#excellent thank you brain this is just what the doctor ordered

[navig8tr]

.

[lets-try-some-writing]

Hello, I just found you and I LOVE your blog. Do you got any headcanons kicking around in that wonderful brain of yours for any of the Decepticons? Anything at all is fine

I actually do have some fun headcannons for you my dear! I have some others planned out for the future (plenty for the Decepticons, don't worry) but here is one I was already working on.

Aching Scars (Decepticon Edition)

Knockout

With how much effort Knockout puts into maintaining his frame it should be obvious that he has some issues with it.

Knockout has two main problems plaguing him, the first being a deep set self consciousness regarding his appearance, and the second being hyper sensitive plating.

He didn't exactly have a great life before the war began, he was a low caste bot who fought tooth and nail in order to become a doctor.

However in the early days when he was still fighting for his place in medical school, he was picked on, beaten, and verbally abused relentlessly for his origins and shabby appearance.

He couldn't afford anything better at the time so he just accepted the abuse silently, however the event still deeply affected him, and as soon as he had the shanix he got the best bodywork money could buy.

As for the plating issue, it is a result of severe energon deprivation during his sparkling years which caused his plating to become much more sensitive than it would have been otherwise.

He handles his self consciousness well enough by taking excellent care of his frame, but despite his efforts he still has some bad days where his plating just hurts.

On those days even slightly strong air flows can cause him discomfort, as for touch, he does everything to avoid it as the pain from such an action is often irritating at best and agonizing at worst.

Breakdown will help him apply special waxes to numb his plating and watch car races with him on the television afterwards in order to comfort him.

Breakdown

Like Bulkhead, Breakdown has been through some things and managed to come out relatively unscathed for the most part.

However unlike Bulkhead he has walked away not with joint pain, but back pain. (No, it is not because of his heavy set front)

Swinging around a giant hammer all the time and generally being stuck with heavy duty jobs has put a lot of strain on his back and he just has days where it bothers him more than usual.

Most of the time it's fine, he smiles, laughs it off, and ignores the aching protoform.

However after particularly active battles and his later confrontations with mech he has some days that just suck.

His back is painful and he can hardly walk without slumping over or leaning on a wall for support and to take a little pressure off his overextended cables.

If he can get away with it he will lay down on the floor on some relatively uninhabited part of the nemesis and just rest, sometimes pulling out a video on a dataslate to pass the time.

When Knockout eventually catches him (because of course he will find out about his best friend's situation) the first thing he does is pump some painkillers into his system.

Afterwards he will force Breakdown to wear a back brace and lay down on an actual berth for the remainder of the day, he might even bring a few snacks round for Breakdown if he is in a good mood.

Knockout covers for him by telling Megatron that Breakdown is assisting him in his work.

It's something that Breakdown greatly appreciates as he knows Knockout prefers to stay in the good graces of who ever is in charge and doesn't like doing anything that could get him in trouble.

After Breakdown's back pains ease up he always leaves Knockout a little something in thanks, generally some polish.

Arachnid

Arachnid... had a less than perfect sparklinghood.

She was not treated well by any means and was manipulated and hurt endlessly.

Her past has affected her mind in terrible ways.

Now all she knows is violence and manipulation, it is the only way for someone like her to survive. (At least that is what she believes)

Her actions emulate this, with her brutal killings and treacherous behavior whenever things start to go south.

She has no friends so to speak of and has no solid loyalties, but she still requires some socialization every now and then.

She sometimes likes to pretend that she is normal, that everything is alright and that she and Arachnid are separate entities.

On those days she will approach another bot and try her best to fit in, to be a sister or companion, a facsimile of what a family should be like.

It has never ended well, especially after the start of the war.

Since coming to earth she has stopped trying to seek out companionship in others as much as she can help.

However sometimes she still wants to see someone, anyone else, and will hunt down an Autobot or Decepticon to torment to satisfy her need for socialization.

Shockwave

Shockwave is a mess, at least mentally.

His emotions were suppressed long ago by the senate, however they still hold some sway over his actions, weather he likes it or not.

His long years alone on Cybertron took a toll on his mind, making his long dormant parental instincts activate once again in a desperate attempt to get him to seek out another bot.

He kept it controlled up until he came onboard the nemesis where he proceeded to spend as much time away from others as possible, deep in his labs in order to keep his 'illogical protocols' in check.

However, not taking care of his spark's needs left him gloomy and depressed, at least as much as he can be with his limited emotional ability.

He tries to drown it out in his work but it becomes harder and harder for him to ignore.

Thankfully (or unfortunately) after the creation of Predaking, Shockwave's erratic instincts gain something to focus on, at last granting him respite.

Predaking is the closest thing to a sparkling onboard the nemesis, as such Shockwave's parental drives imprinted on him without issue.

This has led to a strange relationship. With Shockwave an emotionless scientist, and Predaking a newborn, yet mature Predacon bound together in something akin to a Caretaker-sparkling bond.

It grants them both some healing and growth, with Shockwave learning to recognize his emotions again and Predaking gaining a somewhat loving protector and teacher until he abandons ship to reach his own goals.

Even after Predaking leaves, he and Shockwave still meet occasionally to satisfy their desire to experience family, even if it is just in each other.

Starscream

Despite his flighty and cowardly nature, Starscream has accumulated nearly as many injuries as Megatron himself over the years.

He has lost his T-cog once, the scars from its removal still causing him pain on occasion.

He has been torn to shreds multiple times, to the point of getting a complete frame reformat in order to get rid of the most nasty scars.

And to top it all off he has had his trine ripped from him by the vicious tides of war.

All in all, he has issues.

But the most noticeable one is his extreme paranoia and loneliness.

Without the comfort of his trine he feels the need to be in control all the time in order to give himself a sense of security, even if his power is only in name.

The seekers have a very clear chain of command, but they are also all still family. But on the nemesis it just isn't the same, everything can change in an instant simply because of Megatron's mood that day.

He can't handle the never ending possibility of being thrown from the only familiar place he has left, but he also hasn't forgotten how quickly loyalties can shift.

Megatron has tried to get rid of him one too many times for him to ever feel safe with him.

He doesn't want to be alone because it is not how his kind are meant to be, they are social Cybertronians, incredibly so. But he also can't risk growing to close with anyone on board the nemesis as it could very well be used against him.

He wants his family, he wants to be loved, he wants his trine back.

On the days where it hurts too much he considers going to the Autobots, he considers crushing his pride and lowering his defenses if only so that he can have a family again.

Sometimes he nearly goes through with it.

But in the end he always returns to the nemesis and sobs quietly in his berthroom where none save Soundwave can bother him, too afraid to leave and too lonely to continue putting up his façade of strength.

Soundwave

Soundwave is not silent for dramatic effect, he physically cannot speak the way others do.

He was crafted for an explicit purpose, the process huge amounts of information from Cybertron's collective datanet.

He was not made to do anything other than monitor those he was instructed to look into and collect any and all data requested of him.

However eventually he ended up rebelling and was tossed into the gladiatorial pits in order to get rid of him in a way that would still have some benefit.

Against the odds he learned to be something other than a machine, he became a person and survived the horrors the the pits in no short part due to Megatron's kindness.

Soundwave and Megatron bonded in the pits and during their quest to gain sway among the masses. In those days he, Megatron, and Orion were brothers in arms, companions fighting for a better future.

He never wanted the war to happen, he never wanted the friendships he forged to be broken.

Everything from the war to his time in the pits has damaged him, not only leaving him with physical scars but also severe PTSD and anxiety.

He watched Megatron descend into tyranny, but he just can't bring himself to accept it, to relent and acknowledge that the friend he fought beside died long ago and now is only a husk operated by wrath and greed.

He pretends everything is normal, that everything is fine, that everything they do is for the greater good and that so long as he is loyal, everything will work out in the end.

Some days he can't ignore it, some days his spark screams at him to flee and his processors feel unsteady.

On those days he keeps to himself even more than usual and confides his Lazerbeak and Ravage, distracting himself from the reality and indulging himself in his own fantasies until everything calms down again.

Then he will return to work, pretending that everything is fine again until his spark forces him to see the reality once more.

Megatron

The great and mighty warlord Megatron suffers from many mental issues that are so numerous as there to be no point in naming them.

Despite all that he is a strategical genius and highly charismatic, even after snorting copious amounts of dark energon.

However said dark energon has not done good things for his frame in the long run.

His old injuries from the pits and the height of the war have long since healed, leaving him with only minor aches and pains every now and then.

But once dark energon was thrown into the mix the only world he came to know is one of pain when he isn't high as a kite on the stuff.

His spark chamber aches as it is assaulted by Unicron's influence, and every part of his body burns with rage made manifest, causing him to act erratically.

On days where it is really bad he will retreat to his quarters and write poetry to describe his woes.

Often he finds himself growing sentimental during those times, remembering the days he spent with Orion before everything fell to pieces.

He doesn't want to hate Orion, how could he hate Orion? So to preserve the memory of his brother he separates him and Optimus in his mind and places all his hate and anguish on the Prime, as is shown in his rather disturbing writings.

Megatron lives in a state of delusion similar to Soundwave, unable to accept that his actions may be wrong and that Orion and Optimus are one and the same, only separated by maturity and memory.

Megatron tries not the think too hard on it, lest he destroy his own world view.

I know it's not the best but I hope you like it! I tried my best at making the Decepticons interesting and unique in their issues but honestly they are all so screwed up its kinda hard not to have some overlapping. Anyway thanks for the request! It was a ton of fun to write this!

[triviareads]

ARC Review of Mafia Virgin by Mila Finelli

Rating: 4.5/5 Heat Level: 4/5 Publication Date: December 13th

Premise:

Aspiring doctor Emma Mancini is forced into an arranged marriage with Cosa Nostra Don Giacomo Buscetta allegedly to keep the peace between their families, and now they have just a few months to get pregnant.

My review:

This was the perfect end to the Kings of Italy series complete with all the greatest mafia hits: an intelligent but innocent heroine who's just begging to be corrupted, a brutal, gruff don who is VERY into that, an arranged marriage, and an order to get pregnant.... or else.

Emma's vibe is innocent, but also not. As she won't hesitate to remind you, she's an aspiring doctor who's not squeamish of bodily functions, and then she'll proceed to interrogate Giacomo about how his foreskin impacts his dick piercing, and whether he's into prostate play (the answer is yes, in case you were wondering). Not only does Giacomo find her brand of scientific exploration hot, but it also compliments his blunt personality.

Giacomo (under no circumstances will I be calling him Mo I'm sorry) is very different from the previous three Kings of Italy heroes; he doesn't bother with an elegant or legitimate facade of any sort and is more of a rough-and-ready type (a bit o'rough, perhaps?). Everyone thinks he's a "more brawn than brain" kinda guy (which he also internalized thanks to his dad), but that couldn't be further from the truth. For one, every time Emma tries to pull one over him, he catches on real fast. And he's good at math. I thought it was interesting that always being second best in his father's eyes is also the reason Giacomo is deeply into Emma being an *untouched virgin* because she's just for him and no one else.

Much like Fausto and Enzo, Giacomo is an older hero (there's a 12 year age gap) who feels guilty for exactly 10 seconds for being attracted to the younger, more innocent heroine (well tbh, I don't think Enzo ever felt guilty) before going into full-throttle seduction mode. Let me put it this way— the first "little girl" he utters might be derisive, but the rest of them are... very much not. And on Emma's part, she's super into the biiiiig, jacked, tatted thing Giacomo has going on (shoutout to that gym voyeurism scene), even if she's slightly upset that biology has triumphed logic.

And that's actually a pretty big part of Emma and Giacomo's romantic conflict; you won't get a lot of histrionics from these two, but everything Emma regards as logical and right— her dreams of becoming a doctor, her bodily autonomy, and even her being able to return to Toronto— has little to no meaning in the mafia world. And because of Giacomo's powerlessness in the past, he has no interest in relinquishing the power he has as a Don now, which is why the overarching plot centers around him trying to take back his power after being forced to marry Emma, and the retaliation that ensues. Ultimately, Emma and Giacomo have to reconcile these two distinct worldviews to be together.

Sidenote: in case you miss the rest of the Kings of Italy gang, don't worry; Frankie and Gia show up to support their sister and to remind us they're getting dicked down on the reg by wealthy, powerful (older) men, Enzo and Fausto are still trading insults like hissy kitties off-screen, and tweedle dumb and tweedle dumber (Vito and Massimo) make appearances as well.

The sex:

EXCELLENT. What I love about Mila Finelli sex scenes is that they will always deliver (complete with loads of Italian—and in this book Sicilian— dirty talk), and then toss in a few extra things you're thinking about long after you finish the book.

For one, Giacomo and Emma have a pretty hilarious start to their sexual relationship thanks to some questionable advice from Giacomo's cousin and his cook that amounts to "if you wanna make nice with her to get her preggo, you gotta make nice with her pussy first", which Giacomo takes quite literally. You have to appreciate a man who's trying, even if he responds to her "you're beautiful" with "I love your tits".

Also, if there's a breeding kink involved (and there is; if you couldn't tell by the summary, there absolutely is), cum-play/cum-eating feels like the natural progression of this kink, and Mila 100% delivers.

There is many a "moglie" and "marito" in this book which I personally love (and many a "sporcacciona" because they can't be all sweet).

There is a also good amount of ball play (and Giacomo pondering on the sad lack of love they get lolol), and I mention this because the specific moment from this book that lives rent-free in my head involves said act during a shower blowjob, AND it ties into their breeding kink. Brava.

Overall:

This is a sexy and satisfying (and just really fun) end to the Kings of Italy series. I don't think the book is very dark, but it definitely has all the hallmarks of a mafia romance and I'd absolutely recommend it to anyone who is even remotely interested in this subgenre.

Thank you to Mila Finelli and Valentine PR for an advanced copy of this book in exchange for my review.

[swaqcenix]

*died.*

PLEASE FORGIVE ME! I'm sorry I disappeared from the radar. I was just preparing for the physics contest, which I will have on Monday. and I also have a german contest this Friday. maybe I'm a quiet person, but my ambitions are very loud and I intend to get first place everywhere, lol…

so!

first.

MY GODNESS, nooo, don't call me cute or sweet. 😭😭😭 my heart is very weak and may not be able to stand it. again, God, thank you very much for your kind words and mutual understanding that you give me. hehe, I hope you are not tired of my long messages, which equally kill our time.

my request!

I'm dying. I'm really dying a happy person. I'm so glad you liked it so much that you started writing it so quickly. BUT, please take your time and keep giving yourself time to rest and introspect. everything is fine, I will humbly wait for this masterpiece. and I'm always here to talk about the motives why some characters would become yandere. I'm sure that the main reasons that would trigger my resilient and independent Peggy would be the desire to protect and take care of the object of her "love", given that people who are too close to Peggy can be killed.

so……. yes.

Oh and, haha, that's unusual to hear. I'm not a fan of horror movies or sitcoms, (unlike my mother), but I would love to watch with you what you think is a real masterpiece that we just have to watch.

next, emotions. of course, emotions and feelings are very… a sensitive topic. as well as dont revealing your such emotions and feelings to people. everyone has their own reasons for this. and I am so glad that you are really getting help in this matter. it's true as an outlet after these messages with a kind of self-autopsy in front of a stranger like me.🫂

and no. we and your loved ones are lucky to have you. and, probably, I'm not thinking very constructively in order to decompose all your positive and negative traits and behavior in order to determine whether you are a curse or a blessing...

Rather, this is what I want to see.

let's remember a glass of water. someone will say that it is half full, and someone will think that it is half empty. in your case, if you were a glass of water, I would say "this glass is half full".

I do not know, but I'm again so embarrassed and happy at the same time from your post with Peggy and this spoiler……

I swear, while I'm at this olympics, one cell of my brain and the last cell of my nerves will probably be like:

"Peggy, Peggy, Peggy, Peggy fanfiction, dark-Peggy, Captain Carter, tumbler, Kaz, Kaz, Kaz, Kaz, be gay do crime, here we go lesbians, wAh uH BoH uHl, yoove gOht tO bE JOEking, God save Peggy Carter and her amazing accent"

AND OH MY GOD, HOW BEAUTIFULLY YOU PICKED UP THESE AESTHETIC PHOTOS AND HOW BEAUTIFULLY EVERYTHING IS DECORATED.

just don't think that I'm writing all this just because of my request. I just wanted to compliment you on your excellent sense of taste and impressive writing abilities. well, and of course in general, for your presence.

hmm.

hey, babe, do you know what the best thing your parents did?🧐🤨

*theatrical pause*

you!😎😜😈

(DISCLAIMER: IT'S A JOKE, I DONT KNOW, WHAT IF YOUR PARENTS ARE DOCTORS AND FIGHTING CANCER OR HELPING HOMELESS CATS AND DOGS, THANK YOU, BUT YOU'RE STILL THE BEST THING THEY DID)

oh my god if it isn't my favourite anon! hii darling i hope you're doing okay! <3 you'll absolutely smash those contests ik you will so good luck for them! sending much love and support for it! 💌

hey it's okay to be a lil quiet but have strong ambitions and aspirations fr, were all our own person simply trying to be in the world

agh i'm sorry dear :) i have a habbit of using nickname's especially to cute humans who deserve it. i'll protect your lil heart i promise! and of course my word's simply seek to tell the truth. <3 also i could never get bored of your messages even if they're long i love that you feel comfortable enough to send me messages like this, besides they make my days 🫶

god don't die on me before you have even read it please! 🙏 no but of course i'm enjoying writing it bit by bit, besides it's an interesting concept and i hope you thoroughly enjoy it when i do get around to posting it love! don't worry i won't over work myself sweet! i feel like the reason in this story peggy ends up becoming yandere is due to her past, she's always had to fight to become what she wanted. the serum everything, her brothers death. so in regards to this seeing reader with wanda and seemingly so helpless she has to have her, in a way her stomach seeths with a pain she hasnt felt in years. When she does get reader its the urge to keep herself and peggy has to tell herself that, it is all for the good of cause for her little thing she has to protect! <3 i got carried away then and it shows.. 🫠

god i'm such a sucker for them it's embarrassing. scream, the conjuring series, the visit, hereditary it's the adrenaline for me! dw i'll choose ones that won't scare the shite out of you i pinky promise love! :))

emotions are always a complicated little thing, silly but meaningful in every way. loki said love is like a dagger and sylvie said love is hate, whereas it's all of that and so much more just as any emotion is! it's apart of who someone is and how they can be seen. thank you so much darling, sometimes those who cannot be seen or known of are the best listeners, so always! 🫂

i'm lucky to have you all in my life in anyway shape or form, those we surround ourselves with always impact our inner selves and ofc. analysing whether one is a poet or a singer through words, or simply is just one at the edge of the shore is entirely a concept that doesn't define curse or blessing, i'm flattered and touched you'd simply let it be. your words speak everything so softly <33

thats an interesting concept of a glass of water and touching. from my perspective in regards to yourself you speak fondly of people in ways that even the sun is unable to touch, you perceive things amazingly and im blessed to get to speak to such a sweet anon 💞

bahaha you're adorably funny i love it! my fanfics are something idk even what they are but i do apologise (not really) that it's fumbling so much with that brain of yours. i just enjoy delving deep into gayness and chaos with stories and characters! :')

sO each photo really does have a meaning, small spoiler the middle photo of peggy is her face when she first sees said reader, the other two are secrets yet to be revealed! i love alluding to certain events with my photos i just enjoy searching for them and adding in secrets and clues to be revealed.

don't worry darling ik you're speaking from a kind heart and soul, your messages truly are touching and i adore speaking to you and receiving such compliments! you're truly a breath of incredible fresh air and sunshine 💌

BAHAHA such an adorable thing and snazzy thing to say! <33 yk what yours did? the same thing created such a beauty such a melody. LMAOAOAOA dont worry no offence taken (my parents are fine my love) 😂💌

i hope you've slept well though and taking care of yourself!! did you sleep well and remember to stay hydrated my dear :')

[switchorder75]

3 Reasons Young Young People Need Life Insurance

funeral programs funeral programs https://www.youtube.com/user/funeralprogramsite/playlists

funeral programs When Albert Einstein died, there was much anticipation with what the autopsy of his brain would reveal. Scientists speculated that his brain was significantly larger or more dense that normal. Actually were confused and disappointed to discover that Einstein's brain was slightly smaller than normal, with average density.

