grinned. “You’re not going to cry on me, are you, Bucky?”

“No,” he said with a broken voice before he sniffled and wiped at his eyes, making Y/N laugh.

The sound of the cafe’s wind chimes twinkled, interrupting the tiny bubble of distraction that Natasha and Bucky had given Y/N.

Y/N’s eyes snapped to the door and found Steve. The roaring in her stomach that Y/N thought she’d quelled returned, a ramming stampede of nausea and emotions that she couldn’t even begin to decipher. She watched his eyes scan through the whole room, empty save for their tiny booth. When his eyes finally landed on their booth, his eyes flitted to Natasha, to Bucky, before landing on Y/N.

“I guess that’s our cue,” Natasha said before her and Bucky stood up, vacating the booth as Steve walked towards them.

“Nat, Bucky,” Steve greeted when he go to the booth. “Why am I not surprised to see you here?”

“I thought we’ve long established that we’re a package deal, Steve,” Natasha replied with a wry smile. “We’ll go talk to the waiter to make sure you’re not bothered.” And she pulled Bucky away before Steve could say anything.

Steve took the seat that Natasha unoccupied. For the first time since Y/N had met Steve, she couldn’t read him, couldn’t understand the emotions that ran through his handsome face. Y/N had memorized the contours of Steve’s body, every crevice in his brain that he fought to hide. She’d committed to memory every single facet of Steve that she could. Somehow, the unfamiliarity of him scared her more than telling him the truth. She was only gone a month or so, how could she possibly forget so much of him so soon?

“Thank you for coming,” Y/N said, fighting to keep the tremor from her voice. The distance between them felt like the length of an ocean instead of just simply a table.

“Haven’t seen you in a while. Must be, what, a month now?” Steve said evenly, as he leaned forward, closing the distance between them.

“It’s funny,” Y/N said thoughtfully. “I don’t see you for a few weeks and suddenly… it’s like I can’t even read you anymore.”

“Oh?” Steve said, coking his head to the side. “Probably because you’ve never seen me mad at you before.”

“You’re mad at me?” Y/N asked, a little dumbfounded.

“You think I wouldn’t be? You disappear for a month, a month. I called you, left you messages and voicemails and then absolute radio silence. It was like you fell off the face of the earth or you were dead! You can’t just—“ Steve took a deep breath, calming his rising tone. “You can’t just infiltrate my life and then leave just like that.”

“Infiltrate your life?” Y/N echoed. She couldn’t stop the disbelieving scoff that left her. “I infiltrated your life? You think you didn’t do that same to me? Are you serious? Steve Rogers, you are the most infuriating man I have ever met! Do you have any idea how many hours I’ve spent thinking about you? How much time I use up just wondering about you?”

Steve blinked in shock. “You… you think about me?”

Y/N’s annoyance increased. She wanted to reach over the table and wrap her fingers around Steve’s neck with how irritated she was. “I might actually just strangle you, Steve. Are you so dense that you can’t realize that I’m in love with you?”

“You’re in love with me?”

“Yes,” Y/N said, huffing angrily. “I am so in love with you that the last month I was away from you had been hell! And you know what, maybe I could have survived the last month alone if I didn’t know whether or not you liked me. At least I could pretend that you felt even just a fraction of what I felt for you!”

“What makes you think I don’t feel the same way” Steve said, his eyebrows furrowing, crumpling like paper.

“Because I saw you, Steve. “I saw you with Sharon.” Y/N sighed, her previous bout of anger leaching out of her. She couldn’t stop the shake in her voice. Even in her own ears, she sounded tired, broken even. Y/N a few months ago would have hated being so vulnerable but spending so much of your time and energy keeping up walls were exhausting. Letting them down, especially in front of someone you loved, brought her a sense of relief that Y/N couldn’t describe.

“With Sharon?”

“Yes. I was on my way to tell you that I was pregnant and that—“.

Steve made a choking noise, and horror dawned on Y/N.

“Crap,” She muttered to herself angrily. “You weren’t suppose to find out that way.”

“You’re pregnant?” Steve asked, gobsmacked.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Y/N groaned. Her hands flew to her hair, wringing it in frustration. Ever since she got pregnant, she’s found that her hormones have been causing her to not only be emotional but to also be irrational, which makes her say the dumbest things ever without much thought.

“Steve, I’m sorry. You weren’t suppose to find out this way. I had a whole speech planned and Nat and Bucky helped me prepare it—“

“I’m the father?”

Y/N paused. “Well, you’re pretty much the only person I slept with for the past few months. There’s really only you.”

Steve stayed silent for a few moments as Y/N let him absorb all the new information.

“Nat and Bucky are going to be the child’s godparents by the way,” Y/N added, her voice small. “Just thought you should know.”

Steve sucked in a sharp breath. “That’s a lot of information to get in 2 minutes.”

“I know you want to be with Sharon, Steve,” Y/N sighed, her heart breaking at the thought of letting him leave. But forcing Steve to stay with her, shackling him to her with their love child felt wrong. It felt insidious and cruel. Y/N might not be able to have everything but she would never stand in the way of someone else’s happiness, especially not a person she loved.

“Why would you think I want to be with Sharon?”

“Because I saw you two. Kissing in the training room. I was there.”

The memory crashed into her, a fighting blow of pain and agony as she remembered Sharon and Steve passionately kissing in the one room in the entire compound that Y/N thought was special to them both. It felt like a betrayal, a stinging stab wound of pain and misery. It was one thing to find Steve kissing Sharon in hallway, it was another thing entirely to find them kissing in the training room.

“How much did you see?” Steve asked.

“Enough. The moment I saw you two, I packed my bags and I left.”

“You should have stayed longer.”

“Why? So that I can see that kiss escalate into something more?” Y/N scoffed.

“No. So you could see that I pushed her away,” Steve sighed. He rubbed his face nervously as if he was getting ready to fight of an adversary instead of opening himself up to Y/N.

“I don’t understand,” Y/N said, a little dumbfounded.

“You know, for one of the smartest people I know, you can be really dense.” Steve sent her a small smile before taking his hand in hers wrapping it around his own. His hands felt warm against her own, sending shivers of pleasures down her spine. His fingers intertwined around hers, reminding Y/N of the whirring mechanisms of a clock—all the right pieces falling into place. “I don’t love Sharon. I love you. I’ve been in love with you since the start.”

“Since the start?”

“Since the start,” Steve confirmed. “You really think I would agree to sleep with a woman just like that? I loved you and your crazy, maniacal laugh and your obsession with winning and your need to make sure that you’re always right. I love every single part of you and when you told me that you wanted a no-strings-attached relationship, it broke my heart. But I figured, a piece of you was better than nothing at all. And so I agreed to be your friend with benefits.”

“But Sharon—“

“Kissed me. I pushed her away as soon as I realized what was happening. It felt wrong, she felt wrong. I love you. I thought that was obvious. I’ve been waiting for you to make a move but you never did.”

“You thought that your feelings for me were obvious?” Y/N asked, raising an unimpressed brow. “Did you forget who you’re talking to? I have narcissistic tendencies. I think everyone’s in love with me. If you wanted me to know that you really had true feelings for me, you should have said something.”

“I did always have bad timing,” Steve said with a small laugh. “I’m sorry for not telling you and for hurting you.”

“Me too,” Y/N sighed. “I’m sorry for not telling you about the baby sooner. I was coming into the training room to tell you but then little miss blondie showed up and ruined everything.”

“Right now, I’m more concerned with the fact that you’ve been doing this all by yourself.”

“She hasn’t been doing it by herself!” Natasha called out from the other side of the room. “I’ve been watching her.” Natasha looked proud of herself, making Y/N roll her eyes.

“Have you two been listening to us this whole time?” Y/N scowled at the two assassins.

Bucky shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe. You are carrying our god child and we’re known to be very protective.”

“Yeah, well, at least you two can take breaks with the protection detail now that Uncle Sam and Auntie Maria will be around.”

“Does that mean you’ll be moving back to the compound?” Steve asked Y/N, a flash of hope in his eyes.

Y/N nodded and the hope in Steve’s eyes solidified into pure joy. “Yeah. It does. I do miss everyone. I can’t do this alone, Steve. I tried and it was so hard. Even if I know I can do it alone, I don’t want to. I want you there with me. I want everyone there with me.”

“I’ll be there, Y/N. Every step of the way.”

She let the words sink in, let her relief wash away the haunting pain and the nervousness that tormented her. For the first time in a month, all she could feel was peace.

Despite all her unanswered questions, all of the uncertainty in her future that she had to face, it was a less daunting with her little family at her side.

[radiant-reid]

All grown up

A/n: This went in a completely different direction than I thought it would.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Y/n

Genre: a little angst but mostly fluff

WC: 3.2k

CW: spoilers for season 13 | implication of sex | typical CM violence | mentions of getting shot + getting stabbed | mentions of Maeve

"Come on, Reid. I'll drive you home." Y/n announced, tugging at an almost sleeping Spencer's hand.

The last few months had been tough. A series of disastrous events. Every member of the team trying to hang on as each emotionally straining situation happened.

They all hoped they were out of the woods. Spencer was out of prison, Emily wasn't being held hostage by a psychopath, Spencer's mom was safe, but they were all still mourning Stephen Walker's death.

Spencer looked up at her with his brown puppy dog eyes, curls slipping on his forehead. She had never been more pleased to see him sitting in the office, doing paperwork later into Thursday night despite how much she knew he needed sleep.

Looking around the bullpen, she could almost imagine everything was back to the way it was 12 years ago when they were just kids. Baby Doctor Reid with his straight hair and babyface. Back when no one could believe he was over 18, much less a doctor with 3 PhDs. With Gideon and his odd ways of cracking cases, headstrong Elle, media liaison JJ, Hotch with a baby, not a teenage son, Morgan with hair, ageless Garcia, 23-year-old Y/n.

Y/n didn't know why she was reminiscing. Maybe it was Spencer who was so familiar yet so different. Still, Y/n got to tease him about being a few months older.

Their colleagues had come and gone, and some come back. It was just the cycle of the BAU.

Spencer struggled to keep his eyes open as he answered her. "Uh, yeah, that would be good, thank you." Still polite as the shy 22-year-old he once was.

It wasn't odd for her to take him home or any of their other friends.

"Let's go. You look like you're about to fall asleep right now." Y/n joked with a giggle. Spencer was almost too tired to laugh at her.

He gathered his things before following Y/n to the elevator, waving at Emily as they left. She actually looked alert, ready to tackle her reports.

As soon as Y/n put her foot to the accelerator, Spencer fell asleep, letting out little snores as he twitched his nose. Something he'd done since she'd known him, it never got less cute.

Spencer seemed much more awake after she stopped the car outside his apartment.

"Come in, Poppet." He insisted, looking over the center console at her.

The nickname was one he had used for a good few years, ever since he managed to not stutter when he talked to her. As soon as he had concluded they were friends- a year after Y/n considered them friends- he started teasing her about being shorter than him. Like everyone else in the world was.

Y/n rolled her eyes, pretending to hate the nickname. They both knew she didn't.

"Seriously, you can't be considering driving home this late." Spencer continued trying to convince her. To further illustrate his point, he held out his watch for her to read the time. 11:21.

He took her silence as refusal and gave one last plea. "I've got candy. Your favorite chocolate too."

"Alright, Nerd." She shot him a wink, using his special nickname. "It's been a while since we had a sleepover." She decided, determining in her head that date was almost a year ago.

"Yeah," Spencer smirked. "They don't let you have those in prison." He joked with a laugh, making her mouth drop open about how soon it was. "You can laugh. Please, reassure me my jokes are funny." He requested playfully, still smirking. Y/n let herself giggle at him. Spencer was surprisingly funny for being such a nerd.

Spencer picked up her go-bag from the back. His chivalry had never wavered.

She went up the stairs to his apartment first. Using the spare key, she kept to his apartment to unlock the door.

Routinely, she slipped off her shoes, placing her keys down. Spencer's apartment was always so comfortable. Warm, cozy, and filled with books. It was uniquely him.

Spencer placed her bag in his room, where she always slept next to him. It had taken him a couple of years for them to start that habit. But once they did, it didn't stop.

"Spence, bring me a hoodie." She requested from the living room, making herself comfortable on his couch.

"Uh, what one do you want?" Spencer asked her.

Y/n got off the couch, moving towards the door of his bedroom. She knocked, hiding behind the door. "Can I come in to choose?"