We did not have to make a call in the finish because it made for the people. We were advised by the doctor that had been "fetal demise". I suspected that had been something wrong because I'd severe abdominal pains days prior and could have gotten checked out of. An autopsy report revealed that he were hole within the heart so never might have survived until birth. Although I was sad regarding the pregnancy ending, in felt a huge weight lifted as in order to be devote a position to create a decision in which change existence no matter - either I opposed to my husband's wishes and lift a special needs baby, or terminate the pregnancy like lots of people and deal with tremendous guilt for a lifetime. Others cleared sewage, repaired power outages, provided temporary shelters, food, water and medical guidelines. And true to the saying "charity begins at home"; many of such services began and ended at the funeral home. Mother Teresa of Calcutta once stated "Charity to be fruitful must cost associated with. To love it is was required to give: to give it is needed be free of selfishness". And free from selfishness is precisely how a lot more than 25 funeral directors acted when "Hurricane Sandy" came crashing concerning our beaches, shores and homes.

How can learning speak lead to world peace, though? Another excellent way to my thinking: Knowledge of a language vital to understand someone. Understanding means communication can appear. When we understand eath other we can learn about each a variety of other. Learning about each other means we can accept additional (even if you may not agree on everything). Accepting each other means it really is live in peace together, because picture . and accept each other's way of life which all started by learning a common language to talk with.

Give the gift of listening. Many people act like mourners have a contageious disease and they avoid contact with them. Mourners need inform their stories and reminisce about their close relatives. Heather Lende, an obituary writer for the "Chilkat Valley News" in Haines, Alaska, knows which. In her moving book, "If You Lived Here, I's Know Your Name," she writes about listening as the research equipment. The answer for me lay in teaching English as an additional language. Observation of that speak the same or different languages led me towards the conclusion that peace only occurs high is knowledge. If we speak the same language, having said that i am canrrrt express my ideas headline you understand them, you have to might lead to an fight. The same is true when we speak different languages; except here we may just quit trying to speak. Finally, use your reason. Funeral flowers are an special way to actually express your sympathy and love to the a good friend or family member in their time of need. They'll certainly many thanks for gesture.

[my-johnlockficrecs]

Hi. I love your blog. I was wondering what your favourite fic(s) are?

hi sweet anon, thank you so much 🥺💕 i'm so glad you like my blog! and omg, what a difficult question 😂 anyone who's been in any fandom for an extended period of time accrues a lengthy list of favourite fics, and i'm no different. i just know that once i start listing fics, i'll instantly start going "oh and this one, and this, and this, and thi-" for the sake of everyone's sanity, i've limited this list to 15 of my fav fics, in no particular order. if you ask me again some time later, my list would probably be different, because that's just how many excellent fics this fandom has 🤷 (and i'm also just that indecisive 😭)

The Pieces That Fall to Earth by Itsallfine (49k, M)

John and Sherlock have hit rock bottom, but with all their armor stripped away, they can finally speak honestly, seek healing, and find the truths that matter most.

An epistolary post-s4 fix-it fic. Now complete.

Electric Pink Hand Grenade by BeautifulFiction (67k, E)

"If Sherlock's brain is a hard drive, then these attacks are an electro-magnetic pulse." Sherlock Holmes does not do anything by half, not even a migraine. It falls to John to witness one of the greatest minds he has ever known tear itself apart, and he must do his best to help Sherlock pick up the pieces.

lean into a loved body by @simplyclockwork (60k, E)

Still reeling from Afghanistan, John Watson moves to farm country after inheriting his late grandfather’s property. There, he tries to come to terms with his new reality, the work cut out for him, and the failure of his marriage.

To top it all off, his awkward, bee-loving neighbour is kind of a madman.

A Firm Hand by Ellipsical (63k, E)

I started writing this fic in a hotel room in Japan two years ago after asking for prompts on Tumblr. This began as a one-shot for the prompt: Make me. And...I kept writing it. Hahaha, I really should know myself better by now.

I know many are turned off automatically by the Daddy kink tag, and honestly take care of yourselves and have a blessed day, if that's a hard no for you. But I will say that this fic begins as a Daddy kink fic and then transforms into something else. It's mainly an exploration of consent and identity and vulnerability and communication and agency and trust building and and and and.... I'll let the tags speak for the rest of it. This happens through sex. Lots and lots of sex. Some of the sex is kinky, but it is always switchy, switchy sex. Neither character is exclusively a top, neither one is exclusively a bottom, in fact I aim to make you question what those things mean. The Moriarty plot was very tangential to my wanting to write this story, but provides much of the urgency, so take it as you will, squinting from far away, perhaps ;)

Your comments are very important to me. If you enjoy this story, please let me know. I'm sending love and peace to you and yours <3 <3 <3 <3

Ghost Stories by @swissmissing (22k, M)

Sherlock’s parents think he and John are a couple. They might be onto something.

In Need of Quiet Affection and Gentle Words by @kinklock (16k, E)

After John’s girlfriend (of sorts) sends him an online sex guide, John finds himself more intrigued by the guide’s author than anything his girlfriend might have had in mind.

The Printer is Jammed by startrekto221b (snowandfire) (40k, G)

John is a disgruntled customer who just wants his money back for a shoddy printer Harry ordered for him off of a catalogue. Sherlock is a bored customer service rep working the summer he has off from Oxford. They are both about to get more than they bargained for.

A Doctor in the House by @kitten-kin (32k, teen)

A replacement for Series 3 Episode 1 of BBC's "Sherlock", because my John would never.

A Brand of Gold by aquabelacqua (12k, M)

What am I doing? he wondered. The answer came back at once: 

Flirting.

He sank deeper into the pillows, let the mist and blur of the wine settle around him, let it shore up his nerves and dim the warning signals that flashed dully in the back of his mind. He let the rest of the disappointment about Lucy and his strange accommodations and about the weekend as a whole fade into obscurity. He let the vital, missing piece snap into place as surely and as cleanly as if it had always been there.

He was flirting with Sherlock Holmes.

five times sherlock holmes lied to john watson (and one time he finally told the truth) by miss_frankenstein (5k, G)

"Something in Wilde’s persecution has touched a nerve in Sherlock – snapped that tenuous thread of hope holding him upright – and it feels as if he has taken to bleeding internally."

Set in "The Abominable Bride" universe, this piece adopts a familiar format to chronicle Sherlock's quiet suffering in the wake of the 1895 Oscar Wilde trials and the particular way they affect his relationship with (and feelings for) John.

The Presbury Letters by Katie (17k, unrated)

Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes, and John Watson battle to survive the Great War.  17,000 words. Also as mp3 or m4b audio.

notes: it's a happy ending <3

Full of Grace by Katie (19k, unrated)

Oscar Wilde's incarceration, a wedding celebration for Violet Smith, and a pair of dancing men.

Twelfth Night by Katie (6k, unrated)

A parody of Forsythian schmangst: how to explain to Holmes that he is in fact homosexual, the effects of alcohol on Watson, and things that make ineffective lubricants. Adult humour.

A Quiet Murmuration by cathedral_carver (4k, teen)

//

Just pay me back with one thousand kisses.

//

things fairytales are made of series by @watsonshoneybee (67k, 7 works)

[whatevertheweather]

Fuck/Marry/Kill but with the last 3 fics you saved/bookmarked

Thanks @sillyunicorn @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @cutestkilla @fatalfangirl @bookish-bogwitch for the tags!

I’m apparently inconsistent on bookmarking stuff, but here we go here we go.

Get Well Soon by RoyalAsstronaut (M, Complete)

An AU which still has some elements that are a bit magicky, in that Baz is a doctor in the completely not Normal field of Empathoneurology, and Simon is a patient who keeps returning to him with medical problems like “a broken heart.” The whole concept is so fun and clever, it made me laugh and smile a stupid amount, and there’s some good smut too. Also, bonus points for having the best background Niamh. (That’s subjective I suppose, but if you don’t agree you’re wrong.)

What Lies Behind Doorways by @artsyunderstudy (M, Complete)

Changing the mood. I’m glad this happens to be in my last three bookmarks because it’s one of my favorite fics in all the land. It’s so good. The kind of so good that I think about it and my brain cells just short-circuit to a review as underwhelming as “so good.”

It follows Baz throughout moments inside and beyond canon where we see the trauma of his Coffin Time manifesting. Beautifully written, expresses the nuances of PTSD with absolute precision and puts words to all the things we struggle to express about it. Also, excellent portrayal of how trauma threads through the good (relationships, moments, etc), and how that good is still there and valid even if it doesn’t “fix” the bad, because sometimes they just live side by side. Also has one of my very favorite depictions of Baz and Penny’s friendship, and I could and do choose to believe this all happened right alongside canon.

Sorry not sorry for this mini essay but I’m up in my feels about it. (There’s also beautiful artwork. Obviously. Because it’s Ashton.)

Size You Up by @bookish-bogwitch (Teen, Complete)

Changing the mood again! Magical mishap (we love to see it), Baz ends up the size of a parakeet (literally how can it get better), they try to figure out a reversal and in the meantime Simon has to take care of him because it’s hard to do stuff when you’re six inches tall (what hey no way it got better). This fic is unbearably cute and witty and funny. And I know I already said “witty” which is essentially a synonym for “clever,” but I’m adding clever too. The dialogue is so snappy, and the descriptions! So perfect, and it all still feels very in-character.

Now imagine a drumroll, if you will.

Fuck: Have to go with Get Well Soon, what with it being the only one with sex more explicit than canon. Them’s the rules.

Marry: I’m writing my vows for What Lies Behind Doorways. I was saying “I do” before I finished the fic.

Kill: Size You Up, because alas, it had a moment or two that were too cute to be borne. I’ll regret my actions under the influence of that split-second of cute aggression for the rest of my life, I assure you.

I’m actually a little peeved that these ended up in order. Anywho, I’m late to the game so I’m gonna throw some tags and see what sticks: @moodandmist @mostlymaudlin @ileadacharmedlife @basiltonbutliketheherb and @artsyunderstudy (in case you thought that tag up there didn’t count)

[sluttbuttsstuff]

Hucow!AU Part 5 (FINALE!!!)

WOOHOO!! It’s finally Bruno’s turn, I saved best boy for last.  All parts combined in gdocs are 29 pages total, this is def the longest thing i’ve written in over a decade!! I hope you enjoy, and look forward to whatever i decide to write next

thanks, and enjoy!

as always. credit goes to @dark-side-blog2 for the wonderful hucow! au

WARNINGS: not sfw, yandere, duncon, noncon, sleep fucking, force feeding, manipulation, dark themes, afab reader, she/her pronouns, all characters 18+!!

After taking care of Narancia and tucking him into bed, Bruno returned to your room once more.  You slept like the dead, worn out from a long night.  Bruno smiled proudly, you had been wonderful for them.  Each bull, you had accepted their love, their passion, their essence and earned your place in the herd once again.  It filled Bruno with such joy, knowing that you were the perfect mate for them, for all of them.

You were caring and kind for Narancia, playful and fun for Mista, calming and gentle for Fugo, accepting and attentive for Abbacchio.  And for Bruno: you were everything.  For so long, there had been a piece of the puzzle missing in his life.  He had a family with no mother, no children.  

Bruno had met you first in a very dark part of his life-his herd was beaten, driven from his home in fear, on the brink of death with no hope.  And then, you had appeared, an angel hidden away in paradise, offering safety, shelter.  Much more than that, even, with a little bit of convincing, and a lot of planning.  He would have his family, his children, and you.

Bruno knew how to play the long game, how to strategize and manipulate, but he only did it for good reason.  He had to, you were too prideful, too stubborn to realize how much you needed him.  You were running a giant farm several acres large by yourself, no employees, relatives or neighbors to help.  Bruno couldn’t have that,now could he?  He and the other bulls took over the hard work and heavy lifting-eventually, after a lot of hemming and hawing from you.  Bruno managed to talk you into it; it was beneficial for both of you, a way for the bulls to earn their keep and for you to get some help.

The bulls helped with Bruno’s plan as well, in their own ways.  Mista put his cooking skills to use, making you healthy meals infused with lackweed (Mulgeo, a plant that encouraged your body to lactate) and pills that increased your sexual urges.  He’d even been adding charcoal to your meals to cancel out your birth control; it wasn’t necessary, Bruno had gotten rid of your birth control months ago while you were asleep, but Bruno appreciated it nonetheless.  

Narancia had gotten you to warm up to them very quickly, being as innocent and naive as he was, and Bruno was able to use him to display his parenting skills.  Yes, Narancia was a grown bull, and mostly treated as such, but he was still the youngest, and hard not to spoil.  Plus, the way you seemed to light up when Bruno would baby Narancia- it was clear your maternal instincts were awakening.  Good!  It was excellent practice for your own children.  

Fugo was admittedly the most awkward around you, it wasn’t really his fault, though.  He had the least experience out of the bulls with women, but Bruno could tell his true feelings about you.  So, he encouraged Fugo to show his strengths to you; mainly his brain.  There was an old tractor collecting rust that needed repairs, and you had lost several crops last season due to lack of irrigation. Fugo was able to repair them, thanks to researching some books and some help from you.  Plus, it was one less job for you to do, and another reason for you to depend on them.  Bruno knew Fugo was nervous, but Bruno was certain he’d be a good mate and husband.  He would make their children very smart.

Abbacchio could be a little rough around the edges, it's true, but he clearly had a soft spot for you.  While he would smack Mista and Narancia around when they got on his nerves or got ornery, you he respected and let a lot slide.  Bruno had seen you tug on his tail (admittedly by accident) , elbow him (after a funny joke), and even put flowers (that he was allergic to!) in his hair!  Abbacchio had taken it in stride, and even defended you when Mista’s teasing or the other shenanigans went too far.  Plus, Abbacchio’s skills as a lockpick let them sneak into your house when you were away or sleeping.  Very useful indeed…

 Bruno knew he had to share you, as much as he wanted you for his own.  He couldn’t hurt his herd, his brothers, who loved you almost as much as he did.  So Bruno was patient, he let them have their turns first, keep the peace….

But Bruno couldn’t wait any longer.

The timing had to be perfect, to ensure he had the best chances. He had snuck into your home months before, stealing and disposing of your birth control, and destroying your refill prescription.  Thankfully you were too busy and preoccupied to make a new appointment with the doctor for new medication, which Bruno appreciated greatly.   Digging through your trash, he was able to record and determine your cycle, in order to find out when you would be most fertile.  He would allow his herd many things,including you.

But his child would be first.

Letting the others go first- he allowed it before you were truly in heat.  They didn’t know why, but were grateful nonetheless, eager to claim you. 

He pulled back your blankets, after making sure you were deep in R.E.M. sleep.  Birds started chirping as dawn rose outside, but you were dead to the world.  So much, in fact, that when Bruno pulled back your bed sheets you didn’t so much as flinch.  You were still nude, too tired to put your pajamas back on last night; Bruno admired the early morning light glowing on your body.  Bruno kissed down your face and body everywhere the sun touched, relieved you were still asleep.  Bruno made note of every bruise and marking on your skin to treat later that morning, as he went lower and lower down your body.  Spreading your legs, you tasted divine.  You were definitely ready, too: now would be his best chance. 

 Licking the others out of your core, he heard you quietly whimper- he paused, waiting for you to stir, but you eventually drifted back to sleep.  You always were cute when you slept, the way you would sometimes talk in your sleep or kick your legs “Running.”  Bruno had learned a lot observing you, and intended to learn a lot more from you today.  He cleaned you out with his tongue and prepped you thoroughly-maybe it was petty of him, saving you all for himself, but Bruno was the alpha bull, and the perfect mate for you.  That’s why it was so important to not just get you pregnant, but pregnant with his children.  It’s what you, the both of you deserved.

Once Bruno was certain you were ready ( you were still soft and wet from last night, and pleasantly warm against his tongue and fingers)  he leaned over you, pulling your legs up against his shoulders into a mating press.  It terrified him how easily you slept, how dangerous it would be if his herd hadn’t found you.  What if someone else had found you before them, taken you like this in your sleep?  It worried him so, that’s why he had to do this, claim you and protect you from any rivals.

  Bruno stroked your cheek, before pressing inside.  Finally, after all this time, he was inside of you, warm and wonderful and all his.  You squirmed in your sleep,but otherwise accepted him without complaint.  Bruno was so happy he could cry, he settled for kissing your  shoulder as he pushed into the hilt.  Bruno couldn’t hold his urges back any longer, he thrust into you again and again, hitting against your sweet spot.  You cried out in your sleep, jumbled noises Bruno convinced himself were his name.  In this position, he was able to reach so deep, force himself as far inside as he could reach.  

His grip on you tightened, feeling the strain of the position, the slap of his balls on your ass fueling his desire more.  But it wasn’t enough, he had to make sure you felt good too.  He suckled your chest, licking your nipples the way he had seen you enjoy.  Your pussy was so wet he was able to rub slick onto your hard throbbing clit, careful to rub the raw skin gently. 

“Y/n, I’m so thankful to have found you, finally we can make our dreams come true~” Bruno whispered to you, desperate for you to know the feelings he’d held back for so long.

“I can hardly hold back with you; I’ve been waiting so long for this, and I can tell now that so have you.  Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you, we all will.  Just give in, you can trust me.”  Bruno pleaded, close to the edge.  Bruno grit his teeth, it was about to end, all too soon.  Bruno wasn’t ready, he wanted to stay like this with you forever.  Relief washed over Bruno as he heard you cry out in release, tightening around him and bringing him to release.

“I’m cumming, y/n.  Please, accept all of me!”  He gasped,spilling his seed inside.  Tears Bruno had held back spilled down as his emotions overcame him, something he would only allow to happen while you couldn’t see.  He was certain this was the right thing to do, now more than ever.  You were his, all of theirs, safe and protected. 

 In the next months, you would become full with child.  Naturally, you would have to stop manual labor-which would be fine, you could depend on your sturdy bulls to run the farm for you.  And then when you had their children, you would need to raise them. Obviously, you had five capable mates to help you; taking turns feeding them, staying up on long sleepless nights, teaching them right from wrong.  So many precious memories to be made with you, Bruno could 

hardly wait.

As Bruno turned to leave you to rest, he saw you start to rise.

“...Bruno?”  You called weakly, and Bruno was by your side in an instant.

“Y/n?  What’s wrong, you’re up so early?”  Bruno asked, concerned.  

“...It’s hot” you groaned, reaching out for him.  Bruno’s heart fluttered, you called out for him.  He felt your forehead; admittedly sweaty, but not necessarily from illness.  

“You are a little warm.  Let’s get you out of these sweaty blankets and cleaned up.”  Bruno helped you out of your sheets, and ran to get a damp washcloth.  He returned quickly, sitting on your bed and wiped the cloth over your body.  Your body flushed, and whenever you thought Bruno wasn’t looking, you would glance over at him.  Bruno smiled to himself, you really were spoiling him this morning-he couldn’t be more delighted.

“Are you feeling any better?  You should take it easy today, you had a long night.”  Bruno said as he washed your stomach.

“Umm, yes, im-ahh!”  You jumped, as Bruno’s wash cloth reached your nether regions.  

“Relax, bella, It’s important to clean this area as well. We don’t want you getting sick now do we?”  Bruno continued, unfazed by your reaction.  You fidgeted a moment longer, but considering all that had happened, you relented.  What more could Bruno do to you?

He toweled you off quickly, patting you dry and then headed to your closet.

“Let’s find you something extra comfortable to wear today, shall we?”  Bruno asked, flipping through your hangers.  What a shame, most of your outfits were utilitarian and industrial, not befitting a mother to be.  

“Oh, Bruno, you don’t have to-”  You began, but Bruno cut you off.

“Here we go, perfect!  Ah, and this shade of lavender will look lovely on you!”  Bruno proclaimed, holding up a flowery sundress made of soft cotton.  Very comfortable, but not the best for farm work.  Bruno couldn’t be stopped though, grabbing some undergarments for you    (how did he know where you kept them?) and helped you sit up in bed.

“Let’s get you dressed, as much as I love the thought of having you nude all day, nothing will get done around the farm with the boys fawning over you.”  Bruno chuckled, sliding socks onto your feet for you.

“Bruno, please! I can dress myself!”  You pleaded, trying to pull away, but Bruno stopped you with gentle but firm hands.  

“Bella, please-let me take care of you the way you’ve taken care of us.  It’s only fair, isn’t it?”  Bruno smiled, tugging your socks up to your ankles.  He held a white pair of panties out for you, “Step in, dear, one foot at a time” You groaned, turning an adorable shade of red Bruno loved, but did indeed let him slide the panties up and onto you.  He convinced you to skip a bra today (Bruno wasn’t completely selfless) and slip into the sundress, snug as a bug.

“Much better!  Now, do you want to see if you can get some more sleep?  You didn’t get many hours of sleep last night, and your body must be very sore.”  He asked you, stroking your cheek.  “Well, maybe later, but-”  You began, only to be interrupted by your growling stomach.  Bruno chuckled, “Ahh, of course, let’s get you fed shall we?”  he winked, placing a hand on the small of your back and escorting you to the kitchen.

You tried to make yourself breakfast, really you did, but Bruno wasn’t giving you any leeway this morning.

“Please, Bambina, let me cook for you.  You always make the rest of us meals, and I’m not completely hopeless in the kitchen.”  He told you, sitting you on a kitchen chair, rolling up his sleeves.  True to his word, he was decent in the kitchen-more than decent, in fact.  Bruno fried up a pig’s worth of bacon, crispy and fried with a sprinkle of cinnamon.  Eggs, sunny-side scrambled and over-easy, just a little bit runny and fresh from your henhouse.  And the cru-de-ta, a mountain-pile of fluffy home batter pancakes, smothered in homemade syrup and creamy smooth butter dollops piled on top.  Bruno piled your plate to the brim, sure to give you only the crunchiest bacon strips and roundest pancakes, with plenty left over for the boys.  It was a miracle the other boys hadn’t woken up yet, but you supposed they were still wiped out from the night before and needed a little more rest.  

Bruno didn’t mind one bit, enjoying the one on one time with you he rarely got.  Sitting patiently for him like a good mate, letting him clean you, dress you, even feed you. Bruno was determined to spoil you, so you would never want for anything other than him again.  Looking around your plate, you asked Bruno, “Sorry, but you forgot to grab a fork and knife.  Would you mind?”  

Bruno smiled, unblinkingly, “Oh no, I didn’t.  Open wide~”  He cooed, stacking a silver fork full of your breakfast.  You looked at him incredulously, “Seriously?”  

Bruno didn’t relent, smile unwavering, “You wouldn’t turn down all my hard work and this delicious food, would you?”  

You wanted to argue with him, you really did.  For every inch he gave you, he took a mile, and it was starting to be humiliating.  But for whatever reason, Bruno always made you cave.  Besides, after everything you’d been through, he’d never hurt you, always gentle and caring.  So, against your better judgement, you sheepishly opened your mouth for him.

Bruno lifted the fork into your mouth, watching your lips close around his fork.  You savored the buttery rich flavor of the pancakes, the spongy texture bouncing lightly in your mouth as you chewed.  To say it was delicious would be an understatement; you were starting to consider letting Mista and Bruno handle mealtime more often.  Bruno bit the corner of his lip, watching you eat your meal.  You wanted to pout, not give Bruno the satisfaction of knowing you enjoyed being babied like this, but you couldn’t help smiling as you swallowed bite after bite, opening your mouth and even leaning forward.  Each bite was better than the last; the salty sweet bacon grease and runny eggs soaked into the pancakes, soaking up the flavor medley and sending your palette into overdrive. 

 Bruno loved every minute, watching you let your guard down for him, licking up syrup from your chin, even letting him wipe your cheek clean with a napkin.  Your stomach puffed out as you ate through your meal, it excited him to know he did that to you, and that your stomach would soon be even more distended and full with his baby.  Your plate was nearly clean, but you didn’t think you could eat another bite.  Bruno had given you so much already, and it was all delicious and rich, and had no more room.

“Please, Bruno, I’m full to the brim.  I’m sorry but I can’t eat anymore.”  You groaned, clutching your stomach.  

“Oh please, just another bite, bambina~  you’ve done so well, you’re almost done.”  He cooed, forking the last bits on your plate.  You tried to excuse yourself, but Bruno stuffed it into your open unsuspecting mouth.  You nearly choked on the utensil forcing your way into your mouth, a sugary syrupy mess that was starting to nauseate you.  It was too much, too rich, but Bruno held your mouth shut.

“Please, y/n, you have to eat more.  Think of our children, won’t you?”  You froze, as you remembered everything that had happened last night with a wave.  You looked at Bruno, mouth still full and ready to vomit.  His gaze tore into you, more serious than he had been all morning.  In fact, the last time he looked at you like that…

Bruno rubbed your back, as your eyes watered and spilled over.  Poor thing, were you already having morning sickness?  No worries, it was only natural; he would take care of you. You were having trouble breathing, not sure if it was the food or the panic setting in.  

“Come on Bambina, you’re almost done.  Just swallow it all down, you can do it~”  Bruno hissed, as he plugged up your nose.  Bruno sighed, watching your eyes bug out; he didn’t want to be harsh with you, but what other choice were you giving him?  You needed to follow his orders, that’s how he kept you safe and happy.  “Now, y/n”  

Despite the lump in your throat, you had no choice but to swallow, the lack of oxygen making you gag.  How could you forget who you were dealing with?  How could you let him take advantage of you again and again?  You wiped the snot and tears from your face, catching your breath.  You flinched as a familiar hand reached out and grabbed your chin.  Bruno turned you to look at him, his face calm and smiling as if nothing had happened.

“There, Bambina, that wasn’t so bad was it?  You have to let me take care of you, okay?  We don’t want you hurting yourself do we?”  He asked, voice soft and patronizing, like he hadn’t just force fed you against your will.  You wanted to run away, but didn’t know where to go.  It didn’t help any as you heard footsteps coming down the stairs.  

“Yo, y/n!  You’re up already?  I thought we wiped you out last night!”

“Guess we’ll have to try harder next time.”

“Are you okay, y/n?  You look ill.  Maybe you should go back to bed.”

“Ohh, it smells so good!  Did you make breakfast for us, y/n?”

You were surrounded.  No way out.  Five strong angry bulls that had taken over your life, your home, even your body.  You couldn’t trust them, not any of them.  There was no escape.

“What’s wrong, bella?  Are you crying?”

“Don’t cry, y/n!  There’s nothing to worry about, we’ll take care of you!”

“You can count on us, y/n.  We’re mates, after all.”

You were trapped.

Trapped.

Trapped.

 You opened your mouth to scream, but it was no use.

It’s not like anyone would hear you, anyways

END

[mxvladdy]

wait holy shit youre taking requests???? okay first of all, im in love with your writing skills especially those true forms they are *chefs kiss* magnifique. second, may i request for an angst but fluff ending prompt for barbatos/simeon/solomon (im an absolute simp for them) about MC having a really bad asthma attack and coupled with anxiety attack? (totally not me lmao) please and thank you! sorry for being too specific!

A/N: Oshbagosh! I hope you are good fam! You have excellent taste in simpin ngl Barbatos came out of left field for me, though I am weak for a quick wit and sharp tongue lol. And thank you for liking my works! Sorry, this took so long;.;

I hope my research was good and accurate! 

Barbatos

Does not know what is going on at first. Were you having an allergic reaction to something you ate? Had you gotten into some Devildom spices he hadn’t secured well enough?

Panics internally. He is very ready to spend the exurbanite amount of energy it would take to turn back the clocks before you started wheezing. 

Externally he keeps a level head, glad his gloves hide how sweaty his palms are. He remembers then your human medical file. 

He tends to you quickly grabbing your medication and carrying you away from whatever triggered this attack. 

“Do you need a doctor?” Barbatos asks for the umpteenth time. He runs a gloved hand up and down your back. You shake your head weakly coughing to try and dislodge some phlegm now breakdown in your throat. You take a shaky breath feeling your airways loosen, the fresh air that fills your lungs taste so sweet. 

“I’ll be ok Barb.” You wheeze taking another deep inhale from your inhaler. “Stop hovering and sit please, you are starting to stress me out more.” The demon makes a weird tutting noise in distress but comes to sit next to you. You lean back with a groan. The garden wall was rough on your back but you didn’t care at the moment. It had been so long since you had a flare-up you had almost forgotten what it felt like. You shift over slightly seeking out the heat of your companion's body. Exhausted you flop over to rest your head on his shoulder.

“Here let me.” He pulls out his ornate handkerchief and starts whipping at your nose and eyes. “What triggered this love? Have I missed someplace in my cleaning?” He knew he didn’t, never in all his years had he ever missed a spot. He would retire in shame if he did, but he felt like he had to fill the silence. If you were talking that meant you were alright. Right? He curses at himself. He thought he knew more about humans than this, yet you somehow threw curveball after curveball at him. He needs you to be safe and happy yet he choked on something like this? Perhaps he would suffer more of Solomon’s companionship to pick his brain on human ailments. As long as he could dodge eating any of his cooks.   

You fidget as he cleans your face and fusses over you, but you let him. This was for his benefit more than yours. “No, I think it's pollen. Your plants are not something I’m used to yet, and with the wind, it just hit harder.” He grunts, not pleased with your answer. He could do anything about the plants, and things out of his control were few and far between. You catch the inner argument he was having with his many selves and scoff. “Barb-” You take the cloth from him and tuck it in your pocket. “You and all your selves absolutely cannot control my illness, and that's ok.” He doesn’t look convinced, no doubt looking for a loophole in the webs he weaves. 

“Given the time I-” He stops at your withering look. “I don’t like not being in control.” Your look softens. 

“Who does?” You clear your throat finally feeling a bit more like yourself. Well, at least the garden wasn’t spinning anymore. “There. I think I can manage. Can you help me to the nurses' office? I should get a check-up since it’s been a while since I’ve had an attack. Then I think I’m going to call it a day.” 

Barbatos nods helping you to your shaky feet. His hands locked around your arm like he was afraid you would crumble again. You give him a reassuring look and lean into his weight. You didn’t need it, but it was a nice feeling, being looked after. Besides, it was so rare to get his sole attention. “I’ll inform the young master  that we will be taking the rest of the day off.” 

“We?” 

“Of course.”  He says resolutely. “Unless you wish for me to leave?” He barely contains his smile when he feels your hands squeeze tighter around his bicep. 

“As long as I’m not impeding.” Your words are half-hearted at best. You don’t give a damn if it throws off some super-secret agenda, you were happy to have more time with him. He calmed your nerves. 

Simeon

He hadn’t meant to trigger an attack. The weather outside was simply lovely.  It was dry and warm with a breeze that made grass dance in a mesmerizing way. The track around one of the Devildom’s many bodies of crystalline water was beautiful at this time of the day. He had to share his enthusiasm.

He just wanted to go for a walk with you. He had so much to talk about with you that he forgot how long his legs are compared to yours. He was so excited he didn’t realize how fast his gait is and how much you were struggling to keep up with him. He didn’t realize your troubles until he felt a sweaty palm on his wrist. 

Openingly gets panicked but knows about human medicine and where you store your inhaler. 

Simeon breathes deeply through his nose and out his mouth. One deep inhale and one long exhale- focus just focus. His chest clenches in alarm at your shallow pants, his eyesight narrowing down to pinpricks. Blessedly he keeps a steady hand.

“Slowly now my dear.” He shakes your inhaler before bringing it to your lips. His strong fingers massaging your jaw to loosen it. Squeezing your cheeks he slips the apparatus past your teeth noticing how glassy your eyes were becoming. “Inhale.” He orders thanking his father you understand him enough to comply.  He watches you like a hawk till he hears your heartbeat steady. Once he is sure he could look away he calls Lucifer. He doesn’t remember what he said, but he knew it was a panic-fueled rush.

“Simeon,” He looks up from his phone. “I’m ok…” You wheeze blinking up into the afternoon moons. Simeon shushes you running his warm hands over your cheeks. They were ice-cold despite the heat. He warms his palms with magic watching the fog clear from your gaze. “Thanks.” 

“You shouldn’t thank me.” He pulls away, shaking his head. “This is my fault. I apologize, my dove.” You chuckle breathlessly becoming aware of your surroundings. Last thing you remember was walking up the shoreline. Now the hardwood of the bench pokes at your back. Had you collapsed here? Or did Simeon carry you over? “I should have been more aware of the situation.” He pulls at his hair in frustration. His lower lip turns red as he worries it with his teeth.

You swat his hand away from his hair wincing in sympathy when a few chunks of hair that follow. Linking his dexterous fingers with your clammy ones, you trace the lines in his palm with your thumb. You try to breathe in time with the steady rise and fall of his chest letting your meds take full effect. Your breathing was better, but you still had spots in your vision. “It’s not your fault really. I should have told you when I started feeling bad.” 

“I should have noticed. How can I protect you if I can’t even realize your limitations?” He bemoans. You exhale a jerky laugh. Your lungs throbbing with the sharp movement. It ached for sure, but not enough that you couldn’t get up. Ignoring his protests you get off the bench and pull him up with you.  

“None of that!” You wag a finger in his face. I’m allowed to panic, not you. You try to make light of the situation but your finger trembles in his face.  “You did exactly what you should have so don’t doubt yourself. Sides’-” You clasp yours. hands together playing with your thumbs. “I got horribly distracted too, and pushed myself.” 

“By what?” 

“You.” Your cheeks heat in embarrassment. “ You were so excited to have the day with me I didn’t want to ruin the mood.”

Simeon blinks. “You-didn’t want to ruin the mood by telling me you were having an asthma attack?” You shrug, a childish smile crossing your face. Unbelievable. Simeon swears under his breath. “I-I am at a loss for words.” He places both his hands on your shoulders squeezing them. “I will find them later and then we'll talk about your amazing lack of self-preservation, but for now, Lucifer is waiting for us at the nurses' office.” Not giving you time to argue he scoops you up, arm holding you under your knees and securely around your shoulders.  Once he knew you were safe, he would make sure to have an eye on you at all times.

Solomon

The dusty old library located in the catacombs of the school was a dead giveaway to be trouble for your lungs. You both knew that. He warns you, the moment you feel ill they are leaving, no questions, no arguments. Very much the calmest of the three. He is human...mostly… so he knows the signs and can catch it much faster than the others. 

Still worried about you though. You aren’t a mage,  just his regular old human. 

When he gets nervous he makes jokes. Not appropriate given the circumstances but they just come out. So while he is dragging you from the school he is making the obligatory joke about him taking your breath away.

He will have whatever medications or potions he can think of at the ready for you to use if you need them. Won’t baby you or hover, you’ve lived with this for long he doesn’t want to insult you in any way. But he will keep close and have his ringer on loud in case you need him.

But now he wants you to rest and recover. He’ll keep you company though.

You gaze sleepily out of the bedroom window propped up on an exorbitant amount of puffs and pillows. You breathe out with caution, testing to see if you were still having any lingering effects from being down in the catacombs. It wasn’t anything too serious this time, thankfully. The moment you started clearing your throat and breathing just a little too hard to be considered normal, Soloman had grabbed both your bags and dragged you from the moldy and dusty space. You were a little put out at how quickly your asthma had acted up. You had just found the book you were looking for too. 

“If you keep squirming out of your blankets I’ll seal you in there with magic.” Your captor friend appears, pulling aside the drapes around his bed to sit next to you. He flashes you a cocky grin placing a tray on his bedside table. Solomon scans your face looking for any inkling of pain that might linger. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m hot.” You lie. In truth, the many blankets he wrapped you in felt marvelous, but you were being cantankerous. You wanted to get up and go back to work. The mage raises a pale brow, not believing a word of it.

“Of course you are, my little scholar.” He tucks you in again a little tighter then props your cocooned feet on his legs. “How are you really?” 

You shrug. Compared to other attacks you’ve had this one was thankfully mild.  Most likely because he had whisked you out the winding maze-like library faster than you thought possible. The jitters from the panic attack that followed took more out of you. Luckily for you, Solomon handled that easily too. “You know I want to go back.” You had your hands on the book you wanted when you started feeling a little breathless.  You wanted to believe it was out of excitement for the tomes. But the back of that section of the library was damp, cool, and dark. The perfect trifecta for your lungs to riot. 

Solomon nodded unfazed. “Yes, I’ve come to realize that whenever danger is present you seem to gravitate towards it.” He smiles fondly at your pout. Your thirst for knowledge was almost as insatiable as his, and both of you seemed to have a knack for attracting danger. He watches you fidget in your confines for a little bit more before sighing. “Alright-alright, I get the drift hold still.”  Leaning over you he loosens the covers around your arms to give you a little bit of freedom. As soon as you were free you pinch his nose hard in retaliation. “Oi!”  He laughs pulling back to rub at his nose. “Such violence! And here I came bearing gifts!” 

“That’s for insulting me!” You huff settling back down. “I hope it’s food, I’m starving.” You eye him expectantly. 

“Feed you? After that assault? My, you are brazing.” He picks up the tray he brought despite himself. The school cafe was serving your favorites today. Placing it on your lap he brushes his lips across your cheek. “Plus, I made tea.” You hum in excitement, eyes lighting up with glee. While he couldn’t cook worth a damn (you chalk it up to him irretrievably destroying his sense of taste and smell tolling over potions for years). He did have amazing luck with blending tea leaves and spices. A skill he severely took for granted. 

You pick up the tea and breath deeply only to have a coughing fit. His warm broad hands are there in an instant pushing you back into the pillows. “Sorry-sorry. Still a bit tender.” You smile through watery eyes. “It smells great!” 

“Does it? What do you smell? I admit, I just picked out things that looked pretty together.” He flushes pink rubbing at the back of his neck. 

You take the cup again and sniff. It had a hint of springtime in it, warm and sharp. Something earthy mixed with fire. You take a sip. “Hmm, spicy. Is that licorice?” Solomon nods. 