"Yeah, don't worry, I've got pants on," Spencer assured her, making her laugh as she stepped in.

She made her way through his room, past his leather armchair to the walk-through wardrobe.

Spencer stood there, in just sweat pants, looking at his collection of hoodies.

Y/n ran her fingers through the hung-up hoodies. She almost forgot what she was doing as she admired all the different labels.

"Did you get these all for free?" She asked him, frowning.

Spencer nodded with a chuckle. "Every single one." He affirmed as he stepped over, so he was in right next to her. He flicked through each hoodie. "Caltech, my favorite, naturally." He started with the first one. "Stanford didn't even offer me a full scholarship." He said with a scoff and an eye roll. The sass he had developed only started to show 7 years prior. It had always been there, just deeply buried.

"Really?" Y/n asked in a surprised tone. "There's no way." She continued in disbelief.

Spencer shrugged. "Apparently not enough extra circulars. Like I had time while I was accelerating through grades like no other student. Probably ever." He explained with a smug tone. That was a fairly new personality trait, one she enjoyed nonetheless.

He held out the next hoodie. "Columbia, too many people in New York," Spencer informed her why he didn't pick the college. "Yale, my first backup plan. Harvard, my second backup plan. MIT, I very nearly went there."

"Why didn't you?" Y/n interrupted him to ask. It wasn't something she'd heard him talk about before, besides that Yale was his backup plan.

Spencer shrugged. "MIT scores better in most things. 1st in Chemistry, 1st in Chemical, Civil, Electrical and Mechanical engineering, and 1st in Math." He listed off the statistics he just seemed to know.

"That's a lot of reasons to pick MIT," Y/n commented absentmindedly.

Spencer's voice got quieter. "Guess I wanted to be an hour flight from home rather than nearly six." He figured. He still wasn't sure if it was a subconscious decision or not.

"You really are the best, Spence," Y/n told him with a smile, lightly punching him on the arm.

He rolled his eyes at her, blushing nonetheless. "Which hoodie?" He asked, nodding at the coat hangers.

"Uh, I'll take Yale, your number two." Y/n joked, holding her hand out as she opened and closed her fist.

Spencer picked up a hoodie. "You can have Caltech, always my number one." He joked, flashing her a wink.

Y/n scoffed, taking the hoodie. "You're such a flirt." She reminded him. He had been for a long time. It just wasn't something a lot of people would assume about him. Mostly due to the babyface he had only just grown out of.

His flirting started when Morgan bet Spencer couldn't get anyone to give him their number. By the end of the night, Spencer had 29 numbers. He never used a single one, but the respectable, mutual flirting was actually fun.

"Okay, where's the candy you speak of?" Y/n asked once she'd put the hoodie over her head.

Spencer laughed at her, putting on one of his other hoodies. "Let's go." He said, taking her hand, pulling her towards the kitchen.

Something caught Y/n's eye on the wall adjacent to his desk. Photo frames she'd never seen before. She dropped his hand so she could look at them.

"I'll get the snacks," Spencer mentioned, noticing her intrigue.

Y/n nodded, running her finger over the framed photographs. Pictures of the team at Rossi's, around the table at the bar, on the beach in Florida, when Hotch gave them an extra day after their case finished, Spencer with his godsons, Spencer with each member of the team.

The wall was ordered precisely, lines of framed photos. Right in the middle of the was a photo of Y/n and Spencer. It was a selfie Y/n had taken when Spencer took her to the planetarium. Back when they were only 23, wide smiles and innocent faces. So much had changed, yet so much stayed the same.

"When did you do this?" Y/n asked, sensing him back in the room as he put bags down on the coffee table.

Spencer moved to stand next to her. "Uh, 5 months ago. Once I, um, got out." He figured, voice raising at the end of his answer.

"It's nice," Y/n stated, turning to look at him. "Why are we in the middle?" She asked with a playful tone, raising her eyebrows.

Spencer was far too specific for there not to be an explanation. "I like the photo." He replied.

Y/n shook her head at him. "There's a reason. What is it?" She pushed. "Come on, since when do we have secrets?" She asked, lightly pushing on his chest.

Spencer laughed awkwardly before starting his story. "It's super embarrassing, but I had such a big crush on you." He mentioned, shaking his head. "That trip wasn't, um, meant to be us as f-friends." He tried to explain, squeezing an eye shut as he thought about it.

"Wait, what?" Y/n asked, mouth falling open in surprise. "That was a date?" She questioned, rethinking the whole night. If it had been with anyone but Spencer, she wouldn't have hesitated to call it a date.

Spencer chuckled at her trying to figure it out. "Yeah, I mean, it's no big deal." He figured, shrugging it off.

Y/n still looked completely bewildered. Then it hit her. "I spent like the whole time talking about Ben." She remembered.

Spencer nodded at her, still finding the whole thing amusing. "Yeah, and how you were going to 'win him back through seduction.'" Spencer quoted, raising his pitch in an attempt to sound like her. Y/n hit the palm of her hand on her head, feeling like such an idiot. "I figured that was enough of a hint that my feelings weren't reciprocated."

"I'm such an idiot." She said, feeling terrible about potentially hurting Spencer. Even if it was years ago.

Back, then he was so self-conscious that asking her out would have been a big thing.

"Don't worry about it, Poppet," Spencer assured her. It still didn't make her any less annoyed at herself. "Seriously, it's okay."

Y/n reluctantly nodded, meeting his eyes for the first time since they'd started the conversation. She didn't realize how close he was, his eyes flipping between her lips and her eyes.

"So, you stopped liking me after that?" Y/n asked awkwardly.

Spencer shook his head gently. "Not sure I ever stopped."

His words took Y/n by just as much surprise. Somehow, it felt like things were falling into place, like every piece of the puzzle fit.

She could stop what she did next, leaning up to kiss her best friend. Two hands wrapped around his neck, his quickly moving to her waist. It felt so much better than anything she could have imagined. His lips were actually against hers. This was real life. She almost felt like her brain had stopped working, and Spencer felt the same. The whole thing was indescribable. It just felt right.

Neither of them could help but deepen it, desperate to be as close together as they could be.

"This is okay, right?" Spencer asked, pulling back for a second as his fingers twirled the hem of the hoodie she was wearing.

Y/n nodded at him. "Yes, please, Spence." She requested, tugging the hoodie off her frame.

Spencer didn't want to waste any more time as he took her to his bedroom. Laying her down on the bed they used to sleep next to each other in.

And everything changed.

~

"Pass me a gummy worm." Y/n requested.

1:13, and both of them were wide awake. Y/n wasn't used to having candy in bed after sex, but it was different. Everything with Spencer was different and infinitely better.

"Of course, pretty girl." Spencer agreed, handing her the packet in his hands.

Y/n could only smile as she looked at him, her cheeks starting to hurt. She could see every inch of his face, high cheekbones, defined jawline, and those pretty, big brown eyes. He was the same Spencer she had known for years, but somehow everything felt the same. "So I get 'pretty girl' now?" She asked with a raised eyebrows.

Spencer's nose twitched as he thought it over. "It's cause you are, baby." He replied, leaning over to stroke his thumb across her blushing cheek.

"Did you mean it?" Y/n had the sudden urge to ask as the self-doubt set in.

Spencer took his hand off her cheek, frowning at her before nodding. "Absolutely." He assured her. "I knew, but I didn't know." He attempted to explain as he chewed on his bottom lip.

Y/n thought she understood. "I didn't realize until just now that I always did." It was confusing, and she didn't know how to explain it. She just hoped Spencer got it.

Spencer did. "I just want you to know that I love you." He confessed. "I always have."

"I love you, Spencer," Y/n replied happily, leaning in to give him a soft kiss. There was nothing in the world that could deter her bliss. Spencer had never felt as joyful as he did. "Why didn't we do this years ago?" Y/n questioned rhetorically.

Spencer also didn't know, and he was annoyed about it. "The timing just wasn't ever right, was it?" He figured.

Y/n hadn't thought about it until he answered. "I feel bad, though." She announced. Spencer's confused look prompted her to explain. "I just mean that I've been with other people, and I could never fully love them because it's only ever been you." She was only just seeing what the cause of her past relationships falling apart was.

Then it was Spencer's turn to confess. "I tried. With, uh, with M-Maeve." He choked out.

"Did you love her?" Y/n questioned, not wanting to push it too hard. She had seen how broken he was after he saw her get murdered. So she had come to her own conclusion.

Spencer tilted his head, thinking about it all. "Yeah." He decided. "I loved her a lot. And I don't know what would have happened if she was, um, st-still here." He figured, trying not to cry. "But there's something different about this." He tried to explain, voice perking up.

Y/n squeezed his hand, letting him know it was okay. "I loved Liam." She admitted, thinking back on her ex-boyfriend. "But the problem was it didn't feel as good as I expected it to feel." She said like it was a question.

"Come here." Spencer requested, opening his arms so they could cuddle. Now that he had her so close, it was going to be impossible for him to let go.

Y/n moved into his arms, feeling more comfortable than ever before, laying on his bare chest. He ran a finger through her hair, gazing at the softness of her face.

Y/n traced her finger down Spencer's chest, trying to memorize every inch before she stopped at a scar he had on his lower. She looked up at him with a frown. "How's you get this?" She asked him.

"You know in Tenessee?" Spencer asked her.

Y/n hummed. "That time like 2 years ago?" She replied, preparing herself for the memory. It was a case she wouldn't ever be able to forget.

Spencer nodded. "Two years, three months, twenty-one days, and nineteen hours." He corrected her. "Give or take the minutes, I'm not exactly sure."

Y/n giggled at him. "How are you, of all people, not sure?" She asked with a cheeky grin, trying to find something to smile about with the memory of the day.

Spencer's face was anything but cheerful. "You got shot." He reminded her. She pointed to her abdomen, where she still had a faint scar. "I don't know how much you remember, but I was the one who found you, Y/n." His face paled, and he felt like he wanted to throw up at just the thought. "And I just froze because I didn't know what I would do without you in my life. I only knew Maeve for a few months, but you had been my best friend for years. I knew what I needed to do, but I couldn't move." He told her, tears welling in his eyes. "Thankfully, Rossi was behind me because he tried to keep you conscious while the paramedics came." He continued, letting a tear slip. It wasn't something he had talked about before because of how much it hurt. "You pointed to where he ran, and I knew you were alright, so I just went after him. Running as fast as I could until I caught up with him, he tossed the gun. Naturally, I went to arrest him, but my hands were so clammy that he got one loose, grabbed a knife, and stabbed me." He retold to Y/n, who was in complete shock.

"How did I not know?" She asked the main thing she didn't understand.

"You were out for almost 2 days. It only took a few hours for them to gave me stitches." Spencer figured.

"I remember you were there when I woke up." Y/n realized thinking about all the jello Spencer made sure to get her. She never got to thank him for it.

Spencer smiled at her, beyond grateful she was alright. "You have no idea how worried I was, Y/n. It was so bad that they gave me Diazepam." He admitted.

Y/n's eyes widened. "Spence." She reached out to hold his face. "You know it wasn't your fault?" She asked, fearing he might be footing the blame.

Spencer sighed. "I know, I mean, I didn't shoot you. But, I still feel so horrible about freezing." He confessed. "If you... uh... if you didn't make it... a-and it was my fault... I just couldn't have kept going." He voiced his worst fears.

Y/n shook her head, wiping the tears on his cheek. "I know you feel guilty. But you can't think about the 'what if's." She assured him. "I know because I felt like that. Before you went to prison when I knew something was up. And so many other times when I just couldn't help but think about if I could have done something. The most important thing is you're okay, I'm okay, and we're here." She reminded him, trying to offer as much reassurance as she could.

Spencer nodded gently. "I love you, and thank you."

"You never have to thank me, Spence." She reminded him. "And I love you too."

Those 3 words were something neither of them would ever get sick of saying.