“It is indeed, I read that licorice and black pepper can help with asthma symptoms and circulation. I figured it could wash the  taste of your meds away.” He jokes watching you eat and take small sips of the steaming brew. He smiles to himself, glad you could get so comfortable in his room. Perhaps once you were dozing he could slip back into the library and conveniently “borrow” the book you had to leave earlier.

[girl-of-many-fandoms]

I was wondering if you'd consider doing a Hotch x plus size reader? Totally fine if you're not up for it! I have this idea where the reader is a tech person like Penelope & she's around the same age. On a number of occasions she'll stay later to finish her work and it's only her & Hotch left. So she starts this cute little friendship where she'll make him coffee before she leaves. That turns into a crush, then she begins to avoiding him cuz she's shy, then he confronts her saying her likes her.

Late Nights

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x PLUS!Reader

Warnings: None

WOWWW this is a long one hope you guys enjoy it 🤗💜

MASTERLIST

-----

“You know, working this late should be against the law for single parents” walking in Hotch’s office I shut the door behind me 

“You’re working late again?” he looked up from the file on his desk smiling at me 

“My stupid systems chose today of all days to act up, I had to upgrade the software and all the fun stuff” placing the extra coffee cup on his desk I plopped down in the chair opposite me

“It’s taking a while to get back online but hopefully I’ll be out of here in the next hour or so” 

For the past couple weeks Hotch had been working late nights and I thought that I’d stay back also in case he needed someone to talk too. As a profiler he sees and deals with a lot of gruesome things that would keep a normal person up all night. At first it was innocent, I’d pop in to check in on him to distract him for a bit or make him his coffee when he insists on staying in the office later than usual  but as we grew closer he started opening up more to me. He started talking about the things they saw and did on the case the team had worked on and then we started talking more about Jack and how he’s doing at school, more personal topics

“I know I’m not the most open when it comes to expressing feelings but I just want to say thank you” Aaron took a sip of his coffee before placing the cup down, eyes glued to my frame

“What are you thanking me for?” he smiled and I couldn’t help but swoon a bit. Aaron doesn’t smile much or show us his soft side so it’s nice to see him this relaxed around me

“For being a friend, for working late nights with me and all the coffee” my stomach fluttered as he went on

“The coffee is good” chuckling I brought my cup to my lips and took a sip in order to help hide the blush that heated up my cheeks

“It is, oh I forgot to ask you, Jack has a soccer game this weekend and he insisted that I asked you to be there” he fiddled with his fingers waiting for my reaction

“Of course, I’ll be there”

------

“Of course, I’ll be there. That’s what I told him, oh God what if I’m reading into this too much” 

I’m currently pacing the floor of Penelope’s bat cave as we waited for the coroner’s report to come in. My phone buzzed for the tenth time today, looking down at the screen I sighed letting it go to voicemail

“Hotch again? You know he doesn’t smile nor opens up so easily to anyone besides you, I wouldn’t be surprised if he likes you” Penelope got cut off by the ringing phone on her desk

“Speak and be heard oh mighty one” 

“Garcia I need you to dig deeper into our victims background” Hotch’s voice filled the room and I immediately sat down 

“Sure, anything specific I’m looking for sir?” she started tapping away at her keyboard doing exactly what he said

“We need to find the connection between all three of them”

“Okay sir, I’ll call you back when I have something” 

“Penelope wait, don’t hang up” she paused with her finger over the end button looking over at me

“Is Y/N with you?” I frantically motioned for her to say no and thankfully she caught on 

“No sir, want me to pass on a message?”

“No, no, uh thanks Garcia” he sounded so defeated and that only made me feel even more guilty. For the past three days I’ve been avoiding Aaron for as much as I could ever since the night in his office, I realized that I was setting myself up for heartbreak. The call ended and she glared at me

“You are hurting that man”

“I know and I feel terrible but I need to put some distance between the both of us”

“He’s in Nevada with the team right now how much more distance do you want?” she deadpanned looking me in the eyes 

“It’s complicated alright”

“It really isn’t” she turned back to her set and started working on the case ending our conversation 

-----

“Welcome back my heroes!”

Garcia held a box of cupcakes up welcoming the team back as they stepped off the elevator. I stood a few feet behind her smiling at them as they grabbed a cake and filled into the bullpen. I was about to follow behind them when a hand held on to my wrist keeping me in place

“Is everything alright?”

Aaron

“Yeah, everything’s fine, why would they be?” I started rambling removing my hand from his hold, avoiding his gaze 

“You say that but I don’t believe you, let’s talk in my office” he opened the door for me and we headed straight to his office. I saw Penelope shoot me a small smile before I entered the room. I took a seat on the sofa as he moved to his desk.

Aaron dropped his go bag on his desk and removed his jacket before joining me on the sofa. He stared into my eyes trying to get a sense of what’s going on, profiling me 

“Is there a reason why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“I haven’t been avoiding you sir” I couldn’t help but pick at my fingernails as nervousness washed over me

“Sir? Y/N, it’s just the two of us and yes, you haven’t even returned any of my calls or texts” I wrecked my brain trying to come up with an excuse but I couldn’t

“I know that there isn’t any other way to say this but, the other night when we were in here I had to tell you something but I didn’t know how you were going to take it, I still don’t-” he rambled scratching the back of his neck

“Aaron” placing my hand on his knee I cut him off, he took my small hand in his gently brushing the back of my hand using his thumb

“I like you” he blurted and I froze, my heartrate sped up the longer we sat here staring at each other

Say something idiot!

“Why me?”

Dear God, you should’ve stayed quiet

“What do you mean why you?”

“I’m not your type Aaron”

“What’s my type then?”

“Someone like Emily, brave, courageous, can actually shoot to save herself, skinny, gorgeous” I mumbled the last two hoping he didn’t hear them but he did

“You don’t have to be skinny to be gorgeous and besides, you are perfect, you’re funny, sweet, caring, determined, charismatic, I could go on” he smiled giving my hand a gentle squeeze as we held each other’s gaze

“Most importantly, you make me feel safe” my breathing hitched as we sat here, neither one of us wanting to break the moment 

“I like you too Aaron” 

------

The referee blew the whistle ending the soccer match and Jack jumped with glee with his team as they were the winners. I cheered and clapped happy for the little boy who scored one of the winning goals as he ran directly to his father. Smiling I made my way over to the Hotchner boys and Jack broke free from Aaron’s arms and rushed over to me

“Good job buddy, you did so great!” wrapping my arms around the child I kissed the top of his head 

“Did you see me score?” he pulled back enough to look up at me and I cupped his flushed cheeks in my palms

“I did and that was an excellent bicycle kick”

“Jack!” one of his teammates called him over for a group photo and he ran off. A pair of arms snaked around my waist pulling me flush against the owner, Aaron

“You did great with them” spinning around I wrapped my arms around his middle 

“I did the best I could with a group of ten year olds” 

“Thanks for coming it means a lot to me and I know it does to him too”

“No need to thank me, I had a good time listening to chatty Cathy to your left go on about how hot you look in those shorts” he laughed pulling me in closer to him

“Join us for dinner tonight, it’s been a while since he’s seen you and it’ll be good to have you around more”

“Sounds like a plan” pushing myself upwards I kissed him and he immediately responded. I swear I was about to explode from the electricity that flowed through my body from having his lips on mine

We were so wrapped up in our moment that we had forgotten about the crowd of people that surrounded us until they started wolf whistling and cheering us on. Breaking apart my face became heated from the blush that overtook my cheeks. Aaron looked down at me with a boyish grin clearly enjoying the moment

“How’s that for our first kiss?” 

“Not quite what I was expecting”

“C’mon let’s head back to my place” taking my hand in his he called out to his son and we headed to his car. The both of them quickly fell into conversation and I must admit, seeing Hotch domesticated has got to be the hottest thing ever 

The bond that these two have is very special and I can’t wait to share more moments like this with them

------

HEY GUYS PSA!! If any of you lovely readers would love to tagged in my fics let me know and I’ll gladly add you to the list ❤️

Tag list:

@calm-and-doctor

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love and Medicine ~ 7

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 4,400ish

Summary: Clint has feelings. You try not to cause too much drama at work.

You immediately began avoiding Steve after Gamora caught you two in the car. You need not need her, or anyone else, thinking that you were sleeping with him to get ahead. Having no desire to get ready for work, you laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, as your alarm buzzed.

Outside in the hall, Clint was nervously walked towards your door with two cups of coffee.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just ask her out?” Valkyrie suddenly asked, popping out of her room.

“Ah!” Clint jumped, slipping the coffees on him. “Val!”

“She’s right, ya know?” Scott added, stepping out of his room. “Just ask her out. It’s not like it will be awkward when she tells you no.”

“I hate you both,” Clint grumbled. He leaned into your door, able to hear to slam on the snooze button for the third time. “She’s gonna be late.”

“Maybe not.”

“We should wait for her.”

“Definitely not,” Val shook her head. “I’m not her mother, and you are not her boyfriend.”

“Not yet, anyway,” Scott added.

“Stop, both of you, okay?” Clint said, frustrated. “I told you I’m not interested.”

“Life is short, Clint,” Val said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Do you really want to die before you ever ask her out?”

“I do not want to ask her out.”

“Do you really want to die a liar?” Scott said.

“I’m not… I’m not dying.”

~~~

From the parking garage, you rushed towards the building. Late for work. As you wait for the elevator, you see Steve coming toward you.

“Crap,” you mutter.

“Crap?” Steve repeated, having heard you.

“Hi. I’m late.”

“Hi, late. You’re avoiding me.”

“You’re right. But I can’t do this right now. I’m late.” You hurried towards the stairs, only for him to follow you.

“Okay, but are we going to talk about this?”

“No.” You marched up the stairs.

“About us and Gamora and what she saw?”

“I don’t need to talk about it. I experienced it. Naked.”

“This is getting complicated.”

“Complicated for me. Not necessarily for you. I’m the intern sleeping with the attending. Gamora isn’t even speaking to me anymore!”

“Not that, that’s a bad thing. If I was a better guy, I’d walk away.”

“Yes, you would.”

“Do you want me to be a better guy.”

“Yes. Now,” you reached the level of the locker rooms, “I’m late. Please leave me alone and get to my job.” You opened the door. Steve caught it, keeping it open as you walked away.

“Take your time! Think about it!”

“Think about what?” Tony asked, walking over to Steve. He looked to where Steve was looking, watching her rush down the all. “Ooohhh… I get it now. Well, at least she’s talking to you.”

“The date go bad with Pepper?” 

“It didn’t go at all. I was pulled into a surgery and completely forgot about it.”

“Yikes.”

“I think I’ve blown it.”

“Me too, Stark. Me too.”

~~~

“That was definitely worth being late,” Natasha sighed as she put on her pants.

“Thanks,” Bruce smiled shyly, doing the same. “Is this a… should we talk about this?”

“Yeah,” Natasha slipped her shirt on, “definitely. Just, I’m late.”

She rushed out of the on-call room and straight to the locker room, where you were getting ready.

“You’re late,” you stated.

“So are you,” Natasha responded.

“I know, and I can’t afford to piss off Gamora any more. Do you think she told anyone?”

“About you and Captain McDreamy?”

“Yeah.”

“No, he’s her boss too.”

“If they find out, what can they… Can they kick me out? Or—“

“No…. Well, I don’t think officially. You'll just get edged out, blacklisted, banned from his surgeries, passed over for chief resident. It’ll be humiliating, but you’ll live.”

“I have to end it. I definitely have to end it… I have to end it, right?”

“Y/N, shut up.” Nat headed out of the locker room.

“What?” You chased after her. “Did you seriously just tell me to shut up?”

“Oh, please. You got a hot doctor who like to make you open up, and say "ahh." It's the American dream, stop whining about it.”

“No. No good can come from sleeping with your boss.” You two arrived in front of Gamora.

“Natasha, you’re late,” Gamora stated, unhappy.

“So is Y/N,” Natasha replied, pointing at you.

“When we walk in this door, you will maintain decorum,” Gamora continued, ignoring Nat and you. “You will not laugh, vomit, or drop your jaw. Are we understood?” She walked to a door.

“Why would we laugh?” Val asked quietly.

“Oh, just you wait,” Peter replied.

The interns followed Gamora into a patient room. On the bed, there was a heavier woman with an extremely large tumor bulging out fo her side.

“Good morning, Miss Anderson,” Gamora greeted.

“Good Morning,” Miss Anderson, the patient, replied.

“What is it?” Scott whispered.

“Tumor,” Nat responded.

“Good morning, Millie,” Peter smiled, walking around to the other side of the patient’s bed. “How are you? This is Dr. Gamora and some of my fellow interns.”

“Dr. Quill, we refer to patients as ‘mister’ and—“ Gamora began to reprimand.

“I old him to call me Millie,” the patient interrupted. “Miss Anderson makes me feel old and fat, which I am, but why have to feel that way?”

“Good morning,” Dr. Banner greeted upon entering, eyes lingering on Natasha a beat too long.

“Millie, this is Dr. Banner,” Peter stated. 

“Dr. Quill, give us the run down.”

“Millie Anderson is a 43-year-old woman who presented last night with progressive shortness of breath fo the past three months. Found to have a very large tumor of unknown origin pressed against her diaphragm. Stable vital signs. Scheduled for CT this morning, sir.”

“Thank you, Dr. Quill.” Banner turned to Millie. “Are you at all claustrophobic?”

“I’ve been housebound for the last year,” Millie replied. “How claustrophobic could I be?”

“Alright then. Dr. Valkyrie is going to take you up for a CT. It’ll give us a better look at the tumor, and we’ll know how to proceed.”

“Could someone tell my dad? He’ll worry if he gets back and I’m not here.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“And would it be possible for Peter to take me instead? I mean, he… he’s just so fun to look at.”

“Millie,” Peter laughed, clearly trying to gain favor.

“Sure,” Banner said. “Sure, Miss Anderson. Excuse me.”

Dr. Banner left the room, with Dr. Gamora and the interns following.

“How much do you think it weighs?” Scott asked.

“60 pounds,” Clint answered.

“More,” Val said. “She’s carrying a whole extra person.”

“This one’s going in the books,” Natasha said. “I’ve got to get in.”

“I almost did,” Val glared at Peter.

“I was on call last night when she came in,” Peter said. “I’m never leaving this place again.”

“Let’s move, people,” Gamora said. “Miss Anderson’ surgery, should we choose to proceed, will take most, if not all, of the surgeons off the floor. Which means you people will have to work extra hard not to kill anyone, cause we won’t be there to fix your mistakes.”

You and the others listened to Gamora’s orders while Natasha slipped away to talk to Bruce.

“I really want in on this,” she whispered to him.

“I thought we weren’t talking,” Bruce replied, eyebrow up.

“I’m not talking. I’m just saying.”

Bruce sighed. “Find her father, get a family history, and I’ll tell Gamora.”

~~~

“I know you both think I like Y/N,” Clint stated as him, Scott, and Val walked up the stairs. “But I don’t like Y/N.”

“What?” Val questioned.

“No. I like Y/N. Obviously, I like her. She’s my roommate. I just… I don’t have a thing for her.” Scott and Val shared a look.

“Okay,” Scott said.

“It’s just this morning… I know you two were probably just teasing. But I don’t want you to say anything like that to her. Because, you know, we live together and that’d be awkward.”

“Clint, stop talking,” Val ordered.

“Okay, then… It’s just—“

“Seriously, dude,” Scott stopped in front of Clint. “You’re making this all worse. Just stop.” Scott peered behind Clint where you were making your way towards them. “Or you could just be honest with yourself and us and ask her out now.” Clint looked back to see you almost there.

“What are you guys standing here for?” You asked. “We’re going to be late meeting Gamora.” 

You and Val continued on your way with Scott watching Clint watch you.

“Liar,” Scott muttered, shaking his head.

The two guys caught up with you and Val. The four of you met up with Gamora in another patient room. Inside the room, a man is trying to walk but was having difficulty. Steve was also in there and a younger woman.

“Morning,” Gamora greeted.

“Mr. Jones, this is Dr. Gamora and her fine staff of surgical interns,” Steve introduced. Steve, yourself, and Gamora all exchanged glances.

“Welcome to hell, kids,” Mr. Jones stated.

“Who’s presenting?” Gamora asked.

“Edward Jones,” Clint stated, “is a 63-year-old man admitted for pain management for Dyskinesia. He's been stable since last night, and responding to the bolus injections.”

“Val, possible treatments?”

“For Parkinson’s disease?” Val questioned. “Um, deep brain stimulation has shown—“

“Not for Parkinson’s,” Steve clarified, “for spinal pain.”

“Oh, um…”

“Instraspinal catheter,” you stated. “That way, he can have constant pain medication.”

“Excellent,” Steve smiled. “This is Dr. L/N. She’s gonna prep you for the procedure and assist.” His pager beeped, causing him to look down. “Excuse me.” He left.

“You make yourselves busy,” Gamora said, following Steve out. “I’ll catch up with you.”

She followed Steve to the elevator. Where they end up alone.

“Gamora,” Steve greeted.

“Excuse me?” She responded.

“Well, that’s your name, right? It’s on your jacket.” She wasn’t impressed. “Alright, fine. Dr. Gamora then.”

“You think you're charming in that talented, neurotic, overly moussed hair sort of way, good for you. But if you think I'm going to stand back and watch while you favor her—“

“I don’t favor her. She’s good.”

“I’m sure she is.”

“You know, can I point out that, technically, I'm your boss?”

“You don't scare me. Look, I'm not going to advertise your extracurricular activities with my intern. However, the next time I see you favoring Y/N L/N in any way, I'll make sure she doesn't see the inside of on OR for a month. Just for the sake of balance.” 

~~~

“Okay, Mr. Jones,” you said with a smile. “We're going to get you more comfortable, okay? I'm going to go downstairs and I'll be back up shortly.”

“Okay,” Mr. Jones responded.

“Okay.”

You left, with the younger woman from the room following you out.

“Excuse me,” the younger woman called out, causing you to turn your attention to her. “I’m sorry, doctor…”

“L/N,” you smiled.

“Dr. L/N. I’m Lucy, his daughter. My dad seems to like you. He’s always liked your type. Is that rude? I’m sorry. I’m so tired.”

“Is there something—“

“I was wondering if you would talk to him.”

“About?”

“Brain surgery. The doctor mentioned it, and I've read about it online. If it worked, it could help with most of his symptoms, not just his pain.”

“Is he a candidate? I don’t—“

“He is, but he's afraid of it. Surgery on his back, he can understand, but his brain...And there are risks. But his quality of life…”

“There isn’t any.”

“And, it keeps getting worse. I'm getting married next month. I already lost my mom. And I want him to walk...I want him with me. Maybe that's selfish, but...you don't know what it's like having a parent...Watching him…”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks.”

You immediately left in search of Steve. You watched outside a room where he was talking to Gamora and Banner about Miss Anderson.

“Dr. Rogers,” you called as he walked out. “Mr. Jones, the Parkinson's patient, is he a good candidate for DBS?”

“Yes,” he replied, “but he’s not interested.”

“Okay, but I think it's worth talking to him again, pushing him.”

“We're talking about a brain surgery that is performed while the patient is wide awake, a risk of paralysis, a risk of death. And, the patient doesn't want it. It is not my job to push him into anything and it's definitely not yours.”

“Okay.”

“And since you’re clearly uncomfortable with my decision in this case, it's probably best you don't scrub in.”