Taglist

Join here

@doctorspenceryeet  @gooblur @alfonsais @camreid @canadailluminate @lethpartridge @ssagube @spencerreid-mgg @nightlockcornucopia @loveeee2134 @karinareid @allexthakatt @alfonsais @silverhetdanes @aperrywilliams @g-l-pierce @lizziebeeokay @reidswhoree @beepbooptoop @silverhetdanes @kyanyakya @katiejozeisler @matthewwhore @megnotfound @80strashbag  @mrsobrien888 @fanntasynerd09  @morganwilliams  @j-cat @440mxs-wife @hueycat2004 @gspenc  @icurasthefallenangel @iheartspence @ssavanessa22 @bisexual-virgin @lhhluvr @thecraziestcrayon @theycallmepapasmurf @katesreading @cance1medaddy @kuolonsyoja @alexlovescriminalminds @kahootlobbymusic @nomajdetective @idonotexiste @xxgilmoregirl @drayshadow @justalittleweirdoo

@bunny-script @pauline5525mgg @mikewizkalifa @actingchica @almost-a-ladybug @foodsarcasmandyou @illegallygingerr @darkacademicwhore @nervouscreatorpicklepasta @uhuhuh  @karinareid @alexxavicry @probablycryingg @awkwardnesshabitat @black-veil-baby @uwu-queen-420 @Holding-onto-my-youth @one-sweet-gubler @whovianayesha @buckys-doll17 @gubedawnreid @parahmur @whovianayesha @kierstiniscrying @anonymous-reading @bingereid @measure-in-pain @archer561 @la-vie-en-amour1 @cynbx @spencers-dria @hardpartybasketballshepherd @ilovespencerreidmarryme @mrsobrien888 @parahmur @averyhotchner @honkroselyn @randomwriter1021 @bunnyweasley23 @rebeccasoutlook @teenwaywardasgardian @spencersnotdeadgirlfriend @bubb1eana1ee @icequeen6666 @are-y0u-sirius @psychomanias @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @jswessie187 @k-gallacher @fantasynerd09 @morganwilliams @vaella1821 @ndubes04 @talalok @juneballoon999@tiaras-amongst-trash @onceinadifferentdimension @criminal-reid @yikesyikesyikes95 @80strashbag @ilovespencerreidmarryme @citylights31 @ssavanessa22 @thedancingnerdmermaid @Beatriz-barnes@happymangospot​ @gublerstwilight @k-k0129 @spookyspence @eevee0722 @iamreallytryingiswear @dontcallmekittens @gublur @countingthestarsinfinitely @xhopingthis-worksx @claryandjacelover @spencersjello​ @reidsbookclub @sydneekomspacekru 

[uwingdispatch]

Crashing

Crashing

Notes: Cassian Andor/Reader, everyone lives au, post-rebellion, hurt/comfort, disabled reader, fluff and angst

TW: PTSD, panic attacks, chronic illness, disability, implied sexual intimacy

Ao3 Link

★★★★★★★★

It’s early in the evening when the demolition starts. It had been planned by the city—an older, unsafe building had to come down to put in new affordable housing. Somehow, you’d both forgotten about it until you heard explosives. You’re fine, if startled. But Cassian, while often able to cope with even the most difficult triggers, drops the plate he’s rinsing in the kitchen. You’re quick to steady him, but his face is already going pale.

“Breathe,” you say. “Try and breathe for me.”

Losing control of your body in a panic attack is frightening. Heightened heart rate, unsteady breathing, dizziness, nausea. A reaction like he’s having often leads to him passing out or vomiting—still, Cassian’s first response to this is that he hates you seeing him this way, that he doesn’t want to upset you.

“Didn’t you have some things you needed to do at the library tonight?” he asks as you help him to the couch. “Kay is home. You should go. I’ll be fine in a little bit”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say. “Not until you feel okay.”

Placing an extra pillow behind him, you remind Cassian about the medicine in his drawer and he shakes his head. “You know I hate taking those. This will pass.”

This isn’t the first time you’ve been through a rough bout of panic with him. Like so many Rebel veterans, he was diagnosed with PTSD after the war. Cassian goes to therapy, he meditates, he has regular doctor visits. He does almost everything he’s supposed to do. But no matter how bad it is, he hates taking medication—especially the tranquilizers he’d been prescribed that sit in his nightstand, nearly untouched.

*

You’d been living together for maybe six months when you found yourself in an art supply store with Cassian, his therapist having finally persuaded him to try “art therapy.” It was a familiar space for you, and the smells of fancy papers and paint, of unfinished wood and colorful yarns—it was comforting. You were hoping that this comfort would be Cassian’s as well, soon.

“I don’t know what she’s thinking,” Cassian said staring down a wall of brushes. “I can’t paint. I’ve never painted in my life.”

“Maybe that’s part of the point,” you said. “Maybe she wants you to try this completely new thing, with no expectations.”

“You’re probably right,” he said. “But I wish she’d given me a shopping list.”

“Didn’t she tell you to sign up for a specific class?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re not going to?”

“No.”

You sighed. There was nothing you could say that would convince him to try the class, and you suspected his therapist knew this about him, too. Knew this is where he’d end up instead. Still—perhaps because of the nature of your visit—Cassian wasn’t keen on asking a salesperson for help. And you weren’t really a painter yourself. However, you knew you’d always liked the feel of acrylic paint under a brush.

“Right,” you said. “Okay. Well, let me show you what I would buy.”

You picked out a package of brushes that weren’t too fancy, but that would work for what you had in mind. And you showed him a set of acrylic paints that were a decent quality, but wouldn’t turn out to be a waste of credits if he ended up hating all of this. And you took him to the paper aisle and pointed out what that you thought would be best for acrylics. And last, you insisted he buy an unfinished wooden box.

“What’s the box for?” Cassian asked. “Storage?”

“Maybe someday. Depends on what you do with it. But I really like how it feels to paint unfinished wood. You might, too.”

Cassian shrugged and added one to the shopping basket. When he realized you were holding the basket, he eased it out of your hands, not wanting you to have to carry anything even a little bit heavy, given your joint issues. He did this all the time, despite the durasteel rods in both of his legs and his shoulder. He liked to joke that being somewhat bionic made him perfect to carry things for you, but you knew he had days, especially in rainy weather, when he could feel those rods in him, and that it wasn’t pleasant.

“My heart, you are too good to me,” he said, cupping your cheek with his free hand. “How about lunch in the park?”

You smiled, and he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

*

Your intimate knowledge of panic attacks makes watching your partner suffer through them unmedicated all the more horrifying. You know exactly what his body is doing, because it happens to you, too. And when it happens to you, he is the first one to bring you your meds, to sit with you for hours, to stay up all night if he has to. And if you’d tried to send him on an errand while you were like this? It’s unthinkable.

Your tooka cat has been attentive as always—now he curls up in Cassian’s lap and starts to purr. Cassian holds the tooka almost like a prayer, something concrete to ground him in this moment.

You and the tooka both stay with him for hours, but a little after the time you would normally eat dinner, Kay convinces you to get out of the house.

Transferring a short shopping list to your datapad, he says, “What is it you organics say? You need to go out and acquire some oxygen.”

Get some air. He’s right, of course—you can feel your own anxiety coming to the surface. But that doesn’t mean you’re happy about leaving. As you walk the short kilometer from your little house into town, you call Chirrut, wishing he were local and not several star systems away.

“I don’t know what to do for him,” you say. “He won’t take the meds, it’s like he thinks it’s important to power through this on his own.”

Chirrut sighs audibly over the com. “He’s always been stubborn,” he says. “You’re doing what you can. Keep doing that. Have him call me if he wants.”

When you end the call, you add a few items to the list Kay sent you out with: electrolyte replacement tablets, soup from that café Cassian is obsessed with, migraine medicine. You tell yourself at the pharmacy checkout that you’ll stop by the library on your way home to pick up those datacards you need, but you don’t. It’s two blocks out of the way and you want to get home. To him.

*

With your supplies secured along with takeout from a favorite food cart in the compartment on the back of Cassian’s speeder bike, you wrapped your arms around him and he took off. You’d been surprised when he’d brought the bike home—there was already had a landspeeder in the garage. But he’d told you that day to get on the back and hold on tight. So you did. And as you rode together through your city, the feeling was almost euphoric.

That feeling persisted, even today, many months later. It was a bright, cloudless afternoon and, as you drove from downtown to one of the city’s public parks, you could smell all the green that had finally come back. So much work had been done to restore this city after the war, and it was amazing to see the beauty returning to Ralltiir—a beauty that you knew so many beings would get to enjoy.

At the park, Cassian pulled out a woven blanket and laid it in the grass, invited you to sit with him. You heard songbirds in the trees, a family with three laughing children flying kites just a few meters away. Was this bliss? If just for a few moments, you hoped so. Pain was universal, but surely this man had suffered his fair share. You wanted a little bit of bliss for him to hold on to, something to return to on his darker days.

*

When you return to your little house, Kay gives you an update: “The captain lost consciousness for 2.6 seconds. He has since had six ounces of water and half a meiloorun.”

“I’m right here, Kay,” Cassian says. “I can speak for myself.”

You sit on the sofa with him, setting the takeout bag with his favorite soup on the little living room table, and he rests his head in your lap. As you brush his hair away from his face, you feel a sheen of cold sweat on his forehead.

“How are you feeling?” you ask.

“Like I’ve been run over by an AT-ST. But I’ll be okay.”

He’s well enough to crack a joke, but you can feel him starting to hyperventilate. “Can you take some deep breaths for me?” you ask.

You take a deep breath for yourself before asking Kay to bring you a washcloth and a bowl of ice water.

“Like last time?” Kay asks.

“Exactly like last time.”

“Okay.” you say. “I’m here. I know my trauma isn’t from combat, it’s not the same as what you’re dealing with, but I’m here. There are friends you can call if you need. Jyn would come over in a heartbeat. You’re not alone in this.”

“Thank you, my heart,” he says. “You are all I need tonight.”

As much as it breaks your heart to see your partner like this, you’re thankful that he will at least try some of the interventions you suggest. Like dipping his face in ice water to try and short circuit his racing mind.

And the ice water works long enough to eat dinner. But this is one of the worst episodes you’ve ever seen him though. Cassian’s anxiety stays heightened even after you both go to bed, and as the sun starts to rise, he still hasn’t slept. Neither have you. So he kisses your forehead, thanking you for staying up with him, and he takes his pillow out to the couch.

*

You stayed in the park for hours, sometimes in complete silence, just enjoying each other’s presence. As the sun set, the park emptied until it was only the two of you—almost as if the rest of the world wanted to give you a moment of peace. You were laying in Cassian’s lap as he stroked your hair when a perfect smile came across his face.

“Marry me,” he said.

It was sudden, seemingly out of the blue. But Cassian was very rarely impulsive.

Still, you asked “Are you sure?”

He laughed. “Come here, my heart.”

He helped you sit up, and you sat facing him as he took both of your hands.

“Of course I’m sure,” he said. “I’m not sure of much, but I am sure about this. Marry me.”

You felt the wet of tears on your cheek and realized you were weeping. You leaned into Cassian and kissed him, breathlessly, without any care for anyone who might walk into the park and see you there.

“Is this a yes?” he asked, your foreheads touching, your hands in his hair.

“Yeah,” you said. “It is.”

He kissed you then, with a joyful hunger, and you felt a heaviness leave your body. Something you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding on to. It was gone, and you felt full of light.

*

“Come back to bed.”

You’re standing in the living room in your sleep clothes, barely holding it together for your partner who is tucking himself in under a throw blanket on the couch. The sky is violet, and you want nothing more than to hold him until he feels safe again.

“It’s dawn, I’m not doing this to you.”

“Cassian,” you say. “If sleep was my priority right now I’d have taken a tranquilizer. I’d be sleeping.”

“Please just go sleep, my heart. You’ve done so much already.”

You’re holding his pills in your hand. The very same pills in a different dosage are in your nightstand drawer with you name on them. “Tell me about the durasteel rods in your body.”

“What?”

“Tell me why you let them repair your shoulder and your legs with durasteel.”

“You’re not making sense.”

“Humor me.”

Cassian rubs his eyes and sighs. “Because my bones were shattered. I didn’t get to the bacta tank in time. Without the durasteel, I might have lost limbs.”

He realizes where you’re going with this, lets out a slow breath. “It feels like cheating,” He says. “Everyone who died, the pain I’m responsible for. It feels like cheating to be able to just take a pill.”

“And the durasteel?”

Cassian takes the bottle from you, cradles it in one hand, rubs his thumb over the label.

“It sounded like Jedha today,” he says, finally. “The whole city coming down around us. We barely made it out of there with our lives. Everyone else…there was no way to even try to help. They were just gone.”

“I’m so sorry you’re experiencing that again,” you say.

“Just…give me a minute. I’ll come back to bed. But I need a minute.”

You nod and return to the bedroom. The house is quiet except for the sound of the tooka purring in the warm spot Cassian left in the bed. As you crawl back under the covers, you hear the kitchen faucet, then the rattle of a pill bottle.

When he appears in the doorway, you feel a wave of relief wash over you, the tension in your body releasing.

“You were right,” he says, sinking into the bed next to you. “I should have taken the medicine sooner. I…wish I handled this better.”

“You handled it the best you could.”

He takes your face in his hands and touches his nose to yours. “I am a very lucky man.”

He kisses you softly, a brush of his lips across yours. And soon his breathing steadies, and he sleeps. So you sleep, too.

When you wake, it’s past noon. You find a note on the kitchen counter. He’s gone into the office just to check in and will be home at the normal time. You spend some of the afternoon napping, and as the sun gets lower in the sky you start to bake. You’re getting a second loaf of bread into the oven when you hear the familiar set of clicks and beeps as Cassian unlocks the door.

You turn to find him looking as exhausted as you are. But he has a smile on his face, and a big bouquet of flowers.

“My heart,” he says. “It smells delicious in here. Tell me you actually got some rest today.”

“I rested, Cassian,” you say. “Are those for me?”

“I suppose I could give them to the tooka, but he probably wouldn’t enjoy them like you would.”

You get a pitcher out of the cupboard and fill it with water for the flowers.

Cassian wraps his arms around you. “Thank you. For yesterday. For last night.”

When he kisses you, yesterday begins to fade away.

Cassian whispers, “I don’t know how I get wake up next to you every day.”

“I’m just glad we found each other,” you say. “And that you’re feeling more like yourself today.

He kisses you deeper then, his hands cradling the back of your neck, pressing your body in the most pleasant way up against the kitchen counter. You think you might be headed for the bedroom when Kay comes loudly through the front door.

The droid catches sight of you and says, “I’ll leave.”

“That’s all right, Kay,” Cassian says, not taking his eyes off of you. “We will have time for this later. We have so much time.”

★★★★★★★★

Thank you so much for reading! I know this was kind of a tough one, but I hope it made you feel seen and loved. I did not expect this one to be as difficult to navigate as it was, but I think it ended up worth the time.

Tagging: @princessxkenobi @zinzinina @maul-ologue @operation-spot @waterpancakeao3 @strwrs @aerynwrites

[thirstyforlulu]

Yandere Hellsing x Reader HCs? Including Millennium

Integra:

She’s a very possessive yandere

With her money and power, she has the means to get her hands on you

She’s good at playing cool, you won’t catch on for a while

Sure you notice that she never sends you on missions and that she’s always having you work near her office, but that’s just her being a good friend

When she decides to approach you romantically, she’s very forward

Around you she’s a touch starved animal, unlike her usual put together appearance

If you deny her feelings or try to run, get ready because she’s not giving up that easily

She’ll pull whatever strings she has to in order to find you

She’ll spend thousands bribing people or tracking you

Once she knows where you are, she’ll send Alucard to collect you

When she has you she’s very loving

She’ll want to constantly be touching you in some way

Usually that means sitting beside her while she works at her desk

As long as you’re good, she’ll let you wander the entirety of the manor

Since you tried to run she’s added all sorts of security measures so you can’t get out

Act up though and she will chain you to the wall in her office

“Y/N, your behavior has been deplorable lately and needs correcting.

Don’t give me those sad eyes, this is all your fault.”

Walter:

He’s a sneaky yandere

Very observant, he’ll learn your patterns and preferences

At the start he’ll leave you gifts like your favorite food or pretty flowers

He uses it as an excuse to get closer to you

He’s always offering to do favors for you, secretly lowering your defenses around him

He’s not the type to take anything from you but he will take the time to appreciate them

If you let him clean your room he’ll likely pause to sniff some clothes

You notice how much he knows about you but you just think he’s very observant

You don’t realize it’s due to his obsession

He’s the type to take more precautions

If you deny his advances he’ll lock you up somewhere, probably his room

He’ll get chains and a cage if necessary

If you really act up, he’ll lock you in the basement

The way you cling to him in fear after spending all night in the dark is addictive

His wires are always nearby

If you try to run you’ll only get a few steps out the door before the wires wrap you up and pull you back

He does his best not to hurt you, but if you struggle too much, a few cuts are inevitable

Seras:

She’s a very clingy yandere

She’ll want you on every mission she goes on

When you have free time she’ll take you out into the area nearby for some quality time

If you ever push her away, she gets angry

She’ll pout like a child then force her way into whatever it is you’re doing

At the time, she’ll act like it’s just a coincidence and you might even believe her

You’re not getting rid of her so easily

She’s also a very sweet yandere

If she feels she’s hurt your feelings she’ll go out of her way to get you presents or treat you nicely

Until you say you forgive her, she won’t stop pampering you

No one else is allowed near you, not even Integra

She’ll make excuses and do whatever it takes to keep you to herself

She would never kidnap you or lock you up because she hates to see you sad, but her “loving” behavior will be a trap in itself

Don’t forget that despite how cute she is, she’s still a powerful monster that can and will do what it takes to keep you

If that means making you one of her familiars then so be it

Alucard:

He’s a terrifying yandere

He can control you and the people around you, holding you captive

You’re not a stupid person, you know how easily he could end your life, so you tend to let it all happen

On the plus side, he’s very passionate and often brings you gifts

He’s such a smooth talker you’ll end up forgetting the terrifying threats he’s made in the past

Anyone who flirts with you will mysteriously disappear

Anyone who hurts you will turn up days later torn to shreds in a ditch

He would never do anything to hurt you, but that doesn’t stop him from making threats

“I could tear you apart just like that man from last week. I would love to hear your moans of anguish, but I’d prefer moans of pleasure.”

When you act out he manhandles you

He’ll press you against a wall and bite your neck to remind you of your place

He enjoys when you become complicit, but he likes when you’re occasionally act out

It gives him an excuse to punish you, which he always loves

After that, you’ll think twice before disobeying him

Millenium:

Jan:

Bro this man is already wild

When he sets his sights on you it’s go time

He won’t let anyone else near you or get to know you, not even his brother

He’ll threaten people, meeting them after work for overstepping their boundaries

He’s very touchy, like he’s trying to leave his scent all over you

Out in public, he’ll hang on you, showing others that you’re already taken

He’ll growl at people that look at you too long when passing by

He flicks a lot of people off, all the time but more so when he’s around you

He’s paranoid and doesn’t like anyone else around you, even friends

Clearly he’s a fan of body modification so if he can convince you he’ll want to get some kind of matching piercing/tattoo

If you get it, he’ll pay special attention to it any time you cuddle, running his fingers over it countless times

He can be very intense so he might yell at you, but when he sees the hurt look in your eyes he backs off

In his own weird way, he loves you and doesn’t want to see you hurting

But if he has to hurt you to keep you then so be it

Luke:

He’s not as subtle as he thinks he is

He tries to play it cool, but if someone tries to touch you he will blatantly smack their hand away

Always has an excuse to be around you and if he doesn’t, he’ll find one

He’s not as touchy as Jan, but he does like to hold your hand

You’ll feel his pinky brush against you before his hand completely envelops yours

His grip tightens when he sees you looking at others

Your attention is something he so desperately craves

He gives you every moment of his time and he wants you to do the same

If you’re ever in danger he’s there before anyone else even knows

It helps that he was already watching you

Be ready to compensate him

At first he’s just worried about you, but then once he knows you’re alright, he’ll start making demands

“You owe me for coming to your rescue dear. Or would you like me to toss you back? Maybe then you’ll beg me in such a cute way.”

Rip:

She does not care what other people think

She’ll ruin relationships to get closer to you

She’ll endanger her own job if it keeps you two apart

Doing favors is how she gets closer to you

Anytime you need something she’s there and ready to go

She’d leave in the middle of a mission if she hears you need help

Anyone causing you problems will be slaughtered and presented to you as a gift

“See y/n, I took off their heads just for you.”

She can get very aggressive especially if she thinks you’re denying her advances

She won’t hurt you, beyond a little pinch or so, but she’ll make threats

She’s very sadistic and would be willing to lock you up

Having you as a pet is actually an attractive idea to her

She’ll take good care of you wherever you’re locked up, but she won’t allow many freedoms

“Look at my pretty pet. How lucky am I.”

The Captain:

He’s like a pet, always following you around

He’ll growl at people he doesn’t like around you

His arms are always around you, keeping you close

No one else is allowed to tend to you after missions

When he’s patching you up, he’ll run his hands along your arms and legs, lovingly caressing your limbs

He’ll use that as an excuse to stay around you

Popping in to “check on you” at all hours

You won’t even know he’s come in until he’s sitting on the edge of your bed

He’s the type the would sit there for a moment watching you breathe

If he can, he’ll try to get you to be his assistant

If he can convince the higher ups that he needs one, he’ll do whatever he can

Then he’ll be around you even when he works and will be able to protect you

No one on the battlefield will be able to even get close to you

He’ll ignore his own tasks to protect you

He’s extremely loyal and obsessive

The Doctor

Oh man it is terrifying when he has his eye on someone

He views it like just another experiment, wanting to test and push you

He’ll have you coming to him for “examinations” all the time

He’d likely put a bug on you

Suddenly he knows things you don’t remember telling him, but you can’t prove anything

People you like start disappearing, people you had no idea he knew about

If he suspects you’re starting to catch on and trying to get away, he’ll start drugging you

Then you’ll have to come to him if you’re going to get better

While he’s treating you, he’ll trick you mentally manipulating you to grow closer to him

You’re going to think so highly of him, forgetting all the red flags you’d seen before

He is absolutely a gas lighter but he’s damn good at it

Even if you have experience with this stuff you won’t pick up on it

It’s a game of cat and mouse with him

The Major

He is not subtle and does not care

Your needs or emotions don’t matter to him

If you don’t respond well to his advances he will make terrible threats

If that doesn’t work he’ll take it a step further, allowing the ghouls to get close to taking a bite out of you

Torture is the next step

He doesn’t care about your mood, he has to have you

“Y/N, why do you fight so hard when you know I’m just going to hurt you again?”

He’ll want to do most of it by hand, but if he needs to he will get the others involved

“Would you like me to make a spectacle out of you? I think the others would enjoy that.”

Behave and he won’t hurt you

If he gets mad enough he’ll remove your arms and legs

You’ll become his good little doll, always on display for him

Like a bird in a cage, you’re his favorite display item

[wkemeup]

The Only Kindness

summary: In the early days of Bucky’s captivity in Hydra, the only comfort he knows is the kindhearted doctor assigned to mend his wounds. At least when he's with her, he knows he isn’t alone. pairing: bucky x reader word count: 9.7k warnings: torture, canon level violence, unwanted sexual advances, hydra's attempts to brainwash bucky, hella angst, a/n: this is meant to sit in the world of canon and what we know eventually happens to Bucky at Hydra sooo do with that what you will. I am genuinely really proud of this one so I hope you can forgive me for the pain I cause

The first thing Bucky remembered every morning when the sting of florescent lights woke him in a cold sweat was that the arm attached to his shoulder was not his own. The realization of it hurt worse than the day before; with unforgiving metal seared into his skin, leaving behind bubbled scars and a revolting, oozing smell.

It weighed him down, slumped on his spine, pulled at his neck, and he struggled to even push himself upright. Sitting upon the thin mattress laid amongst an otherwise baron room, Bucky supposed he might have preferred the floor if not for the dark red stain at the center of the concrete.

Then, the familiar clicking of locks echoed against the walls and Bucky gritted his teeth as a stout man with rounded features and an arrogant grin strolled into the room – no, the cell – alongside two men strapped with rifles.

He clutched to the solid metal of his arm as if holding it might take the pressure off his shoulder, might subside the pain as it spread through his veins, or stop the twitching in his cheek as he tried to stifle the pain, but it was no use. He held on anyway in favor of wrapping a hand around the scientist’s throat.

“Ah, good morning, Sergeant Barnes,” Zola greeted, though there was something unpleasant in his tone. A threat, perhaps. A taunt. It was always something of the sort.

Bucky could barely muster the energy to look the man in the eye, but as he did, it was hidden under a dark, loathing glare. He spat on the floor by Zola’s feet.

“Go to hell.”

Zola jumped back and brushed at the toe of his shoe. It was amusing, at least, to see the rage boil in the man’s chest; all red faced and round and steaming from the ears. Though Bucky’s triumph was shorted lived as Zola waved a single hand at the armed guards beside him.

They lunged forward and with heavy hands, clawed Bucky into their grip by his biceps. He met concrete within seconds; the red stain laid beneath him. His knees barely had time to heal from the day before and they stung as he struggled under the guards’ grasp, raw skin and blistering burns shielded by paper thin fabric.