“But—“

“It’s a minor procedure. You won’t be missed.” This took you by surprise. “I’m good here, Dr. L/N.” With your mind reeling, you walked away. Steve turned to Gamora, who had been watching. “You know that you’re a bully, right?”

“So I’ve heard,” Gamora replied.

~~~

You and Val were sitting in a corner of the cafeteria, eating lunch.

“It's just that he blatantly favors me in front of her and then blatantly dismisses me,” you complained to her.

“How do you know he was favoring you?” She asked, which you didn’t answer. “Look, you've got a brain. You got into this program. Just because Rogers wants to munch your cookies doesn't mean you didn't deserve what you worked for.”

“But he’s making me look bad. I have to end it.”

“Right.”

“It’s over.”

“Sure.”

“Is it true you get to scrub in on that tumor?” Peter asked Natasha, appearing out of nowhere with Val. They both sat down at your table.

“Don’t sit here.”

“You get to scrub in?” Val repeated. “How psyched are you?”

“On a scale of one to ecstatic, ecstatic.”

“It’s unbelievable,” Peter complained. “You know what I think? I think Banner wants to get into your scrubs.”

“Why are you sitting here?”

“He kicked me off that surgery for the same crap most of you pull every day.”

“You know what.” Natasha held up her fork. “If I stuck this fork into his thigh, would I get in trouble?”

“Not if you make it look like an accident,” you answered.

“Hey!” Clint greeted, coming up with Scott.

“Thank goodness,” Peter exclaimed. “I’m drowning in estrogen here.”

Clint sat down next to you, studying you. “You look… is everything okay?” He asked you.

“Rogers is a jackass,” you muttered.

“Really?” Val questioned. “I think he’s kind of great.”

“He reamed her out in front of Gamora,” Natasha said.

“Why?”

“Cause he’s a jackass,” you repeated.

“Well, bad days are… bad,” Clint said. “Maybe tonight, uh, if, you know, if you drink alcohol, I mean… we could, all of us, I mean, go out and rink alcohol… because of the bad day.”

Your pager beeped. “I’ve got to go.” And you left.

“Dude,” Peter laughed at Clint once you were gone.

Clint groaned and rested his head on the table. Scott panted his shoulder while the others laughed.

~~~

Steve had called you to Mr. Jones room. You stood near the door, watching.

“How’s your back?” Steve asked Mr. Jones as he checked him over.

“Still good,” the patient responded.

“Good.” Steve turned to Mr. Jones daughter. “How are you? Good?” She nodded as he turned his attention back to her father. “Can you lean forward for me? I just want to check something. Does that feel okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Right here?” Steve pressed along Mr. Jones’ back. The man grunts slightly and Steve looked up, finally noticing you. “Mr. Jones,” Steve took his hands off the man, “have you given any more thought about the other surgical options we discussed this morning?”

“What? Why would I? I already told you no. I'm letting you cut into my back, but that's not enough for you. All you guys ever want to do is cut.”

“Dad,” his daughter scolded, “just listen to what he has to say.”

“I already listened.”

“Sir, there’s a very small window of opportunity here,” Steve stated. “You know, once the Parkinson's progresses to a point of dementia, there's, you know, you're no longer a candidate for DBS.”

“And when I'm no longer a candidate, is that when you people will leave me the hell alone! What? Do I have to start drooling, and forget my name to get a little peace and quiet?”

“Alright,” Steve nodded. “I’ll check back with you later. Try to get some rest.” Steve left while you lingered a bit longer, just more in the hallway.

“Dad, you’re being unreasonable,” the daughter said. “The doctors are only trying to help you.”

“It’s my damn life, and it’s my damn brain,” Mr. Jones stated. “You want me to let them cut up my brain while I'm lying there awake, for what?”

“Dad!”

“I'll be at your wedding. I will sit in the back. Your uncle will walk you down the aisle. I know it's not perfect, but it's life. Life is messy sometimes.”

“I know that.” The daughter walked out and Mr. Jones looked at you.

“If she knows, then what the hell are we still talking for, huh? Why in the hell can’t she drop it?”

“It is your life,” you said, stepping further into the room. “But it’s her life too. And you have a chance to get better here. And all she's asking you to do is try.”

~~~

Mr. Jones agreed to the DBS. But you needed to hurry and find Steve, before the man changed his mind. You found him scrubbing in for Miss Anderson’s surgery with Banner and Gamora.

“Dr. Rogers,” you called.

“Yes?” He responded, looking over with his red, white, and blue scrub cap on and a mask.

“Mr. Jones has agreed to DBS. Only if we do it today. If he leaves, he won’t come back.”

“Don’t worry, Steve,” Bruce said. “It’ll take hours before we get around to the spine. I’ll page you.”

“Alright, then,” Steve said, shaking off his wet hands. “Let’s do it.”

Steve walked out of the scrub room while Bruce walked into the OR, leaving you and Gamora alone.

“Dr. Gamora. I didn’t know… I din’t know that he was my boss, when I met him,” you said. “I really didn’t know.”

“I don’t care,” she responded.

“Really? Oh, well, you sort of seemed to not be talking to me, so I—“

“You see this, what's happening right here? This is the problem with you sleeping with my boss. Not whether or not you know him before, but how it affects my day. And me standing here talking to you about your sex life affects my day. And the longer this little fling goes on, the more favors you get over the others, who are fighting tooth and nail just to make it through this program without any assistance. When those people start finding out what's going on and they don't want to work with you and talk to you or look at you, and they start bitching and moaning at me, the more it affects my day. So, no, Dr. L/N, I don't care what you know, or when you know it. Are we understood?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

~~~

“Neuro sponge,” a male nurse said, handing a sponge to Steve.

“How you doing, Mr. Jones?” Steve asked.

“Alright,” Mr. Jones responded.

“Drill bit’s charged,” the nurse announced.

“Where’s the girl doctor?”

“I’m right here,” you responded, stepping closer. “Can’t you see me?”

“I’m shaky, not blind. Anything goes wrong here, I’m blaming you.”

“Okay, in that case, I'll stay where you can see me. Now we just have to drill a hole and try to find the spot that controls the motor function.”

“You can't see my brain from there. Aren't you supposed to be learning something?”

“I’m good,” you grabbed onto his hand, “right here.”

“EEG waves look good,” the nurse stated.

“Okay, Mr. Jones. Just take a couple of deep breaths,” Steve told him. “Focus on the pretty girl. Okay, this is going to sound really scary, but try and relax. You shouldn't feel a thing.”

Then Steve began to drill into Mr. Jones’ head. After a few hours, Steve asked you to have Mr. Jones try and mimic you.

“Just keep trying, Mr. Jones,” you encouraged. “Mimic my motions. You can do it.”

“Oh, damn it!” His body was too shaky to mimic the motions.

“Take a breath and try again. The probe is almost in. You’ll know when we find the right spot.” Mr. Jones tries again, to find that he stopped shaking and was able to mimic you. “Well, how about that?” You smiled, though it was covered with a mask.

“There it is,” Steve said.

~~~

After the surgery, you and Steve brought Mr. Jones back to his room and met back in the hallway.

“I know you’re probably asking yourself why I took you off the surgery,” Steve said. “Gamora was on the warpath. I was trying to protect you.”

“You trying to protect me is why she's on the warpath,” you replied, the both of you heading down the hall. “You can't do me favors. You can't ask me to scrub in when I haven't earned it.”

“Okay, okay.”

“And you can't treat me like crap when I haven't earned that either.”

“Okay.”

“I can take care of myself. I got myself into this mess, and I’ll—“

“And you'll get yourself out?”

“I don’t… I don’t know that yet.” Steve’s pager went off as you arrived at the staircase. “Don’t let me keep you.”

“You did great work here today.” He smiled at you then headed off.

“Dr. Rogers,” you called after him.

“Yeah?” He turned around to face you.

“Sorry I called you a jackass.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did. Twice.”

Steve chuckled and continued on his way. Tony had heard and seen the exchange from behind. He came up beside you.

“You both are love sick idiots,” he said.

“And you aren’t?” You responded. 

“Yes. But I blew it.”

“Dr. Potts will give you another chance.”

“How do you know? Did she tell you that?”

“No. I just know from experience.”

~~~

You decided to go to the OR gallery and watch Miss Anderson’s surgery. Peter was up there watching as well.

“Wow, it’s unbelievable,” you said, looking at the mess down below.

“Right,” Peter agreed.

“How did she live like that?”

“Watch what you say. You never know who's listening.” He looks down below, then laughed. “Look at Scottie. He looks like he's about to fall in.”

“Are you really as shallow and callous as you seem?”

“Oh, you want to go out for a drink later and hear about my secret pain?”

“Does that line ever work for you?”

“Sometimes.”

“Oh. Must be because you look like that.”

“Like what?” You laughed at him. “So is that a yes?”

“No. I can't. I’m… seeing someone.”

“Look, if you don't want to go out with me, just say so. No need to lie.”

“Oh, okay. Well, I don't want to go out with you. But I think I really might be seeing someone.”

Suddenly, Val entered the OR below. And you could hear everything that was happening.

“Mr. Collins, the post-op heart patient in 2114. I had to open his sternotomy bedside,” Val stated, almost panicked.

“You what?” / “What?” 

Peter quickly left the gallery and you stood up to watch from the glass.

“He had cardiac tamponade. His chest films were clean this morning,” Val explained. “It just... It happened fast. He was in PEA. There was no time.”

“Go ahead,” Steve told Bruce. “I got it. We’re okay here.”

“Okay.” Bruce hurried out with Val.

“I need some retraction. Pull back on the retractor. And someone page Hill to help… Never a dull moment here at the medical center.” A blood vessel burst, suddenly, squirting blood all over Steve and Gamora. “Oh!”

“Oh!” Gamora exclaimed.

“Get right in there!”

“She can’t afford to lose this much blood. We need more blood.”

“Get me some suction here. I can't see what I'm doing. Clamp, clamp, clamp, please. Is there any blood in the rapid infuser?”

“We’re waiting on two units,” the female nurse stated.

“What do you mean, waiting?”

“Well, we didn’t anticipate this much blood loss,” Gamora replied.

“They’re on their way,” the nurse said.

“We prepped a double supply. We’ve used it all.”

“What did you cut?” Steve asked.

“Nothing. It just blew. She came in with too much damage. The artery walls are too weak. Ten units of o-negative.”

“I cannot see. Lang, give me your hand. Push right down here. Pull it towards you. Suction! Suction!”

“The pressure’s dropping,” a nurse stated.

“She needs blood. Where the hell is the blood?! Somebody grab that. Push it back, Lang. Come on.” Everyone is breathless as they move Miss Anderson more onto the table. “Oh, God. Just squeeze it off right there. Here we go… Some suction, please, in here, now. Come on. We're losing her now. Look at this. Look at this. Come on!” He started CPR, with the flatline of the machine going. "Oh, come on! Come on!” He continued with the CPR. "Come on!” After a few more times, Steve breathlessly stopped CPR. “Time of death is 11:42.”

~~~

Natasha found her way to an on call room after Miss Anderson’s surgery. She was stretching when Bruce entered.

“I'm not doing you any more favors,” he stated. “This was it.”

Natasha scoffed. “I've been holding up 50 pounds of tumor for the past 12 hours. My back's going to need traction, and the patient died anyways. And you think you did me a favor?”

“Look, I'm just… What is this… that we're doing here? What is it?”

“You need a definition? You really want to be that guy?”

He watched as she continued to stretch, then he locked the door.

~~~

You waited in the parking garage for Steve to leave the hospital. He walked up to you.

“I, um, know this place where they’re an amazing view of the sunrise and ferryboats,” you told him, pulling out some beers from your bag.

“I have a thing for ferry boats,” he smirked.

“I remember.”

He took a hold of your hand, leading you to his car.

next chapter >

NOTES: from now on the taglist when be added by a reblog. I will reblog it using my second account, @just-dreaming-marvel-2​​​. Just so that my main page doesn’t get too cluttered.

If you want to be added to the tag list, please dm me or send in an ask.

[crispychrissy]

Connected - Part 4

Summary: Dr. Austin's theory is put to the test, and she shows Tony, Bucky, and Steve the woman behind the mystery. Pairing: Eventual Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 2976 Warnings: Angst, medical stuff, stretching the medical science behind the super soldier serum, discussion of Bucky's previous trauma & a mention of the horrible things the Nazi's did A/N: I apologize for the late posting, I fell asleep so hard last night I didn't have a chance to queue this, and then I was out all day (good 14 hours out and about) so I am just now able to post the new chapter since I'm home now. As I mentioned in a prior post, I no longer have a forever taglist, but I will still tag series specific people if they request. You can also follow this story & others on my Ao3 as well. The series was beta’d by the lovely @idjitmonkey and I hope you enjoy! Please send me an ask if you would like to be tagged in the series. :)

Series Masterlist – Marvel Masterlist

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

Bucky made a quick call to Shuri who, after a thorough interrogation as to why he was asking, assured him his arm would not be affected by the magnets of an MRI machine. So now, Bucky was laying down on his back inside the machine and staring at the small glass covered camera embedded in the inside curve of the plastic above him.

“Stop staring at the camera, Barnes, you’re giving off some crazy resting murder face right now,” Tony’s staticky voice came through the pair of disposable earbuds he was wearing to protect his hearing from the noise of the scan. “Might sell these scans to Ripley’s Believe It or Not. You actually do have something going on in that head of yours.”

“As much as I know you want to answer, Sergeant Barnes, please do not speak or move,” Dr. Austin’s voice came through after what sounded like a small scuffle for the microphone.

Bucky blinked several times in an unnatural yet controlled fashion, and when he heard Steve’s laughter coming through the earbuds, he had to fight the urge to smile, knowing Steve got the message he blinked out in Morse code.

F-U-C-K Y-O-U T-O-N-Y

The scan was over almost a half an hour later, and Bucky couldn’t hide his exhale of relief once the table began to slide out of the massive scanner. Confined spaces still made his skin crawl and flash back to the cryo tube he was kept in, but the MRI was surprisingly open in design and not like the ones he usually remembered seeing in hospitals. When he brought it up to Dr. Austin on their way back to her office, she smiled at him and explained most of the soldiers they treat have PTSD and claustrophobia, so an open MRI design was necessary for the comfort of the patients she treats.

It made sense, and when they entered her office and Bucky’s stomach growled for the fourth time in the last fifteen minutes, she tossed him the orange he’d been eyeing earlier before taking a seat at her desk and flipping open her laptop.

“Normally we have to wait for the images to be reviewed by a radiologist, but I’m well versed in how to read brain scans,” Dr. Austin explained, clicking a few times before leaning forward to study the screen. “Oh, wow.”

“What?” Bucky asked, using his teeth to bite a chunk of the orange’s peel off since his right hand didn't have nails long enough, and his left didn’t have nails at all. Once he could see the flesh of the orange underneath, he slid his flesh finger under the remaining peel and began to remove it in large pieces, trying to avoid getting sticky juice on his metal hand.

Dr. Austin spun her laptop around to show Bucky the image on her screen. It was a scan of his head, he could tell that, but the mess of swirling bright colors on the inside where his brain was made his eyes hurt. There were bright greens and blues swirled with more vibrant reds and pinks dancing around inside the image. “This is your brain.”

“Looks more like those posters… the ‘this is your brain on drugs’ pictures if they were made in the sixties, Doc,” Tony said. “I’m guessing it’s not supposed to look like that?”

“No. There’s so much brain activity that it’s likely what’s been burning through your energy and why you’ve been hungry all the time,” Dr. Austin explained. “Any type of brain activity, including emotions and problem solving, requires energy, whether it’s planning a complex strategy of attack for a mission or a simple math problem or crying at a sad part in a movie. Overworking the mind usually leads to tiredness, which leads to sleep, naturally refreshing those energy reserves. Most humans don’t expend enough energy, even when the brain is very active, to require major replenishment. Take Mr. Stark for example.”

Tony looked up and raised his eyebrows. “Me?”

“Yes, you’re a very intelligent man, and I’m guessing that when you’re elbow deep in your inventions or developing something, you don’t sleep and will go days without rest… so you find you get somewhat hungry at random times, right?” Dr. Austin asked.

“Well, yeah, I usually keep snacks around the lab that I nibble on so I don’t have to leave to make an actual meal. It ruins the momentum,” Tony said, confusion in his voice. “Pep’s found me passed out over the kitchen counter halfway through making a sandwich.

“Your body shut down and went to sleep before you were even able to replenish that energy via food since sleep is more efficient. So, that is a normal human mind.” Tony opened his mouth to protest, when Dr. Austin rolled her eyes and switched analogies. “Fine, that’s a standard engine, if you will, that can easily be refueled by a small energy source for a limited amount of time before it needs to be shut down and rebooted,” Dr. Austin said, slowly twirling her right pointer finger in a circle.

“Alright, I’m following you so far.” Tony’s head was slightly moving along with the circular rotation of her finger.

“Now, in the case of our super soldiers here, imagine that engine, but amplified almost five hundred percent,” Dr. Austin began to rotate her finger faster and faster until it was a blur of movement. “The need for sleep is suppressed by the serum, since alertness is crucial in combat, so that reboot requirement is easier to put off. In order to keep this kind of engine going at the same speed and level of activity for prolonged periods, it would burn through a small snack, or a small source of energy, too quickly and would signal the driver of the car, if you will, that it needed more.”

“So you’re saying that something is making Bucky’s brain so active, and he’s burning through so much energy, that it’s manifesting as hunger to make sure he keeps up with what’s being expended?” Steve asked, his mouth slightly open in shock. “I mean, I always remember being hungry after mission strategy and planning meetings, but I just assumed it was because I was bored or had skipped a meal.”

Dr. Austin shook her head. “Nope. You were using your brain in overdrive, doing quick calculations and mission scenarios in your head to find the best possible plan of action, much faster than any normal human brain would be able to calculate. It makes you an excellent strategist, but that kind of brain power burns a lot of energy.”

Bucky snorted in disbelief and leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees. “It makes sense. I was a good sniper when I was first in the Army during the war, but after Zola… after he injected me with that bastardized version of the serum… I could calculate trajectory angles and wind velocities and distances in my head in seconds, didn’t have to write them out to do the calculations. Didn’t even need a spotter anymore.”

Dr. Austin nodded. “Exactly. The serum allowed you extra mental acuity at the expense of more energy consumption.”

“But that doesn’t explain why Bucky’s brain is lit up like a psychedelic Christmas tree,” Tony said, gesturing to the laptop image. “Barnes obviously isn’t doing any kind of advanced calculus in his head right now.” Tony looked at Bucky. “You’re not right?” Bucky shook his head and Tony continued, “so why is his brain so active?”

“And that leads me to my theory about Y/N,” Dr. Austin said, standing up from her chair. “Follow me, gentlemen. And Sergeant Barnes,” he looked over and raised a brow as he trailed after her into the hallway, “please let me know if you feel any increased feelings of hunger or exhaustion. The effects might come on quickly, so please let me know if, or when, you feel anything.”

Bucky nodded, and looked over to where Steve was walking to his right. Thanks to their childhood friendship, Steve could always see anxiety and nervousness in Bucky even when he tried to hide it, like when he saw Bucky off the morning he shipped off to Europe. Bucky kept his face stoic, but when Steve hugged him goodbye, Bucky was practically trembling under the Army-hardened mask he had worn then.

Steve reached over and clasped a comforting hand on Bucky’s shoulder, giving him a squeeze of reassurance.

The doctor led them down several hallways, until they reached another wing of the military hospital which held secure patient rooms that could be locked down if necessary, whether due to outbursts of violence due to psychological issues from recovering soldiers or to hold prisoners who had been injured and needed medical intervention. Dr. Austin stopped in front of a room at the end of the hallway and gestured to the one-way mirror in front of her.

“Gentlemen, meet Y/N Y/L/N.”

The three men stepped closer and looked into the room, all eyes frozen on the figure sitting upright in the hospital bed. Y/N had shoved herself in the farthest possible corner of the bed, her knees tucked under her chin and arms wrapped around her legs. The photo in her file, and even the video of her they’d seen looked nothing like the woman before them. She looked almost emaciated, her skin a sickly pale that was almost translucent, and her stringy grease matted hair twitched slightly as her body trembled.

“Jesus,” Steve breathed. “She… she looks like those prisoners… the ones—”

Bucky swallowed and nodded. “From Natzweiler, yeah, I remember.” Bucky took a deep breath, fighting against the telltale tingle in his mind of a long since forgotten memory beginning to rise up like a wave. “Doc… is she eating?”

“She was when she first got here, but only if the food was left for her after she passed out from exhaustion,” Dr. Austin explained. “Now, ever since things have escalated, she rips out her IV’s, pulls out NG tubes, and refuses any food we bring her. I’m not going to sedate her just because it’ll make it easier to feed her, we haven’t reached that level of intervention yet, but we’re getting close. She told one of our staff yesterday, in Russian, that she was not going to eat any of our poisoned food, that she wasn’t some kind of lab experiment and that we were animals for not just shooting her in the head to get it over with.”

All of the air in Bucky’s lungs came out in one hard breath like he’d been punched in the chest, and he had to brace himself against the windowsill to keep his knees from buckling. “Fuck.”

“Bucky?” Steve gasped at Bucky’s sudden weakness, grabbing onto his friend’s arm and placing a gentle hand on his back. ”What? Are you feeling the stuff Dr. Austin mentioned?”

Bucky grit his teeth and closed his eyes at the onslaught of memory fragments bombarding him. “No, I’m… I don’t know, maybe? I just… she’s…” Bucky’s thoughts were so jumbled he could barely form a coherent sentence, even in his head. He made a choked off noise that sounded more like a sob before he lifted his head to look at Y/N. “She’s reliving my captivity with Hydra. This… this was after I was transferred from the facility the Russians held me in after they found me to the one where Zola did his experiments. They were, umm, they were testing the limits of the serum, trying to figure out what I could survive.”

Steve’s face dropped and he took a sharp breath in. Bucky’s captivity and torture was not something he talked about often outside his therapy sessions. Steve only knew a handful of stories, ones that had come directly from Bucky’s mouth, and even then they were very hard stories for him to tell—lots of starting and stopping, frequent breaks, and plenty of tears. But here, with two extra people with him, and one being a stranger?

“Buck, you don’t have to talk about it,” Steve whispered.

“No, I need… she said exactly what I said to the guards who brought me food one day.” Bucky swallowed hard, flexing his fingers against the painted metal of the windowsill, the cold against his flesh hand grounding him. “They were testing different poisons and how the serum would fight it off… arsenic, ricin, even different kinds of snake and spider venom. I had seizures, strokes, and my heart stopped so many times I lost count.”

“Fucking hell,” Tony murmured, leaning against the wall behind them, his face a few shades paler than it was ten minutes ago. “Y/N is reliving your memories, reliving your life.”

“We need to find a way to pull her out of this,” Bucky said, straightening up with determination even though his bones felt like liquid and his mind was full of numbing static. If Y/N was reliving his life, even if it didn’t seem like the moments were in order, he knew it was only a matter of time until she would experience how the Winter Soldier was born, how he was forged, and he wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

Dr. Austin nodded and looked back at her patient through the glass. “If my theory is correct, which I believe it is based on your shared memories and brain scans, Y/N’s mind has somehow melded with yours. And your memories, powered by your mind’s energy, have somehow taken over hers, suppressing her personality completely. I don’t know if it was some kind of dormant mutant ability that was activated by the trauma of her captivity and torture, or something else… but there is obviously some kind of link between the two of you that we don’t have the technology to test for and verify. You’re essentially feeding her your memories, which is why your brain is lit up like that and why you’re expending so much energy.”

“It’s like she’s stuck inside one of Stark’s virtual reality headsets and can’t take it off, experiencing everything I went through while my brain keeps playing her different…” Bucky trailed off and his eyes widened before his head snapped to look at Y/N through the glass.

In a flash of movement, Bucky grabbed Dr. Austin’s ID badge from where it was clipped onto her white coat and darted for the door to Y/N’s room, scanning the badge so the door opened with a green light and soft click. Bucky, ignoring the shouts of his name and hands trying to grab at him to pull him back, opened the door and shut it firmly behind him, engaging the door’s auto-lock safety feature that he knows secure wings of hospitals have. The group outside would need to find another ID badge to get in, which would buy him some time.

Y/N’s wide and terrified eyes settled on him, and she tilted her head in an almost confused dog-like fashion, her eyes softening with an air of familiarity. Bucky could feel the hunger gnawing at his stomach turn into sharp cramps that almost made him double over, and there was a soft circle of darkness starting to creep in around his vision.

Bucky took three large steps forward, and even though she flinched away at his sudden movement, Y/N didn’t scramble away to try and avoid his hands as he lifted them. Her weary bloodshot eyes were full of unshed tears, and the closer Bucky’s hands got to her face, the more she began to tremble.

“You’re safe,” he whispered to her in Russian, before repeating the same sentiment in English.

The moment his fingers, both flesh and metal, touched the skin on either side of her face, it felt like he was on the wrong side of an attack from Thor’s hammer. Whatever weakness and hunger he’d been feeling was burned out of his body at the sheer shock cascading through his entire being. It didn’t hurt, but it was bordering on wildly uncomfortable, and Bucky was afraid he’d never be able to let go, his hands stuck to Y/N like a magnet.

There was something different passing between them, more than what touch alone could provide. Trying to understand everything that was happening was overwhelming, but when Bucky focused, he could almost feel Y/N inside his mind, like another whisper of a presence, a ghost in his consciousness. When he reached out in his head for her where he’d felt the ghost of her presence, he was assaulted with bursts of memories he knew were not his own, images of unfamiliar people, places, and things flashing in his mind like photographs. Bucky's curiosity was almost childlike, awestruck and trying to understand what his brain was comprehending, sorting through what Y/N was showing him.

The more information Bucky absorbed, the darker each memory became until it felt like he was wading through molasses, each image being harder and harder to move past. A hoarse whisper of “No” echoed in his mind, and Bucky couldn’t tell if it was his own voice or Y/N’s.

A solid arm wrapped around Bucky’s middle, one much more firm than human flesh would be, and pulled him backward until his hands dropped from Y/N’s face, breaking whatever connection had refused to release him when he’d touched her. Reality came rushing back, and the room and people around him flashed into existence, the change in environment and sound disorienting him and leaving him panting for breath, his knees wobbling.

“She…” Bucky looked over at Y/N, who was just as distressed, and watched her collapse onto the bed, unconscious, before his vision blacked out and darkness took him as well.

***

Connected Tags: @ginger-swag-rapunzel @that-one-gay-girl @fanofalltheficsx @joseyrw @lana-writes-04 @gia-25 @klanceiscannon14 @ahahafudge

[bumblebear30]

Oops

Rita Calhoun x Casey Novak, Established Calvak

A wee comfort fic for these two as I totally love them.

Warnings: mentions of Casey's office attack, migraine / mild medical concern. Side effects of getting older. No smut but alluded to. Happy ending.

Please let me know if you have any other prompts or requests for these two. Happy to try write more for them.

Oops

"You did it again."

The accusing tone made Casey's head snap up from where she was nestled on the couch. She could feel the light crust of dried drool on her cheek where she'd pretty much passed out into the pillow and rubbed at it with the cuff the sweater she was wearing in the hopes that her always immaculately dressed girlfriend wouldn't notice,

"Did what again?" she finally mumbled in response, a heavy pout in place as she scrunched her eyes against the bright light streaming in the apartment windows.

Rita sighed huffily as she perched on the back of the couch and busied herself with finishing taking off her earrings for the day. From there she finally caught sight of the sleep befuddled Casey - the creases of the pillow evidently pressed into her cheek, hair all mussed and cocooned in softest of old sweaters that Rita owned as the redhead obviously tried to drag her lagging brain through what it was she had done wrong this time.

Her expression immediately switched from frustration to concern as she reached out to card her fingers through Casey's hair, the younger woman automatically leaning into it and shifting closer to where Rita was sat,

"You left files that I shouldn't see on the breakfast bar again. We got a place with room for two separate offices for a reason darling."

Casey winced and opened one eye to finally look up at Rita as she apologised,

"Oops, m'sorry babe, I genuinely didn't mean to. I just needed different light. "

Rita tilted her head and gave a small sympathic noise as Casey burrowed her head against the back of the couch,

"Migraine again sweetheart?" Casey nodded groggily where she lay, loathe to commit to any movements that required further effort. Seeing her so forlorn pulled at Rita's heartstrings and she quickly got up and shed her shoes and jacket onto a nearby chair as she came round to the front of the couch to join Casey, "That's the third bad one this month..."

Hearing the familiar sound of Rita settling next to her Casey shifted to lay her head in her girlfriend's lap, wordlessly requesting for the attorney's always slightly cool hand to run across her forehead and circle at her temple as she'd done before by simply tipping her chin just so.

Of course Rita automatically took up the action, also using her free hand to run her nails in soothing circles across Casey's lower back.

The redhead let herself just bask in the attention and comfort. She'd felt instantly a bit better as soon as the scent of Rita's expensive perfume had reached her - always accompanied by the faint smell of coffee, ink and paper, a lawyerly smell if ever there was such a thing. That and the almost pavlovian way her body responded to Rita's touch, practically commanding her to relax with the lightest of pressures, also helped ease the residual pulsating ache at the front of her brain.

Afterwards she'd been sulky for days, which had drawn further unimpressed looks and rolled eyes from Rita. Eventually she'd pulled her head out of her ass and apologised with a gorgeous bouquet and an evening of pampering - cooking Rita's favourites for dinner, making the effort to use the good china and having candles on the table followed by a super indulgent bubble bath for the brunette (the rose petals may have been overboard but she knew Rita secretly adored them.)

She knew where Rita's comment was leading though. They'd had this argument discussion the last time too and she was not wanting a repeat of that general fiasco and to ultimately wallow in her own grumpiness yet again. It was worse because she knew Rita was right, and was only concerned and fussing simply because she loved her. But she had still been in residual pain and exhaustion from the migraine in question as well as licking her wounds from losing the most recent case to her lover too.

All that had only been a week ago, meaning it was less than fourteen days since she'd last had to abandon her work to lie in a darkened room with a cold compress across her eyes and an ice pack wrapped up at the base of her neck. It wasn't sustainable, and she hated being sick all the more because she knew Rita was always more worried than she let on.

She sighed lightly and wriggled her head back so she was pressed more closely into Rita's ridiculously soft silk blouse. The brunette had lifted her hands away as Casey moved but seeing her settle let them resume the gentle caresses. Noting that Casey hadn't immediately started arguing with her Rita decided to press her case once more,

"I just think given that you have such a bad head injury in your past, " Casey couldn't suppress the fearful shiver that ran down her spine at the memories - and lack of them - of her office attack, "that it would be sensible to get a doctor to run some tests and check what is going on."

At still receiving no response from Casey Rita tried to push just that little bit more. She gently ran a finger down the elegant slope of Casey's nose, booping the tip of it which made Casey start and turn onto her back to smile softly up at Rita. Holding her gaze Rita matched her with an indulgent look as she tucked some hair back behind Casey's ear,

"It's just that I'm rather fond of that brain of yours sweetheart, I'd hate to think anything might be wrong." She finished her plea by cupping Casey's chin and running the pad of her thumb over her lips as their positioning meant she couldn't reach to kiss them.

Once again Casey closed her eyes and leaned into the touch,

"And here I thought you were with me for my 'cracking bod', " she grinned as she felt Rita's entire body move as she laughed, "But I know. You're right. As usual." Her admission made Rita smile in victory, Casey's quip pulling another knowing chuckle that rumbled through her,

"Good, I have the number of an excellent neurologist, I'm sure he'll be able to see you by the end of the week."

Casey shot her a look that screamed incredulity,

"He wasn't a client was he? I'm not sure how comfortable I would be with that."

The experienced attorney did laugh at that,

"No, no," she continued to play with Casey's hair, "although he has maybe been an expert witness on several occasions but he's only ever been the utmost professional." she paused for a moment as Casey considered her options. "So what do you say darling, let me call and set up an appointment for you?"

With one last resigned sigh Casey nodded,

"Okay," honestly she was prepared to go through nearly anything if she could stop feeling so accutely crappy whenever these migraines came along, or stop them from happening in the first place.

"But," the smallness of her voice and demeanour, so unlike the usual strong confident persona of the prosecutor, brought out Rita's overprotective side even more, "But what if there is something wrong? Like-"

Deciding to quickly end any spiralling Rita pressed her finger over Casey's lip to hush her,

"Shh, then its better to know and we'll deal with whatever it may be together as best we can."

Suitably mollified, Casey rolled once more so her nose was buried against Rita's stomach, so much so her voice was muffled when she finally spoke,

"I'm sorry, I'm just worried."

"I know darling, but it may just be that you need glasses or something like that now, you know?"

The scandalised and affronted noise that escaped Casey made Rita laugh once again,

"I've always thought you'd look very sexy in glasses you know..."

The low purr of her voice drew an instant reaction from Casey, it always did. Like a siren's call she opened her eyes, feeling better enough to shoot a flirtatious look up at her love as she arched her eyebrow as seductively as she could manage in her prone position,

"Is that so?"

"Hmm hmm," Rita's affirmative humm came as she matched Casey's expression with one of her own, "You could totally pull off the sexy librarian look darling."

"Librarian!?!"

In her offense Casey finally sat up to lightly glare at Rita on a more equal footing. She lightly trailed her hand up Rita's thigh, so overly unsubtle Rita knew she was just winding her up. Still she enjoyed the attention nonetheless. "What if I wanted to go for the sexy lawyer in glasses look? Could I pull that one off too?"

Rita tipped her head to the side as she squinted at Casey, umming and awwing for extra effect,

"I'm sorry love but I think Cabot has got that niche locked down tight."

Casey couldn't help but gasp at the teasing and swat at Rita's thigh in retribution,

"Rude!"

Rita kept cackling with laughter, simply relieved to see Casey's usual firey playfulness was returning,

"Well if you get glasses you can work extra hard to prove me wrong, no?"

With a knowing smile Casey leant forward to press an adoring but chaste kiss to Rita's lips,

"Sounds good to me, thank you for helping me feel better."

Reaching up Rita cupped Casey's chin and drew her face back to her for another kiss. Or two. Maybe three. She just loved how they felt against her own.

"I'm glad I could help. Now do you want to go lock those files away whilst I give the doctor a call? We can then get an order from Chengs if you'd like?"

Casey was already making the effort to stand, holding herself still for several moments to ensure her balance was set after feeling so woozy earlier. Finding herself steady she smiled at Rita once more as she started heading for the kitchen,

"As long as there is lo mein I don't mind!"

A couple of days later Rita answered her ringing cell automatically, not even looking away from her inbox as she barked her usual response,

"Calhoun, who's speaking."

"Hey sweet thing," instantly Rita's entire posture melted, Casey's voice and determination to use ridiculous pet names totally always got her,

"Darling, how'd the appointment go." she'd swung her chair away from the computer screen, her entire focus now on Casey,

"Well you were right."

"I usually am, remind me what I was right about this time?"

"Scans and everything came back clear but I've got glasses to wear now... " Casey paused long enough for Rita to both sigh in relief and laugh,

"Oh is that all?"

"Well, he advised I change to a different type fo light bulb where possible, and definitely to wear glasses when looking at screens as they'll filter that blue light thing? But that and some proper rest and it should all help."

"That's great news sweetheart, I'm so relieved." Truly Rita felt like a knot she hadn't known was there had been released in her chest,

"Yeah, so in the spirit of medical necessity, I think we should schedule a trip up to the house in the Hampton's." Sometimes Casey still would catch herself after saying such a thing. A house in the Hampton's. Their house in the Hamptons. Quite ridiculous.

Rita chuckled but instantly swept round to open their shared calendar to look for potential timings,

"An excellent idea darling, I could even ask Danielle to get the boat ready for us? I know you love to play at being Captain."

"Please, you just want to lounge about in your bikini in front of me don't you."

"Well with your new glasses we'll have to test how much better you can see me. I do love putting on a show for you."

The flirtation made Casey gulp, images of Rita enjoying herself nearly overwhelming her,

"You always do have the best ideas, I propose we do lots of testing."

"For medical necessity?" Rita's smirk was clear even though Casey couldn't see her face,

"Exactly, you always know how to take the best care of me baby..."

[amelialincoln]

The Way Life Goes (2)

She thic and she important. Feel free to leave part 3 prompts or theories in my ask box. As always, enjoy...

TW: substance abuse

“Have you seen Amelia?” Was the first thing the general surgeon asked Link at the beginning of the work week on Monday. Link shrugged, pushing his overgrown shaggy hair out of his face and tugging his Ipad aggressively out of the charger.

“Nope.” He popped the ‘p’. Meredith eyed him in a way that made him uncomfortable enough to continue. “Scout and I have been crashing at Jo’s since Friday. I’d assume she’s at my apartment.” He didn’t get very far before Meredith stepped in front of him.

“Look, as irritating as it is, the minute shit is going down in her life she’s at my house in seconds. She didn’t come to the after party and hasn’t shown up for her shift yet today. I really doubt she’s just hanging out in your apartment.” She crossed her arms, looking somewhat terrifying, despite the fact that he loomed over her.

“I can't talk right now, I have surgery.” He replied, pushing back any fears of where she might be and focusing on the chart in front of him.

“She rejects your proposal and now you’re just done? What happened to you guys?” Link’s jaw tightened so hard you could hear the sound of his teeth clashing.

“She doesn’t want to be with me. It’s as simple as that.”

“I don’t think she doesn’t want to be with you. She just obviously isn’t ready to get married. And I think you knew that.”

“Whatever, Meredith.” Link’s throat was tight as he pushed past her, swallowing down his guilt.

She had somehow found herself to Link's apartment in a daze, praying he wasn’t there as she pushed through the door. He wasn’t. She grabbed some clean clothes and more cash before leaving once again.

It was somewhat exhilarating, living on the edge. Chasing high after high and making sure that the timing is perfect to prevent any meaningful thoughts from actually surfacing. So far she'd been excelling at it. However, it was when she was halfway back that she realized she had fucked up. Anger and self hatred hit her like a ton of bricks and she almost staggered back. The high had worn off and her mind had started to scream. You are so weak. Back here again after you promised the last time was the end. So many promises, she thought. So many empty promises that she’d broken time and time again. The promise that she’d made to be a good mother. Failed, again. Why should she even attempt to pick up the broken pieces after she found herself back to square one each time? Why not stop trying to fix it and just accept herself for who she truly is, an addict? Why keep disappointing the people that care about her over and over? There was no point. Not anymore. Scout’s name was blaring in her mind like an alarm. He’s better out without you. She convinced herself. Don’t let yourself ruin him. You destroy everything you touch.