His face was pushed down into the stone and for a strange moment there was relief; it was cool to the touch, a break from the feverish heat on his brow.

But then, while a guard pinched at the nape of Bucky’s neck, nearly choking the air straight out of him and the other jabbed a knee to his spine, he remembered there was no relief within Hydra.

“You have a long day ahead of you,” Zola announced, a smirk growing upon his face as Bucky let out a hollowed whine. It slipped past his lips before he could smother it down. He knew then that he had lost whatever game they were playing; the win-lose of a man in chains to his captors with scalpels in their hands and venom on their tongues.

He didn’t know how long it had been since the fall; since icy waters and plummeting down to a ravine he wished most nights had swallowed him whole. He didn’t know how many times he was cut open in an unsterilized room, thrown onto a rusting metal table and operated on with cheap anesthetic. He didn’t know how many times he was strapped into a chair that set fire to his veins and left him feeling numb and empty, how many times he felt a lingering sense of dread he couldn’t quite place.

He didn’t know much at all, really.

But he knew his name. He knew his serial number. He knew Steve would come for him like he did before. He knew he’d get through this. He had to. He didn’t have a choice.

“We have much to do,” Zola announced, admiring how Bucky’s face pressed down into the concrete, how the prickles in the stone scraped against his cheek and cut at his skin— pleased to see a man brought to his knees, bowing before the greatness of Hydra. It brought Zola a sense of pride whether the Sergeant resisted or not. He would give in soon enough.

The guards didn’t loosen their grip on Bucky’s arms as they yanked him back to his knees. They didn’t give him a chance to stand either before they started to drag him from the cell.

The grip on his right arm was sure to leave bruises behind, ones to accompany the mess of blue and purple coloring his skin, but it was the pain on his left that rendered him paralyzed. It felt like his arm was being ripped straight from his body, pulled at every nerve ending until they snapped. He could hardly move.

It wasn’t until Zola made a sharp left at the end of the hall that a familiar sense of dread dropped into Bucky’s stomach. Whether it was fear, panic, resilience, he wasn’t sure, but he started to fight back as they neared a dark red door with six locks running up the side.

“No,” he gaped, barely a whisper, but it caught Zola’s attention.

Bucky thrashed in the men’s grip, using his weight as leverage despite the searing pain in his shoulder and the blood trickling down his ribs from where metal fused to flesh. His heels dug into the concrete, trying to catch against the wall to slow them down, to stop what he knew was coming.

Zola merely smiled.

It was no use, and perhaps Bucky knew that from the start, but he couldn’t be strapped into that chair without a fight. He still didn’t know its purpose but he knew it brought him pain. It disoriented him, made him forget his own name and the monsters that chained him. It forced him to remember all over again that he was held prisoner, thousands of miles away from home, presumed dead, and he couldn’t -- he couldn’t do it anymore.

“Please,” Bucky gasped and it sounded foreign in his own voice – broken. He hated it. He despised how his voice cracked, how he fell to his knees in front of his captors and begged.

Zola grabbed a firm hold of Bucky's chin, stump fingers digging into his cheeks and demanding attention. As he pulled in closer, Bucky caught sight of something strange in the reflection of Zola’s glasses.

He didn’t recognize the man staring back at him; hair grown and wild, unkept beard on his face, dirt and blood covering most of his skin. Amongst the scratches in the glass and the clouds of dirt, the reflection of the man looked tired, with hallowed eyes and sunken cheeks. He wasn’t strong enough to fight back. He wouldn’t survive if he tired.

Bucky slumped in the guards’ arms.

“That’s what I thought,” Zola jeered, a lingering chuckle etched into the trail of his voice. He waved a hand at the guards and Bucky was placed into the chair, all dead weight and positioned like a doll.

Thick, metal bars strapped down around Bucky’s wrists, his biceps, his ankles to hold him in place. He did his best to let go of himself, to find somewhere far beyond the walls of this room, away from the men who ripped him to pieces and broke him to the bare bones. He imagined something better, safer, where he was clean shaven and in fresh clothes, where Steve was waving from the end of the street and the war long behind them, but the dream was torn from him as soon as the panels clamped against his temples.

Electricity jolted through his system and his whole body tensed. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

But he could scream.

It ripped through his lungs and he was certain he’d break straight through the mouth guard and shatter his teeth if they didn’t turn off the machine soon. The sound echoing through the room was strained, broken, and Bucky might have mistaken it for nails to a chalkboard if he didn’t feel the burn in the back of his throat.

He started to lose time, unsure if it was on for seconds or hours. It was blinding. It was all-consuming. It was swallowing him whole.

“Enough!” a voice broke through. A woman’s. It wasn’t one Bucky recognized.

“No, keep it on! He can take more.” Zola.

“Are you insane!” the voice shouted again. “You’ll kill him!”

Let them.

The thought startled Bucky but it slipped from him in the seconds it took to arrive; searing pain, white hot fire washing through every muscle down to his bones. His eyes began to flutter closed, a strange sort of emptiness pulling him under, a darkness he couldn’t place, and he welcomed the escape.

There was yelling again, though this time it was coming was across the room. The machine began to power down, the whirring sounds of electricity in his ears leaving him with a numbing silence. The dizziness took hold, the hollowness, and he was surprised to find a woman staring back at him, her hands wrapped around the lever that pulled him from the fire.

“What the hell are you doing!” Zola roared, accent thick and slurring his words together. He bounded forward, attempted to push past the woman but she held her ground, hands planted on her hips.

“I’m saving his life,” she grunted back, unfazed by Zola’s finger pointing up into her face. She swatted it away, ignoring the shock upon his rounded features. “You brought me here for a reason, didn’t you? Let me do my damn job.” She glanced around the room, eyed the men with guns aimed at the ready, barrels trained in her direction. “Give me the room.”

“Not going to happen,” Zola snapped but quickly silenced as she shot him a glare that had him cower several steps in retreat. His cheeks were burned red.

The woman turned back to the man in the chair and he slumped limply in its clutches, her narrowed eyes centering on the rapid rise and fall of his chest. She held up two fingers, eyeing him carefully before she slowly moved to press them against his throat.

He winced before she could even touch him, flinching at the air itself, and she paused, bringing her hand back to her chest. She gave him a minute to watch as she demonstrated what she was trying to do by pressing the tips of her fingers to her own neck.

She tried again and this time she held his stare; calming aura nestled between the vibrant shades in her eyes, a gentle kind of patience he didn’t expect, and he hardly noticed her fingertips against his skin as she felt for his pulse, feather light and paper thin. They were cool to the touch, a comfort in the burning heat of metal surrounding him and he caught himself before he could lean into her palm.

“His heart rate is through the roof,” she said tensely, turning back to Zola and withdrawing her hand. “Unless you want your multi-million-dollar project to go to waste, clear out before he has a goddamn heart attack.”

Zola eyed her suspiciously in what appeared to be a competition of wills. She straightened her back, arms folding over her chest, and she towered over the scientist’s small frame. He glared up at her and the fury was palatable on his face; upper lip twitching, eyes narrowed, hands curling into fists.

She held her ground.

“Fine,” Zola grumbled, waving a hand to the line of men behind him until they bring their weapons down to their sides. “Give the doctor the room.”

As if she were waiting for the men to leave, she exhaled a breath like she had been holding it for quite some time. When she let her hands come back to her sides, puncture marks were left in her palms.

“I’m leaving a man behind for your safety,” Zola threw over his shoulder at he reached the door, almost like a threat.

She swallowed; jaw clenched. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Maybe not today, but it will be.”

Then, he was gone.

The door locked shut behind him and a single guard remained by the door, positioned with his finger on the trigger.

“Finally,” she exhaled, turning back with a gentle smile on her face that felt almost unsettling to be in such a cold and unforgiving place. “Can you tell me your name, soldier?”

“Uhh,” was all that left his lips and he hardly recognized his own voice. He searched in the back of his head for the answer, felt it on the tip of his tongue, and still… nothing. He glanced back up at her with clenched teeth because he knew what would happen next, what always happened next.

But instead of a harsh hand to the side of his face or the blunt edge of a weapon to his crown, she nodded, offered him a sad sort of smile, and simply said, “that’s alright.”

She glanced down at the clamps restraining him to the chair. His skin was raw underneath, bleeding a little, and she frowned. It crinkled up into her forehead, pursed out at her lips, and he decided he liked it much better when she smiled.

“Your name is Sergeant James Barnes,” she said fondly and it sounded familiar as she said it, but it still felt distant— wrong in some way. She seemed to notice the contemplation on his face. “It’ll come back to you soon. Might take longer than the last time, but it will. They haven’t perfected the science of the chair yet, it seems.”

There was a resentment laced into her words as she glared back at the armed man standing guard with disgust. She softened as she turned back to face the man she called James. It was within that moment the anger washed from her features, a kindness replacing the hatred, and she ran her fingers on the edge of the chair before she pulled away.

“I’m going to undo these, okay?” she told him and he was surprised that she waited for his nod before adjusting the mechanics on the machine until the metal snapped open and a rush of cold air swept against the blistering skin. He hissed at the sting of it.

“Come,” she requested, gesturing to the examination table in the corner of the room. “Let’s get you out of this thing, huh?”

He was thankful for that. He couldn’t stand the sharp edges anymore or the blistering heat of the arm rests. Her touch was so gentle he wondered if it could push right through him as she bent down to help tug his right arm over her shoulders.

Just as she nearly had him positioned well enough to get him to his feet, the guard standing in the corner of the room stepped forward, gun raised.

“I wouldn’t do that, ma’am.”

She clenched her jaw. “I’m fine. Let me work.”

“He’s dangerous,” the guard grunted back.

“He’s not going to hurt me,” she argued. There wasn’t a trace of hesitancy in her voice, even as she turned to the man hanging off her arms. “Are you, Sergeant Barnes?”

He shook his head.

“See?” she gestured. “Now leave us be.”

The guard stepped back, lowered his weapon, and she smiled.

“Alright then, James,” she started, “think you can help me get you to that table over there? I know you’ve lost some muscle mass but you’re still pretty heavy.”

A short ghost of a laugh escape as he let himself lean on her shoulder, allowing her to guide him towards the table. It surprised him as it left his chest, the feeling of laughter, because he hadn’t so much as smiled since the fall. It hurt, almost. But it was a nice kind of hurt.

She helped him sit on the table, just high enough to give her decent leverage, and he spotted a bag filled with what appear to be medical supplies. It contained with what he would expect; a stethoscope, bandages, depressors, but there were also needles, and shiny metal tools that made him clench his hands around the lip of the table.

“I’m a doctor,” she said, noticing his stare. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Zola’s a doctor,” he muttered back feebly, sharp images of lying awake on a cold, metal table much like the one he currently sat upon plagued his mind, memories of scalpels in his shoulder and needles in his arms.

She nodded, contemplating what he said before she frowned and countered, “Zola’s a mad scientist with a God complex.”

A smile tugged at his lips. It broke a little, but it remained.

“You can call me Y/n if you like,” she said as she began digging through her bag. She found the stethoscope and placed the ends in her ears. “I’m going to press this to your chest, alright? It might be a little cold.”

She exhaled a breath on the side of it for a moment to try and warm it, rubbing it with the palm of her hand. He was mesmerized by the small details; how she positioned herself strategically between him and the armed guard behind her, how she told him exactly what she was doing before she did it, how she gave him time to prepare, how she hadn’t once touched him without asking first.

He didn’t understand her or why she was here, but he was thankful.

He nodded at her and she leaned in closer, pressing the piece to his sternum. It had a slight chill to it but he could still feel the warmth left behind from her breath. He took a deep breath in as she instructed. She took her time, slowly moving to his ribs, and then his back. He took more deep breaths, felt the pulsing of his heart steady under her touch.

“Looks good all things considering,” she told him. Her eyes drifted to the burn marks on his right wrist, fingers ghosting over the reddened marks and her lips tug down into a frown. She masked it as she faced him again, pushing out a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Might as well attend to this, too, don’t you think?”

Yeah, might as well.

He offered her his hand.

He sat quietly while she worked, listening to her hum softly under her breath. She was impossibly gentle with him, so delicate he could hardly feel it until it was gone. Her hands were a little cold but he found them soothing against the burns. The alcohol she placed on the wound stung, made him grit his teeth and grip to the table’s edge, but she moved quickly, wincing at the way he sucked in a harsh breath as if his pain meant something to her.