“Amelia.” Camilla was looking at her weird. She tried to focus on her new friend, attempting to calm her shaking hands. “Wait too long?” She asked, digging into her bag. All Amelia could do was nod and pull out the cash. “This one’s on me.” Camilla placed a reassuring hand on Amelia’s shoulder as she rolled up her sleeve. She paused, with bated breath, until the image of Scout faded from her mind.

“Can you hear me?” Meredith practically yelled into the crackling phone. “I’m sorry, I know this is your honeymoon. I just still haven’t heard from her and you know her better than me so I need you to tell me what I should do.”

“Is this about Amelia?” Maggie’s groggy voice asked into the speakerphone. “You still haven’t heard from her?”

“I wouldn’t have called if I hadn't. I’m worried about her.” She could practically hear Maggie’s hesitation. “Don’t come back. Don’t even offer that.”

“She’s been having a rough time,” Maggie sighed. “Richard doesn’t let on too much but I know COVID has been hard on her. Link has good intentions. He just hasn’t ever had to see her at her lowest.”

“You think she’s using?” Meredith’s voice was hushed as she passed her Ipad to a nurse and thanked her quietly before letting herself into her office.

“I mean if I rejected a proposal from a man who meant a lot to me because I wasn’t ready I’d probably down a bottle of wine out of guilt." Maggie smiled bitterly.

“She’s stayed sober through a lot worse,” Meredith countered, glancing up to find Bailey waiting at the door with an expression she knew too well. “Hey, I’ve got to go. Tell Winston I say hi.”

“I will. Talk to you later.” Meredith placed her cell phone in her scrub pocket before meeting an irritated Bailey at the door.

“Where’s Shepherd?” Meredith knew what she was going to say before she even spoke the words. She bit the inside of her cheek, not knowing how to respond.

“Why?” She asked, receiving an eyebrow raise.

“Because she’s got a gliosarcoma in an hour and she hasn’t clocked in,” Bailey stated, fixing her lab coat and giving Meredith an exasperated look. “Look, whatever drama she and Doctor Lincoln are having, I don’t care. She can show up to work.”

“I don’t know where she is,” Meredith responded. “I honestly have no idea.”

“Wha--” Bailey started. She let out a grunt of disapproval before waving an agitated hand in the air and storming off. Meredith bit the nail on her thumb, sending yet another message to the missing neurosurgeon and wondered guiltily, for a moment, why she was so self destructive.

Link spent a lot of time in the ER compared to his colleagues. Compared to most other specialties, the majority of cases that presented themselves in the emergency room were ortho related. Most of the time it was pretty mundane, whether it be a broken ankle or a dislocated shoulder, but to keep the hospital from impending lawsuits, he was usually needed to supervise the interns, who were prowling in the ER looking for cases and trying to pop limbs back into place or reset joints, thinking they could handle it easily on their own.

As a result of this, Link was already in the OR when the trauma came in. He was sitting in the swivel chair behind the desk, dragging his feet across the floor to propel him side to side. He wasn’t paged so he was unfazed by the ambulance pulling up. Then again, he wasn’t really fazed by much these days after falling into a somewhat self deprecating state. He stared at the clock, hoping he’d be let off early.

“Did you hear about this?” Bailey asked Richard, as she secured her gown around herself and handed him a pair of gloves.

“Yeah,” Richard’s voice was a tone that Link couldn’t quite decipher. “Bunch of overdoses at Quilchena, saw it on the news in the lounge. Must’ve been something laced in whatever they all were doing.” He snapped his gloves aggressively over his hands as if he were mad at something. “This kind of thing has been happening all the time because of COVID. Addicts have been struggling during the pandemic. Never seen meetings so full.” Link found himself wondering if he was talking about Amelia. Bailey nodded to Richard sympathetically ask they rushed to meet the gurney’s being pushed into the ER.

“John Doe,” the paramedic announced. “Got naloxone at the scene, friend administered it. Conscious but having trouble breathing.”

“Page cardio,” Bailey ordered to a resident. Link watched curiously as Richard froze in place.

“Jane Doe,” the paramedic continued. “Unconscious but breathing. She--”

“Put her in trauma one,” Richard ordered firmly. Link wished he could see what was going on as he watched the blood drain from Bailey’s face. “Don’t let anyone see her. She wouldn’t want that.” It clicked in Link’s brain at that very moment when the pair of them turned to look his way. He got out of the chair he was in so fast that it clattered to the ground behind him.

Her face was so pale it was practically grey and her arms and lips were tinted a purpley blue. She looked so slender he felt like one could reach out and just snap her in half. Her expression was almost peaceful though, and that’s what haunted him most. The image of her was burned into his mind immediately and he knew, as they wheeled her away, that it would never be forgotten.

As Bailey and Richard steered her gurney away he felt frozen in place before finally, and without any indication from his mind, his feet began to follow them.

“She’s seizing,” Bailey exclaimed, her hands flying up to either side of her head to avoid holding any of her limbs in place. “Where the hell is trauma?” Link watched as she twitched, bile building up in the back of his throat. He felt slightly dizzy. He’d never been one to get queasy, even in med school while the rest of his peers either fainted or threw up during their first time observing in an OR. That’s when he knew he wanted to become a surgeon. He wasn’t sure if it was his ego telling him that he was superior for being the last one standing or the tiny and quick glance of approval the attending gave him before going back to ignoring him completely. Though, there must be something different about seeing someone he loved in this situation because he had to place a hand on the doorway to steady himself and looked away. Teddy came through the doors at that moment, brushing past him as if he didn’t exist. For a reason he couldn't quite explain let out a breath of relief that it wasn’t Owen. Something in his mind was screaming your fault, your fault, your fault. And selfishly, he hoped that Meredith, or really anyone who cared for Amelia half as much as he did, wasn’t at the hospital, and theorized that she’d probably beat him to a pulp.

“Can I help?” He found himself croaking, receiving only a glance from Richard.

“Absolutely not,” the general surgeon replied firmly, before finally getting Amelia connected to the monitor. Everyone in the room kind of paused for a moment, reading the levels and unanimously thinking to themselves silently, fuck.

“She’s coding,” Teddy proclaimed, as the alarm-like sound began to reveal itself. Link’s heart sank and he reached out to grab her hand, ignoring Richard’s orders for him to leave. Her palm was cold like ice, but not the dead kind of cold. Cold as if she’d just run in and out of the water, grinning and calling to him as if the ocean’s touch had electrified her, sending a rush of serotonin through her veins. Link remembers that look from when they’d gone down to California, for a conference that she was speaking at, like it were yesterday. She’d convinced him to go swimming, despite it being mid February, and had explained that diving into the frigid waves replicated the feeling of euphoria she used to get when a really good high would hit her full force. She’d told him about how she would swim a lot when she was first getting sober, craving the way the world felt like it was on pause and the way that silence filled her ears when her head was completely underwater. That was really the last time she’d grinned at him like that. Right before Covid had really hit. The first time they’d left Scout for the weekend with his parents. Coming up out of that water like she had been brought back to life.

He’d been so blind. He’d watched her slip into a mindless routine. Go to work. Drive home. Feed the baby. Put the baby to bed. Go to bed. Wake up. Every day, over and over. She would walk around like a ghost, stuck between life and death. He had ignored the way she'd fill her free time with meetings and when she had started going to sleep before he got home, brushed it off as postpartum and told himself that everything between them was fine. Postpartum doesn’t last this long you idiot.

“Clear!” Teddy’s calm voice echoed through the room, snapping him back to reality, and he pulled away his hand last minute before her chest rose and fell. His eyes flicked to the heart monitor, nothing. “Again, charge to three fifty. Clear!” The room fell silent as the compression pads thumped. Nothing. Teddy paused, staring at the monitor.

“Dr. Altman?” The nurse called out. “Again?” Her voice was quiet as the trauma surgeon lifted a hand in response.

“Wait,” her voice had become soft. The monitor beeped as a small peak rose and fell. “Come on, Amelia,” Teddy muttered.

“Charge again,” Bailey ordered.

“Just give her a second,” Teddy pleaded, not taking her eyes off the screen. “She’s fighting.” The trio of doctors stared at the monitor while Link fixated his eyes on his girlfriend and slid his hand into hers once again, interlocking his fingers with hers. Don’t die, don’t die, don’t die. The monitor beeped, and then beeped again, and then again. Link forced himself to look up and watched as the numbers climbed.

“Thank you, god.” Bailey brought a shaking hand to her face before closing her fingers into a fist and pressing it to her forehead. “We are lucky that the lord is looking out for this woman because the people in her life seem to not be.” The comment cut through Link like a knife.

“Bailey, that is not fair!” Richard exclaimed. Link had never heard the man raise his voice with such aggravation, even Bailey winced as she stormed out of the room, throwing her gloves to the side.

“She’s lost a lot of people...and a lot of surgeons,” Richard muttered in apology to him.

“Can she breathe on her own?” Link choked, looking at Teddy, who shifted on her feet.

“She’s weak. I’d like to keep the tube in for a couple of hours at least. See how she does. I’d also like to get neuro down here to give her a check. Let’s get her up to the ICU for now and monitor her closely. She’s stable. Let’s focus on that for now.” Link nodded, not knowing what else to say as Teddy pulled off her gown and tossed it into the bin before practically staggering out of the stuffy room.

“I didn’t know.” Something about the way Richard was looking his way was causing a buildup of defensiveness inside him.

“How?” Richard shook his head with disappointment, massaging his throbbing temple and trying to block out the emphysematous but rhythmic breath sounds coming from the breathing tube. “How, did you just not know?” His colleague was radiating judgment and Richard’s eyes narrowed into tiny slits before his entire body slumped, in no effort to lecture Link about something he should be hearing from Amelia. He looked at his friend, without a trace of condemnation, knowing, so easily, that it could be him in that hospital bed and her where he was standing. “It’s not my place,” he finally stated, tearing his eyes away from Amelia and blinking away any buildup in his tear ducts. He turned to the nurse and thanked her, always polite. “When you take her up can you make it discreet?” He knew the woman had recognized Amelia immediately. “Her reputation is on the line.” The nurse nodded as if she understood. Richard thanked her again before exiting the room.

Richard had ended up telling Meredith, who stopped by to let Link know that she and Hayes would pick up Scout from daycare and take him home with them. Link couldn’t read her expression, it was clouded as if she was undergoing an internal conflict that caused her to wince and look away upon glancing at Amelia. Some of the colour had returned to her cheeks, they looked as if someone had applied too much blush to a pale complexion and were hot to the touch. Teddy had removed the breathing tube about an hour ago. She’d gasped at first, her lungs whistling and wheezing in protest. Enough to make Teddy almost contemplate putting it back in before the breathing had settled.

“You didn’t look for her,” Meredith blurted out, as if she’d been trying to keep the words at bay. The look on her face told him that she regretted saying it almost immediately.

“Neither did you,” he bit back, more aggressively than he would’ve liked. Meredith’s face snapped away from him so quickly it was as if he’d physically hit her.

“If you really loved her. Enough to marry her. Her response shouldn’t have mattered,” her voice was as sharp as a knife. “She loves you and she’s been unfortunate enough to have most of the people she’s loved taken away from her. Do you know how rare it is for Amelia to come to Maggie and I teary eyed because she finally feels safe and loved and not being pressured into anything by the person she loves? " Meredith took a step back as if she didn't want to continue but couldn't help herself. "Amelia is a runner. She breaks under the expectations that the people that she loves have of her and she functions under the fear that the people she loves are going to leave her or die. So if you want to be an ass and make her feel like she isn’t enough for you because she doesn’t feel the need to commemorate her love to you on a stupid peice of paper, I will remove you from my sister’s life.” She was gone before he could even think of a reply and he stared wordlessly at the spot she’d just vacated.

“No,” the voice was so soft he could barely hear it. His head whipped to where she was lying. “No, no, no, no.” Amelia’s eyes were wide and she recoiled as he reached out to touch her. Her heart monitor climbed and he pulled back his hand. She was looking at him in a way that made his skin crawl. He realized, then, that she was looking at him in fear. She looked scared. It shocked him how quickly everything had fallen apart. How quickly he’d gone from someone she’d loved to someone she felt as though she barely knew. But it wasn’t really that quickly, a part of him was whispering over his shoulder. You just didn’t want to accept it.

“Hey.” The words sounded stupid as soon as they left his mouth. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” He found himself wondering what had happened to her over the last couple of days, the bruises scattered along her arms had become more evident as colour had returned to her skin. She gagged suddenly, moaning in a way that made him sick and he slid a kidney dish under her just in time. There didn’t seem to be much in her stomach so it was mostly dry heaving. Her heart monitor climbed every time he tried to touch her and he gave up on trying to hold back her hair.

“She’s awake?” Teddy stood in the doorway. Amelia looked up at her blankly before laying her head back against the hospital bed and staring up at the ceiling. The shame in her eyes were evident. Link nodded to Teddy, who gave him a somewhat genuine smile. “I’ll just do a quick vitals check.”

“No,” Amelia moaned, the pain in her voice causing Teddy to stop in her tracks. “I just want to go home. Let me go home.”

“You’re not going to go home though, are you?” Link glanced up to find Richard standing at the foot of the hospital bed, arms crossed. His stern expression was slightly wavering. Link wondered how hard it was for him to even be within two meters of her.

“Shut the fuck up,” Amelia spat, pulling her IV out of her wrist and throwing it across the room hard enough that the machine screeched against the concrete floor. Link grimaced as the IV site began to bleed. The sudden bout of energy seemed to exhaust her as she collapsed back onto the bed.

“We’re good for now, Doctor Altman,” Richard said softly, not wanting to watch as his coworker, and friend, incriminated herself in front of someone she’d regret. “You can go home with Maggie or I can check you into a rehab clinic, the choice is yours.” Link’s eyes fell to the floor, his face burning at the idea that he couldn’t be trusted to take care of her.

“Maggie’s on her honeymoon,” Amelia mumbled, the anger dying out in her eyes as she realized what his response would be before he even spoke it.

“I called her,” Richard confirmed her prediction. “Meredith is taking care of Scout and I shouldn’t even be in the same room as you.” Hot tears spilled down Amelia’s cheeks as she glared at him. You ruin everything. The voice in her head had been telling her over and over since she’d woken up.

“Rehab. I choose rehab. Call her and tell her not to come.” Maggie had arrived at the hospital an hour ago but Link decided to keep his mouth shut.

“Fine,” Richard sighed. “I’ll call right now.” He stepped outside where his daughter was waiting anxiously and placed both hands on her shoulders trying to calm her down.

“I need to go in and see her,” Maggie’s breathing was asynchronous, she held her shaky hands into her chest, trying to look into her sister’s hospital room.

“Don’t,” Richard warned. “She’s not herself right now. I shouldn’t have called and stressed you out. She chose rehab.” He watched as her face twisted in confusion.

“What? That’s ridiculous.” Maggie shook her head in disbelief. “Let me take her home.”

“I wasn’t expecting her to be this bad. It’s too much responsibility to put on anyone. I...I just don’t think it would be a good idea, Maggie.” He pulled her into a hug as she started to sob.

“Link, is he…” she trailed off as she buried her face into her biological father’s scrub top.

“It’s not anyone’s fault,” Richard sighed. “But out of everyone, he’s the last person that should be taking care of her right now.” Maggie nodded, cursing herself for not doing more as she had watched Amelia change over the last couple of months. “Has she mentioned anything about her friend Charlotte? She needs an ally, someone who understands how her brain works. I know how much you care about her, Maggie, but you can’t help her the way she really needs in a couple of days when the realization of what she’s done has hit.”

“Charlotte, the one in L.A.? I’ve talked to her a couple times, never really for too long, just over FaceTime when Amelia used to call her while living at Meredith’s.”

“Amelia brought her up a lot at meetings,” Richard bit the inside of his lip, hoping that he was making the right decision. “I think we need to call Charlotte. I think that she knows Amelia on a level that not any of us in Seattle can really understand.”

“Okay,” Maggie nodded, pushing her own feelings aside. “Get St. Ambrose Hospital in Los Angeles on the phone,” she loudly ordered to the intern, sitting at the nurses station, who had been just out of earshot, “And tell them I need to speak to Doctor Charlotte King.”

[big-wet-cas-eyes]

wings: day 3 of @starrynightdeancas 's 2k followers celebration ✨ (ao3)

when i saw the wings prompt, i didn't think i would end up writing meet cute au, but here we are (wc: ~2000)

Thursdays are Dean's favorite day to be at conferences. Usually, there's only a partial day of events, and some people skip it altogether. Once the conference is in full swing, he'll be busy bouncing from talks to lunches to happy hours to dinners with people he only sort of knows. But on Thursdays, he can breathe.

Conferences certainly aren't his favorite part of being a professor. He's kind of a homebody, so the travel and socializing is a little much for him, especially when air travel is involved. But he does like exploring new cities, so he makes the best of it.

That's how he finds himself wandering around downtown Thursday evening. The streets are bustling with the after-work crowd.

Dean pauses when he passes one of those huge angel wing murals that he sees all over the internet. There are a couple of teenage girls standing there posing and giggling. Dean chuckles, and once the girls run off, he snaps a picture of it. His best friend, Jo, loves gimmicky tourist things like that, so he sends the picture off to her, along with a wish you were here text.

"Excuse me, would you mind taking my photo? If you have a moment, of course," a deep voice asks him. Dean looks up to see a man standing there, looking at him hopefully and gesturing behind him toward the mural. He feels his jaw drop open for a second when his eyes rest on the man's face. He's gorgeous. Dark, messy hair and piercing blue eyes that make Dean feel like he's melting into a puddle.

But Dean raises his eyebrow slightly when the question registers in his brain. This guy doesn't really look like the type to want a picture in front of a cotton candy-colored mural of angel wings. He looks to be about Dean's age. He's wearing a full suit with a trench coat on top, despite the summer heat. He realizes he's still staring when the guy clears his throat.

"Sorry for bothering you, I'll find someone else," the man says with a slight nod before beginning to turn away.

"No, no, wait, I'll do it!" Dean says, feeling bad for basically ignoring the guy while checking him out. "You just surprised me. Took my brain a second to process."

The man smiles at him. "Thank you, I appreciate it," he says, handing his phone to Dean. The camera app is already open.

Dean gives him a small smile back. "Not to be weird about it, but you don't really seem like the angel wing mural type."

"Ah, I'm not," he says dryly. Sensing Dean's confusion, probably, he adds, "I sent my daughter a photo of the mural earlier. She's been bombarding me all day with requests that I take a photo in front of it."

Dean smiles wider at that. The man's eyes light up as he's talking about his daughter, and Dean's smitten by how cute it is. "Totally get it, man. If my niece was old enough to text, she'd probably do the same to me." He thinks of little Mary, running around the house in a princess dress and fairy wings as Eileen tries to catch her. Maybe he should take one for her, too. "I've got you." He glances down at the guy's chest and adds, "Take off your badge first."

"What?" the man asks, clearly confused.

Dean pulls his matching conference badge out of his pocket. The lanyards attached to all of the badges this year are a horrid shade of neon orange. "This," Dean says, shaking it slightly, "Take yours off for the picture."

"Oh… thank you," he says, pulling off the lanyard and shoving it into a pocket of his trench coat. He walks in the direction of the mural. He turns and faces Dean, mouth in a straight line.

Dean snaps the photo and frowns. The dude doesn't look happy, despite the joy that was in his eyes when he mentioned his daughter. "Smile, dude! This is for your kid!" Dean says loudly.