When she was finished, she wrapped his wrist with a bandage from her bag and gently tapped on his knee.

“Not a lot my patients would have sat still through that without some kind of numbing agent,” she grinned, praise in her voice, smile on her lips, and it sent a flutter through his chest. “You did good, James.”

He didn’t want to tell her that he’d known worse, that the pain of alcohol to his wounds was nothing in comparison to the mutilation on his arm or the electricity of the chair. So, he focused on something else, a distant memory edging its way back to the surface, something that didn’t lie within the pages of Hydra’s files.

“Bucky,” he choked out, voice a little dry. She raised an eyebrow. “My name… it’s Bucky.”

She smiled at that.

“Bucky,” she repeated, testing it on her lips, “it’s nice to meet you.”

***

It wasn’t the last time he saw Y/n.

No, he found himself under her care more days than not. It was a simple system, it seemed. Hydra would do its best to break Bucky to pieces and they’d send in Y/n to stitch him back up; glue him together with needle and thread or scotch tape and paper mâché. She did her best to heal him and while she could not cure every wound on his body, she gave him something he didn’t have before – something to look forward to.

A kind smile. A gentle hand. A voice so soft it nestled deep into his chest and warmed the hollow ache that had made a home by his heart.

Even through the pain, through the chair, through the long hours he spent overworked in a boxing ring, he knew she’d be waiting on the other side. It didn’t hurt as much when he thought of her, he realized – the only kindness he knew within Hydra.

They hadn’t attempted to use the chair on him in a while and for that he was grateful. To save him from the pain of the electricity and the emptiness that followed, but lately, to allow him to hold onto her memory. He didn’t want to forget her name, her kindness, her light within the darkest corners of hell.

He only ever saw her in short glimpses, brief moments when the guards pushed the boundaries too far and cracked open a scar that wouldn’t stop bleeding or dislocated his arm again or fractured another bone. They’d drag her into his room, rough hands on her wrists that made a knot form deep into Bucky’s stomach, and give her minutes to work before they hulled her away.

He healed quickly, he came to find. Certainly faster than he should. Maybe in another world he would have been pleased with this. A perfect soldier. Always ready for battle.

In this world, it meant shorter recovery between trainings. It meant pushing him beyond his limits and testing the extent of his newfound abilities. It meant few and distant meetings with the kind doctor whose smile made it impossibly difficult to despise every last ounce within Hydra.

***

A few weeks since their first meeting, Bucky found himself dragged by his wrists on a familiar path into what looked like a room much like his own, only there were a few small comforts inside; a bed, a desk, a lamp, and a series of books piled on a small dresser.

Y/n jumped up from the desk, pen falling to the concrete as she stared back at the guards, agape. “What the hell did you do to him?!”

They dropped Bucky to the ground, his own arms too weak to hold himself up, and felt the harsh crack of concrete to his jawline. Blood dripped down into his eyes, clouding his vision with crimson pools of red, but he could hear the quick patter of your bare feet as you slid down to the floor beside him, shooing away the guards.

Hands ghosted over his shoulders before you paused, watching the way he sighed into the cool embrace of concrete. She glared back up at the guards, waiting on their answer.

“He’s weak,” one of the guards spat, thick accent spewing down to land on Bucky’s bare skin. “The fist of Hydra is an embarrassment. He crumbles under pressure. He needs to be pushed, to be taught what he is.”

Bucky couldn’t quite register the way her hands curled up into fists or how a harsh exhale burned deep in her chest, but she swallowed it the best she could as she muttered, “get out.”

A toe nudged at Bucky’s leg – one of the guards behind him – and he groaned as it dug into a dark purple bruise from the days before.

“You’ve done enough,” she pressed again, swatting away his leg as he tried to push Bucky over to his back to see his good work. "Now leave.”

“You don’t give us orders, princess,” the other guard smirked, yellowed teeth bared.

“We’ll be back for him soon,” the first one said, nudging his friend to stand down. “Make sure he’s ready to go again tomorrow.”

The door slammed shut and within the echo, Bucky felt the cool touch of a breeze nestle against his skin. It was a relief, as kind as the concrete, that sat in sharp contrast to the burning heat on his skin.

“Are you alright, Sergeant Barnes?” an angelic voice called. It sounded muffled, and a bit distant, but it was one he recognized.

He nodded slowly, though the concrete scratched at his skin.

“You don’t look alright,” she countered, a touch of lightness in her tone and it came as a welcomed relief.

“You kidding? I look great,” Bucky teased, half muffled by the ground. She laughed, pressing a hand over her lips, and Bucky swore for the smallest of moments that all the pain had washed from his body completely.

He could hear her riffling around the room, gathering supplies and laying a blanket down by his side, then a pillow. She was talking to herself, words he couldn’t quite hear or understand, but they were a comfort nonetheless.

"Still with me Sergeant Barnes?"

“Bucky,” he grumbled, just as she came down to kneel beside him again. “S’my name, remember? I’m supposed to be the one with the memory problems here.”

There came that laugh again, though she tried to suppress it. “That’s not very funny, Bucky.”

“Give me an ounce of humor here, doll,” Bucky smirked. It ached in his lips where the split tore through, burned in his cheeks from the swelling on his face, but he didn’t mind. It wasn’t often he had much reason to smile these days. She seemed to bring it out of him.

Y/n smiled, shaking her head. “Think you can turn onto your back? I’ve got some cushioning here for you. I’m sorry I can’t lift you to the bed.”

“Nah, this is perfect.”

Bucky summoned as much strength as his body could muster as he pushed down into the concrete with his right hand. He started to shake as pressure burned into his left shoulder and he gritted his teeth, face contorting in a wash of pain as his smirk faded away in an instant.

She must have noticed because her hands slipped gently onto his right bicep, gently easing him to turn over the metal shoulder and lay onto his back. Her touch was so feather light, he questioned for a moment if it was even there at all, but then he felt a soft squeeze, the cool press of her palms, and he sighed.

Her hands were the only ones who did not mean him harm. She healed. She nurtured. She cared.

“What are they doing to you...”

Her voice was hardly a whisper, the shock on her face evident enough of the damage on his own. He didn’t want to imagine what he looked like, but he knew it was bad. It hurt to speak, hurt to even part his lips, and his vision was tunneled and dark, cast over in shadows, and somehow, she was still clear as day.

“Dunno,” he responded, recognizing the slur in his voice. “Training me for something, I think.”

She stilled; muscles rigid as she reached into her bag for something to bandage his wounds. He could see the contemplation on her face, the worry, but she swallowed it back, pushed out that gentle, reassuring smile he’d come to rely on and began to work on the cut along his cheekbone.

“It can’t be anything good, Bucky,” she said quietly, eyes flickering to the door as if she were worried about what laid on the other side. He knew the feeling well.

***

He forgot her for the first time a few days later.

The scars were starting to heal; the gashes open on his face just days before nothing but a thin discoloration on his skin. He knew the look on Zola’s face as he emerged in his cell that morning - smug and grim, eager to wipe away the decorated prisoner of war and turn him into something empty and broken. The smirk that crept up his face was unsettling, jarring, as it crinkled lined into his forehead and a vile look in his eye.

They slammed him down into the chair, locked the restraints into place, and he only spotted her rush into the room as the machine powered on. The horror in her eyes as she met his, the quick transition to rage as she turned to Zola, and the pain took over until it consumed him whole.

He lost some time because the next thing he knew, he was sitting on a metal table and the room had emptied, save for a single guard standing in the corner over the shoulder of a beautiful woman who eased a soothing gel onto the burns on his wrist.

He studied her as she worked, quietly humming to herself, telling him what she was doing before she dared to touch him in a voice so gentle it startled him. It was familiar, he realized, the delicate intricacies of her tone, the warmth in his chest when she touched him. He wasn’t afraid of her like he was the others. He didn’t flinch under her touch.

“Your heart rate is still pretty high,” she noted, her fingers pressed to the inside of his right wrist. “Can you take some deep breaths for me?”

She embellished her own, chest rising high as she inhaled, air blowing out from her mouth in the exhale. She nodded for him, something encouraging and kind, until he followed suit. But even through the tender smile upon her lips there was a sadness there, a disappointment, and it hurt him deep into his chest.

“I know you, don’t I?” he finally said after he mimicked a few of the breaths as she requested.

She smiled at that and he felt an instant relief. Something warm and gentle. Kind.

He narrowed his eyes upon the slight curve of her lips, drawing up to her eyes where he was met with a linger sense of calm, of peace, of reprieve. “Why don’t I remember you?”

She sighed, a cautious glance back at the guard behind her who seemed to be watching with the intent to overhear. Her eyes were downcast, a nervous brush of her tongue over her lower lip, and she pushed out a smile for him.

“You will, Bucky.”

He hoped that were true.

***

Bucky was barely tied together with string and tape, broken and bleeding and covered in bruises, and yet, a smile etched onto his broken lips as he turned to find Y/n stumbling into his cell. She shrugged off the grip of a guard with an aggravated huff before he slammed the door closed behind her.

She was no longer shocked by the state in which she often saw him. His accelerated healing made the brutal look of his mutilation a bit easier to swallow he supposed or perhaps he was getting used to it. It was like a mask he’d come to wear, fading in and out depending on the day, but always present. It didn’t seem to lessen the pain in her eyes as she sat down beside him, extending a hand towards his face to touch gently at the markings.

“I hate that they keep doing this to you,” she said softly, though there was a rage nestled into the crook of her tone. She shook her head, a tense breath exhaled as she reached into her bag. She pulled out a few swabs of gauze and alcohol wipes.

“M’alright,” Bucky slurred and it didn’t seem to help his case.

“They’re monsters.” Y/n dabbed at the gash on his forehead as gingerly as she could manage. Bucky didn’t mind the sting of it, not when she was touching him so tenderly, like she was handling something precious.

He’d figured out a while ago that she was just as much a part of Hydra as he was. He never dared to ask, but he’d seen the way she looked at Zola, how she despised him as an enemy. He’d seen the clothes she wore and how they were tattered on the seams, how they discolored with use, how she'd wear them over and over again while the men in the room wore pristine lab coats and freshly laundered suits. He’d seen the dark circles under her eyes, the knots in her hair, the way her collarbone began to protrude the longer he knew her.

She was a prisoner of Hydra, too.

“They’re monsters,” Y/n repeated, tears burning in her eyes and it warped deep into Bucky’s gut. He wanted to reach out and wipe them away. He wanted to make her smile again because she’d been nothing but a light for him and now, she was flickering and fading and he was certain it would destroy him completely until she uttered, “and... and so am I,” and his whole world fell apart.

“No,” Bucky shot back almost instantly. “Don’t say that. You’re not one of them.”

“I might as well be,” she said, brushing at the tears as they spilled down her cheeks. “I’m still complicit in what they’re doing to you – whatever that is. I’m still helping them.”

“They’d kill you,” Bucky argued. “They’d kill you if you tried to resist.”

“They’re practically killing you now! How is that any better?” She pressed her palms to her face, shielding herself from him and Bucky slid down onto the floor, kneeling on the concrete in front of her, and gently rested his hands on her knees. She struggled to catch her breath between the sobs. “I keep fixing you up just to send you back out there and—and—Bucky, I feel like I’m handing you over to slaughter and I can’t-- I can’t--”

“Stop, please,” Bucky begged. He could feel the splinter nestle into his heart, cracking at the edges as it tore a sliver down the center. It burned and ached and threatened to rip him to pieces worse than the foreign metal on his arm, worse than the guards on the other side of the door, worse than the chair that stole his name and his memories, because the woman who saved his life over and over again was crying and he simply couldn’t take it.

“Look at me,” he eased, drawing his hands up her thighs, along her arms, until he met her hands resting against her face. Gently, he pried his fingers under her palms and when he was met without resistance, he pulled them away from her face. “You are the only shred of good within this place. You are the only kindness I’ve known since they threw me on that table and remade me. You are the only thing keeping me going when they’re beating me within an inch of my life, the only thing I want to remember when they try to take away everything I know. Please, don’t think for a second that you’re one of them. You’re saving me, Y/n.”

Bucky wondered for a moment if he said too much as her lips parted into shock, her eyes staring at him shocked and wide. Her breaths were coming in slow and steady as she watched him, almost as if she were waiting for him to recant, but he held his ground.

“You are good, Y/n,” Bucky continued. He squeezed her hand in his right, letting his left fall down to his side to shield her from the evil from which it was born. “You're the reason I keep coming back.”

“I’m scared, Bucky,” she exhaled, voice so low, so shaken, he could barely hear it. She squeezed his hand back. “I’m scared of what they're going to do to you.”

“I’ll have you, won’t I?” he smiled, because it was all he had left. There were no guarantees, no promises he could make to ease her fears. “As long as I’ve got you with me, I’m okay.”

He just wanted her to smile again, to be the woman who fought against Zola in a crowded room of armed Hydra agents and won, who was fearless in the face of evil, and gentle and kind in her touch.

Bucky realized that the more time he spent with her, the more she’d grown to care for him, the more he’d found himself missing her— the more dangerous they were to one another. If Hydra knew...

“You have me,” she said suddenly, a stroke of confidence returning to her voice, drawing Bucky’s attention away from the door and the men that laid beyond it. Bucky met her eye and she raised a palm to his cheek, slow and steady, always giving him the time to prepare before she touched him even when it wasn’t necessary, even after he’d grown to trust her above anyone else. She cupped the side of his face, smiling sweetly for him, sadly, as she said, “as long as they’ll let me, Bucky. You’re not alone. You’ll have me.”

Her thumb traced over old scars she’d mended, over raised edges and dried blood from the mess left behind by the dozen Hydra agents he’d met earlier that day. The tenderness within her touch was unlike anything he knew how to quantify. It sat in such contrast to the hands of men who battered and beat him within an inch of his life, to the torture of the chair, to the scalpel in the hands of mad scientists with god complexes.

There was something in her touch. Something that felt a lot like love.

Bucky found himself leaning in closer, wanting to close the space between them because any space at all was simply too much. He wanted to engulf her into his arms, protect her from the evils that waited for them outside these walls, take her away to somewhere warm and safe, somewhere she didn’t have to check over her shoulder when she smiled. It terrified him how badly he wanted it because he knew there were no fantasies in Hydra, no dreams, no happy endings. He knew it would be taken from him eventually, she would be taken from him, but it didn’t stop him from clinging on as tight as he could.

His lips touched hers, broken and splintered, and still, beautiful. He could taste the salty tang of her tears against her lips, her fingers curling around his long, unkempt hair and twisting along his scalp, breathing him in. There was a sanctuary within her arms, under her touch, that seemed impossible within these walls, and yet, here she was.

Tangible. Real. Kissing him as if he could be ripped from her at any second.

And he was.

The door swung open and Bucky jolted away from her. Y/n jumped back against the bed frame, her head hitting the cement wall.

In the frame of the door stood a guard Bucky had become familiar with; blonde, broad, reminded him a bit of Steve if it weren’t for the cold, dead look in his eyes. The burn mark across his jawline helped to obstructed the similarities.

The guard’s eyes lingered a little longer on Y/n, focusing on the quick rise and fall of her chest, the slight swell in her lips, the mess in her hair, before he gritted his teeth and turned to Bucky.

“Times up, Soldat,” he grunted, wasting no time as he pulled a wand from his belt, flipped a switch at the end, and burned the jolts of electricity into Bucky’s side. He barely registered the desperate crack in Y/n’s voice as she begged for the guard to stop.

Then – darkness.

***

“We need to be more careful.”

“They’ll find out how I feel for you and they'll hurt you.”

“I can’t lose you, Bucky.”

He couldn’t get the words out of his head. Familiar voices: a man’s and a woman’s. He’d heard them spoken aloud; of that he was certain. But they were distant, far away, as if he’d heard them uttered on a film screen in passing. They couldn’t be his own memories. He was a blank slate. He was empty.

A woman stood across from him, approaching him slowly as the machine powered down. It was loud in his ears, echoing enough to pulse tremors into the back of his head. He didn’t dare show an ounce of the pain he felt. He’d come to know the consequences of that, even if he couldn’t quite remember what they were.

“I’m going to help you to the table, alright?” the woman said, gesturing to the metal desk to her left. There it was again— that familiarity.

She smiled kindly at him, as if looking into the face of a man she knew, but he did not know her. She must have sensed his hesitancy because she held up her hands out for him to see.

“I just want to examine you. Make sure you’re okay. Can I do that?”

He narrowed his eyes on the woman, listening intently to her heartbeat. It was a strange sound, one he shouldn’t be privileged to hear, but he found the skill useful. He could listen for the inflections in the rhythm, pulse points and skips that told him when a person was lying.

Hers was steady. Even. He nodded.

He was surprised at how easily he allowed her to guide him to the table, how he didn’t question as he let her place a hand on his inner wrist to check his pulse, how he didn’t flinch when she approached the scars on his shoulder. It was like he knew the routine, understood the subtle intricacies in her gestures warning him of what she was about to do before she even laid a hand on him.

A relief was evident in his muscles. He felt a calmness wash over him the longer she stood at his side, recording his vitals, running a hand soothingly along his arm. It seemed personal, the way she touched him, like she was preserving something – or guiding something home.

He wanted to ask her name, why she was treating him so kindly when all he knew within these walls was the cruelty of violent men, when the guard who stood at the back corner of the room cleared his throat.

“You almost done, sweetheart?” The guard spat the pet name like an insult and the kind woman standing beside the Soldier flinched. She tensed quickly after that, mustering out a brave face as she turned back to the armed guard defiantly.

“I’ll be done when I’m done, Bronski.”

The Soldier wanted to smile, though he wasn’t sure why. A swell of pride beamed in his chest as Bronski’s smirk dissipated, replaced with something colder, darker; a bruise to his ego. The woman turned back to the Soldier, exhaled a heavy breath and offered him a short smile; calming, reassuring. The edges of his lips started to curve in response until –

Bronski crossed the room in four long strides, grabbed a tight hold of her arm and yanked her swiftly away from the Soldier. She collided against his chest, caged against him under the firm hold of his grip.

“You think you can mouth off to me, bitch?” Bronski sneered, shoving her against the desks at the far side of the room. Viles of serums and chemicals spilled over at the impact, glass shattering, and the Soldier began to stand from his position across the room, his hand curling into fists.

“Stop looking at him! He’s not going to help you,” Bronski taunted as her eyes flashed back at the Soldier, pleading at some unknown force he couldn’t quite understand, though he listened to its call. Bronski towered over her, easily overpowering her frame, and pinned her to the wall.

The Soldier took another step forward, another inch closer to what he was sure were near fatal consequences, but there was a voice screaming in the back of his head, an instinct he couldn’t drown out, a desperate need to protect a woman he didn’t know.

“You think we didn’t notice, huh?” Bronski growled, his hand sliding down her side, tracing over the curves at her waist and the Soldier felt a sudden twist in his stomach, a dead weight sinking him into the ground at the sight. “You think we can’t tell you got it hot for the asset? He’s weak. Pathetic. Why don’t you try being with a real man instead? I’ll show you a good time, princess...”

Her eyes were on the Soldier, holding his gaze though she was shaking; trembling and afraid. He didn’t like that.

“Get away from her.”

Bronski froze. He managed a slow glance over his shoulder to find the Soldier standing just a few feet away, hands clenched at his sides, fuming as his eyes flickered between the Hydra agent and the woman he held pinned to the wall.

“Don’t be a fucking hero, Soldat,” Bronski spat back.

But the Soldier did not move.

“Get away from her,” he repeated, his voice low, mechanical. He could feel the rush of adrenaline building in his veins, the chaos of the rapid thumping of his pulse. He wasn’t used to such reactions, such intensity, when all he’d come to know was a crippling emptiness. It was unpleasant.

“What are you going to do about it?” Bronski taunted, a sick smirk upon his face. He dismissed the Soldier, didn’t dare to think he’d disobey direct orders, and turned back to the woman.

She tried to slither out of his hold, but his grip on her wrists was so tight his nails had dug puncture marks into her skin. She was shaking, tears burning into reflective lenses over the gentle hue of her eyes; kind eyes that should not bare such a weight.

Bronski leaned in closer, his mouth pressing against her neck, her whole body stiffening at the touch, and the Soldier snapped.

He rushed at them, his left hand clamping down around Bronski’s neck until he started to gag. Bronski released her wrists, allowing her to sink to the floor in a fallen heap. Bronski scratched at the hand at his neck, gasping for air as his skin turned bright red, then blue, but he was only met with metal. It could not feel. It could only maim.

There was a rage storming inside the Soldier, a mission he’d assigned for himself, as he threw Bronski across the room. It didn’t take much effort. The Soldier was stronger than most men. They underestimated him, believed him to be feeble and weak because he was submissive. But not now. Not when they threatened her.

“Soldat!” Bronski choked out, his voice damaged. Broken windpipe. The Soldier smiled.

Slowly, he took a knee at Bronski’s side, grabbed a firm hold of his collar for leverage, and barreled the closed end of his fist into the man’s face until he could no longer see the smirk that had pressed upon his mouth as he dared to touch his girl. He didn’t stop until Bronski was no longer begging, until he was silent, and blood caked between the panels of metal in his fist, until he heard a voice calling behind him—

“Bucky! Bucky, stop!”

He froze. There was that name again...

He blinked a few times, a sharp piercing in the back of his head painful enough to obscure his vision and he dropped Bronski from his hold. A hand slid down over his shoulders, guiding him away from the body on the floor. It was that same familiar touch; one he knew well.

“Bucky, look at me.”

He did.

Her hand pressed sweetly to the side of his face, like she was trying to memorize him. He leaned into the touch, something he was sure he hadn’t done in years, and yet, within her arms it felt like the most natural thing in the world, like maybe he’d done it a dozen times before.

When he met her eyes again, he understood why.

“Y/n?”

She nodded, tears spilling over her cheeks as she threw herself into his arms. She molded so perfectly against him, his healer, his savior. Bucky knew they wouldn’t have much time before the Hydra infantry arrived and discovered what he’d done. He didn’t dare spare a glance back at the body on the ground.

“Y/n... I—”

The doors swung open, slamming in echoing shocks against the walls, and chaos ensued. Swarms of armed Hydra agents ascended into the room and tore Y/n from his arms, separating them as they restrained Bucky back into the chair. It was the only thing that could hold him.

“Leave her alone!” Bucky roared, that same rage returning to him in fire as two guards pinned Y/n’s arms behind her back, holding her steady as she desperately fought against their hold. “Get your hands off of her!”

Zola appeared at the frame of the door, eyes narrowing on Bucky. The room fell silent.

“Impossible.” He followed Bucky’s eyes to where the guards were restraining Y/n. “The programming should not have failed so soon after he was wiped. How?”

“He’s got a crush on the doc, sir,” one of the guards reported snidely. Bucky recognized him from the many trips he spent dragged along the hallways smearing blood into the concrete before he was dropped off at Y/n’s door.

“Interesting.” Zola crossed the room, hands grasped behind his back as he paced. His eyes fell on Y/n, studying her. “And is it... mutual?”

She didn’t respond, though when her tear-filled eyes flashed over to Bucky, he had his answer.

“Wipe him,” Zola ordered.

The machine started to power up and Bucky found himself fighting against the restraints though he knew it would do no use. Tears were openly streaming down Y/n’s face as she watched him, his name on her lips as she desperately tried to break the guard’s hold on her.

Zola seemed unbothered by the scene. If anything, he was amused, like he was watching lab rats in a cage. “Separate them. I don’t want her interfering with his programming again. We’ll make use of her when the time is right.”

Bucky tried to call her name, but the electricity had already taken hold, submerging him into the darkness.

***

The Soldier was used to his routine. Breakfast at dawn. Then training. Dinner at sundown. Sleep. It was reliable. Simple. The Soldier found a peace in that.

It had been months since he’d seen anyone outside of the two guards at his cell, the parade of uncontrollable human experiments, and the short, stout scientist. It was better this way, they told him. Less stimulation. He was important, meant for incredible things to better humanity. They needed him focused and alert.

He had little room for anything else. Focus on the mission at hand. Complete the task. Reward will follow.

Something as trivial as memories got in the way of that. The Soldier could not afford such a distraction. He was not tied down by a name or a family, by relationships or desires. He was a weapon. Made to be used. He was not capable of more.

“I want to have you looked over before we send you out for your mission today, Soldat,” the scientist said as he examined the Soldier from across the room. The man carried power within Hydra but he was small, cowardly, and he would not dare enter a room with the Soldier without a guard in place. He gestured to the door and the guard with a thick burn down his jaw moved towards it. Blonde hair, blue eyes, broad. He seemed vaguely familiar, though it felt distasteful in his mouth.