The man huffs slightly, but then his mouth splits into a gummy smile, eyes crinkling at the edges. The smile is infectious, and Dean can't help the one that spreads across his own face in response. He takes a couple more photos before he gestures for the guy to come back over. He does and Dean returns his phone.

"Mind taking one of me? Looked at it long enough that I want to send one to my niece anyway."

"Yes, of course," the man replies, taking Dean's offered phone.

Dean smiles and poses (hands on his hips, like a superhero), and there's a good chance the picture captures the laugh that comes out when he hears the other man chuckle.

He walks back over and retrieves his phone. Then, he offers his hand for a handshake. "So I guess we're in town for the same conference. Dean Winchester. It's nice to meet you."

"Castiel Novak," he replies, grasping Dean's hair and shaking it firmly. "It's nice to meet you as well." He pauses for a moment, and his eyes widen with something that looks like recognition. "Dean Winchester. I just read your new paper, Bradbury and Winchester. It was fascinating."

"Hey, thanks, man," Dean says with a grin, "but if I'm being honest, almost all the credit for that one should go to my grad student, Charlie. She's the best."

"Well, it's a testament to your teaching that one of your students can produce such excellent research," Castiel says, and Dean blushes at the words. "I would love to be able to teach like that someday."

"Are you not a professor?" Dean asks. Maybe he misjudged the guy's age.

"No, I actually only recently completed my doctorate. It took a little longer than I'd hoped, but I had to take some time away from schooling for my daughter." Dean nods in understanding. A handful of people he knows had a baby during graduate school and it definitely did not make the experience any easier for them. "I'm beginning a postdoctoral fellowship at the University of Kansas next month, though."

"Oh, no way, that's where I teach!" Dean says. When he sees the glint of amusement in Castiel's eyes, he says, "But you already knew that. Because you just read my paper."

"I did. Different department than you, though. I'll be working with Professor Cain."

Dean smiles. "He's great, you'll like working with him." Before he can continue, Dean's stomach decides to punctuate his sentence with a loud grumble. "Uh, any interest in grabbing dinner? I'm starving, and I'd like to hear more about what you do if we're gonna be colleagues soon."

"Sure, I'd like that, Professor Winchester," Castiel says.

Dean scoffs. "You're uninvited if you call me that, Cas. Just Dean."

"Dean. Okay, let's go," he says, a small smile curling at the edges of his lips. They walk for a while, chatting a little about food and the city until they stumble upon a restaurant that sounds good to both of them.

Once they've ordered, Cas pulls out his phone. "I hope my daughter appreciates the picture," he says, swiping at the screen as he looks through the photos Dean took. He might have gotten a little carried away; there's a bunch. "I don't want to receive another photo of her pouting at me."

Dean chuckles. He pulls out his own phone to send his mural photo to his brother and sister-in-law. Cas also took a few, but he selects one where he's laughing extra hard. Took this for Princess Mary, tell her I love her, he texts to accompany the photo. "I'm sure she'll love it. How many pouting photos did you get?"

Cas hums, tapping a few times on his phone as Dean watches. "It appears… six." He turns his phone around to Dean. The name at the top of the text message thread reads Claire🐝 and he can already see two of the pictures. Cas's daughter, Claire, looks a little older than he expected. That, combined with the heavy eyeliner, doesn't make her seem like the kind of kid that would beg her dad to take a picture with an angel wing mural. Cas scrolls slightly and Dean sees a slew of please dad and you gotta! text messages, interspersed with more pictures of her frowning. It's kind of adorable.

"How old is she?" Dean asks.

"Fifteen," Cas answers. Dean opens his mouth, but closes it again when Cas continues, "I know, I don't look old enough to have a daughter her age. I get that a lot."

"Sorry," Dean mumbles. "No need to explain, I was just surprised."

Cas shrugs. "It's okay. Accidental pregnancy with my high school girlfriend back when we were both trying to convince ourselves that we were straight." Cas immediately blushes. "Sorry, too much information. I had already switched out of professional mode for the evening, and I forgot that we technically work together."

"You're in good company. No judgment from me. You won't be the only one out of the closet when you get there." He winks and then grimaces internally. He hadn't meant to start flirting.

Cas's eyes widen and then soften. "Thank you, Dean. I'm glad I haven't made a total fool of myself." His phone buzzes on the table and he picks it up. He smiles that wide, bright smile again, the one that Dean can't help but match. "Claire loves the photo," he says, turning his phone around. It's another photo of Claire, but this time she has the same bright smile on her face as her dad.

"She really wanted you to take that picture, didn't she," Dean says with a chuckle.

Cas nods. "She did. She's a sweet girl."

"Why's she love angel wings so much? She doesn't really… look the type, I guess," Dean asks, his curiosity finally winning out.

"The eyeliner phase is new. She's always loved angels, though. Her mother used to tell her angels were watching over her every night before bed, and I think that stuck with her."

Dean smiles. "My mom used to say the same thing to me. Definitely sticks with you," he says, as he pushes up the sleeve of his shirt. He holds his arm out to show Castiel the angel wing tattoo on his forearm, his mom's name and the dates she was alive in the middle. "Got this for her a few years ago."

Cas reaches out, brushing the edge of one of the wings. Dean shivers a little at the touch, but mostly just because of how soft and gentle Cas's hands are. "It's beautiful, I'm sure she would appreciate it," Cas says. "I think Claire's mom always said it because I'm named for an angel. Claire calls me her angel when she's feeling sentimental." Dean's not sure if Cas realizes that he's still tracing the edges of his tattoo. Honestly, he doesn't mind. The contact feels nice and he feels surprisingly drawn to Cas. His hand stays there until their food arrives.

The conversation shifts slightly, becoming more casual. They talk about their research, the talks they're planning to attend during the weekend, and a little bit about the university Castiel will soon call home. It's comfortable. Cas is really nice and interesting, and Dean's excited that it looks like he'll have a new friend when the school year starts.

A little voice in the back of his head hopes that he'll end up more than a friend, and Dean thinks the feeling might be mutual when Cas grabs his hand on their way back to the conference hotel.

[zet-sway]

Spiritual Shrios Summer - Release

This is a prompt fill for @rosenkow's Spiritual Shrios Summer! Prompts | release | oasis | moan | delirium | pray | sweat | whisper | afterlife | contaminated | skin | worship | incense | godless | petals | taste | nectar | caress | mirage | ripe | sundown | hallucinate | salt | intoxicated | soul | embrace | hunger | wet | adrenaline | breathe |

PROMPT WORD: RELEASE - | - WORDS: 2686

Rated: "E" for Extremely Spicy - not for children AO3 Link: "Singing Southward" Pairing: Thane / FemShep Summary: "But her blood is singing southward, and that's a good thing, right? A reassuring, human reminder that maybe she's still Shepard - a woman - not just a Cerberus machine."

Full disclosure, this prompt fought me and kicked my ass the whole way. I can't look at it anymore. I hope it's more enjoyable for people who haven't been looking at it for like two weeks lmao. Many thanks to Rosenkow for that excellent playlist that really inspired my Shrios muse.

The heavy thrum of battle is where she loses herself. Shepard would take sweat and the pounding pulse of combat any day over the silence between stars.

Swirling winds whip sand across her face and body. It crunches in the joints between her armor and she hates the sound but it's easy to ignore as she slams another heat sink into her shotgun and charges into the last remaining crawler. It's thrown by the impact, the momentum of her body splits the carapace against her armored fist. The smell of viscera in the air, the humming of biotic barriers. Her body sings. She feels untouchable. The keystone slams the ground again.

The ground beneath her feet rumbles and she hears an unholy sound. A thresher maw. Her battle-lust is broken instantly and she snaps to attention, every sense laser focused.

Her shotgun and fists will be little help to them now. She exchanges glances with Grunt and Thane, waving them toward cover while she hunkers down on point, grenade launcher at the ready. It's not the biggest thresher maw she's ever seen but their size isn't the only thing that makes them dangerous. Positioning is critical when fighting something that can burrow and spit. Her combat HUD tracks its movements through the ground and she directs their movements, their gunfire to its next point of exposure.

But there's a problem. Her visor's sensitive electronics were never meant to be used in a sandstorm.

The maw dives again and this time the data is wrong, pinging across the arena, indicating wildly different trajectories that conflict with the laws of physics. Not great, but there's nothing she can do about it now. Adapt, improvise.

She tears the headset from her face and makes her best approximation of where it's going to appear next, signaling the team. They open fire, it dives again. Then the rumbling stops. Her best is not enough. There's a split second of silence before the beast bursts forth not twelve feet away from her position. Dust and debris erupt in a disorienting cloud and she can tell by the shadow cast over her that she's in deep shit, struggling to find her footing on the fractured, quaking ground.

A scorching heat envelops her and her vision goes dark. There's a shout in her comm, a weight pressed upon her, and the grenade launcher is wrenched from her hands.

Then a burst, an explosion, a blinding flash of light. Acid sizzles against her barrier and it pops, the sound rattling her ears in the darkness.

The orange sun of Tuchanka blinks back into existence as the dust begins to settle.

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

Thane slumps into the stinking puddle of meat and organs, still clutching Shepard's grenade launcher. His scales are stinging and the pain is growing more intense by the second. Beside him, Shepard is calling in an evac while she rips at the panels of her hardsuit. Her under armor is a patchwork of holes beneath, and her skin is a frightening shade of red where the fabric is being eaten away. Thresher maw bile.

He's never actually seen a thresher maw before, much less fought one - he's more shaken than he would like to admit. Her voice is his anchor. By the time she's done shouting for Grunt to maintain a defensive position, she's torn the suit at the waist and stripped the top half from her body. She uses it to wipe the viscera from his head, chest, and hands before tending to herself.

Her ease of determination has him transfixed. He's trembling from their encounter, but Shepard- he's never seen her more focused. Brows knitted in concentration, voice firm, but calm. Her chest rises and falls with each measured breath. Wearing only her belt, legplates, and a black compression bra, she's slathering herself in medigei, a whirlwind of sand and dirt sticking to exposed burns across the hard expanse of her body.

Her skin is so vulnerable compare to his scales that she should be shrieking in pain. Instead, she seems completely unfazed. Adrenaline, perhaps. Or maybe she's every bit as otherworldly as he's coming to understand she is.

Their evac shuttle arrives and they pile on. Grunt is the first one to break the silence.

"Quick thinking back there, Krios."

Grunt looks at him with the same piercing gaze all krogan seem to have. Thane has always found them hard to read.

"Never thought I'd see a drell dive into the mouth of a thresher maw. You're tougher than you look."

He smiles, then. And Shepard smiles with him.

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

Doctor's orders: 24 hours rest.

Shepard's armor clatters to the cabin floor and she strides into the bathroom, trying not to itch the scabs tightening over her skin. The burns are superficial - irritating, but not serious. In the mirror, they look worse than they feel. The sting is enough to drown out the other weird pains that live inside her reconstructed body. Her ears hurt. Her tear ducts feel swollen and pressurized. Her fingers are sore. There's a constant ache in her sternum and a soft wooshing in her ear. It's from her synthetic heart, and the abundance of blood it requires. But it means she'll heal faster, too.

The water hisses out of the showerhead and she sets to work cleaning the caked on grit and viscera from her skin. When she's focused on herself like this, it's hard not to think about all of the ways her body has changed.

On the SR1, she'd been in shape, perhaps even proud of her body. She'd thought of herself as a well oiled machine. She watched her nutrition carefully, spent just as much time honing nerves as she did strength and endurance. Her body, a product of her own work and service.

What she sees now is not what she remembers.

Notably, she's about 70 pounds heavier, almost exclusively due to her implants and the additional muscle she's put on to carry them. Adapting to the added weight of cybernetics and artificial bones had been an uphill battle since she rolled off that Cerberus operating table. Even her breasts are one cup size larger, and that one change carries perhaps the most bitterness. Her body is no longer her creation.

She sees herself as though through a stranger's eyes - a construct. The Commander they wanted. Not the woman she remembers.

Her new body is all about performance, both in the public eye and on the battlefield. Miranda had already told her she should be grateful for her various "upgrades." Her titanium fingers that never tremble, her artificial eyes that can see colors and details normal human's can't. Heightened olfaction, improved hearing, even joints with a higher range of motion.

A superhuman.

No, she corrects herself, with no small amount of vitriol.

A supersoldier.

The trouble is, being a soldier is what she wants. Control over her body is as much a necessity as a beating heart, and she demands it of herself every way she knows how. The problem isn't the upgrades. It's the autonomy ripped from her hands as soon as she was too dead to spit in their faces.

But this is the hand she's dealt, so she works with it, even if learning how to use her own body is still a learning curve. Testing her limits, evaluating response times, and sometimes... trying out shitty supplementary tech that can't stand up to a little bad weather.

Outside the bathroom door, the remnants of her visor are crumbled together next to her terminal. Thane had crushed it underfoot when he dove between her and the thresher maw. That split second confusion in the field could have cost her life if he hadn't intervened. She hadn't expected a lone wolf assassin to mesh so well with the team.

She towels off and stuffs her armor back in its locker. The automatic cleaning cycle hums to life, and her thoughts whirl with it.

Thane's opened up a bit more since the night they spoke about Alchera. He has a surprising way of coloring the air with his words. And, perhaps most alarmingly, the more time she spends with him, the time she wants to spend with him. She tries to chalk it up to regular team synchronicity, but there are moments she catches herself wondering him on more than just a professional level. Tiny curiosities slither into her brain. Does he kiss like humans do? The very notion warms her blood.

How long has it been since she'd kissed someone? It feels like a lifetime.

And then - just one impulsive little thought, summoning the things she's not even dared herself to think. Does he fuck like humans do?

Almost timidly, she allows her imagination to wander.

Greeting the morning together in the shuttle bay, the harsh fluorescent lights casting dramatic shadows over his body as he bends through another impossible stretch. All that tension coiled within him, the hard planes of his torso, those absolutely delicious ass-kicking thighs...

For a moment, she feels as though he's close enough to share his heat. There's an old, familiar warmth in her blood - exquisite, tiny shivers flickering just beneath her skin - arousal.

Her eyes drift closed. She owes her XO a mission debrief, and she owes her pilot new destination coordinates. But her blood is singing southward, throbbing between her legs, and that's a good thing, right? A reassuring, human reminder that maybe she's still Shepard - a woman - not just a Cerberus machine.

Maybe those obligations can wait a little bit longer.

Scooting up her unmade bed to rest against the headboard, she tentatively rests a hand against her belly and traces a line from her navel to the juncture of her legs, almost as if she's afraid of what she'll find. Her flesh is reassuringly warm, and she passes over her center, teasing and smoothing back over blood-warmed skin, testing its sensitivity. At least here, her body feels like she remembers.

Thane's unfamiliarity excites her. She's never spared much thought for bunking with another species before, but he's more than handsome. Shepard wonders if drell are as introverted as Thane. Likely not, but his guardedness only intensifies her intrigue. The idea of touching him seems forbidden, like a closely guarded secret. She wants to run her tongue over the darkened skin below his lower lip, wants to trace the ridges down the back of his neck and feel the warmth of the flushed skin at his throat.

Her mind fumbles with the thought of him, unclothed and willing. He could be any number of iridescent shades of green under that tight leather getup - by the tantalizing gradient of color across the firm swatch of his exposed chest, he must be. Those dark stripes down his shoulders are trails she's hungry to travel, winding paths across the exotic unknowns of his body. Her fingers itch to follow them wherever they lead - with any luck, all the way down.

And down to what, exactly? For a moment, Shepard considers pulling up the extranet to satiate her curiosity and then decides against it. If he's not biologically equipped the way she hopes, better to find out later, when she's not vividly imagining the shape and color of his erection. Maybe green? But then, he hopefully isn't packing scales down there. No, more likely a familiar blush of color, like the frills of at his neck, or the inside of his mouth.

Her fingers brush carefully over her clit at the thought of his mouth, those gorgeous clit-sucking lips. An excited chill zips down her spine, settling - picturing him in this exact spot, head bowed reverently between her legs to worship her with his tongue. It's been so fucking long since someone ate her out.

The memory is old and faded - breaking fraternization rules with a youthful dark-haired recruit in the barracks. They hadn't even finished basic yet. Shepard had come harder than ever before in her life, only to later discover that recruit had told nearly everyone that they'd hated every second of it. She wouldn't have been upset if Cerberus took that memory from her.

But there's something about Thane. He's nothing if not a gentleman, she likes to think he'd be wickedly good at this. Warm, firm lips, an agile tongue... those fused fingers edging her on.

She uses her own to test that hypothesis, biting her lip at the familiar slick of arousal concentrated in her core.

There was a time when she'd rather be incinerated than suffer gentle lovemaking. She wanted it hard and fast, pleasure so blindingly hot she'd sneak out to the airlock for a cigarette in the afterglow. But her new body is a labyrinth of unknowns. Sex in this new skin, not knowing her limits, how much she can take. She wants to take her time.

Middle finger first, then following with another, she tests her reconstruction. Maybe she's just imagining it, but she feels a bit stiffer than she remembers.

But in the blurry comfort of her fantasy, Thane is a gentle lover. He's slow and patient, giving her ample time to acclimate both her body and her racing thoughts. Her fingers slip inside as far as they'll reach, leaving her palm to flex against her clit. She sighs, luxuriating in sensation.

It feels so good to be touched.

It's been years, in fact, and the roaring flame of her lust is surprising even to herself. To have him here, moving inside her, filling her with every stroke...

When her hand curls against her inner walls, her eyes roll back and an unholy sound leave her throat. Holy shit. Either this is the pleasure time forgot, or Cerberus spared no expense reconstructing her nerve endings. It wipes every other thought from her mind.

She's lost in the fantasy now. Hopelessly spellbound beneath the roll of her own hand - Thane's hips - languidly pushing the heights of her pleasure in body and mind until she's deliberately edging her orgasm because it seems a damn shame to end it so fast. Her head is swimming, discomfort collecting dust in the rational corners of her brain until her nerves are burning with adrenaline and wanting. Scattered thoughts come in incoherent bursts. All that matters now is the caldera of pleasure between her legs. Her mind. His body.

She can almost feel his voice. The words are lost but the sensations are loud and clear, encircling her, flowing through her, filling her. She wants to feel his desire, wants him to come undone inside her, calling her name, riding the high of his climax and all but demanding she come with him. In her mind, they gasp together, his arms tightening around her, his face buried in her neck, her walls clenching around him.

The electricity of release pulses through her nerves - organic, synthesized, and everything in between. For one sweet second, she's weightless. Then the spots are clearing from her vision and she's floating down from whatever far flung corner of the galaxy her soul's been launched to.

In the silence that follows, the gentle hum of the ship is the only sound.

"Fuck," she breathes out into the empty room. He's gone. The reverie slowly evaporates, vanishing into the metal bulkheads of the hull.

The familiar guilt of indulgence tugs at the edges of her fading euphoria. She hadn't banked on masturbating to her crew, but here she is.

It's just a daydream, no harm done.

But as she gets dressed, she asks herself why it's been so long since anyone's crept into her mind like Thane.

Shepard shakes her head, straightening her back. A little movement to clear the errant thoughts trashing her rationality. Her scabs itch. Her mouth is dry. There are more important things to be doing. Things that will quiet the tiny voice in her head that whispers 'no one wants your weird cybernetic body.'

At least she can still show herself a good time. Small victories are perhaps even sweeter during wartime. Maybe she feels just a little more human than she did an hour before.