A woman was pushed through the doors and into the baron room. She shook off the grip of a Hydra agent with a grunt before she realized where she was. Her eyes fell on the Soldier and he expected her to cower in fear; they all did upon seeing him. Word traveled fast of what he was capable of. And yet –

There was relief in her shoulders, a sigh. She almost smiled before Zola turned in her direction and she pushed it away into a tight frown. The Soldier narrowed his eyes.

“Get to work, Doctor,” he ordered, though it sounded more like a warning.

She nodded, stepping in closer to the Soldier though she was hesitant in her movements. She wore dark circles under her eyes, a redness within the whites. Her clothes were old, torn a little at the edges, and dirty with use. But still, she offered a kind smile as she approached.

“How are you feeling?”

The Soldier didn’t know how to respond to that. No one had ever bothered with his answer. He stayed silent.

“You can talk freely,” she encouraged gently as she approached his bedside. He sat on the edge of the cot, tension burning through his body as it always did when he wasn’t alone. One word out of turn resulted in punishment. He knew well enough not to tempt it.

She seemed to understand he would not fall into the trap, and she nodded in acceptance.

“I’m going to take your vitals, alright? I’ll start with your heart rate.” She held up two fingers, gesturing as she pressed them against her own neck. Seemed harmless enough, though he suspected he didn’t have much of a choice anyway. It was strange she acted as if he did.

Regardless, the Soldier nodded.

As she touched him, something seemed to break. She clenched her jaw tightly, trying to focus on the rhythm of his heartbeat, but he could hear the distress in her own. Quick, pounding, uneven, and she pulled her fingers away before he questioned the slight tremble in her touch.

He wanted to ask if she were alright because something about seeing her upset was unpleasant for him. She wanted to say something, that much he could tell, but she bit her tongue.

“You’re here for a reason, Doctor,” Zola taunted from his position in the corner of the room. The woman flinched though she kept her back to him. Her eyes flickered to the Soldier as if he were an anchor. Zola smirked. “Go on. Test our programming. Why else do you think we kept you around?”

Then, he exited the room. The guard followed behind him until the Soldier was alone with the woman.

She swallowed; eyes cast down as if she were afraid to speak. For a while, she continued to take his vitals – checking his blood pressure, his eye movement, examining the mess of scars on his shoulder as they attempted to heal. All the while, so impossibly gentle, so kind in her touch, that he started to wonder if he’d felt it before.

When she was finished, she took a step back. It was only then that the Soldier noticed the reflective marks on her cheeks. Had she been crying? Why did the thought alone make his stomach twist into knots painful enough to nauseate him?

“Bucky?”

He narrowed his eyes, confused. She reached out for his hand, though she stopped herself before she could touch him. It seemed agonizing; the restraint visible on her features.

“Bucky, please tell me there’s still a of piece of you in there,” she begged. He found himself wanting to lie, to pretend to be this man she craved, just to make her happy. He didn’t know why he cared so much, why it bothered him to see her cry. She was a stranger.

“You don’t recognize me at all, do you?” Her voice was so small, so broken. She was never afraid of him, he realized. No – it seemed she was more afraid of his answer. He did not respond. He didn’t know how.

She nodded, clenching her jaw as tears spilled from the corners of her eyes and the Soldier managed to break the heart of a woman he didn’t know. Another casualty in his wake.

“Excellent,” Zola sneered, appearing back in the doorway. The doctor took a step back and it surprised the Soldier when the space between them felt like an assault. Zola grinned as he moved closer to the woman. “Hydra thanks you for your service.”

“Fuck you,” she spat, just before she landed a closed fist against the bridge of the scientist’s nose.

The Soldier flinched, stunned by the woman’s brazen as she stared into the face of the mad scientist. The tears hadn’t yet dried and still – she was fearless. Zola laughed as the blood dripped down into his mouth. A guard wrapped a vicious hold around her wrist, beginning to drag her out of the room, but she turned back to the Soldier.

“Don’t give into them, Bucky! You have to fight this! You’re good, do you hear me? You’re not one of them!”

Her voice echoed in the room even as she was shoved through the door and down the hall. He listened for the last remaining vibrations of her voice, of her struggling, until it was silent. He wondered about this man she referred to, why she thought he was worth fighting for. He thought about whether he was the man she spoke of.

“Distractions, Soldat.” Zola tsked. “You are magnificent. You are the fist of Hydra. Do you understand?”

He nodded. It pleased the scientist.

Zola explained the mission he was about to embark on at dawn. He listened to the instructions, the details, the purpose – all the while wondering about what became of the kind doctor who called him by a name he didn’t recognize.

Then, when he was finished, the scientist left and the Soldier was alone— just as he always had been.

---

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[shkspr]

hi. on your post where you may or may not have ended on 'moffat is either your angel or your devil' did you have maybe an elaboration on that somewhere that i could possibly hear about. i'm very much a capaldi era stan and i've never tried to defend the matt smith era even though it had delightful moments sometimes so i wonder where that puts me. i'd love to hear your perspective on moffat as a person with your political perspective. -nicole

hi ok sorry i took so long to respond to this but i dont think you know how LOADED this question is for me but i am so happy to elaborate on that for you. first a few grains of salt to flavor your understanding of the whole situation: a. im unfairly biased against moffat bc im a davies stan and a tennant stan; b. i still very much enjoy and appreciate moffat era who for many reasons; and c. i hate moffat on a personal level far more than i could ever hate his work.

the thing is that its all always gonna be a bit mixed up bc i have to say a bunch of seemingly contradictory things in a row. for instance, a few moffat episodes are some of my absolute favorites of the rtd era, AND the show went way downhill when moffat took over, AND the really good episodes he wrote during the rtd era contained the seeds of his destruction.

like i made that post about the empty child/the doctor dances and it holds true for blink and thats about it bc the girl in the fireplace and silence in the library/forest of the dead are good but not nearly on the same level, and despite the fact that i like them at least nominally, they are also great examples of everything i hate about moffat and how he approached dw as a whole.

basically. doctor who is about people. there are many things about moffats tenure as showrunner that i think are a step up from rtd era who! actual gay people, for one! but i think that can likely be attributed mostly to an evolving Society as opposed to something inherent to him and his work, seeing as rtd is literally gay, and the existence of queer characters in moffats work doesnt mean the existence of good queer characters (ill give him bill but thats it!)

i have a few Primary Grievances with moffat and how he ran dw. all of them are things that got better with capaldi, but didnt go away. they are as follows:

moffat projects his own god complex onto the doctor

rtd era who had a doctor with a god complex. you cant ever be the doctor and not have a god complex. the problem with moffats era specifically is that the god complex was constant and unrepentant and was seen as a fundamental personality trait of the doctor rather than a demon he has to fight. he has the Momence where you feel bad for him, the Momence where he shows his humility or whatever and youre reminded that he doesnt want to be the lonely god, but those are just. moments. in a story where the doctor thinks hes the main character. rtd era doctor was aware that he wasnt the main character. he had to be an authority sometimes and he had to be the loner and he had to be sad about it, but he ultimately understood that he was expendable in a narrative sense.

this is how you get lines like “were the thin fat gay married anglican marines, why would we need names as well?” from the same show that gave you the gut punch moment at the end of midnight when they realize that nobody asked the hostess for her name. and on the one hand, thats a small sticking point, but on the other hand, its just one small example of the simple disregard that moffat has for humanity.

incidentally, this is a huge part of why sherlock sucked so bad: moffats main characters are special bc theyre so much bigger and better than all the normal people, and thats his downfall as a showrunner. he thinks that his audience wants fucking sheldon cooper when what they want is people.

like, ok. think of how many fantastic rtd era eps are based in the scenario “what if the doctor wasnt there? what if he was just out of commission for a bit?” and how those eps are the heart of the show!! bc theyre about people being people!! the thing is that all of the rtd era companions would have died for the doctor but he understood and the story understood that it wasnt about him.

this is like. nine sending rose home to save her life and sacrifice his own vs clara literally metaphysically entwining her existence w the doctor. ten also sending rose with her family to save her life vs river being raised from infancy to be obsessed w the doctor and then falling in love w him. martha leaving bc she values herself enough to make that decision vs amy being treated like a piece of meat.

and this is simultaneously a great callback to when i said that moffats episodes during the rtd era sometimes had the same problems as his show running (bc girl in the fireplace reeks of this), and a great segue into the next grievance.

moffat hates women

he hates women so fucking much. g-d, does steven moffat ever hate women. holy shit, he hates women. especially normal human women who prioritize their normal human lives on an equal or higher level than the doctor. moffat hated rose bc she wasnt special by his standards. the empty child/the doctor dances is the nicest he ever treated her, and she really didnt do much in those eps beyond a fuck ton of flirting.

girl in the fireplace is another shining example of this. youve got rose (who once again has another man to keep her busy, bc moffat doesnt think shes good enough for the doctor) sidelined for no reason only to be saved by the doctor at the last second or whatever. and then youve got reinette, who is pretty and powerful and special!

its just. moffat thinks that the doctor is as shallow and selfish as he is. thats why he thinks the doctor would stay in one place with reinette and not with rose. bc moffat is shallow and sees himself in the doctor and doesnt think he should have to settle for someone boring and normal.

not to mention rose met the doctor as an adult and chose to stay with him whereas reinette is. hm. introduced to the doctor as a child and grows up obsessed with him.

does that sound familiar? it should! bc it is also true of amy and river. and all of them are treated as viable romantic pairings. bc the only women who deserve the doctor are the ones whose entire existence revolves around him. which includes clara as well.

genuinely i think that at least on some level, not even necessarily consciously, that bill was a lesbian in part bc capaldi was too old to appeal to mainstream shippers. like twelve/clara is still a thing but not as universally appealing as eleven/clara but i am just spitballing. but i think they weighed the pros and cons of appealing to the woke crowd over the het shippers and found that gay companion was more profitable. anyway the point is to segue into the next point, which is that moffat hates permanent consequences.

moffat hates permanent consequences

steven moffat does not know how to kill a character. honestly it feels like hes doing it on purpose after a certain point, like he knows he has this habit and hes trying to riff on it to meme his own shit, but it doesnt work. it isnt funny and it isnt harmless, its bad writing.

the end of the doctor dances is so poignant and so meaningful and so fucking good bc its just this once! everybody lives, just this once! and then he does p much the same thing in forest of the dead - this one i could forgive, bc i do think that preserving those peoples consciousnesses did something for the doctor as a character, it wasnt completely meaningless. but everything after that kinda was.

rory died so many times its like. get a hobby lol. amy died at least once iirc but it was all a dream or something. clara died and was erased from the doctors memory. river was in prison and also died. bill? died. all of them sugarcoated or undone or ignored by the narrative to the point of having effectively no impact on the story. the point of a major character death is that its supposed to have a point. and you could argue that a piece of art could be making a point with a pointless death, ie. to put perspective on it and remind you that bad shit just happens, but with moffat the underlying message is always “i can do whatever i want, nothing is permanent or has lasting impact ever.”

basically, with moffat, tragedy exists to be undone. and this was a really brilliant, really wonderful thing in the doctor dances specifically bc it was the doctor clearly having seen his fair share of tragedy that couldnt be helped, now looking on his One Win with pride and delight bc he doesnt get wins like this! and then moffat proceeded to give him the same win over and over and over and over. nobody is ever dead. nobody is ever unable to be saved. and if they are, really truly dead and/or gone, then thats okay bc moffat has decided that [insert mitigating factor here]*

*the mitigating factor is usually some sort of computerized database of souls.

i can hear the moffat stans falling over themselves to remind me that amy and rory definitely died, and they did - after a long and happy life together, they died of old age. i dont consider that a character death any more than any other character choosing to permanently leave the tardis.

and its not just character deaths either, its like, everything. the destruction of gallifrey? never mind lol! character development? scrapped! the same episode four times? lets give it a fifth try and hope nobody notices. bc he doesnt know how to not make the doctor either an omnipotent savior or a self-pitying failure.

it is in nature of doctor who, i believe, for the doctor to win most of the time. like, it wouldnt be a very good show if he didnt win most of the time. but it also wouldnt be a very good show if he won all of the time. my point is that moffats doctor wins too often, and when he doesnt win, it feels empty and hollow rather than genuinely humbling, and you know hes not gonna grow from it pretty much at all.

so like. again, i like all of doctor who i enjoy all of it very much. i just think that steven moffat is a bad show runner and a decent writer at times. and it is frustrating. and im not here to convince or convert anyone im just living my truth. thank you for listening.